EYES AND EAKS. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY WARD BEECHER, 
 
 ..; BOSTON: 
 TIC It NOR AND FIELDS. 
 
 1862. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by 
 
 HENRY WARD BEECHER, 
 in the Clerk s Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS: 
 WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY, 
 CAMBRIDGE. 
 
HE papers in this volume are reprinted, with a 
 few exceptions, from the New York Ledger, 
 where they appeared, under the title of " Thoughts 
 as they Occur, by one who keeps his Eyes and Ears open." 
 Besides these, a few have been taken from the New York 
 Independent. 
 
 Nothing could be less studied or pretentious than these 
 papers, thrown off almost as rapidly as a photograph is 
 printed, and representing the impressions of happy hours, 
 or the moods and musings of the moment. They are frag 
 mentary, and as careless as even a newspaper style will 
 permit. 
 
 If they serve to inspire a love of Nature, or an enjoy 
 ment of rural occupations, or to form a kindly habit of 
 judging men and events, or if they even serve only to 
 enliven the tedium of sickness, or while away a summer 
 hour with innocent amusement, they will answer the au 
 thor s utmost expectations. 
 
 II. W. B. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MODERN CONVENIENCES AND FIRST-CLASS HOUSES ... 1 
 
 THE DOG NOBLE, AND THE EMPTY HOLE 10 
 
 LITCHFIELD REVISITED 14 
 
 PHRENOLOGY 20 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE COUNTRY 26 
 
 HOURS OF EXALTATION 32 
 
 FIRST SUMMER LETTER 38 
 
 SECOND SUMMER LETTER 41 
 
 SNOW POWER 45 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN FARM TO THE SEA-SIDE FARM .... 49 
 
 HAYING 58 
 
 MOWING-MACHINES AND STEAM-PLOUGHS . . . . . 65 
 
 CITY BOYS IN THE COUNTRY 71 
 
 A TIME AT THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 79 
 
 OUR FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH A SEWING-MACHINE ... 85 
 
 HUNTING FLIES 89 
 
 BACK AGAIN 91 
 
 A WESTERN TRIP 96 
 
 THE LECTURE SYSTEM 102 
 
 HOME REVISITED 109 
 
 HOW TO WAKE IN THE MORNING 114 
 
 LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY 118 
 
 WEEDS IN PICTURES 122 
 
 THE RIGHT KIND OF FARMING 125 
 
 ARE BIRDS WORTH THEIR KEEPING? 130 
 
 COUNTRY STILLNESS AND WOODCHUCKS 137 
 
 A CANNON-BALL IN THE HAT 141 
 
 MY POCKETS 145 
 
 JOYS AND SORROWS OF EGGS 149 
 
 THE DUTY OF OWNING BOOKS 154 
 
 MY PROPERTY , 156 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 MEN NEED WHAT THEY DO NOT WANT 161 
 
 CONSULTING AN ECHO 164 
 
 VIRTUE AND FANATICISM OF NEATNESS .... 167 
 
 NIAGARA FALLS, BUT NOT DESCRIBED 173 
 
 NEAT DRESSING is NOT CLEAN HOUSEKEEPING .... 181 
 
 OUR FIRST FISHING 185 
 
 BEADING 187 
 
 SUMMER READING ....... 190 
 
 ~-WORTH OF MONEY 192 
 
 PET NOTIONS . . . . . . . . . . . 195 
 
 REASONS FOR NOT WRITING AN ARTICLE 199 
 
 HEALTH AND EDUCATION ......... 203 
 
 ON THE PLEASURES OF BEING A PUBLIC MAN .... 207 
 
 CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS . . . * 211 
 
 THE FARM ........ 215 
 
 THE HIGHWAY OF THE PEOPLE 218 
 
 ASKING ADVICE, AND OXEN 221 
 
 THE OFFICE OF ART 225 
 
 FREE TOWN LIBRARIES 230 
 
 HONOR YOUR BUSINESS 233 
 
 MOTHS, WINGED AND LEGGED 236 
 
 BOSTON REMINISCENCES 239 
 
 OBJECT LESSONS 243 
 
 CHARACTER AND REPUTATION . 246 
 
 GOOD-NATURE 249 
 
 APPLE-PIE 251 
 
 STRAIGHTENING THE LINES 255 
 
 ^TALKING 258 
 
 ART AMONG THE PEOPLE 262 
 
 k SLIDING DOWN HILL 266 
 
 GAMBLING 270 
 
 WINTER BEAUTY 273 
 
 STREET CRIES AND ORATORS VOICES 278 
 
 BE GENEROUS OF BEAUTY 281 
 
 TRAILING ARBUTUS 285 
 
 MORALS OF BARGAINS ........ 288 
 
 OUTLANDISH BOOKS . 290 
 
 THE DANDELION AND I 294 
 
 ORAL FARMING 299 
 
 DRY FISHING 302 
 
 APPLE-TREES IN LOVE . . . . . . go* 
 
 GENIUS AND INDUSTRY 310 
 
 NEW CLOTHES . 
 
 ol3 
 
 WORMS 31 ^ 
 
 PLEASURE-RIDING 32^ 
 
 SUMMER RAIN 324 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 MY Two FRIENDS 
 
 EMBODIED JOKES . * 
 
 CHANGES 
 
 DRIVING FAST HORSES FAST 337 
 
 FENCE-CORNERS 
 
 LIFE OF FLOWLRS 
 
 CHILDHOOD AND DISENCHANTMENT 
 
 MY PICTURE-GALLERY 
 
 340 
 
 AGRICULTURAL PAPER ^ 
 
 THE PUMPKIN FAMILY. ITS RELATIVES AND RIVALS . 
 
 AUTUMN COLORS 
 
 OUR HOUSEKEEPING EXPERIENCE 
 
 SOLITUDE: WASPS 
 
 355 
 
 363 
 
 368 
 
 FOOD DISCOVERIES 
 
 GOOD-NATURED PEOPLE 3 ^ 2 
 
 STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM 3 ^ 5 
 
 378 
 
 383 
 
 386 
 
 FAIRY Music 
 
 MOSQUITOS. No. 2 
 
 BOOK-KEEPING 396 
 
 SPEAKING-HALLS 40 
 
 CONVERSATIONAL FAULTS 403 
 
 BOOTS 40G 
 
 COMPLIMENTS 408 
 
 SMELL AND PERFUMERY 41 
 
 THE GOOD OF DISORDER 413 
 
EYES AND EARS. 
 
 MODERN CONVENIENCES AND FIRST-CLASS 
 HOUSES. 
 
 HERE are many persons who suppose that 
 people who live in first-class houses, with all 
 the modern improvements, must of course 
 be much puffed up, and that they become 
 quite grand in their own eyes. It is true, sometimes, 
 that fine houses have proud people in them. We 
 can imagine a pride so reluctant of discipline, and 
 so indocile, as to survive in. spite of the experience 
 of a first-class house. But we suspect the same of 
 very poor tenements. 
 
 When we moved into a capacious brown-stone 
 dwelling, our better nature, with great simplicity, 
 whispered, " Beware of temptation." And, with an 
 ignorance quite as simple, we supposed that the 
 thieves of grace would be found lurking in large 
 rooms, at ambush behind cornices reproduced from 
 old Rome, or in stately appearances ! How little did 
 we suspect that these were harmless, and that very 
 different elements were to moth our patience ! 
 
 But let a little preliminary exultation of a new 
 man in a new place be forgiven, ye who are now 
 i A 
 
2 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 established ! Remember your own household fervor 
 on first setting up, while we recount our economic joy, 
 and anticipations of modern conveniences that would 
 take away all human care, and speed life upon a down 
 hill path, where it was to be easier to move than to 
 stand still ! Everything was admirable ! The attic 
 had within it a tank so large as better to be called a 
 reservoir. Down from it ran the serviceable pipes to 
 every part of the dwelling. Each chamber had its 
 invisible water-maid in the wall, ready to spring the 
 floods upon you by the mere turn of your hand ; then 
 the bath-room, with tub, douche, shower, and indeed 
 various and universal squirt, up, down, and promis 
 cuous. The kitchen, too, the tubs with water wait 
 ing to leap into them, the long cylinder by the side of 
 the fire, as if the range had its baby wrapped up, and 
 set perpendicular in the corner to nurse. But great 
 est of all admirations was the furnace ! This, too, 
 was interframed with the attic tank ; for it was a 
 hot-water furnace. For a time this was our peculiar 
 pride. The water flowed down into a system of coiled 
 tubes, which were connected with the boiler surround 
 ing the furnace fire. The idea was, when the water 
 got as hot as it could well bear, that it should frisk 
 out of one end of the boiler into the pipes, and round 
 through the whole system, and come back into the 
 other end cooled off. Thus a complete arterial system 
 was established, the boiler being the heart, the water 
 the blood, the pipes at the hot end the arteries, and 
 the return pipes at the cool end the veins ; the 
 whole enclosed in a brick chamber, from which the 
 air warmed by this liquid heat was given off to the 
 dwelling. It was a day of great glory when we 
 
MODERN CONVENIENCES AND FIRST-CLASS HOUSES. 3 
 
 thought- the chill in the air required a fire in the 
 furnace. The fact was that we wanted to play with 
 our pet, and were half vexed with the old conserva 
 tive thermometer, that would not come down, and 
 admit that it was cold enough for a fire. However, 
 we do not recollect ever afterwards to have been so 
 eager. 
 
 In the first place, we never could raise enough heat 
 to change the air in the house more than from cold 
 to chill. We piled in the coal, and watched the ther 
 mometer ; ran down for coal again, and ran back to 
 watch the thermometer. We brought home coal, 
 exchanged glances over the bill with the consulting 
 partner, and made silent estimates of the expenses 
 t)f the whole winter, if this were but the beginning. 
 But there was the old red dragon in the cellar devour 
 ing coal remorselessly, with his long iron tail folded 
 and coiled in the furnace chamber without heat. 
 Thus, for a series of weeks, we fired off the furnace 
 in the cellar at the thermometer in the parlor, and 
 never hit. But we did accomplish other things. 
 Once the fire was driven so hard that steam began 
 to form and rumble and blow off, very innocently ; 
 but the girls did not know that, and took to their 
 heels for fear of being blown up. When the cause 
 was discovered, the remedy was not easy, for the 
 furnace bottom was immovable, and the fire could 
 not be let down. But our Joan of Arc assailed the 
 enemy i his own camp, and threw a bucket of water 
 into the fire. This produced several effects ; it put 
 out the fire, it also put out so much gas, steam, and 
 ashes that the maiden was quite put out also. And 
 more than all, it cracked the boiler. But this we did 
 
4 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 not know till some time afterwards. There were a 
 few days of comparative rest. The weather was mild 
 out of doors, and cold within. It was soon reported 
 that one of the pipes was stopped up in the chamber, 
 for the water would not flow. The plumber was sent 
 for. He was already well acquainted with the way 
 to the house. He brought upon himself a laugh of 
 ridicule by suggesting that the water had given out 
 in the tank ! Water given out ? We turned in 
 wardly pale behind the outward red of laughing. 
 We thought we had a pocket-ocean up stairs. Up 
 we marched, climbed up the sides, peered down to 
 the dirty bottom of an emptied tank ! Alas ! the 
 whole house was symmetrically connected. Every 
 thing depended upon this tank ; the furnace in the 
 cellar, the range in the kitchen, the laundry depart 
 ment, all the washing apparatus of the chambers, 
 the convenient china-closet sink, where things were 
 to be washed without going down stairs, the entry 
 closets, and almost everything else, except the door 
 bell, were made to go by water, and now the universal 
 motive power was gone ! A new system of con 
 veniences was now developed. We stationed an Irish 
 engine at the force-pump to throw up water into the 
 tank from the street cistern. Blessings be on that 
 cistern in the street ! No man knew how deep that 
 was. Like the pond in every village, nobody had 
 ever found bottom. And so we limped along for a 
 few days. Meanwhile, the furnace having Been ex 
 amined, the secret of all this trouble was detected. 
 The life-blood of the house had been oozing and flow 
 ing away through this furnace ! How much would 
 it cost to repair it? More money than a hot-air 
 
MODERN CONVENIENCES AND FIRST-CLASS HOUSES. 5 
 
 furnace would cost, and half more than that ! So we 
 determined to clear out the pet. Alas, (again,) how 
 we fondled the favorite at first, and how contemptu 
 ously we kicked it at last ! It is said that no one is 
 a whole man ; we have partial gifts. In our own 
 case, the gift of buying was liberally bestowed, but 
 the talent for selling was either withheld or lay an 
 undeveloped embryo. How to sell the old furnace 
 and to get a new one ! There is a great psychological 
 experience there. We aroused ourselves, gave several 
 days to contemplation, laid aside all other cares, ran 
 from furnace to furnace, saw six or eight patterns, 
 each one of which was better than all the others, and 
 all of them were able to evolve vast quantities of heat, 
 with an imaginary amount of fuel. But fortune, that 
 had so long persecuted us, did not presume to destroy 
 us yet, and, as a cat with a rat, let us out of its paws 
 for a moment s ease. In other words, we arranged 
 with Messrs. Richardson & Boynton to put their fur 
 nace in the place of the hot-air gentleman in black. 
 And to this hour we have been glad of it. A winter 
 and a half on Brooklyn Heights will put any furnace 
 to proof. And we are prepared to defy the north 
 wind, the west, or the boisterous southwest. They 
 may heap winter as high as they please without, we 
 have summer within. 
 
 But the changing! It was mid-winter. The 
 mild weather took this chance to go South, and got 
 in its place the niggardliest fellow that ever stood sen 
 tinel in Kamtschatka. The cellar was divided from 
 the kitchen in part by this furnace. For two or three 
 weeks they were chiselling the tubes apart, and getting 
 the rubbish out of the way ; masons, tenders, iron- 
 
6 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 men, old iron and new iron, tin pipes, carpenters, and 
 new air-boxes, girls and dinner, the Irishman wheez 
 ing at the pump, all mixed in such confusion, 
 that language under the tower of Babel was a eupho 
 nious literature in comparison. Sometimes, as we 
 walked out, our good and loving deacons, in a delicate 
 way, would warn us of the danger of being puffed up 
 with the pride of a stylish house ! 
 
 At length, after nearly six weeks of the coldest 
 weather of the season, the new furnace took charge 
 of the house. Water returned to the attic. The 
 girls no longer dreaded being blown up by the boiler 
 at the range. But the report came up that the sinks 
 were stopped. After investigation, the kitchen floor 
 must be ripped up, the great waste-pipe reached by 
 digging, and laid open. Broken tumblers, plates, and 
 cups stopped up the pipes. Another week for this. 
 Just as we were sitting down to a dangerous peace, 
 we walked to the window one morning, to see that our 
 yard had disappeared ! The roof of the store on 
 which it was laid had given way, and carried down 
 all the earth, crashing through the four stories to the 
 ground ! Just one thing more was needed, that the 
 house itself should slide off bodily, and dump itself 
 into the East River! Yet the misfortune was not 
 without comfort. The store was used for grinding 
 drugs. Ten thousand pounds of salts, ipecac, rhu 
 barb, strychnine, and such like delicacies, were hid 
 den beneath a hundred tons of earth, the medicine 
 being, where many people for whom it was destined 
 would have been, buried under ground. For several 
 weeks afterwards, I think the bills of mortality im 
 proved in the region around. 
 
MODERN CONVENIENCES AND FIRST-CLASS HOUSES. 7 
 
 There were a great number of other things exceed 
 ingly convenient in our house. The water-pipe from 
 the roof to the front cistern was carried down within 
 
 * 
 
 the wall to the ground. The bitter cold froze it up. 
 Nobody could get at it. We salted it, we poked hot 
 irons into the tap, we took counsel, and finally let it 
 alone. The cornice leaked, the walls were damp, the 
 ceiling threatened to come off; our neighbor s pipe 
 discharged so much of its contents on the ground as 
 to saturate the wall in our basement entry, the area 
 overflowed into the cellar, we dug a cess-pool to let it 
 off, and cut through the cistern pipe leading to the 
 kitchen pump. It could not be soldered with water 
 in it, and the cistern must be run dry before that 
 could be fixed. The attic tank gave out again. No 
 water ! 
 
 " "Water, water everywhere, 
 And not a drop " 
 
 to wash with. Then came on a system of begging. 
 We took the neighborhood in order, and went from 
 house to house, till we exhausted the patience and 
 the cisterns of every friend within reach. Then we 
 betook ourselves to the street pump, and for two 
 months we and the milkman subsisted upon that. 
 
 There was a grand arrangement of bells at our 
 front door which seldom failed to make everybody out 
 side mad because they would not ring, or everybody 
 inside mad because they rang so furiously. The con 
 trivance was, that two bells should be rung by one 
 wire ; a common bell in the servants entry, and a 
 gong in the upper entry. The bell-train was so heavy 
 to draw, that it never operated till the man got angry 
 and pulled with the strength of an ox. But then it 
 
went off with such a crash and jingle, -that one would 
 think a band of music with all its cymbals had fallen 
 through the sky-light down into the entry. Thus, 
 women, children, and modest men seldom got in, and 
 sturdy beggars had it all their own way. It was 
 quite edifying to see experiments performed on that 
 bell. A man would first give a modest pull, and 
 then reflect what he was about to say. No one com 
 ing, he gave a longer pull, and returned to waiting 
 and meditation. A third pull was the preface to step 
 ping back, surveying the windows, looking into the 
 area, when, seeing signs of unquestionable habitation, 
 he returns with flushed face to the bell ; now for it ! 
 He pulls as if he held a line by the side of a river 
 with a thirty-pound salmon on it ; while all the bells 
 go off, up and down, till the house seemed full of 
 bells. Things are not mended when he finds the 
 gentleman of the house is not at home ! We fear 
 that much grace has been lost at that front door. 
 
 In the midst of these luxuries of a first-class house, 
 we sometimes would look wistfully out of the window, 
 tempted to envy the unconscious happiness of our 
 two-story neighbors. They had no conveniences^ and 
 were at peace ; while we had all manner of conven 
 iences, that drove us up and down stairs ; now to 
 keep the flood out, and then to bring it in ; now to 
 raise a heat, then to keep off a conflagration, so that 
 we were but little better off at home than are those 
 innocently insane people who leave home every sum 
 mer, and go into the country to take care of twenty 
 trunks for two months. But the cruellest thing of all, 
 as we stood at the window, was the pious looks of 
 passers-by, who seemed to say with their eyes, " A 
 
MODERN CONVENIENCES AND FIRST-CLASS HOUSES. 9 
 
 man cannot expect much grace that lives in such a 
 fine house." 
 
 It has certainly been a means of grace to us ! Never 
 such a field for patience, such humbling of expecta 
 tions and high looks. If it would not seem like 
 trifling with serious subjects, when asked how one 
 might attain to perfection, we should advise him to 
 buy a first-class house with modern improvements, 
 and live in it for a year. If that did not fit him for 
 translation, he might well despair of any chance. 
 
 Ye who envy us, will you exchange with us ? Ye 
 who laugh sarcastically at ministerial luxury, will you 
 lend us your sackcloth and take our conveniences ? 
 But those who do live in houses full of conveniences 
 will henceforth be our fast friends. They will say, 
 What if lie is abolitionist, and we pro-slavery ? What 
 if he is radical, and we conservative ? The poor 
 fellow lives in a first-class house, and is punished 
 enough without our adding to his misfortunes ! 
 
 Meanwhile we practise the same charity. We rail 
 no more at Fifth Avenue, and admire what saintly 
 virtue enables so many to carry cheerful faces, who 
 live in houses with even more conveniences than ours. 
 We are grateful for our happier lot. Though we are 
 worse off than people in two-story houses, how much 
 better are we placed than if we lived in Fifth Avenue ! 
 
 We bear our burden patiently, knowing that in the 
 very moment of despair persons are at the very point 
 of deliverance. Who knows but he may have a fire 
 as well as his neighbors? One hour would suffice to 
 set a man free from all his troubles, and permit him 
 to walk the streets at liberty, unharassed by plumb 
 ers, carpenters, tinners, glaziers, gas-fixers, carpet- 
 i* 
 
10 EYES AND EYES. 
 
 fitters, bell-hangers, and the whole tribe of bell- 
 pullers ! 
 
 We are now living at peace. We are in a plain 
 two-story country house, without " conveniences." 
 We are recruiting. Nothing gets out of order. We 
 do not wake to hear water trickling from bursted 
 pipes ; we have no chandelier to fall down ; the gas 
 never leaks ; we are not afraid to use our furniture ; 
 our chairs have no linen clothes on ; the carpets are 
 without drugget. The children bless the country and 
 a country house, in which they are not always scratch 
 ing something, or hitting something with shoe, or 
 button, or finger-nails. And we already feel that a 
 few weeks more will so far invigorate us that we shall 
 be able to return for a ten months life in a modern 
 house with conveniences. 
 
 * 
 
 THE DOG NOBLE, AND THE EMPTY HOLE. 
 
 August 7, 1856. 
 
 HE first summer which we spent in Lenox, 
 we had along a very intelligent dog, named 
 Noble. He was learned in many things, 
 and by his dog-lore excited the undying ad 
 miration of all the children. But there were some 
 things which Noble could never learn. Having on 
 one occasion seen a red squirrel run into a hole in a 
 stone wall, he could not be persuaded that he was not 
 there forevermore. 
 
 Several red squirrels lived close to the house, and 
 
THE DOG NOBLE, AND THE EMPTY HOLE. 11 
 
 had become familiar, but not tame. They kept up a 
 regular romp with Noble. They would come down 
 from the maple-trees with provoking coolness ; they 
 would run along the fence almost within reach ; they 
 would cock their tails and sail across the road to the 
 barn ; and yet there was such a well-timed calculation 
 under all this apparent rashness, that Noble invariably 
 arrived at the critical spot just as the squirrel left it. 
 
 On one occasion Noble was so close upon his red- 
 backed friend that, unable to get up the maple-tree, 
 he dodged into a hole in the wall, ran through the 
 chinks, emerged at a little distance, and sprung into 
 the tree. The intense enthusiasm of the dog at that 
 hole can hardly be described. He filled it full of 
 barking. He pawed and scratched as if undermining 
 a bastion. Standing off at a little distance, he would 
 pierce the hole with a gaze as intense and fixed as if 
 lie were trying magnetism on it. Then, with tail 
 extended, and, every hair thereon electrified, he would 
 rush at the empty hole with a prodigious onslaught. 
 
 This imaginary squirrel haunted Noble night and 
 day. The very squirrel himself would run up before 
 his face into the tree, and, crouched in a crotch, would 
 sit silently watching the whole process of bombarding 
 the empty hole, with great sobriety and relish. But 
 Noble would allow of no doubts. His conviction that 
 that hole had a squirrel in it continued unshaken for 
 six weeks. When all other occupations failed, this hole 
 remained to him. When there were no more chickens 
 to harry, no pigs to bite, no cattle to chase, no chil 
 dren to romp with, no expeditions to make with the 
 grown folks, and when he had slept all that his dog 
 skin would hold, he would walk out of the yard, yawn 
 
12 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 and stretch himself, and then look wistfully at the 
 hole, as if thinking to himself, " Well, as there is 
 nothing else to do, I may as well try that hole again ! " 
 
 We had almost forgotten this little trait, until the 
 conduct of the New York Express, in respect to 
 Colonel Fremont s religion, brought it ludicrously to 
 mind again. Colonel Fremont is, and always has 
 been, as sound a Protestant as John Knox ever was. 
 He was bred in the Protestant faith, and has never 
 changed. He is unacquainted with the doctrines and 
 ceremonies of the Catholic Church, and has never 
 attended the services of that Church, with two or 
 three exceptions, when curiosity, or some extrinsic 
 reason, led him as a witness. We do not state this 
 upon vague belief. We know what we say. We say 
 it upon our own personal honor and proper knowl 
 edge. Colonel Fremont never was, and is not now, a 
 Roman Catholic. He has never been wont to attend 
 that Church. Nor has he in any way, directly or in 
 directly, given occasion for this report. 
 
 It is a gratuitous falsehood, utter, barren, abso 
 lute, and unqualified. The story has been got up for 
 political effect. It is still circulated for that reason, 
 and, like other political lies, it is a sheer, unscrupu 
 lous falsehood, from top to bottom, from the core to 
 the skin, and from the skin back to the core again. 
 In all its parts, in pulp, tegument, rind, cell, and 
 seed, it is a thorough and total untruth, and they who 
 spread it bear false witness. And as to all the stories 
 of the Fulmer, etc., as to supposed conversations with 
 Fremont, in which he defended the mass, and what 
 not, they are pure fictions. They never happened. 
 The authors of them are slanderers ; the men to be- 
 
THE DOG NOBLE, AND THE EMPTY HOLE. 13 
 
 lieve them are dupes ; the men who spread them 
 become indorsers of wilful and corrupt libellers. 
 
 But the Express, like Noble, has opened on this 
 hole in the wall, and can never be done barking at it. 
 Day after day it resorts to this empty hole. When 
 everything else fails, this resource remains. There 
 they are, indefatigably, the Express and Noble, a 
 church without a Fremont, and a hole without a 
 squirrel in it ! 
 
 In some respects, however, the dog had the advan 
 tage. Sometimes we thought that he really believed 
 that there was a squirrel there. But at other times 
 he apparently had an inkling of the ridiculousness of 
 his conduct, for he would drop his tail, and walk 
 towards us with his tongue out, and his eyes a little 
 aslant, seeming to say : " My dear sir, you don t 
 understand a dog s feelings. I should of course much 
 prefer a squirrel, but if I can t have that, an empty 
 hole is better than nothing. I imagine how I would 
 catch him if he was there. Besides, people who pass 
 by don t know the facts. They think that I have got 
 something. It is needful to keep up my reputation 
 for sagacity. Besides, to tell the truth, I have looked 
 into that hole so long that I have half persuaded 
 myself that there is a squirrel there, or will be, if I 
 keep on." 
 
 Well, every dog must have his day, and every dog 
 must have his way. No doubt if we were to bring 
 back Noble now, after two summers absence, he 
 would make straight for that hole in the wall with 
 just as much zeal as ever. 
 
 We never read the Express, now-a-days, without 
 thinking involuntarily, " Goodness ! the dog is letting 
 off at that hole again." ^ 
 
14 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 LITCHFIELD KEVISITED. 
 
 HE progression of life is so simple, and, in 
 the greatest number of persons, so quiet, 
 that men only know, at length, that they 
 are changed, but seldom perceive the pro 
 cess of changing. We know that we are no longer 
 boys, but cannot tell when we crossed the line. We 
 are conscious that we have reached manhood, and 
 that youth has departed. But so gently did it go, 
 that we are as those who listen to a bird singing in 
 a tree. After it has flown, they listen still, and only 
 know its flight because it no longer sings. 
 
 But now and then we are turned back, and brought 
 face to face with the past, in such a way that two lives 
 gaze at each other ; and we walk as if one identity 
 had two expressions. 
 
 The recollections of the past beat upon the heart, 
 and we stood in its door, as a parent to whom comes 
 back the child not seen for scores of years, uncertain 
 whether to doubt or to accept the familiar strangeness. 
 After long absence, let any one revisit the scenes of 
 his childhood home, and see whether these things be 
 not so. There will be a soft bewilderment, a sad joy 
 of excitement, which, perhaps, one may not be able 
 to analyze, but which is, in fact, the flowing together 
 of the two great streams of life, the past and the 
 present. 
 
 Surely, Old Litchfield was a blessed place for one s 
 birth and childhood. Although there were no moun 
 tains, there were hills, the oldest-born of moun 
 tains ; high, round, and innumerable. Great trees 
 
LITCHFIELD REVISITED. 15 
 
 there were ; full of confidences with the wind that 
 chastised them in winter, and kissed and caressed 
 them all the summer. The roar of winter winds to 
 our young ears was terrible as the thunder of waves 
 or the noise of battle. All night long the cold, shel 
 terless trees moaned. Their strong crying penetrated 
 our sleep, and shaped our dreams. At every waking, 
 the air was full of mighty winds. The house creaked 
 and strained, and, at some more furious gust, shud 
 dered and trembled all over. Then the windows rat 
 tled, the cracks and crevices whistled each its own 
 distinctive note, and the chimneys, like diapasons in 
 an organ, had their deep and hollow rumble. Each 
 room had its own note, and, if carried blindfold, we 
 could have told the rooms over all the house by the 
 peculiar wind-sound which each had. 
 
 Next to the winds, our night-experiences in early 
 boyhood were much affected by rats. The old house 
 seems to have been a favorite of this curious vermin. 
 There is something in the short, hot glitter of a rat s 
 eye that has never ceased to affect us unpleasantly. 
 We could not help imagining them to be the mere 
 receptacles of mischievous spirits, and their keen eyes 
 had always a kind of mocking expression, as if they 
 said, " You think we are rats, but if we get hold of 
 you, you will know that we are a good deal more than 
 that." We never could estimate how many populated 
 our old house. The walls seemed like city thorough 
 fares, arid the ceiling like a Forum or a Roman thea 
 tre. We used to lie in bed and marvel at what was 
 going on. Sometimes there would be a great still 
 ness, as if they had all gone to meeting. Then again 
 they would troop about with such a swell of liberty 
 
16 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 and gladness, that it was quite plain that the meeting 
 was out. But nothing ever scared and amused us so 
 much as their way of going up and down the parti 
 tions. At first, up would come one, then another, 
 and finally quite a bevy, squeaking and frolicking, as 
 if they were schoolboys going up stairs, nipping each 
 other and cutting up all manner of pranks. Then 
 came a stillness. Next, a premonitory rat would rush 
 down, evidently full of news, and immediately down 
 would pour after him a stream of rats, rushing like 
 mad, and apparently tumbling heels over head. By 
 and by, some old sawyer would commence where he 
 left off the night before, cutting the same partition. 
 To this must be added nibblings, rat-nestled paper, ah 
 occasional race of rats across the bed, the manipula 
 tion of corn in the garret, the forays with cats and 
 kittens, the rat-engines, "steel-traps," "box-traps," 
 "figure-fours," and all manner of devices, in spite 
 of which the rats held their own, and, if allowed suf 
 frage, would have out-voted the whole family, dog and 
 cats to boot, four to one. 
 
 The morning after our arrival in Litchfield we sal 
 lied forth alone. The day was high and wide, full of 
 stillness, and serenely radiant. As we carried our 
 present life up the North Street, we met at every step 
 our boyhood life coming down. There were the old 
 trees, but looking not so large as to our young eyes. 
 The stately road had, however, been bereaved of the 
 button-ball trees, which had been crippled by disease. 
 But the old elms retained a habit peculiar to Litch 
 field. There seems to be a current of wind which at 
 times passes high up in the air over the town, and 
 which moves the tops of the trees, while on the ground 
 
LITCHFIELD REVISITED. 17 
 
 there is no movement of wind. How vividly did that 
 sound from above bring back early days, when for 
 hours we lay upon the windless grass, and watched 
 the top leaves flutter, and marked how still were the 
 under leaves of the same trees ! 
 
 One by one came the old houses. On the corner 
 stood and stands the jail, awful building to young 
 sinners ! We never passed its grated windows with 
 out a salutary chill. The old store, and the same old 
 name, Buell, on it ; the bank, and its long, lean legs 
 spindling up to hold the shelf up under the roof! 
 The Colonel Tallmadge house, that used to seem so 
 grand that it was cold, but whose cherry-trees in the 
 front-yard seemed warm enough and attractive to our 
 longing lips and watery mouth. How well do we 
 remember the stately gait of the venerable Colonel of 
 Revolutionary memory ! We do not recollect that 
 he ever spoke to us or greeted us. Not because he 
 was austere or unkind, but from a kind of military 
 reserve. We thought him good and polite, but should 
 as soon have thought of climbing the church steeple 
 as of speaking to one living so high and venerable 
 above all boys ! 
 
 Then came Judge Gould s ! Did we not remember 
 that, and the faces that used to illumine it ? The 
 polished and polite judge, the sons and daughters, the 
 little office in the yard, the successive classes of law 
 students that received here that teaching which has 
 since so often honored both bar and bench. Here, 
 too, and we stopped to retrace the very place, being 
 set on by a fiery young Southern blood, without any 
 cause that we knew of then or can remember now, 
 we undertook to whip one of Judge Gould s sons, and 
 
18 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 did not do it. We never were satisfied with the re 
 sult, and think if the thing could be reviewed now it 
 might turn out differently. 
 
 There, too, stood Dr. Catlin s house, looking as if 
 the rubs of time had polished it, instead of injuring. 
 Next there seemed to our puzzled memory a vacancy. 
 Ought there not to be about there a Holmes house, 
 to which we used to go and get baskets of Virgaloo 
 pears, and were inwardly filled, as a satisfying method 
 of keeping us honest toward the pears in the basket ? 
 
 But Dr. Sheldon s house is all right. Dear old Dr. 
 Sheldon ! We began to get well as soon as he came 
 into the house. Or if the evil spirit delayed, a little 
 " cream o tartar, with hot water poured upon it, and 
 sweetened," finished the work. He had learned, long 
 before the days of homoeopathy, that a doctor s chief 
 business is to keep parents from giving their children 
 medicine, so that Nature may have a fair chance at 
 the disease, without having its attention divided or 
 diverted. 
 
 But now we stop before Miss Pierce s, a name 
 known in thousands of families, when gray-haired 
 mothers remember the soft and gentle days of Litch- 
 field schooling ! The fine residence is well preserved, 
 and time hath been gentle within likewise. But the 
 school-house is gone, and she that for so many years 
 kept it busy is gone, and the throng that have crossed 
 its threshold brood the whole globe with offices of 
 maternal love. The Litchfield Law School, in the 
 days of Judge Tapping Reeve and Judge Gould, and 
 Miss Pierce s Female School, were, in their day, two 
 very memorable institutions ; and, though since sup 
 planted by others upon a larger scale, there are few 
 
LITCHFIELD REVISITED. 19 
 
 that will have performed so much, if we take into 
 account the earliness of the times, and the fact that 
 they were pioneers and parents of those that have 
 supplanted them. But they are gone, the buildings 
 moved off, and the ground smoothed, and soft to the 
 foot with green grass. No more shall the setting sun 
 see Litchfield streets thronged with young gentlemen 
 and ladies, and filling the golden air with laughter, 
 or low converse which, un-laughing then, made life 
 musical forever after ! 
 
 But where is the Brace house ? An old red house, 
 red once, but picked at by winds, and washed by rains, 
 till the color was neutral. Thanks to the elements, 
 the old elm-trees guard the spot, a brotherhood as 
 noble as these eyes have ever seen, lifted high up, and 
 in the part nearest heaven locking their arms together, 
 and casting back upon their separate trunks and bole 
 an undivided shade. So are many, separate in root 
 and trunk, united far up by their heaven-touching 
 thoughts and affections. 
 
 Mrs. Lord s house is the only one now before we 
 reach our own native spot. This, too, holds its own, 
 and is fertile in memories. Across the way lived 
 Sheriff Landon, famous for dry wit and strong poli 
 tics. A thread there spun has stretched far down 
 into later time, and been woven in the light and dark 
 of after-figures in the fabric of life. But south of 
 him lived the greatest man in town, Mr. Parkes, that 
 owned the stages ! and the wittiest man in town with 
 us boys was Hiram Barnes, that drove stage for him ! 
 To be sure, neither of them were eminent for learn 
 ing or civil influence. But in that temple which boys 
 imaginations make, a stage-proprietor and a stage- 
 
20 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 driver stand forth as grand as Minerva in the Par 
 thenon ! 
 
 But there are houses on the other side. The eastern 
 side of Litchfield North Street, like the eastern side of 
 Broadway, was never so acceptable to fashion, albeit 
 some memorable names lived there. It was our good 
 fortune to be born on the west side of the street. We 
 know not what blessings must have descended upon 
 us from having been born on the fashionable side of 
 the street. One shudders to think how near he escaped 
 being born on the other side, the east side of the 
 street. 
 
 But there is our own old home ! Of this we must 
 not speak at the end of a long article. 
 
 * 
 
 PHRENOLOGY. 
 How TO MAKE PREACHING HIT. 
 
 HE Rev. Henry Ward Beecher is quoted as 
 having said in a sermon that he believed 
 Phrenology, and owed to the " practical 
 knowledge of the human soul " thence 
 acquired whatever success he had had " in bringing 
 the truths of the Gospel to bear practically upon the 
 minds of men." The Catholic Herald thinks there is 
 something in this, but suggests to Mr. Beecher that 
 there is a lack of desirable certainty in this process 
 of gathering the character of one s congregation by 
 surveying the cranial developments, and that they 
 have something far better. 
 
PHRENOLOGY. 21 
 
 " Now, just where Phrenology fails, the confessional 
 succeeds. No bumps are studied, and no character 
 istic is guessed at. The penitent says plainly and 
 distinctly, Thus and thus I thought, and thus and 
 thus I did. So I acted, and so I failed to act. 
 
 " If he says, I took that wrongfully which was 
 another s, it is not necessary that the confessor 
 should know that there is a bump of accretiveness. 
 If he say, I have been violent, and struck my asso 
 ciate, what is the need of knowing that he has a 
 development of the organ of combativeness. If 
 he is sinful in thought, and not in act, the tendency 
 is better manifested by confession than by physical 
 development ; and in all cases the teacher in the 
 confessional is close to him, and ready to give the 
 advice, adminster the commonition or discipline, or 
 offer consolation and encouragement, that the whole 
 circumstances of the case demand. 
 
 " Mr. Beecher asks the head of his hearers, that 
 he may deal with the concerns of their souls, while a 
 Catholic priest says, My son, give me thy heart. 
 
 The Examiner, a Baptist paper of New York, 
 adds : " It may be allowed a third party to suggest, 
 that both methods have some defect. The phreno 
 logical inference is not infallible ; the penitent may 
 not tell the full and exact truth. What then ? " 
 
 In regard to this matter of Phrenology, a few words 
 may not be amiss. 
 
 1. When we employ the term Phrenology, it con 
 veys to our mind no such idea as a science of bumps, 
 as it is vulgarly called : nor is it Craniology, or a 
 science of the skull. It is the science of the mind. 
 It includes within its circle the nature, conditions, 
 
22 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 and habits of the human mind, as far as they are 
 known. 
 
 The only thing which many people suppose Phre 
 nology to teach is, that mental traits can be discovered 
 by the conformation of the head. But this is its least 
 value. It is not unimportant. It has a degree of use 
 in practical life. But, in the nature of the case, it 
 alone will be serviceable principally in exaggerated 
 and imperfect heads, and doubtful and difficult in pro 
 portion as one s mind is generally and evenly de 
 veloped. Phrenology assumes the brain to be the 
 organ of the mind. It teaches that the brain is not a 
 simple unity, but a congeries of organs ; that special 
 faculties employ several special portions of the brain 
 for their manifestation ; that the skull, in general, 
 conforms to the brain, and indicates the size of its 
 different parts. But, then, what is the quality of the 
 substance of the brain ? is it fine and healthy ? or is 
 it coarse and flabby ? This must be known, also ; 
 and it is to be judged by the general appearance of 
 the man, his temperament, skin, muscle, etc. In like 
 manner, the quantity and quality of blood which 
 flows upon the brain and stimulates it, determine the 
 power of action to a certain degree, and this must be 
 judged by the size of the organs of digestion, of aera 
 tion, and of propulsion, or, in other words, by the 
 form and perfection of the organs of the trunk. The 
 head alone does not indicate character. But the 
 head, the texture of the skin and muscle, the build of 
 the body, and, lastly, the expression of the face, pos 
 ture, gesture. It takes the whole man to be the 
 proper index of man. And Phrenology, as the sci 
 ence of the mind, includes in its circuit whatever the 
 
PHRENOLOGY. 23 
 
 mind uses, and whatever in the human body aids, 
 modifies, or influences the mind. Of course, Physi 
 ognomy, Physiology, etc., are, to a degree, included 
 in its limits. 
 
 We are far from regarding Phrenology as a com 
 pleted science. Indeed, we believe that more yet 
 remains to be done than has been done. But ado 
 lescent and undeveloped as it yet is, we regard it as 
 incomparably beyond anything which has been re 
 garded as a science of mind. 
 
 2. Although a knowledge of Organology, and a 
 certain facility of judging men s nature from the 
 structure, is desirable, yet, if one did not know a sin 
 gle external phase of Phrenology, if he accepted its 
 classification and division of faculties, and its laws of 
 combination and activity, he would derive from these 
 more advantage in the use of himself, and in his 
 judgment of others, than could be had from all other 
 systems. And this, chiefly, because the faculties are 
 precise and specific, discriminated one from another, 
 and consonant with the experiences and observations 
 of men in daily life. 
 
 We do not say, that to a Phrenologist the human 
 soul becomes clear as crystal ; that he can walk about 
 and read men like large printed placards. No such 
 thing! There is great skill required, much experi 
 ence, careful observation, and even then there will 
 be many mistakes made, and much found that will 
 baffle the most penetrating. All that can be said 
 properly is, that practical Phrenology adds very 
 largely to our stock of knowledge, that it simplifies 
 many things which in other systems are obscure, that 
 it very materially helps us even when it does not give 
 
24 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 us the whole, and especially, that it gives us the right 
 direction of research, and the right method, so that 
 whatever we do read is more likely to be sober truth, 
 than the results of the spider-systems of philosophy, 
 in which each philosopher spun his theory in some 
 corner, from the web-bag of his own personal con 
 sciousness, and left his starved disciples to hang upon 
 it like flies upon cobwebs. 
 
 3. The usefulness of Phrenology to a minister of 
 the Gospel is to be settled by asking the question, 
 Is it beneficial to a teacher and healer of the mind to 
 know what the human mind is, and what are the laws 
 of its action? 
 
 It is a mere impertinence to say that the knowledge 
 of the human mind, or of Phrenology or the science 
 of mind, will not secure a man from mistakes. Noth 
 ing will secure a man from mistakes but Death. 
 That settles everything very accurately. 
 
 Are not the sciences of Anatomy and Physiology to 
 be studied ? and yet the most skilful physician blun 
 ders every day of his life. Is there no use in mechan 
 ics, because the artisan commits mistakes ? Ought 
 not an artist to dissect and study the human structure, 
 because the best-instructed students err in drawing ? 
 
 No man will ever know the human soul so well as 
 to be able to judge rightly, trace skilfully and aim 
 accurately, every time. Man is too vast an organiza 
 tion to be judged as we would a fly. Men, acting 
 in masses, played upon by a thousand diverse influ 
 ences, changing their fancies every hour, yet under 
 all changes true to some certain ruling impulses ; 
 strangely blended with good and evil, good and 
 evil that come and go as the shadows of wind-shaken 
 
PHRENOLOGY. 25 
 
 leaves do upon the tremulous waters, are not to be 
 known with the same precision as we know inanimate 
 things, or the simple and constant laws of nature. 
 
 But there is a great difference between knowing noth 
 ing and knowing something. There is a great benefit, 
 in practical affairs, in a degree of knowledge which is 
 altogether too vague for scientific uses ; and no minis 
 ter of the Gospel can afford to be without a practical 
 knowledge of men, and in gaining that, nothing will 
 aid him more than a use of the materials afforded by 
 Phrenology. And if, when he has done all that he can, 
 he finds that he is far from a perfect understanding 
 of man in all the mazes of his daily activities, he will 
 still know vastly more than if he had not at all ex 
 plored the springs of action and the laws of activity. 
 
 Our Roman Catholic friend must be simple indeed, 
 if he thinks that the Confessional is the grand means 
 of knowledge. A few overt actions may be found out 
 there. But what does it reveal of the inward states, 
 the multitude of fancies, the swarm of thoughts that 
 spring and spread themselves in an instant the world 
 over, like the rosy flushes of sunset rays, spread through 
 half a hemisphere in a moment, and in a moment 
 retracted and vanished, of all those dark passions 
 that lurk, but never appear, of those moods of mind 
 that have no language, that never form themselves 
 into ideas, and that yet do fever the whole being and 
 change the complexion of thought and purpose ? 
 
 One might as well suppose that he could learn the 
 whole mystery of generation and life, because he heard 
 the hen cackle when she laid her egg, as to suppose 
 that the priest knows the human soul, because the 
 thief told his theft and the murderer his crime. 
 
 2 * 
 
26 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE COUNTRY. 
 
 Mountain Rest, Matteawan, August, 1857. 
 
 N returning from an excursion the other 
 day, one of the children called our summer 
 home the Mountain Rest. That, then, shall 
 be its name, most fitly given. It lies snugly, 
 close up under the North Beacon. The North and 
 South Beacons form the two sides of an immense 
 mountain bowl, and the highest point is marked upon 
 local maps as 1,650 feet high. If we were any nearer 
 to the mountain, we should be on it. We touch the 
 hem of its garment. We are adopted into its favor. 
 Every day it breathes a blessing upon us. All the 
 loose winds that fly about without anybody to take 
 care of them in the high pastures of the upper realm, 
 it collects in its shepherd bosom, and, feeding them 
 with moistness and the balsamic odors of pine-leaves 
 and other evergreens, it sends them down upon us in 
 refreshing draughts and puffs. Yonder, in parcels, 
 lies the Hudson ; beyond it the sparkling city of New- 
 burg, most beautiful in the distance. At night its 
 windows, star-like, speak through the dark air of hun 
 dreds of families gathered for the evening. And Pow 
 ell s factory, close upon the water s edge, with its 
 lines of brilliant lights, is like a fiery-eyed battalion 
 watching the ford, or ferry rather. Farther back 
 swells up a young mountain, behind Newburg, just 
 large enough to hang clouds on for splendid sunsets ; 
 and farthest of all, the long blue horizon line made 
 by the Shawangunk mountains, the bound of our 
 sight, to whose level summits the sun attracts our 
 
LETTERS FEOM THE COUNTRY. 27 
 
 evening eyes, and rewards them by ten thousand val 
 iant feats of clouds and colors. South of us are the 
 Storm King mountains, and the pass of the Hudson 
 through the Highlands. 
 
 There is nothing so simple and apparently unchang 
 ing as are mountains. And yet there is no variety in 
 tree, in plain, in river or lake, that can be compared 
 to mountain variations. Upon nothing else does the 
 atmosphere work such wonderful effects. We do not 
 refer to those vast heights whose snow and ice-clad 
 summits play with such witching effects with light 
 and color ; but to our lower and home-bred moun 
 tains. This one behind us, not two thousand feet 
 high, is a solemn necromancer, forever putting forth 
 new fancies. 
 
 It wears one face in the morning ; it changes its 
 countenance at noon ; it surprises you with still an 
 other at night. It has one face for heat, and one for 
 the cold. It shags and beards itself with mists, look 
 ing down upon you venerable as a hoary seer. Then 
 it drives away every vestige of cloud, and reveals to 
 the eye each line, every depression, every crease and 
 crevice, with such plainness that it changes the whole 
 mountain expression, and you doubt whether you 
 have ever before seen it. A new picture stands be 
 fore you every day, and yet its identity is preserved, 
 so that it maintains its old associations with new sites 
 of beauty. Not a cloud can come near without pay 
 ing some tribute. Sometimes you shall see a vast 
 range of white, glistering clouds piled up in banks 
 and brilliant boulders, one upon another silently ris 
 ing up behind the green mountain, that thus appears 
 but a foreground figured upon this magnificent range 
 of air-mountains. 
 
28 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 At other times, fleets of clouds are seen piloting 
 their way quietly through the air, and letting down 
 their shadows upon the mountain-side, as if to anchor 
 there. But both cloud-ship and cloud-anchor move 
 on, dark below and white above ! It would seem as 
 if the smile of the cloud was the frown of the moun 
 tain. 
 
 But all these are mere fancies compared with the 
 grandeur of mountains when storms make them their 
 walking-ground. After long heat and dryness, the 
 mountains seem to shrink back, lose distinctness, and 
 become almost insignificant. The summer, which 
 shrivels vegetation with long droughts, seems to parch 
 and shrink the very rocks. But, suddenly, from the 
 South there come up the tokens of a thunder-storm. 
 Storms especially love mountain highways, and walk 
 upon their summits with a majesty unknown in low 
 lands. Upon such a theatre the spectacle, lifted up 
 above you, exhibits itself with a grandeur that recalls 
 the noble old conception, that God rides upon storms, 
 and tabernacles himself in clouds upon mountain-tops. 
 Indeed, we never see that half-scared motion of cloud- 
 folds rolling out from the interior, as if there were an 
 inner presence which drove forth the terrified mists, 
 and justified their fear by headlong thunderbolts and 
 fierce lightning-flashes, without an irresistible impres 
 sion of a real living agency at work within the storm ; 
 and that clouds are but the hiding of the Divine Pres 
 ence! 
 
 Nor is the imagination lessened when the murky 
 splendor passes on, and the mountain lifts up its 
 cleansed head and sides with such vivid green, and in 
 such clearness and exquisite beauty, that you feel as 
 
LETTERS FROM THE COUNTRY. 29 
 
 if they had been in communion with superior influ 
 ence, and had received a baptism from on high. This 
 never seemed more striking than yesterday. While 
 in church, in the morning, there came on a sudden 
 dash of rain and hail. We rode home with the moun 
 tains before us wearing robes of clouds, and grand 
 with flying storm. To look at these tops, and to re 
 call all the passages of the Old Testament which speak 
 divinely of mountains, would be a sermon more im 
 pressive than any from the living voice. 
 
 By the way, yesterday morning I was at the Metho 
 dist church here. A very pleasant room it is, and I 
 am told that a very worthy society occupy it. But I 
 have a most weighty charge to bring against the good 
 people, of musical apostasy. I had expected a treat 
 of good hearty singing. There were Charles Wesley s 
 hymns, and there were the good old Methodist tunes 
 that ancient piety loved and modern conceit laughs 
 atl Imagine my chagrin when, after reading the 
 hymn, up rose a choir from the shelf at the other end 
 of the church, and began to sing a monotonous tune 
 of the modern music-book style. The patient congre 
 gation stood up meekly to be sung to, as men stand 
 under rain when there is no shelter. Scarcely a lip 
 moved. No one seemed to hear the hymn, or to care 
 for the music. How I longed for the good old Meth 
 odist thunder ! One good burst of old-fashioned mu 
 sic would have blown this modern singing out of the 
 windows like wadding from a gun ! Men may call 
 this an improvement, and genteel ! Gentility has 
 nearly killed our churches, and it will kill Methodist 
 churches if they give way to its false and pernicious 
 ambition. We know very well what good old-fash- 
 
30 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 ioned Methodist music was. It had faults enough, 
 doubtless, against taste. But it had an inward pur 
 pose and a religious earnestness which enabled it to 
 carry all its faults, and to triumph in spite of them ! 
 It was worship. Yesterday s music was tolerable 
 singing, but very poor worship. We are sorry that 
 just as our churches are beginning to imitate the for 
 mer example of Methodist churches, and to introduce 
 melodies that the people love, and to encourage uni 
 versal singing in the congregation, our Methodist 
 brethren should pick up our cast-off formalism in 
 church music. It will be worse with them than with 
 us. It will mark a greater length of decline. We 
 could hardly believe our eyes and ears yesterday. 
 We could not persuade ourselves that we stood before 
 a Methodist church. We should have supposed it to 
 be a good solid Presbyterian or Congregational church, 
 in which the choir and pulpit performed everything, 
 and the people did nothing. 
 
 Our brethren in this church must not take these 
 remarks unkindly. They are presented in all kind 
 ness and affection. The choir sung better than many 
 choirs in city churches, but no one sung with them. 
 The people were mute. They used their ears, and 
 not their mouths ! But alas ! we missed the old 
 fervor, the good old-fashioned Methodist fire. We 
 have seen the time when one of Charles Wesley s 
 hymns, taking the congregation by the hand, would 
 have led them up to the gate of heaven. But yester 
 day it only led them up as far as the choir, about ten 
 feet above the pews. This will never do. Methodists 
 will make magnificent worshipping Christians if they 
 are not ashamed of their own ways, but very poor 
 
LETTERS FROM THE COUNTRY. 31 
 
 ones if they are. Brethren ! you are in the wrong 
 way. It will never do for you to silence the people. 
 Your fire will go out if you rake it up under the 
 ashes of a false refinement. Let an outsider, but a 
 well-wisher, say these plain words to you without 
 offence. The Methodist Church has laid the Chris 
 tian world under a great debt by its service in the 
 cause of Christ, and we have a right in it, and an 
 interest in it, as common Christians, too great to 
 suffer us to see signs of degeneracy in it without 
 sorrow and alarm. We hope God means to do great 
 things by it yet, for our land. But it will not be by 
 giving up heart and soul, zeal and popular enthusiasm 
 in worship, for the sake of sham propriety and tasteful 
 formalism, that the Methodist Church will become yet 
 further efficient. We hope to see such a revival of 
 religion among them as shall come like a freshet upon 
 their churches, and sweep out the channels of song, 
 and carry away the dead wood and trash which has 
 already dammed up the current of song, and made 
 the congregation stagnant. O that there may be a 
 rain of righteousness upon them, which shall swell 
 their hearts to overflowing, and cleanse their sanctu 
 ary from all formalism, and especially from the for 
 malism of pedantic music ! 
 
 * 
 
32 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 HOURS OF EXALTATION. 
 
 Matteawan, N. Y., August 17, 1857. 
 
 JLTHOUGH we have usually a general and 
 common use of all the senses, yet, in per 
 sons of certain temperaments, some single 
 sense has its moods of predominance, and 
 all the others subside and accompany it, as a low and 
 pleasant harmony in music. We have compared it to 
 the habit of a band, in which the French horn seems 
 to rise at times above all others, and to float upon the 
 harmony like a yacht upon the sea ; then subsiding, 
 the clarinets emerge and shout above all other instru 
 ments, but only for a moment, and then mingling 
 again with their companions, they send forth the 
 bugle, or other instrument. Some such change as 
 this is going on in every one who carries all his senses 
 into Nature for the enjoyment of her melodies and 
 harmonies. 
 
 Some days seem to be characterized by some single 
 sense. There are head-days, heart-days, there are 
 eye-days and ear-days, and promiscuous days in which 
 delicious sensations of pleasure at life in general pre 
 dominate. These last are transcendent. It would 
 seem as if each faculty, every sense, and all the 
 nerves, had come to an agreement, and were sensi 
 tively submissive to all the effects of nature and soci 
 ety. In such transfigurations it scarcely matters 
 what happens. Nothing can be amiss. All sounds, 
 all colors, all movements, all conditions of cloud, air, 
 temperature ; all things, grass, rock, or wood, are 
 
HOURS OF EXALTATION. 33 
 
 not only satisfying, but blissful. We seem to hang 
 like a harp in the air, and all things reach forth to 
 touch the strings for joy. And the sense of perfect 
 rejoicing is so unconnected with any apparent cause, 
 or else so far beyond their ordinary effects, that the 
 mind is in a gentle wondering, all the time, as to 
 what can be the cause of such satisfaction. Thus it 
 is that consciousness is reversed ; and whereas com 
 monly we feel that happiness is an effect within us, 
 that its seat is in our own mind, upon these rare days 
 of ubiquitous and general gladness it seems as if the 
 happiness lay without us, and we were voyagers sail 
 ing through it, and it lapped and murmured upon us 
 from without, as waves and ripples do upon the sum 
 mer sides of tranquil ships. The air seems made up 
 of happiness, the clouds, the trees, the grass, the 
 pathless birds, land and water, all seem to pulsate 
 happiness, to emit it, to breathe it forth upon us ; and 
 it falls upon us as dew upon flowers, as serenades ris 
 ing into the moonlit air seem to rain down on every 
 roof and every casement through the whole town. It 
 is a rare and gracious treat when, in these moods, 
 Nature, like some magnificent Handel, seems to rest 
 from her graver labors and exercises, and to run her 
 fingers, in wild caprices of fancy and joy, over the 
 keys of her organ ; exercising herself upon every stop, 
 and filling the whole air and world with delights 
 innumerable ! We are filled with the very affluence 
 of peacefulness and joy. There is neither sorrow, nor 
 want, nor madness, nor trouble in the wide world ! 
 The glory of the Lord, that at other times hangs upon 
 the horizon, like embattled clouds, full, gorgeous 
 with the sun, on such days as we have described 
 
 2* c 
 
34 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 descends and fills the whole earth. The impassioned 
 language of the Psalmist and prophets, which, r 
 other days, is lifted up so high above our imagination 
 that we can scarcely hear it, now comes down and 
 sounds all its grandeur in our ears. The mountains 
 praise the Lord. The trees clap their hands. The 
 clouds are his chariot, and bear him through the air, 
 leaving brightness and joy along the path. The birds 
 know their King. The flowers lift up their heads, 
 and with the silent tongue of perfume praise God 
 with choice of odors ! The whole earth doth praise 
 thee ! 
 
 In these transcendent moods each sense radiates 
 a glory upon whatever it perceives. Sounds are 
 magical. That which we usually notice with no 
 favor becomes sweet. Even discordant sounds are 
 smoothed and softened. The eye detects new lines, 
 new symmetries, more beautiful forms, and more ex 
 quisite colors, than it is wont to do. The memories 
 that come up from the past bring joys even greater 
 for the moment than the reality. Friends and friend 
 ships are glorified. And over against the past stands 
 the future, full of dim joys that hourly increase. 
 These joys of the past and of the future may be 
 likened to that hour, at certain conjunctions of the 
 sun and moon, when one has just left the horizon, 
 but suffuses it yet with his trail of light, while the 
 other, dim in the east, is advancing every moment 
 with growing brightness to rule the hour! 
 
 But such days have no art to perpetuate them 
 selves. To-morrow will sweep you to the opposite 
 pole. Yet they are of great use. They exalt an ideal 
 of life. Subjects held up in their light will never be 
 
HOURS OF EXALTATION. 35 
 
 as low and ignoble as they may have been before. 
 the light in which Duty, Love, and Labor shine 
 in these lucid days will give us exaltation for many 
 days after. 
 
 The roots of Nature are in the human mind. The 
 life and meaning of the outward world is not in itself, 
 but in us. And when we have taken in all that the 
 eye can gather, the ear, the hand, and the other 
 senses, we have but the body ; we do not yet read and 
 know the spirit and truth, which cannot be received 
 by the senses, but by the soul. And Nature com 
 prises in herself all the effects which she causes upon 
 the senses, and all that she causes upon the mind. He 
 will see the most without who has the most within ; 
 and he who only sees with his bodily organs sees but 
 the surface. He who paints or describes with the 
 senses alone is but a surface artist. This superficial 
 reading of Nature is as if one had been taught, like 
 Milton s daughters, to read the Greek language flu 
 ently without understanding any part of its mean 
 ing. The sound is sweet, the reading is fluent. But 
 all the life and contents are wanting. And he that 
 reads Nature reads God s language. He only pro 
 nounces the words, without the meanings, who sees 
 the natural world by iris senses only, and not also by 
 his feelings. The bell from yonder steeple sounds out 
 suddenly through the storm-washed air. What does 
 that sound mean ? To the bell, rattling. To the 
 mechanical philosopher it means the vibration pro 
 duced upon the air. To the watchmaker it means 
 twelve o clock, noon. To the laborer it means rest 
 and food. To the schoolboy it means release from a 
 living tomb. To the nurse it is the hour for appointed 
 
36 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 medicine. To the impatient bridegroom it is the hour 
 of wedding. It is the funeral hour also, and the 
 sexton cracks his whip. It means separation and 
 heart-pangs to those aboard the cars. That bell- 
 stroke means all that it can make a man feel and 
 think. It bears back the thought on its waves, and 
 strands us upon the shores of childhood. It opens 
 the door of tears or of smiles, of joyful remembrances 
 or of sad ones. It reaches toward the feelings. Those 
 pulsations beat upon the gate of Eternity. Lying 
 upon the warm and fragrant grass, flecked all over 
 with the golden-spotted shadow of an elm, that deep, 
 solitary, single stroke of the bell, lifted high above 
 the ground, that does not sound out one note and 
 cease, as a trumpet does, but moves and warbles ; that 
 pulses again and again, going and coming, as if it 
 were beckoning and soliciting us to follow; upon 
 that sound we do ride bravely heavenward, and in its 
 dying cadences hear a hundred voices, speaking things 
 to the feeling unutterable in human language. And 
 that single sound is all that it can do. It is a cause 
 that includes in itself all the effects it is capable of 
 producing. 
 
 Nature, likewise, implants her spirit in the human 
 soul. Her shape is without us. Her meaning is 
 within us. 
 
 This great mountain behind me is not simply granite 
 lifted up against the eastern sky, as a bulwark against 
 the morning sun, which it hinders from my windows 
 a full morning hour. It is a silent prophet of God, 
 that reveals both ways, past and future, backward 
 and forward ; and all that I think when I gaze upon 
 it, and all that I feel, and all that airy middle-expo- 
 
HOURS OF EXALTATION. 37 
 
 rience of deliquescing thought resolving itself into 
 emotion, tenuous and misty ; and all that it suggests 
 by association, all belong to it. 
 
 What a man sees in Nature will therefore depend 
 upon what he has to see with. Deprived of four 
 senses, a man would perceive only sounds ; deprived 
 of but three senses, he would perceive only sounds 
 and sights. If he have all his physical senses, and 
 nothing more, he will see the rind and husk of Nature. 
 If he bring reason along, he will perceive the con 
 nections and homogeneities of natural objects, their 
 relations to each other and to us. If he add imagi 
 nation, he will find yet deeper insight ; if feeling, 
 deeper yet ; if religious feeling, more profoundly ; 
 and if he hold all these up against the background 
 of the Infinite, then indeed, to his unspeakable satis 
 faction, the heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
 firmament showeth his handiwork. Then day unto 
 day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth 
 knowledge. 
 
 In this view is revealed the difference between one 
 man and another in the enjoyment of Nature. One 
 man communes with natural objects by many more 
 faculties than another. One artist represents Nature 
 seen with the eyes simply ; another, as seen with 
 the soul. And though we cannot by form and color 
 represent all or the chief part of that which the 
 mind perceives, yet what we do picture will be very 
 different if seen only superficially or likewise with 
 feeling. 
 
 The augmentations of pleasure in this way are 
 wonderful. The least things and the most obscure 
 become ministers of rare delight. The hands of a 
 
38 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 giant upon the keys of an organ make no more music 
 than the hands of a common man, for the sound is in 
 the instrument, not in the hand that touches it. And 
 the fingers of Nature, touching the faculties of the 
 human soul, produce effects, not by the magnitude of 
 the thing acting, but by the music within the instru 
 ment touched. 
 
 Nevertheless, there is a great difference between 
 one thing and another in Nature. All things are 
 not just alike, and the seeming difference of outward 
 things is not altogether in us. It is not to obliterate 
 or confuse a well-known truth that we write, but to 
 make plainer a truth not so well known, that is, it 
 requires foresight, an object to project its image, and 
 an eye to receive it ; so, on a larger sphere, an out 
 ward world is required to produce an effect, and an 
 inward nature to receive it ; and both of these work 
 ing together are required before either of them is 
 clearly developed. 
 
 * 
 
 FIRST SUMMER LETTER. 
 
 Matteawan, July 19, 1857. 
 
 HE summer has broken forth. The earth is 
 filled with heat, and the whole heaven is 
 hot ! The morning greedily drinks up the 
 dew. The plump stems by noon lose their 
 tenseness, and wilt down. The afternoon rides over 
 the subdued flowers. We all seek the shade, and 
 hold our open necks to the winds, meanwhile greatly 
 
FIRST SUMMER LETTER. 39 
 
 admiring the insects on every side, that grow more 
 nimble with every degree of heat. With the ther 
 mometer at 60, flies are quite sedate and thoughtful ; 
 at 75 they grow gay and musical ; but at 85 or 90 
 they become wild with excitement, and whirl and 
 dance through the quivering air as if heat were wine 
 to them. 
 
 But we have taken to ourselves the friendship of 
 mountains, and made league with them against the 
 summer fervor. They lift up their great orb as a 
 shield against the morning sun, and when, turning 
 their flank, the sun comes down from the south, they 
 breathe forth a cool wind from their hidden places, 
 and we defy the heat! 
 
 Every summer has its own portrait and peculiar 
 individualism. (This summer has brought around us 
 multitudes of birds beyond any former one. We are 
 living in a pleasant old house, around which fruit- 
 trees have grown in which birds have bred and lived 
 unmolested from year to year. It is but a dozen 
 wing-beats from the house to the mountain woods. 
 Nothing can please a meditative bird better than to 
 have domestic scenes on one side and the seclusion 
 of the wilderness on the other. A bird loves a kind 
 of shy familiarity. Here we have a garden, a door- 
 yard, an orchard, a barn, grouped together, and 
 then, on the other hand, the young forests of scooped 
 mountain-side. So the birds come down here for fun, 
 and go up there for reflection. This is their world ; 
 that is their cathedral. I notice that they are fond of 
 congregational singing ; not only, butevery one sings 
 his own tune, in his own time, and to his own words. 
 Nevertheless their singing sounds well. They begin 
 
40 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 when the stars fade in the morning, and not an hour 
 till star-time again do they leave untremulous with 
 music. The sweetest of them all is the song-sparrow 
 or song-finch ; and it is most numerous and most con 
 stant in its music. Two or three pairs seem to have 
 nests in the yard, and apparently many neighbors 
 come to visit and have a chat with them over a social 
 worm. 
 
 The bobolink has ceased his song. This fantastic 
 fellow only sings during his love season. Then he 
 takes to the duties of life with great sobriety. He 
 goes through his season, and flies off to the South 
 to become a rice-bird. The song of these birds sounds 
 to me as if they were trying to laugh and sing at 
 the same time. Their song is in snatches, like an 
 old harper s preliminary touches before he sounds 
 forth the real tune ; only they are always preluding, 
 and never come to the real subject-matter ! Then 
 we have goldfinches, or " yellow-birds," the egotis 
 tic " phebes," that sit and call their own name for 
 amusement; the pert and springy wren, barn-swal 
 lows and martins, robins, larks, and, at night, whippo- 
 wills. Blessed be the whippowill ! that opens up so 
 many volumes in the mind, and sets one thinking 
 backward, if, as I did, one ever heard them in their 
 youth, waking in the moonlit chamber to hear them 
 sound their notes, bold and plaintive, upon the rock 
 that stood in the edge of the wheat-field ! From that 
 day to this the whippowill has had the luck to gather 
 about him fond associations. How little he knows, as 
 he sings, unconscious messenger, what he is saying 
 to me ! 
 
 Unnamed birds there are, 1 know not how many. 
 
SECOND SUMMER LETTER. 41 
 
 But I have my books. I shall find you out, every one 
 of you, whose names are there written ; and if there 
 be anything worth imparting, our readers shall have 
 the benefit thereof. 
 
 * 
 
 SECOND SUMMER LETTER. 
 
 Matteawan, July 27, 1857. 
 
 BODY has any business to expect satisfac 
 tion in a pure country life, for two months, 
 unless he has a decided genius for leisure. 
 If a man expects to live in the country, to 
 gain and spend his means there, of course he must 
 have something to do, and do it all the while. So, too, 
 those who have a tramp on hand, who make a 
 pedestrian tour or a fishing excursion, must needs 
 stir about. Likewise must they have something to do 
 who go into the country to see city people in the 
 country. Such I take to be all loungers and visitors 
 at fashionable country resorts. This lunacy, however, 
 is modest. It pretends to nothing but what it is. But 
 to gather up yourself and kindred, and sit down in 
 a plain country house, without bears or lions about 
 it, without anything to do but to rest, with no mar 
 vels or phenomena, but only the good, real, common 
 country ; if you mean to be happy in this, I repeat, 
 you should have the element of leisure fully developed 
 in you. You cannot be happy if you are in a hurry. 
 You must not be in a hurry to get up or to sit down. 
 You must not be in a hurry to get up in the morning 
 
42 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 or to retire at night. You must regard it as quite the 
 same, whether you look at a tree ten minutes or 
 thirty. If you walk out, never must you look at your 
 watch ; go till you return. If you sit down upon a 
 breezy fence or wall, it should be a matter of indiffer 
 ence to you whether it be four o clock, or five, or six. 
 There can be no greater impertinence than to say, " It 
 is time to go ! " There is no such thing as time to a 
 man in a summer vacation. 
 
 When you come into a new scene, you must not 
 expect to be at home in a moment. Nature may say 
 to you, very kindly, " Make yourself at home " ; but 
 Nature says it just as any other sensible personage 
 does, not with the expectation that you will do it, but 
 only to show a spirit of hospitality. For it is quite 
 impossible that you should be acquainted with scenery 
 in a moment. Nature is both frank and shy. Like 
 well-bred people, she receives you graciously in all 
 common intercourse, but confidentially only after she 
 has found you out, and knows you to be worthy. 
 Sudden intimacies are always shallow. Wells quickly 
 dug are quickly dry. We have never been able to 
 force matters in thus growing acquainted with new 
 scenery. We never can get along but only just so 
 fast. Things must begin to be familiar before we feel 
 their full meaning ; and familiarity conies not by dun 
 ning and questioning, not by putting at things, as 
 a burglar would at a lock, punching and screwing, 
 but by a natural and gradual opening of things to us, 
 by a growing sensibility in us to them. For there is 
 always to be an education. Man is forever a disciple, 
 and not a master, before nature. He that knows 
 more than nature does about beauty will get very 
 little help from her. 
 
SECOND SUMMER LETTER. 43 
 
 The eye is a daguerrotype-plate. It is set to re 
 ceive pictures, not compose or paint them. The art 
 of seeing well is not to think about seeing. Let 
 your eye alone. Let it go as clouds go, floating 
 hither and thither at their will. Things will come 
 to you if you are patient and receptive. No man 
 knows what he sees, but only what he has seen. One 
 looks at a great many things, but sees only a few ; 
 and those things which come back to him spontane 
 ously, which rise up as pictures, afterwards, are the 
 things which he really saw. 
 
 There is a time for exact study, and sharp exami 
 nation, and all that ; but it is not in summer vaca 
 tions, of which I am speaking, when a man is looking 
 at nature for no other purpose than rich, ripe enjoy 
 ment. 
 
 Yet, amid this tranquil, dreaming, gazing life, one 
 cannot always be quite as serene as he would. For 
 example, this morning, while the dew was yet on 
 the grass, word came that " Charley had got away." 
 Now Charley is a most important member of the 
 family, and as shrewd a horse as ever need be. Late 
 ly he had found out the difference between being 
 harnessed by a boy and a man. Accordingly, on sev 
 eral occasions, as soon as the halter dropped from his 
 head, and before the bridle could take its place, he 
 proceeded to back boldly out of the stable, in spite 
 of the stout boy pulling with all his might at his 
 mane and ears. This particular morning, we were 
 to put a passenger friend on board the cars at 8.10, 
 it was now 7.30. Out popped Charley from his 
 stall like a cork from a bottle, and lo ! some fifty 
 acres there were in which to exercise his legs and 
 
44 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 ours, to say nothing of temper and ingenuity. First, 
 the lady with a measure of oats attempted to do the 
 thing by bribing him genteelly. Not he ! He had no 
 objection to the oats, none to the hand, until it came 
 near his head, then off he sprang. After one or two 
 trials, we dropped the oats, and went at it in good 
 earnest, called all the boys, headed him off this 
 way, ran him out of the growing oats, drove him 
 into the upper lot, and out of it again. We got him 
 into a corner with great pains, and he got himself 
 out of it without the least trouble. He would dash 
 through a line of six or eight whooping boys, with 
 as little resistance as if they had been so many mos- 
 quitos ! Down he ran to the lower side of the lot, 
 and down we all walked after him. Up he ran to the 
 upper end of the lot, and up we all walked after him, 
 too tired to run. 0, it was glorious fun to him ! 
 The sun was hot. The cars were coming, and we 
 had two miles to ride to the depot ! He did enjoy it, 
 and we did not. We resorted to expedients, opened 
 wide the great gate of the barnyard, and essayed to 
 drive him in, and we did it too almost ; for he ran 
 close up to it, and just sailed past, with a laugh as 
 plain on his face as ever horse had ! Man is vastly 
 superior to a horse in many respects. But running, 
 on a hot summer day, in a twenty-acre lot, is not one 
 of them ! We got him by the brook, and, while he 
 drank, how leisurely ! we started up and succeeded 
 in just missing our grab at his mane ! Now comes 
 another splendid run. His head was up, his eye flash 
 ing, his tail streamed out like a banner, and glancing 
 his head this way and that, right and left, he allowed 
 us to come on to the brush corner ; from whence, in 
 
SNOW POWER. 45 
 
 a few moments, he allowed us to emerge, and come 
 afoot after him down to the barn again. But luck 
 will not hold forever, even with horses. He dashed 
 down a lane, and we had him ! But as soon as he 
 saw the gate closed, and perceived the state of the 
 case, how charmingly he behaved ; allowed us to come 
 up and bridle him without a movement of resistance, 
 and affirmed by his whole conduct that it was the 
 merest sport in the world, all this seeming disabe- 
 dience ; and to him we have no doubt it was ! We 
 had but seventeen minutes before car time. But we 
 made the best use of it that we could. 
 
 The very best method of catching a nimble and 
 roguish horse in a twenty or fifty acre lot is not 
 to let him get away from you ! As to the tranquil 
 and leisurely method of examining nature, we shall 
 defer further remarks until we are cool. 
 
 * 
 
 SNOW POWER. 
 
 S there anything in the world so devoid of 
 all power as a snow-flake ? It has no life. 
 It is not organized. It is not even a posi 
 tive thing, but is formed negatively, by the 
 withdrawal of heat from moisture. It forms in 
 silence and in the obscurity of the radiant ether, far 
 up above eyesight or hand-reach. It starts earth 
 ward so thin, so filmy and unsubstantial, that gravita 
 tion itself seems at a loss to know how to get a hold 
 upon it. Therefore it comes down with a wavering 
 
46 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 motion, half attracted and half let alone. We have 
 sat and watched the fall of snow until our head grew 
 dizzy, for it is a bewitching sight to persons specula- 
 tively inclined. There. is an aimless way of riding 
 down, a simple, careless, thoughtless motion, that 
 leads you to think that nothing can be more noncha 
 lant than snow. And then it rests upon a leaf, or 
 alights upon the ground, with such a dainty step, so 
 softly, so quietly, that you almost pity its virgin help 
 lessness. If you reach out your hand to help it, your 
 very touch destroys it. It dies in your palm, and de 
 parts as a tear. Thus, the ancients feigned that 
 let me see, what was it that they feigned ? Lot s 
 spouse went into salt. That was not it. Niobe to 
 stone, several into vegetables, some into deer ; but 
 was nobody changed to a fountain ? Ah yes, it was 
 Arethusa. But now that we have hit the thing that 
 dimly floated in our memory, it is not a case to the 
 point, so we will let Arethusa flow (slide), and return 
 to our snow. 
 
 If any one should ask what is the most harmless 
 and innocent thing on earth, he might be answered, 
 A snow-flake. And yet, in its own way of exerting 
 itself, it stands among the foremost powers on earth. 
 When it fills the air, the sun cannot shine, the eye 
 becomes powerless ; neither hunter nor pilot, guide 
 nor watchman, is any better than a blind man. The 
 eagle and the mole are on a level of vision. All the 
 kings of the earth could not send forth an edict to 
 mankind, saying, " Let labor cease." But this white- 
 plumed light-infantry clears out the fields, drives men 
 home from the highway, and puts half a continent 
 under ban. It is a despiser of old landmarks, and 
 
SNOW POWER. 47 
 
 very quietly unites all properties, covering up fences, 
 hiding paths and roads, and doing in one day a work 
 which the engineers and laborers of the whole earth 
 could not do in years ! 
 
 But let the wind arise, (itself but the movement of 
 soft, invisible particles of air,) and how is this peace 
 ful seeming of snow-flakes changed ! In an instant 
 the air raves. There is fury and spite in the atmos 
 phere. It pelts you, and searches you out in every 
 fold and seam of your garments. It comes without 
 search-warrant through each crack and crevice of 
 your house. It pours over the hills, and lurks down 
 in valleys, or roads, or cuts, until in a night it has 
 entrenched itself formidably against the most expert 
 human strength ; for now, lying in drifts huge and 
 wide, it bids defiance to engine and engineer. 
 
 All these thoughts, and a great many others, we 
 had leisure^ spin, last night, while we lay within two 
 miles of Morristown, N. J., beating away at a half- 
 mile inclined plane heaped with snow. We look upon 
 the engine as the symbol of human skill and power. 
 In its summer rush along a dry track it would seem 
 literally invincible. It comes roaring up towards you, 
 it sweeps gigantically past you, with the wild scream 
 of its whistle, waving the bushes and rustling the 
 grass and flowers on either side, and filling the air 
 with clouds of smoke and dust, and you look upon 
 its roaring course gradually dying out of sight and 
 hearing as if some supernatural development of Might 
 had passed by you in a vision. But now this wonder 
 ful thing is as tame as a wounded bird ; all its spirit 
 is gone. No blow is struck. The snow puts forth 
 no power. It simply lies still. That is enough. The 
 
48 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 laboring engine groans and pushes ; backs out, and 
 plunges in again ; retreats, and rushes again. 
 
 It becomes entangled. The snow is everywhere. 
 It is before it and behind it. It penetrates the whole 
 engine, is sucked up in the draft, whirls in sheets 
 into the engine-room ; torments the cumbered wheels, 
 clogs the joints, and, packing down under the drivers, 
 it fairly lifts the ponderous engine off from its feet, 
 and strands it across the track ! Well done, snow ! 
 That was a notable victory ! Thou mayest well con 
 sent now to yield to scraper and snow-plough ! 
 
 However, it was not our engine that got off the 
 track, but another one beyond Morristown. Ours 
 could not get off nor get along. It could only push 
 and stop. The pushing was a failure, the stopping 
 was very effectual. It kept us till nine o clock before 
 we reached the lecture-room. But the audience had 
 waited with wonderful patience till we got there, and 
 then, with a patience even more exemplary, till we 
 got through at half past ten. 
 
 In the morning, returning, we gloried over the last 
 night s struggle ; and shot with a comfortable velocity 
 down the inclined plane, up which we had vainly toiled 
 in the darkness and snow but so few hours before. 
 
 In a few weeks another silent force will come forth. 
 And a noiseless battle will ensue, in which this now 
 victorious army of flakes shall be itself vanquished. 
 A rain-drop is stronger than a snow-flake. One by 
 one the armed drops will dissolve the crystals and let 
 forth the spirit imprisoned in them. Descending 
 quickly into the earth, the drops shall search the roots, 
 and give their breasts to their myriad mouths. The 
 bud shall open its eye, the leaf shall lift up its head, 
 
* 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN FARM TO THE SEA-SIDE FARM. 49 
 
 the grass shall wave its spear, and the forests hang 
 out their banners ! How significant is this silent, 
 gradual, but irresistible power of rain and snow, of 
 moral truth in this world ! " For as the rain cometh 
 down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not 
 thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring 
 forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower and 
 bread to the eater ; so shall my word be that goeth 
 forth out of my mouth : it shall not return unto me 
 void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and 
 it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it." 
 
 * 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN FARM TO THE SEA-SIDE FARM. 
 
 Lenox, August 24, 1855. 
 
 Y DEAR DOCTOR " 0." : Allow your friends 
 to congratulate you upon the acquisition of 
 a sea- side farm. For although it cannot be 
 compared with a mountain farm, having too 
 much sand and too little loam, yet any farm, even a 
 sea-side farm, is better than none. Indeed, it hath 
 advantages, now that I bethink me. The salt air is 
 supposed to favor plums, or rather to be hostile to the 
 curculio, which is the chief scourge of that excellent 
 fruit. And then you have your market close at 
 hand. You can draw out a breakfast or catch a din 
 ner at a few moments warning. Should an unex 
 pected squad of visitors arrive, and the anxious 
 housewife declare the coop empty, the butcher neg 
 lectful, the veal and lamb all gone, you have only to 
 
50 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 say, " Wait a moment, my dear, I know the very rock 
 around which black-fish love to linger." In a half- 
 hour you return, your basket heavy with yet flapping 
 fish, eager to be cooked into usefulness. Then, too, 
 you can keep a boat. You are not far, I presume, 
 from Saybrook. No, I mean Stonington. But that 
 Saybrook Platform was running in my head, and I got 
 the wrong word. You knew, doubtless, that Stoning 
 ton was famous for yachting. You knew that vener 
 able divines thought it not inconsistent with their 
 cloth to own a fast boat, and to win the first prize at 
 a regatta. Why not ? What is more innocent than 
 sailing, unless it be rowing ? No cruelty is enacted ; 
 no muscles are overstrained. And what sight upon 
 earth is more exceedingly beautiful than a fleet of 
 snowy yachts, blown like sea-gulls across the swelling 
 water ? Of course you will own a boat, even if you 
 do not join the club. You will often choose to see 
 how your bit of ground looks from a liquid stand 
 point. You will often cool your summer afternoons 
 by the breezes off shore, and seek the ocean air long 
 before it bears its coolness in upon the land. It is 
 a very noble thing to see the sun go down upon a 
 golden sea, whose tremulous swells and fretting crests 
 flash the glory from wave to wave, and, breaking up 
 the broad sheet of red light into myriads of sparkles 
 and fiery circles, play with it, tossing it up and down, 
 hither and thither, as if it were a liquid floating on 
 the sea. Do you know how to manage a boat ? to 
 row, to scull, to set sail, to reef or take in sail ? Pray 
 be careful. Do not carry too much sail. I have long 
 been of opinion that men and ships in our day carry 
 too much top-hamper. While the wind is gentle you 
 
THE MOUNTAIN FARM TO THE SEA-SIDE FARM. 51 
 
 may spread everything ; but these crank hulls and 
 enormous sails are very tempting to capricious squalls, 
 and some day, as you sit with your hand on the tiller, 
 dreaming out a sermon, under which your good peo 
 ple will perhaps dream too, down will come a sudden 
 swoop, and with one rattle and plunge you will be all 
 overboard ! Never go out without a life-preserver 
 under your arms. It is awkward, to be sure, to sit 
 trussed up with these inflated air-ruffles under one s 
 arms ; but it will be yet more awkward to flounder 
 about in the water without them, especially if you 
 cannot swim. 
 
 Shall you raise your own oysters ? Do you intend 
 to dig your own clams? Have you enough kelp 
 growing about your rocks to yield the needed manure 
 for your sandy soil? Do your exhausted pastures 
 do better in pennyroyal or mullein ? Do you intend 
 to use white-fish for enriching your garden ? If so, 
 pray plough them in deep, or you will be in bad odor 
 with all your friends. People will say you are not 
 sound ; that you have a taint. 
 
 Excuse these freedoms. They are fraternal. I am 
 all too glad that you have a farm at all. A sea-side 
 farm will bring you back toward both the patriarchs 
 and the apostles, for the one tilled the soil and the 
 other fished the sea, and you can do both. May the 
 surf sing you to sleep with its undying anthems ! 
 May the storms that awaken your midnights with the 
 thunder of waves and the rush of awful winds bring 
 no shriek to your ear of shipwrecked men ; and no 
 visions to your uneasy sleep of drenched and drown 
 ing creatures, swept from the deck, and sinking to 
 the bottom, aimlessly reaching out and clutching the 
 
52 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 waters. Kather may the storm proclaim to you ever 
 more the majesty and might of Him who rideth upon 
 the winds, who sitteth King upon the floods! 
 
 And as a ship is dandled on the bosom of the 
 boundless sea like a child upon its mother s knee, and 
 is sheeted with the silver light of morning or flooded 
 with the gold of evening, glistening all the hours 
 between in the unbounded light that God pours in 
 eternal streams from the heavenly spheres, so may 
 you never see such an airy thing, without a sweet and 
 blessed utterance, " Thus doth God convoy upon 
 the sea of life those who trust in him ! For no ship 
 there is of human heart, caught in storm or troubled 
 sea, that hath not its Christ, ready to be aroused to 
 calm the sea and hush the wind ! " 
 
 I forgot to ask, in the earnestness of my congratu 
 lations, whether the farm is yours ? Whether it is 
 paid for? I hope the deeds are recorded, without 
 mortgage or lien of any kind. I hope no notes are 
 drawing interest. No blister draws sharper than In 
 terest does. Of all industries, none is comparable to 
 that of Interest. It works day and night, in fair 
 weather and in foul. It has no sound in its footsteps, 
 but travels fast. It gnaws at a man s substance with 
 invisible teeth. It binds industry with its film, as a 
 fly is bound upon a spider s web. Debt rolls a man 
 over and over, binding him hand and foot, and letting 
 him hang upon the fatal mesh until the long-legged 
 interest devours him. There is no crop that can 
 afford to pay interest money on a farm. There is 
 but one thing raised on a farm like it, and that is 
 the Canada thistle, which swarms new plants every 
 time you break its root, whose blossoms are prolific, 
 

 THE MOUNTAIN FAKM TO THE SEA-SIDE FARM. 53 
 
 and every flower father of a million seeds. Every 
 leaf is an awl, every branch a spear, and every single 
 plant is like a platoon of bayonets, and a field full of 
 them is like an armed host. The whole plant is a 
 torment and a vegetable curse. And yet a farmer 
 had better make his bed of Canada thistles than at 
 tempt to lie at ease upon interest. 
 
 But you do not need these words. You are a 
 shrewd and cautious man. Every dollar is paid. I 
 only write to show you what amiable things I would 
 have said had you needed them. May no greedy land- 
 shark ever grab your land, or pluck it from beneath 
 your children s feet ! There may you rest for a few 
 weeks each summer, away from the dust of wheels, 
 the dust of books, and the dust of gold-seeking men. 
 God says some things to the soul in the open field, 
 along the sea-shore, or in the twilight forests, which 
 he never speaks through books or men. Thank God 
 for books ! And yet thank God that the great realm 
 of truth lies yet outside of books, too vast to be mas 
 tered by types or imprisoned in libraries. A book 
 that leads us away from nature is knavish. Those 
 are true books which, like glasses, serve to enlarge 
 that which lies outside and beyond themselves. 
 
 May you walk upon your farm, when, silver-haired, 
 you lean upon your staff, and see the round sun rise 
 or set, day by day, waiting for your own release and 
 glorified ascension ! May your children, in after-life, 
 have a rich and endless theme of remembrance in the 
 word HOME. For home should be an oratorio of the 
 memory, singing to all our after-life melodies and har 
 monies of old-remembered joy ! 
 
 I do not mean a narrow-faced house in the city, 
 
54 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 reaching wearily toward the zenith, with perpendic 
 ular stairs, cruel and perilous to much-enduring wo 
 men ; but a real, substantial country home, where 
 they may smell the earth, walk upon carpets of pas 
 ture and meadow, that forever laugh at the patterns 
 of the loom ! May they hear great trees let them 
 be elm-trees sing and pray all day and night above 
 their heads ! May they grow in love with crooked 
 brooks winking at you from silver pebbles, with tufted 
 willows and tasselled alders, with orchards and birds, 
 with all insects, with grasses, flowers, rushes, and 
 reeds ! with flags and the stately cat-tail Stop ! 
 There is a brilliant humming-bird singing with his 
 wings at the mouths of our honeysuckle blossoms, 
 just come for his morning draught. Beautiful fel 
 low ! you are the first at that banquet ! None have 
 emptied the nectar. The cups are full of un tasted 
 sweets. See ! The flowers do not even quiver as he 
 sounds their depths, so skilled is he to hang poised 
 before them and carry his long bill to the very hidden 
 seat of honey. No table is to be spread for thee, no 
 dishes cleaned after thy meal, no servants run to serve 
 thee, no chimney reeks for thine appetite. There is 
 not a fly or moth the less for thy feeding ; no seeds 
 are plucked out of the feathery cells. God calleth 
 thee by the voice of flowers, and thou art served with 
 cups more rare than ever Cellini carved for the Med 
 ici. Up springs the little winged jewel, and, forsaking 
 the honeysuckle, he hangs right before my window, 
 eying me with his bright eye, as if pitying me for not 
 being a humming-bird ! And surely I should like to 
 have a merry bout with you through the air, glancing 
 through the trees, searching all odorous places, living 
 
THE MOUNTAIN FAKM TO THE SEA-SIDE FAEM. 55 
 
 upon flower-digested dew. And yet, sucking floral 
 nectar and wheeling through sun-flashes must be but 
 an empty life ! Good for an hour, but not for a life ; 
 yet nobler natures there are that do less than that for 
 life. But perhaps my pen attracts him. He has a fit 
 of literature. Ah, sir, if it were Longfellow s, Bry 
 ant s, or Tennyson s pen, you might well suck rare 
 honey from the quill. Mine, I fear, would be a little 
 acid and somewhat bitter ! He is gone. He did not 
 fly, but flashed away ! 
 
 Have you honeysuckles and humming-birds? Do 
 you find singing-robins and bluebirds on the shore? 
 Never mind, you have sea-gulls and kingfishers, and 
 now and then, doubtless, an emigrant crow calls out 
 to you from the pine-trees. Do you think gulls sing 
 as finely as wrens, greenlets, or bobolinks ? 
 
 What is the particular grievance on your farm? 
 Is it nettles ? Is it mosquitos ? What is it ? Some 
 thing has stirred you up, or you would not have be 
 gun your epistle by attacking my dear little moun 
 tain farm! At first I was stirred up to resent the 
 indignity. I fancied I could see the maples laughing ; 
 the elms and beeches curled their leaves and lips at 
 the idea of the scrubby trees that exist, but do not 
 grow, in the salt spray of the sea-side. The thick, 
 plushy, succulent grass, in whose veins, had I a cow s 
 eye, I could doubtless see milk and butter flowing, 
 the red-top and herdsgrass, when they heard me read 
 your opening lines, winked and ogled each other 
 with laughing, blinking dew-drops, in very derision of 
 the poor wiry salt-marsh hay, which doubtless is so 
 salt that cows give butter and cheese already salted 
 enough. Shall such a place be contemptuous of my 
 
56 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 emerald hill, which this valley holds up upon her 
 bosom like a glistening jewel ? And so I stirred my 
 self to reply, and sat me down at the table, before the 
 open window ; but, as I looked forth, the air spake 
 peace. The distant trees stood in peace. The green 
 mountains abode at rest. I saw shadows cast blackly 
 down upon them, and traverse their hollowed sides 
 and ridged tops. But they peacefully bore the blot, 
 and let them pass unrebuked away. The shadows 
 of storms do not hurt the mountains ; nor do the 
 shadows of slander or untruth harm men. And so 
 I looked across the sloping lawn, and saw the tranquil 
 lake, nursing in its bosom all the fenced farms that 
 lie upon its thither side, and all around the horizon 
 stood the silent mountains ; and above them all, 
 mightily outstretched, the blue and gray dome of 
 sky. All thoughts of conflict forsook me. Shall I 
 be turmoiled in behalf of things which will never lose 
 their own peace ? They know their strength, and 
 when storms rail they never answer back again. 
 They know their worth of beauty, and neither boast 
 nor defend it. They abide in stillness. 
 
 But tell me, what have you instead of mountains ? 
 All around us, on every side, stand innumerable piles, 
 tree-clad, rock-built, carved and scarped along their 
 slopes by ages of rain. Rain ! whose soft architec 
 tural hands have power to cut stones and chisel to 
 shapes of grandeur the very mountains as no artist 
 could ever do ! On their tops clouds love to walk or 
 brood. The hills stand waiting for us in the morn 
 ing, with their sides draped with mist-lace, wrought 
 in mighty convolutions and patterns, such as royalty 
 could never command from Mechlin or Valenciennes. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN FARM TO THE SEA-SIDE FARM. 57 
 
 In a few hours they are folded and laid away in that 
 great wardrobe above, from which such rare and 
 endless dresses are drawn by the subtle hand of 
 Nature. In these mountains are dells and gorges, 
 caves and chasms, brooks and loud-crying torrents. 
 There are forests that sing to themselves their grand 
 old songs night and day, and none hears but God, 
 into whose ear comes, doubtless, every sound of earth, 
 the murmur of leaves and the chanting of reeds, 
 the whisper of grass-blades, and the very silence of 
 flowers, as well as the voices of human sorrow and 
 thunder of the city ! And then the afternoon and 
 evening phantasms of the hills ! Who shall speak 
 the nameless hues which the atmosphere spreads upon 
 the evening hills in mountain regions ? What fleet 
 upon your ocean ever fills the eye as do the cloud- 
 fleets the ethereal ocean in these mountain regions ? 
 There go very continents, not anchored like Europe 
 or the Americas, but sailing quietly with all their 
 mountains and valleys. Only think of the Alps, 
 some fine morning, starting off upon a tour of the 
 continent ! The Apennines, the Andes, old Chimbo- 
 razo, or the Himalayas, out upon a tour ! Yet there 
 they are, as sure as you have fancy in your eye, 
 parading the heavens, and sunning their fiery peaks 
 above old Greylock, or flashing the afternoon light 
 with such dazzling whiteness that the eye can hardly 
 look upon them ! 
 
 But I forgot that you too have these airy moun 
 tains. The sweet ministration of a common atmos 
 phere is yours too. You have my sun, my moon, 
 my stars. The morning which gems our hills, kin 
 dles the flaming bosom of your ocean. One noon 
 
 3* 
 
58 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 glows above us both. The angel that brings sleep 
 to me hovers above you. The same heaven lies be 
 yond this visible for us both ; the same Saviour, and 
 the same everlasting rest ! May no joy by the way 
 or entanglement hold us ; and when we look to 
 gether from its walls, we shall not be able to discern, 
 for their insignificance, our proud little farms ! Yea, 
 the whole earth will have dwindled, and would have 
 gone out, were it not for one glowing spot, Calvary. 
 For that mountain it shall stand forever, and, glowing 
 through all space, shine as a mighty jewel that God 
 hath set as a memorial of his everlasting love ! 
 
 * 
 
 HAYING. 
 
 T is five o clock. The morning is clear and 
 fresh. A thin blue film of mist hovers 
 over the circuit of the Housatonic along 
 the mountain belt. A hundred birds 
 yes, five hundred are singing as birds never sing 
 except in the morning. A few chimneys send up a 
 slow, wreathing column of smoke, which grows every 
 moment paler as the new-kindled fire below burns 
 brighter. In our house the girls are astir, and the 
 mystery of breakfast developing. The little dog is 
 so glad after the lonesome night to see you, that he 
 surfeits you with frolic. The men are in the barn 
 feeding the horses, and getting everything ready for 
 work. 
 
 The clouds hang low on the mountains on every 
 
HAYING. 59 
 
 side. Their ragged edges comb the mountain-sides, 
 and look as if they must sway the trees in their 
 course. Yet they move with such soft and drowsy 
 measure, that not a leaf stirs in their path. Will it 
 rain to-day ? The heavens overhead look like it. The 
 clouds around the mountains hang low, as if there 
 were rain coming. But the barometer says, No. 
 Then a few rounds with the scythe before breakfast, 
 just by way of getting the path open. There they 
 go, a pretty pair of mowers ! The blinking dew-drops 
 on the grass-tops wink at them and pitch headlong 
 under the stroke of the swinging scythe. How low 
 and musical is the sound of a scythe in its passage 
 through a thick pile of grass ! It has a craunching, 
 mellow, murmuring sound, right pleasant to hear. 
 The grass, rolled over in a swath to the left, green 
 and wet, lies like a loosely-corded cable, vast and half 
 twined. Around the piece, step by step go the men, 
 and the work is fairly laid out and begun. There 
 sounds the horn ! Breakfast is ready. A most use 
 ful and salutary custom is that of breakfast. One 
 may work with the hands before breakfast, but not 
 much with the head. The machine must be wound 
 up. The blue must be taken out of your spirits and 
 the gray out of your eyes. A cup of coffee, real 
 coffee, home-browned, home-ground, home-made, 
 that comes to you dark as a hazel-eye, but changes to 
 a golden bronze as you temper it with cream that 
 never cheated, but was real cream from its birth, 
 thick, tenderly yellow, perfectly sweet, neither lumpy 
 nor frothing on the Java : such a cup of coffee is a 
 match for twenty blue devils, and will exorcise them 
 all. Involuntarily one draws in his breath by the 
 
60 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 nostrils. The fragrant savor fills his senses with 
 pleasure ; for no coffee can be good in the mouth that 
 does not first send a sweet offering of odor to the 
 nostrils. All the children are farmer s boys for the 
 occasion. Were Sevastopol built of bread and cakes, 
 these are the very engineers who would take it. 
 Bless their appetites ! It does one good to see grow 
 ing children eat with a real hearty appetite. Moun 
 tain air, a free foot in grassy fields and open groves, 
 plain food and enough of it, these things kill the 
 lilies in the cheek and bring forth roses. 
 
 But we must make haste, and make hay while the 
 sun shines. Already John Dargan is there whetting 
 his scythe. John, tough as a knot, strong as steel, 
 famous in all the region for ploughing, and equally 
 skilful at mowing, turning his furrow and cutting 
 his swath alike smoothly and evenly. If Ireland has 
 any more such farmers to spare, they may come on 
 in spite of all the Know-Nothings. The Man of 
 the Farm strikes in first, as being the head man in 
 this dominion, and John follows, and away they go 
 right through the clover and herdsgrass, up the hill, 
 toward the sun. The grass is full of dew, which 
 quivers in the sunlight, and winks and flashes by 
 turns all the colors of a rainbow. We follow after, as 
 one that limps, having never attained the art of mow 
 ing ; and being a late apprentice and mere learner, 
 we prefer to let our betters go first. One swath will 
 satisfy our zeal, and we shall then fall into the ranks 
 of the spectators. Round and round the field they 
 go, with steady swing, the grass plat growing less at 
 every turn. 
 
 What a miniature forest is this tall grass full of 
 
HAYING. 61 
 
 under-brush clover ! How full of population ! Vast 
 communities dwell here of which we have but little 
 knowledge, and for which we have but little sym 
 pathy. All manner of grasshoppers, field-crickets, 
 bugs of every shape and color, worms, birds, young 
 and old, and nameless life, swarm through these 
 grassy forests, past all counting. One imagines the 
 sudden surprise with which the crash of the scythe 
 overthrows all their structures, obliterates their paths, 
 destroys their haunts and societies, and buries thou 
 sands of them under each swath of grass. All the 
 bright webs of spiders that sit up late at nights, the 
 virgin webs that have as yet caught nothing but dew, 
 and have caught a whole lapful of that, are swept in 
 one stroke. A mower will, in half a day, disarrange 
 the plans of myriads of his fellow-creatures, walk 
 ing a conqueror through their desolated cities and 
 dwellings, without once thinking, even, that he has 
 wrought his task amid such multitudinous company. 
 We, following on, turn over the grass, and watch the 
 liberated captives, that take their disasters very pa 
 tiently. Spiders forget to be voracious. Insects run 
 over spiders without fear. All herd together in peace, 
 made by a common misfortune. So we have read 
 that bears, wolves, panthers, deer, rabbits, and. foxes 
 are sometimes pent up on some high ground, islanded 
 by a sudden freshet, and forget their destructive 
 habits, and live together peacefully until the receding 
 waters let them forth again. 
 
 While we are musing upon the fate of bugs, a 
 shout from the boys informs us that the mowers have 
 disclosed a meadow-lark s nest. Sure enough, there 
 goes the gibbering bird over into the next field, to 
 
62 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 complain and mourn over her most unexpected loss. 
 Five speckled eggs are not so easily laid as to be given 
 up without a thought ! How many fond hopes are here 
 crushed by one swing of Time s scythe, or John s 
 scythe it was, I believe ! They are warm and smooth. 
 How good they felt to the warm-breasted mother ! 
 Here she sat mute, reflecting upon the joyful times 
 when she should inform her mate that the shells were 
 broken, and both of them should bring a dilapidated 
 worm to the ugly-looking mouths of their callow 
 young ! But when did a child ever look ugly to its 
 mother ! And larks doubtless think their featherless, 
 discolored, yellow-mantled squabs more beautiful than 
 full-grown humming-birds. And now the bereaved 
 mother is flying upon the fence, and thence to the top 
 of a near bush, to see the issue. We carefully put up 
 sticks about the nest, and took oaths of humanity 
 from all the boys, and caused horse-rakes and cart 
 wheels to respect the nest. But when the grass was 
 cleared from the field, and the nest was left wide open 
 to the sun, without shade or protection, the owners 
 held a council over matters, and resolved to abandon 
 the desecrated nest, set the eggs down to profit and 
 loss, emigrate to another meadow, and begin life 
 again! After two days waiting, some of the kind 
 friends, without our knowledge, removed the desolate 
 nest and placed it upon our writing-table, and there it 
 now lies before us, with a vine of green leaves and a 
 few spikes of yellow sweet-clover twined about it. 
 Poor eggs ! No lark shall ye ever be ! Ye shall not 
 shake dew from the grass, nor pick worms from the 
 earth, nor sing a mournful minor song, as I hear your 
 kindred now doing from out of the field before my 
 window. 
 
HAYING. 63 
 
 Meanwhile all the boys have been at work spread 
 ing the grass. The hay-cocks of yesterday have been 
 opened. The noon comes on. It is time to house it. 
 It is brave work to see men pitching and loading hay. 
 We lie down under the apple-trees and exhort them 
 all to diligence. We are surprised at any pauses to 
 wipe the perspiration from their brows. We are very 
 cool. We think haying a beautiful sport. We ad 
 mire to see it going on from our window ! We resist 
 all overtures of the scythe and the fork, for we think 
 one engaged in the midst of it less favorably situated 
 to make calm and accurate observations. 
 
 The day passes and the night. With another morn 
 ing, and that Saturday morning, comes up the sun 
 without a single cloud to wipe his face upon. The 
 air is clear and crystal. No mist on the river. No 
 fleece upon the mountains. Yet the barometer is 
 sinking, has been sinking all night. It has fallen 
 more than a quarter of an inch, and continues slowly 
 to fall. Our plans must be laid accordingly. } We 
 will cut the clover which is to be cured in the cock, 
 and prepare to get in all of yesterday s mowing be 
 fore two o clock. Not till about ten o clock is any 
 change seen. Then the sunlight seems pale, though 
 no cloud is before it. Some invisible vapor has struck 
 through the atmosphere. By and by clouds begin to 
 form, loose, vast, cumbrous, that slowly roll and 
 change their unwieldy shapes, and take on every 
 shade of color that lies between the darkest leaden 
 gray and the most brilliant silver gray. One load we 
 roll in before dinner. While catching our hasty meal 
 aifairs grow critical. The sun is hidden. The noon 
 is dark. All hands are summoned. Now if you wish 
 
64 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 to see pretty working, follow the cart, and see long 
 forks leap into the cocks of hay, and to a backward 
 lift they spring up, poise a moment in the air, shoot 
 forward, and are caught upon the load by the nimble 
 John, and in a twinkling are in their place. We 
 hear thunder ! Lightnings flash on the horizon. Jim 
 and Frank and Henry Sumner are springing at the 
 clover, rolling it into heaps and dressing it down so as 
 to shed rain. There are no lazy-bones there ! 
 
 On the other side of the road there is a small 
 piece of this morning s cut grass lying spread. Even 
 we ourselves wake up and go to work. All the girls 
 and ladies come forth to the fray. Delicate hands are 
 making lively work, raking up the dispersed grass, 
 and flying with right nimble steps here and there, 
 bent upon cheating the rain of its expected prey. 
 And now the long winrows are formed. The last 
 load of hay from the other fields has just rolled tri 
 umphantly into the barn ! Down jumps John, with 
 fork in hand, and rolls up the winrows into cocks. 
 We follow and glean with the rake. The last one 
 is fashioned. A drop pats down on my face. Anoth 
 er, and another. Look at those baseless mountains 
 that tower in the west, black as ink at the bottom, 
 glowing like snow at the top edges ! What gigantic 
 evolutions ! They open, unfold, change form, flash 
 lightnings through their spaces, close up their black 
 gulfs, and move on with irresistible but silent march 
 through the heated air. Far in the north the rain 
 has begun to sheet down upon old Greylock ! But 
 the sun is shining through the shower, and changing 
 it to a golden atmosphere, in which the mountain 
 lifts up its head like a glorified martyr amid his per- 
 
MOWING-MACHINES AND STEAM-PLOUGHS. 65 
 
 seditions ! Only a look can we spare, and all of us 
 run for the house, and in good time. Down comes 
 the flood, and every drop is musical. We pity the 
 neighbors who, not warned by barometer, are racing 
 and chasing to secure their outlying crop. 
 
 MOWING-MACHINES AND STEAM-PLOUGHS. 
 
 Lenox, August, 1855. 
 
 UR friend A. B. Allen (and who that works 
 or dabbles in the soil does not know him 
 and his agricultural establishments) has 
 written to us that, if our grass is still stand 
 ing, he will, at his own expense, send up one of his 
 new mowing-machines, and give us a day s work with 
 it, for he thinks that it is the best machine yet out. 
 Alas ! our grass is all cut, except a small strip near 
 the White Violet Grove, a gore in the swale on the 
 west side of the hill, and some coarse stuff, for litter, 
 down in the muck swamp. To be sure, this could be 
 cut by a mowing-machine, especially one of which 
 our friend says, "It is impossible, I think, now to 
 clog the knives even in the wettest, greenest, shortest, 
 thickest, finest grass ! " But all the grass left stand 
 ing would not be a mouthful for such an iron fellow, 
 and yet why not send the machine up ? Let it remain 
 here ! We shall have a large second crop on that 
 part of the farm which has been deeply ploughed and 
 dressed with muck. This slaty loam seems to love 
 muck dearly, and holds out its grassy hands in grati- 
 
66 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 tude for any particle given to it. And then, too, next 
 summer we shall be ready for the mower. Do not 
 hesitate, friend Allen, we will take good care of the 
 machine, and if it performs half as well as you affirm, 
 and as we believe that it will, we will give the world 
 the account of its doings in the best English which we 
 can command. When shall we look for it ? 
 
 But if Allen s Mower had taken a notion about the 
 time we did to come to Lenox, what a world of work 
 would have been spared to human muscles ! Here 
 are thirty-five or forty acres of grass, over which, in 
 half-circles, advancing four or five inches at a clip, 
 the men have crept, shuffling along with their feet, 
 crouched and sweating, hot, and tired in the small 
 of the back. Two men will mow, say four acres a day, 
 besides looking after that which was cut yesterday. 
 Here are ten days of work. But throwing out the 
 Sabbaths and throwing in the rainy days (which this 
 year have striven to wipe out the memory of every 
 day of last summer s drought), and there will be at 
 least ten days more, or full three weeks of haying; 
 i. e. mowing, watching the barometer (that is my 
 part of the work), dodging showers, or nesting in the 
 dry hay, with the showery west qomiiig down upon 
 us with black banners flying and thunder-trumpets 
 sounding. However, these occasional matches be 
 tween the storm and the farmer s whole family are 
 not the least interesting and exciting of country sports. 
 There is no game of ball like it, no rowing-matcli can 
 be compared to it. As for a horse-race, it is a mere 
 piece of vulgar cruelty in comparison. 
 
 The farmer, you see, would n t believe the barom 
 eter, and wanted yesterday s mowing to get a few 
 
MOWING-MACHINES AND STEAM-PLOUGHS. 67 
 
 hours more sun before housing. About three o clock 
 he did not like the looks of things in the west. Away 
 went the boys after the brown horses, Major and 
 Larry. Old Gray was put before the horse-rake, and 
 Frank was told to put in his best kicks to hurry long- 
 legged Gray over the field. About four o clock we 
 came forth to see what all this meant. What a bother 
 was here ! Maria and Ann and Nelly all with rakes, 
 the sister, wives, the daughter, and the daughters 
 big and little, were flying about ; the little boys and 
 middling-sized boys, in all, four ; spry Jim and 
 nimble John and the farmer, and last of all, and quite 
 undisturbed by any fear of losing hay, we ourself, 
 in all sixteen human creatures, raking, rolling, piling 
 up, pitching up, loading, and trimming down the 
 precious fodder. 
 
 The rain made haste, and so did we ! We saw it 
 coming down, with the sun straining through it, far in 
 the northwest. In a few moments it had covered in 
 several hills more. It advanced rapidly from swell to 
 swell and from peak to peak. The sunlight went out, 
 gray haze ran skirmishing forward before the black 
 heavy artillery. Now the mountains west of Lenox, 
 Baldhead and all, stood up solemn as death, and as 
 dark as night, right against the leaden grayness of the 
 rain-cloud. In a moment their tops were caught and 
 wrapped round with rain. The mountains are gone 
 out. Now the sheeted rain makes at the church-hill, 
 and the white belfry disappears ; it comes skipping 
 from point to point hitherward. Nothing can turn it 
 from its path ! 
 
 Work, boys, work ! We felt a drop on our face, 
 and another on our hand. A breath of wind gives a 
 
08 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 wild puff and dies away and is still. We can hear the 
 roar of the rain as it comes through the wood yonder ! 
 The birds are all silent there. A single melancholy 
 whistle is heard from the north beyond us. The last 
 forkful has gone up on the load, and away goes the 
 creaking, overloaded wagon, a man on each side hold 
 ing up the towering, swaying mass with propping 
 forks. It rises on the barn doorway, it hesitates, it 
 touches, it grazes at the top, down sinks John to save 
 his head a thump, but bawls out smotheringly from 
 the hay at the horses, who jump and slip but spring 
 again and buckle to with all their force for a last 
 pull ! Up comes the load, it rolls in, and the howling 
 rain comes pouring down on the roof, but a little too 
 late ! In that race we think the farmer had slightly 
 the advantage ! 
 
 Let us see ; how did we get to this spot ? Ah, we 
 started with a mowing-machine. Well, we wanted to 
 say, that if, instead of these slow but peaceful scythes, 
 we had had one of these mowers with iron sinews, 
 that is never hurt or tired or sweaty, but rolls quietly 
 along over twelve acres a day, and then tucks up its 
 knives at night as if it had been out walking for a 
 little sport in the grass, how much time would have 
 been gained, how much struggle saved, how easily on 
 the few fair days fair, but hot might we have 
 cut and cured the whole crop without being chased 
 out of the field by storms. 
 
 In that case we should have had our barley all 
 harvested before this. Now it is crinkled, and will 
 require twice the labor to secure it. Our wheat too 
 spring wheat (not the club-wheat, bought of Allen 
 & Co., but the Mediterranean or Black-Sea wheat, 
 
MOWING-MACHINES AND STEAM-PLOUGHS. 69 
 
 Crimea wheat, for- aught that we know) would 
 have been attended to before this. Now it is all 
 down. Maybe it is sprouted. Perhaps it will mil 
 dew, or it may rust. 
 
 The midge may get into it, the fly will attack it, 
 not our harmless house-fly, a native, every drop of 
 whose blood is American, but that hateful foreign 
 fly, which the British brought over with their mer 
 cenary Hessians. We could whip the British and the 
 Hessians, but not the Hessian fly. That could never 
 be brought to sign articles of peace. As we were 
 saying, the midge, the fly, the weevil, the rust, the 
 blight, the sprout, in short, all the desperate mal 
 adies which attack newspapers about the time of 
 wheat-harvest, may be impending over our wheat 
 (two acres and a half there are of it), because, for 
 the want of a mowing-machine, the grass obliged us 
 to neglect the wheat ! But there is some consolation 
 on a farm for everything. If it is bad hay weather, 
 it is good potato weather. If it is too hot and dry 
 for pastures, it is just right for corn. The same rain 
 that vexes our first mowing is bringing on the sec 
 ond growth, or rowen. 
 
 We are accustomed to regard the improvements in 
 machinery chiefly in their relations to manufacturing 
 and locomotion. But nowhere else will a greater 
 change be wrought by machinery than upon the farm. 
 We are in the infancy of agriculture. 
 
 The knowledge of the elements with which we 
 deal, and which compose rocks, soils, plants, and 
 animal fibre, that organic chemistry puts into our 
 hands, gives direction and accuracy to our processes, 
 but does little to abridge manual labor. Mechanics 
 
70 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 step in at this point, and promise to set men free, 
 and to make a servant of iron that will toil for him 
 without fatigue, and with quadruple speed. 
 
 Great as is the saving of labor achieved by reapers, 
 mowers, threshers, etc., they are all as nothing in 
 comparison with that which must come before long, 
 THE STEAM-PLOUGH ! What a revolution would take 
 place, when a gang of five or six ploughs, cutting from 
 fifteen to twenty-four inches deep, shall plow from 
 thirteen to fifteen acres a day ! A farm of twenty 
 acres will then be equivalent to a hundred acres now. 
 A hundred acres so cultivated will yield unexampled 
 crops. It will be better for small farmers than it 
 would be to make every man a present of four times 
 as much land as he had before. 
 
 Then, too, large farming could be carried on with 
 out the drawbacks which now hinder it. A thousand 
 acres ploughed, tilled, and reaped by machinery could 
 be handled as easily by the proprietor as now he 
 handles a hundred acres. 
 
 As yet we have only scratched the surface of the 
 earth. We have never fairly harnessed mechanics, 
 or made a farmer of science. 
 
 The man who invents a steam-plough, that will turn 
 twelve or fifteen acres a day, two feet deep, will be an 
 emancipator and civilizer. 
 
 Then labor shall have leisure for culture. Thus 
 working and studying shall go hand in hand. Then 
 the farmer shall no longer be a drudge ; and work 
 shall not exact much, and give but little. Then men 
 will receive a collegiate education to fit them for the 
 farm, as now they do for the pulpit and the forum, 
 and in the intervals of labor, gratefully frequent, 
 
CITY BOYS IN THE COUNTRY. 71 
 
 they may pursue their studies ; especially will books 
 be no longer the product of cities, but come fresh and 
 glowing from Nature, from unlopped men, whose side- 
 branches, having had room to grow, give the full and 
 noble proportions of manhood from top to bottom. 
 God speed the plough ! 
 
 vv 
 
 P. S. A critic, near at hand, thinks the storm in 
 this letter very much like the one in the last. It is 
 not the same storm, but another just like it. Nature 
 has not been afraid of repeating her storms every 
 day ; and surely we should not be blamed for doing 
 our storms once a week. 
 
 CITY BOYS IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 Mountain Eest, Matteawan, September 1, 1857. 
 
 HIS is the first day of autumn. Summer is 
 gone ; gone how swiftly and unperceivedly ! 
 It has seemed to me like a green leaf float 
 ing upon a silent river. It came quietly 
 toward me from above, then moved past in a shadowy 
 and spectre-like way, and now has floated down and 
 gone past the bend in the river, and I shall see the 
 summer leaf no more. In like manner, the gold 
 leaf of autumn has been glistening in the distance, 
 and drawing daily nearer. It too, in turn, will glow 
 and shine upon the spotted stream of time and go 
 past. Then comes winter. It hath no leaves to give. 
 It offers frost particles and flakes of snow instead. 
 
72 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 To-day is a goblet-day. The whole heavens have been 
 mingled with exquisite skill to a delicious flavor, 
 and the crystal cup put to every lip. Breathing is 
 like ethereal drinking. It is a luxury simply to 
 exist. The whole air is full of inarticulate music. 
 Birds have given way to the autumnal choir. Crick 
 ets, locusts, and katydids are chirping and harping 
 away at the most astonishing rate. 
 
 When birds sing they never fill the air. They sing 
 in multiplied voices, and yet there is always seeming 
 room for more. But katydids and crickets surfeit 
 the air. They are "mixture-stops" of not four or five 
 sounds, but forty. Unlike birds singing, there is no 
 individualization. It is a vast body of sound. Some 
 times one imagines them as jolly fiddlers at a revel ; 
 and we can see them lying back and fiddling with 
 the most enjoying relish. At other times, they re 
 mind you of an orchestra in the anteroom chording 
 their instruments. They seem to twang and thumb, 
 to scrape and draw, without ever coming to concert- 
 pitch or getting ready for the overture. Then, again, 
 one fancies that they are fairies chattering in the 
 grassland imagines as best he can what cricket mirth 
 must be ; what grasshopper rivalries amount to ; 
 what locust passions and sentiments are. It would 
 be curious to look at life from their point of view. 
 Their notions of man would be a chapter in mental 
 philosophy full as wise and profitable as the most of 
 those which have amused sober sects, and fooled them 
 into philosophy. 
 
 Probably there are dandy grasshoppers, which strut 
 about in the grass, exhibiting their graceful legs ; 
 athletes, proud of the prodigious muscle of their 
 
CITY BOYS IN THE COUNTRY. 73 
 
 thighs ; amorous locusts, that execute all fantastic 
 observances fitted to their state. Are there not 
 castes and ranks, and distinctions of society, in the 
 grass as well as above it ? Shining crickets, jet, hand 
 some, these are doubtless despising the rusty ash- 
 colored fellow, who knows no better than to wear the 
 jacket which Nature made for him. But we sat 
 down to write upon something besides these stridulous 
 gentlemen of the grass orchestra; something quite 
 as noisy in their way, but of a good deal more inter 
 est. We mean Boys ! 
 
 A boy is a piece of existence quite separate from 
 all things else, and deserves separate chapters in the 
 natural history of man. The real lives of boys are 
 yet to be written. The lives of pious and good boys, 
 which enrich the catalogues of great publishing so 
 cieties, resemble a real boy s life about as much as 
 a chicken picked and larded, upon a spit, and ready 
 for delicious eating, resembles a free fowl in the fields. 
 With some few honorable exceptions, they are impos 
 sible boys, with incredible goodness. Their piety is 
 monstrous. A man s experience stuffed into a little 
 boy is simply monstrous. And we are soundly scep 
 tical of this whole school of juvenile pate de foie graz 
 piety. Apples that ripen long before tlieir time are 
 either diseased or worm-bitten. 
 
 So long as boys are babies, how much are they 
 cherished ! But by and by the cradle is needed for 
 another. From the time that a babe becomes a boy, 
 until he is a young man, he is in an anomalous con 
 dition, for which there is no special place assigned in 
 Nature. They are always in the way. They are al 
 ways doing something to call down rebuke. They are 
 
74 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 inquisitive as monkeys, and meddlesome just where 
 you don t wish them to be. Boys have a period of 
 mischief as much as they have measles or chicken-pox. 
 They invade your drawers, mix up your tooth-powder 
 with hair-oil ; pull your laces and collars from their 
 repositories ; upset your ink upon invaluable manu 
 script ; tear up precious letters, scatter your wafers, 
 stick everything up with experimental sealing-wax ; 
 and spoil all your pens, in the effort at spoiling all 
 your paper. 
 
 Poor boys ! What are they good for ? It is an un 
 fathomable mystery that we come to our manhood 
 (as the Israelites reach Canaan) through the wilder 
 ness of boyhood. They are always wanting some 
 thing they must not have, going where they ought 
 not to be, coming where they are not wanted, saying 
 the most awkward things at the most critical times. 
 They will tell lies, and, after infinite pains to teach 
 them the obligations of truth, they give us the full 
 benefit of frankness and literalness, by blurting out 
 before company a whole budget of family secrets. 
 Would you take a quiet nap ? Slam-bang go a whole 
 bevy of boys through the house ! Has the nervous 
 baby at length, after all manner of singings, trottings, 
 soothings, and maternal bosom-opiates, just fallen 
 asleep ? Be sure an unmannerly boy will be on hand 
 to bawl out for permission to do something or other, 
 which he has been doing all day without dreaming of 
 leave. 
 
 Who shall describe the daily battle of the hair 
 and the bath, the ordeal of aprons for the table, the 
 placing and moving up, and the endless task of good 
 manners ? If there is one saint that ought to stand 
 
CITY BOYS IN THE COUNTRY. 75 
 
 higher than another on the calendar, it is a patient, 
 sweet-tempered children s nurse ! Talk of saintship, 
 simply because a man lived in a cave, and was ab 
 stemious, or because he died bravely at the stake ! 
 What are fagots of fiery sticks for a few hot mo 
 ments compared to those animated fagots which con 
 sume nurses and governesses for months and years, 
 to say nothing of the occasional variety of parental 
 coals ! 
 
 Are we, then, not on the boys side ? To be sure 
 we are. It is not their fault that they are boys, nor 
 that older people are not patient. 
 
 The restless activity of boys is their necessity. To 
 restrain it is to thwart Nature. We need to provide 
 for it. Not to attempt to find amusement for them, 
 but to give them opportunity to amuse themselves. 
 It is astonishing to see how little it requires to satisfy 
 a boy-nature. 
 
 First in the list we put strings. What grown-up 
 people find in a thousand forms of business and so 
 ciety, a boy secures in a string! He ties up the 
 door for the exquisite pleasure of untying it again. 
 He harnesses chairs, ties up his own fingers, halters 
 his neck, coaxes a lesser urchin to become his horse, 
 and drives stage, which, with boys, is the top of 
 human attainment. Strings are wanted for snares, 
 for bows and arrows, for whips, for cat s-cradles, for 
 kites, for fishing, and a hundred things more than 
 I can recollect. A knife is more exciting than a 
 string, but does not last so long, and is not so vari 
 ous. After a short time it is lost, or broken, or has 
 cut the fingers. But a string is the instrument of 
 endless devices, and within the management and in- 
 
76 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 genuity of a boy. The first article that parents should 
 lay in, on going into the country, is a large ball of 
 twine. The boys must not know it. If they see a 
 whole ball the charm is broken. It must come forth 
 mysteriously, unexpectedly, and as if there were no 
 more ! 
 
 For indoors, next, we should place upon the list 
 pencils and white paper. At least one hour in every 
 day will be safely secured by that. A slate and pencil 
 are very good. But as children always aspire to do 
 what men do, they account the unused half of a letter 
 and a bit of pencil to be worth twice as much as any 
 slate. 
 
 Upon the whole, we think a safe stream of water 
 near by affords the greatest amount of enjoyment 
 among all natural objects. There is wading and wash 
 ing ; there is throwing of stones, and finding of 
 pebbles ; there is engineering, of the most laborious 
 kind, by which stone and mud are made to dam up 
 the water, or to change the channel. Besides these 
 things, boys are sensitive to that nameless attraction 
 of beauty which specially hovers about the sides of 
 streams ; and though they may not recognize the 
 cause, they are persuaded of the fact that they are 
 very happy when there are stones with gurgling water 
 around them, shady trees, and succulent undergrowth, 
 moss, and water-cress, insect, bird, and all the popu 
 lation of cool water-courses. 
 
 But boys are not always boys. All that is in us 
 in leaf is in them in bud. The very yearnings, the 
 imaginings, the musings, yea, the very questions, 
 which -occupy our later years as serious tasks, are 
 found in the occasional hours of boyhood. We have 
 
CITY BOYS IN THE COUNTEY. 77 
 
 scarcely heard one moral problem discussed in later 
 life that is not questioned by children. The creation 
 of the world, the origin of evil, divine foreknowledge, 
 human liberty, the immortality of the soul, and vari 
 ous other elements of elaborate systems, belong to 
 childhood. Men trace the connections of truths, and 
 their ethical applications and relations, but the simple 
 elements of the most recondite truths seem to have 
 gained in them very little by the progress of years. 
 Indeed, all truths whose root and life are in the Infi 
 nite are like the fixed stars, which become no larger 
 under the most powerful telescope than to the natural 
 eye. Their distance is too vast to make any appreci 
 able variation in magnitude possible. They are mere 
 points of light. 
 
 Boys have their soft and gentle words too. You 
 would suppose by the morning racket that nothing 
 could be more foreign to their nature than romance 
 and vague sadness, such as ideality produces in 
 adults. But boys have hours of great sinking and 
 sadness, when kindness and fondness are peculiarly 
 needful to them. 
 
 It is worthy of notice, how soon a little kindness, a 
 little consideration for their boy-nature, wins their con 
 fidence and caresses. Every boy wants some one older 
 than himself to whom he may go in moods of confi 
 dence and yearning. The neglect of this child s want 
 by grown people, and the treating of children as little 
 rattling, noisy imps, not yet subject to heart-throes 
 because they are so frolicsome in general, is a fertile 
 source of suffering. One of the most common forms 
 of selfishness is that which refuses to recognize any 
 experience as worthy of attention if it lies in a sphere 
 
78 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 below our own. Not only ought a man to humble 
 himself as a little child, but also to little children. 
 
 A thousand things are blamed in them simply 
 because, measured by our manhood standard, they 
 are unfit, whereas upon the scale of childhood they 
 are congruous and proper. We deny children s re 
 quests often upon the scale of our own likings and 
 dislikings. We attempt to govern them by a man s 
 regimen, and not by a child s. 
 
 And yet, badgered, snubbed, and scolded on the 
 one hand ; petted, flattered, and indulged on the 
 other, it is astonishing how many children work 
 their way up to an honest manhood in spite of parents 
 and friends. Human nature has an element of great 
 toughness in it. When we see what men are made 
 of, our wonder is, not that so many children are 
 spoiled, but that so many are saved. 
 
 The country is appointed of God to be the chil 
 dren s nursery ; the city seems to have been made 
 by malign spirits to destroy children in. They are 
 cramped for room, denied exercise, restrained of 
 wholesome liberty of body, or, if it be allowed, it is 
 at the risk of morals. 
 
 Children are half educated who are allowed to be 
 familiar with the scenes and experiences of the open 
 country. For this, if for no other reason, parents 
 might make an effort every year to remove their 
 children for some months from the city to the coun 
 try. For the best effect, it is desirable that they 
 should utterly leave the city behind them. It is ab 
 surd to go into the country to find all the luxuries of 
 a city. It is to get rid of them that they go. Men 
 are cumbered and hampered by too much convenience 
 
A TIME AT THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 79 
 
 in the city. They grow artificial. They lose a relish 
 for natural beauty and the simple occupations of rural 
 life. Our children need a separate and special train 
 ing in country education. We send them to the 
 Polytechnique for eight months. But for four months 
 we send them to God s school in the openness and 
 simplicity of the country. A diploma in this school 
 will be of service to body and mind while life lasts. 
 
 * 
 
 A TIME AT THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 FTER a week or two among the White 
 Mountains, I have concluded not to write 
 about them. They are a university of moun 
 tains. One must enter regularly, pursue 
 the course of study, and graduate, before he is worthy 
 of a moimtameer s degree, and before he under 
 takes to write in any worthy manner. As I am only 
 a freshman, and in the first term at that, I do not pro 
 pose to set forth and write out the whole of the White 
 Mountains. In riding along these green lanes, we 
 often break off or twist off, rather a branch of 
 birch, and, bruising the skin, carry it for the sake 
 of its delightful fragrance. In like manner, I will 
 give you just a sprig of my experience. 
 
 The descent from the top of Mount Washington, 
 toward the Gibbs House, had in it one half-hour of 
 extreme pleasure and two hours of common pleasure. 
 After leaving the summit hill, I shot ahead of the 
 fifteen or twenty in the party, and rode along the 
 
80 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 ridge that separates the eastern and western valleys. 
 Beginning at our very feet as little crevices or pet 
 ty gorges, the valleys widened, and deepened, and 
 stretched forth, until on either side they grew dim 
 in the distance, and the eye disputed with itself 
 whether it was lake or cloud that spotted the hori 
 zon with silver. The valleys articulated with this 
 ridge as ribs with a backbone. As I rode along this 
 jagged and broken path, except of my horse s feet 
 there was not a single sound. There was no wind. 
 There was nothing for it to sing through if there had 
 been ever so much. There were no birds. There 
 were no chirping insects. I saw no insects except 
 spiders, that here, as everywhere, seemed well fed 
 and carried plump bellies. There was perfect peace, 
 perfect stillness, universal brightness, the fulness of 
 vision, and a wondrous glory in the heaven and over 
 all the earth. The earth was to me as it were un 
 peopled. I saw neither towns nor cities, neither 
 houses nor villages, neither smoke nor motion nor 
 sign of life. I stopped, and imagined that I was as 
 they were who first explored this ridgy wilderness, 
 and knew that as far as eye could reach not a white 
 man lived. And yet these thoughts were soon chased 
 away by the certainty that under that silvery haze 
 were thousands of toiling men, romping children, 
 mothers and maidens, and the world was going on 
 below just as usual. How are the birds to be envied 
 who make airy mountains by their wings ! Could I 
 rise six thousand feet above the ground, that were 
 substantially to be on the mountain-top. Then, when 
 the multitude wearied us, and the soul would bathe 
 in silence, I would with a few beats lift up through 
 
A TIME AT THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 81 
 
 the air, and seek the solitude of space, and hide in 
 the clefts of clouds, or ride unexplored ranges of 
 crystal-white cloud-mountains, that scorn footsteps, 
 and on whose radiant surfaces an army of feet would 
 wear no path, leave no mark, but fade out as do steps 
 upon the water ! 
 
 And so, for a half-hour, I rode alone, without the 
 rustle of leaves, without hum or buzz, without that 
 nameless mixture of pipes, small and great, which 
 fill the woods or sing along the surface of the plains. 
 There were no nuts to fall, no branches to snap, 
 no squirrel to bark, no birds to fly out and flap 
 away through the leaves. The matted moss was born 
 and bred in silence. The stunted savins and cedars, 
 crouched down close to the earth from savage winds, 
 as partridges crouch when hawks are in the air. The 
 forests in the chasms and valleys below were like 
 bushes or overgrown moss. If there were any wind 
 down there, if they shook their leaves to its piping, 
 and danced when it bid them, it was all the same to 
 me. For motion or rest were alike at this distance. 
 
 There is above every man s head a height into 
 which he may rise, and whether care and trouble 
 fret below, or tear on, they become alike silent and 
 powerless. It is only our affections that mount up 
 and dwell with us, where bickerings and burdens 
 may never come. 
 
 Out of these chambers of the air I remembered the 
 world afar off, as one remembers the fairy tales of 
 his childhood. The cities we had trodden seem in 
 the mind like pencil-traced pictures half rubbed out. 
 The real New York seemed too impossible even for 
 a dream. That Boston really lay sweltering by the 
 
82 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 sea-side excited a smile of incredulity. As I rode 
 along, I tried the effect of speech. I called out aloud. 
 The sound fell from my lips, and ceased forever. 
 No mountains caught it and nourished it in echoes. 
 I called again. But there was in a second no voice, 
 and none that echoed. I called a third time with 
 better success, for one of the gentlemen of the party 
 had crept upon my loitering, and, supposing himself 
 called, gave me back a very unexpected and most un 
 welcome answer. The bubble burst! My half-hour, 
 like a sweet dream interrupted, fled away, and I could 
 not dream it again ! 
 
 Beaching the hotel in due season, tired and sweaty, 
 a bath must be had. We went toward the Notch, 
 and turning to the right at the first little stream that 
 let itself down from the mountains, we sought the 
 pools in which we knew such streams kept their 
 sweetest thoughts, expressing them by trout. The 
 only difficulty was in the selection. This pool was 
 deep, rock-rimmed, transparent, gravel-bottomed. The 
 next was level-edged and rock-bottomed, but received 
 its water with such a gush, that it whirled around the 
 basin in a liquid dance of bubbles. The next one 
 received a divided stream, one part coming over a 
 shelving rock and sheeting down in white, while the 
 other portion fell into a hollow and murmuring 
 crevice, and came gurgling forth from a half-dark 
 channel. Half-way down, the rock was smooth and 
 pleasant to the feet. In the deepest part were fine 
 gravel and powdered mountain, commonly called 
 sand. The waters left this pool even more beauti 
 fully than they entered it ; for the rock had been 
 rounded and grooved, so that it gave a channel like 
 
A TIME AT THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 83 
 
 the finest moulded lip of a water-vase ; and the moss, 
 beginning below, had crept up into the very throat 
 of the passage, and lined it completely, giving to the 
 clear water a green hue as it rushed through, whirl 
 ing itself into a plexus of cords, or a kind of pul 
 sating braid of water. This was my pool. It waited 
 for me. How deliciously it opened its flood to my 
 coming. It rushed up to every pore, and sheeted my 
 skin with an aqueous covering, prepared in the moun 
 tain water-looms. Ah ! the coldness : every drop was 
 molten hail. It was the very brother of ice. At a 
 mere hint of winter it would change to ice again ! 
 If the crystal nook were such a surprise of delight to 
 me, what must I have been to it, that had perhaps 
 never been invaded, unless by the lip of a moose or 
 by the lithe and spotted form of sylvan trout ! The 
 drops and bubbles ran up to me and broke about 
 my neck, and ran laughing away, frolicking over the 
 mossy margin, and I could hear them laughing all 
 the way down below. Such a monster had never per 
 haps taken covert in the pure, pellucid bowl before ! 
 
 But this was the centre part. Not less memorable 
 was the fringe. The trees hung in the air on either 
 side, and stretched their green leaves for a roof far 
 above. The birch and alder, with here and there 
 a silver-fir, in bush form, edged the rocks on either 
 side. As you looked up the stream, there opened an 
 ascending avenue of cascades, dripping rocks, bearded 
 with moss, crevices filled with grass or dwarfed shrubs, 
 until the whole was swallowed up in the leaves and 
 trees far above. But if you turned down the stream, 
 then through a lane of richest green stood the open 
 sky, and lifted up against it thousands of feet Mount 
 
84 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Willard, rocky and rent, or with but here and there 
 a remnant of evergreens, sharp and ragged. The sun 
 was behind it, and poured against its farther side his 
 whole tide of light, which lapped over, as a stream 
 dashes over its bounds and spills its waters beyond. 
 So it stood up over against this ocean of atmospheric 
 gold, banked huge and rude, against a most resplen 
 dent heaven ! 
 
 As I stood donning my last articles of raiment, and 
 wringing my over-wet hair, I saw a trout move very 
 deliberately out from under a rock by which I had 
 lain, and walk quietly across to the other side. As 
 he entered the crevice, a smaller one left it, and came 
 as demurely across to his rock. It was evident that 
 the old people had sent them out to see if the coast 
 were clear, and whether any damage had been done. 
 Probably it was thought that there had been a slide 
 in the mountain, and that a huge icicle or lump of 
 snow had plunged into their pool, and melted away 
 there. If there are piscatory philosophers below water 
 half as wise as those above, this would be a very fair 
 theory of the disturbance to which their mountain 
 homestead had been subjected. As I had eaten of 
 their salt, of course I respected the laws of hospi 
 tality, and no deceptive fly of mine shall ever tempt 
 trout in a brook which begets pools so lovely, and in 
 pools that yield themselves with such delicious em 
 brace to the pleasures of a mountain bath. 
 
 And so, as the sun was gone, it was time for me to 
 go. Step by step I climbed the moss-carpeted rocks ; 
 slipped in due degree, leaped the wide-set stones, got 
 caught on the dead branches of the cedar, climbed 
 astride over the birch, and reached the road. 
 
OUR FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH A SEWING-MACHINE. 85 
 
 OUE FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH A SEWING- 
 MACHINE. 
 
 MONG the things which we did not, but now 
 do believe in, is the SEWING-MACHINE. One 
 thing after another had been invented, one 
 machine after another had superseded man 
 ual labor, until human hands seemed about to go out 
 of use, for any other mechanical purposes than those 
 of lovers pressures, orators gestures, and for beaux 
 and belles gloves. But we always consoled ourselves, 
 that one or two things there were yet which no ma 
 chinery could perform. We could imagine children 
 put through a whipping-machine, and we had long 
 been accustomed to see them taught by automatic 
 machines. There was the time-honored business 
 handed down to us without a break, from the Garden 
 of Eden, of courting, and kissing as one of its or 
 dinances ; no machinery could ever perform that ! 
 Machine-poetry and machine-sermons we were famil 
 iar with. Babbage can make machines for ciphering, 
 for computing logarithms, for casting up interest ; but 
 can he invent a machine for saving interest, and 
 capital too, for that matter ? And oh ! can there ever 
 be a machine for answering letters ? We would pay 
 any price for a machine into which letters being put, 
 and a crank turned, there should drop out at the other 
 side answers as good as the letters, folded, directed, 
 and stamped ! 
 
 But machines have steadily gained ground, and the 
 iron muscle has relieved the flesh hand ; machines 
 
86 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 for boring, sawing, cutting, planing ; for making 
 bread (I wish there was one for eating some of it), 
 for pumping water, for making cattle draw their own 
 drink. But, notwithstanding, we firmly believed that 
 some things would never be done by any fingers ex 
 cept human, and eminent among these impossible 
 things was SEWING! Nothing we were sure could 
 ever perform that, except the latest and best invention 
 of Paradise, woman ! 
 
 When the rumors began to prevail, then, respect 
 ing an invented sewing-machine, we lifted our eye 
 brows gently, and went on our way with a quiet con 
 sciousness that we could not be taken in by any such 
 story. We regarded it as of a piece with new-found 
 morality in old politicians, with the thousand annual 
 rumors of some heaven-dawned virtue in Washington 
 City, a mere device to catch the credulous. 
 
 But day by day the clatter grew. Indeed, we 
 surprised ourselves with a coat, sewed in important 
 respects by machine. We saw linen pyramids of 
 sheeting made for hotels and steamboats by sewing- 
 machines. 
 
 The case was growing serious indeed ; and at last 
 it came to a head, when the head of the family in 
 formed us that a woman was to come in a few days, 
 with her Wheeler and Wilson, and do up the family 
 sewing. Of course we submitted without a word. 
 And the three capable persons of this household began 
 to prepare matter for the machine, to an extent which 
 showed how perfectly they had been fooled by the 
 story of its executive ability. Piles of large stuff lay 
 in each corner ; little stuff covered the table ; and 
 miscellaneous stuff lay everywhere. We ran against 
 
OUK FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH A SEWING-MACHINE. 87 
 
 cotton heaps, were in danger of getting tangled in 
 webs of linen and sheeting at every turn ; and such 
 ripping and tearing and cutting and basting as went 
 on would lead one to imagine that an army was to 
 be clothed. 
 
 The day dawned. The woman came, and the iron 
 Wheeler and Wilson came with her ; only the lady 
 had to act as beau, and offer her aid to wait on 
 Messrs. W. and W. After a little, there arose a 
 hum from our chamber, not unlike the buzz of a 
 wheat-mill, such as we have heard in summer, sitting 
 under willow-trees on the edge of a stream, over 
 against a red mill, white-dusted. Soon we heard ex 
 cited exclamations. Everybody seemed stirred up. 
 The girls left their work, the children forsook their 
 playthings, and we followed the example. 
 
 There sat before the simple machine-stand a fair 
 young woman, some sixteen years old, whose foot, 
 like that of old-fashioned flax-spinners, was working 
 the treadle with the nimblest motion. Then came 
 the conviction, for the first time, that sewing was con 
 quered and vanquished ! Long sheets, entering the 
 fatal pass, streamed through, and came out hemmed, 
 in a ridiculously short time. An hour s work was 
 done up before your eyes in one minute. A shirt was 
 set in of such dimensions, that (we call Baron Mun- 
 chausen to witness !) a man could not get round 
 it by fair walking in less than well, in some time ! 
 It streamed through the all-puncturing Wheeler and 
 Wilson about as soon as a good-sized flag, being 
 hoisted, would unroll and flow out to the wind. A 
 bundle of linen took its turn, and came forth a collar, 
 a handkerchief, a cap. There goes in a piece of cloth ! 
 
88 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 there comes out a shirt ! We were bewildered. Not 
 much was done for some hours in that house but gaze 
 and wonder. We mistake ; a good deal more was 
 done, and done more effectually than had ever been 
 done in ten times the time before ! What heaps of 
 towels ; what piles of sheets ; what bedfuls of small 
 trumpery ; what bureaus full of fine trash ; what 
 carpet-littering stacks of unmentionable matters that 
 make up the cloth-inventory of household wealth ! 
 
 The dismayed woman of the house saw her three 
 days prepared work melting away before noon, as a 
 three days April snow disappears in a few hours ! 
 
 The voracious machine began to show its teeth and 
 to demand more food ; and now it was a fair race, 
 whether two women could prepare as much as one 
 machine could perform ! It did our very souls good. 
 At last we hoped that this was working fast enough. 
 0, what early hours has our lamp been made to illu 
 mine ! Ah, what breakfasts have we eaten, and 
 seen cleared away, long before the sun touched even 
 the cheek of day. What impetuous industry has 
 glowed about the house, forenoon, afternoon, night, 
 midnight, never enough, never overmatched ! We 
 gre^ tired even to look at it ! At last, said we, 
 You Ve got your match. Now, then, we will sit 
 down and see this race with a satisfaction that shall 
 include years of revenge for disturbed indolence ! 
 
 For a long time the match was doubtful. Some 
 times it was the machine that had the advantage, and 
 sometimes it was not. The contest was passing into 
 the middle of the afternoon. It was doubtful. Some 
 times the fast-driven needle evidently gained ; then 
 again, in rounding up a sleeve-gathering, the needle 
 
HUNTING FLIES. 89 
 
 flagged, and then the hand-worked scissors gained ! 
 But iron and steel are more enduring even than a 
 housewife s courage. And though, for any single 
 hour, the hand could prepare faster than the machine 
 could execute, yet, taking the day through, Wheeler 
 and Wilson had the advantage, and came out at dark 
 decidedly ahead. That settled it. There was a revo 
 lution in this household. Our Miriam sounded her 
 timbrel, and triumphed over the cruel Pharaoh of the 
 needle, whose dynasty and despotism were ended ! 
 Now sewing is the family amusement. Our Wheeler 
 and Wilson is played on a great deal more than our 
 Steinway piano, and is the cause, too, of more real 
 music than is ever got out of that instrument ; for two 
 canary birds, perched on either side of the book-case, 
 understand the first click of the sewing-machine to 
 be a challenge, and while the machine sings staccato, 
 they warble ad libitum, and between the solfeggio 
 of the one and the cantabile of the other we go crazy. 
 
 K 
 
 HUNTING FLIES. 
 
 1855. 
 
 HERE are two degrees in this art, viz. F. H. 
 and F. C., Fly Hunting and Fly Catch 
 ing. The first is easy, but few can have a 
 diploma for the last. We opened the door 
 to let the warmth out of our over-heated study, and in 
 came a boisterous fly, almost as big as a bee, and ten 
 times as important. One would think him a courier 
 before all the emperors on earth, or the chief of poli- 
 
90 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 ticians about to utter a speech, or a Monsieur Jullien, 
 lecturing his hundred instruments, each in his own 
 tongue. 
 
 It was an annoyance ; for when one has a little bit 
 of an inspiration of his own, and is about to make a 
 flourish on paper, he does not care to have himself 
 burlesqued. Did you ever undertake to drive one 
 fly out of a large room, with a high ceiling ? We 
 took our broom and struck at the busy fellow, with 
 only the effect of immensely quickening his activity. 
 Whereas, before, he buzzed in stately circuits, he now 
 set about such a series of nimble whirls, now near the 
 floor, then, before we could detect him with our eye, 
 up by the ceiling ; now by the door, then by the win 
 dow, and giving out a sound like a wheel in a factory, 
 until our anger changed to mirth, and the attempt at 
 hitting him became ludicrous. We smote here and 
 there ; we beat the books, the wall, the carpet, the 
 stove, everything but the fly. He seemed to be 
 the only one that fully enjoyed himself. At length 
 we sat down, hoping the busy impertinence would 
 settle somewhere. So he did, right before our face, 
 on the desk, and crept about with such a nimble, pert, 
 business-like air, that one could not help thinking 
 that he said, " Were you not looking for us, sir, just 
 now ? Is there anything that you particularly want ? 
 Can t we serve you?" and with that, undoubtedly 
 unable to restrain the laughter that swelled his blue 
 jacket, he flew up and whirred and whirled, bounced 
 and buzzed ; bumped the window, and bizzed against 
 the wall, and went through all the waltzes, polkas, 
 schottishes, that ever were conceived of, a perfect 
 aerial quadrille. 
 
BACK AGAIN. 91 
 
 Well, this is amusing enough on a small scale ; 
 but it is rather sad to see it on a large scale. New 
 York has been after its corrupt and corrupting alder 
 men for months past, swinging the broom of justice 
 after them ; smiting here and smiting there, but 
 always hitting the place that the rogues had just left. 
 And nobody is so happy, so fat, so nimble, so amiable 
 and familiar with justice, as these amazing aldermen. 
 
 Methinks we see our example imitated, also, in 
 the grandest style, by no less a broom-holder than 
 the President of these United States. He shakes his 
 broom, now at Disunionists, now at Free-Soilers, and 
 then at all who hate both of them. Indeed, his task 
 is worse than ours ; for he has flies to drive out, and 
 flies to drive in, and a part of the time it is very un 
 certain which is which. Lately several big flies have 
 been buzzing in the custom-house, so that the Presi 
 dent could get no peace even in Washington. And 
 less ever since he has been flirting the broom than 
 before. 
 
 * 
 
 BACK AGAIN. 
 
 ]E are always glad to get out of the city in 
 summer, and always glad to get back again 
 when the vacation is up. Ten months of 
 city labor prepare one for the luxury of rest, 
 or, what is better, light occupation and country scenes. 
 A man in the country may, and often does, work in 
 cessantly, and up to the measure of his strength ; and 
 a city clergyman can do no more than that. Yet the 
 
92 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 labor of a city pastor is more exacting and more ex 
 haustive of nervous vitality. Unless he shut himself 
 up, and bar and bolt his seclusion, he knows nothing 
 either of leisure or rest, in the sense of quietness 
 and being let alone. The very roar of the street 
 is an imperceptible excitement. To walk through the 
 thoroughfares, to see the rush and whirl and anxious 
 haste of so many men, imparts something of anxious 
 haste or feverishness to your mind. Then there is an 
 endless succession of things to be done, that require 
 time for the doing, but leave you nothing to show 
 at the end of the week. There are committees and 
 consultations, there are private meetings and public 
 meetings, there are new movements to be initiated, 
 and old ones to be kept up. Everybody has every 
 thing to do, and clergymen are the ones expected to 
 advise everybody about everything that does not come 
 within limitation of business partnerships. The sick 
 have a right to the minister. If they be strangers 
 and poor, a yet better right. The poor have a right 
 to expect that he, at least, will have concern for 
 them. The afflicted look to him. Those who are in 
 comfort, whose friends are good counsellors, do not 
 know how many thousands there are in the city that 
 have no one to go to. A widow wishes to put her 
 boy to a good trade ; who shall advise her ? Who 
 shall ascertain for her if the place thought of be safe 
 and the man honorable? A young man is run down 
 and discouraged ; lacks a place and means of liveli 
 hood. Where, among strangers, can he find help, if 
 ministers do not give it to him ? Parents are troubled 
 about their children, just passing through the crisis 
 of life ; they are not boys any longer, nor are they 
 
BACK AGAIN. 93 
 
 men. It is a help and a comfort, if they have not 
 better advisers, to go to their minister. 
 
 One sort of men think of clergymen simply as 
 the preachers of sermons. They think their life and 
 labor is deep and subtle, study through the week, 
 and utterance on Sunday. Others think of clergymen 
 simply in their relations to public enterprises. They 
 ought to lead here, and lead there. They ought to 
 appear in this meeting, and in that. If a man do 
 not preach ably, he is good for nothing, some think. 
 If he be not a reformer, a thorough progressive, then 
 others think he is worse than useless. Now we surely 
 wish every minister were a good and able preacher ; 
 and we wish it were the conscience-necessity of every 
 minister to lead his people, and, as far as his influ 
 ence allowed, the community, in all well-considered 
 advance movements. But these are not all his func 
 tions. These are tlfe public aspects. His private, 
 work, his ten thousand services to individuals, to the 
 unfriended, the tempted, the poor, the afflicted, the 
 perplexed ; the giving of counsel to the weak, encour 
 agement to the desponding ; the taking care of men 
 one by one and in detail, as well as generic and 
 wholesome movements for communities and mankind, 
 constitute an immense proportion of his labor. It is 
 that part which takes the most out of him in time, 
 strength, and nerves. It^is that which he feels more 
 than study or speaking. It is that of which his peo 
 ple have the least conception. They naturally judge 
 by what they see, and they see that which is in the 
 pulpit and on the platform. * 
 
 It is six o clock in the morning. The day is begun. 
 The family are emerging. Breakfast will be ready in 
 
94 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 half an hour. You look for the Tribune. The bell 
 rings. A man has called thus early, for fear you 
 might be out. You despatch his business. Sitting 
 down to breakfast, the bell rings, and the servant says 
 the man will wait. But what pleasure can one have 
 at a meal with a man up-stairs waiting for him, and 
 the consciousness of it hastening the coffee and the 
 toast on their way ? You run up. Can you marry a 
 couple at so and so ? That is settled. Prayers are 
 had with the family. The bell rings, once, twice, 
 three times. When you rise, there are five persons 
 waiting for you in the front parlor.- A young man 
 from the country wishes your name on his circular 
 for a school. A young woman is failing in health by 
 confinement to sewing ; does not know what to do ; 
 behind in rent ; cannot get away to the country ; 
 does not wish charity ; only wishes some one to enable 
 her to break away from a state*of things that will in 
 six months kill her. Another called to inquire after 
 a friend of whom he has lost sight. While you are 
 attending to these, the bell is active, and other per 
 sons take the places of those that go. A poor mother 
 wants to buy her son s wife out of slavery. A kind 
 woman calls in behalf of a boarder who is out of 
 place, desponding, will throw himself away if he can 
 not get some means of livelihood. Another calls to 
 know if I will not visit a po>r family in great distress, 
 
 in Street. A good and honest looking man 
 
 comes next ; is out of work ; has " heard that your 
 riverince is a kind man," etc. Another man wants 
 to get his family out from Ireland, can pay half, if 
 some one will intercede with ship-owners to trust him 
 the balance. A stranger has died, and a sexton de- 
 
BACK AGAIN. 95 
 
 sires a clergyman s services. Several persons desire 
 religious conversation. It is after ten o clock. A 
 moment s lull. You catch your hat and run out. 
 Perhaps you have forgotten some appointment. You 
 betake yourself to your study, not a little flurried 
 by the contrariety of things which you have been 
 considering. You return to dine. There are five 
 or six persons waiting for you. At tea you find 
 others, also, with their divers necessities. 
 
 This is not overdrawn ; and for months of the year 
 it is far underdrawn. There is no taxation compar 
 able to an incessant various conversation with people 
 for whom you must think, devise, and for whose help 
 you feel yourself often utterly incompetent. 
 
 Yet it is right that people should have some one to 
 go to. It is right that Christian ministers should be 
 the persons. It is religion in its form of benevolence 
 thus to stand on the side of weakness, want, igno 
 rance, repentant wickedness, for their relief. 
 
 But when ten months of incessant attrition have 
 exhausted one s nervous store, the bell becomes an 
 affliction ; we dread its sound. We long for calm 
 ness, for solitude, for rest. We seek the coolest, most 
 secluded spots. There must be many attractions of 
 scenery ; but, before all other things, there must not 
 be many people there. 
 
 Six weeks of rest change all that. The feverish 
 impatience is gone. Your old love of work comes 
 back. You return to your post with secret joy. You 
 are eager for work. The old bell is musical. You 
 begin again to listen, to urge or dissuade, to counsel 
 or to direct, those who come. You find the foun 
 tains of speech flowing once more. The face of the 
 
96 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 great congregation is inspiring to you. And, after 
 your vacation, you are worth a great deal more to 
 them than if you had plodded on without cessation 
 
 or relaxation. 
 
 * 
 
 A WESTERN TRIP. 
 
 October, 1855. 
 
 ]HEN we first visited the West, in 1834, there 
 was but one single strip of railroad in the 
 whole country west of the Hudson, and 
 that was between Albany and Schenectady. 
 We thought ourselves fortunate in reaching Cincin 
 nati in ten days from New York. But now we leave 
 New York at 6.30 (to use the new railroad idiom) 
 on Monday, and expect to take supper in Chicago on 
 Tuesday evening. The only difference between ex 
 pectation and realization was, that we arrived on 
 Wednesday forenoon, being out two nights instead 
 of one. We missed the connection at Toledo, and 
 so our delay arose. 
 
 The cars on the Erie road were crowded more than 
 we ever before saw them, giving sign that people are 
 recovering from their absurd prejudices against this 
 most comfortable of all roads. But though every 
 place be filled, the cars cannot, after all, be said to 
 be crowded, so spacious are the wide seats. 
 
 We went through the usual experience of travel 
 lers. We talked till our throats ached, for we were 
 fortunate in having Dr. Bellows, of New York, as a 
 companion. We thumbed the guide-book, and reck- 
 
A WESTERN TRIP. 97 
 
 oned how far we had come, and how far it yet was 
 to Dunkirk. We got out at wood and water stations, 
 and saluted the engine, and bought apples of the 
 boys, and ran down banks for asters, golden-rod, and 
 purple beech-leaves, and scampered back again fast 
 as feet could carry us, when the whistle began, like 
 a fretting old woman, to scold and scream that they 
 would leave us if we did not come back instantly. 
 But we were always too nimble for the engine, whose 
 speed is not in its start where ours is. At eleven 
 o clock at night Dunkirk was reached. We had the 
 huge, dreary, chilly depot as a waiting-place till the 
 Buffalo cars came in. They were late. They were 
 yet later when we started for Cleveland, and more 
 than two hours behind time when we reached that 
 city in the morning, after a night s sleep in the cars ; 
 which made you think that you were a kaleidoscope, 
 and at every jolt and turn new and ridiculous com 
 binations were taking place in the fragments of your 
 internal being, and one looks back on the contents 
 of such a night as upon a wild hallucination. But 
 if the night was disturbed, what was the screaming 
 tumult of the morning at the Cleveland depot ? Bells 
 ringing, gongs roaring, porters shouting, passengers 
 being disgorged by hundreds, with wrinkled-up chil 
 dren, squeezed and uncombed and unwashed. The 
 Cincinnati train, the Toledo train, and other trains 
 had been patiently waiting for our tardy arrival ; and 
 the locomotives were roaring off their extra steam, 
 and whistling for very nervousness, and prancing 
 about, running in and out, just to keep themselves 
 from blowing up with mere ill-humor and impatience. 
 Meanwhile, the hand-trucks were changing baggage, 
 
98 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 
 
 and rattling, with huge piles of luggage, all over the 
 depot. 
 
 Is there anything on earth so much to be pitied as 
 a trunk ? What awful violence it suffers in packing ; 
 what crowding and straining, to get in twice as much 
 as it can possibly hold. Then comes the shutting, 
 the getting on the lid, the jumping and jamming, the 
 red-faced vexation because the latch will not quite 
 catch, the final triumph, the twirl of the key, the 
 strapping and cover-fastening. How trying to weak 
 human nature is a strap and buckle ! You pull till 
 the blood threatens to burst from your head, and al 
 most bring the hole up to the buckle-tongue. You 
 give it a quick jerk to let it in, but it only springs 
 back. You try again, and lose it again, and your 
 patience with it. You jerk, and protest, and will 
 have it come right. At length you propose a com 
 promise, and cut another hole in the strap half-way ; 
 and deceive yourself with thinking that you have had 
 your own way. This may end your troubles, but it is 
 but the beginning of the trunk s. The hackman drops 
 it ; the porter slings it aboard. The baggage-master 
 fires it into the heap as if he meant to make it strike 
 fire. At night it is to be changed at Dunkirk, say. 
 They are pitched out of the car like bombs. Two or 
 three employees seem possessed with very spite at 
 them. They catch them by the handle, give them a 
 prodigious twirl on one end, and the trunk spins like 
 a top to a corner of the baggage-space, and smashes 
 up against its fellows. Again at Cleveland, they are 
 sent out like shot from the cars, piled up on the 
 trucks, little ones at the bottom, and big ones at the 
 top, some are smashed, some are dented, some are 
 
A WESTEKN TRIP. 99 
 
 ripped, but all go headlong and heterogeneously into 
 the new limbo of baggage. It is very interesting, 
 then, to examine some of these trunks, which a kind 
 aunt has labelled, " Please lift it by the handles " ; or, 
 " Keep this side up." One might as well put a label 
 on a Paixhan shot, giving directions for its careful 
 journey. Well, our " Crouch and Fitzgerald " trunk 
 seemed peculiarly lucky. It had the knack of escaping 
 contusion and abuse, and when we reached Chicago, 
 came forth from its canvas, shining like a new one. 
 But we look on it as a miracle. Nothing would have 
 persuaded us that such an escape was possible. A 
 mathematical calculation of chances would make the 
 course of a trunk from New York to Chicago to be 
 like the chances of grain through the mill-stones. 
 And a man might well expect to receive, at the end 
 of his journey, only a bag of dust mixed up with 
 fragments of leather and raiment. 
 
 But we are thankful for a safe reaching of this 
 extraordinary city of Chicago. No man has seen the 
 West who has not seen Chicago. Nature has done 
 little for its harbor, and government has done less. 
 The ground was not meant for a city. The place has 
 no adaptations for a fine city. It is low, flat, muddy, 
 or dusty. But such is the concentration of enormous 
 business here, that before many years all natural dif 
 ficulties will have been overcome. The grade will be 
 raised artficially ; the streets paved ; the sidewalks, 
 now of wood, converted to stone ; the river tunnelled ; 
 the harbor cleaned out and enlarged, and the whole 
 river, in both its branches, be wharfed in and lined 
 with lumber-yards and warehouses. But as yet Chi 
 cago is anything but a city of desirable aspect to the 
 
100 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 eye or the feet. It would seem to be a merchant s 
 beau ideal of paradise. It fairly smokes and roars with 
 business. There is no room for the caravans of 
 teams. The river is choked with craft, and the harbor 
 is filled with vessels. The streets are filled up with 
 boxes and bales, the stores are like hives in spring 
 weather, with swarms going in and out with incessant 
 activity ; buying and selling, buying and selling, 
 buying and selling, that is Chicago. The merchant 
 cannot get goods from the East fast enough. His yes 
 terday s arrivals are gone to-day, or picked over and 
 made thin. The warehouses cannot hold the grain ; 
 the shipping cannot convey it away fast enough ; 
 and demand, on every side, drives up the business-men 
 with incessant importunity. Huge hotels, that seem 
 large enough to accommodate an army, were running 
 over ; and having occasion to stop a moment at the 
 Briggs House, we found the hall leading to the dining- 
 room packed with scores of men, though yet fifteen 
 minutes to dinner, waiting for the opening of the door. 
 But it was the Agricultural Fair that had, without 
 doubt, made such a terrific crush in town, during the 
 few days that we tarried there. 
 
 We visited the grounds of the Fair, and made a 
 rapid inspection of stock, products, machinery, fab 
 rics, and men, women, and children. The occasion 
 was very creditable to the managers. While examin 
 ing the ploughs, some farmers, supposing that we were 
 the exhibitors, asked us to explain the operation of 
 one. Fortunately, it was the double Michigan plow, 
 and we knew its peculiarities. Accordingly, we fell 
 into our blandest manner: "Gentlemen, this is an 
 admirable plough ! We will suppose that a furrow has 
 
A WESTERN TRIP. 101 
 
 been opened all around the field or land. When this 
 plough sets in, the first share, which you see here, takes 
 some four to six inches of the surface, and inverts it 
 into the furrow. The second share raises some ten to 
 twelve inches more of the subsoil, and throws it upon 
 the surface soil, so that the soil is exactly reversed ; 
 the top soil is turned from fifteen to twenty inches, 
 and the subsoil is brought to the top. This will not 
 do on gravelly and shallow soils. But when you 
 have a good subsoil, that only needs air and mellow 
 ing, these ploughs are admirable." Having got safe 
 ly through that speech, the farmers were disposed 
 to enlarge our sphere, and asked an explanation of 
 several other inventions and machines that were quite 
 beyond our reach, so that we found it convenient to 
 slip off, and leave the place, while our reputation 
 remained good. 
 
 Much stock changed hands on the ground, and at 
 large prices. Our only purchases were of two potatoes 
 of a South American kind, and a bushel of Mexican 
 ditto. Likewise we procured two kinds of corn. 
 With these our zeal closed. 
 
 * 
 
102 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 THE LECTURE SYSTEM. 
 
 1855. 
 
 HOSE disconsolate persons who live in dread 
 of every breeze that brings a ripple to the 
 surface of a community, and who have been 
 especially afraid of this system of popular 
 lectures which has so suddenly grown up and into 
 such strength, have fresh occasion for alarm. The 
 demand for lectures was never so strong and earnest 
 as now. Feeding does not satisfy it. The number 
 of able lecturers every year increases. The arrange 
 ments for lectures have assumed something of the 
 stability of institutions. The places where lectures 
 have prevailed longest are the very ones where the 
 interest is deepest. It must be given up, then, as a 
 thing past recall, and lectures will henceforth be 
 ranked as a part of our necessities. Is there no 
 consolation for these sad-eyed and disconsolate per 
 sons ? We think there is, and much. 
 
 Every lecturer has an opportunity of hearing an 
 expression of opinion respecting those who have pre 
 ceded him, and I have been struck with the general 
 truth of the judgments formed, and the evidences 
 afforded of good sense and critical sagacity among the 
 common people. Men find their level in this walk of 
 life as much as in the professions. The people are 
 reasonably content with plain sense ; they are better 
 pleased with sound sense dressed with learning or 
 ample experience. If to this is added wit and fancy, 
 they repay all that with proper appreciation. And 
 if the whole be inspired with a deep moral impulse, 
 
THE LECTURE SYSTEM. 103 
 
 and breathe the breath of a noble heart, every one 
 recognizes that too. 
 
 It will probably be the testimony of all who lec 
 ture, that every year audiences grow more difficult. 
 In other words, every winter s course educates their 
 critical judgment and their taste. They require abler 
 performances. They can less easily be imposed upon 
 by brilliant trick or learned dulness. And we were 
 never so sure as now, that the most popular lecturers 
 are those who deserve to be so. That success does 
 not depend upon superficial glitter, but upon in 
 trinsic merit. Of this we shall speak again in a 
 moment. 
 
 One should remember that a lecture is but just 
 begun when the lecturer has finished its delivery. The 
 audience have laughed and clapped, glowed or wept, 
 admired or yawned, as the case may be, and social 
 sympathy has carried them along pretty much to 
 gether. Now they disperse. They begin to talk on 
 the way home. The father and mother draw the chil 
 dren out, to know how much they heard, and what 
 impression was produced on them ; they discuss it, 
 and the family for several days is a debating-society. 
 Young men in an office, clerks in a store, mechanics 
 in the shop, boys in the academy, all overhaul the 
 lecture, and for a week it becomes a theme of reflec 
 tion, discussion, and active criticism. In this way 
 one lecture controls another. If a lecture is but 
 interesting in the delivery, and full of mea,t after 
 wards for a whole week s picking, it sits in judgment 
 on another lecture, brilliant in delivery, but leaving 
 no permanent impressions, no questions, no facts, no 
 reasonings, for after-discussions. It does not take a 
 
104 EYES AND EAKS. 
 
 community long to perceive that some lectures in 
 struct them wearisomely, that some instruct and in 
 spire, that some inspire but do not instruct, that 
 some, like fire-works, are magnificent while going off 
 and nothing afterwards, and others, like a pomological 
 show, are fine in the exhibition, and very juicy and 
 refreshing afterwards. What else is there in our 
 towns and villages throughout the land that produces 
 such a degree of pleasure and such universal mental 
 excitement ? Is it better to have young people at balls 
 and dances, or at convivial gatherings and bar-rooms ? 
 
 It is often said that popular lectures produce super 
 ficial habits, and that, instead of reading and reflec 
 tion, young people become fascinated with easy and 
 brilliant knowledge, to the detriment of sober and 
 reflective information. This may be true in single 
 cases ; but in regard to the greatest number who 
 attend lectures, the choice is not between knowledge 
 judiciously gathered by their own industry and 
 knowledge superficially got from a lecture. In re 
 spect to the greatest number, it is true, that, if they 
 do not get it from the lecture, they will not have it at 
 all. And the real question is, whether it is better for 
 the young to grow up without general knowledge, or 
 to obtain a relish for it from lecturers. 
 
 Not long since we read a captious paragraph in a 
 paper, stating that Professor So-and-so, of such a col 
 lege, had gone to such a village, and but a handful 
 came to hear him ; whereas the next week, Mr. Bar- 
 num lectured there, and the house could not contain 
 the crowds, and the application made was, that 
 even New England audiences ran after chaff, and did 
 not care for wheat. 
 
THE LECTURE SYSTEM. 105 
 
 But is this a fair statement ? Did the writer take 
 pains to ascertain what opinion was formed of Mr. 
 Barnum s lecture ; whether people afterwards were 
 as much pleased, as before they were curious ? Would 
 they go again in such numbers ? And, on the other 
 side, did Professor So-and-so have any previous repu 
 tation in that village which should draw people to 
 hear him ? Perhaps they had heard him before, and 
 therefore stayed away. We have heard college pro 
 fessors that were stupid, even to genius in that direc 
 tion. There are professors in colleges with gifts at 
 instructing classes, who have no gifts at instructing 
 promiscuous audiences. It is one thing to lead a 
 class along, day by day, opening in successive parts a 
 large subject, and another to project a subject, group 
 it into life form, and set it forth in an hour s time, so 
 that common minds can grasp it, and be entertained 
 withal. But if our disappointed professor was all 
 that it is necessary for a lecturer to be, and the people 
 did not come to hear him, he is in the condition of 
 every young man before the public find him out, a 
 probationer. Let him go again, and a third time, and 
 if then those who came at first do not return, and few 
 others supply their place, instead of charging the town 
 with stupidity, might he not better undergo a process 
 of self-examination ? Sometimes the people are smart, 
 and the lecturer stupid. We are speaking, of course, 
 in the general ; for we know neither the person named 
 by his injudicious friend in the paragraph alluded to 
 nor the circumstances of the town. And, for aught 
 that we know, next year Professor So-and-so, a little 
 roused up, will prepare a living lecture, written for 
 people that are not students, and will deliver it with 
 
106 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 such genial animation, that everybody will say that it 
 was the lecture of the season, and then the intel 
 ligence and appreciativeness of the popular mind will 
 go up above par. 
 
 TOWN-HALLS. One of the fruits of the lecture sys 
 tem is seen in the multiplication of admirable town- 
 halls. Every town ought to have a good hall of its own 
 for popular assemblies and for town-meetings. But 
 such reasons would wait long before people would con 
 sent to be taxed for an expensive building. But once 
 let the lecture spirit arise, and people be for a few 
 seasons crowded into a court-room, or into a church, 
 which is soon shut against them, (because men of 
 doubtful orthodoxy are invited to lecture, or because 
 the audience laughed and clapped the speaker, or for 
 a far better and more justifiable reason, because 
 men, calling themselves gentlemen, besmeared the 
 carpets and pews with filthy tobacco-spit,) and the 
 enterprise of a town-hall gains favor, and one or two 
 years sees it built, and the whole town proud of their 
 public spirit. These remarks are suggested by the 
 new building just erected in Hudson, N. Y., where 
 we are now writing. Three years ago we lectured in 
 the court-house ; last winter, in a church ; but last 
 night, in an ample and admirable town-hall, which is 
 very creditable to this place. 
 
 Ought not such places as New Haven, Bridgeport, 
 Hartford, Springfield, Poughkeepsie, to have public 
 halls bearing some relation to the taste and public 
 spirit of the citizens ? 
 
 VENTILATION. If they do, will they not procure 
 one thing, a supply of air. It is astonishing that 
 God should have set such an example before us, and 
 
THE LECTURE SYSTEM. 107 
 
 provided such wondrous abundance of air, and men 
 take no hint from it of the prime necessity of this 
 substance for health, brightness, and enjoyment. Al 
 most without a single exception, new halls and old 
 ones are unventilated. The committee will point you 
 to an auger-hole in some corner of the ceiling, and tell 
 you that arrangements have been made for ventila 
 tion ! You might as well insert a goose-quill in a 
 dam to supply all Lowell with water for its mills ! 
 These contemptible little holes, hardly big enough for 
 a fat rat to run in without disarranging his sleek fur, 
 are hardly enough for one breather, and they are set 
 to do the work of a thousand people ! Besides, no 
 provision is made for the introduction of fresh air 
 from below, to supply the place of that which is sup 
 posed to pass off. The air-trunk of furnaces ought to 
 be double the usual size, and the hot-air trunks that 
 lead from the furnace-chamber to the room should be 
 four times as large as is usual, so that large volumes 
 of mild air can come in, instead of fierce currents of 
 intensely hot air, out of which the moisture has been 
 driecf, and the oxygen burnt, by contact with a red- 
 hot furnace. A room that will seat a thousand per 
 sons should have not less than four ventiducts, each 
 one of them larger than a man s whole body. They 
 can be placed at the four corners of the building ; or 
 they may be arranged along the sides of the wall, the 
 number being increased as the diameter of each is 
 diminished. But the square inches of the mouths of 
 the ventiducts should be at least one third greater than 
 of the mouths of the heat-trunks which come from the 
 furnace. 
 
 As soon as a speaker begins, he usually finds his 
 
108 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 cheek flushed, his head full and throbbing. Bad air 
 is at work with him. The blood that is going to his 
 brain has not been purified in his lungs by contact 
 with good air. It has a diminished stimulating power. 
 It is the first stage of suffocation ; for all that is done, 
 when a man is hung, is to prevent the passage of air 
 down his windpipe ; and if you corrupt the air till it 
 ceases to perform a vital function, it is the same thing 
 in effect ; so that a public speaker, in a tainted atmos 
 phere, is going through a prolonged process of at 
 mospheric hanging. 
 
 The people, too, instantly show signs of distress. 
 Women begin to fan themselves; children grow 
 sleepy; and well-fed men grow red and somnolent. 
 How people can consent to breathe each others breath 
 over and over and over again, we never could im 
 agine. They would never return to a hotel where 
 they were put into a bed between sheets that had been 
 used by travellers before them, no, they must have 
 fresh sheets. They would go without food rather 
 than eat off a plate used by several parties before 
 them. Clean, fresh plates are indispensable. *But, 
 while so delicate of their outside skin and their 
 mouth, they will take air into their lungs that has 
 been breathed over twenty times, by all sorts of per 
 sons, and that fairly reeks with feculence ; and nothing 
 disgusts them but a proposal to open a window, and 
 let in clean and fresh air. That brings up coat- 
 collars, and brings down scowls, and amiable lips 
 pout, and kind tongues declare that they will not go 
 to such a place again, if they do not have these mat 
 ters regulated better for the health ! 
 
 * 
 
HOME KEVISITED. 109 
 
 HOME REVISITED. 
 
 BAYING Chicago a second time, we rode all 
 night toward Indianapolis, Ind. It was 
 strange to make in a single night, with ease, 
 a journey which used to require four hard 
 days riding in the best season of the year ! Leaving 
 Michigan City at a,bout eleven at night, we reached 
 our former home at seven in the morning. There 
 can be no place so memorable to our after years as 
 that in which we began life, and received our first 
 development. This is true, whatever a man s calling 
 may be ; but there is that in a pastor s office which 
 gives peculiar interest to all his first efforts. 
 
 There stands yet that academy, in the second story 
 of which we first preached on settling in Indianapolis. 
 It would hold scarcely more than one hundred. The 
 first sermon there is as vivid a picture to-day as it was 
 at the time. The persons present, the transient ex 
 pressions which the faces wore during the exercises, 
 their dress, and the little incidents, as where an 
 old man put his cane, the knocking over a pile of 
 hats, the crying of a child, we see them all now in 
 memory, more distinctly than we were conscious of 
 seeing them at the time. In this room we preached 
 the first real sermon that we ever uttered. We had 
 delivered hundreds before, but till then, the sermon 
 was the end and not the means. We had a vague 
 idea that truth was to be preached, and that then it 
 was to be left to do its work iinder God s blessing as 
 best it might. The results were not satisfying. Why 
 should not preaching do now what it did in the Apos- 
 
110 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 ties days ? Why should it be a random and unre 
 quited effort ? These thoughts grew, and the want 
 of fruits was so painful, that we determined to make 
 a careful examination of the Apostles preaching, to 
 see what it was that made it so immediately efficient. 
 We found that they laid a foundation first of histori 
 cal truth, common to them and their auditors ; that 
 this mass of familiar truth was then concentrated upon 
 the hearers in the form of an intense personal appli 
 cation and appeal ; that the language was not philo 
 sophical and scholastic, but the language of common 
 life: We determined to try the same. We consid 
 ered what moral truths were admitted by everybody, 
 and gathered many of them together. We considered 
 how they could be so combined as to press men to 
 ward a religious state. We recalled to mind the char 
 acter and condition of many who we knew would be 
 present, and then, after as earnest a prayer as we ever 
 offered, and with trembling solicitude, we went to the 
 academy and preached the new sermon. The Lord 
 gave it power, and ten or twelve persons were aroused 
 by it, and led ultimately to a religious life. 
 
 This was the most memorable day of our ministerial 
 life. The idea was born. Preaching was a definite 
 and practical thing. Our people needed certain moral 
 changes. Preaching was only a method of enforcing 
 truths, not for the sake of the truths themselves, but 
 for the results to be sought in men. Man was the 
 thing. Henceforth our business was to work upon 
 man; to study him, to stimulate and educate him. 
 A sermon was good that had power on the heart, and 
 was good for nothing, no matter how good, that had 
 no moral power on man. Others had learned this. 
 
HOME REVISITED. Ill 
 
 It was the secret of success in every man who ever 
 was eminent for usefulness in preaching. But no 
 man can inherit experience. It must be born in each 
 man for himself. After the light dawned, I could 
 then see how plainly Jonathan Edwards s sermons were 
 so made. Those gigantic applications of his were only 
 the stretching out of the arms of the sermon upon 
 the hearts and lives of his audience. I could see it 
 now, and wondered that I had not seen it before. 
 But having caught the idea, I went eagerly through 
 Edwards to see how he took aim. I found his ser 
 mons to be either a statement and establishment of a 
 plain principle, or an exceedingly abundant collection 
 of Scriptural teachings around some great central 
 truth. This was not, however, the sermon ; it was 
 only a battery thrown up. The guns were in place. 
 The cannonading was yet to come on. Then from 
 these bulwarks and batteries came a fire upon the 
 life, the hearts, the character, the conduct, of liv 
 ing men, just as they lived in Edwards s days, such 
 I think as no uninspired man ever surpassed, if any 
 ever equalled it. It was a kind of moral inquisition, 
 and sinners were put upon argumentative racks, and 
 beneath screws, and, with an awful revolution of the 
 great truth in hand, evenly and steadily screwed down 
 and crushed. I never could read that sermon, " Sin 
 ners in the hands of an angry God" at one sitting. 
 I think a person of moral sensibility alone at mid 
 night, reading that awful discourse, would wellnigh 
 go crazy. He would hear the judgment-trump, and 
 see the advancing heaven, and the day of doom would 
 begin to mantle him with its shroud. 
 
 But we have wandered, not exactly wandered 
 
112 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Cither, for the Book of the Acts of the Apostles 
 and Edwards s Sermons were the two masters at 
 whose feet we sat while learning that preaching is 
 only another name for taking hold of men and 
 moulding them. This was sixteen years ago. What 
 a crowded memory rose up through all that period ! 
 Children are men, men are turned to spirits. Al 
 most every house I met sprung out to me with a 
 memory. In that one, I remember an only daugh 
 ter s funeral, her mother a widow. The first chil 
 dren baptized in the Academy room were twins ; one 
 is grown nearly to manhood on earth, the other 
 quite, but in heaven. The mother that was broken 
 hearted has gone thither after her children. The 
 eldest daughter has mounted thitherward, rejoicing 
 too. 
 
 There was the church building, almost every nail 
 of which we saw driven. We did not see simply the 
 church made with hands, but the church of souls. 
 In the semi-subterranean lecture-room what glorious 
 scenes were enacted ! We went thither and sat 
 down in the old place, and called back the former 
 times ; we saw the faces again ; we labored again, 
 and prayed again, and wept again. For the trance 
 was complete, and we lived in the ten years ago. It 
 did not seem that we had been away. It seemed the 
 most natural thing in the world to begin just where 
 we left off, to take up the thread and stitch just 
 where we laid them down. 
 
 In the church on Sabbath morning how strangely 
 were the real and the unreal blended ! Each face 
 that we saw flashed upon us the whole history of 
 the man. This one was converted in such a year. 
 
HOME REVISITED. 113 
 
 We remembered the first time he spoke to us, where 
 we were, just what he said, our own silent thought, 
 the whole progress and issue of the case. Mothers 
 were there with their little children, whom we had 
 carried as little girls. But many were not there. 
 Some made shipwreck; some by faith have inherited 
 the promises. 
 
 On Monday we walked the streets, searching out 
 the old places. The ten-acre pasture near our little 
 dwelling is now a nest of houses checkered with 
 streets. The places where we searched for quails 
 will never see wild game abound again. Poage s 
 Run is now cut and shaped, and walled in and 
 bridged, until its old acquaintances do not know it, 
 even if it knows itself. There was not a tree that 
 had not its story to tell. Every street had a claim 
 upon memory. The former houses were written over 
 within and without, like record-books. The kind 
 citizens, rejoicing in the growth and prosperity of 
 their city, naturally wished that I should see the 
 new things. I turned away. It was the old things 
 that I cared for. There was no tongue in the new. 
 But the old spoke, and told me, if not " all that ever 
 I did," yet a good deal of it. As I left the place, in 
 my very soul I felt what the Psalmist meant when 
 >he said, "Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity 
 within thy palaces. For my brethren and compan 
 ions sakes, I will now say, Peace be within thee." 
 
 By the favor of influential friends, I was allowed 
 the privileges of the road when I took the cars for 
 Lawrenceburg and Cincinnati. I therefore deter 
 mined to go upon the locomotive, the better to see 
 the ground over which, or rather through which, in 
 
114 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 earlier years I had waded wearily on horseback. No 
 man knows anything of mud until he has lived in 
 the West. Three days to Cincinnati, in my day, 
 was good travelling. Now about four hours is re 
 quired ! 
 
 Mounted on the engine, I rode in triumph over the 
 swamps, across the corduroy roads, along the black, 
 deep river-bottoms that used to have such terrors. I 
 gloried over them. I could not help fancying that 
 there was a subdued look to the roads and rails, as if 
 they felt that they were conquered and humbled. 
 
 Thus ended the pleasant part of our Western trip. 
 
 * 
 
 HOW TO WAKE IN THE MORNING. 
 
 ]ETTING up early is venerable. Since there 
 has been a literature or a history, the habit 
 of early rising has been recommended for 
 health, for pleasure, and for business. The 
 ancients are held up to us for examples. But they 
 lived so far to the east, and so near the sun, that it 
 was much easier for them than for us. People in 
 Europe always get up several hours before we do ; 
 people in Asia several hours before the Europeans do ; 
 and we suppose as men go toward the sun it gets 
 easier and easier, until somewhere in the Orient 
 probably they step out of bed involuntarily, or, like 
 a flower blossoming, they find their bed-clothes gently 
 opening and turning back, by the mere attraction of 
 light. 
 
HOW TO WAKE IN THE MOKNING. 115 
 
 But as far toward sundown as we are,*the matter 
 becomes more difficult. Expedients of every kind 
 are* resorted to. Some men have heads with the 
 organ of Time so largely developed, that they have 
 only to select the hour, fix attention upon it, and 
 then, as it were, wind up their minds, and sure enough 
 off they go at the appointed time. We have tried 
 this with success ourselves. But it induces a habit 
 of waking up every half-hour through the night, to 
 see whether it is time to wake up finally. 
 
 Alarm-clocks are very good, provided they do not 
 stop, and do go off. But if there is one day in the 
 year on which the machine fails, it will be that very 
 day that, of all others, it was necessary for you to 
 start early. 
 
 Servants are much relied upon for waking you up 
 in hotels and at friends houses. But of course they 
 oversleep on that very morning when you must get 
 the early train, or lose all the connections, and half a 
 dozen appointments. And of course, too, everybody 
 says, " How surprising that the servant did not wake ! 
 Was never known to miss before. Always had been 
 reliable ! " 
 
 We have found one plan of waking to be very effec 
 tive. Let one preach a rousing sermon over night, 
 become thoroughly excited, and he will wake early 
 enough the next morning. We never miss Monday 
 morning, whatever may be the fate of other days. 
 
 The indefatigable E. M., whose observations of 
 weather have made him renowned, and whose re 
 ports have given to newspapers quite a set of weather- 
 phrases, has been in the habit for years of mak 
 ing hourly observations of the thermometer, day and 
 
116 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 night. Of "course, the waking at night was an im 
 portant part of the business. He was the lucky owner 
 of a dog that sympathized with his master, and di 
 vided the labor with him. For the intelligent little 
 fellow, every time the clock struck at night, would 
 spring up and scratch at his master s door, till E. M. 
 came forth. Such nocturnal labors at length wore 
 out his constitution, and science mourns the departed 
 martyr of thermometric zeal and broken rest. 
 
 Good healthy children, that are put to bed at night 
 when birds and chickens retire, are admirable waken- 
 ers in the morning. When they have slept their sleep 
 full, there is no help for you. Wake they will, coo 
 and frolic they will. All your hushing and humming 
 are vain. Your efforts to put them to sleep only 
 serve to wake you up ! A bouncing boy, a year old, 
 creeping out of his crib slyly, and pouncing upon his 
 father s face, with chirp and chuckle, is better than 
 any alarm-clock. A clock will soon run out its 
 cacophonous rattle, but a child never runs down, 
 or ends his fun. 
 
 But we have discovered a new method of waking 
 early. Perched up upon our green hill-slope beyond 
 Peekskill, we have found it difficult to sleep after 
 about four o clock of summer mornings. For a 
 countless multitude of birds, in all the trees and 
 shrubbery, aim their notes at us with such sweet 
 archery, that we are pierced through and through 
 with the silver arrows of music. It is in vain that 
 you wrap the pillows about your ears ! It is vain 
 for you to reflect that you need sleep, and will not 
 get up. Every one knows that an effort of will suf 
 ficient to resist the annoying or attractive sound 
 
HOW TO WAKE IN THE MORNING. 117 
 
 is itself the end of sleep. While we are resisting, 
 we are wakening. Thus, this very morning, all the 
 trees about our little old house were belfries, and 
 rang out more chimes than were ever heard at Co 
 logne or Antwerp. And, after the first recognition, 
 we turned resolutely to the wall, determined to sleep 
 on. But " That s a robin," said our ears ; and 
 " That s a bobolink," " There goes a wren " ; and 
 sparrows, larks, phoebes, catbirds, and many of their 
 cousins in the orchard and woods, all joined to laugh 
 us out of the idea of sleeping. Now, if any one 
 wishes to know how to get up early, we will tell 
 him. Go out of the city early in the day. Seek 
 some tranquil place in the country where guns are 
 never heard, where fruit-trees and shade-trees abound, 
 and where the shaking of the leaf, or the distant crow 
 of dianticleer, is the loudest sound ever heard, except 
 of birds. And then, after walking all day among the 
 fields and hills and forests, and supping upon milk 
 that never dreamed of a city-milkman, go to bed by 
 nine o clock. If you do not wake before five the next 
 morning, report your case to us, and we will make 
 a fresh prescription. 
 
 * 
 
118 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY. 
 
 OFFICE EDITORS OF THE INDEPENDENT : 
 
 |E AR SIRS : Do you own a cow ? Every 
 good man ought to. For a cow is the saint 
 of the barn-yard. Not one of those final 
 saints, who are born afar off from goodness, 
 and fight their way to it, but one of those mild, meek, 
 harmless, natural saints. If homeliness is necessary 
 to goodness (and there is a strong presumption for 
 the theory), a cow has this prime qualification. For 
 nothing can well be more devoid of all beauty than 
 a genuine milker. There is not one line of beauty. 
 There is not one limb that seems to have regard for 
 another. The muscles are thin, the shoulders* and 
 neck flat and poor, the hind quarters wide across and 
 gaunt, and the whole form is meagre, lathy, and pov 
 erty-stricken. But when we reflect that all this comes 
 from a cow s benevolence, and that she eats, rumi 
 nates, digests, and, in short, lives, for the sake of oth 
 ers, our sense of her benevolence at length clothes her 
 with a kind of moral beauty. She could be fat if she 
 would only be selfish. But she economizes beauty, 
 that she may be profuse in milk. Blessed saint ! And 
 yet, in all the symbolism of saints, we do not remem 
 ber a. single instance in which the cow is advanced 
 to signify anything in holy figure. Bulls and oxen, 
 sheep and lambs, and holy rams, abound in pictorial 
 legends. Lions and bears, dragons and eagles, ser 
 pents, bees, doves in endless repetition, stags, horses, 
 crowing cocks, falcons, ravens, wild geese, fish, dogs, 
 
LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY. 119 
 
 and wild boars, and we know not how many other 
 creatures that swim, or fly, or walk, or creep, have been 
 made glorious in stone and wood and paint, for some 
 sake or other of the great multitude of saints whom 
 the books record. But this noblest symbol of all, the 
 very ideal and pattern of a saint, who is as poor as 
 if living a life of maceration, who gives her whole 
 strength to lacteal benevolence, who is patient, gentle, 
 guileless, contented, and yet, with two exceptions, 
 no saint can be found (by us, at least) with a cow. 
 These two saints are St. Ello and St. Perpetua. The 
 second has wild cows by her side, and the first has 
 cows with oxen about her. Let dairymen pay respect 
 to the shadowy memory of St. Ello and St. Perpetua. 
 
 If we were to speak of the musical voice of a cow, 
 people would laugh. But the sound will depend upon 
 circumstances. Let a man be lost in the woods, and 
 suffer the terrible excitement which comes with the 
 first flash of conviction that he is lost; let him dash 
 wildly forth, and after an hour s running and hoarse 
 hallooing, find that he has only swept a circle and 
 come back to the very spot from which he started ; 
 let him, toward the going down of the sun, weary, 
 famished, and yet wandering, hear the low of cows 
 not far off! No trumpet was ever so sweet on the 
 march, and no lute ever charmed a lover with more 
 delight than this uplifted sound of a cow to a wood- 
 sick man. And when, running to the sound, he 
 comes out near some farm-house, if tears gush, and 
 he would fain even throw his arms around the neck 
 of homely old brindle, let no one laugh or deride. 
 Go and try the experiment, and see if you would not 
 do it yourself! Besides, the face of a cow is hand- 
 
120 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 some. It is the only thing about her that is beauti 
 ful, except by association ! 
 
 But we need not go to all the trouble of being lost 
 to reach the conclusion that a cow has a musical 
 voice. Sitting on a summer evening on the sward, 
 under the high, pendent elms, only enough conscious 
 of being in the body to receive through it the most 
 ineffable sense of the beauty of sights and sounds, and 
 then, while birds are carrying the alto, and bees are 
 making tenor, let the long and repeated low of cows 
 coming home, and longing for their calves, rise as a 
 bass, and tell me whether a cow has not a musical 
 voice ! 
 
 If one is of a devout turn, and would like some 
 Scriptural associations, we can almost give him some. 
 For, although oxen it was that were about the man 
 ger, according to all pictures, yet cows are the moth 
 ers of oxen. We read, too, in Scripture of " the pure 
 milk of the Word " ; and the qualifying adjective 
 would seem to imply that teachers in those days imi 
 tated the milkmen of ours, and gave a diluted article. 
 From this great company of patient creatures, let us 
 mention a few more eminent, such as St. Alderney, 
 St. Ayrshire, St. Durham, and St. Homebreed. These 
 are the most illustrious of milk-saints. But goodness 
 is not confined to any of these denominations. There 
 are capacious udders, patient dispositions, mild-eyed 
 mothers, home-loving and pasture-browsing saints, 
 without name and fame, in every neighborhood. 
 
 And now, do you ask, wondering reader, what all 
 this preludes? Just this: that we are a three-cow 
 gentleman-farmer ! Again, we know what is the real 
 taste of milk. We have once more, before we die, 
 
LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY. 121 
 
 seen cream ! Twenty-six pans of milk were skimmed 
 this very morning ; and now, if you were riding past, 
 you should see twenty-six inverted pans 011 the fence, 
 in the sun, shining like silver, and sweetening them 
 selves all day, in the air and sunshine, for the night s 
 milk ! Even the pigs fare better here than citizens do 
 in New York. For although we take off the cream, 
 we never think of giving them anything weaker than 
 skim-milk ! four pigs, that once were longer than 
 broad, but which are rapidly growing to the shape of 
 a marble. 
 
 And now, having given this introduction, it may be 
 expected that we shall go on to make some sound 
 practical remarks about feeding, milking, making 
 cheese and butter. And so we could if we chose to. 
 And so we will, perhaps, by and by. But now we 
 shall close by holding up the cow to all persons, as a 
 model of disinterested benevolence not only, but as 
 an instance of its reward. For though the homeliest 
 creature on the farm, such is the effect upon the im 
 agination of real goodness, that at length, by associa 
 tion, men come to think a cow handsome. And thus 
 it will be with all of us plain, common, and homely 
 people. Let us do well until our neighbors see our 
 characters rather than our faces ; and then, though 
 born without beauty, we shall die handsome. 
 
 The looking-glass may say what it pleases. The 
 heart of friends is the mirror of good men. And in 
 that glass we shall be beautiful enough, if we are 
 good enough ! 
 
 * 
 
122 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 WEEDS IN PICTURES. 
 
 WEED is said to be " a plant out of place." 
 An excellent definition ; for what is there, 
 when appropriately placed, that deserves 
 this name for vexatious worthlessness ? But 
 a weed is often in its very place when well painted. 
 We have learned to look upon many vegetable repro 
 bates with an eye of favor. Some weeds are exquis 
 itely beautiful in structure, in flower, or in leaf-forms, 
 when closely examined. The habits of others make 
 them subjects of great interest. We recollect once, 
 while standing with one of the first landscape artists 
 of America, before one of Baddington s views of the 
 Thames, whose banks were clothed (pictorially) with 
 magnificent aquatic plants, being surprised to hear 
 him say, that in America we had few large, succulent 
 plants fit for an artist among our native weeds. Since 
 that time we have never gone into any meadow or 
 field without noticing the plants as subjects of por 
 traiture. And I feel sure that there can be no ex 
 cuse for barrenness in the foregrounds of landscapes 
 from want of material. It is the want of industry, or 
 the want of real love for weed-like plants, that occa 
 sions such meagre or conventional pictures. It is 
 seldom that we see plants rendered as Landseer or 
 Rosa Bonheur render animals, with an enthusiasm of 
 love that never tires, that never can enough repeat 
 them. If our right hand had been endowed with 
 cunning, we believe that the humbler growths of the 
 field should occupy much of its skill. But one must 
 
WEEDS IN PICTURES. 123 
 
 love well to paint well. If a man does not respect a 
 plant, if it exerts upon him no positive and pleasur 
 able influence, he is unfit to represent it. A nurse 
 that does not love children can never take good care 
 of them ; and an artist that does not love what are 
 called weeds cannot do them justice. Some ridicule 
 has been thrown upon our young artists for painting 
 grasses so much. That they paint them at all is their 
 praise ; and that they confine themselves to so few, 
 and repeat their work so often, as if there were but 
 half a dozen species in the world fit for admiration, is 
 their real fault ! Instead of but few striking and 
 effective plants, in any direction, growing abundantly, 
 there are so many that one might well be embarrassed 
 by riches. 
 
 There is ,the dock family. None can be less pre 
 tentious or more meritorious. What if it does grow 
 r in dank and shaded places ? What a breadth of leaf 
 the burdock exhibits, what vigor of health, what an 
 oak-like spread of branches, when its blossom-stem is 
 fully extended ! There, too, is the relishful horse 
 radish, of a broad and long palm. The elecampane 
 is another plant of generous leaf. Laying aside all 
 prejudices, who can deny great merit, as a robust and 
 vigorous plant, to the skunk-cabbage ? What if its 
 odor is an indisputable fact ? Art, in this respect, 
 has the advantage of Nature. In a picture its peculiar 
 and delicate green would be beautiful, without the 
 least odor. 
 
 Among upright plants the milkweed is notable. 
 Not for its grace, but for its full habit and generous 
 bearing. The thistles, the brier family, the sedges, 
 the cat-tail, the water-plantain family, the bind-weed, 
 
124 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 the woodbine, and the blackberry, both upright and 
 creeping, than which, in early leaf, in blossom, or in 
 fruit at every stage, nothing can be more graceful 
 and beautiful, these all deserve careful study. 
 
 The mullein need hardly be mentioned, as it figures 
 in pictures already. But what would be more ex 
 quisite than the spray of asparagus, if well rendered ? 
 There, too, is the golden-rod, the aster, the iron- 
 weed (Vernonia)^ the smart-weed, the teasel, and a 
 hundred more, admirable chiefly for ornamental 
 designs and decorative patterns, but likewise fit ele 
 ments for the foregrounds of landscapes. It is worthy 
 of notice, that the plants most valuable for culture on 
 our continent are those which are most beautiful for 
 ornamental design ; namely, wheat, rye, and barley, 
 the Indian corn, the cotton and tobacco plants, the 
 grape-vine and its fruit. The potato, poor homely 
 fellow ! has no merit except in its blossom ; but 
 almost all the plants which form the staple crops 
 are universally beloved of artists. 
 
 It is amusing to read the descriptions of weeds in 
 agricultural books. Editors are bound to look upon 
 weeds only in relation to farming. If a thing be pro 
 lific, tenacious of life, and voracious of food, no mat 
 ter how graceful its form or comely its blossom, it is 
 hated, and all the ugly names of the vocabulary are 
 heaped on it. But that should not prevent the ad 
 miration of those who have no crops to tend. A 
 pestilent weed may yet be exquisitely ornamental. 
 
 We are quite sure that it is the artist s fault if he is 
 deficient in succulent foliage, in herbaceous riches, in 
 all graceful stems and twining vines. Instead of a 
 destitution of such elements, our woods, our low, wet 
 
THE RIGHT KIND OF FAEMING. 125 
 
 meadows, our hedges and hill-sides, are full of them. 
 It requires only diligence in finding and industry in 
 representing them to make every landscape artist s 
 portfolio rich in vegetable treasures. 
 
 THE RIGHT KIND OF FARMING. 
 
 are few places for a visit more de 
 lightful than a large and well-kept farm. 
 
 The farm-house spacious, unpretending, 
 neat, convenient ; the barns large, and clean ; 
 the out-houses for pigs, poultry, tools, etc., well ar 
 ranged ; the bees humming endless music in thin, 
 long row behind the house ; the garden, the fields, 
 the forest ; these, together with the coming and going 
 of herds, the steady progress of various kinds of 
 work, the unwasteful abundance of provisions which 
 in cities are doled out in close measure ; eggs fresh 
 every day, sweet milk oppressed with cream, all man 
 ner of fruits in their season, and, above all, vegetables 
 fresh from the garden, whose true flavor is unknown 
 in cities, no wonder that a farm excites the im 
 agination, and raises up a picture of delight and en 
 joyment. Speaking of vegetables, it may be cruel to 
 say to people in the city, that they have no idea of the 
 flavor of peas or of corn ; not unless they remember 
 how they used to taste when they lived in the country. 
 They must be eaten alive, or they are poor lux 
 uries. They should be plucked only long enough to 
 be shelled or shredded for cooking. 
 
126 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Then, in the sultry days of July and August, as 
 the great tureen comes steaming with the one, and 
 the huge platter smoking with pyramids of the other, 
 who cares for meats, or for all costly confections ? 
 Peas alone are a feast ; and sweet corn, in its various 
 methods, on the cob, cut off and mixed with cream, 
 or raised into the ineffable glory of succotash, is a 
 banquet which would have made all the gods forget 
 ambrosia and nectar, and stroke their beards with 
 celestial satisfaction. 
 
 But this is a mere episode. To visit a farm as 
 good company, to have horses at your disposal, to 
 sit in the shade and hear the hens cackle for eggs 
 laid, and cau-cau-caukle for contentment ; to watch 
 the workmen at their task, all this is quite charm 
 ing. But to carry on a farm is another thing quite ! 
 
 A farm is a vast manufactory. Instead of build 
 ings and machinery, you are to carry on manufactur 
 ing operations through the agency of the soil. No 
 laboratory turns out a greater variety of products ; 
 none requires for its highest success more knowl 
 edge, skill, and business tact. If a chemist were 
 obliged to evolve his various products in such a way, 
 as at the same time to build his houses, create his 
 furnaces and implements, his task would be like the 
 farmer s, who, while raising crops, is also bringing 
 up the condition of his ground, and fitting it for its 
 best functions. 
 
 It is not difficult for a man to raise good crops, 
 if he has money enough. A rich man can walk out 
 of the city upon a poor farm, and in one year put 
 ten thousand dollars worth of expense upon it. He 
 can make a soil, if he has money enough. But wheat 
 
THE RIGHT KIND OF FARMING. 127 
 
 that sells for a dollar a bushel will cost at least three ; 
 and corn for seventy-five cents, will have cost two 
 dollars. It is not hard to get good crops, if profit is 
 of no account. A rich man plays with a farm, as 
 children do with babies, dressing it up to suit his 
 fancy, and quite indifferent to expense or profit. It 
 is his fancy, and not his pocket, that he farms for. 
 Such men are not useless. They employ many hands. 
 They try a great many experiments which working 
 farmers cannot afford to try. They show what can 
 be done. And American farmers, although they will 
 not imitate, will do better than that ; they will take 
 hints in this thing and that, and, by gradual improve 
 ment, they will raise their own style of farming many 
 degrees. Every township ought to have one gentle 
 man farmer who aims to show what soil can be made 
 to do. In his case it may not be remunerative. But, 
 take the country through, the indirect effect will be 
 very remunerative. His very mistakes will be useful. 
 A mistake is often more instructive than a success. 
 But it is not everybody who can afford so dear a 
 schoolmaster. 
 
 But, even with a pocket full of money, and with a 
 farm as a mere play-ground, a rich man may carry 
 on very foolishly. A careless, scheming foreman may 
 waste vast sums of money, without producing one 
 useful result, either to his employer or to the com 
 munity. Indeed, we scarcely know of any other 
 sponge that will suck, in so short a time, so vast a 
 quantity of money, as a farm recklessly carried on ! 
 But, unlike a sponge, no squeezing will give back the 
 precious contents. Buildings in bad taste and wrong 
 ly placed ; trees planted by the thousand, and dying 
 
128 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 almost as fast as planted ; the grounds drained at 
 great expense, so as to require draining again in 
 two or three years; costly cattle and sheep bought, 
 and then neglected ; experiments begun with great 
 outlay, tired of, and given up before half completed ; 
 these, and such like things, are follies which have 
 scarcely any compensating side. 
 
 Although we use the word farming as including 
 every variety of operation based upon the soil, yet 
 the word covers occupations more dissimilar than 
 are the occupations of the lawyer and the clergyman, 
 or the schoolmaster and the blacksmith. What sim 
 ilarity is there in farming for fruit or farming for 
 herbs ? What can be more unlike than a grazing 
 farm, for stock or the dairy, and a grain farm, for 
 sale or fattening stock ? How unlike is the conduct 
 of a great plantation, raising one or two staples, and 
 the farm of a score of acres, of mixed crops, raised 
 by the owner s own hand for his own use. 
 
 Leaving to the mood of other days some excellent 
 remarks on these various kinds of farming, we avow 
 our own preference, among all kinds and varieties 
 of agricultural procedure, to meditative and imagi 
 native farming. Sitting in our barn-door, which, look 
 ing south, is raised one story above the yard beneath, 
 what do we see ? Not the Hudson rolled out so 
 wide as to take the name of Haverstraw Bay, nor the 
 mountains beyond, nor yet the green and rounded 
 tops of the near opposite hills, nor the fringes of 
 forest which divide the several sections, nor the slopes, 
 and basins, and tree-ruffled dwelling-houses. What 
 do we see ? You would say that the object of our 
 regard was a compost-heap. And by that polite term 
 
THE RIGHT KIND OF FARMING. 129 
 
 let it be called. But you and I do not see the same 
 thing when looking at that soil and straw and turf 
 and litter. You see a round heap of fermenting 
 materials. I see flowers and vegetables and fruits. 
 Out of that heap blossom, to my eye, mignonette and 
 phlox, and geraniums, roses, petunias, verbenas, asters, 
 and dahlias ! I see regimental rows of currants, straw 
 berries, and raspberries. Great yellow-bellied pump 
 kins orb up to my sight from among the withering 
 stalks of ripened corn. Compost, indeed ! That is a 
 grove of trees, a young orchard, long lines of elms, 
 clumps of balmy evergreens. That is not undigested 
 straw, but peas and flowering beans ; that is not lump 
 ish manure, but wheat and grapes ! Why, this barn 
 yard is a garden, if only looked at aright, purpled 
 with innumerable flowers ; it is a vineyard, all of 
 whose broad leaf-hands cannot cover up the purple 
 clusters ; it is an orchard, see the trees bending with 
 fruit, or humming with insects and bees, that are re 
 galing themselves in its blossoms ! Ah ! here is rare 
 delight ! Here sit I, a farmer indeed, all of whose 
 fields, planted in imagination, tilled by fancy, are 
 reaped in visions. 
 
 My crops never fail. Weather never thwarts me. 
 Everything succeeds. Men are always skilful, seed 
 is always good, the hay is never caught by showers, 
 the wheat escapes rust and fly that afflict newspapers 
 so dreadfully about these days ; and, in short, as long 
 as I have a comfortable support aside from these 
 grounds, I mean to raise imaginations and medita 
 tions on this farm. It is a capital soil for such crops ! 
 
130 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 ARE BIRDS WORTH THEIR KEEPING? 
 
 ]E receive many pleasant notes from rural 
 friends upon country subjects. Two be 
 fore us are on birds and weeds. The first 
 we publish, with remarks, below ; the other, 
 from an artist in trouble, we shall give, with suit 
 able comfort, by and by. 
 
 " Your special contributor, perched upon his green 
 hill-slope beyond Peekskill, writes about birds ; but 
 there are some things about birds which he left un 
 said. It is very well to speak in their praise, but we 
 should not be altogether blind to their faults. I enjoy 
 their sport in the grove, as they leap from branch to 
 branch, or hover around, cleaving the air ever and 
 anon with swift wing. I am delighted with their 
 beautiful and varied plumage. I am charmed with 
 the sweetness and variety of their ceaseless songs. 
 But, with all this, I am compelled to say, they are 
 inveterate and incorrigible thieves and robbers, im 
 bued with mischief as the human heart with deprav 
 ity. I give my experience. 
 
 " I am owner of a half-acre upon a c hill-slope, not 
 on the banks of the Hudson, it is true, but bounding 
 the valley of the Chemung. I planted upon it a grove 
 and an orchard. I invited the birds to lodge and 
 sport in their branches and find shelter beneath their 
 foliage, and they accepted the invitation. Sweet was 
 their song, and gay was their sport. Among my 
 fruit-trees was a cherry producing rare, sweet, and 
 early fruit. I watched its growing trunk and ex- 
 
ARE BIRDS WORTH THEIR KEEPING ? 131 
 
 panding branches from year to year, and in due 
 course of the times and seasons hailed its opening 
 blossoms. Day by day I marked the growth of the 
 fruit, and at last saw the daily deepening blush over 
 spreading its cheek and betokening speedy ripeness. 
 I promised my wife and children and myself a rich 
 feast of the first fruit of the season. But, alas for hu 
 man hopes ! The birds had promised themselves the 
 same thing, and in one day they plucked every cherry 
 approaching toward ripeness from my tree. This they 
 did every day, till not one remained. 
 
 " But my tree was then small, and I thought as 
 it should enlarge and produce more fruit, the birds 
 would, after satisfying themselves, leave a little for 
 me ; and so I waited, but in vain. The present sea 
 son 1 determined, if possible, to get a taste of my 
 cherries, and when they began to ripen I placed a 
 scarecrow in the tree. But the birds soon became 
 acquainted with the scarecrow, and stole the fruit 
 unterrified. I watched hours with stones, which I 
 hurled at them, but they soon learned the uncertainty 
 of my aim, and stood fire unmoved. I threatened a 
 gun, but my wife and daughters said it was a pity to 
 shoot such pretty birds, plucking the cherries so cun 
 ningly, and that they would rather go without the 
 fruit than see them killed. So the birds again com 
 pleted their robbing, and to this day I have never 
 tasted a fully ripe cherry from my favorite tree. I 
 am a friend to the birds, whether they waken me 
 early in the morning or not, if they will only abstain 
 from my choice cherries. But with my present ex 
 perience, I have no other alternative but to denounce 
 them as thieves and pests in cherry time. ** 
 
 " Corning, N. Y." 
 
132 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 There is no unmixed good in this world except 
 dying, which cures all ill and inherits all blessing. 
 But while living, what is there without an admixture 
 of evil ? Even that wife, who properly restrained you 
 from harming the birds, and evidently is a good wo 
 man, has probably some slight infelicities of disposi 
 tion. The very children, that carry the doubled ex 
 cellences of their parents, have they not some strokes 
 of mischief? Indeed, sir, do you not find that you 
 are obliged to take even yourself with some grains of 
 allowance ? Why, then, should you demand that 
 birds should be more perfect than anything else in 
 this world ? 
 
 Let us state the case. Although birds undertake 
 to furnish you with the most admirable amusement, 
 and with music such as no orchestra could be hired 
 to give, they do not charge you a penny for their 
 services. You never have to wake them. You have 
 no care of their toilet. You are asked to provide 
 nothing for their breakfast, nothing for dinner, noth 
 ing for supper. They draw on you for no linen for 
 their beds, and no space for tenement room. They 
 come to you early in spring ; they stay with you till 
 the red leaves grow brown, and even then they leave 
 a rear-guard to watch the winter, and every bright 
 day till after January is sentinelled with some faith 
 ful, simple bird on duty. 
 
 And what is the service they render ? A thousand 
 sparrows there are, without remarkable song, but 
 whose very name recalls to you the memorable words 
 of Christ. There is not another truth more needed 
 and doubted by sorrowing and hard-used men, than 
 that of God s personal care over human interests. 
 
ARE BIRDS WORTH THEIR KEEPING ? 133 
 
 There is scarcely a land on the globe now where the 
 Bible does not say to men, " Are not two sparrows 
 sold for a farthing ? And one of them shall not fall 
 to the ground without your Father." And there is, 
 scarcely a rood of ground on the earth where this lit 
 tle bird does not flit before our eyes every day, tiny, 
 homely, with only a chirp for a song; but a text- 
 bearer, a mission-bird, a remembrance to every dis 
 couraged soul of Christ s words of sweet assurance. 
 I would feed a thousand sparrows with all the cher 
 ries that their little crops could carry, for the sake of 
 that very truth which God has associated with their 
 name, and which they recite to me every day. For 
 what cherry or currant or berry that they pluck from 
 my trees can be worth to me what that fruit is which 
 they bring to me from the Tree of Life ? 
 
 But there is another sparrow, the tribe is large, 
 the song-sparrow, whose note is the sweetest, we some 
 times think, of all the summer s birds. It is a perpet 
 ual songster. It comes early and stays late. It sings 
 all day. We have heard its soft, clear, and exquis 
 itely sweet little snatch of melody, from out of the 
 tree overhead, at two o clock on a sultry day, with the 
 thermometer at 90 and no wind stirring ! Is not that 
 fidelity ? Dear little soul, I would give it all the cher 
 ries on the place for itself and fellows, and bushels 
 more, if it would deign to confer upon me still the 
 favor of such sweet utterances ! For. in good sooth, 
 men are the beneficiaries and birds are the benefac 
 tors ! It is arrogance and egotism for us to regard in 
 sects, birds, and innocuous beasts, as honored in our 
 mere tolerance ! They too are God s creatures. They 
 too are a part of the filling up of the grand picture of 
 
134 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 his earthly cathedral. They have an errand of their 
 own, a place of honor ; and no one is to despise or 
 patronizingly to condescend to notice that which God 
 made, and makes, and rejoices over in every land and 
 field upon the globe ! 
 
 Next to these, we hear every day, just now, the 
 wren. A pert, petite, smart, brave little animated 
 spark is he ! His song is a twisted thread of sweet 
 ness. His amazing assiduity in doing nothing is quite 
 edifying. He is brave in battle, as human bustling 
 do-nothings seldom are, and will whip twice his 
 weight of martins and swallows. 
 
 But none of these mentioned birds are particularly 
 fond of fruit. Seeds and insects form their diet in 
 chief. The same is true of that artist, the bobolink, 
 that sings at the North in a black and white livery ; 
 but going South changes his coat and his note, and, 
 like many another northern-bred black-coat, drops into 
 good living, and grows fat in the rice-swamps, and for 
 gets to use his voice, except to call for more food, or 
 raise an alarm-cry when there is some danger of los 
 ing what he has got. The chief depredators of the 
 garden are the robin, the blue-jay, the oriole, and the 
 pea-bird, or wax-wing. 
 
 A man that would shoot a robin, except in fall, 
 when, in flocks, they are gathered together to caravan 
 the air in their long pilgrimage to Southern glades 
 and forests, and then really and conscientiously for 
 food, has in him the blood of a cannibal, and would, 
 if born in Otaheite, have eaten ministers, and digested 
 them too. 
 
 Indeed, if it were not too much trouble to re-write 
 what we have said of the song-sparrow, we would say 
 
ARE BIRDS WORTH THEIR KEEPING ? 135 
 
 that the robin is our sweetest summer singer. This 
 universal favorite has a variety of songs. All are 
 sweet, but one rises far above all the rest. At even 
 ing, the sun gone down, the cows returned from pas 
 ture, the landscape radiant in its salient points, but 
 growing dim and solemn underneath, then, as you sit 
 musing in your door, you shall hear from a tree on 
 the lawn, a little distant, a continuous calling song, 
 full of sweet importunity mingled with sadness. It is 
 the call for its absent mate. Sometimes it rolls and 
 gurgles for but a moment, when a shadow flits through 
 the air, and a sudden flash of leaves, the song stops, 
 two birds glide out upon the sky, and fly to their 
 home. But at other times the bird s grief is your 
 gain. No coming mate shortens his song. Some re 
 morseless boy has brought him down, to sing, and 
 build, and brood no more ; some cat or hawk or gaz 
 ing snake has dined upon the fair thing. And so, 
 though the twilight falls, and the evening grows 
 darker, the song calls on, pausing only to change the 
 manner, throwing in here and there coaxing notes 
 and staccato exclamations of impatience, but going 
 back soon to the gushing, pining, yearning home-call. 
 Take all my strawberries if you want them, singer ! 
 Come to-morrow for my cherries ! You pay me in 
 one single song for all that you can eat in a summer, 
 and leave me still in your debt. For there is no such 
 thing as paying for that which touches your heart, 
 raises your imagination, wings your fancy, and carries 
 you up, by inspired thoughts, above the level of selfish 
 life. The heart only can pay the heart for good ser 
 vice. As to cherries, I 11 take my chance when my 
 betters are served. Eat what you wish, sweet sir, 
 
136 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 and if there are any left, I will think them all the 
 sweeter, as a part of your banquet. 
 
 As to the orioles, there are but few of them. I wish 
 there were more. The jay too, though a brave eater, 
 and a large one, sticks to the woods, for the most part, 
 and comes but seldom to the garden. Its note is as 
 terrible as the music of the Scotch bagpipe. We 
 should think the spirits of a dozen old pipers had en 
 tered into every particular blue-jay, and their notes 
 quarrelled and jangled in its throat which should 
 be most cutting and cacophonous ! Yet the blue-jay 
 won its way to our regard, and in this wise. When 
 living in Indiana they sang a great deal about our 
 little one-story house, and screamed and shrieked with 
 such terrible vigor that our nerves gave way. We 
 had had chills and fever, were weak, and a little 
 edgy. We took our gun and began an indiscriminate 
 warfare. The jay is tenacious of life, and dies game. 
 After a day or two of shooting, we began to admire 
 the soldier-like quality of these splendid and high- 
 plumed fellows. And when, with our last shot, we 
 brought down a splendid specimen, half shot to pieces, 
 but full of pluck, his eye bright, his courage up, fight 
 ing for his life, that ebbed away, and dealing blows 
 right and left at our hand with his stiff bill, and dying 
 without flinching, pluck to the very last gasp, we were 
 conquered, and vowed that we would never shoot such 
 a brave bird again ! We never have. We never will. 
 
 But, now, as to the wax-wings, or the little crested, 
 yellow pea-birds, that never come to cheer you, that 
 eat none of the marauding insects, that only sing a 
 sharp "pee ze" while they are gobbling down your 
 fruit, or ripping out the peas from the tender pod, 
 
COUNTRY STILLNESS AND WOODCHUCKS. 137 
 
 why, we must say, that if any birds are to be shot, 
 these are the ones. We do not recommend it. For 
 it may scare the song-birds, and wound the feelings of 
 robins and their fellows. All the cherries on earth 
 could not be so sweet in our mouth as are the notes 
 of robins in our ears. These drops of sound are the 
 true fruits, and the wide air is that garden universal 
 which rears and shakes them down for all whose senses 
 are refined enough to know how to feed by the eye 
 and the ear, more than by the mouth ! 
 
 * 
 
 COUNTRY STILLNESS AND WOODCHUCKS. 
 
 OTHING marks the change from the city 
 to the country so much as the absence 
 of grinding noises. The country is never 
 silent. But its sounds are separate, dis 
 tinct, and, as it were, articulate. The grinding of 
 wheels in paved streets, the clash and din of a half- 
 million men, mingling, form a grand body of sound, 
 which, however harsh and dissonant to those near 
 by, becomes at a little distance softened, round, and 
 almost musical. Thus, from Brooklyn heights, New 
 York sounds its diapason, vast and almost endless. 
 The direction of the wind greatly influences the 
 sound. When the air is moist, and the wind west, 
 the city sends a roar across like the incessant break 
 of surf upon the ocean shore. But with an eastern 
 wind, the murmur is scarcely greater, and almost as 
 soft, as winds moving gently in forests. 
 
138 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 But it is not simply sound that acts upon us. There 
 is a jar, an incessant tremor, that affects one more 
 or less according to the state of his nerves. And, 
 in leaving the city by rail-cars, the roar and jar of 
 the train answer a good purpose in keeping up the 
 sense of the city, until you reach your destination. 
 Once removed from all these sound-making agencies, 
 and one is conscious of an almost new atmosphere. 
 Single sounds come through the air as arrows fly, 
 but do not fill it. The crowing of a cock, the cawing 
 of a crow, the roll of a chance wagon, and the patter 
 of horses feet, these, one by one, rise into the air 
 to stir it, and sink back again, leaving it without a 
 ripple. For a time, this both excites and soothes. 
 During the wakening hours the very stillness plays 
 upon your imagination with importunity. You feel 
 how still it is. You murmur to yourself, " how 
 quiet ! how tranquil ! " On a side-hill, with a wide 
 look-out, upon a rock, or under its shade, you lie 
 for the hour stupid in the bath of stillness. The 
 wings of birds that fly past you are audible. A leaf 
 falling on a leaf reports itself. The squeak of field- 
 mice, in their petty synods, the frolic and bark of 
 squirrels, become very prominent sounds. 
 
 I cannot say that such scenes are favorable to 
 thought. It is fancy that moves quickest then. It 
 is a nourishing of the sentiments and feelings. The 
 past and the future play together, and memory and 
 expectation pitch sweet fancies to each other. 
 
 We said that country silence was also soothing. Let 
 the few first nights sleep bear witness ! In the first 
 place, men s habits right themselves. We dine at 
 noon, not at sundown. We take tea in the broad 
 
COUNTRY STILLNESS AND WOODCHUCKS. 139 
 
 light of the sun. And by nine o clock the evening 
 has become very late, and we nod and yawn, and drop 
 off to bed. You look out first to see if all is right. 
 The moon has it all her own way up there. There 
 is not a breath of wind. The leaves hold as still as 
 if they did not know how to swing and quiver. The 
 cricket is singing. A whippowill stirs up fond re 
 membrances. Some super-serviceable dog lets off a 
 bark, as if he had pulled the trigger by accident, 
 then shuts his muzzle, and leaves tne great round 
 heavens almost empty of a sound. Ah ! these long 
 country nights, full of unwakening sleep ! 
 
 To find yourself in the morning just where you 
 lay down ! To sleep without a wink, a roll, or the 
 slightest change, eight hours, that is to get back 
 far toward boyhood again. 
 
 Speaking of boyhood, did you ever hunt wood- 
 chucks ? We remember well what venatorial perturba 
 tion our young bosom used to suffer on seeing a wood- 
 chuck popping up his head above the grass, and with 
 what headlong zeal we plunged after him, invariably 
 to just miss catching him as his tail disappeared down 
 his hole. This region seems to be a favorite haunt 
 for these marmots. Some dozen, we judge, are ten 
 ants on our farm. The boys have made several saga 
 cious forays upon them with arms and dog, but 
 Sir Marmot has always been just a little too deep 
 for them. Not so the dog. Jocko had been down 
 upon a visit to a neighboring dog, talking of rabbits, 
 cats, and other things which have power over dogs 
 imaginations. On his way home, a young wood- 
 chuck, whose ma did not know that he was out, 
 inadvertently exposed himself. The temptation was 
 
140 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 too strong for Jocko. With one or two tremen 
 dous bounds, a nip, and a very busy shaking, the 
 work was done. For all the good his parents had 
 of him, the woodchuck might as well not have been 
 born. John skinned him neatly. He was roasted. 
 The family sat around. The lady of the house per 
 emptorily refused to touch the "varmint." The 
 eldest son agreed to support the father, and the two 
 younkers were fierce to eat woodchuck ! The head 
 of the family disposed of one mouthful, and looked 
 around. Being watched, he boldly took a second, and 
 was imitated. But about the third taste made it plain 
 that woodchuck satisfies the appetite very speedily. 
 
 These singular, chubby, nimble fellows have a very 
 good time of it, on the whole. They wake up from a 
 winter s sleep ; enjoy the spring, summer, and autumn. 
 They have no migration to attend to. They lay up 
 no stock of winter food. When the time comes, they 
 roll up into a heap in the chamber of their burrow, 
 poke their nose into their belly, and tuck their tail 
 around, to make a good finish, and then they outsleep 
 storms, snow, and winter. But we have saved one 
 member of this family even this trouble. We have 
 looked in the Prices Current of The Independent in 
 vain to find the ruling prices of woodchuck-skins. 
 Can any one inform us ? From the amazing enter 
 prise shown by the boys, hitherto, they might turn 
 an honest penny yet, in selling packs of woodchuck- 
 skins ! 
 
 Meanwhile, my young marmots, you are welcome 
 to all the clover you can eat, to all the holes you dig. 
 You may sit serene after your morning feed, and sun 
 yourselves without fear of the boys, for really, jesting 
 
A CANNON-BALL IN THE HAT. 141 
 
 apart, they are not half as smart as you are. Don t 
 flinch if they shoot, especially if they take aim. But 
 beware of the dog. He does not say much. He is 
 apt to perform first, and promise afterwards. 
 
 * 
 
 A CANNON-BALL IN THE HAT. 
 
 ]HEN I was a lad of thirteen years, my father 
 removed from a country town to Boston. 
 Nothing of all its sights produced upon 
 me such an impression as the ships. The 
 outlying bay, the ocean beyond, its mystery, the ships 
 coming in and going out, the masts and rigging, 
 standing up against the sky, these things produced 
 an indelible impression on my imagination. All the 
 world rose up to my fancy. Real and fabulous things 
 commingled, voyagers and buccaneers, merchant 
 men and pirates, fleets of men-of-war, came before 
 my inward sight, and all distant lands and famous 
 islands. Long Wharf has taught me a great deal of 
 geography and sea-history. 
 
 But the Navy- Yard, in the adjoining town of 
 Charlestown, separated only by Charles River from 
 Boston, was my especial wonder and glory. I be 
 came familiar with all its marvels. I crept down to 
 the bottom of its huge and dismantled ships, I climbed 
 up to the decks of those which were building in the 
 covered ship-houses, I watched the construction of its 
 famous stone Dry Dock, I ranged along the silent 
 mouths of its massive cannon. 
 
142 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 One day I visited some ill-constructed vaults where 
 shot had been stored. The six and twelve pound 
 shot were extremely tempting. I had no partic 
 ular use for them. I am to this day puzzled to 
 know why I coveted them. There was no chance 
 in the house to roll them, and as little in the street. 
 For base-ball or shinty they were altogether too sub 
 stantial. But I was seized with an irresistible de 
 sire to possess one. As I had been well brought up, 
 of course the first objection arose on the score of 
 stealing. But I disposed of that, with a patriotic fa 
 cility that ought long before this to have sent me to 
 Congress, by the plea that it was no sin to steal from 
 the government. Next, how should I convey the 
 shot from the yard without detection ? ^ I tried it in 
 my handkerchief. That was altogether too plain. 
 I tried my jacket-pocket, but the sag and* shape of 
 that alarmed my fears. I tried my breeches-pocket, 
 but the abrupt protuberance was worse than all. I 
 had a good mind to be honest, since there was no 
 feasible way of carrying it off. At length a thought 
 struck me. Wrap a handkerchief about it, and put 
 it in your hat. 
 
 Now all the world knows that a boy s hat serves 
 as a universal pocket. There he carries handker 
 chief, papers, twine, letters for the post-office, tops; 
 in short, whatever traps the pocket cannot hold, or 
 whatever contraband thing would show through, goes 
 to the hat. Is a hen s-nest found out, the hat takes 
 the eggs. Is fruit to be gathered, the hat takes it. 
 Is the boy heaping up stones to fire at cats, birds, 
 dogs, and strangers, the hat collects and carries them 
 to the heap. Does a boy want a butterfly, the hat 
 
A CANNON-BALL IN THE HAT. 143 
 
 is his net to cast over it. Would he smack a fly or 
 a bee, his hat is better than a bat. It is his fan 
 when hot and his protection when cold. And as age 
 gives it suppleness, it mounts into the air as a poor 
 foot-ball. By that very signal, too, you may know 
 when school is let out: hats go up. And Sunday 
 morning may be detected, if one has lost his reckon 
 ing, by the style and sobriety of boys hats. It is the 
 only day of rest for hats as well as for boys. 
 
 The iron ball was accordingly swaddled with the 
 handkerchief and mounted on my head and the hat 
 shut over it. I emerged from the vault a little less 
 courageous than was pleasant, and began my march 
 toward the gate. Every step seemed a mile. Every 
 man I met looked unusually hard at me. The ma 
 rines evidently were suspecting my hat. Some sailors, 
 leering and rolling toward the ships, seemed to look 
 me through. The perspiration stood all over my face 
 as an officer came toward me. Now for it ! I was to 
 be arrested, put in prison, cat-o -nine-tailed, or shot for 
 aught I knew. I wished the ball in the bottom of the 
 sea ; but no, it was on the top of my head ! 
 
 By this time, too, it had grown very heavy ; I must 
 have made a mistake in selecting! I meant a six- 
 pounder, but I was sure it must have been a twelve- 
 pounder, and before I got out of the yard it weighed 
 twenty-four pounds ! I began to fear that the stiffness 
 with which I carried my neck would excite suspicion, 
 and so I tried to limber up a little, which had nearly 
 ruined me, for the shot took a roll around my crown 
 in a manner that liked to have brought me and my 
 hat to the ground. Indeed, I felt like a loaded can 
 non, and every man and every thing was like a spark 
 
144 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 trying to touch me off. The gate was a great way 
 farther off than I ever had found it before ; I seemed 
 likely never to get there. 
 
 And when, at length, heart-sore and head-sore, with 
 my scalp well rolled, I got to the gate, all my terror 
 came to a culmination as the sentinel stopped his 
 marching, drew himself up, and, looking at me, smiled. 
 I expected him to say, " O, you little thievish d 1, do 
 you think I do not see through you ? " but, bless his 
 heart, he only said, " Pass ! " He did not say it twice. 
 I walked a few steps farther, and then, having great 
 faith in the bravery of my feet, I pulled my hat off be 
 fore me, and carrying it in that position, I whipped 
 around the first corner, and made for the bridge with 
 a speed which Flora Temple would envy. 
 
 When I reached home, I had nothing to do with my 
 shot. I did not dare show it in the house, nor tell 
 where I got it ; and after one or two solitary rolls, I 
 gave it away on the same day to a Prince-Streeter. 
 
 But, after all, that six-pounder rolled a good deal of 
 sense into my skull. I think it was the last thing that 
 I ever stole (excepting a little matter of a heart, now 
 and then), and it gave me a notion of the folly of cov 
 eting more than you can enjoy, which has made my 
 whole life happier. It was rather a severe mode of 
 catechizing, but ethics rubbed in with a six-pound shot 
 are better than none at all. 
 
 But I see men doing the same thing, going into 
 underground, dirty vaults, and gathering up wealth 
 which will roll round their heads like my cannon-ball, 
 and be not a whit softer because it is gold instead of 
 iron, though there is not a man in Wall Street who 
 will believe that. 
 
MY POCKETS. 145 
 
 I have seen a man put himself to every humiliation 
 to win a proud woman who has been born above him, 
 and when he had won her, he walked all the rest of 
 his life with a cannon-ball in his hat. 
 
 I have seen young men enrich themselves by pleas 
 ures in the same wise way, sparing no pains, and scru 
 pling at no sacrifice of principle, for the sake, at last, 
 of carrying a burden which no man can bear. 
 
 All the world are busy in striving for things that 
 give little pleasure and bring much care ; and in my 
 walks among men, I often think, There is a man steal 
 ing a cannon-ball ; or, There s a man with a ball on 
 his head ; I know it by the way he walks. The money 
 which a clerk purloins for his pocket at last gets into 
 his hat like a cannon-ball. Pride, bad temper, selfish 
 ness, evil passions, will roll upon a man as if he had 
 a ball on his head ! And ten thousand men in New 
 York will die this year, and as each one falls, his hat 
 will come off, and out will roll an iron ball, which for 
 years he has worn out his strength in carrying ! 
 
 MY POCKETS. 
 
 POCKET, if not a faculty of the human 
 mind, or an organ of the human body, 
 must be regarded as an indispensable ad 
 junct to both. The Pocket is the badge of 
 civilization, and what it contains, the very element of 
 discrimination between man and man. My pockets 
 have been the occasion of great trouble to me, ever 
 
 7 j 
 
146 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 since I was married. It ought to be understood that 
 I have a wife whose very life-pleasure consists in tak 
 ing good care of her husband. 1 dare not say that 
 she is perfect. Perhaps that might cause her death, 
 for the scarcity of such persons living makes me sure 
 people die as soon as they become perfect. 
 
 But she is as nearly perfect as it was thought that 
 such a poor sinner as I am could endure. Not only 
 does she review my clothes, bring all buttons and but 
 ton-holes every week to the general muster, return 
 my stockings to the drawer without a hole, save the 
 necessary one for foot-entrance, and give me immacu 
 late linen, but she examines my pockets, and calls me 
 to a strict account both for what she finds there, and 
 yet oftener for what she does not find ! 
 
 All those obliging little notes, those pleasant letters 
 of sentiment which it is so agreeable to receive and so 
 awkward to explain, if by any negligence I leave them 
 in my pocket, bring me into the most affectionate cat 
 echism. So, too, if I run up a little cosey bill for 
 books or engravings, a mere private matter of my 
 own, in no way chargeable to family expenses, un 
 less I am on hand before the first of July and Janu 
 ary, (those two J s are like executioners spears to 
 many a moneyless wretch !) the thoughtless shop 
 keeper sends them to me by post. Of course they 
 come during my absence. They are accidentally 
 opened! But, after all, what a blessing they occa 
 sion. But for them, I should lose that laying on of 
 the hand upon mine, that sad, earnest look, and those 
 excellent counsels, which I might call golden were it 
 not that they spring from the very absence of gold ! 
 
 Then, again, I am commissioned to deposit a letter 
 
MY POCKETS. 147 
 
 in the office, and put it for carriage into my pocket, 
 and wickedly continue carrying it there a whole week, 
 without excuse or extenuation ! And I do wonder 
 that I am let off as easily as I am. And if I take a 
 letter from the office, instead of bringing it directly 
 home to its superscription, it goes circuiting about in 
 routes not laid down in any mail contract. Of course 
 such things bring a man into disgrace in any well-reg 
 ulated family. 
 
 But all these things are mere mishaps, compared 
 with the regular, chronic, incurable fault of my pock 
 et in money matters. It seems as if I were foreor 
 dained to lose money. Yet I am free from all vices ; 
 I do not gamble, drink, smoke, race, or bet. The 
 worst that I know of myself is an addiction to book 
 stores, print-shops, and picture-dealers haunts. No, I 
 lose it. It must be the fault of my pocket. At first, 
 I pleaded the shallowness of my vest pockets. My 
 wife then transferred my wallet to my pantaloons, but 
 with no change in my misfortunes. I had my pockets 
 examined, but no hole was found. New ones were 
 made, deeper ones, of better cloth, with the best of 
 buttoning adjustments. Alas ! the same thing con 
 tinued ! I tried my neighbor s tailor. My neighbor 
 never lost money. A ten-dollar bill went through the 
 week unbroken, as surely as a ship goes through a 
 summer voyage. Nobody had ever been known to 
 pick his pockets. Many people had tried to introduce 
 a kind of burglarious instrument, called Benevolence, 
 known to be very adroitly used in easing the pocket. 
 But all failed here. These were the pockets for me ! 
 I got a pair of pantaloons of the same cloth which he 
 wore, with the same pockets. Now was I proud and 
 
148 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 presumptuous. And soon was I abased to the very 
 dust before my wife, having lost all my money, and 
 being able to give no sort of satisfactory account of it. 
 
 This long series of misfortunes has very much 
 broken my pride and quenched my hopefulness. I 
 no longer dream that I shall earn the name of the full- 
 pocketed gentleman ; the man of a long pocket ; the 
 man of an impregnable pocket ! And I am sure that 
 hopelessness is making me more and more careless. 
 Almost anybody can get access to my pocket. Chil 
 dren subtract from me. The poor subtract from my 
 pockets. All unfortunates seem to know where my 
 pocket is. Every man that has curious things, old 
 books, venerable old maps, etchings, engravings, or 
 pictures, has heard about my pockets. Every book 
 seller in town drives through them as easily as 
 through a city gate. Is there any remedy ? 
 
 Is there no such thing as a pocket-fastener ? Are 
 inventions all used up, or can there yet be invented 
 something that will stop up leaky pockets ? We can 
 caulk the seams of ships, mend leaky roofs, keep in 
 and keep out moisture by india-rubber garments ; but 
 can there be no remedy for leaking pockets ? I am 
 prepared to give one half of all that is saved to the 
 man who will make my pockets trustworthy, and he 
 will find that to be ample enough for a contented 
 man to live upon respectably ! 
 
 P. S. The thing is invented ! The discovery is 
 made ! It was just whispered in my ear, as I wrote 
 the last line. " Take your wife witli you whenever 
 you go out." Here, good woman, I will pay as I 
 promised. You shall have the half of all you save ! 
 
JOYS AND SOKKOWS OF EGGS. 149 
 
 JOYS AND SOKROWS OF EGGS. 
 
 OB.N in the country, our amusements were 
 few and simple ; but what they lacked in 
 themselves we supplied from a buoyant and 
 overflowing spirit of enjoyment. A string 
 and a stick went further with us, and afforded more 
 hearty enjoyment, than forty dollars worth of trinkets 
 to our own children. Indeed, it would seem as if the 
 enjoying part of our nature depended very much upon 
 the necessity of providing its own pleasures. There 
 are not many of our earlier experiences which we 
 should particularly care to renew. We are content to 
 renew our wading and grubbing after sweet-flag root 
 only in memory. The nuttings were excellent in their 
 way, the gathering of berries, the building of snow- 
 houses, and the various games of summer and winter, 
 on land, ice, or snow. We keep them as a pleasant 
 background of recollection, without any special wish 
 to advance them again into the foreground. 
 
 But one thing we shall never get over. We shall 
 never lose enthusiasm for hen s-nests. The sudden 
 cackling outcry of a faithful old hen, proclaiming the 
 wonder of her eggs, we shall never hear without the 
 old flush and wish to seek and bring in the vaunted 
 trophy. The old barn was very large. It abounded 
 in nooks, sheds, compartments, and what-nots, admi 
 rably suited to a hen s love of egg-secretiveness. And 
 no lover ever sought the post-office for an expected 
 letter with half the alacrity with which we used to 
 search for eggs. Every barrel, every manger and bin, 
 
150 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 every pile of straw or stack of cornstalks, every mow 
 and grain-room, was inspected. And there was al 
 ways the delightful hope that a new nest would sud 
 denly open up to us. For every one properly born 
 and well brought up knows that hen s-nests are fortu 
 itous, and are always happening in the most surpris 
 ing manner, and in the most unexpected places. And 
 though you bring all your great human brain to bear 
 upon the matter, a silly old hen will tuck away a dozen 
 eggs, right under your eyes, and will walk forth daily 
 after each instalment with a most domestic air and 
 tone of taunting, saying, as plain as inarticulate sounds 
 can proclaim it, " I ve laid an egg ! I ve laid an egg ! 
 I ve laid another ! You can t find it ! You won t 
 find it ! I know you won t ! " And sure enough we 
 can t find it, and don t find it, until, after a due time, 
 the gratified old fuss leads forth all her eggs with in 
 finite duckings responsive to endless peepings ! Be 
 hold 1 there was the nest in a clump of grass not a 
 yard from a familiar path ! 
 
 The knowledge that a nest might dawn upon us at 
 any time kept our youthful zeal more alert than ever 
 Columbus was to discover this little nest of a conti 
 nent. Sometimes we detected the sly treasure in the 
 box of the chaise ; sometimes an old hat held more in 
 it when cast into a corner than in its palmy days. The 
 ash-bin was an excellent spot. The fireplace under 
 an old abandoned Dutch-oven was a favorite haunt. 
 We have crept, flat as a serpent, under the whole 
 barn, fearless of all the imaginary monsters which, to 
 a boy s imagination, populate dark holes, and have 
 come forth flaxed from head to foot with spider s- 
 webs, well rewarded if only a few eggs were found. 
 
JOYS AND SORKOWS OF EGGS. 151 
 
 Ah, how it comes back to us now ! The round, rosy 
 face of a younger brother ; the quiet, dreaming search 
 of a sister, who always was looking, and never finding 
 what she did look for, and always finding what she did 
 not. And then, when the spring was wide-awake, rear 
 ing her brood of flowers, and the air smelt of new grow 
 ing things, and showers were warm, and clouds were 
 white and fleecy, and wandered about the pale blue 
 heaven, like straggling flocks of pasturing sheep ; and 
 new-mated birds kept honeymoon in every bush and 
 tree, and sang amatory poems that Burns might have 
 envied ; and new furrows in every field attracted flocks 
 of worm-loving blackbirds, and everything was gay 
 and glad and musical, the very flies having music in 
 their wings ; and bees, like wicked poets, singing of 
 the flowers which they had robbed ; (well, let s see, 
 this long sentence has bewildered us, and we forget 
 exactly what we started for. 0, now we remember.) 
 Well, in these fervent, soft, brooding days, even hens 
 felt the celestial fire, and piled up their poetical du 
 ties in full and overflowing nests, till boys hearts fairly 
 throbbed with delight, and the pans in the closet 
 swelled up in rounded heaps, until egg could no 
 longer lie upon egg! 
 
 Now it sometimes happened that, when busy about 
 the " chores, " foddering the horse, throwing down 
 hay to the cows (yet requiring a supplemental lock at 
 night to eke out the day s pasturage), we discovered a 
 nest brimming full of hidden eggs. The hat was the 
 bonded warehouse of course. But sometimes it was a 
 cap not of suitable capacity. Then the pocket came 
 into play, and chiefly the skirt pockets. Of course, we 
 intended to transfer them immediately after getting 
 
152 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 into the house, for eggs are as dangerous in the pocket, 
 though for different reasons, as powder would be in a 
 forgeman s pocket. And so, having finished the even 
 ing s work, and put the pin into the stable-door, we 
 sauntered toward the house, behind which, and right 
 over Chestnut Hill, the broad moon stood showering 
 all the east with silver twilight! All earthly cares 
 and treasures were forgot in the dreamy pleasure, and 
 at length entering the house, supper already de 
 layed for us, we drew up the chair, and peacefully 
 sunk into it, with a suppressed and indescribable crunch 
 and liquid crackle underneath us, which brought us up 
 again in the liveliest manner, and with outcries which 
 seemed made up of all the hen s cackles of all the eggs 
 which were now holding carnival in our pockets ! Fa- 
 cilis descensus Averno, sed revocare gradum, &c., which 
 means, It is easy to put eggs into your pocket, but how 
 to get them out again, that s the question. And it 
 was the question ! Such a hand-dripping business, 
 such a scene when the slightly angry mother and the 
 disgusted maid turned the pockets inside out ! 
 
 We were very penitent.! It should never happen 
 again ! And it did not for a month or two. Then 
 a sudden nest, very full, tempted us, and we fortified 
 our courage, as, of course, the same accident could 
 not happen twice. The memory of the old disaster 
 would certainly prevent any such second ridiculous 
 experience ! 
 
 But it chanced there was company in the house. 
 Cousins and gladly-received neighbors. And amidst 
 the gratulations and the laugh and the hand-shak 
 ings, they began to sit down, and we also sat qui 
 etly down, but rose up a great deal quicker! Our 
 disgrace was total. Such a tale as we unfolded ! 
 
JOYS AND SORROWS OF EGGS. 153 
 
 Three times within our melancholy remembrance 
 did we perform this shameful act, until a hen s-nest 
 affected us with peculiar horror. 
 
 Are we the only man that sits down on eggs? Is 
 not the whole world hunting nests, and laying up their 
 treasures in pockets behind them, and sitting down 
 on all their spoils, when it is too late ? Are there not 
 other things beside eggs, which are very fair on the 
 outside, and very clean if tenderly handled, which, 
 when broken, are most foul to the raiment and the 
 touch ? Are there no men whose experience of long- 
 sought love is but eggs in the pocket of one who sits 
 down? Are there no men filling their pockets with 
 thin-shelled, golden eggs, which fortune lays, and 
 which they mean to carry home, and employ for all 
 domestic uses, but which in the end are crushed and 
 only soil their pockets ? 
 
 We said we performed the feat three times. Why 
 should we conceal the fact that we have understated 
 the number? Let us make a clean pocket of the 
 matter, and confess that it happened oftener, and 
 even after we were grown up and married ! The 
 wife s admirable conduct on the occasion established 
 her reputation. And if any one, before venturing 
 upon the untried navigation of matrimony, would 
 test the patience and gentleness of any angelic per 
 son, we would advise him to sit down on a dozen 
 eggs in her presence, and witness then the devel 
 opments of her disposition in the disaster. There 
 are a hundred women who would follow Florence 
 Nightingale into a plague hospital, where there is 
 one who would put her hand into his pocket after 
 such a drear experience as we have recorded ! 
 
154 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 THE DUTY OF OWNING BOOKS. 
 
 ]B form judgments of men from little things 
 about their houses of which the owner per 
 haps never thinks. In earlier years, when 
 travelling in the West, where taverns were 
 scarce and in some places unknown, and every settler s 
 house was a house of " Entertainment," it was a mat 
 ter of some importance and some experience to select 
 wisely where you would put up. And we always 
 looked for flowers. If there were no trees for shade, 
 no patch of flowers in the yard, we were suspicious 
 of the place. But, no matter how rude the cabin or 
 rough the surroundings, if we saw that the window 
 held a little trough for flowers, and that some vines 
 twined about strings let down from the eaves, we 
 were confident that there was some taste and care 
 fulness in the log-cabin. In a new country, where 
 people have to tug for a living, no one will take the 
 trouble to rear flowers unless the love of them is 
 pretty strong ; and this taste | blossoming out of plain 
 and uncultivated people is itself like a clump of hare 
 bells growing out of the seams of a rock. We were 
 seldom misled. A patch of flowers came to signify 
 kind people, clean beds, and good bread. 
 
 But in other states of society other signs are more 
 significant. Flowers about a rich man s house may 
 signify only that he has a good gardener, or that he 
 has refined neighbors, and does what he sees them do. 
 But men are not accustomed to buy books unless they 
 want them. If on visiting the dwelling of a man of 
 
THE DUTY OF OWNING BOOKS. 155 
 
 slender means we find that he contents himself with 
 cheap carpets, and very plain furniture, in order that 
 he may purchase books, he rises at once in our esteem. 
 Books are not made for furniture, but there is noth 
 ing else that so beautifully furnishes a house. The 
 plainest row of books that cloth or paper ever .covered 
 is more significant of refinement than the most elabo 
 rately carved etag-Sre or sideboard. 
 
 Give us a house furnished with books rather than 
 furniture ! Both, if you can, but books at any rate ! 
 To spend several days in a friend s house, and hunger 
 for something to read, while you are treading on costly 
 carpets, and sitting upon luxurious chairs, and sleep 
 ing upon down, is as if one were bribing your body 
 for the sake of cheating your mind. 
 
 Is it not pitiable to see a man growing rich, aug 
 menting the comforts of home, and lavishing money on 
 ostentatious upholstery, upon the table, upon every 
 thing but what the soul needs ? We know of many 
 and many a rich man s house where it would not be 
 safe to ask for the commonest English classics. A 
 few gairish annuals on the table, a few pictorial mon 
 strosities, together with the stock religious books of his 
 " persuasion," and that is all ! No poets, no essayists, 
 no historians, no travels or biographies, no select fic 
 tions, or curious legendary lore. But the wall-paper 
 cost three dollars a roll, and the carpets four dollars a 
 yard! 
 
 Books are the windows through which the soul looks 
 out. A house without books is like a room without 
 windows. No man has a right to bring up his chil 
 dren without surrounding them with books, if he has 
 the means to buy them. It is a wrong to his family. 
 
156 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 He cheats them ! Children learn to read by being in 
 the presence of books. The love of knowledge comes 
 with reading and grows upon it. And the love of 
 knowledge, in a young mind, is almost a warrant 
 against the inferior excitement of passions and vices. 
 Let us pity these poor rich men who live barrenly 
 in great, bookless houses! Let us congratulate the 
 poor that, in our day, books are so cheap that a man 
 may every year add a hundred volumes to his library 
 for the price of what his tobacco and his beer would 
 cost him. Among the earliest ambitions to be excited 
 in clerks, workmen, journeymen, and, indeed, among 
 all that are struggling up in life from nothing to some 
 thing, is that of owning, and constantly adding to, a 
 library of good books. A little library growing larger 
 every year is an honorable part of a young man s his 
 tory. It is a man s duty to have books. A library is 
 not a luxury, but one of the necessaries of life. 
 
 MY PROPERTY. 
 
 KNOW few men as rich as I am. I scarcely 
 know where I amassed all my treasures. 
 I have but a few things at home, and they 
 are very precious, animate and inanimate. 
 But, dear me, if you suppose that that is all I own, 
 you never were more mistaken in your life ! 
 
 I have every ship that comes into New York harbor, 
 but without any of the gross trouble which those de 
 luded men have who think they own them. I never 
 
MY PEOPERTY. 157 
 
 concern myself about the crews or officers, about freight 
 or voyage, about expenses or losses. All this would be 
 wearisome. I have certain men who look after these 
 things, while I am left to the pure enjoyment of their 
 beauty, their coming and going, the singing of the 
 anchor-hoisting crew. 
 
 I go about the wharves, watch the packages going 
 in or coming out of ships. The outlandish inscrip 
 tions, the ceroons of indigo piled up, the stacks of tea- 
 chests, the bales and boxes, the wine and spices, all 
 pass under my inspection. I say inwardly to the men : 
 " Let these things be taken care of without troubling 
 me," and I am obeyed. I have also many ship-yards, 
 where they are building all kinds of craft. Other men 
 pay the money ; I take the pleasure, and they the anx 
 ious care ! 
 
 The Yacht Club have been very obliging to me. At 
 great expense they have equipped unequalled boats, 
 that suit me to a nicety. I ask nothing better. They 
 are graceful as swans, beautiful as butterflies. If I 
 had them all to care for, my pleasure would cost me 
 rather dear. But, with extreme delicacy, the gentle 
 men of the Club relieve me of all that gross and mate 
 rial part of it, and leave me the boats, the pleasure, 
 the poetry of the thing ; and once or twice in a season 
 I go down the bay, on a breezy morning, and see these 
 fine fellows sail their craft, and I do believe that if 
 they were doing it for their own selves, instead of for 
 my enjoyment, they would not exert themselves more. 
 
 Then, how much have I to thank the enterprising 
 shopkeepers, who dress out their windows with such 
 beautiful things, changing them every few days lest I 
 should tire. It is a question of duty and delicacy with 
 
158 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 me whether I ought not to go in often as thus : " Good 
 morning, Mr. Stewart, Good morning, Mr. Lord, or 
 Mr. Taylor. I am greatly obliged to you for those fine 
 goods in the window. I have enjoyed them amazingly, 
 as I did the other patterns of last week. Pray, sirs, 
 do not put yourselves to all this trouble on my account. 
 Yet, if your kindness insists upon it, I shall be but too 
 happy to come and look every day at such rare pro 
 ductions of the loom." In the same way I am put 
 under very great obligations to Messrs. Appleton & 
 Co. It is affecting to see such kindness as they have 
 shown, in going to great expense to procure fine ster 
 eoscopic views for the entertainment of their friends. 
 It must be a great expense to them. But then they 
 are displayed, free as grass in meadow or dandelions 
 by the roadside, and any one can look for nothing, and 
 without any other risk than that of purchasing ! On 
 the same side of Broadway is a firm so benevolent that 
 some Dickens ought to embalm them as a " Cheeryble 
 Brothers," of course, I mean Messrs. Williams and 
 Stevens, who pay out great sums every year, in order 
 to fill their windows with pleasant sights for passers- 
 by. Some surly old rich men there are in New York 
 who hoard and hide their pictorial treasures. Not so 
 these benevolent gentlemen. They let their light shine ; 
 and with rare .delicacy, lest the eye should tire of rep 
 etition, they change their pictures every week. Then 
 here is Mr. Seitz, who has ransacked all Europe for 
 brilliant impressions of the rarest classical engravings, 
 and has brought together a collection which cannot 
 probably be equalled or approached by any similar 
 concern in the world. Only to think of such pains 
 taking kindness ! And then if one loves books, how 
 
MY PROPERTY. 159 
 
 many are there besides Messrs. Appleton or Mr. Scrib- 
 ner who will rejoice in seeing you before their shelves, 
 warming in kindred feeling to these children dressed 
 in calf. I am sometimes overwhelmed with the sense 
 of my riches in crockery and china, in sewing-ma 
 chines, in jewelry, in furniture, in fine wall-paper, in 
 new inventions. 
 
 And then how many men build handsome houses 
 for me to look at, and fill their yards with flowers for 
 me to nod to, and place the most beautiful faces of the 
 family in the window to cheer me as I pass ! Surely 
 this is a kind-hearted world ! And then how many 
 fine country-seats are built, and grounds laid out, 
 for my enjoyment. The fee simple may be in some 
 other man, but I own them. For he owns a thing 
 who understands it best, and gets the most enjoyment 
 from it ! 
 
 This world was made for poor men, and therefore 
 the greatest part of it was left out of doors, where ev 
 erybody could enjoy it. And though men have been 
 building and fencing for six thousand years, they have 
 succeeded in getting very little of the universal treas 
 ure sequestered and out of sight. Suppose you can 
 not plough that fertile field, or own the crops, or reap 
 the harvests, is there no pleasure to you in a fine field, 
 a growing crop, a good harvest ? In fact, I sometimes 
 fancy that I enjoy ploughing and mowing more when 
 other people are engaged in them than if I were work 
 ing myself. Sweat away, my hearties, I say ; I am in 
 the shade of this tree watching you, and enjoying the 
 scene amazingly. I love to go into the pasture and 
 look over those sleek Devonshires. The owner is very 
 kind. He has paid thousands of dollars for them ; he 
 
160 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 has spent I know not how much for the barns and 
 premises ; he keeps several careful men to tend them, 
 and all for my enjoyment and yours ! We walk through 
 the fields, handle their silky vests, discuss their points, 
 and enjoy the whole herd, full as much as the so-called 
 owner ! 
 
 Sometimes I go out to look after my farms, for I 
 own all the best ones hereabouts. And the orchards, 
 the gardens, the greenhouses, the stately forests and 
 exquisite meadows that I possess, divested too of all 
 vexation of taxes, care, or work, are enough to make 
 one s heart swell with gratitude. 
 
 Besides all this, there is a royal artist that rises ear 
 lier than I do every day, and works gloriously every 
 hour, painting pictures in the heavens, and over all 
 the earth, giving inimitable colors, unexampled chiaro- 
 oscuro, filling the day and the world with scenes that 
 the canvas never equalled. And this stately gallery, 
 with a dome like heaven, stands open without fee or 
 impudent janitor, to every poor man that has eyes. 
 And the best of all is, that, glorious as is this mani 
 festation, it is but a hint and outlying suggestion of 
 a world transcendently better, not made with hands, 
 eternal in the heavens ! 
 
MEN NEED WHAT THEY DO NOT WANT. 161 
 
 MEN NEED WHAT THEY DO NOT WANT. 
 
 F one will take the trouble to watch his own 
 mind, or which he will find to be a great 
 deal more natural to watch the conduct 
 of his neighbors, he will observe how readily 
 men listening to discourse believe more firmly what 
 they believed before, and allow themselves to be influ 
 enced in the very qualities which are already strongest 
 and most active. 
 
 Men love to read " on their own side," to hear 
 the things which they already believe enforced with 
 new arguments ; to hear their ministers or political 
 speakers praise the things in which already they 
 are fully established. But they are seldom willing 
 to hear another side, to have enforced the truths 
 which they do not believe, and the qualities which 
 they do not possess. In this way men grow narrow : 
 they intensify their opinions, rather than enlarge 
 their knowledge, and become selfish and bigoted. 
 
 If I were to urge the benefits of an easy and good- 
 natured contentment in life, the anxious and the 
 careful would shake their heads, and fear that these 
 qualities would lead to carelessness and mischief. 
 Whereas, all the heedless and jovial, who live for one 
 day at a time, and never provide for to-morrow, 
 would jump at the doctrine and rejoice in its wisdom. 
 But those who refuse it are most in need of it, and 
 those who accept it do not need it at all. 
 
 If I urge the claims of sobriety and foresight, those 
 who are already too anxious about the future, and 
 
 K 
 
162 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 too sober for the present, will listen eagerly and nod 
 approval, and talk all the way home of the wisdom 
 of my speech. But it was not for their sakes that 
 this truth was propounded, but for the careless, gig 
 gling, heedless creatures who take none of it to them 
 selves. If I praise generosity, they who are already 
 carelessly generous receive a fresh impulse in that 
 direction. If I exhort to frugality and economy, all 
 the shrewd and close-managing men in the congrega 
 tion repeat the words, and nudge their neighbors, 
 and look around .exulting. But if I sharply expose 
 the meanness of being penurious and stingy, all the 
 parsimonious men are deaf, while the spendthrifts 
 fairly laugh out with approbation. 
 
 When I inveigli against pride, the proud are the 
 last that take it; but if I expound the benefits of a 
 firm self-reliance and self-respect, all those already 
 too strong in self-esteem straighten up, and say, 
 Amen! 
 
 Men strengthen each other in their faults. Those 
 who are alike associate together, repeat the things 
 which all believe, defend and stimulate their com 
 mon faults of disposition, and each one receives 
 from the others a reflection of his own egotism. If 
 the slow and prudent would associate with the san 
 guine and zealous, the peculiar faults of each would 
 be mutually corrective. If the timid and the cour 
 ageous would walk together, one would rise toward 
 firmness and the other sink a little back from rash 
 ness. Men of a practical mind, who regard the im 
 agination with contempt, are just the men that ought 
 to associate with imaginative people, and clothe their 
 barrenness with some beauty, and gain that finer 
 
MEN NEED WHAT THEY DO NOT WANT. 163 
 
 insight which the imagination gives to the under 
 standing. 
 
 People naturally select those companions who please 
 rather than those who profit them most, and gratify 
 their conceit at the expense of improvement. 
 
 There is manifest a wisdom in the divine order of 
 society ; men are thrown together without regard to 
 their affinities and preferences. The old and young, 
 the gay and sober, the thriftless and frugal, the selfish 
 and generous, the poor and the rich, the high and 
 the low, all dispositions, all pursuits, all sides of belief 
 of all sorts, secular things and religious, authority 
 and lawlessness, knowledge and ignorance, riches and 
 poverty, cheerfulness and gloom, hopefulness and 
 despondency, the nimble and the sluggish, the quick- 
 seeing and the dull-eyed, all are thrown together 
 into the vast compound of human society, and made 
 by their interests to defer one to another, to wait 
 upon each other, to give up their own preferences, to 
 respect in others traits which they do not themselves 
 possess. And so the Divine Wisdom has made hu 
 man life to be a school and educatory discipline. 
 And we are not to regard it as our misfortune that 
 we must mix with men and feel all their humors, and 
 carry some part of their follies as burdens. No 
 schoolmaster could teach men as much wisdom as 
 those things do which men count it a misfortune to 
 meet or to endure ! And all the dreams and aspira 
 tions which men entertain, of retiring from society, 
 of getting out from life into some secluded nook, 
 are not only unwise, but contrary to the ordinance 
 of Divine Providence. For men need men. And 
 while it is pleasanter to meet men whose likeness 
 
164 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 to ourselves shall flatter our vanity or pride, it is 
 better to be obliged to associate with those who will 
 teach us new things, or even with those whose very 
 faults will induce patience, forbearance, and philan 
 thropy. 
 
 CONSULTING AN ECHO. 
 
 YERY self-willed and passionate man there 
 was, in our boyhood days, who had long and 
 loud disputes, sometimes with his wife and 
 sometimes with his neighbors. Of course 
 he was always in the right, and they, whoever they 
 might be, were always in the wrong. It chanced that 
 there was in his neighborhood a place remarkable for 
 its echo. One echo was always to be had, and in cer 
 tain positions, two and three. The vehement old gen 
 tleman used, when the dispute did not please him, to 
 walk off in the direction of the echo-hills, talking to 
 himself, and at every step more and more positively 
 laying down his propositions, until, by the time he 
 reached the ground, he would shout out, " I know I 
 am right!" and immediately it was sent back to him, 
 
 - " Know am right ! " " Am right ! " " Right ! " 
 " I say she lies ! " he would cry out, encouraged with 
 the first effort ; and the echo replied, " Say she lies," 
 
 - u She lies," " Lies ! " Catching up the hint, he 
 would answer, " Well, I do say so." And he was 
 gratified with hearing, " Do say so," " Say so." 
 
 This walk became a great consolation to the prag 
 matical old man. And he seemed, at length, to think 
 
CONSULTING AN ECHO. 165 
 
 i 
 
 that there was wafted to him some intelligent con 
 firmation of his notions. Thus he was wont to hear 
 himself, and listen to his own words reflected from 
 the sides of the hill. 
 
 There are a great many persons of strong nature, 
 inflexible will, self-opinionated, and intense in feeling, 
 who never see anything in life, except themselves 
 reflected from those whom they meet. It is not their 
 wish to be advised, or to be modified in their notions. 
 They give forth their own intense convictions, and 
 pour forth their feelings out upon things and persons 
 to such a degree, that everything is but a reflection of 
 themselves. 
 
 Such persons will bear down upon men, in asking 
 their opinions, with such a statement of their own, 
 that timid and complying natures say yes to them, of 
 course ; and those who wish to please, or do not wisli 
 to offend, say yes, too. And those who say nothing 
 are considered, of course, as giving tacit assent. And 
 sensible men, of contrary opinions, would no more 
 think of resisting them, than they would of catching a 
 wild horse that ran with headlong fury through the 
 streets. But how satisfied is he, after such a career ! 
 Rubbing his hands, he says, with lordly satisfaction, 
 " I have asked a great many sensible people about 
 this matter, and I have yet to find one who does not 
 think as I do." The fact is, that he has been out 
 hallooing and listening to his own echo ! 
 
 If a man is prosperous and influential, there are 
 multitudes who only desire to know what he would 
 like to have advised. It is not always easy to get 
 another s real mind. They stand off, they hesitate 
 and question as if to get at the truth, whereas they 
 
166 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 are only getting at you.- So soon as your bent and 
 wish are discovered, they will, with great apparent 
 candor, advise you just as you longed to have them ! 
 and you have got yourself twice over, your own 
 mind and its echo ! 
 
 It is amusing to listen to a dozen gentlemen at a 
 political consultation, or at a board of directors for 
 some institution, or of a railroad company, upon a 
 question which divides and excites all the number. 
 Each of at least half a dozen men will assure you that 
 he has not yet met a single man who does not think 
 as he does. At least two or three irreconcilable 
 opinions will be declared to be the current opinion 
 of the community ! Each man goes to those natu 
 rally accessible to himself, and hears himself reflected 
 from them, and reports to his confederates one 
 opinion, and that his own, echoed five or six times ! 
 Men usually find what they wish to find. What they 
 look for, that they see. 
 
 Let a pretty woman, of agreeable manners, and 
 musical way of talking, who is greatly exercised with 
 some profound question of a Fair or Festival, and who 
 leads the " Opposition," go among the admiring gen 
 tlemen who are her friends, and see if she does not 
 come back in triumph to report that every one agreed 
 with her ! 
 
 Let some amiable pastor go out to see what his 
 people think about his remaining with them, and we 
 will venture to say that he will be almost unani 
 mously fooled into the impression that every man in 
 the parish wishes him to stay as much as he himself 
 does ! Consultation, with obstinate men, is only an 
 other way of propagating their own opinions. 
 
THE VIETUE AND FANATICISM OF NEATNESS. 167 
 
 The same thing takes place in public assemblies. 
 Men who speak to temperance meetings are expected 
 to say what the meeting already believes ; the Dem 
 ocratic or Republican speaker is the echo of the 
 audience, with variations ; that preacher is sound, 
 with his own people, who eloquently varies and 
 embellishes their own beliefs. 
 
 Every considerate man should be aware of this 
 subtle echo of selfishness or conceit. And a wise 
 man should eagerly entertain those counsellings 
 which are the least like his own. It is what others 
 think that we need to ponder. Conceit is narrow. 
 No man can be very broad who will build with 
 nothing but that which he quarries from himself. 
 There are men enough who think, when they hear 
 themselves echoed, that a god spoke. 
 
 THE VIRTUE AND FANATICISM OF NEATNESS. 
 
 has been said that poetry must be a birth 
 right. It cannot spring from education 
 merely. We are sure that the same is yet 
 more eminently true of neatness ! A man 
 must have an original genius for it, or he will not 
 excel. We have good reasons for saying so. We 
 admire pictures, without being able to paint them, 
 and we admire neatness in the same way. We have 
 a sort of reverence for a comprehensively neat and 
 orderly person, as of a being of superior endowments. 
 We could never gain an insight into that rare and 
 
168 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 wonderful mental mechanism by which everything is 
 made to arrange itself without commotion, and things 
 come to pass neatly. It is a matter of genius un 
 doubtedly. Education may develop it, direct it, but 
 never creates it. All the education in the world 
 could not enable us to fold a shirt so that it would 
 come forth with the creases in the right place. We 
 can roll up a bundle, we can tumble up a garment, 
 we can crowd into very narrow compass any amount 
 of linen. But when it comes forth again, who can 
 describe its condition ? But another hand is put 
 forth. Every thread knows its master. Each plait 
 and every fold submit themselves. Creases vanish 
 in despair. And a heterogeneous heap comes quietly 
 into order and contact, so that a trunk is packed 
 with as much harmony as are the muscles and tis 
 sues of the human body. 
 
 Then there is the mystery of bureau-drawers. We 
 never put anything into them that it does not seem 
 to shove everything else. We never take anything 
 out, without discomposing all that remains. There 
 is a fatality of disorder in our touch. But another 
 soothes the drawer, brings peace to linen, and com 
 posure to ruffled handkerchiefs and heterogeneous 
 stockings. If we hang up anything in the closet, it 
 is sure to fall down again. If we want a coat, it is 
 sure to be under two or three other garments, which 
 always get out of the way in any but the right way. 
 Our boots and shoes take every liberty with us, and 
 despise regularity in arrangement. Indeed, our visit 
 to any place is a sure indication that the place needs 
 some attention. But if these easy things are difficult, 
 what shall be said of books, of papers, of letters, of 
 
THE VIRTUE AND FANATICISM OF NEATNESS. 169 
 
 engravings, of pictures, and of all the multitude of 
 nameless things that make up a collector s cabinet? 
 Who can describe a gentleman s house when his fam 
 ily is away ? Books accumulate on the floor ; papers 
 load down the table ; pitchers, tumblers, plates, blink 
 from among statuettes and vases on the mantelpiece ; 
 framed engravings and pictures are stacked against 
 the wall six or seven deep ; portfolios spread abroad 
 their huge sides flat upon the floor ; shawls and dress 
 ing-gowns are tucked upon the sofa; hats, caps, 
 gloves, and shoes are promiscuous and diffusive ; 
 heaps of everything abound everywhere. There is a 
 place for everything, and everything is in its place, 
 and that place is the floor. The ashes are forgot 
 ten and protrude far beyond decency and the fender ; 
 canes and fishing-rods confer together in the corner, 
 and cups and balls roll and jingle in every drawer. 
 All the tumblers in the house have been used for 
 flowers, and all the pitchers have been brought up 
 with water. And yet the man loves order, and no 
 one has a keener sense of gratitude when the restor 
 ing hand at last arrives, and all things, as if conscious 
 of a new influence, begin their march to their own 
 domain. 
 
 But order and neatness are different things. A 
 man may be forgiven for disorder, but not for dirti 
 ness, and especially if it be personal. There are 
 many persons scrupulously neat who are not orderly, 
 and sometimes we find a man who is orderly but not 
 neat ; but generally neatness and order are twin sis 
 ters. And how beautiful! 
 
 We can pity and forgive the want of these qualities 
 in man, but not in woman. All- virtues and graces go 
 
170 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 for nothing in a slattern. A woman must be super 
 human, indeed angelic, who could please without neat 
 ness. Probably the conviction of this truth accounts 
 for the universal grace of neatness among women. 
 There are occasional rumors of a contrary state of 
 tilings. But we always tread them under foot indig 
 nantly as wanton slanders. Women are neat. If 
 not, they are not women. 
 
 Nay. Women are in danger of excess in careful 
 ness. They run into radical notions of order, and 
 even flame forth into fanaticisms of neatness. Then 
 neatness becomes most afflictive. It has long been a 
 question with me, which was most dreadful, a disor 
 derly house, or a dwelling given up to the insanity of 
 neatness. In the sacred precinct of that dwelling 
 where the despotic woman wields the sceptre of fierce 
 neatness, one treads as if he carried his life in his 
 hands. Order is the centre, and neatness the su 
 preme law, of the house. Nothing is pardonable, 
 nothing tolerated which does not nimbly and abjectly 
 bow down to them. Sin and dirt are synonymous. 
 Yain are Lesson and Catechism without precision and 
 absolute neatness. All the instruments of this final 
 quality become reverend. A child that would speak 
 slightingly of broom, brush, or towel, is on the road 
 to profanity ! All moral qualities are inflections or 
 subordinates of the supreme virtue of cleanly order. 
 Men are divided into two classes, the neat and the 
 filthy. The grades of respectability and the order 
 of endowment are all measured by the relative 
 capacity for neatness ! Everything comes under this 
 Moral Law. The horse must be neat, the cow must 
 be neat, the dog must- be neat, the pigs must be neat ! 
 
THE VIRTUE AND FANATICISM OF NEATNESS. 171 
 
 From cellar to attic there is the most fierce and vigi 
 lant hunt for the germ of dirt. There must not only 
 be no spot, or soil, or litter, but not even the sus 
 picion of any ! What avail all virtues, all graces of 
 speech, all helpful kindness, if, when the matron 
 lays her head on the pillow, there is a probable 
 shaving on the nursery floor, an undusted chair, or 
 a bit of lint right out on the parlor carpet ? 
 
 Common, ignorant folks have but a slight idea of 
 neatness as a science. It is with many people of a 
 neglected education a mere superficial quality. Have 
 they ever classified the different kinds of dirt ? traced 
 them to their sources ? and studied their habits ? Do 
 they even know that there is a Natural History of 
 Dirt ? There is mould, rust, mildew, dust, smoke- 
 grime ; dirt of wood, of woollen, of cotton, of fruit 
 and vegetable, of paper, of leaves, of insects, of birds 
 and beasts, of men and children, solid, liquid, gaseous, 
 aerial, terraqueous, visible and invisible. There is 
 the dirt of the crack, of the crack vertical and the 
 crack horizontal, of the moulding and cornice, of the 
 wall and ceiling, of the curtain and carpet, of cup 
 board and closet, of table and bed, of seasons. Each 
 in kind, winter dirt, spring, summer, and autumn 
 dirts, and each to be searched, seized, condemned, 
 and annihilated. 
 
 The housewife becomes a knight-errant. Ghosts 
 and giants are nothing to her. Castles and en 
 counters of freebooters she turns over to nursery 
 credulity. She has her broom and brush in hand, 
 her armature of cloth and wash, for that deceitful, 
 stealthy, ubiquitous foe of all domestic peace, uni 
 versal dirt. All nature is her enemy. All winds 
 
172 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 are adverse which bring dust. All phenomena are 
 regarded as good or bad, from their dirt-producing 
 tendencies. The economy of life is arranged with 
 supreme reference to virtues of order and neatness. 
 Comfort is nothing, ease is nothing, happiness is 
 nothing, good dispositions are nothing. Neatness is 
 the one grace. That determines when you must get 
 up, what you must wear, where you may sit down, 
 what you may touch, what rooms are usable, what 
 days of the week are home days, or endurable days. 
 Life has not one moment s respite from unwinking 
 vigilance ! Not one moment is there that the great 
 Arch-enemy of connubial felicity does not threaten a 
 speck or a spot upon something. You live under a 
 perpetual and sounding, " Take care." It is " Take 
 care, don t touch that silver, you will tarnish it." 
 " Take care of that sofa, it is newly covered." 
 " Take care ! don t sit on that clean chintz ; you 
 ought to know better than to sit down on such a 
 chair ! " " Take care ! let that hat alone, you will 
 soil it." " Take care ! pray don t go near that side 
 board, you 11 scratch it." " Take care ! a stick ! a 
 knife too ! ! Whittling in the parlor ! ! ! Go out 
 out with you ; go out of the yard, go into the road ; 
 go behind the barn, where the wind won t blow your 
 shavings back." " Take care ! don t eat apples in 
 the sitting-room, you always drop some seeds." 
 " Take care, child, come away from that door. You 
 are not going into that room ; it is just put in 
 order ! " And thus, family discipline, domestic life, 
 and the whole end of living seems to be, to avoid 
 dirt, and secure neatness. Is there anything so tor 
 menting as ecstatic neatness ? 0, for a morsel of dirt, 
 
NIAGARA FALLS, BUT NOT DESCRIBED. 173 
 
 as a luxury ! How good dust looks ! A ploughed field 
 with endless dirt, all hail ! The great sentence 
 itself, which consigns man finally to dust again, be 
 comes a consolation ! 
 
 NIAGARA FALLS, BUT NOT DESCRIBED. 
 
 FY attempt to convey to those who have not 
 seen them " a realizing idea " of Niagara 
 Falls, must be a miserable failure, even 
 when the description is calm, detailed, and 
 scientific ; and much more when it is exclamatory and 
 poetic. But, after one has himself been at the Falls, 
 and subject to their influence, all reasonably well-writ 
 ten descriptions become interesting. One cannot but 
 wish to know how other minds have been affected, and 
 what were the secret reasons of different experiences. 
 With some most literal persons the whole concern may 
 be expressed in arithmetical figures ; the American 
 falls are so high and so wide ; the Canada falls are so 
 much wider and so much lower ; the water is so deep, 
 and so many tons are estimated to pass over in an 
 hour; the rapids descend at such an angle, and so 
 many feet. There is to them neither more nor less 
 than just what is before them, a vast, roaring 
 plunge of water. To another, we may suppose there 
 is added a fine perception of form, color, and motion. 
 He will have an artist s eye for each feature, as if 
 he were turning in his mind unconsciously the anat 
 omy of the thing, and revolving how it could be ren 
 dered on canvas. 
 
174 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 But to others, while this may not be wanting, there 
 is a very different class of mental sensations. After 
 the first bewildering excitement begins to assume a 
 more settled form, and the confused and multiplex 
 conceptions grow up each upon its own stem, one is 
 conscious, at least I was conscious, that I did not so 
 much see simply the Falls, as, seeing them, feel thou 
 sands of associations which they touched and vivified. 
 And it seems that, besides their wondrous quality of 
 beauty and force and grandeur, they have a yet more 
 wonderful power of suggestion. Thus, while I was 
 steadily gazing at these perpendicular waves, and 
 thought that I was really seeing them, the mind had 
 glanced back, and was experiencing a strange sense 
 of the length of years, and unending, unintermitted 
 work. For ages before an eye saw them, long before 
 even an Indian wandered toward their mysterious 
 thunder, while Columbus was steering westward, 
 while battles were destroying Rome, while Eomans 
 were sacking Jerusalem, while Israel wandered in 
 captive lands, while David was penning in his psalm, 
 " The voice of the Lord is upon the waters : the God 
 of glory thundereth : the Lord is upon many waters. 
 The voice of the Lord is powerful ; the voice of the 
 Lord is full of majesty. The Lord sitteth upon the 
 flood, the Lord sitteth King forever," these mighty 
 Falls were making their solemn chorus. And not for 
 one moment has there been check or pause. It seems 
 to one, at first, as if they wrought for him : as if, when 
 he departed, they must fade out somewhat as they do 
 in his remembrance! And it comes with great power 
 home to us, that they have thundered for ages, neither 
 caring whether men heard or were deaf or absent, in 
 
NIAGARA FALLS, BUT NOT DESCRIBED. 175 
 
 winter and summer, amid storms or sunshines, dark or 
 light, under the stars and under the sun. Our own 
 emotions seem to be a part of the scene. That there 
 should have been such long space in which no one 
 shuddered or laughed, no one was solemn or glad, no 
 one looked or lingered or yearned, while yet all this 
 upheaved glory was active still, makes one feel what 
 the unworthy disciple said, " Why was this waste ? " 
 It is like a drama enacted in a solitary theatre ; a ser 
 mon discoursed unto emptiness. Then one wonders 
 what the sensations must have been of the millions 
 of diverse minds that have thronged these banks, in 
 all degrees of capacity and sensibility, in all moods 
 of sobriety and sorrow, in all experiences of gayety 
 and joy, young and old, wise men and fools, gig 
 gling girls for once hushed and overawed, before this 
 stern and uncoquetting beauty that would as remorse 
 lessly swallow down babe and beauty as it would bear 
 or log. Could the simple and natural experiences of 
 all the souls which have been wrought upon before 
 this Majesty of Waters be vividly recorded, it would 
 be yet more wonderful than Niagara itself. 
 
 One is not long in discovering that he is seeking 
 to express that which he sees by comparisons with 
 familiar objects. I cannot till this moment, when 
 looking upon the bubbling-out of jets of white from 
 the face of the descending water, forbear to think 
 that it is a process of blossoming. This takes place 
 peculiarly upon the Canada side. The water at the 
 centre angle comes to the plunge with unbroken sur 
 face, a massive movement, a solemn dignity, as if 
 conscious of the secret power which slept within. 
 It bends without a wrinkle ; it plunges ; but, at less 
 
176 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 than a third of its descent, some projecting crag from 
 beneath catches it, or the air hisses up through it, 
 and white ebullitions evolve, growing more and more 
 frequent, until, before the mass is hid in the mists 
 which gather about its feet, it is sheeted all over with 
 flowers. This is not a suggestion merely of color, 
 but of motion. The evolution of these diamond bou 
 quets is suggestive of the rapid opening of leaves, of 
 the quick, final opening of flower-buds. Neither can 
 one, by any process of reasoning, get rid of a sense 
 of life in this cataract. It is felt in the Rapids above, 
 in the long-descending Fall, in the infuriate and ago 
 nized uproar beneath the Horse-Shoe, and, perhaps 
 even more than anywhere, in the race beneath and 
 beyond the suspension-bridge, two miles below. You 
 do not at all admit that you are so wrought upon in 
 your inmost soul by a mere mass of inert water 
 drawn down the cliff by gravitation. It must be a 
 living voice that speaks to you. You attribute voli 
 tion to it. No one thinks or speaks of it as a passive 
 thing, irresistibly acted on ; but as a fierce will, as 
 an irresistible power, full of all caprices, of inordi 
 nate passions, surpassing in rage and fury and ter 
 rible strife all that we have conceived of in human 
 conflicts, or the race of contending beasts, or the 
 coil and twist of mightiest serpents. This sense of 
 life grows more earnest and real the nearer you 
 come to the water. At a little distance the sense of 
 beauty takes precedence of all others ; but stand at 
 the foot of either sheet, or close upon the edge of 
 Table Rock, or, more remarkably yet, descend beneath 
 Table Rock, and, turning to the left a hundred yards, 
 go down and out to the very edge of the stream, 
 
NIAGARA FALLS, BUT NOT DESCRIBED. 177 
 
 that, having made its leap, is hissing past in wild 
 affright and immeasurable speed, and you will have 
 a brave heart indeed or a very stupid one, if you do 
 not feel as. if you were looking in upon a chasm of 
 perdition, and were in momentary danger of being 
 clutched by weird spirits and hurried headlong to 
 destruction. No one can look out over this particular 
 scene, from the edge of it, without an impression of 
 subterranean and infernal doings. At one moment, 
 the innumerable jets, that never for two seconds wear 
 the same form, that are not water nor foam, but 
 both, that open and stretch out long hands, leaping 
 up as if clutching at some invisible prey, and then 
 rush together, and whirl round and round in a maze 
 of fury, suggest to you a liquid prairie full of raging 
 and bedevilled water-wolves. If the eye changes a 
 little, looks farther up towards the opening and shut 
 ting mist, it fancies that there are monsters beneath 
 in horrible sport. The water swells up as if they 
 were about to emerge, or bubbles and boils after them 
 as they sink down again. You look for the serrated 
 and knotted black back, you almost can see the huge 
 sprawling legs and tentaculae of the fabulous Nor 
 wegian Krakens, acre-large, sporting with all their 
 young litter. There is one point where, above all 
 others, you have a sense of power in a threefold 
 form ; going beneath Table Rock, as far as you can, 
 without going behind the sheet, you see the force with 
 which the water descends. It is not a steady pouring, 
 but in successive bolts ; it has the appearance of 
 clenched fists, pelting downward toward the rocks. 
 Behind this is the gloomy and mysterious mouth of 
 the cave, swept across by violently blown mists. The 
 
 8* L 
 
178 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 wild eddying of these vapors was to me very impres 
 sive. I looked to see some storm-god issue forth, and 
 these were his whirling couriers speeding out before 
 him. Just below, an eddy swept round .a point of 
 rock, forming a whirlpool, some fifty or sixty feet in 
 diameter. Into this had been sucked several trunks 
 of trees, logs, planks, besides lesser trash. It was 
 affecting to look at their attempts to escape. For 
 surely they were alive, and conscious of their danger, 
 and wildly heading out toward the raging waters, 
 which mounted them, beat them down, whirled them 
 back, and sent them round again in the endless circle. 
 And so I watched them for a half-hour, and longed to 
 do something to help them, for it was plain that 
 they could not help themselves. Doubtless they are 
 whirling there yet, as I write ; and yet, as you read. 
 Nor could one of my profession refrain from thinking 
 that thus stray men, swept by their passions, are 
 caught and whirled nightly round and round, by cur 
 rents that are easily entered, but that defy all escape, 
 until their work is done, and they cast the mangled 
 victim in fragments all along the shore ! 
 
 One that had not seen could hardly be persuaded 
 that over all these views there is spread the most 
 dazzling and exquisite beauty. The very stream that 
 rushes like a raging demon at you, and splits upon 
 the rock on which you sit, is beaded all over with 
 sparkling bubbles, that, every one, might teach a dia 
 mond how to shine. Those globes that belly up from 
 the deep are sheaves of pearls ; those wildest circles 
 that shoot out like suddenly uncoiled serpents, give 
 you every curve of beauty, and are white with efflo 
 rescent gems. The mind changes with perpetual and 
 
NIAGARA FALLS, BUT NOT DESCRIBED. 179 
 
 involuntary transitions from terror to admiration ; 
 from terrible power to exquisite loveliness. It is a 
 scene of raging power covered all over with a robe of 
 perfect beauty. The mists assume every form ; rising 
 as a stately pillar, or swept by the winds and diffused 
 like clouds. Meantime the whole air is solemn with 
 the undertone of the falls. The most obvious sound 
 is a sharp and crashy roar. But down below, there is 
 a suppressed thunder, as of an organ playing beneath 
 the uplifted song of a thousand voices. 
 
 The sense of irresistible power is common to every 
 part of this scene, when approached closely. The 
 tumult and headlong rush of the Rapids, whirling, 
 tumbling over each other, one wave devouring an 
 other, the stately plunge of the solemn green water, 
 the boiling and madness of the tormented chasm 
 below, with very different effects in other respects, 
 have all alike a sense of- irresistible power that 
 makes your own strength insignificant. You are the 
 most helpless of all creatures. A gnat, a spider, a 
 leaf, have as much power to resist as you. A 
 struggle would be a folly. Even an outcry would 
 be as if you were dumb. Such utter nothingness, 
 before a presence upon which the hand of man can 
 never be lifted, is a kind of annihilation. Courage, 
 resistance, strength, contention, are words without 
 any meaning to a man who steps three feet farther 
 out beyond where I stand. 
 
 But different portions of this system of falls, for 
 it is not one fall, but an elaborate cataract system, 
 have very different expressions of feeling. Seen from 
 a distance, as. from Terrapin Bridge and the tower on 
 Goat Island, the Rapids are not victim waves, hurried 
 
180 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 to execution, but they come down toward you with 
 all tokens of joy, flinging up their arms, and rushing 
 with an ecstasy of exhilaration, a very carnival of 
 waters. Sometimes one .thinks, when looking far up 
 to the upper line of the Rapids, where they back 
 against the sky, of a troop of bannered knights, filling 
 the air with white pennons and streamers, and charg 
 ing down toward you, and every few moments some 
 larger swell, like a suddenly spurred steed, bolts up 
 right and above all its fellows. At other times, when 
 in positions that bring the sun aright, it seems as if, 
 from below, water-sprites were ostentatious of their 
 jewels, and flinging them by millions to glitter a 
 moment in the sun, and then flash back to the wave 
 again. 
 
 All hasty visitors, and almost all who think them 
 selves thoroughly acquainted with the Falls, miss the 
 only view of the Rapids which, once seen, one wishes 
 to carry away in his memory, and that is on the 
 Canada side, about two miles from the Clifton House, 
 on the Chippewa road, at a place called Street s Mill. 
 As compared with this, all other views of the Rapids 
 are fragmentary. This one, at that particular point, 
 gives them in such perspective, that they seem to 
 stretch away ten miles, although not in fact half a 
 mile wide. If one, on returning, looks from the hill, 
 back upon the scene which he has just been viewing, 
 he can scarcely be persuaded that the few strips of 
 foam which he sees could have seemed so immensely 
 outstretched. It is the most gloriously deceptive view 
 around the Falls. 
 
NEAT DKESSING IS NOT CLEAN HOUSEKEEPING. 181 
 
 NEAT DRESSING IS NOT CLEAN HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 AVING often met Mrs. Prim in society, I 
 thought her the neatest woman in the 
 world ; and probably should have always 
 thought so if I had not, very strangely, had 
 access to her house. For, once, when I had praised 
 the good woman, a mischievous girl whispered just 
 loud enough to be heard, (exactly as if she was trying 
 to keep it a secret, cunning rogue !) " He ought to 
 see her at home, if he wants to know what neatness 
 is." This ran in my head, and stirred up a host of 
 busy fancies and wondering thoughts. " Well, I do 
 wish I could slip in some time, unexpectedly, and see 
 if this fair show is a pretty piece of domestic impos 
 ture ! " 
 
 Who knows what is before him ? My wishes were 
 gratified. For, that very night, I dreamed ; and Mrs. 
 Prim was the heroine of my dream. By that amazing 
 power given unto dreams, I found myself the husband 
 of Mrs. Prim, the very Mr. Prim himself. Methought 
 my lady had gone out to spend an evening ; and after 
 sleepily reading a paper for a while, I retired to rest. 
 Entering the room, there lay a stocking sprawled out 
 at full length on the floor, its mate coiled up into a 
 dump by its side, just as it was turned off the foot. 
 In the middle of the room stood a stack of under 
 clothes, just as they had been stepped out of. Several 
 pairs of shoes and several widowed ones, who long had 
 mourned the loss of a companion, and had, for grief 
 doubtless, much run down at the heel, were sprinkled 
 
182 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 around the room promiscuously. The washbasin, its 
 contents creamed over with soap, stood in a chair ; the 
 towel lying half in it, the soap on the floor with a coat 
 of dust be-feathering it. The washstand was covered 
 with ends of candles, open and evacuated snuffers, 
 scraps of fancy soap, a caseknife, a roll of brimstone, 
 two tooth-brushes colored with powder, the one red, 
 the other black ; a shoebrush, a snarl of black braid for 
 shoestrings, half a dozen empty perfume-bottles, and 
 a Bible. The bureau was as much beyond the wash- 
 stand in condition as in original size. Every drawer 
 but one was open in different degrees, like Peel s slid- 
 ing-scale of tariff. If Homer asked help of the gods 
 when beginning his epic, how much more should I ? 
 He had only a city to describe, with a few armies, and 
 the geography of earth and heaven ; but I have a lady s 
 bureau and all its drawers ! The cloth, designed to 
 cover and protect it from all scratches, had certainly 
 been used for a towel at each corner, for there were the 
 finger-prints. A pair of curls, several unmanufactured 
 wads of vagrant hair, an upset box of tooth-powder, 
 two dispersed squadrons of pins, the one sort mere 
 light infantry, the other full-grown dragoon pins, 
 hair-brushes, one, two, three ; two long combs, one 
 fine comb, so old as to have lost many of its teeth, and 
 to have turned quite gray ; pomatum, oils, uncorked 
 cologne, mille-fleur, lavender, patchouli, verveine, and 
 a host besides ; wristlets, hair-bands, ruffles, laces, lock 
 ets, rings, thimbles, elongated hair-pins, side-combs, 
 back-combs, refuse curl-papers, a pair of curling-tongs 
 laid down too hot, and making the cloth to blush brown 
 under them ; a bundle of tracts, several notes and bil 
 lets-doux, seals, wax, unrolled and unrolling spools of 
 
NEAT DRESSING IS NOT CLEAN HOUSEKEEPING. 183 
 
 thread, several skeins of silk snarled and unsnarlable, 
 a crushed cap or. two, sundry ribbons, an odd volume 
 of Hannah More s works, the constitution of a ma 
 ternal society, gloves a score, black, white, yellow, 
 blue, and brown, and all this just on the top, for 
 the drawers are yet to come ! A tempest had evi 
 dently been dealing with these lower depths, for they 
 were stirred up from the bottom. When, in dressing 
 in hot haste, a collar had been sought, the sweet Mrs. 
 Prim, beginning at one side, forced down to the other 
 end each article which was not the one sought for ; 
 and then, returning, pawed them all down to the other 
 side. Going to the next drawer, the ceremony was 
 repeated. Some of the drawers were emptied into 
 others ; and then the contents put back by the hand 
 ful and kneaded down to their proper compactness. 
 Once, the candle which was in a " melting mood " 
 was overturned into a heap of fine linens, but the 
 mischief was effaced by shoving the ill-fated things, 
 in disgrace, far back into the drawer and deep under 
 many companions. Many things were torn open to 
 see if something else was not in them. Stockings 
 were unrolled and left ; or a cotton and silk one 
 rolled up together, a black one and a white. Thus 
 much for the bureau ; but it is only a hint, and not a 
 full description. My coats and overcoat, overhauled 
 daily to see if a stray dress or underdress had not hid 
 itself among them, were thus well-trained to ground 
 and lofty tumbling ; and were becoming quite fledged 
 with lint and feathers. 
 
 Out of such a chaos Mrs. Prim would come forth 
 the sweetest-looking creature and the best-dressed 
 woman in town, when she was going into company I 
 
184 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 How came she forth when only entering her own fam- 
 . ily ? With hair spreading in different directions, with 
 a bestained and dirty dress, half hooked and half 
 pinned with pins black and white, and with one of the 
 backs of her dress an inch higher than the other ; the 
 skirt ripped out of the gatherings in spots ; an apron 
 tied on askew, ill-mated shoes, and no neck-handker 
 chief at all, for, if the air is chilly when stepping out 
 of doors, the apron is drawn around the neck. 0, 
 what a waking was mine, when morning broke up the 
 dream, and divorced me from Mrs. Prim! Really, I 
 do not suppose such a person ever lived or was thought 
 of, except in a dream. If it ever were true, out of 
 dreams, I do not think that husbands would respect 
 their wives ; honeymoons would wane, men would not 
 love their homes, things would go at sixes and sevens, 
 young married couples would grow indifferent to each 
 other, wives would complain that husbands did not care 
 for them, husbands would mutter something about 
 being " taken in," both would learn to say, " I re 
 member the time, Mr. Prim, when you would not have 
 treated me so." " And I, Mrs. Prim, remember the 
 time when you did not look so." " Well, my dear, 
 whose fault is it, when I have nobody here at home 
 half the time to care how I look ? " " Well, love, who 
 wants to wade knee deep in dirt, and call that home ? " 
 " Well, sir, you are a proper man to talk about dirt, 
 you are so neat yourself ; pray, sir, do give me a lec 
 ture ; do show me how to keep things neat ; could n t 
 you write a little book about it ? it would be very 
 nice, Mr. Prim ! neat Mr. Prim ! ! charming Mr. 
 Prim!!!" 
 
 But as such things never happen, there is no 
 use in writing any more about them. 
 
OUR FIRST FISHING. 185 
 
 OUR FIRST FISHING. 
 
 HERE is in the first experiences of life, the 
 first hearty experiences of childhood, such 
 a clear, full, and uncontrolled flow of pleas 
 ure, that we look back to them afterwards 
 and wish, in later and riper life, that it were possible 
 to have such simple and utter abandonment to our 
 feelings. We go back to the scenes of childhood, and 
 stand on the places that witnessed our early sports 
 and joys, with an incredulous wonder. It seems more 
 like a dream than a reality, that we were once boys, 
 capable of doing and being all that we remember. 
 
 We suppose scarcely a single person knows the 
 locality called " The Old Saw-Mill." It is on the 
 river Bantam. Of course every one will know 
 where that is. 
 
 Well, that was a day above all days when we were 
 permitted to go a-fishing all by ourselves ! Off we 
 darted for the spade, and a ten-year-old boy might 
 have been seen at work on the north side of the wood- 
 house, where the kitchen sink-spout made the soil very 
 rich, digging worms with the most glowing industry. 
 Then, with a straight line right across lots, we aimed 
 at the Old Saw-Mill. And not one step did we walk, 
 and every step did we run, till the stony bank was 
 reached. There lay the pools of water nearly two feet 
 deep. And there, hidden under projecting stones, 
 lurked the longed-for fish. An alder-pole was good 
 enough in those days, a piece of twine was the line. 
 Our hook was soon baited with a worm that wriggled 
 
186 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 in a manner most deliciously tempting to any well- 
 bred fish. With the most awful suspense we dropped 
 the tempting morsel into the pool. Scarcely had it 
 sunk to the flashing pebbles at the bottom, when a 
 fish, that had evidently been made on purpose to de 
 light a boy s heart, darted out, and seized the hook 
 with such a pull as sent the blood through every vein 
 in my body. The energy with which that fish came 
 forth was such as to settle all question of cruelty. For 
 such a violent jerk did we give, that the little fellow 
 described a circle over our head, and was thwacked 
 against the rocks with such force as to be dashed to 
 atoms ! But we had caught a fish ! The thing was 
 settled ! A fish could be caught, and ive could catch 
 it. But a second and third endeavor resulted in the 
 same way. The fish were shiners. They were as 
 large as a man s finger, almost. And, when we 
 went home at length, at least half that we caught 
 had been dashed to pieces. How many times since 
 then have we seen the same thing done in, life-expe 
 riences. Men are so eager that they destroy their 
 own ends ! A parent is so roused up by a child s 
 fault that he puts at him with such impetuosity that 
 the boy is driven away from him, and refuses to be 
 influenced. 
 
 A friend, by gentle treatment, might have been led 
 out of an error, but intemperate eagerness only sacri 
 fices him and his interests. If a man will have golden 
 fish, let him go to the side of the stream of life calmly, 
 put in his hook discreetly, and lift out his prey with 
 an easy and even pull. But if he threshes back with 
 full swing, ten to one he will dash his luck to pieces ! 
 
 You cannot succeed in life by spasmodic jerks. 
 
READING. 187 
 
 You cannot win > confidence, nor earn friendship, nor 
 gain influence, nor attain skill, nor reach position 
 by violent snatches. One sort of men lose by too 
 much caution, another kind by too much eagerness. 
 One waits too long, another does not wait long 
 enough. 
 
 First get your fish to bite. Then see that you so 
 land them that they shall be worth something. 
 
 READING. 
 
 HERE are few who stop to consider the mira 
 cle of reading. That a few black marks upon 
 paper should have such an informing and 
 transporting power is scarcely less than mi 
 raculous. Four letters are put together, H, 0, M, E. 
 The moment the eye looks upon them the soul rises 
 up, a picture comes forth ; a house with its yard, its 
 barn, its well, its fields and forests. Even its most 
 minute features come to us with exquisite nicety. 
 We see its inmates, an old man, a venerable woman, 
 children, domestic scenes. Years that have long 
 slept rise up and step forth again in newness of life. 
 And all things are so refashioned that we no longer 
 think where we are, or what we are, but seem to our 
 selves carried back scores of years, and walking up 
 and down again the ways of childhood. And all this 
 simply because there are four linear spots of ink on 
 a sheet of white paper ! 
 
 But if one considers more minutely what is taking 
 
188 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 place in reading all the time, the marvel. will still 
 grow. The eye has learned to see without pausing 
 to examine. The ready reader never thinks of let 
 ters. It is only the word that he sees. And even 
 the word seems to lose individuality, and is but a 
 member of something else, a sentence. But even 
 the sentence seems not to be seen, but to be seen 
 through. We see the thought rather than the sym 
 bol by which it is set forth. And the act of reading, 
 although it is a physical act, is yet so much more 
 mental, that we lose all consciousness of the mechani 
 cal part of it, and follow a train of pure thought, or 
 the flow of sentiment, or a description, as if the thing 
 itself were transpiring ! It is most curious to watch 
 a person in reading an exciting narrative, or some 
 stirring appeal, and to see how these dead letters 
 lord it over every inward faculty. At this black spot 
 of printer s ink we weep, at another we laugh, at still 
 another we are angry. This line touches one feel 
 ing, that line another, and line after line they reach 
 in, and, like the fingers of u musician, touch the 
 chords and bring forth all the soul s activity. 
 
 But the same passage, read by different men, will 
 affect them all differently. It is not probable that 
 the same state of mind, in all its details, has ever 
 been twice produced, exactly alike, by any text of 
 Scripture or any passage in Shakespeare. Something 
 is always varied. 
 
 It is worthy of notice, that, although when we are 
 heartily engaged in reading we cease to see the lines 
 and letters, and behold only their meaning, yet, 
 when we are absent-minded, we read without see 
 ing either the meaning or the words by which it is 
 
READING. 189 
 
 conveyed. We have, when much preoccupied, read 
 whole pages aloud, to the edification of others, with 
 out being conscious either that we saw a letter or 
 received a single idea. The eye saw, and the mouth 
 vocalized, while our thoughts were busy with some 
 memory, or in arranging some plan, or in some other 
 variant activity. 
 
 The liabit of reading proof and correcting it for 
 press leads to some singular developments. A man 
 feels mistakes rather than sees them. In glancing 
 rapidly over the sentences, almost before the will can 
 act, and while the thought is tending to hold its way 
 right along, we feel a sort of mechanical grip, a put 
 ting on the brakes, as if something was wrong, and 
 we go back to search and see what it is. And, be 
 hold, there is a word with ie put for ei, or an m is 
 wanting, or but one / is put where two should be ! 
 That we did not see, but only felt the mistake, ap 
 pears from the fact that when we search we have not 
 the least idea of what the matter is, and we go back 
 looking and groping to see what it was that stopped 
 us with such a mind-jolt ! 
 
 Every one s reflection will suggest other facts in 
 regard to the marvellousness of the simple mechani 
 cal and mental act of reading. But what to read, 
 and how to read, are more important than the mar 
 vels of the simple act itself; and these topics must 
 not be begun at the heels of an article. And so, if 
 our readers will wait, we will too. 
 
190 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 SUMMER READING. 
 
 ]UMMER READING is a distinctly marked 
 species in the great genus Reading. Every 
 body understands the term, but nobody 
 can tell exactly what it means. There is 
 a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious 
 indolence and exacting work, and it is to this region, 
 just between laziness and labor, that summer reading 
 belongs. A book, that lying upon your back, while 
 the wind shakes the leaves in your drowsy ears, and 
 insects fill the air with a sweet tenor, and bees under 
 your window hum and drone, and birds return thanks 
 for the seed and worms eaten floats you up out of 
 sleep, which yet throws its spray over you, as the 
 sea does on men who lazily float in a summer breezy 
 day on raft or low-edged boat, a book that now 
 and then drops you, and then takes you up again, 
 that spins a silver thread of thought from your 
 mind fine as gossamer, and then breaks it as the 
 wind does the spider s web, this is a summer book. 
 You never know where you left off, and do not care 
 where you begin. It is all beginning, and all middle, 
 and end everywhere. 
 
 Doubtless study has its dignities and claims ; stiff- 
 backed, hard-seated study, that makes no luxury of 
 books, but quarries them, and digs or blasts material 
 for solid uses. A man turns his mind round and 
 round like an auger in some oaken plank, and bores 
 through the toughest subjects. 
 
 But venerable and praiseworthy as may be this long- 
 
SUMMER READING. 191 
 
 bearded industry and midnight-lamp wisdom, it must 
 not hold a lighter thing in utter contempt. There is 
 a reading for fugitive moments ; there is a luxury of 
 reading when you are coiled up under a beech or elm 
 tree around whose swollen roots a clear stream frolics 
 that never goes to sleep, but plays in a perpetual 
 childhood. I love clover-hay reading. Spread out 
 on an ample mow, with the north and south barn 
 door wide open, with hens scratching down on the 
 floor, and expressing themselves in short sentences 
 to each other, now and then lifting up one of those 
 roundelays or hen-songs that are no doubt as good 
 to them as a psalm-tune or a love-song ; with swallows 
 flying in and out, and clouds floating over the sun, 
 raising or lowering the light on our book.. Can any 
 thing be sweeter than such reading of poet, or story- 
 weaving magician, or magister? Yes. It is even 
 sweeter to have the letters grow dim, and run about 
 the page, and disappear, while the hands relax, and 
 the book, gently swaying, comes down on your breast, 
 and visions from within open their clear faces on 
 you, and the hours go by so softly that you will not 
 believe that the sun is low in the west, and that 
 those voices are of folks out after you to come in 
 to supper ! 
 
 But there is a world of less indolent pleasure and 
 of summer reading for cool mornings, for evening 
 hours, and for the Sabbath, that never glows and 
 rejoices with such fervor as in the country, in sum 
 mer days. We yield up the old ponderous books to 
 the shelf again ; the histories, the controversies, the 
 abstruse philosophies, the head-filling books of solid 
 learning, and betake ourselves to books which teach 
 
192 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 us of plants, of insects, of birds, of fish, of all things 
 that live and grow, or fly or creep. The summer 
 seems a prolonged invitation to read God s Book of 
 Nature. 
 
 WORTH OF MONEY. 
 
 E hear a good deal about the worth of prop 
 erty. A house is worth ten thousand dol 
 lars ; that lot is worth fifty thousand dol 
 lars ; a farm is worth eight thousand?-*^ 
 three hundred, a carriage five hundred,- and so 
 
 on endlessly. This is all very well in its way. But 
 ought not the question, sometimes, to be put the other 
 way, How much is a man s mpjig worth ? There is a 
 wider range in the value of money than most persons 
 think. And, upon a little inquiry, I suspect that it 
 will be found that all men who possess money, or who 
 long to possess it, have a way of measuring it, not by 
 dollars, but by its value in some sort of pleasure or 
 article. 
 
 One man earns a thousand dollars, and says to him 
 self, There, that puts me one step out of debt. Money 
 to him is a means of personal liberty. A man in debt 
 is not a freeman. " The borrower is servant to the 
 lender." 
 
 Another man sees in a thousand dollars a snug little 
 homestead, a home for his children, a shelter to his 
 old age, a place to live in, and a good place to die iny 
 But his neighbor only sees one more link in the gold 
 en chain of wealth. It was thirty-nine thousand last 
 
WORTH OF MONEY. 198 
 
 month, he is worth forty this. And his joy is in the 
 growing numerals. He^imagwies how it will sound, 
 full, round, and hearty, when men say, " He is worth 
 arhundred thtmsand dollars." Nay, when it comes to 
 that, he thinks five a better sound than one, and five 
 hundred thousand dollars is a sound most musical to 
 his ear, though he loves even better yet to call it 
 half a million ! That word million cuts a great swath 
 in men s imaginations. All this estimate of money is 
 sheer ambition. The man is vain. He thinks much 
 oflnmself on account of money, not of character. A 
 5, man who is openly proud of .money is secretly con 
 temptuous of those who have none. 
 
 Another man wishes to see the world. Every dol- 
 \ lar means travel. A thousand dollars means Europe. 
 Two thousand dollars means Egypt, Palestine, and 
 Greece. 
 
 Boys dealing in smaller sums reckon in the same 
 way. A penny means a stick of candy; sixpence is 
 but another term for ball ; a shilling means a kite ; 
 and fifty cents, a jack-knife. 
 
 The young " Crack" sees in his money a skeleton 
 wagon and a fast nag, a rousing trot, a jolly drink, 
 and a smashing party. 
 
 But many and many a weary soul sees in every shil 
 ling bread, rent, fuel, clothes. There be thousands 
 Vho hold on to virtue by hands of dollars : a few more 
 save them ; a few less, and they are lost. Their gayer 
 sisters see feathered hats and royal silks in their money, 
 or rather, in their fathers and their husbands . 
 
 The^BQOr scholar passes daily by the stall where 
 books tempt his poverty. Poor clothes he is content 
 
 to wear ; plain and everK^meagre diet he is willing to 
 
 Q \ 
 
194 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 subsist upon ; and, as for all the gay dissipations and 
 extravagant wastes of fashionable life, he looks upon 
 them without even understanding what they mean, as 
 a child looks upon the Milky-Way, in the heavens, a 
 glowing band of far-away and unexplored wonders. 
 But, those books ! He looks longingly at morning ; 
 he peers at them with a gentle covetousness at night. 
 He imagines new devices for earning a few dollars. 
 He ponders whether there is not some new economy 
 which can save a, few shillings. Arid when good luck 
 at last brings a score of dollars to him, with what fever 
 of haste does he get rid of them, fairly running to the 
 stall, and fearing, at every step, lest some fortunate 
 man should have seized the prize. Wasteful man ! 
 that night saw too much oil burnt out in poring over 
 the joyful treasure. Books are what his money is 
 worth ! But others see different visions. Money 
 means flowers to them. New roses, the latest dahlia, 
 the new camelia, or others of the great houri band of 
 flowers that fill the florist s paradise, the/garden. 
 Some men see engravings in money \ some, pic- 
 
 [ tures ; some, rare copies of old books ; some, curious 
 missals. Others, when you say money, think of fruit- 
 
 / trees, of shrubbery^ of -arbor^tums, pmetums, and\fru- 
 
 ^ *iAof>Kgjff And we have reason to believe that there 
 
 y are some poor wretches who, not content with any one 
 
 (___jnsanity, see pretty much all these things by turns. 
 
 f But there are nobler sights than these to be seen 
 
 through the golden lens of wealth : a father and 
 
 mother placed in comfort in their old age ; a young 
 
 \ man helped through college, or established in busi 
 ness ; a friend extricated from ruin ; a poor widow 
 saved from beggary, and made a suppliant before God 
 
PET NOTIONS. 195 
 
 your head, every day that she lives ; 
 the sick and unfortunate succored, the -erpharr edu 
 cated, the school founded, the village lined with shade- 
 trees, a free library established, and a thousand such 
 lika things. A man is not to be known by how much 
 money he has, but by what that money is worth to 
 him. If it is worth only selfishness, meanness, stingi 
 ness, vanity, and haughty state, a man is not rich if 
 he own a million dollars. If it mean generosity, pub 
 lic spirit, social comfort, and refinement, then he is 
 rich on a few hundred. You must put your hand 
 into a man s heart to find oui how much he is.worth, 
 not into his pocket. 
 
 PET NOTIONS. 
 
 HE old grammars, and for aught WJB know 
 the new ones too, divide verbs into regular, 
 irregular, and defective. This is the very 
 division which we should apply to men ; 
 only, instead of defective, we should say streaked, so 
 that all men are divided into regular, irregular, and 
 streaked. Of course, the first two include the moral 
 elements, and the last is the term for all the whims, 
 freaks, and eccentricities of men. When men are 
 more remarkable for the things in which they differ 
 from" their fellow-men than for those in which they 
 agree with them, they are eccentric. 
 
 Every village and every neighborhood has its queer 
 men, its drolls, and its oddities. But, besides these 
 
196 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 streaked men, who do all things in a whimsical and 
 uncommon manner, it is amusing to see single pecu 
 liarities in men of the regular class. As cattle and 
 horses, though of a uniform color, often have some 
 single spot, a white spot in the face, or a white hoof, 
 so men, almost all men, have some queer spot. Of 
 ten it is known only to their most intimate friends. 
 Sometimes it works inwardly, and does not develop 
 to observation until some trouble or grea,t change in 
 life lays it open. There are in old castles secret 
 panel-doors, leading by hidden ways to concealed 
 rooms, which the owner of the property keeps from 
 the knowledge of all men, except some trusted ser 
 vant, or his oldest son. But revolutions, and the 
 pillaging of his castle by unmannerly soldiery, some 
 times bring them to light. And so is it with many 
 a curious taste, prejudice, affection, caprice, or whim, 
 sometimes worthy, and sometimes foolish. Indeed, 
 we have known hard and rugged men, of a severe 
 face and stern bearing, hiding away, as if ashamed 
 of it, some delicate and tender feeling, soft and 
 sweet as a woman s. And when sickness or some 
 sudden rending for a moment revealed the secret, 
 they shrank from the disclosure almost as if it were 
 a disgrace. 
 
 In this class of streaks, we have noticed none more 
 common than that which leads men to be more vain 
 of some quality quite aside from their profession, 
 than of all the deserved and well-earned credit of 
 their legitimate business. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott was accustomed to say, that, of all 
 his compositions, he was most proud of his composi 
 tions for making trees grow. The same is yet seen. 
 
PET NOTIONS. 197 
 
 Webster, if his secret heart were known, was more 
 vain of his sheep and cattle than of his speeches. 
 While the whole world is talking of some poet, 
 whose ethereal works would lead you to think that he 
 seldom touched the earth, except as birds do, with 
 delicate wing, you shall be surprised to find, at his 
 table, that he is more sensitive about his wine than 
 about his verses. His poetry is his business. He 
 expects to do well in that. But wine is out of his 
 line, and he makes a pet of his cellar. 
 
 A merchant is envied by all his fellows for his 
 clear-headedness, and his sagacious business opera 
 tions. But we dare say he will feel more compli 
 mented if you praise his horses than if you admire 
 his commercial sagacity. A fine, hearty, manly 
 friend, admirably qualified for solid business, thinks 
 that he has a peculiar gift for music. He sits down 
 every night at his much-complaining violoncello, and 
 scrapes and sings till our ears are as hoarse as his 
 throat. And a delicate compliment to his musical 
 talent brings upon you a flood of sunshine from his 
 honest face, and establishes your reputation for dis 
 cernment forever. Sometimes a merchant, making 
 money easily, and just as easily keeping it, looks 
 upon all his goods, property, and funds with discon 
 tent ; for he longs to be an orator ! He meditates 
 speeches. At sundry little meetings he gives forth 
 pet speeches. Ah, he tells you in a confidential hour, 
 "I would give all that I am worth if I could only 
 think on my feet, and move an audience to my words, 
 as I will." 
 
 The old lawyer builds a country house, and lays out 
 ten acres. That house of his own planning and those 
 
198 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 acres are more to him than all his skill with courts 
 and his reputation for legal learning. Thus it goes. 
 If a man is an orator, he does not look for that, but 
 longs to paint with artists ; while a successful painter 
 is hankering after the laurels which are supposed to 
 shade the brows of ready speakers. 
 
 We have known men quite addicted to sewing and 
 knitting. They hemmed towels with an earnestness 
 betokening a proper regard for this useful accomplish 
 ment of sewing. Some men write long essays, never 
 to be published, but often reviewed with fond pride. 
 Discoveries are made in sacred literature, new the 
 ories of prophecy, new renderings, and perverse learn 
 ing enough to set up a presbytery. Some men are 
 always inventing, some tinkering, some building un 
 shapely furniture, which the wife soon stores in the 
 garret. 
 
 The deacon has a weakness for preaching ; and, as 
 he cannot quite succeed, he puts a white cravat on, 
 sleeks down his hair, and looks as if he would burst 
 out into a sermon, if you only touched him. The 
 blacksmith writes poetry. The butcher, having had 
 bad luck in his trade, thinks he has gifts for medicine, 
 and practises alternately in each department. 
 
 And so the world goes. We are prone to under 
 value the things which we can do easily, and therefore 
 well, and to pride ourselves upon trifles, although we 
 do them poorly, because men are surprised that we 
 can do them at all. 
 
 These peculiarities are not simply amusing. They 
 are a testimony, often, of a yearning after things more 
 fine than belongs to a trade, more beautiful than every 
 day business furnishes, and purer and truer than many 
 
REASONS FOR NOT WRITING AN ARTICLE. 199 
 
 of the experiences of e very-day life. Sometimes they 
 may be but vanities ; but it is charitable rather to 
 imagine that they are irregular exhibitions of a long 
 ing in every one to be something more and better 
 than he is. 
 
 REASONS FOR NOT WRITING AN ARTICLE. 
 
 R. BONNER: MY DEAR SIR, I write to say 
 that circumstances make it impossible for 
 me to send you an article this week, and to 
 ask you to excuse me. The fact is, that I 
 am so busy with both eyes and ears that I have no 
 time to write. You must know that I am not in the 
 city at this present writing, but some forty miles up 
 in Westchester County. Perched up on a side-hill, 
 whose slope toward the south is just enough for the 
 utmost grace in lines, is a pre-revolutionary farm 
 house. The timber is of old oak, of oak that has 
 heard the British cannon from the ships of war in the 
 Hudson River without quaking. It is a one-story 
 house, so low-jointed that I can reach the ceiling with 
 my hand. The snug rooms are all of a suitable small- 
 ness, and, for summer, very cheerful. On the front, 
 and running the whole length, are a piazza, a stoop, a 
 portico, a veranda, a corridor, and a balcony, all in 
 one. It is upon this said arrangement that I sit, and 
 from this I must render a reason for not writing the 
 article mentioned. 
 
 In the first place, the birds make so much noise 
 that I can hear nothing else, except the wind in the 
 
200 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 trees, the occasional lowing of cows, the barking of 
 my nearest neighbor s dogs (two of which he is fatten 
 ing for the cattle-show), the crowing of a few oratorical 
 roosters in the distance, and now and then the laugh 
 ter of the men at work in the fields. This occupies 
 my ears to a degree that unfits them for anything else. 
 
 And, as for my eyes, it is even worse. The hills 
 in this neighborhood are arranged in such a manner 
 that one s eyes are perpetually diverted from sober 
 reading to look at their graceful, green slopes, their 
 endlessly varied lines, their waving grain. Then the 
 distant Highlands draw off my attention, to their end 
 less diversities. Carved to every curve, their sides 
 are scarped and grooved, ploughed and furrowed, 
 until the whole view is a piece of gigantic engineer 
 ing, not by art and device of man s hand, but by 
 the patience of slow-working Nature. Clouds have 
 done what no edge of iron or steel in the hands of a 
 million workmen could have done. For these floating 
 engineers, with the soft touch of liquid drops sent 
 down upon the mountain-side, have hollowed out 
 valleys, and cut the hills into every form of simple 
 or fantastic beauty. No lever can move such rocks 
 as a frozen bubble displaces. No tool can chisel upon 
 such a scale as do edgeless showers. And centuries 
 sit brooding plans of change, and behold, here are 
 their works ! 
 
 Now, just beneath these garnished hills is the Hud 
 son River. Every time I look at it I forget to look 
 back upon my paper. It is not possible to write. 
 Just now I had a thought. But ten sloops and 
 schooners were just then flocking round the point 
 in the river. I have always had an idea that North 
 
REASONS FOR NOT WRITING AN ARTICLE. 201 
 
 River sloops were coarse and ugly craft, fit only for 
 carrying bricks and lumber. But no mistake was ever 
 greater. They are express works of art. They were 
 built and are navigated for their fine effect. Every 
 villa on the Hudson is incomplete without these fleets 
 of sloops, that hover in the distance like so many but 
 terflies sporting in the summer around the edge of 
 roadside poqjs. Perhaps the crews, if there are any 
 crews in such airy and graceful looking things, seen 
 at this distance, think that they are carrying an inland 
 trade. It may be that those near at hand can dis 
 cover rude and unshapely things about these craft. 
 But to my eye, perched on my front stoop, all these 
 white fairies of the river are merely floating past the 
 green hills for picturesque effect. No man need try 
 to persuade me that they carry hay, salt, stone, lime, 
 bricks. The very appearance of them, from these 
 hills, contradicts the supposition. 
 
 There, now, just as I am getting ready to write 
 again, up comes my neighbor to know about that 
 stone-wall which bounds the maple-lined, lane, by 
 which, you know, we come up to this hundred-year- 
 old farm-house. What do I know about stone-walls ? 
 Fix it as it ought to be fixed. That is plain enough. 
 There are only two or three things required for a 
 good stone-wall. It must be made so that chipmonks 
 can run in and out easily; it must have woodbine 
 enough, in spots ; it must have a deal of mosses 
 growing on it ; and it must be broad enough on the 
 top for one to walk on. I know of nothing else 
 which a good wall requires. 
 
 Here comes a carpenter to ask about the kitchen 
 which he is building in the rear of this venerable 
 
202 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 little dwelling aforesaid. But why am I to be dis 
 turbed by such things ? Build the kitchen if you 
 please, sir, in such a way that the cook shall always 
 be good-natured, that the bread shall always be light, 
 sweet, and raised just to the point of saccharine fer 
 mentation, but not a bit beyond it; for sour bread 
 makes my temper sour. And also, Mr. Carpenter, 
 please build the kitchen so that, if the cook be poor, 
 somebody will always come and marry her off; and 
 so that, if good, nobody can get her. With such 
 directions, an ordinarily smart carpenter ought not 
 to trouble me with questions. 
 
 Now everybody is possessed ! Here is the mason, 
 asking about the chimney ! Well, sir, about the 
 chimney ; this is it. Build it so that it will never 
 smoke ; so that it will draw just enough, and not a 
 bit too much ; so that once in a while we can hear 
 the storm-wind rumble in the flues ; so that in winter 
 great logs can be burned in its fireplace, and all 
 manner of dreamy pictures fall upon its fleecy ashes ; 
 and, finally, build it so that cockroaches can t, and 
 crickets can, run in and out of its crevices ! Stop 
 a minute ! I want a brick oven, none of your 
 iron-cheeked stove-ovens will do for the country ! 
 Do you suppose that a genuine, old-fashioned Indian 
 baked pudding could be made in one of your fuligi 
 nous modern iron stoves ? Can anything but a real 
 old brick oven bring forth brown bread, or baked 
 -beans, golden-russet, colored with a piece of pork 
 cut criss-cross on the top, of a beautiful bronze color ? 
 There, now, you know all I can tell you. Go build 
 your kitchen ! 
 
 Now, my dear Mr. Bonner, can any man be ex- 
 
HEALTH AND EDUCATION. 203 
 
 pected to write articles under such circumstances ? 
 I must be excused. Tell your readers, if you please, 
 that my " eyes and ears " are occupied upon other 
 things, and cannot be used for literary purposes this 
 week. 
 
 HEALTH AND EDUCATION. 
 
 GREAT amount of information has been 
 spread through the community in regard 
 to the laws and conditions of health, and 
 there has been a corresponding increase of 
 knowledge. Nor has the movement been undertaken 
 a moment too soon. Wholesome diet, the avoidance 
 of feverish stimulants, pure fresh air, and out-of-door 
 exercises are the simple expedients to which we trust. 
 But, in so far as special efforts are required, they 
 should be brought to bear upon the development of 
 sound nervous force. The brain and nervous sys 
 tem are from an early age, in this country, brought 
 under a very great excitement. Our people are con 
 stitutionally excitable : the climate is exciting, the 
 customs and habits of society tend to bring forward 
 our children very early ; all the pursuits of life, with 
 us, are conducted with intensity, and almost unre 
 lieved continuity. Our public affairs partake of this 
 inflammable tendency, and are begun and conducted 
 with frequent and intense excitements of the whole 
 community. In short, the whole character and con 
 dition of our people is such, that the brain and 
 nervous system are kept under a very high pressure 
 from an early age in life. 
 
204 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Against the evil tendency of this undue partial 
 development there have been very few counteracting 
 agencies. Our people have not been given to amuse 
 ments. They are not encouraged to have holidays. 
 Even those amusements which have maintained them 
 selves have been, for the most part, of a kind that 
 intensified the evil. When a man has all day long 
 fevered his brain in the counting-room or office, he 
 goes to a theatre or opera at night, substituting another 
 cause of excitement, but directed upon the overtasked 
 brain. Others, seriously inclined, attend religious 
 meetings, young men s associations, debating clubs, 
 and other like gatherings, which, in their own way, 
 tax the brain. 
 
 Now, what is needed in the community is vigorous 
 out-of-door recreation, developing the muscles and 
 aiding digestion, accessible to all, and removed from 
 special temptations to immoralities. 
 
 There is no one way of meeting this want. But the 
 public should give encouragement to every wholesome 
 recreation that takes people out of doors, and gives 
 them real bone-building exercise. Yachting is good 
 for gentlemen of property. A yacht is nothing but 
 the fast horse of the sea. Lantern trots, and the Ma 
 ria sails, but both of them are designed to run upon 
 the fastest time-bill. But how many men can own 
 the one or the other ? It is said how truly we do 
 not know that one of the most enterprising of all 
 gentlemen of the press, in New York, has given ten 
 thousand dollars for Lantern and his mate. If any 
 one will provide us with the money, and another Lan 
 tern, we will do the same, and we will agree to find a 
 hundred young men that would consent to do it too ! 
 
HEALTH AND EDUCATION. 205 
 
 When a man puts his saddle on the back of ten 
 thousand dollars for an evening ride, he may be said 
 fairly to have got Mammon under him ! We know 
 that " money makes the mare go." But ten thousand 
 dollars with bits in its mouth, and Jehu behind to 
 drive, must carry a man at a fearful pace ! 
 
 But it is not needful to ride lightning in order to 
 enjoy a drive. Ten thousand men in New York and 
 Brooklyn are able to drive out every afternoon with 
 their families, with excellent, and not very expensive 
 horses. Every merchant, lawyer, and business man, 
 who can afford it, would do well to take this most 
 wholesome exercise. 
 
 But only a hundredth or thousandth part of the 
 community are thus provided for. It is well, there 
 fore, that so many muscular games are coming into 
 vogue. Base-ball and cricket are comparatively in 
 expensive, and open to all, and one can hardly con 
 ceive of better exercise. Boat-clubs for rowing are 
 springing up in all our towns that have accessible 
 waters. This gives an admirable development to the 
 muscles. But all these are yet but a little for the 
 thousands who need exercise. 
 
 There ought to be gymnastic grounds and good 
 bowling-alleys, in connection with reading-rooms, in 
 every ward of the city, under judicious management, 
 where, for a small fee, every young man might find 
 various wholesome exercises, and withal good society, 
 without the temptations which surround all the alleys 
 and rooms of the city, kept for bowling and billiards. 
 It seems surprising, while so many young men s asso 
 ciations are organized, whose main trouble it is to 
 find something to do, that some Christian association 
 
206 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 should not undertake this important reformation, and 
 give to the young men of our cities the means of 
 physical vigor and health, separated from temptations 
 to vice. It would be a very gospel. 
 
 But while provision is made for the development of 
 the physical frame, there is much to be learned, and 
 much wisdom to be exercised, in dealing with the 
 mind. And we are much surprised, from some little 
 observation, to see how apparently heedless are many 
 of the teachers in our schools for girls. The pressure 
 for the last year at any rate upon the girls who are 
 to graduate is such as imperils their health for life. 
 We know of many young ladies who are exercised 
 in study night and day with such unremitting 
 severity, that it seems impossible that they will not 
 be exhausted by it. We have known several in 
 stances in which years of feebleness and nervous 
 prostration followed the graduating year. If teachers 
 are so ignorant or heedless of the laws of health, 
 what shall we expect of common people ? Parents 
 should look into this. Especially physicians, and 
 gentlemen who are informed on such subjects, ought 
 to exert an influence upon ambitious schools and 
 seminaries. For an education that treads down the 
 constitution of a child is a very doubtful benefit. 
 
ON THE PLEASURES OF BEING A PUBLIC MAN. 207 
 
 ON THE PLEASURES OF BEING A PUBLIC MAN. 
 
 LL men are, to some extent, public men. 
 They have public duties to perform. As 
 householders, voters, jurymen, in short, as 
 citizens, they are public men. But some 
 men are obliged to perform their professional duties 
 in open publicity. They are always acting before 
 men, and their daily life is upon exhibition. Now 
 there are a great many persons in Relatively private 
 life who quite envy such persons as the peculiar 
 favorites of fortune ; and not a few make it an am 
 bition to attain such conspicuity. Ah, to see them 
 selves in a newspaper, placarded along the streets, 
 advertised ! To hear their names and deeds in men s 
 mouths ! they think there would be nothing like it ! 
 And, we assure them, that there is nothing like it. 
 
 From a public man, curiosity, sympathy, and an 
 tagonism shear oif all privacy, and almost all true 
 personality. Your affairs are everybody s business. 
 Your movements are everybody s observation. . What 
 you do or say, or do not do or say ; what you wear, 
 where you go, with whom you walk, when you get 
 up, and when lie down ; what it costs you to live, 
 and how you get your means to pay for your living ; 
 who makes your coats, or boots ; who shaves your 
 face, all are diligently observed and reported. No 
 privacy is allowed to a public man. Everybody uses 
 him as common property. If a good story needs a 
 known person to give it piquancy, his name is vised 
 upon it like a snapper on a whip-lash. Not only do 
 
208 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 people use him up in conversation, but it makes little 
 difference at length whether he is present or absent. 
 " 0, he is a public man ! " is excuse enough for say 
 ing the rudest things ; and of all of them, none is so 
 rude as blunt praise to his face ! 
 
 Thus he is rained upon with himself. He reads 
 about himself, runs over himself in the streets, finds 
 himself figuring in the newspaper stories, and all 
 beggars, and errand-hunters, and solicitors for public 
 service, begin by setting him before himself in a 
 public point of view. And, that nothing may be 
 lacking, people wonder how it is that he is always 
 contriving to get himself before the public ! 
 
 One of the original faculties of the human mind, 
 fundamental and universal, is the love of other 
 peoples private affairs. But strong as this faculty 
 is, its action is somewhat guarded and concealed 
 in the private relations of common citizens ; but 
 never in respect to public men ! If he does not 
 wish to be talked about, what is he a public man 
 for? He must expect people to take an interest in 
 him, and everything that belongs to him. How does 
 he eat and drink ? What is his income ? Where 
 does he get it and how spend it? The less proper 
 it is that anything should be known, the more exqui 
 site is the relish of knowing it. 
 
 It was Huber, we believe, who first constructed 
 glass hives, through which bees could be seen at all 
 hours and during every process of work. Public 
 men are bees working in a glass hive, and curious 
 spectators enjoy themselves in watching every secret 
 movement as if it were a study in natural history. 
 
 Nor is it allowed him to seem to know all this. If 
 
ON THE PLEASURES OF BEING A PUBLIC MAN. 209 
 
 people stare at him in the street, or nudge each other 
 in the ferry-boat and point at him, or if a bevy of 
 young ladies whisper his name so that he may hear 
 it at ten steps off, he yet must keep on a look of 
 blessed unconsciousness ! If he takes a lunch at the 
 restaurant, and twenty gentlemen subside from their 
 knives and forks, to watch, square-faced and star- 
 ingly, what he orders, and what becomes of it ; if he 
 looks up and faces his spectators, of course they will 
 not shrink or look down. One might as well try to 
 make a battery of cannon wink with a look. At 
 length a public man submits, and comes to think that 
 he has no privacy. He is placed upon a pivot of ob 
 servation, like a whirligig on a steeple, watched in 
 all weather, for men s amusement or convenience. 
 People expect him to be peculiar. They are waiting 
 for something characteristic. They hope for some 
 remarkable speech, some eccentricity, some oddity or 
 striking conduct, or misconduct. 
 
 But all these things are only the fringe of the 
 garment. Who can register the solicitations to 
 which he is subject ? Is he reputed wealthy, men 
 swarm upon him as summer flies upon honey. Is he 
 "influential" and "popular," who can enumerate 
 the variety and number of " causes " that entirely 
 live upon the help derived from the " influence " of 
 those that are called to help them ? He is assailed 
 for autographs, for signatures to all sorts of com 
 mendatory letters. One man wants his name to a 
 petition for pardoning a man who was sent to states- 
 prison for arson, and who, having experienced relig 
 ion, it is supposed would now be a useful member of 
 society. Another man wishes his name to a recom- 
 
210 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 mendation of insect powders and rat pills, or to a 
 good and pious book, or to get a man whom he does 
 not know a place in a store of which he never heard, 
 or to put a worthy man into the navy-yard or on the 
 " watch," or " police, " or into the railroad service. 
 
 But all these things are light in comparison with 
 expectations of charity at his hand. For a public 
 man is expected to pay liberally for all the annoy 
 ances which are heaped upon him. He is a kind of 
 public fountain, and everybody has a right to fill his 
 cup or bucket if he can. After he has given, and 
 given, till the pump sucks, and the pocket-well is dry, 
 he is gravely reproved for not filling another bucket 
 by being told, "Persons in your situation are expected 
 to be liberal"; or "Public men owe their standing 
 to the public favor, and ought not be niggardly " ; or, 
 " Men are expected to pay a tax for their greatness." 
 
 Besides all this, there is the newspaper part of a 
 public man s experience. It is so delightful to find 
 your affairs arranged for you, and to learn for the 
 first time, in the papers, where you have been, what 
 you have said, and what has happened to you ! 
 A man finds that he has had many remarkable 
 experiences, of which he was before quite uncon 
 scious. And then, if he be a " public man," in 
 political affairs, he will have an interesting oppor 
 tunity of finding out what people think of him ! He 
 will see himself flagellated through the land, his 
 words distorted, his actions tortured and misrepre 
 sented, or, if his politics are theological, he will find 
 great opportunities for self-examination in the relig 
 ious newspapers. 
 
 At length, a man grows nervous. The sound of 
 
CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS. 211 
 
 his bell makes him start like a pistol-shot. He longs 
 for rest. No luxury seems to him like that of being 
 let alone. The very people whom he would like to 
 have near him keep away through delicacy, and leave 
 him a prey to the insatiate pursuers of " public men." 
 Is there no remedy ? Can we not devise a net, as 
 we do for horses, to keep off gad-flies ? 
 
 If we ever become supreme an absolute monarch 
 we shall change things a little. When any public 
 servant has done well and deserves reward, we shall 
 say, " For your meritorious services to the state, we 
 give you the privilege of four months retirement." 
 But when evil men shall be brought up for punish 
 ment, we shall condemn them to four or six months , 
 or a year s "public life," according to the heinous- 
 ness of their offence, and the severity required in 
 punishment ! 
 
 CHIMNEY- SWALLOWS. 
 
 VERY one knows, who lives in the country, 
 what a chimney-swallow is. They are among 
 the birds that seem to love the neighborhood 
 1 of man. Many birds there are that nestle con 
 fidingly in the protection of their superiors, and are sel 
 dom found nesting or breeding far from human habita 
 tions. The wren builds close to your door. Sparrows 
 and robins, if well treated, will make their nests right 
 under your window, in some favorite tree, and will 
 teach you, if you choose to go into the business, how 
 to build bird s-nests, lay eggs, hatch out young birds, 
 
212 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 and feed the tenderlings. A great deal of politeness 
 and fidelity may be learned. The female bird is waited 
 upon, fed, cheered with singing, during her incuba 
 tion, in a manner that might give lessons to the house 
 hold. Nay, when she needs exercise and recreation, 
 her husband very demurely takes her place, and keeps 
 the eggs warm in the most gentlemanly way. This is 
 equivalent, we suppose, to rocking the cradle. 
 
 Barn-swallows have a very sensible appreciation of 
 the pleasures of an ample barn. A barn might not be 
 found quite the thing to live in (although we have seen 
 many a place where we would take the barn sooner 
 than the house), but it is one of the most charming 
 places in a summer day to lounge, read, or nap in. 
 And as you lie on your back upon the sweet-scented 
 hay-mow, or upon clean straw thrown down on the 
 great floor, reading books of natural history, or suck 
 ing honey out of Keats, it is very pleasant to see the 
 flitting swallows glance in and out, or course about 
 under the roof, with motion so lithe and rapid as to 
 seem more like the glancing of shadows than the 
 winging of birds. Their mud nests are clean, if they 
 are made of dirt. And you would never dream from 
 their feathers what sort of a house they lived in. 
 
 But these birds have flown into this article una 
 wares, for it was of chimney -swallows that we began 
 to write, and they are just now roaring in the little 
 stubbed chimney behind us, to remind us of our duty. 
 Every evening we hear them. For a nest of young 
 ones brings the parents in with food early and late, 
 and every entrance or exit is like a distant roll of 
 thunder, or like those old-fashioned rumblings of high 
 winds in the chimney which made us children think 
 
CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS. 213 
 
 that all out of doors was coming down the chimney 
 in stormy nights. These little architects build their 
 simple nests upon the sides of the chimney with sticks, 
 which they are said to break off from dead branches 
 of trees, though they might more easily pick them up 
 already prepared. But they doubtless have their own 
 reasons for cutting their own timber. Then these are 
 glued to the wall by a saliva which they secrete, so 
 that they carry their mortar in their mouths, and use 
 their bills for trowels. When the young are ready 
 to leave, they climb up the chimney to the top by 
 means of their sharp claws, aided by their tail-feath 
 ers, which are short, stiff, and at the end armed with 
 sharp spines. Two broods are reared in a season. 
 
 From the few which congregate in any one neigh 
 borhood, one would not suspect the great numbers 
 which assemble at the end of the season. Audubon 
 estimated that nine thousand entered a large sycamore 
 tree every night, to roost, near Louisville, Ky. 
 
 Sometimes the little nest has been slighted in build 
 ing, or the weight proves too great, and down it comes 
 into the fireplace, to the great amusement of the chil 
 dren, who are all a-fever to hold in their hands these 
 clean, bright-eyed little fellows. Who would suspect 
 that they had ever been bred in such a flue ? 
 
 And it was just this thought that set us to writing. 
 Because a bird lives in a chimney he need not be 
 smutty. There is many a fine feather that lives in a 
 chimney-corner. Nor are birds the only instances. 
 Many men are born in a garret or in a cellar, who fly 
 out of it, as soon as fledged, as fine as anybody. A 
 lowly home has reared many high natures. On these 
 bare sticks, right against the bricks, in this smoky flue, 
 
214 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 the eggs are laid, the brooding goes on, the young are 
 hatched, fed, grown. But then comes the day when 
 they spread the wing, and the whole heaven is theirs ! 
 From morning to night they cannot touch the bounds 
 of their liberty. And in like manner it is with the hu 
 man soul that has learned to know its liberty. Born 
 in a body, pent up, and cramped, it seems imprisoned 
 in a mere smoky flue for passions. But when once 
 Faith has taught the soul that it has wings, then it 
 begins to fly, and flying, finds that all God s domain 
 is its liberty. And as the swallow that comes back to 
 roost in its hard hole at night is quite content, so that 
 the morning gives it again all the bright heavens for 
 its soaring-ground, so may men, close quartered and 
 cramped in bodily accommodations, be quite patient 
 of their narrow bounds, for their thoughts may fly out 
 every day gloriously. 
 
 And as, in autumn, these children of the chimney 
 gather in flocks and fly away to heavens without a 
 winter, so men shall find a day when they too shall 
 migrate ; and rising into a higher sphere, without 
 storm or winter, shall remember the troubles of this 
 mortal life, as birds in Florida may be supposed to 
 remember the northern chills which drove them forth 
 to a fairer clime ! 
 
THE FARM. 215 
 
 THE FARM. 
 
 T once befell me to buy a small farm. Com 
 pared with my wants, it was large ; and yet 
 larger, if compared with my ability to de 
 velop its resources. 
 There is a distinct joy in owning land, unlike that 
 which you have in money, in houses, in books, pic 
 tures, or anything else which men have devised. 
 Personal property brings you into society with men. 
 But land is a part of God s estate in the globe ; and 
 when a parcel of ground is deeded to you, and you 
 walk over it, and call it your own, it seems as if you 
 had come into partnership with the Original Proprietor 
 of the earth. Nothing removes your property from 
 its firm foundations. No wind can wreck it, nor 
 rains dissolve it, nor decay take it down. The sills 
 will never rot, and nothing will ever sway or sag it. 
 There it lies, firm, deep (a great deal deeper than you 
 will ever care to go down), inexpugnable to summer 
 or winter, with all their silent forces or their boister 
 ous storms. And it is yours. Since the planet set 
 up for itself, your land has been preparing. Innu 
 merable myriads of leaves have grown and fallen, to 
 form its soil. Grasses and roots, for whose numbers 
 there can be no arithmetic, have helped on the culture. 
 Rocks have slowly crumbled to form its loam. Insects 
 have made laboratories of themselves, secreting and 
 elaborating various qualities, which, at their autumnal 
 death, have gone back to the soil to enrich it. Worms 
 have bored and dug air-passages through it for ages 
 
216 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 before a plough was known on earth. Winter frosts 
 have locked and unlocked its clay ; rains have brought 
 down upon it from the air minute medicines. You 
 stand upon a history without a record. You own 
 that which, if you could trace back its changes, would 
 carry you beyond the flood, beyond the garden of 
 Eden, and a good deal farther on than that ! God 
 has had millions and millions of unhired, but not 
 unpaid, laborers at work on this soil. It is burial- 
 ground for minute atoms of former swarms and tribes 
 beyond all stretch of numbers. Ages have shaken 
 down their dust here. And my foot treads upon ten 
 thousand buried years. 
 
 If I think downward, what is the mysterious in 
 terior of this silent earth ? How far inward should 
 we go before we felt the heat of that fire-pulse which 
 throbs in the molten middle of the globe ? And, if 
 we look outward, what realms has not this farm trav 
 ersed in its mighty rounds, turning its face in suc 
 cession to every star in the solar concave ! 
 
 But I cannot honestly say that it was the relation 
 of this interesting piece of land to the stars, or to 
 the centre of the earth, nor the force of any such 
 romantic reflections upon bugs and decaying grasses, 
 and air-tillage, and storm-washes, and all that, which 
 led me to buy this farm. Nor was it that famous 
 trees beckoned me. For, besides two noble hickories, 
 one gigantic apple-tree (with which I defy competition 
 on the continent), one tulip-tree (with a Latin name 
 Liriodendron Tuliplfera sweet enough for lovers 
 lips in twilight hours), and one venerable branch- 
 broken and rugged old pine, that sighs and sings to 
 the wind on the lawn, there are none worth a 
 
THE FARM. 217 
 
 thought. To be sure, a double row of maples lines 
 the avenue. But though a maple-tree is a clean, 
 useful, excellent tree, it has nothing in it that touches 
 the imagination. It is a round, compact, and proper 
 tree, like many excellent people of good sense and 
 homely kindness, but without any grandeur or wild- 
 ness of imagination. Maple-trees are the cows of 
 trees (spring-milked), plain, good, useful, but not 
 adorable. 
 
 I knew that the place was good for grass, for grain, 
 and for fruits, of all of which I talked a good deal 
 during the preliminary approaches to a purchase, 
 but for which I cared about as much as I should 
 whether the inside of my boots were red or yellow. 
 
 If the thing must be told, and I mention it, MR. 
 BONNER, to you confidentially, it was the remarkable 
 aptitude of the place for eye-crops that caught my 
 fancy. It was not so much what grew upon the place, 
 as what you could see off from it, that won me. It 
 is a great stand for the eye. If a man can get rich 
 by looking; I am on the royal road to wealth. And, 
 indeed, it is true wealth that the eye gets, and the 
 ear, and all the finer senses ; riches that cannot 
 be hoarded or squandered ; that all may have in 
 common ; that come without meanness, and abide 
 without corrupting. So long as it remains true 
 that the heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
 earth his handiwork, so long will men find both 
 heart-wealth and strength, by a reverent admiration 
 of the one and a sympathetic familiarity with the 
 other. 
 
 10 
 
218 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 THE HIGHWAY OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 popular rights and benefits depended upon 
 the fidelity and honesty of political parties, 
 we should have little faith in their long con 
 tinuance. Men are both proud and selfish. 
 Nor in public affairs has Christianity countervailed 
 even to the small degree manifest in social affairs. As 
 fast as men rise above the average of their fellows, they 
 are apt to grow in self-importance, to look down upon 
 those below them, first with pity, and then with some 
 degree of disguised contempt. And the prosperous 
 are always tempted to form themselves into a class, 
 and rule the unprospered. 
 
 It is, therefore, a sign of good in our age, that the 
 prosperity of the common people has become so asso 
 ciated with the very elements of convenience, that, 
 whatever men do as classes to favor themselves, in the 
 long run benefits the whole community. 
 
 Does a man wish to be a profound scholar? How 
 shall he live, unless he make his learning of some use ? 
 The price which he pays for eminence is, that he shall 
 enlighten the community as he goes up. 
 
 None of the liberal professions disdains the most 
 comprehensive and profound learning ; but it must be 
 learning which shall bring a man into service and 
 sympathy with the people, or he will walk almost 
 alone. There is no government to patronize any 
 thing. There is no learned class in our midst. There 
 is 110 sufficient number of rich men to hold out a hope 
 to any that they may despise or neglect the common 
 
THE HIGHWAY OF THE PEOPLE. 219 
 
 people. It is to the masses of the community that 
 men must look for support. 
 
 When it was attempted, in New York, to establish 
 music for the benefit of the rich, the opera failed. Nor 
 did it succeed until it came within the reach, and so 
 licited the sympathy, of common people. Lectures, 
 literary enterprises, papers, books, all are obliged to 
 ask the common people whether they may succeed. 
 Even Science cannot refuse to come from her labora 
 tory or descend from her observatory. It is found 
 that a general, popular sympathy in scientific matters 
 forms a public atmosphere in which philosophers thrive. 
 The American Scientific Convention is eminently phil 
 osophical and wise, therefore, in opening its meetings 
 to the community ; in going from place to place ; in 
 making membership open to all. There is a Divine 
 hand in this thing. It is not meant that men should 
 separate themselves from their fellows as fast as they 
 are prospered, and leave the poor, the ignorant, the 
 rude, to herd together at the bottom. The nature of 
 our institutions, the habits of the community, the very 
 economic laws of society, compel men, in going up, to 
 draw the common people up a little way too. 
 
 There was a time when Art looked, for patrons and 
 support, to nobles and monarchs. And, of course, 
 without the intention, it was obliged to express the 
 ideas which the ruling classes favored. But now, 
 happily, Art must draw its support from the favor of 
 the common people. It is vain to look to govern 
 ments, state or national. They are poor customers. 
 Artists that wait for public orders will die in the poor- 
 houses. It is to the intelligent and flourishing house 
 holder that we must look for any such encouragement 
 
220 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 of Art as shall make it flourishing. And artists musl 
 not demand that people shall take what artists like, 
 unless artists are first willing to paint what the people 
 like. It is all very well to rail at the want of taste 
 and appreciation in the community. It is the artist s 
 business to educate the community. Even in a com 
 mercial point of view it is necessary. He must pre 
 pare his market. Portraiture always thrives, and 
 always will, as long as men are vain or their friends 
 fond. But beyond this, Art will prosper in proportion 
 as it speaks to the wants and feelings of common peo 
 ple. And long ago this truth has been seen and obeyed, 
 Look at the fabrics sold for a price within reach of the 
 poor. The finest forms in glass, china, wedgewood, 
 or clay, put classic models within reach of every table, 
 The cheapness of lithographs, mezzotints, etchings, and 
 photographs, is bringing to every cottage-door portfo 
 lios in which the greatest pictures, statues, buildings, 
 and memorials of past and triumphs of modern Art 
 are represented. That which, twenty years ago, could 
 be found only among the rich, to-day may be had by 
 the day-laborer. This is the true levelling. Lei 
 knowledge, art, refinement, be brought down, as the 
 sunlight is. The sun is no poorer, no darker, because 
 the world has fed so many thousand years at hie 
 bosom. Down come the sheets of light, flaming 
 through space, flaming over all the earth, enriching 
 all things without impoverishing the source whence 
 they spring. Let knowledge, beauty, goodness, shine 
 down upon the path, and make the way plain along 
 which the people are to tread ! 
 
ASKING ADVICE, AND OXEN. 221 
 
 ASKING ADVICE, AND OXEN. 
 
 DEAR SIR: I know that you are able to 
 give good advice upon farm interests ; at 
 least, upon all that turns upon horses. But 
 are you also posted upon other things ? Do 
 you know how to plough ? to reap ? to drain ? to 
 build walls ? Are you skilful in compost ? Can you 
 throw light upon planting out strawberries ? pre 
 paring the ground for a pear-orchard ? Do you know 
 how to lay down a lawn, to plant trees, to group 
 them, with reference to their forms, their colors, and 
 their effects at all seasons ? Well ; if you cannot help 
 me on these momentous topics, can you give me any 
 advice on the subject of oxen ? Do you think oxen 
 better, on the whole, for farm-work, than horses ? 
 You know, I suppose, the argument, horses are 
 quicker, and a little more " handy. Oxen are more 
 patient, stronger, less expensive in their keeping, and, 
 when they have performed several seasons faithful 
 work, they will, as disobliging horses will not, change 
 into good beef. Now I seriously wish your advice as 
 to which I had better have. For / have just bought 
 a pair of oxen, and am, like most men, now ready 
 to ask advice under circumstances which make it 
 impossible for me to take it, unless it accords with 
 a foregone fact. I shall, therefore, expect you to 
 say that oxen by all means are to be preferred on 
 the farm. I hope, also, that you will be of opinion 
 that they ought to be about four years old, of a white 
 color, except the head and neck, which should be 
 
222 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 roan ; and that they should by all means be Durham 
 grade stock, say three-quarter blood, and that it 
 would be better to buy them in Jefferson County, say 
 in the town of Adams. For, if you advise all these 
 things, then you will be pleased to learn that such 
 are the facts. 
 
 Of course, you will now imagine your worthy cor 
 respondent, with a long whip, bawling at every other 
 step, at the top of his voice, whenever he wishes the 
 least thing done, for that is the common practice. 
 You will expect every order to be given in such a 
 way, that not one man in a hundred could tell what 
 is meant, let alone poor dumb brute beasts. For not 
 a great way off I hear men now driving oxen. When 
 they wish anything done, they give three separate 
 orders, two of which always contradict each other. 
 If they are to start, the man says, " Whoa, gee, go- 
 long!" or, " Whoa, back, haw!" And generally 
 every order is given with a smart cut of the whip. 
 And whenever the creatures, a little perplexed or 
 vexed, miss the command, then comes a roar of pas 
 sionate ox-invective, accompanied with four or five 
 whacks, together with some pokes and slashes ; and, 
 unless the driver belongs to the church, he almost 
 always curses a little, and, in extreme cases, once in 
 half an hour say, sends the whole team to a place 
 where good oxen never go, and bad men do. Now 
 would it not do you good to see your virtuous and 
 excellent correspondent, very red in the face, and 
 laying it on to his cattle because they did not un 
 derstand his absurd orders, or because he had lost 
 his own temper? 
 
 But all this is not to happen, even if you advise it. 
 
ASKING ADVICE, AND OXEN. 223 
 
 For my oxen are sensible, well-bred, and used to the 
 gentlest treatment. They have always been spoken 
 to softly ; told gently just the thing that you wished 
 them to do, and never struck. They drive out of 
 the yoke just as well as in it. They stand or go at 
 a word. They step quick and work as fast as a pair 
 of heavy horses would do. 
 
 I have heard my father say that it was the oxen 
 that sent him to college. He did not know at the 
 time what it was that made farming so utterly un 
 endurable to him. He was quick, nervous, restless ; 
 and to walk by the dull sides of slow-treading oxen 
 all day long was a task beyond all endurance. He 
 was determined not to be a farmer. His uncle, who 
 brought him up, came to the same result by another 
 way. For the boy could never be tamed so that, at 
 sight of a squirrel, he would not leave cart, plough, 
 or team, wherever they happened to be, and take after 
 the bushy-tailed temptation, down the rail-fence 
 across the road, and into the stone-fence, when the 
 squirrel, with a victorious churk ! and a whisk of the 
 tail, disappeared. Moreover, the lad had a marvel 
 lous gift of taking things out of their places, and 
 never putting them back again (a trait which ought 
 not to have been hereditary), and so, one morning, 
 when the old gentleman went out early to the barn 
 to fodder the cattle, and saw the saddle lying in the 
 middle of the yard, bottom side up, and the bridle 
 on the ground in another place, he was convicted on 
 the instant, that " Lyman would never be fit for any 
 thing but to go to college." 
 
 It is partly with the hope of the same results in my 
 own family, that I have concluded on oxen instead of 
 
224 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 horses. I have tried all sorts of teachers, but they 
 always know too much and the boys too little. I 
 mean to try a quarter s tuition under the judicious 
 management of the new oxen, and after about six 
 months, depend upon it, there will be work for Am- 
 herst or Yale. Driving horses does not seem to tame 
 young bloods. If the horses are fast, the boys are 
 faster. But try ox-cure. I never have learned an 
 instance of a young man led into bad company by 
 oxen. No sprees in winter, no frolics in summer, 
 no racing, no wildness, is apt to follow the habit of 
 driving oxen ! 
 
 And now, my dear sir, will you not come up and 
 see my new turn-out ? I invite you, and the most 
 enterprising publisher of a recent volume on farming, 
 to come up and take a ride in my cart. The crea 
 tures are good, too, for single work, and a little prac 
 tice, I am sure, will make them patient of the saddle, 
 and then, what is to hinder our taking, some soft 
 and gentle evening, a good, sensible, leisurely ride 
 on ox-back along the shady roads ? Besides, if either 
 of us should ever make up our minds to go on a 
 Foreign Mission, we should, if sent to South Africa, 
 be already in the way of the riding generally prac 
 tised there. 
 
THE OFFICE OF ART. 225 
 
 THE OFFICE OF ART. 
 
 OME incidental remarks, in a recent number, 
 have called forth the following letter from a 
 well-known artist, one of whose pictures, the 
 sleepy head of a cud-chewing cow, hangs 
 before us at every meal. 
 
 "August 25, 1859. 
 
 " DEAR SIR : In the < Thoughts as they Occur of the last 
 number of your valuable paper stands a paragraph not fully 
 explained, I take it, by the author, and therefore liable to mis 
 construction. It runs thus : 
 
 " Artists must not demand that people shall take what 
 artists like, unless artists are first willing to paint what the 
 people like. 
 
 " The author admits that it is the artist s business to edu 
 cate the community. As the community, then, has an inter 
 est in this question of Art, the community ought, as an intelli 
 gent pupil, to understand its true position. The artist also, 
 as a modest and intelligent teacher, ought to understand his 
 own. 
 
 " Most true it is that the artist has to paint what the people 
 like, but only because he must live and satisfy necessities, not 
 from an acknowledgment of the right in the people to dictate 
 to him. He is the public servant in no other sense than is 
 the poet, the man of science, the minister of the Gospel. If 
 Art is something more than imitation ; if it is even more than 
 mere intellectual production ; if it is a child of the affections, 
 an emanation of the moral part of the man, modulated by his 
 intellect, then it is as sacred and inviolate as his religion, and 
 cannot be prescribed. 
 
 " Moreover, if the artist, like the poet, is a teacher of some 
 thing, he must LEAD, not FOLLOW. He wisely adapts the les- 
 10* o 
 
226 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 sons to the mind and capacity of his pupils, and thus far he 
 may consult them. 
 
 " In the noblest degree the artist rises to be a prophet. 
 
 " Who is it that shows him the vision ? Is it the people ? 
 Inspiration is of Divine source, and the man who receives it 
 is commissioned by God, though for proclaiming this message 
 the world should let him starve. He may, like St. Paul, 
 labor with his hands to supply his own wants, but this * tent- 
 making for a living, and the preaching of his heavenly mes 
 sage, will ever remain distinctly separated concerns, in no wise 
 to be confounded. 
 
 "AN ARTIST." 
 
 We regard Art, in its higher offices, as a LANGUAGE. 
 And as a poet, an orator, or a writer employs words 
 and sentences to convey thoughts and feelings, so the 
 artist employs forms, colors, and symmetries to convey 
 some sentiment or truth. Many pleasing pictures 
 there are without much meaning in them, pleasing, 
 because there is a pleasure in mere color and in form 
 for their own sakes ; just as there is a charm in fine 
 language, almost without regard to the thought con 
 veyed. But such in literature, and such pictures in 
 Art, are passing, trifles. A book that is to live with 
 you, to be a companion, an instructor, must have 
 something better than polished words or well-wrought 
 sentences. It must have thoughts and sentiments 
 that touch the head and the heart. Then a book 
 becomes a silent power more and more influential. 
 In like manner a picture, if it is to live with you, to 
 ingratiate itself with you, to become necessary to you, 
 must have, not only color and form, but something 
 under them. Something there must be that shall 
 touch the secret chords of feeling. An artist who 
 
THE OFFICE OF ART. 227 
 
 only imitates what he paints is like an imitator in 
 oratory or in poetry. He must have some thought 
 or some feeling, which he wishes to express, and his 
 picture is first to be judged by the sentiment which 
 it contains, and then by the color-mode and the form- 
 mode of expression. 
 
 Now every artist, like every other thinker, has the 
 most perfect right to think for himself, and express 
 his thoughts as he pleases. He may select his sub 
 jects when he pleases, and in the manner of any 
 school. No one can find any fault with him, until 
 he turns around to the public and says : " You don t 
 buy my pictures ! You don t like them ! But you 
 ought to like them ! If you are not educated up to 
 them, you should be." The greater part of society 
 will simply laugh, and let the poor artist starve. But 
 would not the same be true of every preacher, if, 
 instead of applying moral truth to the ideas and 
 manners of the age in which he lives, he should dig 
 up the controversies of Origen, and feed his people 
 on the topics which were fresh a thousand years ago, 
 but are now dry as those thousand-year-old mum 
 mies in their silent grinning rows in Egypt ? What 
 if a lecturer should give to the audience an able and 
 learned account of things once good and vital, but 
 which long since went to seed ? Ought he to turn 
 and say to the community, " You don t like me, be 
 cause you are not educated enough " ? Of course. 
 If a man preaches Latin, and writes Greek, the rea 
 son why the community will not care for his prelec 
 tions is, that they do not know enough. If he will 
 be heard, he must speak to the people in their own 
 language. This is the sum of what we say about 
 
228 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Art. If it will please, it must address itself, not to 
 an imaginary taste, but to a real sentiment, in the 
 public. Taste changes with every age, but the origi 
 nal feelings of the human soul roll on from age to 
 age the same, unchanged and unchangeable. And 
 a picture which addresses itself plainly and strongly 
 to any of the heart s feelings will always have admir 
 ers. While we write, there hangs before us a fine 
 engraving of Leonardo da Vinci s Madonna (La 
 Vierge au Bas-Relief). When this was painted all 
 men believed in the Virgin Mary, according to the 
 reverential and half-divine estimate of the Roman 
 Catholic Church. That belief has waned and gone 
 out. And yet, in Protestant America, the picture, 
 if less reverenced, would be as much loved as at the 
 day and in the land where it was painted. For it 
 is still a Mother with Children. As long as the 
 world endures, a picture that fitly handles that sub 
 ject will live in love that time cannot aba^. As the 
 " Mother of God " it was not so powerful as now it 
 is simply as a Mother of Men. 
 
 And, in like manner, a picture that touches any 
 affection or moral sentiment, will speak in a language 
 which men understand, without any other education 
 than that of being born and of living. If artists 
 choose to paint scholastic pictures, they must not 
 grumble if only scholars care for them. If they will 
 paint classical pictures, they must go to a market 
 where men want such wares. If they will paint my 
 thologies, or court subjects, or any other subjects, 
 that are beyond or above the people, they must not 
 expect a market for them among the people. 
 
 We protest against the arrogance of those who say, 
 
THE OFFICE OF AET. 229 
 
 or think, that an artist condescends when he repre 
 sents by his art the subjects which belong to the life 
 of the masses. The life of the common people is the 
 best part of the world s life. It will ennoble any man 
 who reverently expresses those thoughts and feelings 
 on which the race stands. This contempt for the 
 common people is the worst fruit of debauched pride. 
 Not their ignorance, their tastes, their deeds, their 
 knowledge, their refinements, are always to be es 
 teemed. But the loves, the hopes, the joys, the 
 friendships, the aspirations, the sorrows, of the great 
 human family are always to be revered. Art digni 
 fies itself when it embodies them. No man is fit to 
 be an artist of men who does not profoundly feel 
 how sublime common human heart-life is beyond 
 his own art. And he only will be a true master 
 whose education or disposition leads him to love the 
 things which the race loves, and to paint them, not 
 in condescension, not for the sake of a market, but 
 because in his soul he feels that the life of the com 
 mon people is the life of God, in so far as it is 
 revealed in any age. 
 
230 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 FREE TOWN LIBRARIES. 
 
 HE establishment of free town libraries has 
 not received the attention which its impor 
 tance deserves. The first free town library, 
 we believe, ever established, was at New 
 Bedford, Mass. We do not know upon what histori 
 cal authority the statement rests ; but we derived it 
 from a gentleman connected with that library, whose 
 intelligence and caution lead us to think that he could 
 not be in error. If the facts are so, our country is 
 honored in beginning so admirable an institution. 
 
 Libraries of every kind are multiplying with unex 
 ampled rapidity. The private libraries of New York 
 will, for number, for the range of works, their great 
 intrinsic value, their rarity, and costliness, astonish all 
 who have not directed their attention to the subject. 
 A series of papers last year appeared in the Evening 
 Post, giving accounts of many of these noble monu 
 ments of private enterprise. 
 
 The libraries of colleges, of the various professions, 
 law, medicine, <fec., of literary societies and mechani 
 cal institutions, together with the state and national 
 libraries, increase the growing supply of books for the 
 universal reader. But all these do little or nothing 
 for the smaller towns and the country proper. There 
 is needed a class of libraries to which our young farm 
 ers and our country mechanics can have free access. 
 Much as books are cheapened, a library is yet too ex 
 pensive a luxury for private families, whose living de 
 pends upon their daily labor. Besides, in thousands 
 
FREE TOWN LIBRARIES. 231 
 
 of instances, even if the money were possessed, the dis 
 position to own books is yet to be created. Now if in 
 each town, and in thickly settled regions and smaller 
 districts, there were a well-endowed free public li 
 brary, those who hunger for books could be fed, and 
 those who have never learned to love such food might 
 be tempted, all the more easily because it would cost 
 them nothing. 
 
 In such libraries it is desirable that those works 
 should be stored which are important to all the differ 
 ent branches of industry, and to the learned profes 
 sions, and such more expensive collections of history, 
 travel, and art, as are not usually within the means of 
 private purchasers. It is a great folly to fill up a 
 public library with the evanescent trash which now too 
 often encumbers their shelves. Public funds should 
 make a more permanent investment, and young men 
 and women should find here works not otherwise 
 within their reach. 
 
 There are two points which ought specially to be 
 considered. First, whether, with large and comforta 
 ble accommodation, both for quiet reading and for 
 social intercourse, a free library may not afford a safe 
 rendezvous for the young, for many hours that would 
 otherwise be employed in places of temptation. And, 
 second, whether, with suitable arrangements, one li 
 brary may not be made to serve both men and women, 
 avoiding all necessity of women s libraries, as such. 
 The Boston free city library is one of the noblest mon 
 uments erected in that city of noble institutions. 
 And there rooms are provided for men and women 
 alike, where they may quietly meet, read, write, or 
 pursue their intelligent investigations. 
 
232 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 In several instances within our knowledge, these 
 free town libraries have been established by the con 
 tributions of public-spirited citizens, and the town has 
 afterwards voted an annual appropriation to maintain 
 and increase the same. If every town would build a 
 large town-house, with a hall, which, while it served 
 for all ordinary meetings of citizens, should give am 
 ple space for public lectures during the winter, there 
 might be established in it the alcoves of a free library. 
 Then every town would have an institution for moral 
 and intellectual culture, of incalculable value. Ten 
 years will change the face of a town if a good school, 
 or a good course of lectures, or a good free library be 
 established in it. 
 
 But while the importance of free town libraries 
 justifies the action of the towns themselves, these in 
 stitutions give admirable opportunity for rich and 
 benevolent men to hand down to posterity their names 
 honorably distinguished in connection with noble in 
 stitutions which they shall have founded and endowed. 
 Every man ought to be his own executor in charitable 
 gifts. While he is alive, and can superintend his own 
 work, let him bestow his money. After his death his 
 money may be applied to the purposes which he con 
 templated, or it may not. But if, while living, he 
 establishes an institution for the diffusion of public 
 intelligence, his work will be better done, and he will 
 in part reap the reward of his liberality in the grati 
 tude of his fellow-citizens. 
 
HONOR YOUR BUSINESS. 233 
 
 HONOR YOUR BUSINESS. 
 
 P is a good sign when a man is proud of his 
 work, or his calling. Yet nothing is more 
 common than to hear men finding fault 
 constantly with their particular business, 
 and deeming themselves unfortunate because fastened 
 to it by the necessity of gaining a livelihood. In 
 this spirit men fret, and laboriously destroy all their 
 comfort in work. Or they change their business, and 
 go on miserably shifting from one thing to another, 
 till the grave or the poorhouse gives them a perma 
 nent situation. 
 
 But while, occasionally, a man fails in life because 
 he is not in the place fitted for his peculiar talent, it 
 happens ten times oftener that results from neglect 
 and even contempt of an honest business. A man 
 should put his heart into everything that he does. 
 There is not a profession in the world that has not its 
 peculiar cares and vexations. No man will escape 
 annoyance by changing business. No mechanical 
 business is altogether agreeable. Commerce, in its 
 endless varieties, is affected, like all other human pur 
 suits, with trials, unwelcome duties, and spirit-tiring 
 necessities. It is the very wantonness of folly for a 
 man to search out the frets and burdens of his calling 
 and give his mind every day to a consideration of 
 them. They belong to human life. They are inevita 
 ble. Brooding, then, only gives them strength. 
 
 On the other hand, a man has a power given him 
 to shed beauty and pleasure upon the homeliest toil, 
 
234 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 if he is wise. Let a man adopt his business, and 
 indentify it with his life, and cover it with pleasant 
 associations. For God has given us imagination, not 
 alone to make some men poets, but to enable all men 
 to beautify homely things. Heart-varnish will cover 
 up innumerable evils and defects. Look at the good 
 things. Accept your lot as a man does a piece of 
 rugged ground, and begin to get out the rocks and 
 roots, to deepen and mellow the soil, to enrich and 
 plant it. There is something in the most forbidding 
 avocation around which a man may twine pleasant 
 fancies, out of which he may develop an honest 
 pride. 
 
 We met, not long since, a fine specimen of just 
 the thing we mean. 
 
 He began life a blacksmith. "I never wanted to 
 be anything else than a mechanic," said he. He 
 determined to make himself respectable and honor 
 able, not in spite of his business, but by means of it. 
 He entered with heart and soul and ambition into it. 
 Little by little he improved it. Selecting a single line 
 of articles, he began manufacturing them. " When I 
 first entered the market," said he, " I found every 
 body trying to^ sell cheaper than his neighbor, and so 
 making poorer and poorer articles, and running down 
 the trade. I determined that I would not undersell, 
 but excel" 
 
 In this spirit he entered heartily into his work, 
 was proud of it, nursed and nourished it, and now 
 he is, in his own department, almost without a com 
 petitor in the market. He has gathered riches, which 
 he employs "benevolently, and is respected and hon 
 ored by all his townsmen. The good which this hon- 
 
HONOR YOUR BUSINESS. 235 
 
 est mechanic has done will not stop with himself. 
 He will have made his business honorable to others. 
 A man can impart to a business a flavor of honor 
 by his own conduct, which shall make it thereafter 
 more creditable to any one who enters it. Franklin 
 left upon the printing-office an impress which has 
 benefited the profession of printers ever since. Black 
 smiths love to speak of the yet uncanonized St. Elihu 
 Burritt. 
 
 Mr. Dowse, by tanning and currying, amassed a 
 fortune, and bequeathed it, and its literary products, 
 to the public in Boston and Cambridge ; and we ven 
 ture to say that, hereafter, that business will be easier 
 and more encouraging to every lad that is bound 
 apprentice to the nasty trade. Once let a man con 
 vert his business into an instrument of honor, benevo 
 lence, and patriotism, and from that moment it is 
 transfigured, and men judge its dignity and merit, 
 not by what it externally is, but by what it has done, 
 and can do. It is better to stick to your business, 
 and, by patient industry and honorable enterprise, 
 crown it with honor, than to run away from it, and 
 seek prosperity ready-made to your hand. It is not 
 what a man finds that does him good, but what he 
 does. 
 
236 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 MOTHS, WINGED AND LEGGED. 
 
 Y DEAR MR. BONNER : As you are a business 
 man, having always more to do than you 
 can perform, I hope that you will sympa 
 thize with me in my abhorrence of moths. 
 I do not mean those beautiful winged fools that, in 
 attempting, on summer nights, to put out our candles, 
 only succeed in putting themselves out; nor those 
 moths which use for food what we employ for a cover 
 ing, who look upon an overcoat as we do upon roast 
 beef, upon our furs as we do on chickens and wild 
 game. It always seemed to me that, howeyer mis 
 chievous to us was a moth s appetite, it must be a 
 very dry and melancholy thing to him, to eat dry 
 cloth, with nothing to drink, growing fat upon rub 
 bish, and washing it down with darkness. I would 
 not have you think that I am any more amiable than 
 other people, when either of these moths assail my 
 peace. I am nervous enough not to resist the sud 
 den flap of a great winged miller in my candle as I 
 am quietly reading, and his off-bouncing into my face, 
 and fluttering over and around it with the most lively 
 familiarity. Nor do I like in autumn to find my best 
 coat eaten in holes all over, and my pantaloons look 
 ing as if I had been shot while running away from an 
 enemy. Yet a little philosophy will teach us patience 
 in such things, especially in contrast with the annoy 
 ances of other moths. 
 
 First, are those that anoint you with praise. It 
 might have felt good to old kings to be anointed. We 
 
MOTHS, WINGED AND LEGGED. 237 
 
 have never thought that a flask of oil poured on our 
 head would inspire a sense of dignity as it went 
 smoothly down the skin, dripping from the. beard, and 
 streaking the dress. But even though the oil were 
 rancid, we think the operation more bearable than to 
 be daubed with flattery. A friend who lives near 
 your heart has a right to speak to you of that in you 
 which excites his love. But a casual acquaintance, a 
 stranger, a chance companion, have no right to insult 
 you by supposing that you love flattery. This vice, 
 which is inexcusable among ignorant and half-bred 
 men, is utterly unpardonable among literary persons, 
 who, as soon as you are first made known to them, 
 begin to recall to you what they have read of your 
 writing, or what you have done, or, if they can remem 
 ber nothing of that, assume a complimentary reserve, 
 and intimate the great delight which they have taken 
 in your achievements. Is there no camphor, no 
 ground pepper, no yellow snuff, for these moths ? 
 
 Then comes the neighbor who has nothing to do, 
 and means that nobody else shall do anything, who 
 gets into your house, you hardly know how, and gets 
 out you hardly can tell when, but drones and fatigues 
 your ear with all the miserable tattle of the neighbor 
 hood. Would it be wawslaughter to kill a fool? 
 Ought not the law to give a man some discretionary 
 power over the life of these mosquitos and gnats, 
 that have, by some strange freak of nature, grown into 
 the shape of men, without losing the propensities of 
 insects ? 
 
 Next, are men that never know when they have got 
 through their business. They see by your look and 
 attitude that they have caught you just at a moment 
 
238 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 of inspiration. Your fine thoughts are evaporating 
 as they stand fuming about some errand that no more 
 concerns you than do the domestic wants of a polar 
 bear. Indeed, you feel not altogether unlike that 
 savage animal. You answer emphatically, abruptly, 
 perpendicularly ; but there he is. No is no answer. 
 You renew the answer, and fire into him with deadly 
 aim, and he stirs no more than if he were a target, 
 whose duty it was to stand and be shot at. One sweet 
 fancy is gone already. The fine pulse of imagination 
 is changing in you to the throb of vexation ; and 
 when, at last, you have got rid of the man, you have 
 got rid, also, of your ideas, and sit down to your 
 paper very much as a whipped schoolboy does who has 
 a composition to write, and nothing in his head to 
 write it with. 
 
 There is a kind of day-moth, an epistolary moth, 
 of the same kind, who writes you a letter of business, 
 or request, and begins it with excuses, and long- 
 drawn apologies, or well-rounded complimentary rea 
 sons. You have to get into the letter, very much as 
 a boy does into a blackberry patch. And the single, 
 solitary berry hangs in the middle of a quickset 
 hedge, and is not ripe when you get it, but sour and 
 red. A man should deliver his letter as a sportsman 
 does his shot. Let him glance at his errand like a 
 rising woodcock, pull the trigger instantly, and bring 
 him down without more ado. 
 
 There: I have expressed my mind, and feel better. 
 After all, is it not wonderful that men do so well as 
 they do ? Consider how many men you daily meet, 
 most of them with pleasure, and few of them with 
 real annoyance. Common sense, at least in its lower 
 
BOSTON REMINISCENCES. 239 
 
 forms, is more common than we are apt to think. 
 And, on the whole, you need not do anything about 
 these moths. Perhaps half of my impatience in such 
 things is conceit. Am I too good to bear my part of 
 life s vexations ? Why should I not be annoyed as 
 well as other people ? How can a man be gracious, 
 gentle, condescending, unless there is some occasion 
 which requires such virtues ? 
 
 Now that I think about it, is there not something 
 said about patience in Holy Writ ? Let me see. I 11 
 search. Ah, here it is, in 1 Thessalonians v. 14 : 
 " Now we exhort you, brethren, warn them that 
 are unruly, comfort the feeble-minded, support the 
 weak, be patient toward all men" On the whole, 
 Mr. Bonner, if you have any impertinent, disagreea 
 ble, patience-trying people, send them to me. 
 
 BOSTON REMINISCENCES. 
 
 N the opinion of unnumbered men, to have 
 been born in Boston must be reckoned 
 among the great gifts of fortune. Next to 
 that is a Boston education ; and next to 
 that, is the beginning of a Boston education. In this 
 third and humble estate we have the good fortune to 
 stand ; and although we cannot directly trace any 
 part of the good fortune of our life directly back to 
 this as a cause, it may yet be the occult and subtile 
 influence which has breathed upon our years and 
 spread our path with flowers. 
 
240 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 However that may be, we love, always, to visit this 
 curious old city. No other place has so many boy 
 hood associations. A green, healthy, country lad, 
 with a round, full, red-cheeked face, at about thir 
 teen years of age we entered this city of marvels. 
 We were dazed and dazzled with its sounds and 
 sights. We had seen no larger place than Hartford. 
 What was that to Boston ! How fast our heart beat, 
 on Sunday morning, to hear so many bells clamoring 
 together and filling the heavens with calls to worship. 
 One solitary bell had we been used to hear; one 
 sweet bell, that rolled out its tones for a mile around 
 and more, rising and falling as the wind blew or 
 lulled, and having the whole air to itself, to make its 
 own music in. This jangle and sweet dissonance of 
 Boston bells was among the first things that touched 
 the secret spring of fancy, and sent us up into dreams 
 and imaginings. But the marvel wellnigh became a 
 miracle. We had been told by some one, who loved 
 to exercise the ears of right simple and all-believing 
 country-boys, that there were so many bells in Boston 
 that, when they rang on Sunday mornings, they almost 
 played a tune. Judge of our amazement and breath 
 less ardor of delight, when, on the very first Sabbath, 
 we heard stealing in, in regular pulse of time, amid 
 all the clanging and jangling that filled the air, the 
 sweet melody of Days of Absence or Greenville. We 
 could not believe our senses ! Yet, yes ! It was even 
 so. Blessed city ! in which dwelt so divine a spirit of 
 harmony that some airy hand governed the widely 
 scattered belfries, and taught the notes which each 
 bell carelessly struck to come together in time and 
 tune, and march through the air in harmony ! Alas ! 
 
BOSTON REMINISCENCES. 241 
 
 we had then never heard of chimes; and we were 
 painfully disenchanted when the Old North steeple 
 was shown to have played this tune all of itself; and 
 the conviction came home, that every church preached 
 and rung its bell " on its own hook." 
 
 Next to Boston bells were Boston ships. Here first 
 we beheld a ship ! We shall never again see anything 
 that will so profoundly affect our imagination. We 
 stood and gazed upon the ship, and smelt the sea-air, 
 and looked far out along the water to the horizon, and 
 all that we had ever read of buccaneers, of naval bat 
 tles, of fleets of merchantmen, of explorations into 
 strange seas, among rare and curious things, rose up 
 in a cloud of mixed and changing fancies, until we 
 scarcely knew whether we were in the body or out. 
 How many hours have we asked and wanted no better 
 joy than to sit at the end of the wharf, or on the deck 
 of some newly-come ship, and rock and ride on the 
 stream of our own unconscious imagination ! We 
 went to school to Boston harbor. 
 
 Next to the merchant marine was the navy-yard. 
 We stole over to Charlestown almost every week. 
 With what awe we walked past the long rows of 
 unmounted cannon ! With what exhilaration we 
 looked forth from the mounted sea-battery that looked 
 down the harbor, and just waited for some Britisher 
 to dare to come in sight ! We have torn any number 
 of ships to pieces with those cannon, with imagination 
 for our commodore and patriotism for our cannoneer. 
 There have been great battles in Boston harbor that 
 nobody knows anything about but ourself ! 
 
 Then with what jubilant zeal did we climb all over 
 the men-of-war building in the ship-houses, over the 
 11 I* 
 
242 EYES AND. EARS. 
 
 dismantled ships that lay at the pier-head ! There is 
 no gymnasium like a good ship and a parcel of fear 
 less boys of robust strength in full chase of each 
 other ! 
 
 Wonderful to relate, also, would be the land engage 
 ments which took place in Boston. There were the 
 Fort-Hillers, the West-Enders, the South-Enders, and, 
 above all, the Charlestown Pig s. What patriotic 
 North-Ender did not resent the indignity done to his 
 side of the city by anybody that dared to live on any 
 other side ? When these external wars covered their 
 glowing coals with the embers of a protecting peace, 
 we always had a number of little neighborhood feuds 
 which served to keep our hand in. The Prince Street 
 boys, the Copp s Hill boys, the Salem-Streeters, the 
 Sheafe Street heroes (we lived there), the Bennett- 
 Streeters, and, above all, the Ann Street imps ! Well, 
 whole volumes would be required to perpetuate the 
 fame which in these various fields will perish without 
 a record ! 
 
 It was in the Public Latin School of Boston that we 
 laid the foundation of that classical lore that must 
 have been, methinks, at the bottom of our prosperity ! 
 A little leaven is said to leaven the whole lump ; and 
 the same may be true of Latin, and in our case it was 
 very little. It was in the days of Benjamin Gould 
 that we made rabbits of our handkerchief, bravely 
 took the rattan on our outstretched palm, and studied 
 the grammar with a continual underthought of what 
 we would do as soon as school let out ! 
 
 But we are obliged to stop. If all the memorable 
 events transpiring under the names of " One-lead-all," 
 " Coram," &c., <fec., were to be written, my brief chap- 
 
OBJECT LESSONS. 243 
 
 ter would become a whole book. The very streets 
 where our life figured are no more. The canal is 
 dry, and carts and drays pass where the old barges 
 floated. New land, and whole neighborhoods have 
 sprung up in places waste and void in our Boston boy 
 hood. Even the Latin School is no longer to be seen 
 in School Street. But, thank fortune, Dock Square 
 is about the same, as old, as shapeless, as crowded, 
 and as dirty. But we must take another time to say 
 other things of dear old Boston ! 
 
 OBJECT LESSONS. 
 
 ]NE would almost think that eyes were an 
 arrangement to prevent people from seeing. 
 The same thought passed in the mind of 
 the old prophet thousands of years ago : 
 Eyes have they, but they see not. It is astonishing to 
 observe, both what people do see and what they do 
 not. One pair of eyes, for instance, will return from 
 a crowded church, and will have seen (by an almost 
 supernatural faculty, as it seems to us) every bonnet, 
 every ribbon, every dress, every significant look, every 
 posture or action, of a thousand people. Our own 
 eyes, looking upon the same scene, would have seen 
 not one of all these things ! 
 
 One pair of eyes will go through the length of 
 Broadway, and see only those who seem to look upon 
 the owner of said eyes. Another pair will not have 
 seen one person in that long walk, nor have missed 
 
244 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 one horse that walked, trotted, capered, or steadily 
 pulled. 
 
 One man will see all the children, the sweet, rosy- 
 faced, clean ones, gladly ; the ragged and keen-faced 
 ones, sadly. One man will see all that Art can ex 
 hibit, and another nothing of it all. One man sees 
 machines, and all mechanical contrivances ; another 
 sees only dresses and showy things. Now and then 
 there is a rare head, whose eyes seem to take in 
 everything, from a mouse that scuds into a hole, 
 up through all varieties of still or active life to the 
 very top. And some there be who seem to see noth 
 ing. For all the effect produced upon them, Broad 
 way is as empty as a street in Tadmor. Their eyes 
 seem to have been made up with unprepared nerve ; 
 so that, like a daguerrean plate without chemical 
 coating, nothing acts upon it, and no picture is 
 burnt in. 
 
 It is a great pity that we are not taught, in our 
 early days, how to see. It is more important than 
 reading and writing, than arithmetic or geography. 
 In a world of boundless treasures, above, beneath, on 
 every side, we .walk as if there were but few things 
 worth seeing. And even these, when we have locked 
 upon them once or twice, we exhaust, and suppose 
 that we have really seen them! 
 
 A man shall pass and repass a burdock growing 
 near the path which he daily treads going to and re 
 turning from his work. He would laugh if he were 
 told that he did not know that familiar plant. And 
 yet, in making it, God put upon it and within it a 
 hundred things which are worth observation, but 
 which this man never sees or suspects. The least 
 
OBJECT LESSONS. 245 
 
 things that come from God s hands are so full, so 
 compact of qualities, that they will bear close scru 
 tiny and long study. And we think that the chief 
 advantage to be derived from teaching children to 
 draw is not to be found in the pictures made, but 
 in the new eyesight gained. This, however, implies 
 that they are taught to draw directly from nature, 
 and not from copy-books. Let a child study a plant, 
 in order to draw it, and he will find out more about 
 it in one day than otherwise he would in a lifetime. 
 We only glance at things. 
 
 We overlook more than we sec in the things which 
 we see most thoroughly. It would be a good exer 
 cise for winter evenings for children, to have placed 
 before them a rosebush in a flower-pot, and then let 
 each tell what he sees, and keep the list ; and then 
 let older eyes do the same ; and then, from all to 
 gether, make out a more complete one ; and laying 
 it aside, every day whenever things occfur afterwards, 
 let them be put down. Thus, the bark, its color, 
 texture, changes from youth to age ; the branches, 
 their relative positions ; the sub-divisions, the angles 
 at which they put off; the leaves, their form ; the 
 edges, their texture, color, size, number, health, thick 
 ness ; the difference between the upper and lower 
 surface, etc., etc. These and such like things will 
 soon let one know how little the untrained eye sees, 
 and how much there is to be seen ! 
 
 The eye is susceptible of more training than per 
 haps any other of the senses. Fineness of sight, 
 length of vision, comprehensiveness, or the number 
 of things taken in at once, and rapidity, these may 
 be so far developed, that the educated eye is as far 
 
246 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 above the uneducated as a refined and cultivated 
 mind is beyond a savage one. Houdin, the great 
 French necromancer, relates the practice of himself 
 and son, in preparing for one part of their jugglery. 
 They trained their eyes to take in at a glance, from 
 a shop-window, from a store full of varieties, from 
 the face of books in a library, the greatest number 
 of things. They came to such perfection, that in 
 simply walking past a library-case they could, after 
 ward, tell you nearly every book on its shelves, and 
 its relative position. Their eyes seemed to be acted 
 upon in a manner not unlike the photographic pro 
 cess. A picture was instantly formed. And, after 
 ward, it rose up before their memories as if the origi 
 nal thing stood before them. Such incidents show 
 how little use is yet made of eyes, how litfle we sus 
 pect their capabilities of education, and how little 
 we know of the world we live in, even in its most 
 familiar aspecte. 
 
 CHARACTER AND REPUTATION. 
 
 HERE are few who do not know the dif 
 ference between character and reputation, 
 though there are few who have analyzed 
 and defined their own ideas. A man s real 
 inward habits and mental condition form his charac 
 ter. This will work out to the surface -in some de 
 gree, and in some persons much more than in others. 
 But the appearance which a man presents to the 
 
CHARACTER AND REPUTATION. 247 
 
 world, the outward exhibition, gives him his reputa 
 tion. A man s character is his reality. It is the 
 acting and moving force of his being. Reputation is 
 the impression which he has made upon other men ; 
 it is their thought of him. Our character is always 
 in ourselves, but our reputation is in others. 
 
 It is true that, ordinarily, among honest men, the 
 two go together. A man who lives out of doors 
 among men, and who gives his fellows a fair chance to 
 see his conduct, will find that he is accurately meas 
 ured and correctly judged. 
 
 But it sometimes happens that men are much better 
 than they have credit for being, and as often men 
 are much worse than they appear to be ; i. e. men 
 may have a reputation either better or worse than 
 their character. Thus, there are many men who are 
 reputed to be hard, severe, stern, who at heart are 
 full of all kindness, and would go farther and fare 
 harder to serve a friend or to relieve a real case of 
 trouble than anybody else around them. On the other 
 hand, some people are thought to be very gentle, very 
 sweet in manners ; all smiles, promises, and politeness, 
 but at heart they are cold and selfish. Character is 
 bad and reputation good in such cases. 
 
 It is quite easy for a man to get himself a reputa 
 tion. He has only to practise upon the imagination 
 and credulity of the public. If he takes pleasure in 
 being thought better than he is, if he chooses to live 
 in a vain show, if he wears a mask, and his life is 
 occupied in covering up his real feelings by feigned 
 and false ones, he may have a measure of success. 
 
 But the same amount of labor and care which gives 
 him but a flimsy credit, and which would fall before 
 
248 EYES AND EAKS. 
 
 the least scrutiny or severity of test, would give him 
 a substantial reality. He labors as hard for a sham 
 as would suffice to give him a truth. 
 
 Indeed, it is easier to build a character than to sus 
 tain a false reputation. Once let a man s habits be 
 laid, and solidly laid, in truth, honor, and virtue, and 
 the more the man is tried, the more he profits by it. 
 Such men are revealed to the world by misfortunes. 
 The troubles which threaten them only end in letting 
 people know how strong and real and good they are. 
 
 But when a man has learned to live upon a mere 
 show, practising upon others with decent appearances, 
 he will find that his reputation, good in fair weather, 
 will be good for nothing in storms and trials. And 
 then, when he needs most sympathy and respect, he 
 will have the least. If it is a little harder to build up 
 character than reputation, it is only so in the begin 
 ning. For reputation, like a poorly-built house, will 
 cost as much for patching and repairs as would have 
 made it thorough at first. 
 
 Besides, an honorable soul ought to be ashamed of 
 credit which he does not deserve. One hardly knows 
 how to interpret a nature that can deliberately take 
 praises for things which he knows do not belong to 
 him. This is particularly true of young men. A 
 man may grow insincere through long temptation and 
 the corruption of life. But what shall we think of a 
 man that begins life on a lie ? who deliberately sets 
 out to build up a reputation without caring for his 
 character ? 
 
GOOD-NAT UEE. 249 
 
 GOOD-NATURE. 
 
 F there be one thing for which a man should 
 be more grateful than another, it is the pos 
 session of good-nature. I do not consider 
 him good-tempered who has no temper at 
 all. A man ought to have spirit, strong, earnest, and 
 capable of great indignation. We like to hear a man 
 thunder, once in a while, if it is genuine, and in the 
 right way for a right man. When a noble fellow is 
 brought into contact with mean and little ways, and 
 is tempted by unscrupulous natures to do unworthy 
 things ; or when a great and generous heart perceives 
 the wrong done by lordly strength to shrinking, unpro 
 tected weakness ; or where a man sees the foul mis 
 chiefs that sometimes rise and cover the public welfare 
 like a thick cloud of poisonous vapors, we like to 
 hear a man express himself with outburst and glori 
 ous anger. It makes us feel safer to know that there 
 are such men. We respect human nature all the 
 more, to know that it is capable of such feelings. 
 
 But just these men are best capable of good-nature. 
 These are the men upon whom a sweet justice in 
 common things, and a forbearance toward men in all 
 the details of life, and a placable, patient, and cheer 
 ful mind sit with peculiar grace. 
 
 Some men are much helped to do this by a kind of 
 bravery born with them. Some men are good-natured 
 because they are benevolent, and always feel in a 
 sunny mood ; some, because they have such vigor and 
 robust health that care flies off from them, and they 
 
250 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 really cannot feel nettled and worried ; some, because 
 a sense of character keeps them from all things un 
 becoming manliness ; and some, from an overflow of 
 what may be called in part animal spirits, and in part, 
 also, hopeful and cheerful dispositions. But whatever 
 be the cause or reason, is there anything else that so 
 much blesses a man in human life as this voluntary 
 or involuntary good-nature? Is there anything else 
 that converts all things so much into enjoyment to 
 him ? And then what a glow and light he carries 
 with him to others ! Some men come upon you like 
 a cloud passing over the sun. You do not know what 
 ails you, but you feel cold and chilly while they are 
 about, and need an extra handful of coal on the fire 
 whenever they tarry long. Others rise upon you like 
 daylight. How many times does a cheerful and hope 
 ful physician cure his patients by what he carries in 
 his heart and face, more than by what he has in his 
 medical case ! How often does the coming of a happy- 
 hearted friend lift you up out of deep despondency, 
 and, before you are aware, inspire you with hope and 
 cheer. What a gift it is to make all men better and 
 happier without knowing it ! We don t suppose that 
 flowers know how sweet they are. We have watched 
 them. But as far as we can find out their thoughts, 
 flowers are just as modest as they are beautiful. 
 
 These roses before me, salfataine, lamarque, and 
 sanrano, with their geranium leaves (rose) and car 
 nations and abutilon, have made me happy for a day. 
 Yet they stand huddled together in my pitcher with 
 out seeming to know my thoughts of them, or the gra 
 cious work which they are doing ! And how much 
 more is it to have a disposition that carries with it, 
 
APPLE-PIE. 251 
 
 involuntarily, sweetness, calmness, courage, hope, and 
 happiness, to all who are such ? Yet this is the por 
 tion of good-nature in a real, large-minded, strong- 
 natured man ! When it has made him happy it has 
 scarcely begun its office ! 
 
 In this world, where there is so much real sorrow, 
 and so much unnecessary grief of fret and worry ; 
 where burdens are so heavy and the way so long; 
 where men stumble in rough paths, and so many 
 push them down rather than help them up ; where 
 tears are as common as smiles, and hearts ache so 
 easily, but are poorly fed on higher joys, how grate 
 ful ought we to be that God sends along, here and 
 there, a natural heart-singer, a man whose nature 
 is large and luminous, and who, by his very carriage 
 and spontaneous actions, calms, cheers, and helps his 
 fellows. God bless the good-natured, for they bless 
 everybody else ! 
 
 APPLE-PIE. 
 
 OW often people use language without the 
 slightest sense of its deep, interior mean 
 ing ! Thus, no phrase is more carelessly 
 or frequently used than the saying, " Apple- 
 pie order." How few who say so reflect at the time 
 upon either apple-pie or the true order of apple-pie ! 
 Perhaps they have been reared without instruction. 
 They may have been born in families that were igno 
 rant of apple-pie ; or who were left to the guilt of 
 
2 5 2 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 calling two tough pieces of half-cooked dough, with a 
 thin streak of macerated dried apple between them, 
 of leather color, and of taste and texture not unbe 
 coming the same, an apple-pie! But from such 
 profound degradation of ideas we turn away with 
 gratitude and humility, that one so unworthy as we 
 should have been reared to better things. 
 
 We are also affected with a sense of regret for 
 duty unperformed ; for great as have been the benefits 
 received, we have never yet celebrated as we ought 
 the merits of apple-pie. That reflection shall no 
 longer cast its shadow upon us, 
 
 " Henry, go down cellar, and bring me up some 
 Spitzeubergs." The cellar was as large as the whole 
 house, and the house was broad as a small pyramid. 
 The north side was windowless, and banked up out 
 side with frost-defying tan -bark. The south side had 
 windows, festooned and frescoed with the webs of spi 
 ders, that wove their tapestries over every corner in 
 the neighborhood, and, when no flies were to be had, 
 ate up each other, as if they were nothing but politi 
 cians, instead of being lawful and honorable arachni- 
 d(B. On the east side stood a row of cider-barrels ; for 
 twelve or twenty barrels of cider were a fit provision 
 for the year, and what was not consumed for drink 
 was expected duly to turn into vinegar, and was then 
 exalted to certain hogsheads kept for the purpose. 
 But along the middle of the cellar were the apple- 
 bins ; and when the season had been propitious, there 
 were stores and heaps of Russets, Greenings, Seek- 
 nofurthers, Pearmains, Gilliflowers, Spitzenbergs, and 
 many besides, nameless, but not virtueless. Thence 
 selecting, we duly brought up the apples. Some peo- 
 
APPLE-PIE. 253 
 
 pie think anything will do for pies. But the best for 
 eating are the best for cooking. Who would make 
 jelly of any other apple, that had the Porter? who 
 would bake or roast any other sweet apple, that had 
 the Ladies Siveeting*, unless, perhaps, the Taiwan 
 Sweet ? and who would put into a pie any apple but 
 Spitzenberg-j that had that ? Off with their jackets ! 
 Fill the great wooden bowl with the sound rogues ! 
 And now, cook ! which shall it be ? For at this 
 point the roads diverge, and though they all come 
 back at length to apple-pie, it is not a matter of indif 
 ference which you choose. There is, for example, 
 one made without under-crust, in a deep plate, and 
 the apples laid in, in full quarters ; or the apples 
 being stewed are beaten to a mush, and seasoned, and 
 put between the double paste ; or they are sliced thin 
 and cooked entirely within the covers ; or they are 
 put without seasoning into their bed, and when baked, 
 the upper lid is raised, and the butter, nutmeg, cinna 
 mon, and sugar are added ; the whole well mixed, 
 and the crust returned as if nothing had happened. 
 
 But be careful of the paste ! Let it not be like 
 putty, nor rush to the other extreme, and make it so 
 flaky that one holds his breath while eating for fear of 
 blowing it all away. Let it not be plain as bread, nor 
 yet rich like cake. Aim at that glorious medium, in 
 which it is tender, without being fugaciously flaky ; 
 short, without being too short ; a mild, sapid, brittle 
 thing, that lies upon the tongue, so as to let the apple 
 strike through and touch the papillce with a mere 
 effluent flavor. But this, like all high art, must be a 
 thing of inspiration or instinct. A true cook will 
 understand us, and we care not if others do not ! 
 
254 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Do not suppose that we limit the apple-pie to the 
 kinds and methods enumerated. Its capacity in va 
 riation is endless, and every diversity discovers some 
 new charm or flavor. It will accept almost every 
 flavor of every spice. And yet nothing is so fatal 
 to the rare and higher graces of apple-pie as incon 
 siderate, vulgar spicing. It is not meant to be a mere 
 vehicle for the exhibition of these spices, in their own 
 natures. It is a glorious unity in which sugar gives 
 up its nature as sugar, and butter ceases to be butter, 
 and each flavorsome spice gladly evanishes from its 
 own full nature, that all of them, by a common death, 
 may rise into the new life of apple-pie ! Not that 
 apple is longer apple ! It, too, is transformed. And 
 the final pie, though born of apple, sugar, butter, 
 nutmeg, cinnamon, lemon, is like none of these, but 
 the compound ideal of them all, refined, purified, 
 and by fire fixed in blissful perfection. 
 
 But all exquisite creations are short-lived. The 
 natural term of an apple-pie is but twelve hours. It 
 reaches its highest state about one hour after it comes 
 from the oven, and just before its natural heat has 
 quite departed. But every hour afterward is a de 
 clension. And after it is one day old, it is thence 
 forward but the ghastly corpse of apple-pie. 
 
 But while it is yet florescent, white or creamy 
 yellow, with the merest drip of candied juice along 
 the edges, (as if the flavor were so good to itself that 
 its own lips watered !) of a mild and modest warmth, 
 the sugar suggesting jelly, yet not jellied, the morsels 
 of apple neither dissolved nor yet in original sub 
 stance, but hanging as it were in a trance between 
 the spirit and the flesh of applehood, then, when 
 
STRAIGHTENING THE LINES. 255 
 
 dinner is to be served at five o clock, and you are 
 pivotted on the hour of one with a ravening appetite, 
 let the good dame bring forth for luncheon an apple- 
 pie, with cheese a year old, crumbling and yet moist, 
 but not with base fluid, but oily rather ; then, 
 blessed man, favored by all the divinities ! eat, give 
 thanks, and go forth, " in apple-pie order ! " 
 
 STRAIGHTENING THE LINES. 
 
 N the northeast side of our little pet farm 
 there was, upon survey, found to be a jog, 
 or angle. The line did not run from a 
 given point straight through, but turned 
 abruptly west, and then at right angles north. As 
 soon as the plot of ground was mapped, we conceived 
 a dislike to that corner. It looked as if the next lot 
 was poking its horns into our sides. We did not 
 fancy such an intrusive angle. The more we looked 
 at it, the less we liked it. How to straighten our line 
 became a very serious problem. To do it by cutting 
 off any part of our own acres was not to be thought 
 of. To buy more land, when you have enough, would 
 be even worse. But who that owns an acre can resist 
 the temptation of another acre ? Whether we bought 
 or sold is nothing to the reader; but that line is 
 straightened, and there is no jog in our east line, and 
 the map looks very well, and we have not lost any 
 ground. And we have a little more room for our 
 orchard ! 
 
256 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Did anybody ever buy a farm without seeing some 
 reason for adding a little more to it ? If there is not 
 a jog in the line, is there not one in the man s notions ? 
 The front is too narrow, and he would widen it ; or 
 there is a meadow that ought to belong to the place ; 
 or a bit of woodland is just the thing needed ; or a 
 muck-swamp would be so good for its contents ; or 
 the stock require that the lot with that ever-flowing 
 brook in it should belong to the farm ; or a pasture- 
 range on the hill would be so good for the dairy; 
 or that swale would form such a fine carriage ap 
 proach ; or the bit of a hill to the east has the very 
 stone that you need for walls or buildings; or you 
 have a shanty and a neighbor whose mind is too free 
 and hands too loose in property-matters, and whom 
 you can buy away easier than abate as a nuisance ; or 
 you want a little more garden, a little more orchard, 
 a little more mowing-land or lawn or ornamental 
 forest room, or you wish to secure a particularly fine 
 prospect; in short, you want a little more land. 
 There is a mysterious law which makes twenty acres 
 much less perfect than twenty-five, and twenty-five 
 has a powerful attraction for thirty. A hundred acres 
 are never content without fifty more. Five hundred 
 acres complain for want of company, and regard them 
 selves as lonesome without a few hundred acres more. 
 
 There are undoubtedly cases in which large farms 
 are better than small ones. But there are twenty men 
 who would grow rich on less than a hundred acres 
 where there is one who would on more land. 
 
 A farm is only another name for a chemical labora 
 tory. It is only another way of manufacturing, and 
 many men can carry on a small, compact business, 
 
STRAIGHTENING THE LINES. 257 
 
 which their eye and hand can cover, who have no 
 head to plan a complex one, and no skill to superin 
 tend its execution. 
 
 A small place thoroughly wrought is very seldom 
 seen. There are very few acres that have ever shown 
 what they can do. 
 
 There is one way in which men may increase the 
 amount of soil with the utmost advantage, and that is 
 vertically. 
 
 A man s lease runs from nadir to zenith. A man 
 only sees the surface of what he owns. There is a 
 great deal more down below than there is upon the 
 top. Now, for many purposes, every inch a man goes 
 downward, in cultivation, is equivalent to a foot on 
 the surface. A vertical inch is worth more than a 
 superficial foot. And it is lawful to increase the size 
 of a man s farm by going under for the ground. 
 
 This is a point very little heeded, even by those who 
 expend great sums of money in the improvement and 
 ornamentation of their places. A system of drainage 
 should be established at a depth of from three and a 
 half to four feet. If, then, the ground be stoned and 
 enriched to a depth of full three feet, it will be only 
 in a good condition for till. Not only crops, but fruit- 
 trees and forest and ornamental trees, demand at 
 least such a depth. Then one will see the fruit of 
 his labor in shrubs, vines, trees, and harvests, which 
 will make his luck the envy of all lazy men in the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 In short, let every man find the crooks in the bot 
 tom lines of his grounds, and spare no pains to take 
 these out, and he may be sure that the side lines will 
 not give him much trouble. 
 
258 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 TALKING. 
 
 ALKING and laughing are distinguishing 
 traits of the human species. No animal 
 can laugh, nor, except as a mere mechani 
 cal imitation of sounds, can any animal 
 talk. Neither bird nor beast uses articulate speech 
 as a means of conveying thought or of expressing 
 feeling. This is one of the prerogatives of man. But 
 in no other one respect do men differ so much as in 
 laughing or talking. Nor are we apt to consider how 
 closely these acts are connected with, and the result 
 of, the original organization, mental and physical. A 
 secretive and cautious man neither talks fluently nor 
 laughs readily. Some men s conversation is like the 
 ticking of an old-fashioned clock with a long pen 
 dulum, whose measured beats are slow and solemn. 
 Once started, they stop for nothing, but drop one word 
 regularly after another, to the end of their methodical 
 sentence. If you are yourself quick, versatile, and in a 
 hurry withal, you grow intolerably restless under the 
 conversation. Your tongue is horse-limbed, and their 
 tongues are ox-footed. At the first half-dozen words 
 you perceive their meaning, and then the slow-paced 
 utterance of it is surplusage. Perhaps it is your 
 minister. You cannot tell why he is so tedious. 
 What he says is good, and it is well said ; but you 
 cannot refrain from wandering thoughts. You are 
 mercurial and imaginative, and he is phlegmatic and 
 literal. Perhaps it is your schoolmaster, and he bores 
 you with his solemn and long-drawn repetitions. Or 
 
TALKING. 259 
 
 you may be a bouncing boy, full of sparkles and 
 quips, doomed to stand still and receive the slowly- 
 poured admonition or advice. Your nerves rebel. You 
 grow unreasonable. You inwardly mutter all sorts 
 of harmless objurgations. But Nature is imperative. 
 
 Men of a cautious and secretive turn of mind are 
 seldom talkers. And when caution is disproportion- 
 ally powerful, a man will sometimes be unable to do 
 more than issue here and there parts of sentences. 
 He will begin, and stop ; begin again, and soon tie 
 up the sentence with a twist of interjected qualifying 
 clause ; then again, stopping as if to go back and 
 look over what he has said, as a carpenter sights the 
 edge of the work which he is fitting ; and, finally, he 
 will leave the sentence very much in the shape of a 
 bushel of apples poured out in a heap upon the 
 ground. And yet we have known such men to be 
 very keen in perception, acute in thought, and shrewd 
 in judgment. But it seems as if there were some 
 break in the machinery which connects the thinking 
 part and the language part of the mind. And their 
 conversation resembles a tune played upon an old 
 piano, half of whose keys do not connect with the 
 wires, and give no sound. 
 
 Some men use words as riflemen do bullets. They, 
 say little. The few words used go right to the mark. 
 They let you talk, and guide with their eye and face, 
 on and on, till what you say can be answered in a 
 word or two, and then they lance out a sentence, 
 pierce the matter to the quick, and are done. You 
 never know where you stand with them. Your con 
 versation falls into their mind, as rivers fall into deep 
 chasms, and are lost from sight by its depth and 
 
260 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 darkness. They will sometimes surprise you with a 
 few words, that go right to the mark like a gunshot, 
 and then they are silent again, as if they were re 
 loading. 
 
 In this class must be reckoned men who alternate 
 between drought and freshet. Sometimes for days 
 or hours they are all dried up. Suddenly they will 
 send forth an immense tide of speech that quite 
 sweeps you away. We have seen men like the far- 
 famed Iceland Geysers, who never talked till they 
 were mad, and then spouted terribly. It is said oi 
 these northern hot-springs, that if you throw a stone 
 or tuft of grass into their throats, you soon bring up 
 their torrents of scalding water at a most furious rate. 
 
 In strong contrast with such are the smooth, oily 
 talkers whom we occasionally meet, whose voices are 
 soft and sweet, and who have an inimitable talent 
 in flowing on, without let or hinderance, in the most 
 genial and soothing manner. They steal upon your 
 ear and lull your temper ; they come upon you with 
 a kind of charge that resembles a May atmosphere 
 after March winds. One cannot remember what they 
 say, but at the time the charm amounts almost to a 
 fascination. One word takes hold of another with 
 such a soft touch, and one sentence moves into an 
 other, as drops of water in a stream move indis- 
 tinguishably upon each other. 
 
 There seems no reason to doubt that a propensity 
 to talk is as much a natural gift as a propensity to 
 invent or to construct. We have known persons 
 who neither cared whether you listened to them or 
 heeded their utterances. * A good woman, we once 
 knew, who talked as rivers run, by the necessity 
 
TALKING. 261 
 
 of some inward gravitation toward outflow. She 
 would begin with morning, talk, talk, talk, in a 
 cheery, changeable way, branching off in this direc 
 tion or that, running off on this analogy, or toward 
 that suggestion all breakfast time, all the while the 
 table was being cleared. One by one the people in 
 the room who had learned to listen to her no 
 more than we hear the ticking of a clock or any 
 other continuous sound would go out, till the 
 last one had left. It was all the same to her ; a low 
 murmur might be heard in the room, by those 
 adjoining it, for the good soul was < pleasantly talk 
 ing all alone. When you entered again she merely 
 continued, and so on all day and evening. It was 
 a double mystery how she found strength and ma 
 terial for such a perennial flow by daylight. But, 
 once impressed with the inevitableness of her tongue, 
 you next wondered what miraculous power bound it 
 to silence at night. It was like a brook from the gla 
 ciers, which flows all day while the sun shines on the 
 ice, but is sealed up by frosts at night. 
 
 But the subject is vast. We have touched but the 
 external edge. The tongue of man cannot be de 
 scribed in an article. It has deep inward relations. 
 It has national and political bearings. It is the silver 
 bell of the soul, or the iron and crashing hammer 
 of. the anvil. It is like a magician s wand, full of 
 all incantation and witchery; or it is a sceptre in a 
 king s hand, and sways men with imperial authority. 
 
 The pen is the tongue of the hand, a silent 
 utterer of words for the eye, the unmusical sub 
 stitute of the literal tongue, which is the soul s 
 prophet, the heart s minister, and the interpreter of 
 the understanding. 
 
262 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 ART AMONG THE PEOPLE. 
 
 ]HE growth of good taste, the extraordinary 
 facilities for obtaining art-creations in some 
 form, and the amount of sound art-reading 
 which has been spread into all society by 
 the invaluable agency of newspapers, and which has 
 educated and stimulated the feelings and judgment of 
 the common citizens of our century, have begun an 
 era of art such as the world never saw, and could 
 never see in any other condition of society. 
 
 There has been a great deal said about the decline 
 of Art in our age ; a great deal of mourning after the. 
 great days of the masters of the sixteenth century, 
 and a great deal of unwarrantable regret that govern 
 ments do not more encourage Art. 
 
 We do not believe that Art has declined ; we do 
 not believe that the sixteenth century was any better 
 served by the ministry of Art than ours is ; and we 
 do not believe that government should be appealed to 
 to foster Art. Whatever incidental encouragement it 
 can give should be freely and generously conferred. 
 But it is the common people that must in our times 
 be looked to. From them springs all political influ 
 ence. We look to them for the maintenance of -all 
 our civil and religious institutions. We look to them 
 for education, for reformation, for all civic public 
 spirit ; and it is the increasing faith of our times that 
 an intelligent common people are better promoters of 
 all the great interests of society than can be govern 
 ments or hierarchies. This is just as true of Art as it 
 
ART AMONG THE PEOPLE. 263 
 
 is of Religion, Education, Commerce, or industrial 
 pursuits. Governments may help. But the grand 
 nourishing influence must come from public senti 
 ment. > 
 
 If Art be regarded as a mere decorator, to give 
 us only grotesque or graceful arabesques, or close 
 imitations of natural objects, or mere graded or con 
 trasted colors, in Oriental profusion, it would be 
 scarcely worth our while to inquire in what age it 
 had flourished most. 
 
 There is undoubtedly a pleasure of the senses in 
 the simple effect of form and color, and in adroit 
 imitations. But it is a gratification in which the 
 intellect and the higher feelings can scarcely partici 
 pate. What would be the condition of learning and 
 literature in an age in which the paper, the type, the 
 binding of books, were deemed more important than 
 the meanings and truths contained ? But just that is 
 done when pictures are valued for their mechanical 
 dexterity and the impression on the senses. 
 
 But Art is a pictorial language. It must discourse 
 in every age of the things which belong to that age, 
 or to the purposes which a Divine Providence is de 
 veloping in any period of time. In the far-famed six 
 teenth century, ideas found but a slow and very imper 
 fect diffusion. The poet sang, the orator spoke, the 
 churchman and professor taught. But there was no 
 printing-press, no popular assembly, no common peo 
 ple reading daily newspapers, and made familiar with 
 all that the noblest minds thought, or great hearts 
 felt, or skilful hands executed. The most public 
 things would seem to our day almost secluded. 
 
 In such a time, Architecture had a moral function 
 
264 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 that it can never have again. We shall never have 
 cathedrals, because we have better ways of expressing 
 religious yearnings. We build up a great Common 
 People, in thrift, honor, purity, faith, and piety, and 
 they express the religious ideas of an age better than 
 can the costliest and most skilfully wrought architec 
 ture. Meanwhile, Architecture occupies itself with 
 another work. It now builds five hundred parish 
 churches instead of one metropolitan cathedral. It 
 builds fewer palaces, but more mansions. It builds 
 fewer marvels, but more good houses. In short, 
 Architecture is no longer in the hands of government, 
 of the Church, or of mere wealth. It has become the 
 servant of the common people. It has worked out 
 the aristocratic idea, and is now working out the true 
 democratic idea. And this work is in nature diffu 
 sive and detailed, not massed and magnificent. The 
 world never saw so much architectural progress as 
 now. Men fail to see it, because all men look at Art 
 from the aristocratic stand-point, and do not sympa 
 thize with the moral element which it serves in our 
 times. 
 
 The same thing is true of Painting. Once it was 
 the creature of the state. This in Athens was so 
 eminently the case, that not until after the decline of 
 Greece began was Art regarded as permissible in the 
 citizen s dwelling. It was a sacred language, used 
 only in the temples of religion or in state build 
 ings. The wealthiest men, the greatest statesmen, 
 and the artists themselves, had neither paintings 
 nor statues in their houses. Indeed, the private 
 houses of Athens were small, stinking nuisances, long 
 after the city was the admiration of the world for its 
 public buildings. 
 
ART AMONG THE PEOPLE. 265 
 
 In later days those very days so much lauded, 
 when Raffaelle, M. Angelo, Leonardo, Correggio, Ti 
 tian, Paul Veronese, &c., lived what interests did 
 Art serve ? It was aristocratic and hierarchic. It 
 belonged to the palace and the church. It had al 
 most no sympathy with the common people. It was 
 large, noble, magnificent. It did a much-needed work. 
 But it completed that work. It served one element 
 as long as the world needed that it should. Its 
 mission was then in advance. The earlier and ruder 
 forms of society are the monarchic. The later and 
 riper developments are republican in spirit, whatever 
 be the form. Art was called down from great ceilings 
 and vast walls, from churches and palaces, because 
 the citizen was building his house, and it is a higher 
 function for Art to serve the whole citizenship than 
 to serve their rulers. The men governed are more 
 noble and more valuable than they that govern them. 
 Men are nearer to God than governments. 
 
 It is in this direction that Art has been steadily 
 inclining. It has had less and less to do for exclu 
 sive wealth, for institutions and for governments, 
 and more for the common people. And it is yet to 
 perform its highest offices in this interest. There 
 is a life to be expressed, there are truths to be repre 
 sented there are exquisite experiences of joy and of 
 sorrow, there is a whole realm of household life, 
 of moral life, of common occupation, which, as yet, 
 has been imperfectly served or expressed. 
 
 The true artist is he who perceives in common 
 things a meaning of beauty or sentiment which 
 coarser natures fail to detect. The artist is not an 
 imitator who makes common things on canvas look 
 
266 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 just like common things anywhere else. Artist is 
 Interpreter. He teaches men by opening through 
 imitation the message of deeds, events, or objects, 
 so that they rise from the senses, where before they 
 had exclusively presented themselves, and speak to 
 the higher feelings. A man who sees in Nature 
 nothing but materiality, is no more an artist than he 
 is a musician who, in one of Beethoven s symphonies, 
 hears only noise. 
 
 And we deem this mission of Art as much more 
 noble and morally grand than that which it hitherto 
 served, as mankind are more noble and grand than 
 their accidental rulers and their harnessing institu 
 tions. Thus far, we have but laid down the principal 
 thought. Its applications would require a much 
 larger ,space. 
 
 SLIDING DOWN HILL. 
 
 HERE is nothing in the tropics that can 
 console a man doomed to dwell there for 
 the loss of northern winters. Monkeys and 
 humming-birds, gorgeous flowers and gigan 
 tic vegetation, insects, reptiles, luscious fruits which 
 you cannot eat without a cholera, sweltering nights 
 and roasting days ! Deliver us from the intolerable 
 delights of tropical luxury! 
 
 But a northern winter is full of bracing joys. 
 Indoors all is ruddy and social, and out of doors all 
 is energy and manly joy ! A man who has blood 
 and vital spirits glories in the cold of winter. But 
 
SLIDING DOWN HILL. 267 
 
 of all its sports, what one can claim superiority over 
 coasting; or, as in our boyhood days it was called, 
 sliding down hill ! 
 
 Long before we attained the age of a sled, two 
 barrel-staves, fastened together by the knowing work 
 man, served an excellent purpose, and required no 
 mean skill in sitting and steering. A slight mistake 
 in balancing, and the boy and staves changed places, 
 the boy under and the sliding machine a-top, and 
 then gradually rolling into a promiscuous heap, out 
 of which came some ripping remarks not made 
 by the sled. 
 
 Next came the glory of full and real sledship, a 
 sled with runners, and iron or steel shod ; a sled 
 painted and lettered ! With that we defied the ther 
 mometer, and set our faces against the north-wind ! 
 And how the long hill, a full half-mile, is sought, 
 not all of a gentle slope, nor yet too steep, but prop 
 erly made up, as all hills should be, with a fine grad 
 ual beginning, then a pitch quite steep, then an 
 other long middle slope, and a jounce here, a rullock 
 there, a sweep yonder around a point, and a fetch- 
 ing-up place right along the river! On such a hill 
 top, with a glorious sled, well-muffled and mittened, 
 the boy seats himself on his steed, prouder than ever 
 sat king upon his throne ! Away he goes, with nim 
 ble feet reaching out before him (for a sled carries 
 its rudder at the bow), and whose heels, with skilful 
 touch, steer the flying machine. See him make a 
 leap over the rullock, lifted clear into the air, and 
 coming down with a jounce that made everything 
 crack but the boy ! Boys have springs inside of 
 them, under every muscle, on all sides of each bone, 
 
268 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 and come down with a springy bound that cars and 
 carriages may envy, but cannot hope to attain ! 
 
 None of your belly-flounders ! This lying down 
 on a sled, like a buckwheat cake on a griddle ; or 
 that sideway sitting, on the hind end of it, with one 
 leg cork-screwed out behind, for steering, are not the 
 thing. They are not orthodox. They savor of a 
 compliance with weakness and timidity. A real boy 
 should sit upon his sled fair and square, with his 
 face to his work, and ready to meet all difficulties 
 with his breast to them ! 
 
 Nor let any one decry the long tramp up hill that 
 follows this fierce flight downward. What if it is 
 long, the sled hanging behind, the way slippery, and 
 withal some peril of those avalanches of other boys 
 that come roaring and whirling down ? The going 
 up is still an indispensable part of the epic. It is 
 the dark that gives power to the high light. The 
 up makes, by contrast, the very glory of the down. 
 Besides, as it is appointed to every hen, when she 
 has laid an egg, to enter at large into the merits of 
 the performance, and to tell the barnyard and neigh 
 borhood her opinion of that last egg, and, doubtless, 
 if we but understood the true interior meaning of 
 cackle, to say, "Here s an egg for omelettes, ome 
 lettes, omelettes ; good also for cakes, cakes, cakes ; 
 the very soul of custard, custard, custard ; good raw, 
 good roasted, good boiled, good fried. Good soft or 
 hard ; good eggs, good eggs, very good eggs," so 
 (let me see, that intolerable hen has confused this 
 sentence so that we don t just see how to tie it 
 together, ah, here it is ! ) as this hen, having done 
 all the above, discourses of it (as per above transla- 
 
SLIDING DOWN HILL. 269 
 
 tion), so the boy occupies the long ascent in declar 
 ing the skill, speed, and wonderful daring of his 
 descent, and is vehement in setting forth what liked 
 to have happened, and the thing which he almost 
 did! 
 
 We never see the snow on the ground, old as we 
 are, that we do not feel the very spirit of the sled 
 again ! And now, an old man, we would if we could 
 mount and plunge down the hill again. Though a 
 man s hair is as white as the snow under his feet, he 
 need not be ashamed of a voyage on a sled ! 
 
 There is but one city in this nation, that we know 
 of, that is civilized, and that city is New Bedford. 
 One winter, not long ago, when we were there, we 
 found a long street refused to horse- vehicles, and set 
 apart to sleds. The Selectmen, or whatever their 
 names were, at the public expense carted on snow 
 where the track was worn ; iced it by water thrown 
 on overnight ; stationed a band of music there ; had 
 torches lit and placed along the sides ; and the gener 
 ous people, catching the spirit, illumined their houses, 
 and this preparation was then thrown open to men, 
 women, and children. That city is civilized. That 
 part of the millennium which consists in sliding 
 down hill we believe will begin first in New Bedford. 
 
270 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 GAMBLING. 
 
 HE universal prevalence of this vice is a 
 reason for parental vigilance ; and a reason 
 of remonstrance from the citizen, the parent, 
 the minister of the gospel, the patriot, and 
 the press. I propose to trace its opening, describe its 
 subjects, and detail its effects. 
 
 A young man, proud of freedom, anxious to exert 
 his manhood, has tumbled his Bible and sober books 
 and letters of counsel into a dark closet. He has 
 learned various accomplishments, to flirt, to boast, 
 to swear, to fight, to drink. He has let every one of 
 these chains be put around him, upon the solemn 
 promise of Satan that he would take them off when 
 ever he wished. Hearing of the artistic feats of emi 
 nent gamblers, he emulates them. So he ponders 
 the game. He teaches what he has learned to his 
 shopmates, and feels himself their master. As yet he 
 has never played for stakes. It begins thus : Peeping 
 into a bookstore, he watches till the sober customers 
 go out ; then slips in, and with assumed boldness, not 
 concealing his shame, he asks for cards, buys them, 
 and hastens out. The first game is to pay for the 
 cards. After the relish of playing for a stake, no 
 game can satisfy them without a stake. A few nuts 
 are staked ; then a bottle of wine ; an oyster-supper. 
 At last they can venture a sixpence in actual money, 
 just for the amusement of it. I need go no fur 
 ther whoever wishes to do anything with the lad 
 can do it now. If properly plied, and gradually led, 
 
GAMBLING. 271 
 
 ho will go to any length, and stop only at the gallows. 
 Do you doubt it ? let us trace him a year or two fur 
 ther on. 
 
 With his father s blessing, and his mother s tears, 
 the young man departs from home. He has received 
 his patrimony, and embarks for life and independence. 
 Upon his journey he rests at a city ; visits the " school 
 of morals"; lingers in more suspicious places; is 
 seen by a sharper ; and makes his acquaintance. The 
 knave sits by him at dinner ; gives him the news of 
 the place, and a world of advice ; cautions him 
 against sharpers ; inquires if he has money, and 
 charges him to keep it secret ; offers himself to make 
 with him the rounds of the town, and secure him 
 from imposition. At length, that he may see all, he 
 is taken to a gaming-house, but, with apparent kind 
 ness, warned not to play. He stands by to see the 
 various fortunes of the game : some, forever losing ; 
 some, touch what number they will, gaining piles of 
 gold. Looking is thirst where wine is free. A glass 
 is taken ; another of a better kind ; next the best the 
 landlord has, and two glasses of that. A change 
 comes over the youth ; his exhilaration raises his 
 courage and lulls his caution. Gambling seen seems 
 a different thing from gambling painted by a pious 
 father ! Just then his friend remarks that one might 
 easily double his money by a few ventures, but that it 
 were, perhaps, prudent not to risk. Only this was 
 needed to fire his mind. What! only prudence be 
 tween me and gain ? Then that shall not be long ! 
 He stakes ; he wins. Stakes again ; wins again. 
 Glorious ! I am the lucky man that is to break the 
 bank ! He stakes, and wins again. His pulse races ; 
 
272 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 his face burns ; his blood is up, and fear gone. He 
 loses ; loses again ; loses all his winnings ; loses more. 
 But fortune turns again ; he wins anew. He has 
 now lost all self-command. Gains excite him, and 
 losses excite him more. He doubles his stakes ; then 
 trebles them, and all is swept. He rushes on, puts 
 up his whole purse, and loses the whole! Then he 
 would borrow ; no man will lend. He is desperate, 
 he will fight at a word. He is led to the street, and 
 thrust out. The cool breeze which blows upon his 
 fevered cheek wafts the slow and solemn stroke of 
 the clock, one, two, three, four ; four of the 
 morning ! Quick work of ruin ! an innocent man 
 destroyed in a night ! He staggers to his hotel, re 
 members as he enters it that he has not even enough 
 to pay his bill. It now flashes upon him that his 
 friend, who never had left him for an hour before, 
 had stayed behind where his money is, and doubtless 
 is laughing over his spoils. His blood boils with rage. 
 But at length comes up the remembrance of home ; 
 a parent s training and counsels for more than twenty 
 years destroyed in a night ! " Good God ! what a 
 wretch I have been ! I am not fit to live. I cannot 
 go home. I am a stranger here. that I were 
 dead ! that I had died before I knew this guilt, 
 and were lying where my sister lies ! God ! O 
 God! my head will burst with agony!" He stalks 
 his lonely room with an agony which only the young 
 heart knows in its first horrible awakening to remorse, 
 when it looks despair full in the face, and feels its 
 hideous incantations tempting him to suicide. Sub 
 dued at length by agony, cowed and weakened by 
 distress, he is sought again by those who plucked him. 
 
WINTER BEAUTY. 273 
 
 Cunning to subvert inexperience, to raise the evil 
 passions, and to allay the good, they make him their 
 pliant tool. 
 
 Farewell, young man ! I see thy steps turned to 
 that haunt again ! I see hope lighting thy face ; but 
 it is a lurid light, and never came from heaven. Stop 
 before that threshold ! turn, and bid farewell to 
 home ! farewell to innocence ! farewell to venera 
 ble father and aged mother ! the next step shall part 
 thee from them all forever. And now henceforth be 
 a mate to thieves, a brother to corruption. Thou hast 
 made a league with death, and unto death shalt 
 thou go. 
 
 WINTER BEAUTY. 
 
 |T is the impression of many that only in 
 summer, including spring and autumn of 
 course, is the country desirable as a resi 
 dence. The country in summer, and the 
 city for the winter. It is true, that the winter gives 
 attractions to the city, in endless meetings, lectures, 
 concerts, and indoor amusements. But it is not true 
 that the country loses all interest when the leaves 
 are shed and the grass is gone. 0n the contrary, 
 to one who has learned how to use his senses and 
 his sensibilities, there are attractions in the winter of 
 a peculiar kind, and pleasures which can be reaped 
 only then. The disadvantages of wet roads, unpaved 
 sidewalks, plashy fields, are felt more by an invalid 
 than by persons of robust health. 
 
274 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 It seems to me that winter comes in to relieve the 
 year of satiety. The mind grows sated with green 
 ness. After eight or nine months of luxuriant 
 growths, the eye grows accustomed to vegetation. 
 To be sure, we never are less than pleased with the 
 wide prospect ; with forms of noble trees, with towns 
 and meadows, and with the whole aspect of nature. 
 But it is the pleasure of one pampered. We lose 
 the keen edge of hunger. The eye enjoys without 
 the relish of newness. We expect to enjoy. Every 
 thing loses surprise. Of course, the sky is blue, 
 the grass succulent, the fields green, the trees umbra 
 geous, the clouds silent and mysterious. They were 
 so yesterday, they are so to-day, they will be so to 
 morrow, next week, next month. In short, the mind 
 does not cease to feel the charm of endless growths, 
 but needs variety, change of diet, less of perpetual 
 feasting, and something of the blessings of a fast. 
 This winter gives. It says to us : You have had too 
 much. You are luxurious and dainty. You need 
 relief and change of diet. 
 
 The cold blue of the sky, the cold gray of rocks, 
 the sober warmth of browns and russets, take the 
 place of more gorgeous colors. If, now, one will 
 accept this change in the tone of nature, after a time 
 a new and relishful pleasure arises. The month 
 formed by the last fortnight of November and the 
 first two weeks of December is, to me, the saddest 
 of the year. It most nearly produces the sense of 
 desolateness and dreariness of any portion of the 
 year. From the hour that the summer begins to 
 shorten its days, and register the increasing change 
 along the horizon, over which the sun sets, farther 
 
WINTER BEAUTY. 275 
 
 and farther toward the south, we have a genial and 
 gentle sadness. But sadness belongs to all very 
 deep joys. It is almost as needful to the perfect- 
 ness of joy, as shadows in landscapes are to the 
 charm of the picture. Then, too, comes the fading 
 out of flowers, each variety in its turn saying, 
 " Farewell till next summer." Scarcely less sug 
 gestive of departing summer are the new-comers, the 
 late summer golden-rod, the asters, and all autum 
 nal flowers. Long experience teaches us that these 
 are the latest blossoms that fall from the sun s lap, 
 and next to them is snow.*- By association we already 
 see white in the yellow and blue. Then, too, birds 
 are thinking of other things. No more nests, no 
 more young, no more songs, except signal-notes arid, 
 rally ing-calls ; for they are evidently warned, and 
 go about their little remaining daily business as per 
 sons who expect every hour to depart to a distant 
 land. It is scarcely ever that we see birds go. They 
 are here to-day, and gone to-morrow. They disap 
 pear without observation. The fields are. empty and 
 silent. It seems as if the winds had blown them 
 away with the leaves. The first sight of northern 
 water-fowl, far up in air, retreating from Labra 
 dor and the short Arctic summer, is always to us 
 like the declaration : Summer is gone, winter is 
 behind us, it will soon be upon you. At last come 
 the late days of November. All is gone, frosts 
 reap and glean more sharply every night. A few 
 weeks bring earnest winter. Then begin to dawn 
 other delights. The bracing air, the clean snow- 
 paths, the sled and sleigh, the revelation of forms 
 that all summer were grass-hidden ; the sharp-out- 
 
276 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 lined hills lying clear upon the sky ; the exquisite 
 tracery of trees ; especially of all such trees as that 
 dendral child of God, the elm, whose branches are 
 carried out into an endless complexity of fine lines 
 of spray, and which stands up in winter showing in 
 its whole anatomy that all its summer shade was 
 founded upon the most substantial reality. 
 
 In winter, too, particularly in the latter periods of 
 it, the extremities of shrubs and branches begin to 
 take on ruddy hues, or purplish browns, and the 
 eye knows that these are the first faint blushes of 
 coming summer. Amidst snows and storms and 
 sharp severity of frosts, the lover detects the color 
 of his coming mistress. Now, too, we find how 
 beautiful are the mosses in the woods ; and under 
 them we find solitary green leaves, that have 
 laughed all winter because they had outwitted the 
 frost. Wherever flowing springs gush from sheltered 
 spots looking south, one will find many green edges, 
 young grass, and some few tougher leaves. Now, 
 too, in still days, the crow sings heavily through the 
 air, cawing with a pleasing harshness. For dieting 
 has performed its work. Your appetite is eager. A 
 little now pleases you more than abundance did in 
 August. Every tiny leaf is to you like a cedar of 
 Lebanon. 
 
 All these things are unknown to dwellers in cities. 
 It is nothing to them that a robin appeared for the 
 first time yesterday morning, or that a bluebird sang 
 over against the house. Some new prima donna 
 exhausts their admiration. They are yet studying 
 laces, and do not care for the fringe of swamps, for 
 the first catkins of the willow. They are still cov- 
 
WINTER BEAUTY. 277 
 
 eting the stores of precious stones at the jewellers, 
 and do not care for my ruby buds, and red dogwood, 
 and scarlet winter berries, and ground pine, and par 
 tridge-berry leaves. 
 
 There is one sight of the country at about this 
 time of the year the first of March that few 
 have seen, or else they have passed it by as if it 
 were not worthy of record. I mean the drapery of 
 rocks in gorges, or along precipitous sides of hills or 
 mountains. The seams of rock are the outlets of 
 springs. The water trickling through is seized by 
 the frost, and held fast in white enchantment. Every 
 day adds to the length of the ice drapery. And as 
 the surface is overlaid by new issuings, it is furred 
 and fretted with silver-white chasings, the most ex 
 quisite. Thus one may find a succession, in a single 
 gorge, of extraordinary ice-curtains, and pendent 
 draperies, of varying lengths, of every fantastic form, 
 of colors varying by thickness, or by the tinge of 
 earth or rock shining through them. 
 
 In my boyhood I used to wander along these fairy 
 halls imagining them to be now altars in long white 
 draperies ; now, grand cathedral pillars of white mar 
 ble ; then, long tapestries chased in white with ara 
 besques and crinkled vines and leaves. Sometimes 
 they seemed like gigantic bridal decorations, or like 
 the robes of beings vast and high, hung in their 
 wardrobes while they slept. But whatever fancy 
 interpreted them, or whether they were looked upon 
 with two good, sober, literal eyes, they were, and 
 still are, among the most delightful of winter exhibi 
 tions to those who are wise enough to search out the 
 hidden beauty of winter in the country. 
 
278 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 STREET CRIES AND ORATORS VOICES. 
 
 OBERT BONNER: I am reminded of my 
 duty, by hearing the boys in the streets cry 
 ing out, " NEW YORK LEDGER ! " with a saucy 
 tone, as much as to say, " Have you got 
 your ears open, sir ? D ye see, sir ? " Did you ever 
 take notice of the voices of men and boys that get 
 their living by their lusty crying ? A public speaker 
 may well envy them. Public speakers seldom have 
 great advantage over other men in voice, power, or 
 quality. It is rare, rather than common, among the 
 tens of thousands whose offices require public speak 
 ing, to hear a man of a commanding voice, or to 
 find a speaker whose tones are smooth, unlabored, 
 and yet penetrating. Some men are boisterous and 
 vociferous, that they may give force to their sen 
 tences. But that gun does not carry a ball the 
 farthest that makes the most noise in going off. The 
 crack of a rifle is anything but noisy. Such is the 
 want of good voice capital, that men are always 
 talking about good speaking-rooms, and the acoustic 
 properties of lecture-rooms. But the best of all 
 properties in a speaking-hall is, a man that knows 
 how to speak, and has something to speak with ! 
 What does a rooster care for acoustic aids ? He 
 mounts a fence lustily, gives a preliminary flap of 
 his wings, as if to say, " I could have flown twice 
 as high," and then lets off a crow that rings and 
 echoes for a mile around. A bull will sound you a 
 bass note that would make old Westminister Abbey 
 
STREET CRIES AND ORATORS VOICES. 279 
 
 shake. A crow will caw to you at two miles distance 
 without the fear of bronchitis. A dog will bark to 
 a whole town without the slightest inconvenience 
 to himself. And yet men who are brought up to 
 speaking as the business of their lives cannot make 
 themselves heard at a hundred feet distance, or, 
 only by exertions that send them home for liniments, 
 bandages, and caustic ! 
 
 It does not follow because a bird can fly, that a 
 man can, it may be said, and that the vigor of bird 
 and beast in vocal organs is no fair analogy for men. 
 But it becomes so, when it is observed that men who 
 have vigor of body, who live much in the open air, 
 and who practise their voice in the free, open out 
 doors, come to have the same resonance and almost 
 the same power that is found in animals. A plough- 
 boy can be heard over a whole neighborhood ; an 
 ox-driver of the old sort needed no horn to let 
 people know that he was driving into town. Far 
 off his coming sounds. Military men and shipmasters 
 attain to great power of propagating sounds. It may 
 be said, that, though such persons are able to eject 
 single orders, or sentences, they could not sustain 
 the fatigue of a continuous delivery for an hour. 
 
 But newsboys, old-clothes men, all street-cryers, 
 and, above all, chimney-sweeps, have voices in ex 
 ercise from morning till night, that are full, round, 
 and often rich and melodious. There used to be in 
 Brooklyn a chimney-sweep whose voice I coveted 
 more than his trade or complexion. I was walking 
 one day along Orange Street, toward the Heights, when 
 the whole air seemed full and overflowing with a 
 sound as smooth, round, and melodious as an organ 
 
280 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 diapason. It fairly rained down for abundance and 
 universality. The houses reflected it. The streets 
 were channels in which the airy stream flowed. I 
 looked in every direction for the cause. No man 
 seemed the author. I looked up and down the street, 
 turned around to every quarter, for the sound 
 came equally from everywhere, until at length, 
 mounted upon the chimney-top of one of the highest 
 houses, sat the fellow like a king on his throne. 
 Astride of the stack, lowering or pulling up his 
 scraping machine, he was perched like a blackbird 
 indeed ; but much more musical ! Ah, did I not 
 have to lay fast hold of the commandments, to save 
 myself from coveting ? This fellow, without doubt, 
 if he ever lived in a pre-existent state, was an organ- 
 pipe, and the divinities gave him life, and changed 
 his bellows to lungs, as a reward of merit. 
 
 But to return from Ethiopia : 
 
 These newsboys show what out-of-door practice 
 will do for a man s lungs. Here is a lawyer who 
 can hardly fill a court-room. What would he do if 
 he had a long street before him ? What would the 
 pale and feeble-speaking minister do, who can scarcely 
 make his voice reach two hundred auditors, if he 
 were set to cry " New York Ledger " ? These news 
 boys stand at the head of a street, and send down 
 their voice through it, as an athlete would roll a 
 ball down an alley. We advise men training for 
 speaking-professions to peddle wares in the streets for 
 a little time. Young ministers might go into partner 
 ship with newsboys awhile, till they got their mouths 
 open, and their larynx nerved and toughened. 
 
 The great want of public speakers is general vigor. 
 
BE GENEROUS OF BEAUTY. 281 
 
 They need open air, toughening exercise, practice of 
 speaking under the skies, speaking, not bawling. 
 A. man may tear his voice up by the roots, by too 
 much of a gale. There is such a thing as speaking 
 at a mark! With the same tone, let a man prac 
 tise, removing the hearer step by step each day, till, 
 with the same exertion, he can be heard at great 
 distances. In this way he will develop quality of 
 tone. For in speaking it is quality and not quantity 
 that gives control of an audience. 
 
 BE GENEROUS OF^BEAUTY. 
 
 |F there be one thing that marks the Divine 
 benevolence in the administration of the 
 natural world, it is the openness, and, if 
 one may so say, the free benevolence with 
 which beauty is made to be the property and solace 
 of all men. It is provided above and beneath, in 
 every form, in all substances, so that, whoever has 
 hunger for it cannot well fail to find food for his 
 want. Many desirable things are rare. Only skill 
 can gain them ; only great wealth can purchase them. 
 The possession of libraries, pictures, sculpture, deco 
 rated grounds, must be limited to the few. They are 
 a fortunate aristocracy. But, fortunately for the great 
 multitude, the gifts of God in nature are without 
 money and without price. 
 
 There is a duty implied in the possession of treas 
 ures of beauty. No selfishness seems to us so end- 
 
282 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 less, and so peculiarly base, as that which refuses to 
 men the innocent enjoyment of the treasures of 
 beauty. It may not be wise to lend books, or to be 
 free with things which, passing from hand to hand, 
 may be lost, damaged, or misappropriated. We do 
 not blame any one for making his library, museum, 
 or picture collection stationary. But whoever has 
 that which can confer pleasure and profit for merely 
 the looking at it must be selfish indeed to hide it 
 from hungry eyes. If it were money to be lent, rai 
 ment to be worn, food to be eaten, or any usage that 
 wastes or diminishes the treasure, the case would be 
 different. But what harm comes to garden, grounds, 
 picture, or statue, by being looked at? The eyes 
 wear out nothing! Ten million men have gazed 
 upon Raffaelle s Sistine Madonna and Transfigura 
 tion, and soiled them not, nor chafed nor dulled their 
 surface. Not half so softly does the dew steal upon 
 the flower ; not half so lightly does it rest there, as 
 does the eye rest upon objects of beauty ! 
 
 Nothing can make others so rich, without dimin 
 ishing our own means, as generosity in the use of 
 art-treasures, or materials of beauty. What then 
 shall we say of men whose houses are stored with 
 rare and curious books which they secrete ? There 
 are men who take a pride in owning works possessed 
 by almost no one else, and then in hiding them from 
 curious eyes. There are those who act as if things 
 were unfitted for their own pleasure if they had also 
 given pleasure to any one else. 
 
 What shall be said of a man who, by mere force 
 of money, has come into possession of some picture, 
 or other work of art, which embodies the noblest 
 
BE GENEKOUS OF BEAUTY. 283 
 
 thoughts of an artist s divine genius, and then veils 
 it from the world, locks it up for his selfish gaze, and 
 virtually annihilates it? 
 
 It is creditable to our people that, generally, a 
 man who has anything that is worth another s atten 
 tion, is more than willing to throw it open to all 
 proper and reasonable scrutiny. Many private col 
 lections of pictures in New York and vicinity are 
 generously placed, on certain days of every week, 
 before any that desire to see them. But exceptions 
 there are. It is said that some of Turner s most 
 striking pictures in New York cannot be seen ; that 
 curious and excessively rare copies of Bibles have 
 been hidden up with a miser s greed, and that schol 
 ars and gentlemen seeking access to them have been 
 rudely repulsed. A money miser is bad enough. A 
 picture-miser, a book-miser, is yet more abject! 
 
 There is another thing worthy of consideration, 
 and that is, a certain freedom of private grounds. 
 Gentlemen s places are springing up in every direc 
 tion. Great skill is employed in developing the 
 finest effects in landscape, garden, bower, and shrub 
 bery. We cannot be so unreasonable as to ask that 
 one shall divest himself of all privacy and seclusion, 
 and make his grounds a common ; but a regulated 
 liberty of courteous intrusion is peculiarly proper and 
 graceful in the possessors of fine grounds. 
 
 But, whatever may be a man s judgment as to 
 admission, he must be a curmudgeon who insists 
 upon it that neither the foot nor the eye shall in 
 trude upon the beauty of his domain. In planting 
 one s grounds it is fair, by hedge or thicket, to shut 
 out too much gazing, all unsightly objects, noise, and 
 
284 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 dust, by thick trees or fences. But a system of seclu 
 sion, that yields no part of a man s grounds to the 
 sight of passers-by, cannot be justified. It is a wan 
 ton selfishness. A lawn and garden lying upon the 
 street, but separated from it by a high, close fence, 
 or impervious wall, so that little children, the poor, 
 laborers, common people of all kinds, cannot see the 
 treasures within, ought to be made an offence against 
 good manners. It is an immorality, to be abated by a 
 public sentiment. Can anything be more charming 
 than to see a child s face set between two pickets, 
 like a sweet picture in a frame, wistfully looking at 
 beds of flowers, vines, and trees ? 
 
 Methinks the gentle thoughts and grateful silence 
 of hundreds, every day, who pass open gardens, and 
 cultivated yards, must be more pleasurable to the 
 indulgent owner than the fragrance of all his flowers. 
 Nothing can well redeem the possession of beauty in 
 a large degree, from the charge of sinful self-indul 
 gence, but such a use of it as shall confer pleasure 
 on all those who need the solace and ministration of 
 the divine element of beauty. 
 
TRAILING AKBUTUS. 285 
 
 TRAILING ARBUTUS.. 
 
 ]N this tenth day of April I have been out on 
 the hills near Elmira, to see what is going on 
 among the citizens of the vegetable kingdom. 
 A basket, a garden trowel, a pair of thick 
 gloves, and a stout, seamless cloth overcoat were my 
 outfit. The ground was white in spots with half- 
 melted snow. A few whirls of snow had come down 
 in the night, and the air was too cold to change it to 
 rain. Some green leaves, in sheltered nooks, had ac 
 cepted the advances of the sun, and were preparing 
 for the summer. But that which I came to search 
 after was the trailing arbutus, one of the most exqui 
 site of all Nature s fondlings. 
 
 I did not seek in vain. The hills were covered 
 with it. Its gay whorls of buds peeped out from ruf 
 fles of snow, in the most charming beauty. Many 
 blossoms, too, quite expanded, did I find, some pure 
 white, and a few most delicately suffused with pink. 
 For nearly an hour I wandered up and down, in pleas 
 ant fancies, searching, plucking, and arranging these 
 most beautiful of all early blossoms. 
 
 Who would suspect by the leaf what rare delicacy 
 was to be in the blossom ? Like some people of plain 
 and hard exterior, but of sweet disposition, it was all 
 the more pleasant from the surprise of contrast. All 
 winter long this little thing must have slumbered with 
 dreams, at least, of spring. It has waited for no 
 pioneer or guide, but started of its own self, and led 
 the way for all the flowers on this hill-side. 
 
286 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 Its little viny stem creeps close to the ground, hum 
 ble, faithful, and showing how the purest white may 
 lay its cheek on the very dirt, without soil or taint. 
 
 The odor of the arbutus is exquisite, and as deli 
 cate as the plant is modest. Some flowers seem deter 
 mined to make an impression on you. They stare at 
 you. They dazzle your eyes. If you smell them, 
 they overfill your sense with their fragrance. They 
 leave nothing for your gentleness and generosity, but 
 do everything themselves. But this sweet nestler of 
 the spring hills is so secluded, half covered with rus 
 set leaves, that you would not suspect its graces, did 
 you not stoop to uncover the vine, to lift it up, and 
 then you espy its secluded beauty. If you smell it, 
 at first it seems hardly to have an odor. But there 
 steals out of it at length the finest, rarest scent, that 
 rather excites desire than satisfies your sense. It is 
 coy, without designing to be so, and its reserve plays 
 upon the imagination far more than could a niore 
 positive way. 
 
 Without doubt, there are intrinsic beauties in plants 
 and flowers, and yet very much of pleasure depends 
 upon their relations to the seasons, to the places where 
 they grow, and to our own moods. No midsummer 
 flower can produce the thrill that the earliest blos 
 soms bring which tell us that winter is gone, that 
 growing days have come ! Indeed, it often happens 
 that the air is cold, and the face of the earth brown, so 
 that we have no suspicion that it is time for anything 
 to sprout, until we chance upon a flower. That reveals 
 what our senses had failed to perceive, a warmth 
 in the air, a warmth in the soil, an advance in the 
 seasons ! Strange, that a silent, white flower, growing 
 
TKAILING AKBUTUS. 287 
 
 on a hill-side, measures the astronomic changes, and, 
 more than all our senses, discerns that the sun is 
 travelling back from his far southward flight ! Some 
 times we admire flowers for their boldness, in cases 
 where that quality seems fit. When meadows and 
 fields are gorgeous, we look for some flower that shall 
 give the climax. An intensity often serves to reveal 
 the nature of things in all their several gradations. 
 A violet color in these early spring days would not 
 please half so well as these pure whites or tender 
 pinks. We like snow-drops and crocuses to come up 
 pale-colored, as if born of the snow, and carrying their 
 mother s complexion. But later, when the eye is used 
 to blossoms, we wish deeper effects and profusions of 
 color, which, had they existed earlier, would have 
 offended us. 
 
 Flowers seem to have peculiar power over some 
 natures. Of course, they gratify the original faculties 
 of form, color, odor ; but that is the least part of their 
 effect. They have a mysterious and subtile influence 
 upon the feelings, not unlike some strains of music. 
 They relax the tenseness of the mind. They dissolve 
 its rigor. In their presence, one finds almost a mag 
 netic tremulousness, as if they were messengers from 
 the spirit-world, and conveyed an atmosphere with 
 them in which the feelings find soothing, pleasure, 
 and peacefulness. Besides this, they are provocative 
 of imagination. They set the mind full of fancies. 
 They seem to be pretty and innocent jugglers, that 
 play their charms and incantations upon the senses 
 and the fancy, and lead off the thoughts in many a 
 curious wondery, in gay analogies, or curious medleys 
 of fantastic dreamings. 
 
288 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Well, I have much more to say, if I should say all 
 that I have thought, and all that the arbutus said to 
 me, this wintry spring morning. But, since I cannot 
 bring you here, Mr. Bonner, to let you see the hill 
 and all its little jewels, I send you one of the blossom 
 clusters, to wear in your button-hole ; and when you 
 go home, and, very properly, are asked, " Robert, 
 who gave you that token ? " don t you tell. 
 
 MORALS OF BARGAINS. 
 
 |ID you ever hear a company of good people, 
 as the world goes, recounting their adven 
 tures in the purchase of goods ? They shall 
 be persons who would shrink from untruth, 
 and yet more from an overt dishonesty. Yet have 
 you never witnessed the great delight and almost 
 exultation with which they narrate the cheapness of 
 their bargain ? Is the fair market price of cloth one 
 dollar a yard, they ask your congratulations because 
 they bought it for jifty cents a yard ! Is the rich 
 figured silk worth two dollars, with a glow of un 
 disguised pleasure they tell you that they paid but 
 one dollar a yard ! Is a horse bought for half his 
 value, a carriage for one third of what it cost but 
 a week before, a house for less than half it cost the 
 bankrupt owner to build it, there are few persons 
 so honest as not to feel that the acquisition has an 
 added worth by this very buying it for less than it is 
 worth. 
 
MORALS OF BARGAINS. 289 
 
 Now we do not pretend to say that one should never 
 buy things for less than their real value ; that one 
 should never avail himself of depreciated prices. 
 But what is the disposition which makes men rejoice 
 in such bargains ? Is a picture worth two hundred 
 and fifty dollars, for which you paid but fifty ? You 
 have obtained goods without paying a fair equivalent. 
 Every really honest man should always pay a fair 
 equivalent for whatever he possesses. The wish to 
 get property without equitable service, or full and fair 
 consideration, is not honest. It is certainly true that 
 property may lose its value in commercial fluctuations, 
 and that real estate, personal property, and money 
 itself, may from time to time change its value ; and 
 every man has a right to take property at the value 
 which it has at the time of purchase, without regard 
 to what a former value may have been. But this is 
 very different from that spirit which seeks to beat 
 down property below its value ; to take advantage of 
 temporary necessities, to desire, even, to get hold of 
 another man s property without paying for it what it 
 ought, in a given state of market, to command. No 
 man should wish another man s property without ren 
 dering for it a full equivalent. 
 
 Now it is our impression that honest people (in 
 their own opinion honest) do habitually desire to get 
 more than they give. They wish to obtain something 
 for nothing. They jew, chaffer, higgle, and manage, 
 with that peculiar wisdom implied in the term " bar 
 gaining," to obtain goods without paying for them 
 what they ought to pay. They glory in success. 
 They narrate the steps by which they ensnare the 
 bargain. They hunt for coveted goods as if they were 
 
290 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 wild animals, and to be obtained by adroitness and 
 cunning, without any regard to justice and fairness. 
 A merchant is a man who has goods. A customer is 
 a man who wishes to get possession of them. And 
 he seems to think it to be a mere trial of sharp prac 
 tice between them, without any moral principle to 
 govern the transaction. But if to desire a neighbor s 
 goods without paying for them is coveting, why is not 
 a wish to obtain them at less than a fair price, in its 
 own degree, just as surely coveting ? 
 
 There are few people who will not be benefited by 
 pondering over the morals of shopping. The wish to 
 get more than you have means to pay for is a wish to 
 injure your neighbor, to obtain his possessions with 
 out a just compensation. And although, occasionally, 
 a thing may come into our hands which we could 
 never have had had it not been cheap, yet the uni 
 form desire to depress another s property for the sake 
 of making it our own is dishonesty in disposition, 
 whether custom sanctions it or not. 
 
 OUTLANDISH BOOKS. 
 
 is good to walk through an antiquarian 
 bookstore. There is a great deal to be 
 learned from books without reading them. 
 The histories which books contain are, of 
 ten, not half so interesting or so instructive as the 
 histories which books themselves are. As often as 
 the spring comes, and work is less imperious, and 
 
OUTLANDISH BOOKS. 291 
 
 warmer days set loose the wild and yearning imagi 
 nations of the soul, as the air sets loose the roots and 
 frees the flowers from their long imprisonment, we 
 feel a roving mood. .The fields are too far off, and 
 a solitary sea-side is not to be found in the vicinity 
 of this great commercial city. Picture-galleries are 
 few, and the people in them many ; and one scarcely 
 knows where to find the quiet and the meditative 
 incitements which he wants. 
 
 At such times I stroll into one of those establish 
 ments, now so numerous, that import and sell sec 
 ond-hand books. The moment that one is across the 
 threshold he feels that he has changed worlds. All 
 the clamor of the street, the ceaseless passage and 
 clash of innumerable vehicles, the confusion of voices, 
 seem smothered to a low and gentle hum, and even 
 that is forgotten in a moment. Then one walks up 
 and down the passages lined with books, the alcoves 
 of books, the long tables thick with books, the corners 
 stocked and heaped with books, as if this were a city 
 of books, in ruins, like some Oriental city of desola 
 tion. All languages are here, and all of them are 
 dumb. Their silent symbols hold up hieroglyphic 
 significance to such eyes as may chance to know 
 them. But as one might stand over a tomb, and 
 muse who was laid therein, of what nature, disposi 
 tion, history ; of what experience of woe or joy in 
 life ; with what hopes, thoughts, ambitions, struggles, 
 failures, or evanescent victories ; so do we stand by 
 the side of a book in an unknown language. What 
 means this title-page ? What are the words of intro 
 duction ? Open to the middle : is this a story, an 
 argument, a criticism, a history ? Is it a grave affir- 
 
292 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 mation of mighty truth, such as Bacon would have 
 plucked down for heavenly thoughts ? or is it some 
 jester, that flashes his momentary say, and waits for 
 an answering laughter ? How. causeless are causes 
 here. These words that have fallen on many a soul 
 like a bow on the violin, and caused vivid emotions 
 to spring forth from their touch, are now reaching 
 toward my eye, but without a response. They touch, 
 but I do not sound. They are like winds blowing 
 among petrified trees whose leaves are fast and whose 
 branches are stiffened forever. But though their 
 glory is gone, once they were sovereigns. This well- 
 thumbed volume has once been a favorite. It has 
 been the last thing consulted before sleep ; a solace 
 to lucid intervals ; perhaps often a companion of 
 journeys. Or when the new grass was soft to pave 
 ment-worn feet, and the solitary scholar has wan 
 dered out to hear blackbirds sing by the side of 
 spring-swollen streams, or to search for cowslips in 
 the watery edges of the marsh lands, under his arm, 
 but with affectionate care, goes this welcome compan 
 ion. A book is good company. It is full of conver 
 sation without loquacity. It comes to your longing 
 with full instruction, but pursues you never. It is 
 not offended at your absent-mindedness, nor jealous 
 if you turn to other pleasures, of leaf, or dress, or 
 mineral, or even of books. It silently serves the soul 
 without recompense, not even for the hire of love. 
 And yet more noble, it seems to pass from itself, and 
 to enter the memory, and to hover in a silvery trans 
 figuration there, until the outward book is but a body, 
 and its soul and spirit are flown to you, and possess 
 your memory like a spirit. And while some books, 
 
OUTLANDISH BOOKS. 293 
 
 like steps, are left behind us by the very help which 
 they yield us, and serve only our childhood, or early 
 life, some others go with us in mute fidelity to the 
 end of life, a recreation for fatigue, an instruction 
 for our sober hours, and a solace for our sickness or 
 sorrow. Except the great out-doors, nothing that 
 has no life of its own gives so much life to you. 
 
 And here are these uncomplaining favorites, now 
 tumbled in heaps, or keeping dusty company in this 
 great catacomb of literature ! No gentle hand now 
 fondles them, no eye searches them. They are for 
 eigners, strangers in a strange land. But, peradven- 
 ture, there yet shall come a dried and wrinkled man, 
 poor in garb, as befits so poor a purse, and, wandering 
 up and down among these silent souls imprisoned in 
 ink and paper words, who, seeking this dusky volume, 
 shall renew his youth of joy, greet a loving, absent 
 friend, go and sell all that he hath to buy this pearl 
 of price to him, and faintly kindle again in his heavy, 
 dark heart the light of a long-lost treasure. 
 
 But really, Mr. Bonner, will you be kind enough 
 to give me a nudge ? Will you do me the kindness 
 to tread on my foot, and tell me that I am wander 
 ing ? In sooth, I have not said one of the fine fan 
 cies that led me to begin. So much the worse, you 
 will say, for those that have the reading of them 
 hereafter ! 
 
294 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 THE DANDELION AND I. 
 
 T the first blossom, but the first dandelion 
 of the year came to us on the seventeenth 
 of April ! Golden-faced and most wel 
 come ! Not the earliest of flowers, for the 
 woods are full of spring beauties, anemones, and oth 
 ers. The willow has put forth its queer, mulberry- 
 shaped blossom. But there is something so bright 
 and cheerful in the dandelion that its first coming is 
 always watched and waited for with great eagerness, 
 and greeted with enthusiasm. It is not a fragrant 
 flower, neither is it often gathered for the house or 
 hand. It soon shuts up when picked. But it is the 
 first real democratic flower of our season. The field 
 violets are yet reluctant. The wood flowers fight the 
 lingering cold from behind fences, from leaves, and 
 under partial protection. The sanguinaria, or Indian 
 puccoon, is not yet sending its pure white blossom 
 from its blood-red root, like a noble soul rising from a 
 battle-stained body. The ground is too cold for the 
 marsh marigold or cowslip of New England, far-famed 
 as " greens." 
 
 The dandelion is the first conspicuous, hardy, wide 
 spread, and abundant flower of spring. It grows in 
 all places ; on hills, in the meadow, in town and city, 
 as well as country. It gives one a sudden start in 
 going down a barren, stony street, to see upon a nar 
 row strip of grass, just within the iron fence, the radi 
 ant dandelion shining in the grass, like a spark 
 dropped from the sun ! It stirs up the thoughts and 
 
THE DANDELION AND I. 295 
 
 tolls us what is going on in the heavens and on the 
 earth, unbeknown to us who are pent up in cities. 
 "Why, if dandelions have come, then birds are mated ; 
 nests are repairing or building ; swallows are coming, 
 and wrens and phoebes have come ! Bluebirds and 
 robins and song-sparrows must have become familiar 
 sights to country people by this time of the year. We 
 reach our hand through after that solitary dandelion. 
 It is too far off. All eager persons measure the length 
 of their arm by their eye, and will not believe how 
 short it is, under three or four tryings. 
 
 Is it stealing to take a dandelion through the fence ? 
 Then we have made a gap in the Commandments a 
 good many times. But are ethical rules quite as rigid 
 upon dandelions as upon ducats and dollars ? At any 
 rate, we have never had remorse for pulling the first 
 dandelion if we could reach it. There is a little 
 ambition in the matter. Several pairs of eyes besides 
 our own have a gentle rivalry and competition for the 
 first golden disc. 
 
 People watch us, and wonder what we can be at. 
 Two or three gentlemen, thinking there must be some 
 thing important that attracts us, stop and look over, 
 and seeing what it is, scarcely disguise with politeness 
 their contempt for a man hunting dandelions. News 
 boys edge up familiarly. " Wat ye lost, mister ? 
 Sha n t I jump over and hunt it ? " It needs no hunt 
 ing, lad, here it shines in the grass like a golden 
 eagle in a miser s eye. And as for picking it for me, 
 that would just take away half the pleasure. I want 
 to feel the moist, cool stem with my own fingers, to 
 slide down the touch to its very root, and with the 
 nail gently to cut it, without prejudice to the half- 
 dozen buds that nestle there like so many baby heads 
 
296 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 in a crib. I could reach it with a stick, but that 
 would be profanation. A kind old gentleman passes, 
 and smiles sympathetically, as if he would say, " Ah, 
 I understand all that, I like you a great deal 
 better for your enthusiasm," and he passes on, him 
 self almost as handsome as a dandelion. 
 
 No. Though I reached at least two inches farther 
 than before, I could only just touch, but not pluck it ! 
 Some chubby-faced children want to see what it is, 
 and, a little shy of me, stand at some distance, with 
 their sweet faces framed in between the iron pickets. 
 Yes, dear things, that is just the way of the world 
 into which you have entered. Flowers on one side, 
 children on the other, and iron fences between ! Yet 
 you will find some flowers on your side of the fence 
 too by and by, I hope. 
 
 I will try a forked stick ! Where is there one ? A 
 stick ! stones enough, dirt enough, bricks, shavings, 
 beams, and planks. But sticks are rare things in a 
 city. 0, the country is the place to live in. You 
 can always find a stick ! I am in two troubles. I 
 cannot get my dandelion without a stick, and I can 
 not find a stick. If I go off for one, somebody will 
 get my flower! 
 
 Some school-girls are going past, one, two, three, 
 four, five, the last one silent and alone ; the rest like 
 a tree full of birds, making a jargon of music, and 
 cross-firing of sweet discordances. They look at me, 
 and then at each other. The creatures see the ludi 
 crous side of this affair ! They hope for me, and really 
 sympathize, I know. Yet witches, they scarcely care 
 to hide their laughter, which, at half-a-dozen steps, 
 breaks out like water pent up that has found a new 
 channel to gurgle in ! 
 
THE DANDELION AND I. 297 
 
 Shall I climb this ailan thus- tree for a stick ? I 
 would in a minute if it were only in the country. 
 That s another objection to a city life. Nobody is 
 surprised in the country to see a man up a tree. 
 But in a city, a gentlemanly person making his way 
 up into a tree would have a motley crowd around 
 him in a jiffy ! (Mr. Bonner, can you tell your 
 readers, in your column of Answers to Correspond 
 ents, just the measure of time meant by "jiffy"?) 
 And no wonder, come to think of it. The act of 
 climbing is one of adroitness rather than of graceful 
 ness. First, a jump and a good hug with the arms. 
 Then, drawing up the legs, the knees clasp each side 
 of the tree, the feet touching each other at a point 
 that would be intersected by a line drawn through 
 the spine and extended. You are in posture. You 
 resemble a frog drawn up for a spring, and set up 
 endways. Next, you straighten up and raise your 
 arms a ring higher. Then holding fast by them, like 
 an inch-worm, you .bring on the other half. After 
 two or three jerks, you will begin to put one leg 
 around the tree, so that the calf shall clasp the back 
 side and the shin scrape itself on the other. And as 
 you go up, so do the legs of your pantaloons, which, 
 at ten feet, are corrugated around your knees in a 
 manner that will give your skin and the bark of the 
 tree .a fair chance to see which is toughest. And 
 about this time it is a curious fact that most men 
 begin to quirl their tongue out of the corners of 
 their mouths, as if that were a great help to them. 
 Now I decline doing all this in a city, with police 
 men musing whether I am to be arrested for insan 
 ity, and my neighbors laughing, and boys cheering 
 
 13* 
 
298 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 me, and sundry unsavory jests broken on me, not 
 even for a stick will I so expose myself. Cities are 
 hateful. Nobody can do anything but just walk up 
 and down the streets; everybody afraid that every 
 body will laugh if anybody acts as he wants to ! Ah, 
 sweet herald of coming summer ! there you nest your 
 self in the grass, unconscious of all this disturbance 
 in my breast ! The church over opposite, built high 
 and grand of carved stone, with windows full of 
 painted saints, throws its great shadow toward you ; 
 but tell me, dear little flower, did it ever say " God 
 bless you ! " to such a useless thing of God s making 
 as you ? Ah, dandelion, what do you think of those 
 saints in the window? Do you hear or feel that 
 organ whose solemn tones jar the very ground ? Do 
 you need priests and Sabbaths and choirs to help 
 you worship Him that made you ? or, with sweet-faced 
 simplicity, is it needful for you only to open your 
 bosom, and God is praised by your blossoming beau 
 ty ? Yet do not deride the cathedral, dandelion ! 
 Men need them, though flowers do not! 
 
 But what shall I do ? Can I not throw a lasso at 
 its neck, and noose it? To be defeated now would 
 be ignominious indeed ! Why not climb over ? What 
 if I should slip and get caught on the top of these 
 iron spikes ? A dainty spectacle ! If only half-way 
 over I should be no better oif than on this side, and 
 certainly no better on. 
 
 Must I relinquish the thing? What! baffled by 
 a dandelion? I, a freeman, with pride of faculty, 
 touching the stars by my reason and imagination, 
 and not able to touch that dandelion ! No. Have 
 it I must ! 
 
 Have it I did! 
 
ORAL FARMING. 299 
 
 ORAL FARMING. 
 
 T is now May 4. Not only has spring come, 
 but the full farming spring. And as your 
 humble servant (as very proud people call 
 themselves) is now a Peekskill farmer, liv 
 ing by the sweat of his (hired workmen s) brow, how 
 can you expect anything from him except of crops, of 
 sorts, of fertilizers ? Indeed, sir, my grass-lands look 
 remarkably well, considering the backwardness of the 
 season. I have rolled them, top-dressed them, and 
 given them the best advice in my power. Let the 
 moss keep away ! Away all thistles ; and, above all, 
 that thistliest of all thistles, which is, doubtless, the 
 very one sent originally to sharpen Adam, the Can 
 ada-thistle ! Let no dock come forth ; and, ox-eyed 
 daisies, fair as is your great moon face, and beautiful 
 as you certainly are to unsophisticated eyes, a mowing- 
 lot is no place for you. Meantime, let the Timothy 
 shoot up its stem, bearing a cat-tailed head, only less 
 for horses than oats themselves ! Prince of all grasses 
 for fodder, may the season be propitious for thee ! 
 Let dews moisten thy cat-tailed head, and frequent 
 rains thy roots, until July comes riding to thee in a 
 mower. Then bow thy head, die as meekly as thou 
 hast gracefully lived ; for is not glory before thee ? 
 Thy slender stem shall be changed to horses legs ; 
 thy blades shall beam forth from the mild eye of my 
 Alderney ; thou shalt come forth white as milk, and 
 thence, yellow as butter or rich as cheese ! 
 
 But now, shall the mowing-lot rest? Is its work 
 
300 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 done ? Not if properly constructed. The Timothy 
 will seldom give a second growth worth cutting. It 
 ought not to be pastured, because cattle pull up the 
 tufts by the root. But if a due admixture of other 
 grasses has been made, no sooner is the first crop 
 gone than four or five other kinds of quick-springing 
 grasses will come again ; and if the soil be in good 
 heart, a second ; and if irrigated or watered from a 
 cart, a third crop may be cut. 
 
 But really, you will imagine that this is a communi 
 cation from some president of an agricultural society ! 
 I am not a president of anything, not even a mem 
 ber. But you know that I am in the first love of a 
 spring farming campaign ! It is not hot yet. I have 
 actually been working with my own hands ! 0, the 
 apple-trees set ! the pear-trees standards and on 
 quince that are prophesying to me from the side of 
 the hill ! Not a leaf is on them ; and yet I see Seck- 
 els, Bartletts, D Angoulemes, and Rostiezers, (and Sir 
 Seckel had better look out for its supremacy when 
 such pears as the Rostiezer come along !) Will you 
 not come up and eat pears with me ? Not this sum 
 mer ! But when the trees come into bearing ! What 
 if the engagement promises to be some years hence ? 
 Shall we not both be a little older, and wiser, and, 
 losing nothing of our relish for good fruit, shall we 
 not be able to hold a more grave and profitable con 
 versation while sitting on the balcony, eating ? 
 
 But ah ! the corn that I intend having ! I have 
 arranged to beat the field over the way all hollow. 
 The fact is, I quite look down on the neighbor at 
 the foot of my lane. He won t cut away the trees 
 in his yard that hide from his parlor windows the 
 
ORAL FARMING. 301 
 
 broad Hudson ! Can such a man raise corn ? I have 
 moved my corn-field right down to the road, so that 
 everybody can see it, and especially the man over the 
 way ! It will not do for people that wish to thrive to 
 lie awake mornings, looking out of their windows at 
 woodchucks. Good corn can be had at Peekskill 
 only by enterprise and industry. Now I have made 
 an arrangement with my conductor, that if this crop 
 of corn succeeds, it is to be my cultivation ; but if it 
 turns out indifferently, is to be his work. May cut 
 worms spare it ! May all these loads of benevolence- 
 to-grain, hauled with so much trouble and expense, 
 lie low through the summer, under the roots, but 
 shoot their vigor up the stem to the very tasselled 
 top ! Let no drouth come before mid- August, and 
 then corn will laugh at it, and shake its jolly head 
 in defiance. Shall I insert along the rows a few of 
 those round-bellied pumpkins, the genuine, old- 
 fashioned Yankee pumpkins ? Some say not, and 
 some say, do. I hesitate. Ought the same soil 
 to feed two crops at the same time ? And yet, how 
 quaint and pleasant, in autumn, as the blades of 
 corn grow russet, are the yellow orbs that shine out ! 
 What instant thoughts do they suggest to the passer 
 by of pumpkin-pies, of Thanksgiving days, of old New 
 England homes ! But I must close, and it shall be 
 with a story. 
 
 Good old Dr. Bigger (we will call him) was a 
 Baptist preacher in Indiana, and never liked to have 
 any one beat him in telling a round, full-proportioned 
 story. A wag seeing him coming down the street, 
 said to his cronies : " Now I mean to stump that old 
 gentleman." So, on his approach, he says : " Doctor, 
 
302 
 
 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 I really wish you had seen a piece of land I have 
 on White River. I planted corn and pumpkins on 
 five acres, and when I cut off the corn, the pumpkins 
 were so thick along the ground, that I could step 
 from one to another across the whole field ! " The 
 Doctor, nothing loath, drew up, and, eying him a 
 moment, broke forth : " Why, sir, that was very well, 
 but / had a ten-acre field this fall on which the 
 pumpkins lay so close to each other that when I 
 stood at one corner, and hit one pumpkin with my 
 foot, it jarred the whole ten acres ! " Can anybody 
 around Peekskill raise better pumpkins than that ? 
 
 DKY FISHING. 
 
 DEAR MR. BONNER: Allow me to invite 
 you to go with me a dry-fishing. What is 
 dry-fishing? Not one in a water-tight 
 boat ; nor on high-bank streams ; nor on 
 white, dry gravel along the edges of pools. I prac 
 tise it in this wise. If you will come with me, you 
 shall have your share. Let us go into Conroy s. 
 Now don t strike out that name for fear the LEDGER 
 will be thought advertising his establishment. I wish 
 the name to stand. I repeat it, for I have many asso 
 ciations of pleasant hours there. Come, then, with 
 me to Conroy s. A modest front! Only a net, a 
 decoy duck, a few cane-poles, and some other fishing- 
 stuff, to hint to you that April has come, and that 
 every honest man is expected to do his duty. Enter. 
 
DRY FISHING. 803 
 
 Behold a long room, stocked on either side with 
 things innumerable, needless and necessary for the 
 practice of the royal art ! On the right stand rows 
 of trouting-rods, the best in their cases with the lower 
 end of the cloth rolled up, like a boy s trousers in 
 summer, revealing the polished brass or German-sil 
 ver ferules and joints. Ah, what do you see ? Only 
 those cloth cases, and the half-concealed trouting- 
 rods ? But I see more. I see a boy, fresh, ruddy, 
 unperverted, brave-hearted. If rude, only so from 
 a frank, honest way of forethinking nothing for de 
 ceit. Him the benign father has promised on his 
 thirteenth birthday a real Conroy s rod. He has 
 dreamed of it. At length the day comes. It is his. 
 The reel, the silk line, the fine leading lines, the 
 hooks, the cunning flies, the basket, all are his ! See 
 the lad walk out into the street. Nobody can give 
 him anything now ! What are princes ? Who are 
 kings ? Boys, undoubtedly. They are the only 
 royal persons. Kings in empire, all the air and all 
 the earth are theirs for enjoying ! Kings without 
 crowns or cares, they ! He walks the street home 
 ward, pitying beggar-boys that have no fathers to 
 give them fishing-rods ! He pities merchants and 
 bankers that, having money, lack sense to buy rods 
 and lines ! He walks into the house before the ad 
 miring family, to display his treasures ! I see him 
 in the country. It is scarce four in the morning, 
 but he is up. The east is beginning ta turn white 
 and red. He is off for the brook. It comes down 
 from the far hills, and winds its way silently with 
 many a twist and turn in the meadows. Ah, glori 
 ous morning on the meadows ! Sleep on, lazy folks 
 
304 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 yet in bed ; God reserves these royalties of toe morn 
 ing for honest work-folk that rise early, for birds that 
 never sing as they do before sunrise, and for bold, 
 truth-loving boys, that forswear sleep and forget food, 
 that they may wind through these meadows in the 
 light of sunrise ! The rod is put together, the reel 
 in place, the long line flashes in the air like a spider s 
 thread, the daintiest bit of a fly at the end of it, por 
 tends mischief. My dear boy, tread softly. The 
 very weight of your free foot will impart a jar to the 
 earth that trout understand. The wise ones are 
 always large and fat and shy. Give the grass a pres 
 sure, but not a stroke with your foot. There. See 
 the light flash in that water at the turn. Something 
 is tickling it, for see the ripples that smile over its 
 face. . Then the boy makes his first cast. He poises 
 himself. Measures the distance. Dexterously swing 
 ing the long lash, he puts the fly pat upon the very 
 spot. Another ripple flashes up. Our boy slings 
 back the line, with a bright fellow shining and shiv 
 ering through air, and flung a dozen rods behind 
 him, where he flounces and squirms, vainly endeav 
 oring to swim in the wet grass ! Excuse the over- 
 eager twitch. The boy is nervous yet. He will 
 sober down to his work, for lie must fish a full two 
 hours here, clear up to that bridge, up past that 
 gaunt tree that is dead all but one branch, which 
 holds a few leaves in its hands like a pocket-hand 
 kerchief, and up to the alder-thicket. By that time 
 his basket will be full and his stomach empty, of 
 which facts he will be more and more conscious at 
 every step as he goes home. But who comes ? The 
 sun is driving its flocks up the mountain-side, which 
 
DRY FISHING. 305 
 
 we should take to be mists, did we not know that 
 those hills are the sun-pastures for aerial breeds of 
 unsheared sheep, that feed of nights and are driven 
 home of days ! But come back, Mr. Bormer, to the 
 store. In this glass case see the nameless traps and 
 fixings for all manner of uses ! Here are flasks, 
 leather-covered. I never could imagine why it was 
 necessary to cover flasks so elaborately for the pur 
 pose of carrying milk. Do you suppose that water 
 is cooler or milk sweeter for it ! But here, too, are 
 eating arrangements for picnics, drinking-cups, and 
 all manner of things that lift up before our eyes the 
 vision of summer woods, of bonnets laid off, of merry, 
 laughing people, among rocks and trees, by the side 
 of a clear, bubbling spring, where youth and beauty 
 spend a joyous hour ! 
 
 Those spear-heads, too, fish-spears. Did you ever 
 go a suckering at night, Mr. Bonner? Then you 
 have something good before you yet. We will have 
 a burning torch in one hand, our spear in the other, 
 and enter on a good wide, but not too deep river, 
 about eight or nine at night. Begin below, and work 
 your way up. You are dressed for wetting. Now 
 step cautiously along, searching by your light for 
 fish, which you shall see soon moving as in a dream, 
 down below the water, along the stones, or pausing 
 upon a few gravel spots, their mouths playing with 
 a sucking motion, as if the whole stream were their 
 mother, and they were feeding at the breast. These 
 are true philosophers! How coolly they take life. 
 No newspapers disturb their tranquillity. They sow 
 not, nor reap. Plough and sickle are unknown below 
 the water. No washing-days have they, nor hanging 
 
306 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 out of clothes to dry ! No dust in their eyes, unless 
 some impertinent mill lets sawdust into the stream ! 
 No insects buzz about them, neither do flies nor mos- 
 quitos annoy their sleep. Their beds are always 
 ready, their raiment is always clean without washing, 
 they spread no table and wash up no dishes. Combs 
 are a superfluity. Books are never dry down where 
 the fish live ! Happy people ! Your caudal fin is 
 better than Ericsson s propeller up stream, and down 
 stream the river itself bears you without toil. If I were 
 a fish, I think I should take up a travelling business. 
 But we must attend to duty. There is a call for that 
 fish right under you ! With a dull grating sound, 
 down comes your transfixing spear, and he is fast in 
 the middle, and very lively at both ends. Invert 
 your spear. Basket him. And as you look up at the 
 lifted spear, see the overhanging trees above you. 
 No man knows what fairy trees are, until he has stood 
 a,t night underneath them, with a strong light cast up 
 into them from below. Stand a moment. There 
 are oaks and chestnuts, vast and wide outstretching. 
 Their roots drink here a full supply. Are not these 
 fairy bowers ? A breath of wind moves the leaves. 
 They dance in the green twilight, up there, like 
 sylphs. A moving leaf lets through a star, and 
 another, as if diamonds hung in the tree. Out on 
 either bank the air is dark. The stream gurgles and 
 plashes about your feet. The torchlit tree overhead, 
 the somnolent twilights down under water, all be 
 witch you from your work, and set you a fishing 
 for other things than suckers. Your companions are 
 shouting for you. No such romance detains them. 
 They have caught ten fish to your one. But will 
 
APPLE-TREES IN LOVE. 307 
 
 your basket reveal all that you have caught? But, 
 Mr. Bonner, I put my hand on your shoulder and 
 give you a shake. See. We have not been out of 
 the store at all. This has all been Dry Fishing! 
 There is much more besides. There are shark-hooks, 
 there are sea-gaffs, there are nets, all manner of 
 lines, of cords. I could take you a Dry Fishing 
 to Newfoundland Banks, away up to Labrador, or 
 on the Thousand Islands, or the St. Lawrence, or 
 along the weirs and herring of Eastport and Lubeck. 
 But I forbear, lest some say that, if dry fishing is no 
 better than dry writing, the less there is of it the 
 better! 
 
 APPLE-TREES IN LOVE. 
 
 makes no difference that you have seen 
 forty or fifty springs ; each one is as new, 
 every process as fresh, and the charm as 
 fascinating as if you had never witnessed a 
 single one. Nature works the same things without 
 seeming repetition. There, for instance, is the apple- 
 tree. Every year since our boyhood it has been 
 doing the same thing; standing low to the ground, 
 with a round and homely head, without an element 
 of grandeur or poetry, except once a year. In the 
 month of May, apple-trees go a courting. Love is 
 evermore father of poetry. And the month of May 
 finds the orchard no longer a plain, sober, business 
 affair, but the gayest and most radiant frolicker of the 
 year. We have seen human creatures whose ordinary 
 
308 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 life was dutiful and prosaic. But when some extraor 
 dinary excitement of grief, or, more likely, of deep 
 love, had thoroughly mastered them, they broke forth 
 into a richness of feeling, an inspiration of sentiment, 
 that mounted up into the very kingdom of beauty, 
 and for the transient hour they glowed with the very 
 elements of poetry. And so to us seems an apple- 
 tree. From June to May, it is a homely, duty-per 
 forming, sober, matter-of-fact tree. But May seems 
 to stir up a love heat in its veins. The old round- 
 topped, crooked-tr unked, and ungainly-bough ed fel 
 low drops all world-ways, and takes to itself a new 
 idea of life. Those little stubbed spurs, that, all the 
 year, had seemed like rheumatic fingers, or thumbs 
 and fingers stiffened and stubbed by work, now are 
 transformed. Forth put they a little head of buds, 
 which a few rains and days of encouraging warmth 
 solicit to a cluster of blossoms. At first rosy and 
 pink, then opening purely white. And now, where 
 is your old homely tree ? All its crookedness is hid 
 den by the sheets of blossoms. The whole top is 
 changed to a royal dome. The literal, fruit-bearing 
 tree is transfigured, and glows with raiment whiter 
 and purer than any white linen. It is a marvel and a 
 glory ! What if you have seen it before, ten thousand 
 times over ? An apple-tree in full blossom is like a 
 message, sent fresh from heaven to earth, of purity 
 and beauty ! We walk around it reverently and ad 
 miringly. We are never tired of looking at its profu 
 sion. Homely as it ordinarily is, yet now it speaks of 
 the munificence of God better than any other tree. 
 The oak proclaims strength and rugged simplicity. 
 The hickory grown in open fields speaks a language 
 
APPLE-TREES IN LOVE. 309 
 
 of gentility. The pine is a solitary, stately fellow. 
 Even in forests, each tree seems alone, and has a sad, 
 Castilian-like pride. The elm is a prince. Grace and 
 glory are upon its head. In our Northern fields it has 
 no peer. But none of these speak such thoughts of 
 abundance, such prodigal and munificent richness, 
 such lavish, unsparing generosity, as this same plain 
 and homely apple-tree. The very glory of God seems 
 resting upon it! It is a little inverted hemisphere, 
 like that above it, and it daily mimics with bud and 
 bloom the stars that nightly blossom out into the dark 
 ness above it. Though its hour of glory is short, into 
 it is concentrated a magnificence which puts all the 
 more stately trees into the background ! If men will 
 not admire, insects and birds will ! 
 
 There, on the very topmost twig, that rises and falls 
 with willowy motion, sits that ridiculous but sweet- 
 singing bobolink, singing, as a Roman-candle fizzes, 
 showers of sparkling notes. If you stand at noon 
 under the tree, you are in a very bee-hive. The tree 
 is musical. The blossoms seem, for a wonder, to have 
 a voice ! The odor is not a rank atmosphere of sweet. 
 Like the cups from which it is poured, it is delicate 
 and modest. You feel as if there were a timidity in 
 it, that asked your sympathy and yielded to solicita 
 tion. You do not take it whether you will or not, 
 but, though it is abundant, you follow it rather than 
 find it. 
 
 Is not this gentle reserve, that yields to real admi 
 ration, but hovers aloof from coarse or cold indiffer 
 ence, a beautiful trait in woman or apple-tree ? 
 
 But was there ever such a spring ? Did orchards 
 ever before praise God with such choral colors ? The 
 
310 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 whole landscape is aglow with orchard-radiance. The 
 hill-sides, the valleys, the fields, are full of blossoming 
 trees. The pear and cherry have shed their blossoms. 
 The ground is white as snow with their flakes. But 
 it is the high noon just now, on this eighteenth day 
 of May, with the apple-trees ! Let other trees boast 
 their superiority in other months. But in the month 
 of May, the very flower-month of the year, the crown 
 and glory of all is the apple-tree ! 
 
 Therefore, in my calendar, hereafter, I do ordain 
 that the name of this month be changed. Instead of 
 May, let it henceforth be called in my kingdom, " TJie 
 Month of the Apple-Blossom." 
 
 GENIUS AND INDUSTRY. 
 
 NDUSTRY is a substitute for genius. Where 
 one or more faculties exist in the highest 
 state of development and activity, as the 
 faculty of music in Mozart, invention in 
 Fulton, ideality in Milton, we call the possessor 
 a genius. But a genius is usually understood to be 
 a creature of such rare facility of mind, that he can 
 do anything without labor. According to the popu 
 lar notion, he learns without study, and knows with 
 out learning. He is eloquent, without preparation ; 
 exact, without calculation ; and profound, without 
 reflection. While ordinary men toil for knowledge 
 by reading, by comparison, and by minute research, 
 a genius is supposed to receive it as the mind re- 
 
GENIUS AND INDUSTRY. 311 
 
 ceives dreams. His mind is like a vast cathedral, 
 through whose colored windows the sunlight streams, 
 painting the aisles with the varied colors of brilliant 
 pictures. Such minds may exist. 
 
 So far as I have observed the species, they abound 
 in academies, colleges, and Thespian societies ; in 
 village debating-clubs, in coteries of young artists, 
 and among young professional aspirants. They are 
 to be known by a reserved air, excessive sensitive 
 ness, and utter indolence ; by very long hair, and 
 very open shirt-collars ; by the reading of much 
 wretched poetry, and the writing of much yet more 
 wretched ; by being very conceited, very affected, 
 very disagreeable, and very useless: beings whom 
 no man wants for friend, pupil, or companion. 
 
 The occupations of the great man and of the com 
 mon man are necessarily, for the most part, the 
 same ; for the business of life is made up of minute 
 affairs, requiring only judgment and diligence. A 
 high order of intellect is required for the discovery 
 and defence of truth ; but this is an unfrequent task. 
 Where the ordinary wants of life once require rec 
 ondite principles, they will need the application of 
 familiar truths a thousand times. Those who en 
 large the bounds of knowledge must push out with 
 bold adventure beyond the common walks of men. 
 But only few pioneers are needed for the largest 
 armies, and a few profound men in each occupation 
 may herald the advance of all the business of society. 
 The vast bulk of men are required to discharge the 
 homely duties of life ; and they have less need of 
 genius than of intellectual industry and patient en 
 terprise. Young men should observe that those who 
 
312 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 take the honors and emoluments of mechanical crafts, 
 of commerce, and of professional life, are rather dis 
 tinguished for a sound judgment and a close appli 
 cation, than for a brilliant genius. In the ordinary 
 business of life, industry can do anything which 
 genius can do, and very many things which it can 
 not. Genius is usually impatient of application, irri 
 table, scornful of men s dulness, squeamish at petty 
 disgusts ; it loves a conspicuous place, a short 
 work, and a large reward ; it loathes the sweat of 
 toil, the vexations of life, and the dull burden of 
 care. 
 
 Industry has a firmer muscle, is less annoyed by 
 delays and repulses, and, like water, bends itself to 
 the shape of the soil over which it flows ; and if 
 checked, will not rest, but accumulates, and mines 
 a passage beneath, or seeks a side-race, or rises above 
 and overflows the obstruction. What genius per 
 forms at one impulse, industry gains by a succession 
 of blows. In ordinary matters, they differ only in 
 rapidity of execution, and are upon one level before 
 men, who see the result, but not the process. It is 
 admirable to know that those things which in skill, 
 in art, and in learning the world has been unwilling 
 to let die, have not only been the conceptions of 
 genius, but the products of toil. The masterpieces 
 of antiquity, as well in literature as in art, are known 
 to have received their extreme finish from an almost 
 incredible continuance of labor upon them. I do 
 not remember a book in all the departments of learn 
 ing, nor a scrap in literature, nor a work in all the 
 schools of art, from which its author has derived a 
 permanent renown, that is not known to have been 
 
NEW CLOTHES. 313 
 
 long and patiently elaborated. Genius needs indus 
 try, as much as industry needs genius. If only Mil 
 ton s imagination could have conceived his visions, 
 his consummate industry only could have carved the 
 immortal lines which enshrine them. If only New 
 ton s mind could reach out to the secrets of Nature, 
 even his could only do it by the homeliest toil. The 
 works of Bacon are not midsummer-night dreams, 
 but, like coral islands, they have risen from the 
 depths of truth, and formed their broad surfaces 
 above the ocean by the minutest accretions of perse 
 vering labor. The conceptions of Michael Angelo s 
 genius would have perished like a night s fantasy, 
 had not his industry given them permanence. 
 
 NEW CLOTHES. 
 
 RE not clothes an evidence of sin, and a pen 
 alty therefor ? When one considers the 
 care, labor, mental trouble, and various de 
 grees of discipline connected with clothing, 
 it seems strange that it should not have been arranged 
 for men as for birds and animals. What a large part 
 of human industry is employed in the manufacture of 
 fabrics ; how great the number of persons who spend 
 their lives in cutting, fitting, sewing, and otherwise 
 preparing dress ! Then, too, the time which every 
 one of us must consume in thinking of dress ; select 
 ing and arranging; and the daily consumption of 
 time in robing and disrobing ! All this care and ex- 
 
 14 
 
314 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 pense is spared to birds and beasts. It is said that 
 they toil not, neither do they spin ! So neither do 
 they weave, cut, or sew! They have no buttons to 
 put on, or grumble about when they come off! 
 
 There are my ducks : they have the most compact 
 dressing-case ever invented. Do they wish to eat, 
 the bill is employed ; do they wish to carve and cut 
 their food, the bill is case-knife, or carving-knife, 
 and fork to boot ! Do they wish to dress cloth, the 
 bill is better than teasels are ! Would they brush, 
 their coat and pantaloons, behold ! the bill is brush 
 too. Would they prepare themselves with a mack 
 intosh, or india-rubber garment, against water and 
 weather, the bill goes to work, and, from a little 
 private arrangement of their own, extracts the wet- 
 repelling oil, and lays it on evenly all over their coat. 
 Would they brush their hair, polish their boots, 
 again comes this facile instrument-of-all-work, the 
 bill, and dusts the one and rubs down the other. 
 Then, with inimitable simplicity, this important mem 
 ber turns to the dinner, and becomes, indeed, a bill of 
 fare and food. How much would human life be sim 
 plified by some such arrangement ! 
 
 There, too, is my friend the bobolink ! He steps 
 off his perch in the morning, finds a wash-basin in the 
 dew on a head of clover, and makes his toilet with 
 flowers for a looking-glass. He sings awhile, brushes 
 his hair, sings again, takes a bite of breakfast, and 
 eats, sings, and brushes, without fastidious suggestions 
 of a ridiculous propriety. 
 
 My cows, too, have a very economical method of 
 arranging their wardrobe. It is a wonderful conven 
 ience to have your clothes grow on you. In fact, a 
 
NEW CLOTHES. 315 
 
 cow is preparing a coat and vest in the mere act of 
 eating ! Since hair and skin are formed from secre 
 tions, and these are supplied to the blood by digestion 
 of food, the stomach turns out to be a great cloth 
 manufactory. And while a cow, lying down at even 
 ing under a tree, seems the very picture of quiet, 
 chewing her cud with half-shut eyes, she is, in fact, 
 getting ready her clothes ! 
 
 Only man is doomed to spend a large portion of his 
 time in providing the materials and making prepara 
 tion of his clothes. How odd it would seem to see a 
 robin pull off its feather coat at night, and prepare for 
 retiring ! 
 
 How much stranger still, if respectable men had 
 their clothes formed upon them ! and vests, panta 
 loons, coats, secreted from their food! If a button 
 flew off, lo, a button germ would at once begin to 
 swell and grow ! If a seam ripped, or some unlucky 
 contact tore a hole, the parts would throw out new 
 matter for repairs, and bridge over the gulf. Alas ! 
 it is vain to repine or speculate upon the probable 
 convenience of a different arrangement. Here we 
 are, just as we are ! And sheep and flax and cotton 
 must give us staple ; we must dye, spin, and weave ; 
 measure and cut, fit and sew, put on and wear out, 
 cast off and renew, to the end of the world. But one 
 thing ought to be done. Every one who has made 
 luxury a study, knows that the worst period of dress 
 is when it is new. A new hat creases and hurts your 
 head. A new boot fevers your foot. And though 
 new clothes may fit you like a skin, yet because they 
 are new, you are conscious of them. You are afraid 
 to sit down then, lest the new clothes should be soiled. 
 
316 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Your coat must not be rubbed. At every step life has 
 to serve your new clothes. This may do for Sunday. 
 The greater leisure of that day gives unoccupied 
 minds a welcome business in taking care of their 
 clothes. And so we see men animating the centre of 
 a well-arranged suit of clothes, and carrying them, 
 with great care and painstaking, so that they are ex 
 hibited to the fairest advantage ! 
 
 But to those who are a little nervous this first ser 
 vice in behalf of new clothes is annoying. We are 
 never really happy till new clothes are broken in. 
 Then we are their master; before, they were ours! 
 Now, would it not be as well to have new clothes old 
 at the start ? Counterfeiters are said to put new bills 
 into their boots and walk upon them, to give that worn 
 and crumpled look that shall resemble well-circulated, 
 lawful bills. Why should we not have clothes crum 
 pled a little, and worn for us, as a part of their prep 
 aration ? In short, as we have oxen trained before we 
 buy them ; as we have horses broken and drilled, so 
 clothes ought to be broken in. Then we should have 
 the luxury of an old coat, from the beginning ! Then 
 boots and shoes would embrace our feet, not as stran 
 gers, with cold formalities, but with that negligent 
 ease of care which belongs to established friendships. 
 But I barely make the suggestion. To others must 
 be left the carrying out of a thing so important ! 
 
WORMS. 317 
 
 WORMS. 
 
 YEAR with but eleven months must be 
 lame. Yet Brooklyn has but eleven in her 
 calendar. June is lost out. Eaten up! 
 Worm-eaten ! The fairest month of the 
 year is June. Summer has not dried her soil, nor 
 scorched the grass or leaves. They are in the earli 
 est growth, fresh, plump, and succulent. The air 
 is tempered between extremes. It is the rose month, 
 the lily month, the month of early flowers. And yet 
 June is lost to us by the irruption and devastations 
 of worms. It ought to be named the Vermicular 
 month ! The trees are stripped of their leaves, the 
 air is full of webs, the pavement is covered witli 
 crushed or crawling worms, and, floating upon their 
 silvery threads, worms so fill the space between trees 
 and sidewalk, that one cannot pass under without 
 carrying with him a retinue of worms ! The air is 
 full of their odor, the walks are slippery with them. 
 It is amusing to witness the various methods of 
 locomotion and escape practised by those who are not 
 yet hardened to this warfare. Ladies may be seen 
 walking in the middle of the streets, or walking a 
 zigzag course, now poking their parasols at some 
 invisible enemy in the air, or dodging and winding 
 around hither and thither ; stopping occasionally to 
 take account of stock and deposit superfluous addi 
 tions to the wardrobe. Some, more nervous, on being 
 enwebbed under some tree, utter gentle shrieks, and 
 we have seen not a few turn back, and make a cir- 
 
318 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 cuit of several blocks, rather than face these pen 
 dants of the trees! See that fair lady advancing 
 serene and secure. With an earnest look she sud 
 denly stops, glides to the right, only to recede yet 
 more quickly. But forward, backward, right or left, 
 up or down, it is all the same. The tree is a vast 
 tent, and once beneath it, it matters little which 
 course you take ! 
 
 Individually, a worm is insignificant. But col 
 lectively, they defy a whole city. They are easily 
 crushed, undefended, with no power of escape, uni 
 versally detested, and yet they are invincible, and 
 man, if not crushed, is defeated before the worm. 
 
 The greatest forces are made up of units of weak 
 ness. An engineer can pierce and tunnel solid moun 
 tains, build roads on the precipitous sides of cliffs, 
 bridge floods, and rear up against the very ocean 
 barriers which defy tide and storm. But a locust, 
 a rat, a worm, an insect, simply by fecundity, is more 
 powerful against skill, science, and every enginery, 
 than the lightning or the floods of the sea. The 
 wire-worm takes possession of the fields, and the 
 farmer is in his power. The fly attacks the wheat, 
 and no force can hinder his devastation. Your 
 plum-trees may be planted around your house, and 
 within reach of daily observation and protection, and 
 yet, in spite of every precaution, the insignificant 
 brown-coated Curculio will use every green plum for 
 a nest for his baby-bugs, and then kick them off the 
 tree before your angry eyes. 
 
 The Oriental hosts of Locusts are famous in his 
 tory and in literature. Indeed, some of the most 
 sublime passages of the prophets in the sacred Scrip- 
 
WORMS. 319 
 
 tures are those which describe the coming, progress, 
 and desolation of locust swarms. A single example 
 shall show. It is from Joel : 
 
 " A day of darkness and of gloominess, a day of 
 clouds and of thick darkness, as the morning spread 
 upon the mountains : a great people and a strong ; 
 there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be 
 any more after it, even to the years of many genera 
 tions. A fire devoureth before them ; and behind 
 them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden of 
 Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wil 
 derness ; yea, and nothing shall escape them. The 
 appearance of them is as the appearance of horses ; 
 and as horsemen, so shall they run. Like the noise 
 of chariots on the tops of mountains shall they leap, 
 like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the 
 stubble, as a strong people set in battle array. Be 
 fore their face the people shall be much pained : all 
 faces shall gather blackness. They shall run like 
 mighty men ; they shall climb the Vail like men of 
 war; and they shall march every one 011 his ways, 
 and they shall not break their ranks ; neither shall 
 one thrust another : they shall walk every one in 
 his path; and when they fall upon the sword, they 
 shall not be wounded. They shall run to and fro in 
 the city ; they shall run upon the wall, they shall 
 climb up upon the houses ; they shall enter in at 
 the windows like a thief. The earth shall quake 
 before them ; the heavens shall tremble ; the sun 
 and the moon shall be dark, and the stars shall with 
 draw their shining : and the Lord shall utter his voice 
 before his army ; for his camp is very great ; for he 
 is strong that executeth his word ; for the day of 
 
320 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 the Lord is great and very terrible ; and who can 
 abide it?" 
 
 But to return to the beginning of these remarks, 
 it is not all, and altogether an annoyance. There 
 is an element of the ludicrous attached to this annual 
 incursion of worms. Every man s first duty on com 
 ing into the house is to be picked. Among the kind 
 offices of the church, the assembly room, is that of 
 devermicularization. 
 
 Unconscious beauty sits tranquil, while a vast 
 worm is looping itself on the bonnet, another is navi 
 gating the shores of the lace collar, and several are 
 apparently following" the steps of illustrious search 
 ers for the poles. 
 
 On the whole, children set the best example. As 
 a fair young mother was walking the other morning, 
 she heard her little girl, not old enough to speak 
 plainly, expressing her trouble : " I have lost my 
 worm." She carried one in her hand as a pet, and 
 mourned its loss. 
 
 If we were educated to look upon things with eyet 
 of philosophy, how much annoyance we might escape ! 
 Is a gas-pipe repairing in the street ? So soon as we 
 know that the insufferable stench is sulphuretted 
 hydrogen, it has a scientific smell much more endur 
 able. If one will resolve noisome elements and dis 
 gustful odors into some chemical form, and regard 
 them in their relations to the great economics of 
 nature, it will aid their patience. 
 
 Nevertheless, after considering worms in the light 
 of entomology, of benevolence, of utility, together 
 with all manner of illustrations from literature and 
 history, we are constrained to admit that we are so 
 
PLEASUEE-EIDING. 321 
 
 far uneducated as to regard their presence with some 
 displacency, and to contemplate the early completion 
 of their summer pilgrimage with an entire resigna 
 tion. Meantime, our blessings on the ailan thus- tree ! 
 Let no man revile its odor, next month, without 
 remembering that it was a bulwark against worms. 
 Nothing can eat ailanthus, nothing, we mean, ex 
 cept a well-practised tobacco-chewer. He could eat 
 anything. 
 
 PLEASURE-RIDING. 
 
 T is astonishing how much pains people 
 will take to be not-happy. Great sums of 
 money are spent on disconsolate hearts, 
 empty heads, restless, nervous indolents, 
 to make them happy. But, unless there is the quality 
 of happiness in them, it is as vain as to beat upon lead 
 in hope of music. How much money is lavished upon 
 horses and splendid equipages, and how many sunny 
 hours are witnesses of the unhappy creatures who 
 affect happiness in their ostentatious parade ! If the 
 heart be merry, it bubbles up and overflows with en 
 joyment without an effort. Did you ever take notice 
 that unarranged and- unexpected rides, uncouth and 
 even ridiculous, are productive of more real enjoy 
 ment than the best that are sought and expected ? 
 
 Fix up your boys, and get out your best carriage, 
 and take a regular ride, and ten to one next time you 
 offer the chance they will say no. But when did a 
 boy ever refuse a ride in an ox-cart? When did a 
 
 14* u 
 
322 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 boy ever decline a ride to mill, on creaking cart, but 
 above all, astride the plump bags of grain on horse 
 back? Away with your fine turn-outs for sensible 
 boys ! A lumber-wagon, an old cart, a stone dray, 
 are better than any chariot. If a big brother or a 
 kind " hired man " will give the boys a turn in a 
 wheelbarrow, that will be superlative. There is an 
 indescribable relish, too, in a pair of wheels, with two 
 boys hitched on before, and one upon the bare axle- 
 tree, occupied alternately in tumbling off and getting 
 on. But who shall tell or imagine the satisfaction of 
 riding upon a jack or jenny ? It is plain that these 
 creatures were created with special reference to boys 
 wants. They are tough, insensitive to the whip, self- 
 opinionated, and in no danger whatever of being 
 abused ; having a way of using their heels and mouth 
 that promotes humanity among boys. If the boys do 
 not enjoy the exercise, every spectator does. The 
 jenny on our premises is something larger than a rat, 
 and of the same color. She goes where she has a 
 mind to, stops when she pleases, throws the boys off 
 when she is tired of them, turns around when they 
 forbid, starts when they say, "Whoa!" and stops when 
 they say, " Go long !" A whip seems agreeable to her 
 hide, rather than otherwise. She is so short that a 
 moderate boy has to hold up his feet in riding ; and 
 of course, in falling off, he has not so far to go as if 
 on his own feet. It is amusing to see what an amount 
 of work can be got out of a boy, for nothing, which 
 would be considered a great hardship if applied to 
 good uses. All the toil of riding Jenny applied to 
 the garden would make almost a man s work for the 
 day ! 
 
PLEASURE-RIDING. 323 
 
 But we have reserved for the last the grand, tri 
 umphal ride ! When the cart has been stacked with 
 sheaves, or loaded with hay, and towers high in the 
 air, then let the importunate boy be lifted to its top, 
 and come home embosomed in clover and fragrant 
 hay ! No king has such triumphant entrances into 
 rejoicing cities as boys have into barns, upon the 
 broad backs of hay-carts ! It makes one quite melan 
 choly to see how much money is spent upon unhappy 
 people to make them discontented ! Strip off their 
 gentility, send them into the country, give them a 
 plain cart, an ox-sled, or a harvest-wagon, and they 
 will have sensations of pleasure long strangers to 
 them ! Ah, Mr. Bonner, vainly do you drive forth 
 behind the magnificent Lantern and mate, flying 
 through the air as if two stars whisked you at astro 
 nomical velocities! The thing may be well enough 
 in its .way. But when you have tired of this, I have 
 in reserve for you a crowning joy ! You shall mount 
 my hay-cart ; and drawn by my oxen, upon a 
 springing load, softer than stuffed cushion or cunning 
 springs, more fragrant than the gardens of the Orient, 
 you shall be seen with radiant face, coming up the 
 field, for once a perfectly happy man ! 
 
24 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 SUMMER RAIN. 
 
 EN begin to look at the signs of weather. 
 It is long since much rain fell. The ground 
 is a little dry, the road is a good deal dusty. 
 The garden bakes. Transplanted trees are 
 thirsty. Wheels are shrinking and tires are looking 
 dangerous. Men speculate on the clouds ; they begin 
 to calculate how long it will be, if no rain falls, before 
 the potatoes will suffer ; the oats, the corn, the grass, 
 everything ! To be sure, nothing is yet suffering ; 
 but then 
 
 Rain, rain, rain! All day, all night steady rain 
 ing. Will it never stop ? The hay is out, and spoil 
 ing. The rain washes the garden. The ground is 
 full. All things have drunk their fill. The springs 
 revive, the meadows are wet; the rivers run dis 
 colored with soil from every hill. Smoking cattle 
 reek under the sheds. Hens, and fowl in general, 
 shelter and plume. The sky is leaden. The clouds 
 are full yet. The long fleece covers the mountains. 
 The hills are capped in white. The air is full of 
 moisture. Rain, rain, rain ! The wind roars down 
 the chimney. The birds are silent. No insects chirp. 
 Closets smell mouldy. The barometer is dogged. 
 We thump it, but it will not get up. It seems to 
 have an understanding with the weather. The trees 
 drip, shoes are muddy, carriage and wagon are 
 splashed with dirt. Paths are soft. So it is. When 
 it is clear we want rain, and when it rains we wish it 
 would shine. But, after all, how lucky for grumblers 
 
SUMMER RAIN. 325 
 
 that they are not allowed to meddle with the weather, 
 and that it is put above their reach ? What a scram 
 bling, selfish, mischief-making time we should have, 
 if men undertook to parcel out the seasons and the 
 weather according to their several humors or in 
 terests ! 
 
 But if one will but look for enjoyment, how much 
 there is in every change of weather. The formation 
 of clouds, the various signs and signals, the un 
 certain wheeling and marching of the fleecy cohorts, 
 the shades of light and gray in the broken heav 
 ens, all have their pleasure to an observant eye. 
 Then come the wind-gust, the distant, dark cloud, 
 the occasional fiery streak shot down through it, 
 the run and hurry of men whose work may suffer ! 
 Indeed, sir, your humble servant, even, was stirred 
 up on the day after " Fourth of July." The grass 
 in the old orchard was not my best. Indeed, we 
 grumbled at it considerably while it was yet stand 
 ing. But being cut and the rain threatening it, one 
 would have thought it gold, by the nimble way in 
 which we tried to save it! 
 
 Blessed be horse-rakes ! Once half a dozen men, 
 with half a dozen rakes, would have gone whisking 
 up and down, thrusting out and pulling in the long- 
 handled rake, with slow and laborious progress. But 
 no more of that. See friend Turner, mounted on 
 the wheeled horse-rake, riding about as if for pleas 
 ure. Up go the steel teeth and drop their collected 
 load, down go his feet, and the teeth are at work 
 again ; and at every ten or fifteen feet, the winrow 
 forms. It is easy times when men ride and horses 
 rake ! No more hand-rakes, and no more revolving- 
 horse-rakes ! 
 
EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Meanwhile, the clouds come bowling noiselessly 
 through the air, and spit here and there a drop 
 preliminary. But the hay is cocked, the sides dressed 
 down, and all is ready except the hay-covers ! 
 Alas for our negligence ! The manufacturers had 
 offered to send us some for trial, and we had for 
 gotten to say, Send them along! And now, with 
 our hay out and the rain coming, we mourned our 
 carelessness. With good hay-covers, our two dozen 
 little hay-cocks would have been as snug as if in 
 the barn. Well, if one tiling suffers, another gains ! 
 See how the leaves are washed, the grass drinks, corn 
 drinks, the garden drinks, everything drinks. It s 
 our opinion that everything except man is laughing 
 and rejoicing. Trees shake their leaves with a softer 
 sound. Rocks look moist and soft, at least where 
 the moss grows. Even the solitary old pine-tree 
 chords his harp, and sings soft and low melodies with 
 plaintive undulations ! A good summer storm is a 
 rain of riches. If gold and silver rattled down from 
 the clouds, they would hardly enrich the land so 
 much as soft, long rains. Every drop is silver going 
 to the mint. The roots are machinery, and, catching 
 the willing drops, they assay them, refine them, roll 
 them, stamp them, and turn them out coined berries, 
 apples, grains, and grasses ! When the heavens send 
 clouds, and they bank up the horizon, be sure they 
 have hidden gold in them. All the mountains of 
 California are not so rich as are the soft mines of 
 Heaven, that send down treasures upon man without 
 tasking him, and pour riches upon his field without 
 spade or pickaxe, without his search or notice. 
 Well, let it rain, then ! No matter if the journey 
 
MY TWO FRIENDS. 327 
 
 is delayed, the picnic spoiled, the visit adjourned. 
 Blessed be rain and rain in summer! And blessed 
 be He who watereth the earth, and enricheth it for 
 man and beast ! 
 
 MY TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 HAVE two friends whose habits illustrate 
 two opposite principles. Both are ladies. 
 Both have received the advantage of early 
 education, and have moved in good society. 
 The one is of a slender form, elegantly made, of 
 exquisite taste in dress, and with a rare sense of pro 
 priety in all matters. There are few that would 
 venture to wear the articles that she sometimes will, 
 yet with unerringly perfect judgment. It is scarcely 
 right to call it judgment, since that implies a process 
 of deliberation. But in her case it seems rather an 
 intuition. Like a bird, she seems to wear gay plu 
 mage unconsciously ; as if it grew upon her. She is 
 always dignified, and yet leaves the impression of 
 always smiling upon you graciously. This is not that 
 prepared smile of good society which, after a little, 
 leaves a kind of threadbare kindness on the face, a 
 seedy, lustreless smile. It is rather the shining out 
 of unaffected kindness. If she meet you at church, in 
 the street, at a party or concert, or in her own house, 
 you feel that you have been shone upon. 
 
 This does not result from that easy temper that can 
 not help itself, nor from a moral constitution that 
 has feeble discriminations and preferences. On the 
 
328 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 contrary, there are few persons more clear and posi 
 tive in their likes and dislikes, and with better 
 grounds. She is herself a person of truth, of fidelity, 
 of honor. The want of these qualities in others acts 
 upon her as a discord. She is not warped by her 
 general kindliness to compromise her clear percep 
 tion and calm judgment of what is right or wrCng in 
 the slightest degree. She is remarkably considerate, 
 within her own thoughts, of the grounds of conduct 
 and character in others, and is apt to be almost judi 
 cial in her deliberations about them. 
 
 But and here is the element for which I have 
 drawn this outline meeting those whom she does 
 not like, whose conduct she condemns, there is 
 toward them a quiet, cheerful politeness, that conceals 
 her repugnance, that confers happiness, that leaves 
 them quite ignorant of the gravity of her moral dis 
 sent. She seems to say, within herself, and I suspect 
 this is about her own way of reasoning about it, 
 " This person seems to me both wrong and disagree 
 able. But he is a human being. As such I owe a 
 debt of kindness to him. I must not, by word or act, 
 approve the evil. But within that limit I am bound 
 to confer innocent happiness. The law of conscience 
 does not exonerate me from the duties of benevo 
 lence. So long, therefore, as we meet only in gen 
 eral society, and I am not called to sit in judgment, 
 my only business is to treat such a one as if I wished 
 him well, and would contribute my share of making 
 him happy." 
 
 I confess that I see nothing in this that is not just 
 and Christian. It cannot be charged with insincerity. 
 Every one is to feel and express kindness, even when 
 
MY TWO FRIENDS. 329 
 
 exercising the functions of conscience, and much 
 more under circumstances that call for the expres 
 sion of no moral judgments. 
 
 I have another friend. She also has excellent taste. 
 She is wise in selection of colors and in forms. I 
 have never known her to wear a discordant article. 
 And yet, such is the strength of her character and 
 the energy of her nature, that one seldom thinks 
 what she wears. The predominant impression which 
 she leaves upon you is of character, and not of cos 
 tume. You do not remember her presence as of 
 a sweet bird, but rather with that awe which you 
 have while standing before an eagle. You respect 
 her. You might revere her. You would hardly 
 think of offering her help, though you might homage. 
 
 This lady, too, has the most clear and positive 
 opinions about those whom she meets. She likes no 
 one, but loves many. She seldom dislikes any, but 
 she abhors many. The doors of her heart are quite 
 royal. Those who find them open are like a queen s 
 guests, and are entertained with a very sovereignty 
 of kindness. For their sakes upon whom she shines 
 there can be no service too sacrificing, no deeds too 
 onerous, no patience in their troubles too long-con 
 tinuing. 
 
 To others those doors are like the portcullis of a 
 king s castle in time of war. She will have no par 
 ley. They shall not come in. 
 
 There is seldom a doubt in any person s mind as 
 to the ground they stand on. She makes people feel 
 that she does not love them, nor like them, nor even 
 tolerate them. She would not speak to them if she 
 could help it. She has always seemed to me like 
 
330 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 some very noble hills that 1 have seen, whose ap 
 proach on one side is easy, gradual, full of graceful 
 lines, charming shrubs, and fine trees, but, on reach 
 ing the summit, the other side was a perpendicular 
 cliff. For her friends she is a continuous garden, 
 for her not-friends a precipice. 
 
 If she were to be expostulated with upon her reso 
 lute way of meeting disagreeable people, she would 
 probably answer, " I do not think it honest to make 
 people think that I like them when I do not. I can 
 not reconcile it to my conscience, to play a part." 
 Thus it is a duty which she feels bound upon her to 
 let people understand that they are no favorites. 
 
 Is there, then, a judicial duty laid upon us, as 
 members of society, to sit in judgment upon each 
 other, and to execute the sentence of our disappro 
 bation ? May, or may not, a person make those 
 cheerful and happy by personal graciousness whom 
 one for many reasons condemns inwardly ? Where 
 is Addison ? Where is Steele ? Where is Dr. John 
 son? I desire to lay before them this question, 
 Ought not a person s face, like God s sun, to shine 
 kindly upon the just and the unjust ? 
 
EMBODIED JOKES. 331 
 
 EMBODIED JOKES. 
 
 AS not Nature an element of the ludicrous 
 in it? Are there no creations which may 
 be regarded as mere quizzical oddities? 
 What else can you make of the world- 
 renowned Jack? Can any man look into his face 
 without an irresistible temptation to laughter? Was 
 ever anything more expressly made to be grotesque 
 than a toad? What thing of all the barbarous in 
 ventions in Chinese pictures can surpass it in ridic 
 ulousness? Did you ever attentively study toad life 
 and manners ? You might do worse. At evening, 
 when they begin to feel the inspiration of an evening 
 meal, you shall find them awkwardly alert, and very 
 entertaining. Their squat forms and ungainly move 
 ments, the very decorous and earnest sobriety with 
 which they carry themselves, the peculiar wink with 
 which they seem to intimate to you that they are 
 keeping up a good deal more thinking inside than 
 you might suppose, their imperturbable and unex- 
 citable passivity, produce a comical result hardly 
 equalled by any clown. 
 
 The bat is another jest in natural history. Its 
 flight is the only redeeming feature of its ungracious 
 form and manner. Even that has a capriciousness in 
 it that savors of gambolling. Its voice is a squeak, 
 its mouth a burlesque upon humanity. 
 
 The monkey has been set apart for ridiculousness 
 the world over. He is an organized sarcasm upon 
 the human race, with variations multitudinous. 
 
332 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 But among insects, and among beetles especially, 
 are found forms so singular, and manners so queer, 
 that we never pass them without stopping to look ; 
 and we never look without a sense of the ludicrous. 
 
 But who ever saw, on land or in water, a crab, or 
 a lobster, without being struck with their comicality ! 
 If these things address themselves to a feeling of the 
 ludicrous in our minds, is it extravagant to suppose 
 that they sprung from some such thought in the 
 Creative Mind ? It seems no more strange that God 
 should create objects for mirth in the world, than 
 that he should have placed the faculty of mirthful- 
 ness in the human mind. Is any faculty without 
 provision for its enjoyment? Is it not rather to be 
 supposed that, both in the vegetable and the animal 
 kingdom, there are forms and processes which will 
 never be fully appreciated until their relations to 
 the feeling of mirth is recognized ? We do not know 
 that laughing philosophers are desirable : philoso 
 phers who do not know how to laugh are still less 
 likely to be complete. 
 
 It is sometimes thought that there are no qualities 
 of mirthfulness in nature ; that it is purely in the 
 mind of those who imagine it. Doubtless it is the 
 mind that experiences the emotion ; but so it is of 
 color, of form, of grace. And these qualities will 
 abound to those who are sensitive to their presence, 
 and, on the other hand, will seem rare to those less 
 admirably endowed. But no one, on that account, 
 supposes that color is imaginary, that there is no 
 provision for it in nature. And because only the 
 mirthful easily appreciate the ludicrousness of many 
 parts of animated creation, it does not any more fol- 
 
CHANGES. 338 
 
 low that the oddity is subjective, depending merely 
 upon the observer, and not in the designed and real 
 nature of things. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 UR days are a kaleidoscope. Every instant 
 a change takes place in the contents. New 
 harmonies, new contrasts, new combinations 
 of every sort. Nothing ever happens twice 
 alike. The most familiar people stand each moment 
 in some new relation to each other, to their work, to 
 surrounding objects. The most tranquil house, with 
 the most serene inhabitants, living upon the utmost 
 regularity of system, is yet exemplifying infinite diver 
 sities. And much more is the vexed and agitated 
 flow of society but an ever changing, ever new com 
 plexity ! The most familiar scenes are full of novelty 
 to one who has an eye to see it ! 
 
 But we are dozing, stupid, unobserving. We pass 
 along in a waking dream. We look without seeing. 
 We listen without hearing. Birds flit among the 
 trees, a fly lights upon the page before us, and 
 throws his thin shadow over the next word. An 
 other comes to meet him, they meet with an enthu 
 siastic buzz of satisfaction, and whirl off into the air 
 with a delirium of gladness. We only brush at the 
 intruder. The grass is twinkling with innumerous 
 gems of dew. Every motion of your head is a new 
 glory upon its shadow. The wind that just breathes 
 around the corner, and shakes it, seems to come on 
 purpose to show you the wreath of simple beauty ! 
 
334 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 The shadows all day long play at silent games of 
 beauty. Everything is double, if it stands in light. 
 The tree sees an unrevealed and muffled self lying 
 darkly along the ground. The slender stems of flow 
 ers, golden-rod, wayside asters, meadow daisies, and 
 rare lilies (rare and yet abundant, in every level 
 meadow), cast forth a dim and tremulous line of 
 shadow, that lies long all the morning, shortening till 
 noon, and creeping out again from the root all the 
 afternoon, until the sun shoots it as far eastward in 
 the evening as the sun shot it westward in the morn 
 ing. A million shadowy arrows such as these spring 
 from Apollo s golden bow of light at every step. Fly 
 ing in every direction, they cross, interlacing each 
 other in a soft network of dim lines. 
 
 Meanwhile the clouds drop shadow-like anchors, 
 that reach the ground, but will not hold ; every brows 
 ing creature, every flitting bird, every moving team, 
 every unconscious traveller, writes itself along the 
 ground in dim shadow. 
 
 Nor are sounds less numerous, changing, and novel. 
 At no instant, if one gives his mind to it, is there 
 stillness or sameness. As I sit by my window, a door 
 sounds, the gate rattles, a man s foot crackles on the 
 gravel, a fly buzzes round my head, a song-sparrow 
 sings sweet in yonder apple-tree, a whiplash cuts 
 sharply through the air, a boy halloos at the team, 
 another boy turns the rustling paper, and sings a 
 snatch of song over and over with intolerable itera 
 tion, a rooster crows, a bee hums under the win 
 dow, saying grace before proceeding to breakfast. 
 Now comes a lull. I listen for silence. No. A calf 
 calls out for its mother, another answers it. A far-off 
 
CHANGES. 385 
 
 rooster crows, and sets off a dozen more in various 
 directions ! The train roars with softened sound from 
 the distance. New birds are discoursing: a plank 
 falls down with resounding clap. A robin calls out, 
 " What s that ? " The kingbird sings with a jolly 
 noise, that sounds like a rich man shaking his pocket 
 full of silver. The pigs are up and at it. An old 
 hen is reading a barnyard homily to her unobservant 
 attendants. Down goes a load of stones with a mis 
 cellaneous clash and rattle. The barnyard wooden- 
 latched gate has a blunt snap. A chipping-bird flies 
 down to a crumb of bread with a simple troll of ex 
 quisite notes. A wagon rolls along the road. A voice 
 from the hill-side beyond comes soft and mellow hith- 
 erward. Should I write till the sun goes down, at 
 every instant some new or changing sound would be 
 recorded. And yet in the great room of Nature 
 nothing is discordant, if we only are in tune. All 
 harsh and grating noises, all low piping, all crack and 
 crash, all piercing calls or bird warblings, all rustling- 
 sounds of leaves or dress, all slammings, rippings, 
 jinglings, shouts, every plash and creak, are harmoni 
 ous parts of one great orchestra, and when mingled in 
 the multitude, they seem to wear each other smooth, 
 so that the general hum of evening or the sharper 
 sounds of noon fall upon the ear with a sense of har 
 mony ! 
 
 The endless variety and harmony of forms, the 
 inexhaustible wealth of colors, the by-play of animal 
 and insect life, the movements and industries of men, 
 in the midst of this gorgeously decorated earth, these 
 all fill up the tube and make each day but a rolling 
 kaleidoscope, each moment brilliant with some new 
 combination. 
 
336 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 But few witness this perpetual wonder. The world 
 is dull and life is tame to most men. Nothing has 
 merit which does not in some way address the appe 
 tite, the feverish desires. Men are sotted with vul 
 gar business. Nothing seems worthy that has not 
 some relation to them. This egotism punishes it 
 self. It separates between the soul and God s mu 
 nificent provision for its satisfaction. We live in 
 a palace, and call it dull. We have every delight 
 for the senses, and yawn with ennui ! We have 
 myriad servants, each with some minute fidelity, yet 
 we are always unserved ! If one could but hold up 
 the innumerable events of each hour in the golden 
 light, if the world were to them God s book, and 
 each day an opening leaf, and every event a rev 
 elation, no one would need to search for pleasure. 
 To those who have susceptibility, an appreciation of 
 things beautiful simply because they fall from the 
 hand of God, and are significant of his taste or feel 
 ing, there is an unwasting satisfaction, placed beyond 
 the contingencies of human affairs. When I am a 
 bankrupt, and my creditor takes my property, he 
 shall have the house, the ground, the furniture, the 
 things on which men lay tax ; but I shall laugh at 
 him if he thinks he has touched my properties! 
 Above my roof are finer pictures than are under it. 
 In the trees and along the meadows I have winged 
 instruments which a sheriff will hardly catch! Clouds 
 are better property than lies hidden in the veins of 
 the hills over which they cast their solemn shadows ! 
 My fancy is a plough that turns better furrows than 
 the best inventor s, and sows the open soil of air 
 with harvests more abundant than all that store the 
 
DEIVING FAST HORSES FAST. 337 
 
 barns of the world. And these treasures for the 
 finer senses are without cares, without envy, without 
 taxes. Storms do not damage, and fires do not burn 
 them. They never waste, they change only to grow 
 better. They are young with my youth, young in 
 my manhood, and young in age ! 
 
 DRIVING FAST HORSES FAST. 
 
 ]Y DEAR MR. BONNER : You once promised 
 me a ride with your never-to-be-excelled 
 horses, aud to-day is the very day for it. 
 The sky is clear. It is a long while since 
 we have had high, bright, clear days. They have 
 been sad and cloudy. Sometimes snow, sometimes 
 rain, sometimes a miserable compromise between 
 both. But to-day is of one mind, and that a good 
 mind. Nature is in her sweet and grand mood. It 
 is the first day on which she has cared to have it 
 known that her mind was made up to have spring 
 weather. The secret is out now. Snow is melting. 
 I saw grass with fresh growth of green this very 
 morning. No birds yet. But the grass said birds as 
 plainly as if it had spoken English. They cannot be 
 far off. 
 
 Is not this a day for a ride ? No mud yet. The 
 road is hard and moist. Just the kind for a spin. 
 For I do not want any of your lazy, jogging gaits. 1 
 am entirely of your mind, that, if a horse has had 
 swiftness put in him, it is fair to give him a chance 
 
 15 v 
 
338 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 to develop his gifts. Of course there is a bound. 
 Reason in all things. Even in trotting, it is easier 
 and pleasanter for some horses to go twelve miles an 
 hour than for others to go three. They were made 
 so. Does it hurt a swallow to go swifter than an ox ? 
 Why not ? Because he was made so. It is easy to 
 do the thing we were made to do easily. And a good 
 horse was made on purpose to go fast. He does it 
 when wild of his own accord. He does not lose the 
 relish of speed, even when domesticated. 
 
 Take a fine-fed horse, who in harness looks as if 
 he were a pattern of moderation, a very deacon of 
 sobriety, and turn him loose in pasture. Whew, 
 what a change ! He takes one or two steps slowly, 
 just to be sure that you have let go of him, and then 
 with a squeal he lets fly his heels high in the air, till 
 the sun flashes from his polished shoes, and then off 
 he goes, faster and fiercer, clear across the lot, till the 
 fence brings him up. And then, his eye flashing, his 
 mane lifted and swelling, his tail up like a king s 
 sceptre, he snorts a defiance to you from afar, and, 
 with a series of reariugs, running sideways, pawing 
 and plungings, friskings and whirls, he starts again, 
 with immense enjoyment, into another round of run 
 ning. Do you not see that it is more than fun ? It 
 is ecstasy. It is horse rapture ! 
 
 I never see such a spectacle that I am not painfully 
 impressed with the inhumanity of not letting horses 
 run. Fastness is a virtue. Our mistaken moderation 
 is depriving him of it. I drive fast on principle. I 
 do it for the sake of being at one with nature. To 
 drive slow, only and always, is to treat a horse as 
 if he were an ox. You may be slow if you think 
 
DRIVING FAST HORSES FAST. 339 
 
 proper. But your horse should be kept up to nature. 
 He would have had but two legs if it was meant that 
 he should go only on a " go-to-meeting " pace. He 
 \\&sfour legs. Of course he ought to do a great deal 
 with them. 
 
 Now why do I say these things to you? Not to 
 convince you of your duty. But I feared lest, tak 
 ing me out to ride, you would be disposed to think 
 that / had scruples, and would jog along moderately, 
 as if doing me a favor. Not at" all. The wind does 
 not go fast enough to suit me. If I were engineer 
 of a sixty-mile-an-hour express train, I should covet 
 twenty miles an hour more. 
 
 Let the horses be well groomed, well harnessed. 
 Let the wagon be thoroughly looked to, no screw 
 loose, no flaw just ready to betray us. Mount. I am 
 by your side. The whip is not needed. Yet let it 
 stand in its place, the graceful hint of authority in 
 reserve, which is always wholesome to men and 
 horses. 
 
 Now get out of town cautiously. No speed here. 
 This is a place for sobriety, moderation, and propriety 
 in driving. But, once having shaken off the crowd, I 
 give you a look, and disappear instantly in a wild 
 excitement, as if all the trees were crazy, and had 
 started off in a race, as if the fences were chalk-lines, 
 as if the earth and skies were commingled, and every 
 thing were wildly mixed in a supernatural excite 
 ment, neither of earth nor of the skies ! 
 
 The wind has risen since we started. It did not 
 blow at this rate, surely ! These tears are not of sor 
 row. But really this going like a rocket is new to 
 every sense. Do not laugh if I clutch the seat more 
 
340 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 firmly. I am not afraid. It is only excitement. You 
 may be used to this bird s business of flying. But 
 don t draw the rein. I am getting calm. See that 
 play of muscle ! Splendid machinery was put into 
 these horses. Twenty horse-power at least in each ! 
 And how they enjoy it ! No forcing here. They do 
 it to please themselves, and thank you for a chance ! 
 Look at that head ! Those ears speak like a tongue ! 
 The eyes flash with eagerness and will ! Is it three 
 miles ? Impossible ! It is not more than half a mile ! 
 Well, draw up. Let me get off now, and see 
 these br^e creatures. What ! not enough yet ? No 
 painful puffing, no throbbing of the flanks. They 
 step nervously, and champ the bit, and lean to your 
 caresses, as if they said : " All this we have done to 
 please you; now just let us go on to please our 
 selves ! " 
 
 FENCE-CORNERS. 
 
 ]T makes a great difference whether we look 
 at things with an exact business eye, or 
 with the eye of poetry and beauty. If one 
 sees a thistle in his mowing-lot, he runs at 
 it as if it were a venomous animal. But if saun 
 tering through the pastures, and in an appreciative 
 mood he sees a thistle growing strongly where it 
 will harm no one, and will scatter seeds only in the 
 wild field, he begins to note more considerately its 
 vigor, its stateliness, its robust health, and its regal 
 blossom. It is, indeed, the very king of weeds. 
 
FENCE-CORNERS. 841 
 
 And, like true royalty, it is guarded at every branch 
 and every leaf by spines more efficacious in produ 
 cing respect in those approaching it, than marshals 
 wands or guardsmen s halberts. For ourselves, we 
 like a real thistle of the thistliest kind ; none of your 
 fine, lathy Canada-thistles, that grow in flocks, and 
 have fecundity at the top and immortality at the bot 
 tom ; but a real, revising, stalwart, old-fashioned this 
 tle two yards high, and of a spread that gives it some 
 claims as a tree ! 
 
 But all this is mere illustration. We were saying 
 how differently things looked according to the spirit 
 in which we look at them. And we were going to 
 apply this to PENCE-CORNERS, or rather to the wild- 
 weed hedges which form along old stone-walls or 
 crooked rail-fences. 
 
 Now it cannot be denied^that, from the stand-point 
 of clean and thorough farming, such hedges are dis 
 graceful. They represent the carelessness or the 
 indolence of the farmer. But if one will cease to 
 be an agricultural critic, and allow himself some lat 
 itude of charitable complacency, he will find much 
 to admire. Indeed, we may as well own it, we love 
 wild, neglected, rampant-growing weed hedges ! 
 
 One gets tired of too much regularity. Potatoes 
 in rows, cabbages in squat rows, beans in rows, tur 
 nips drilled in rows, corn in rows, orchards in rows, 
 everything in rows one begins to feel the graceless 
 stiffness, and to long for some irregularity and variety. 
 This the eye gets abundantly in the weedy hedge. 
 Here is no prim order. " First come, first served," 
 is the only law here. " Blessed be the strong ! " 
 is the motto of the weed-row. And one will notice 
 
342 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 that nothing in all the fields is apt to be half so 
 robust and healthy as are the heathen plants of the 
 hedge. The plough of the careless farmer has, from 
 year to year, thrown the furrow one way, and mould 
 has collected near the fence. The flying dust, too, 
 has been caught and washed down there. Then every 
 year returns to the ground again the whole summer s 
 deciduous growth, to decay and enrich the soil. Be 
 sides this, birds are not ungrateful for shelter and ber 
 ries, and make their contributions of cheerful guano. 
 And so it comes to pass that the richest part of all 
 the field is its boundary. 
 
 Here, then, we shall find what vegetation can do. 
 Great, rank weeds spread their succulent arms to 
 point in pity at the starveling crops which the lazy 
 farmer is eking out of the starved soil. Just so it is 
 in towns and cities. You shall see mighty natures 
 springing up in the hedgerows of society, and over 
 topping with their vigorous growth all the puny crea 
 tures that are faintly growing in feeble civilization. 
 
 There is a wild liberty, too, in the hedge, that 
 excites pleasure. Here is no master. Everything 
 thrives according to its own nature. No envious 
 hoe decimates, no partial tillage cuts one and culti 
 vates another. Everything is left to show its own 
 force and nature, unhelped and unhindered. This 
 would be distasteful in a whole field where we look 
 for husbandry. But, as a contrast, it is all the more 
 striking in the belt around the edges. 
 
 In this little forest you shall find often the fairest 
 flowers. Here the golden-rod multiplies its roots and 
 sends up its golden-branched tops in graceful profu 
 sion. Asters compete with it. The raspberry curves 
 
FENCE-COKNERS. 343 
 
 over in exquisite lines. And the creeping blackberry 
 yields the most beautiful festoons of white blossoms 
 mixed with exquisite leaves that you shall find in the 
 whole world. The blackberry is a thousand times 
 sweeter when eaten with the eyes, by its blossoms and 
 leaves, than ever afterwards when it yields winy ber 
 ries. Here, too, bindweed, ironweed, unsociable this 
 tles, an occasional hawthorn, tufts of grass like a stack 
 of spears, convolvulus, gold-thread, and I know not 
 how many other graceful or graceless things, tower, 
 or twine, or creep. 
 
 It is the very aviary, too, of the farm. Sparrows 
 love the weedy thicket. Birds hunt through it, build 
 in it, and find it both larder and nursery. Nor are 
 they the only inmates. It is the very Jerusalem of 
 insects. All nimble worms creep about in it. Long- 
 legged spiders meditate profound metaphysics there, 
 and express themselves clearly in cobwebs, and for 
 amusement eat each other up. Crickets in their 
 season abound. Every stone has under it a colony. 
 Mice squeak in their little galleries. Squirrels dance 
 along the top or move in and out of the chinks of the 
 wall. And all manner of things seem to feel that 
 here in this neglected place, where no law rules, no 
 plough comes, no sickle, but only nature rules, there 
 is for them a city of refuge, a dwelling of liberty ! 
 
 Let others pish and pshaw ! We shall still love the 
 weedy hedge along the neglected fence. Nor will we 
 forget, that chance-sown seeds have there brought 
 forth some of the noblest fruits of the orchard and the 
 garden ! Out of the fence-corners of society, too, 
 come often its very noblest men. It is a good soil to 
 grow strong things in ! 
 
844 EYES AND EAKS. 
 
 AGRICULTURAL PAPER. 
 
 R. BONNER: You have sent me, on sev 
 eral occasions, parts of letters, from some 
 of your innumerable subscribers, requesting 
 sometimes one thing and sometimes another. 
 Now, it is a correction of fact; then, a dissent of 
 opinion. The last one, if I rightly remember, thinks 
 that I am just the man to write some interesting arti 
 cles upon agriculture ! Let that discreet and virtuous 
 man, and all who are of his sagacious turn of mind, 
 now follow me ! I shall go forth for my first article. 
 
 With our faces to the north, let us ascend the gen 
 tle acclivity. Pass by the strawberry-bed on the 
 right, the grassy old orchard, with a few venerable 
 remnants of trees, bearing apples in a state of nature, 
 ungrafted, on the left, we come to the stone-wall be 
 yond which lies the field and theme of our first paper 
 on agriculture. And now, before proceeding, let me 
 request you to send this paper to the various agricul 
 tural papers ; to the several colleges in which an agri 
 cultural department is maintained ; to Professor Liebig, 
 Boussingault (if alive), Johnston (who published an 
 admirable volume of lectures on agriculture, without 
 an index, and where, in chase of a fact or statement, 
 a man might as well run through all Oregon after an 
 undescribed man or tree ! Such books are a nuisance 
 and an abomination, wasters of time, provokers of 
 temper, and so wicked ; now please help me over the 
 fence of this bracket into the main-road of my re 
 mark, if you please), and to other eminent dignities 
 
AGRICULTURAL PAPER. 345 
 
 agricultural, of whom my friend Saxton will give you 
 a list. Now, then, for it. My subject is Pumpkins I 
 
 The spelling of this word is various. Ponipion, 
 Pumpkin, Punkin ; Webster first gives Pompion. 
 When I came to this, I had liked to have changed 
 sides, and gone over to the Worcester man on the 
 Dictionary question. For Webster was a Connecticut 
 man, and to spell pumpkin pompion, could be noth 
 ing less than contempt for the usages of the commu 
 nity in which he was brought up. It was an act of 
 orthographical treason Arnoldian. (Arnold, too, was 
 a Connecticut Yankee. The fact is sometimes alleged 
 against the virtuous fame of my birth-State. Just 
 the contrary. Such men lurk in the blood of every 
 State. But not every one, like Connecticut, has mor 
 al health to drive them out of the blood to the skin. 
 The very appearance of a rogue in Connecticut is evi 
 dence of the purity of the blood that rids itself thus 
 of disease.) But that word Pompion. Webster, sly 
 and cautious man, instantly follows up that spelling 
 with the true one, Pumpkin. Have I not, a hun 
 dred times, stood up in the spelling-classes in the vil 
 lage school, where, drawn up in battle, in opposite 
 ranks, sweet girls spelled the boys, and the boys mis 
 spelled the girls, and thundered out the right spelling, 
 p-u-m-p pump ; k-i-n PUN&m ! On looking a sec 
 ond time, I see that Mr. Webster spells pompion with 
 a u, pwmpion. This is an evasion, a disingenuous 
 compromise. If one wishes to say pompion at all, let 
 him say it boldly with full vowels. But to throw out 
 the o, and give it a pumpkin flavor by inserting a 
 softer u is a trick that will not succeed, and ought 
 not. 
 
 15* 
 
346 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 But now notice his definitions. " Pumpion (Dan 
 ish, pompoen ; Swedish, pomp, a gourd). A plant and 
 its fruit of the genus Cucurbita." This is all ! Next, 
 pumpkin is defined " a pompion," and that is every 
 word that Mr. Webster says of this New England 
 institution ! Not a syllable of uses, origin, culture, 
 nature, poetry, history, associations, relations, aspect ; 
 and not one word of that more than Olympic day, 
 THANKSGIVING, when pumpkins were apotheosized ! 
 Why, on that immortal, gustatory day, Connecticut 
 from time immemorial has stood, not like heathen Bac 
 chus, wreathed with leaves of grape, and crowned with 
 purple clusters, but like a Christian Puritan, as she is, 
 with a pumpkin for her head, glowing with ripe yel 
 low lustre, delightful and delicious to all devout boys! 
 Let all that are interested in lexicography look well 
 to such instances of concealed defection as this of 
 Webster s. Would one trust a man with the English 
 tongue, whose own tongue was so false to every sylla 
 ble of his early experience, pumpkin-pie, pumpkin- 
 butter, pumpkin-molasses, and all other shades and 
 forms of its benevolent existence ? Until something 
 is done on this pumpkin question, Mr. Merriam (not 
 aqueous E. M., but bibliopolic G. M.) must not look 
 to me for any further countenance. I will never sup 
 port a dictionary that is false to pumpkins ! It may 
 be that the Quarto Pictorial Edition has both a pic 
 ture and a definition worthy of my theme. If so, I 
 am appeased. But a man that does not believe in 
 pumpkins, must be a squash. 
 
 As to the derivation of this word, we need not go 
 back to Danish or Swedish sources. If anything in 
 this world is English, pumpkin is that thing ! And it 
 
AGRICULTURAL PAPER. 347 
 
 is not to be supposed that either the Danes or Swedes 
 knew English before we did ourselves. No. The 
 origin is on the very face of the word. The very 
 family of words, immediately preceding this one in 
 Webster, is Pump, defined to be a " hydraulic engine 
 for raising water." That is exactly the function of 
 pumpkin, and from that, without question, its name 
 is derived. I know that in the Spanish bomba cor 
 responds to the French pompe, and means a pump 
 and a bomb. Some may think that the resemblance 
 of a. pumpkin to a bomb gave rise to its name. It 
 has a formidable resemblance, and is filled, too, with 
 seeds, that, when it descends from any height, and 
 splits, fly about with much of the alacrity which 
 belongs to the spices with which military bombs are 
 stuffed. But this ingenious etymology cannot stand. 
 Pumpkins existed long before bombs, and must have 
 had a name. It is much more likely that the bomb 
 was named from the pumpkin. Indeed, the bomb is a 
 pumpkin of war, growing upon its lava s oil, and filled 
 with terrific seeds of ruin ! 
 
 Having cleared away this rubbish, we are now 
 ready for our pumpkins, which shall be served next 
 week. 
 
348 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 THE PUMPKIN FAMILY. ITS RELATIVES AND 
 RIVALS. 
 
 HE pumpkin is in the situation of a hero 
 without a poet or historian. Its merits 
 are worthy of renown. But it has found 
 no worthy eulogist. Its vine indeed is a 
 little coarse, as compared with the clematis, the 
 honeysuckle, or the convolvulus. What great hands 
 it holds up to the sun, broad, succulent, rough ! 
 And the leaf-stalk, is it not the trumpet, the cheap 
 squirt-gun, the blow-pipe, and I know not what else, 
 of ingenious boyhood? 
 
 The pumpkin-vine has a flowery and rhetorical 
 way with it quite admirable. Other vines seem to 
 require premeditation and a good deal of prepara 
 tion, before they spread themselves abroad. But 
 the pumpkin-seed may be dropped in any corn-field, 
 or in a mere hedgerow, and it waits but a few days 
 before it lifts up the soil, and emits two great, hon 
 est, spoon-shaped leaves, that stand looking about in 
 simple surprise, as if the world looked greatly differ 
 ent from what they expected. But this pause upon 
 the threshold of active life, this modest reserve, is 
 becoming in both bay and pumpkin. Then it throws 
 forth its vine, and runs boldly over the ground with 
 a luxuriance comfortable to behold. No laggard is 
 it ; no stingy grower, needing to be nursed and 
 coaxed and cossetted. You see vigor in the very- 
 seed. The first germ prophesies large growth, and 
 every runner confirms and fulfils the prophecy. The 
 
THE PUMPKIN FAMILY. 849 
 
 blossom, too, is in hearty sympathy with the whole 
 vine. It is no dainty thing, appealing to your ad 
 miration through a sentiment of pity ; it is no pale, 
 slender, fragile, city-bred beauty, that might blow 
 away, or the sun drink up like a drop of dew. The 
 pumpkin-blossom is large and buxom, open-hearted^ 
 a refuge for bees, that fly into it with open wings, 
 and work around its nectaries in a golden dust, and 
 so overload themselves with sweets as often to for 
 get their homeward duties, and, like sailors in some 
 tropic island, desert their ship to live in the luxury 
 of overmastering sweets. And so you shall find dis 
 sipated flies and shrewish wasps and wanton bees 
 intoxicated with the abundance, and even dying in 
 an ecstasy of pumpkin-blossom. 
 
 But in due time behold the fruit. Even when 
 green it is delightsome to the eyes. The unstinted 
 fulness of the great, round, plump fellow ; then the 
 exquisite veining when the forces of Nature begin to 
 change green to orange, and a network of green 
 lines among yellow surfaces surpasses in ingenuity 
 and frolicsome beauty anything that Kaphael ever 
 formed in arabesque, or Cellini traced upon his curi 
 ously wrought goblets. Indeed, every artistic gold 
 smith should attentively study the pumpkin. Its 
 foundation color is quite in his way. Its lines are 
 finer than he can fashion, and its meshes of green 
 and gold, netting the great orb with an entangle 
 ment of figures that would have brought a Moorish 
 artist to his knees in admiration. 
 
 Indeed, no one can have attentively studied Moor 
 ish architecture without perceiving that many of its 
 principal features, its domes, its traceries, were bor- 
 
350 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 rowed from the pumpkin ! What is the magnificent 
 dome of St. Peter s but the highest development of 
 that idea which you shall see expressed or hinted in 
 every well-conditioned pumpkin ! Thus a few acan 
 thus-leaves, touched by human genius, gave us the 
 Corinthian capital. The arches of the forest, we 
 are sometimes told, are the primitive types of Gothic 
 architecture. Bo not leaves, stems, roses, fleur-de- 
 luces, sunflowers, clover-leaves, and scores of other 
 things, furnish to architecture its richest decorations ? 
 But it was reserved to the pumpkin to crown the 
 whole, by giving to architects the conception of a 
 ribbed dome. 
 
 Thus it is that modest merit often finds itself hon 
 ored. And. much as the pumpkin is used as a term 
 of ridicule, whoever saw a pumpkin that seemed to 
 quail or look sheepish ? How do they swell their 
 great honest sides, warm with the autumn sun, as 
 if they would say, As long as St. Peter s stands, and 
 lifts the glorified and perfected pumpkin into the air, 
 so long let every honest pumpkin hold up its head 
 and be proud of its illustrious position ! Who doubt, 
 that the color, too, of the pumpkin suggested the 
 practice of gilding domes ? Indeed, architects awoke 
 to the form and the color of magnificent domes when 
 they intelligently studied the pumpkin. And one 
 need not travel in foreign lands, to Mecca or Damas 
 cus, to see the mosques gleaming in the sunlight. 
 Let him, when the corn has been cut from the field, 
 and the whole expanse is aglow with radiant pump 
 kins, sit him down, and, like a true poet, letting the 
 coarser substance of the scene subside, imagine him 
 self gazing upon a city so far removed that its spires, 
 
THE PUMPKIN FAMILY. 351 
 
 minarets, and domes are in proportion to the objects 
 before him. That single stem of corn is a spire, that 
 clump of tall-growing reeds is a palace piercing the 
 sky in many forms of tower, while golden domes glit 
 ter in wondrous magnificence as often as his imagina 
 tion can transform a pumpkin into the ribbed orb of 
 a stately mosque ! 
 
 Among the ways which men employ to sustain their 
 respectability, none is more common than an exhibi 
 tion of their social connections. One whose cousin is 
 a governor, whose uncle is a general, whose brother 
 has been to Congress, cannot but stand well in soci 
 ety. Reputation is of the nature of a vine, and our 
 reputable relatives are so much brush or trellis on 
 which we run up. And every one knows how much 
 more of a figure a blossom or a fruit cuts when lifted 
 up in the air, than when lying half concealed in grass, 
 or spattered on the bare ground. Now the pumpkin, 
 had it no merits of its own, would yet hold up its head 
 on account of its eminent relations. 
 
 The old family name, of great antiquity and re 
 nown, is Cucurbitacece. There were at least sixty 
 branches of this family, and at least three hundred 
 several special households with family names. 
 
 Who has not heard of the cucumber ? All round 
 the world it is used for pickles, for sajad, and for ex 
 citing the ambition of gardeners. The first cucumber 
 of the season, how many retired gentlemen, amateur 
 gardeners, and regular cultivators compete for the 
 honor of producing it ! The excellent and amiable 
 melon family, also known the world around. I refer 
 to the Cucumis melo, or muskmelon, alias cantaloupe, 
 alias nutmeg, alias Persian melon, which is a near 
 
352 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 kinsman of the pumpkin. So also is the Cucumis 
 citrullus, or watermelon, a venerable relative. What 
 living family of men can trace blood connections 
 higher up the course of time than the homely rela 
 tions of the melon ? For is not the watermelon the 
 very thing which brought tears to the eyes of the poor 
 spiritless Jews, as they wandered in the wilderness ? 
 This is the record (Num. xi. 4, 5) : " And the chil 
 dren of Israel also wept again, and said, Who shall 
 give us flesh to eat ? We remember the fish which we 
 did eat in Egypt freely ; the cucumbers, and the mel 
 ons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlic." 
 
 But let no one severely reprove them. In a hot 
 day, if you have been tramping along a shadeless 
 road, until every drop of moisture seems to have run 
 out of you, tired, dusty, hungry, thirsty, and faint, 
 you sit down for a rest in some nook. The vision of 
 your father s house rises, first, the mossy well and 
 dripping bucket, then the melon-patch, out of which 
 your boyish arms used to bring, with much panting, 
 early in the morning, the night-cooled, heavy water 
 melon, moist all over its black-green skin with dew ; 
 you remember the platter, the great carving-knife, 
 the crackle-slit of the knife, the two halves that, rol 
 ling each way, opened to your eyes the exquisite pink 
 and red of the pulpy centre, whose vesicles of sugary 
 juice glistened in the light with gentle invitation. 
 Tell me, stoutest heart, did you not then involun 
 tarily lick your own lips, and feel your whole mouth 
 water ? Then why should you revile the poor 
 Jews, because the memory of melons made their 
 eyes water ? 
 
 And here, Mr. Bonner, although your paper is not 
 
THE PUMPKIN FAMILY. 353 
 
 designed for Biblical criticism, I desire to express my 
 conviction that the passage in Isaiah i. 8 is mistrans 
 lated. Zion is said to be left " as a lodge in a gar 
 den of cucumbers" They have confounded Cucumis 
 sativus with C. citrullus. What boy ever was silly 
 enough to rob a cucumber patch ? No. It is the 
 melon, the watermelon patch, that sends mortal her 
 esy into boys faith of property rights. And, without 
 a doubt, human nature and watermelons were the 
 same among the Jews as in our day. The lodge was 
 evidently a place where the old gentleman hid him 
 self with a long whip ; and when the rollicking chaps, 
 stealing along, looking on every side, peeping and spy 
 ing, conclude that the dog is tied iip, the old man 
 asleep, and the whole coast clear, begin to spoil, 
 then out of his hiding-place he bolts, and comes down 
 on them with such slashing welts, such piercing snap 
 pers, such lash-girders, and but-end thwacks, that 
 the wretches, scattering with incredible speed, dive 
 into the thicket, and bolt over the fence, as if each 
 watermelon were a bomb, and with untimely explo 
 sion accelerated their retreat ! 
 
 I ask you, Mr. Bonner, whether my view of this 
 passage does not bear the truth upon its very face ? 
 
 The squash family are of the same blood as the 
 pumpkin. Indeed, this squash family have a sneak 
 ing ambition to supersede the pumpkin. Squash-pie 
 and winter squashes take on airs at the table, and 
 claim a seat much above their venerable predecessor. 
 As for squash-pies, they are all very well for folks 
 that have never eaten pumpkin. I must admit, that 
 there are some members of this great family not pre 
 sentable in good society. But in so large a connec- 
 
354 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 tion is there not always some graceless fellow, some 
 rogue, robber, or cunning swindler ? There was Co- 
 locynth, and there was a Bryonia, and several other 
 names of a bitter kind, who invariably cleared out 
 any persons who took them in. 
 
 But if we were to come to the very marrow of this 
 matter, what pen could recount the world s indebted 
 ness to the pumpkin, for rich milk in pumpkin-fed 
 cows, for pumpkin-sauce, for pumpkin-butter, pump 
 kin-molasses, and, above all, pumpkin-pies ! But that 
 is a subject too intimately connected with our patriotic 
 associations, and with too many family scenes, to be 
 treated at this end of an article. I prefer to meditate 
 in expressive silence, or to be inspired with a separate 
 article ! 
 
 P. S. This article is to be considered as my sec 
 ond paper on husbandry. 
 
 2d P. S. I began by saying that the pumpkin had 
 110 poet. The following stanza may seem to disprove 
 the assertion : 
 
 "Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater, 
 Had a wife, and could n t keep her ; 
 He put her in a pumpkin-shell, 
 And there he kept her very well." 
 
 This beautiful scrap stands in our literature with 
 out a name. Whether part of a larger poem by some 
 Tupper, or only the sport of the moment, is unknown. 
 But it is plain the author meant to sing the domestic 
 infelicity and victorious discipline of Peter, and not 
 the merits of pumpkin. That is merely incidental. 
 
AUTUMN COLORS. 355 
 
 AUTUMN COLORS. 
 
 j|HEN stone, timber, or muck are to be 
 drawn, then a farm on a level plain is 
 sighed for. But when one considers the 
 enjoyment of the eyes, never let him settle 
 on a flat. One should look down on the world. This 
 I do. And this morning, Mr. Bonner ! and all ye 
 who live in the crypts and passages of New York 
 houses, how I pity you ! This morning is one of 
 the mysterious and bewitching days. Surely it is not 
 that the summer is ended, the green year passing, the 
 winter coming, that gives such peculiar influence to 
 the days. Something has been poured out into the 
 air from the land of magic. It has been steeped with 
 atmospheric wine, and we drink by breathing a sub 
 tile and exhilarating elixir. The blue is tender and 
 pale. The skies are full of clouds, white, thin, and 
 full of business. This one opening, shutting, melting, 
 reforming, and so through all the changes ; this one 
 making haste, as if called to some distant battle, and 
 fiercely driving on in heat to the rendezvous ; or if 
 milder thoughts prevail, then they seem like mighty 
 flocks of fleecy birds, gathered from the summer 
 hatching haunts of the north, and borne southward 
 by the annual impulse of migration. But such is 
 the depth, the beauty, and the mystic influence of 
 the heavens, that to look up long into its cope affects 
 you with giddiness, such as men feel who look down 
 from great heights. And then, too, the color of all 
 things is changing, not changed, but only hinting 
 
356 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 color. We must except the maple-trees. Some of 
 them are changed to a straw color. Yonder is one 
 very green except one branch, which stretches up from 
 the bottom nearly to the top, and that is of vivid 
 scarlet. It looks like a tree with a great bouquet of 
 flowers in its bosom. But along the fences are crim 
 son leaves ; the autumn yellows predominate. The 
 corn is cut up, and stands out on the hills around 
 here in shocks to dry. The emerald grass was never 
 more tender in its green. The orchard is waiting to 
 be relieved of its burden. All summer long it has 
 eased itself by throwing down a part of its fruits, 
 worm-picked or storm-gathered ; and now those ap 
 ples that remain, full grown, plump, ripe, look wist 
 fully at you, as if asking your care for winter. And 
 the birds, how they do behave ! What is the matter 
 with them ? No one of them frolics. They have lost 
 all their gamesome ways. They collect in mown 
 field for seeds, they hover about orchards, exchanging 
 remarks among themselves in low tones, like well- 
 bred people, but none of them boisterous, frisky, or 
 songful. Bluebirds, robins, and such sorts, abound ; 
 sometimes scores flock about, then trios and fours. 
 It is plain that they are done with summer. They 
 have no nests now. Their children are all grown up. 
 The birds all belong to the old folks party. 
 
 I wandered out this morning under the trees (the 
 good lady had gone to the village, and her daughter 
 too, and I was quite free, and was shirking all work, 
 and having a good time on the grass). That, you 
 know, is a good way to write an article. It is bad to 
 go out and look at things if you wish to write about 
 them. You must let them look at you. You must 
 
OUR HOUSEKEEPING EXPERIENCE. 357 
 
 show yourself to nature ; walk about confidentially 
 and lovingly ; gaze at just those things that have 
 magnetism in them, or sympathy, or influence, or 
 whatever you choose to call it. Then, after an hour 
 or two, if you wish to write, go to your desk, and 
 whatever has had a real hold upon you will then 
 come vividly up like pictures, just as it does to me, 
 now ; and I should give you a sparkling, glorious 
 article now, were it not that at this very nick of time 
 I am interrupted by the word, that if I send in time 
 for this week, I must send this minute. 0, what you 
 have lost ! It was very fine, very, the thing I 
 was about to do ! 
 
 OUR HOUSEKEEPING EXPERIENCE. 
 
 EN are naturally either proud or conceited, 
 and sometimes both. This appears in many 
 things, but in nothing more than in the su 
 percilious airs in which they indulge about 
 housekeeping. Every well-bred woman has had occa 
 sion to lament the ignorance in which men live, with 
 out shame or self-reproach, of the commonest ele 
 ments of domestic economy. How often does the 
 skilful wife lecture the discontented husband about 
 the impossibility of getting a breakfast in ten minutes, 
 or of always having things up to an imaginary perfec 
 tion ; or of doing as well on washing-days, or when 
 the cook is sick, or has broken her temperance pledge, 
 or when there has been an insurrection among the 
 help. Only the constant reminders of the excellent 
 
358 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 women at the head of the bureau of domestic affairs 
 can keep men from presumptuous remarks and igno 
 rant complaints. It would be well if men could some 
 times be left to do their own work. We have an ex 
 perience to relate. 
 
 Our summer vacation was ended, but the family 
 were to remain in the country until the frost opened 
 chestnut-burrs and nipped the boys fingers. We con 
 cluded to board ourselves for the day or two. It was 
 Saturday. We began to reflect upon the stores to be 
 laid in for Sunday, and the method of preparing 
 them. We have a little gas-stove, invaluable for sick 
 ness, for pet suppers, and for returned gentlemen dis 
 posed to make their own tea. With it we could boil 
 and bake. To broil was beyond its skill or, .at any 
 rate, beyond our knowledge of its capacity. We rum 
 maged the shops and alighted upon a gas-broiler, to 
 be described hereafter. 
 
 We proceeded next to our grocer s, ordered six can 
 taloupes, as many tomatoes, and bread. On reach 
 ing home, it occurred to us that butter was sometimes 
 used with bread, and that had been forgotten. We 
 went back for it, and also procured half a dozen eggs. 
 On reflecting how the eggs were to be eaten, pepper 
 and salt came to mind, and not a particle of either 
 could we find in the well-cleaned castor. We looked 
 into the store closet, behind all the bottles, tore a little 
 hole in every paper package, found sage, summer- 
 savory, catnip, empty spice-boxes, salt-bags used for 
 corks, and nests of boxes of all sizes, some with a 
 smell of allspice, some with odor of cinnamon, and 
 others fragrant of nutmegs, ginger, and cloves ; but no 
 salt, pepper likewise. After wasting time in order 
 
OUR HOUSEKEEPING EXPERIENCE. 359 
 
 to save it, back we go a third time to the grocer for 
 salt and pepper. A few crackers, also, and a few her 
 rings. 
 
 Next, we reflected upon the proper elements of a 
 solitary gentleman s dinner. Soup was out of the 
 question ; roast, boiled, and fricassee were rejected ; 
 fowls and fish were marked out ; and only porter 
 house steak and mutton-chop remain. The quantity 
 staggered us a little. But, to err on the side opposite 
 famine, we ordered two beefsteaks and five pounds of 
 mutton-chop. (Let the sequel be noted.) As there 
 was nobody in the house to receive them, we raced 
 home to tend the door ! We waited a full hour, and 
 when at length the things came in, our patience had 
 gone out. 
 
 Next, we found that coffee must be bought, then 
 tea (English breakfast tea, of course, real Souchong, 
 the only tea of thorough refinement, green teas 
 being for unlearned drinkers). These we brought 
 home in our own hands. At length our labors of 
 preparation seemed over, and we began to contem 
 plate results, when it flashed upon us that there 
 was neither milk nor sugar in the house ! These 
 caused another journey. We hunted up a kitchen 
 knife and fork, for every available instrument had 
 been carried away, and the silver was all locked up in 
 somebody s safe. Thus nothing was left for burglars, 
 and nothing for us. In this round of investigation 
 we gained an acquaintance with our own house which 
 forty years of common life would not bestow. We 
 found out all about the sideboard, its spoon-drawer, 
 its napkin-drawer, its closet, and that secret drawer 
 on each side, so cunningly arranged that no thief 
 
360 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 would ever suspect its presence until he found it out. 
 Then the china-closet was a perfect novelty, arid held 
 us in long investigation. We climbed to the top 
 shelves of the store-closet, saw fragments of dishes, 
 various old acquaintances that disappeared long time 
 ago. We searched the hall-closet, and the kitchen- 
 closet, the closets between the two rooms, full of 
 drawers ; we got down on our knees to look into 
 lower closets tucked in under suites of drawers, and 
 we mounted up on barrels to peer into high nooks 
 and shelves, and, in one case, the barrel playing us 
 a mean trick, we came down both sooner and faster 
 than we had intended. 
 
 But how shall we describe our experiences when all 
 these preparations resulted in an actual meal? A 
 long flexible tube was brought from the central gas- 
 fixture, and connected with the pet stove. To boil 
 the water for tea or coffee was easy. We had often 
 done that. But we had forgotten just how much tea 
 should be put in for a drawing. And the quantity 
 was certainly enough. We diluted and diluted, and 
 were prodigal of milk and sugar, without being able 
 to cover the prodigious bitterness of the draught. 
 We note that the two principal faults of tea-making 
 were too much tea and too long steeping. It took us 
 yet longer to drink it, and longer yet to get over it, 
 and into sleep. 
 
 But this was all commonplace compared with our 
 meat history. The broiler was very much like two 
 iron pot-lids soldered together, with a hollow handle 
 attached. The gas came through the handle into the 
 space between, and the lower section being perforated 
 with a multitude of gas-holes, when gas was let on 
 
OUR HOUSEKEEPING EXPERIENCE. 361 
 
 the lower surface was covered with blue jets. The 
 meat being placed on a tin dish, this blazing cover was 
 placed on proper supports just over it, and shot its 
 heat downwards. It is a capital contrivance. The 
 juice, the odor, and the fragrant fumes, attempting to 
 escape, were driven back into the meat, and in my 
 own case, such was the force of repression, that they 
 were driven out of the plate and over on to the dining- 
 room carpet (for all our exploits took place there). 
 Just as the meat began to sizzle and sputter, and while 
 we were delightedly gazing at the process, the tube 
 slipped off the handle, the flame went out very sud 
 denly over the meat, but not till the escaping gas from 
 the liberated tube had caught fire and shot a flame 
 across our hands, that caused us to drop broiler, knife, 
 and everything else, with astonishing celerity. We 
 had no idea before how spry we could be. The evil 
 was soon repaired, but only to play off again the same 
 trick, till we held the tube on to the broiler with one 
 hand, and manipulated the meat with the other. We 
 salted it, we peppered it, we turned it twice, the first 
 time on to the floor, the next time on to the dish, but 
 with the same side up. The fork was a four-pronger. 
 It could not get hold, or only just so far as was need 
 ful to effect a deception and a disaster. At length we 
 put out the gas, uncovered the meat, took both hands, 
 and triumphantly reversed the obdurate steak. 
 
 It was with some pleasure, but not much pride, 
 that we sat down, at length, to the repast. The bread 
 was baker s. Of course it was dry, tough, and taste 
 less. The tea we have spoken of. The meat was the 
 grand dependence. It was serviceable. We could 
 hardly cut it, and could not chew it. The tomatoes 
 
 16 
 
362 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 were good. The melons were not. But the whole 
 dinner agreed with our theory of moderation in appe 
 tite, and the satisfaction which we lacked in eating we 
 sought to gain by profitable meditations. 
 
 Facilis descensus Averno ; sed revocare gradum, 
 &c., "It is easy to get dinner, but to wash up the 
 things, this is the burden and toil ! " Yirgil never 
 spoke a truer word. 
 
 The water was hot. We found it out the moment 
 we put our hand in the dish. It was the same hand 
 that the gas had flamed on. We reflected on the dif 
 ference between dry heat and moist hotness. 
 
 We could find no dish-cloth. The grease would not 
 come off the plates. There was no soap. We rubbed 
 with our hand, which only gave the grease a circular 
 form on the plates. At length we got a newspaper, 
 and by vigorous rubbing, got the ware into a present 
 able condition. The tea-cups were better served. We 
 found a napkin on the bottom of the spoon-drawer. 
 It was a mercy ! 
 
 There was no swill-bucket, and nowhere to throw 
 the slops, and nobody that came for these superflui 
 ties in summer. The melon-rinds, the tomato frag 
 ments, the inexorable meat scraps, and the unmen 
 tionable sundries of a man s cooking were heaped into 
 the dish-pan. There they stood. Another newspa 
 per served to rub down the table. It was our last sol 
 itary meal. A week afterwards the fragments were 
 found standing on the table where we had left them ; 
 the lamb-chops we had left and forgotten in the cup 
 board, and they had a way of making their presence 
 and exigencies known. Indeed, our whole procedure 
 in this case met with the disapprobation of the powers 
 that be, nor can we say that they exactly suited us. 
 
SOLITUDE: WASPS. 363 
 
 But we have, now, a profound sense of a man s 
 dependence on women for domestic comfort. Instead 
 of thinking that housekeeping is easy, a mere noth 
 ing, we admire and revere the genius that conducts 
 so intricate a campaign as must be every single day s 
 housekeeping. 
 
 SOLITUDE: WASPS. 
 
 UGH company prepares us to enjoy solitude, 
 and being alone fits us again for society. 
 There is a longing for rest which grows 
 upon us in the throng, not merely from 
 fatigue, but from a subtile action of pride and self- 
 respect. In society men are like threads, woven in 
 and out, and composing a fabric of many colors. 
 They tend to lose their personal distinctness. One 
 wishes to separate himself from all influences about 
 him, and see just what is left of himself. Our life 
 runs hither and thither as the Croton water follows 
 the plumber s pipes. It is no longer a river flowing 
 at its own will, between its own banks, with its own 
 pools and shallows, windings and shoots, depths and 
 breadths. We escape from multitudes with a sense 
 of intense gladness. 
 
 The quiet, the unquestioning silence, the absence 
 of watching eyes, the subsidence of vigilance, guard, 
 and circumspection, on our own part, the gentle rise 
 of liberty in all things, the release of the nerves, the 
 unvexed placidity of the disposition, these are the 
 first-fruits of solitude. 
 
364 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 Now, if one has sought rest in the country, he 
 will be conscious of the distinct luxury of sounds in 
 distinction from noise. The city is a vast mill. It 
 crashes, jars, rattles, grinds. The houses shake. 
 There is not an hour of the day, and scarcely one 
 of the night, in which your nerves do not quiver to 
 the heavy roll of burdened vehicles. At a little dis 
 tance the sound of the city is like the roar of surf 
 on an exposed seashore. All individuality of sounds 
 is merged in the great battle of noises which fill the 
 air and shake the ground. After an hour s dash 
 upon the express, we land forty miles away. Soon 
 we are walking a silent path along the hill-side. A 
 few crickets chirp. A chipmonk half whistles, half 
 barks, as he dives into the chinks of the stone-wall. 
 It is an upland path along which you walk, stopping 
 often, gazing now at the great cloud-fleets that voy 
 age through the sky without pilots or crew, forever 
 sailing, but never accomplishing their voyage ; now 
 at the hills, scarped and moulded to every form and 
 with every variation of line. The Hudson lies like 
 a lake before you. It is a charmed world! Your 
 cares forget you. A soft sadness mellows every feel 
 ing. Out of sadness, if it be a right- one, grow the 
 sweetest flowers of gladness. You take hold of God s 
 thoughts in nature, and are sure that his realm is 
 wider than the human kind. 
 
 Man is master. But there is a great deal in this 
 world besides man. Nature takes a thousand dar 
 lings to her bosom. Every evening motherly dark 
 ness puts to bed myriads of unnamed children of the 
 sod, of the leaf, of tree, bush, moss, and stone. Ev 
 ery morning she sends again to awaken her brood, 
 
SOLITUDE : WASPS. 365 
 
 and troops them forth to their dewy breakfast. " The 
 eyes of all wait upon thee, and thou givest them 
 their meat in due season. Thou openest thy hand 
 and satisfiest the desires of every living thing." We 
 sometimes get nearer to God in proportion as we get 
 far from men. These neglected treasures of Nature 
 are a book of Divine things, and if we do not read, 
 the Creator does. 
 
 ** 
 
 The wasp is always well dressed, and always ready 
 for company. A nimble creature, exquisite in every 
 particular, trig, polished, burnished, elegant in form, 
 what single thing can be alleged against him ex 
 cept that little stiletto which he carries in a terminal 
 sheath ? Yet he is not to be blamed. He did not 
 put it there. All that in reason can be required is, 
 that he use his concealed weapons in a manner con 
 formable to justice and good morals. And this I 
 believe he always aims to do. At any rate, if men 
 would use their tongues with half that discretion 
 which belongs to the walk and conduct of wasps, 
 the world would gain at a great rate. 
 
 If anybody has reason to avenge himself upon 
 them, I am he. When October days come, and sad 
 thoughts invade the bosoms of wasps, they gather 
 themselves around the house and barn, on sunny 
 days, to make ready for winter. 
 
 Now, for a gentleman at leisure walking up and 
 down, soliloquizing good-will to all creation, it is 
 a very awkward thing to have a wasp creeping up 
 between his boot and pantaloon, and he be ignorant 
 of the fact ! 
 
 The poor insect is unconscious of any impropriety. 
 
366 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 He has no suspicion of the scenes which you will 
 soon enact. It is not until he has ascended above 
 your knee that some motion constraining the cloth 
 presses him close to your warm flesh. The contact 
 is a terror to him. It may be the bosom of a devour 
 ing enemy ! Like a hero, he will die fighting. He 
 thrusts out his sword in a manner that dispels every 
 poetic dream, and brings you to the realities of life 
 with such a clutch at the spot as no man can give 
 except one who has once had a wasp between rai 
 ment and body. You have got him ! To do it you 
 have taken a large grasp, that he may be encompassed 
 with thicknesses of cloth impervious to the longest 
 sting. But the act and attitude are not favorable to 
 grace. You rush toward the house or barn, careless 
 of pace or dignity, and eager only for deliverance. 
 Now, unless one has been drilled, it is difficult to dis 
 robe while you are bent half double, and with only a 
 left hand at liberty for use and an enemy in the rear. 
 As the cautious work goes on, some luckless fold 
 loosens, and the enemy is at you again, this time 
 in good earnest. Strange that so small an instru 
 ment can put a brave man into such ecstatic haste. 
 But there is many a man who could, firmly face a 
 cannon, who could not stand for a moment with 
 a wasp under his garment! 
 
 The fact is, you do not know where he is or will 
 be. He may be in your hand, or he may be just 
 in the act of lancing you, here or there or anywhere. 
 And the expectation is dreadful. We know that it 
 is. An enemy in the dark is always powerful through 
 fear. 
 
 I consider one wasp under our dress as more ter- 
 
SOLITUDE : WASPS. 367 
 
 rible than nine hundred and ninety-nine in a fair 
 fight in the open field ! 
 
 Bad as this scene is to a proud nature with delicate 
 susceptibilities, there is a disgrace even worse ; for, 
 within a few days, and while your flesh creeps with 
 the remembrance, you are walking your garden with 
 a few friends, picking flowers for one and another 
 in turn, and nourishing the hours with genial con 
 verse, when in the very middle of a sentence you 
 seize yourself with a desperate clutch, and without 
 word or bow you race and hobble toward the house 
 again. You have but one single comfort, that you 
 are not stung yet. With utter expedition, you come 
 down to the root of the difficulty, and find that there 
 was no wasp at all, only a leaf tickling your skin ! 
 In fact, you are angry now to think there was no 
 wasp. If one must go through the fear, the march, 
 the fumble, the search, he ought at least to be re 
 warded with a wasp ! 
 
 Now, whatever may have been the sentiment, the 
 tenderness, the sobriety of the former hour, such an 
 experience tends to dissipate it; and so, Friend Bon- 
 ner, the mere writing about it has so put to flight all 
 my pretty fancies and conceits about solitude, that I 
 think it best to reserve them for a time when solitude 
 shall not be so sweetened. 
 
368 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 FOOD DISCOVERIES. 
 
 ID it ever enter your mind to inquire how 
 certain articles of diet were first intro 
 duced ? Much speculation ha"s been in 
 dulged in respecting the origin of lan 
 guage : how men began ; whether the first parents 
 were born already talking, language being a part of 
 the machine, just as striking is of the clock ; or 
 whether they first began by interjections and grunts, 
 which in time worked out into words and syllables, 
 until in time language grew. Such researches are 
 very profitable, without doubt. 
 
 But will it be any less so to inquire into the steps 
 by which the first eaters advanced, the progress of 
 discovery and the eras of invention ? It takes no deal 
 of practice to set a child in the line of eating, now 
 that everything is in working order. But how about 
 the first men ? Did they go about tasting everything 
 that they saw ? or were they instructed ? There 
 seems to be no positive evidence that they were, and 
 analogies are against it. I can imagine Eve experi 
 menting upon peaches, whose color invites, whose 
 flavor provokes, a further trial. Strawberries and 
 grapes, how could a hungry soul do less, having 
 smelled of them, than taste? But chestnuts, cocoa- 
 nuts, and many other things, must have had a his 
 tory. A chestnut-burr does not reward the handling 
 at first. Perhaps these do not grow in regions first 
 populated, or frosts may have had the first handling 
 of the burr, and opened the silk nest in which the nuts 
 
FOOD DISCOVERIES. 369 
 
 had lodged, and then some wind served a writ of 
 ejectment on them. Then the all-devouring pig 
 might have experimented upon them. Or squirrels 
 may have been pioneers, and men, observing the 
 satisfaction manifested by their inferiors, may have 
 concluded that it was worth their trial. 
 
 But the difficulties do not chiefly lie in the direc 
 tion of nuts and flavorsome fruits. When was the 
 transition made from cereals and fruits, from roots 
 and leaves, to flesh? That must have marked 
 an era. 
 
 Is it Charles Lamb that gives the account of the 
 first roast pig ? He has not mentioned, if I recollect 
 aright, the authorities consulted, though his known 
 sobriety of judgment and carefulness of statement 
 lead" us to conclude that he had satisfactory data for 
 the statements made. But his theory or history does 
 not seem to indicate so much the origin of a general 
 use of flesh, as a local and special taste which sprung 
 up for pig. When did men begin to slay cattle ? to 
 dare to eat meat red with its blood ? When did they 
 discover that water contained food ? Was it not a 
 bold man that first ate fish ? But when we come to 
 crabs and lobsters, the case becomes wonderful ! Can 
 anything be more abhorrent to the first impressions 
 than those sprawling, many-legged, hideous-eyed, nim 
 ble, flat dragons of the deep ? Suppose a storm to 
 have thrown one upon the shore. How dared a man 
 to touch it ? He must have been drunk and reckless. 
 But an oyster, that marvel of delicacy, that concen 
 tration of sapid excellence, that mouthful before all 
 other mouthfuls, who first had faith to believe it, and 
 courage to execute ! The exterior is not persuasive. 
 
 16* x 
 
370 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 One would be as likely to gather stones for a lun 
 cheon, as the oyster, shut fast in his shell. Imagine 
 one opened. The long shell contains this armless, 
 legless, eyeless pulp, without skin, hair, or bone, with 
 out motion or sense. What does it most resemble ? 
 Every one will have his own imagination. But each 
 one of them, we dare to say, will be something repul 
 sive to taste. Even to this hour, the first acquaint 
 ance with oysters is with much hesitation and squeam 
 ish apprehension. Who, then, first gulped the dainty 
 thing, and forever after called himself blessed ? I 
 have my own theory. 
 
 Some adventurous sailors, probably, were driven 
 ashore, their boat swamped, all their provisions sunk, 
 and half their company drowned. Unable to find 
 root or acorn on the barren shore, afraid to venture 
 back into the country, where, perhaps, they might 
 have been served up for food- themselves, they sat 
 upon the beach, disconsolate. Some dry sticks, which 
 the waves cast up, lay near them. By rubbing they 
 kindled a spark, and built a fire upon the sand and 
 stones. They saw oysters lying about, cast up by the 
 violent waves which had been so disastrous to them. 
 Some lay underneath the wood, some at the edge of 
 the coals. The oyster, surprised at such a warm 
 reception, opened his mouth, and could not shut it ! 
 From that moment the world was richer. The hun 
 gry men believed the benignant gods had wrought a 
 miracle for their salvation. The morsel looked un 
 savory. But if the divinities had wrought food out 
 of stones, what were they, that they should be afraid 
 to eat ? No sooner had they tasted than they were 
 confirmed in their superstition. This was the very 
 
FOOD DISCOVERIES. 371 
 
 food of the gods. A portion had been dropped down 
 for them ! 
 
 But, now that men have learned to eat such unin 
 viting, and even repulsive things, why should they, 
 with ill-timed prejudice, turn away from other morsels 
 and delicacies ? Why is not a rat as good as a rab 
 bit ? Why should men eat shrimps and neglect cock 
 roaches ? In other words, why eat the white shrimps 
 and reject the black ones ? Why, in short, should 
 not every plump and well-conditioned insect be 
 turned to good account, some for stews, some for 
 soups, and some for garnishes ? A boiled ham, orna 
 mented no longer with useless cloves, but with grass 
 hoppers and roaches ! Vermicular soups, as well as 
 Vermicelli ? The French eat snails, and have snail- 
 eries. Saint John lived on locusts. Spiders taste 
 like walnuts. There are stores of luxuries yet in re 
 serve. Instead of taxing our wits to find how to 
 exterminate the insect creation that invade our dwell 
 ings, prey upon our harvests, and mar our fruit, let 
 us exchange our tastes, lay aside our prejudices, and 
 attack them with our palate. Once let it be put in 
 full activity, and there is nothing can stand before the 
 human mouth. French savans are attempting to in 
 troduce horse-flesh to the tables which long have nour 
 ished beef. Why not next invade the long-neglected 
 list of delicacies, hitherto despised as luxuries, and 
 made to live a useless life, or even a mischievous 
 one ? 
 
372 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 GOOD-NATURED PEOPLE. 
 
 1R. BONNER: It is a great pleasure to 
 write a paper upon good-nature , to a good- 
 natured man, just as it is fit to speak of 
 justice before a just judge, or of art before 
 a refined person. Are you not good-natured ? Then 
 the handwriting on the face is not spelled rightly. 
 The form, too, and all the personal circumstances, 
 agree ! There is something in breadth of body and 
 largeness of countenance that always suggests gen 
 erous and good-natured disposition. Good-nature 
 seems to require some space on which to unroll. 
 Lines and angles are for wit. A smooth brow and 
 corrugated cheek indicate thought. This matter of 
 the cheek, however, is purely stomachic, and not 
 cerebral. A sunken cheek and thin face under a 
 large brow show that the brain cheats the stomach 
 of good digestion. 
 
 Good-nature is, for the most part, among the young 
 a matter of temperament. Bilious temperaments are 
 not apt to be cheerful. They are grave and stern, or 
 sad. Nervous temperaments are not equable. They 
 are excessively happy or intensely unhappy. They 
 are quick for joy, and as quick for sorrow. A man 
 of nervous temperament, in good health, in prosper 
 ous condition, in peaceful circumstances, may be 
 cheerful and good-natured. But excitements and 
 disappointments go hard with him. There are some 
 men whose nerves seem not to have been covered 
 up. They lie out to the weather. 
 
GOOD-NATURED PEOPLE. 373 
 
 But phlegmatic persons are good-natured from a 
 want of sensibility. They are not affected by troubles, 
 because they live under bomb-proof roofs. 
 
 The sanguine temperament affords the genuine 
 good-natured disposition. Here it is natural. Ev 
 erything conspires to produce cheerfulness, hopeful 
 ness, and ardor of sentiment. 
 
 But while good-nature in youth is largely a mat 
 ter of nice organization, it becomes in age a re*sult 
 of will and of habit. Many men are drilled to it 
 by their experience ; some come to it by the force 
 of religious motives ; and some because, in the decay 
 of forces, many of the unruly or discordant elements 
 of their nature are weakened and subordinated. 
 
 But, however it may come, or upon whatever terms 
 it may exist, how blessed are good-natured people ! 
 They only, of almost all mankind, have invariable 
 good luck. They convert trouble into amusement. 
 Or they meet it with such cheer that its power is 
 broken. 
 
 Good-nature disarms enmity, allays irritation, stops 
 even the garrulity of fault-finding. It more than 
 half overcomes envy. A real good-natured man is 
 the most troublesome morsel that the malign pas 
 sions ever attempt to feed upon. He is the natural 
 superior of irritable persons. He that can govern 
 himself can control others. An irritable man, whom 
 any one can excite, is like a horse kept at livery, 
 ridden by every one, and spurred by each rider. 
 Nobody is so little his own master as he who can be 
 stirred and provoked at another s will. Anybody 
 can eject him from his castle. 
 
 There is high eulogy pronounced in Sacred Writ 
 
374 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 upon good-natured men, for such I take to be the 
 meaning of the passage in Proverbs, " He that is 
 slow to anger is better than the mighty r , and he that 
 ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city" It is 
 harder to keep your temper than to take a city ! It 
 shows more skill, foresight, courage, and good engi 
 neering, especially in their cases who are naturally 
 irritable. They have to provide beforehand, to make 
 battle against subtle enemies, and often under des 
 perate conditions. But it is worth all it costs. 
 
 Ought there not to be associations for the promo 
 tion of good-nature ? Ought not premiums and tes 
 timonials to be given ? No branch of education 
 stands more in need of culture. None will be at 
 once so much of utility and accomplishment to 
 gether! And if some movement can be made, will 
 you consent to preside at some meeting for such a 
 purpose ? In the earlier meeting none but men of 
 known good-nature should be called together. Atra 
 bilious reformers would ruin us. No man who can 
 not keep a smile on his face as long as the dew rests 
 on clover in a cloudy summer morning ought to be 
 intrusted with making the constitution and by-laws. 
 After we have secured a proper organization thus, 
 we might admit others to our good-natured influ 
 ences. Something ought to be done. 
 
 There are a great many cross men about now-a- 
 days. People are fault-finding. Indeed, I have been 
 grumbled at myself. Can anything more be needed 
 to show the need of reformatory measures? 
 
STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM. 375 
 
 STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM. 
 
 OW sweet is the air ! It is full of moisture, 
 smell of new leaves and earth-odor. The 
 sky does not scowl ! Neither does it smile. 
 It has a grave and reverend aspect. And 
 yet clouds are frolicking like kittens, running in and 
 out, whisking and scudding as if sent forth on pur 
 pose to play. There is a deal of waggery in a spring 
 rain. It seems to enjoy the untimely spirts which it 
 makes upon men and beasts. To catch a man under 
 an umbrella, to push him hither and thither, to 
 swing sheets of rain underneath his protection, and 
 finally to turn his umbrella inside out, wrest it from 
 his hands, and then to pelt down upon him in un 
 measured generosity, appear to give a spring rain the 
 utmost satisfaction. Another trick is peculiarly pleas 
 ing to the moist divinities that spy and play in the 
 clouds. 
 
 A wagon full of unprotected people, seeing the 
 shower, make desperate speed toward a shed or shel 
 ter. A race is fairly set. The rain scuds after them, 
 but holds off until they are within a few rods, then 
 down comes the torrent, and wets them as thoroughly 
 as if they had travelled at their leisure, instead of 
 blowing their horse with tantalizing speed. So, too, a 
 weather-wise eye scans the clouds from the place of 
 refuge where he has lurked snug and dry, and de 
 clares the rain over, ventures forth, and gets well 
 on to the road, when, whish ! dash ! the cunning show 
 er pours all over him ! Water will put out fire. But 
 
376 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 it has kindled temper a good many times, or made it 
 burn the fiercer when already kindled. And yet how 
 inexpressibly balmy, and how full of mysterious influ 
 ences is one of these changing, multitudinous days in 
 early summer ! 
 
 Well, you will ask me, " What of all that ? " Why, 
 tli at I have been up to Peekskill ; that the hills are all 
 clothed in green ; that birds have improved since last 
 summer, and can sing at least one note higher on the 
 scale ; that frogs are practising on one string in all 
 the solitary pools ; that squirrels are wide awake, and 
 crows as solemn as ever. The moss on the stone-wall 
 has been well kept through the winter, grass is almost 
 fit for the scythe, daisies are winking at you all over 
 the mowing-lot, wrens are gibbering, hens cackling, 
 ducks waddling, calves frisking, as if all the world 
 were at peace. Little seeds are sending up little 
 stems ; and little stems are rocking little baby-buds, 
 which in a few weeks will open forth into beauty. 
 The crops are giving glorious promise. There are 
 my strawberries ! ah, sir, it would do your benevo 
 lent heart good just to look at the generosity of these 
 plants ! The leaves ! how large, what healthy green ! 
 how they hold themselves, like a roof, over the 
 young berries ! Every day the hens go up and ex 
 plore the chances. But they shall not have any ! 
 They shall all be shut up ! 
 
 And this harvest of strawberries, what visions of 
 bliss lie in the near future ! They shall be picked 
 in great, cool dishes, before the sun rises, with dew 
 fresh on their blushing cheeks ! They shall be pulled 
 by delicate fingers ; heaped up in saucers forever too 
 small, great berries, each one a mouthful, some 
 
STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM. 377 
 
 to be eaten just as they are, while the red multitude 
 are to be overpoured with cream. Cream ! what is 
 that? A pasture, knee-deep with clover, with blue- 
 grass, with orchard grass, and red-top ; spring water 
 gushing cool close by ; a pail, large, scoured white, 
 and brimming full with milk crowned with foam ; 
 pans, bright as silver, in a cool, sweet cellar, through 
 which the air circulates, carrying off every gas or 
 odor; and then, after twelve hours, do not be too 
 particular, but take that which comes first on the 
 pan, not too long kept and clotted, not too soon 
 skimmed and thin, but cream that is neither young 
 nor old, but a term midway between both, take 
 this, inquisitive reader ! and let your hand be lib 
 eral toward the saucer-full of Jenny Lind, Triumph 
 de Gaud, Bartlett s Seedling, or Lanier s Madison, 
 and then, with sweet bread and butter, and your 
 friends around you, eat, and pity the gods that sit 
 above the clouds where they can t have cows or 
 strawberries ! 
 
 But let not those despair who have no cream. Put 
 ripe berries in a dish, add a little cold water, break 
 them down with a spoon (a silver spoon will do) to 
 a jelly, adding just enough water and sugar to make 
 them half liquid, and you shall find many another 
 dish less delicious than strawberries and water ! But 
 who can depict the comfits, the strawberry tarts, the 
 pies, the puddings, jams, and preserves which they 
 form? And yet, preserved strawberries are but a 
 mockery. The flavor, the spirit, the aroma, cannot 
 be kept by fire or sugar. The strawberry was born 
 to bless us in its lifetime. Its posthumous honors 
 are, like those of many others, but dim and fugitive 
 memories of something that was, but is not. 
 
378 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 And now, having suitably opened this subject, I am 
 prepared to say, that I defy you to a trial of endur 
 ance and capacity in a strawberry-feast. You shall 
 not return without a strong battle. We will so fill 
 you, pelt you, stain you with strawberries that for a 
 month thereafter you shall imagine yourself to be a 
 round, red, juicy, fragrant strawberry ! 
 
 P. S. Do not publish this. I have no objection 
 to its going into the LEDGEK in a confidential way. 
 But it is a family matter addressed principally to your 
 eyes. 
 
 THE LIFE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 ]T is con-ceded now, by vegetable physiolo 
 gists, that plants have a real life, not by 
 a figure of speech, not a slight analogy of 
 life, but a real vegetable life, which con 
 nects them with the long chain of more perfectly de 
 veloped life above them. This it is a great comfort to 
 know. Life without passions ! Life without selfish 
 ness, envyings, jealousy, supplantings, or hatred ! It 
 may to some seem a little tame to have such an in 
 competent life. And, without a doubt, it would be a 
 poor substitute for the higher animal life. But, with 
 it, and as one department in the great realm of 
 organic life, it is intensely interesting to see a devel 
 opment, if not of beings, yet of living agents, without 
 wills, affections, or passions, producing such a round 
 of magnificent effects as is found in the vegetable 
 kingdom. 
 
THE LIFE OF FLOWERS. 379 
 
 Bat to a sensitive imagination, the belief of this 
 life-principle works increased tenderness toward flow 
 ers. They are now relatives, if not country cous 
 ins, yet remote kindred. We plant them with some 
 sense of the dignity of seeds ! We nurse and tend 
 them as if they were infant children. We begin to 
 transfer to them the experience of human life. They 
 must eat. They must drink. They must perspire. 
 They must be kept clean. They must sleep, breathe, 
 excrete, and, in short, perform all functions of supply, 
 repair, and development. 
 
 But may we not imagine, now, that as there is a 
 vegetable life so there is a vegetable soul, which bears 
 to our higher human soul about the same relation 
 that the vegetable life-principle does to the animal 
 life-principle ? 
 
 Is it so difficult to imagine (for we suggest it as a 
 mere fancy) that flowers represent different disposi 
 tions ? In human experience disposition springs from 
 affections or sentiments. But flowers do not think or 
 feel. Beauty seems the end of their life. Their 
 souls, if they have any, must be regarded as a modi 
 fication of this element of beauty. And as, when 
 we speak of a person s disposition we think of con 
 scious and voluntary feeling, so, when we speak of a 
 flower s disposition, we should think of some ten 
 dency or active reaching toward beauty, in some of 
 its innumerable combinations. 
 
 What the range of such a life is, it is impossible for 
 one to conceive. It must not be measured by our 
 estimate of beauty, nor by analogies with our sort of 
 life. Men are supreme egotists. They regard noth 
 ing as of value that does not in some way measure 
 
380 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 itself by them. But beauty has relatively but a small 
 function in human life. It would seem to play a 
 higher part in the economy of the universe. If the 
 profusion of things beautiful, the varieties of beauty, 
 the creation of beauty outside of all human recogni 
 tion, as in shells under the wave, in fish, in insects 
 that live in wood or earth, in tropical life, where the 
 most gorgeous displays are least witnessed, in hyper 
 borean beauty, in crystalline snow-forms and frost- 
 etchings, be considered, it is plain that beauty is 
 developed in this world on account of the taste, or 
 want, or love, of the organizing and creating mind, 
 rather than for the immediate necessity or use of the 
 human race. Thus, a civilized man, living among 
 Indians, might sit for years, occupying his leisure in 
 writing his meditations and observations, and pouring 
 out the elements of a noble life, without its having 
 relation to the consciousness or occupation of those 
 among whom he outwardly dwelt. So God may be 
 pouring out a noble life, written in elements of beauty, 
 beneath, above, around, and within human life, and 
 yet, in so far as we are concerned, little or not at all 
 recognized. 
 
 In such a view, flowers may be said to live to God 
 more than to men. And if they are effecting a divine 
 mission, and having a relation to the Divine mind, they 
 may have more of a soul-life than we think or dream 
 of. Judged by our standard, birds have very poor 
 language. But is the human idea of language the fit 
 one by which to measure bird-language ? Is there 
 no listening except through our ears ? Is there no 
 back-realm, no invisible sphere through which musical 
 sounds move and beauty gleams, more freely, easily, 
 
THE LIFE OF FLOWERS. 381 
 
 and copiously than through the opaque elements of 
 human life ? And precisely the same thought applies 
 to form, color, and odor in flower-life. 
 
 How easily, then, may we imagine that flowers are 
 set to develop, in this world, another and entirely 
 different experiment of life, having its peculiar ele 
 ments, its relations, more directly with God and spir 
 its than with men, and discovered to men only so far 
 as our gross senses can recognize them. Flowers, as 
 such, can present themselves to only two doors of the 
 mind, to sight and smell. The ear has nothing to 
 do with them. Touch and taste are related to them 
 in no way that discriminates them from everything 
 else. The eye and the nose at once, and they only, 
 recognize the flower as differing from other objects. 
 
 In short, these most exquisite organizations, that 
 have so very slight a kold on human life, have been 
 created and spread, with a Divine care and wisdom, 
 in such profusion, and are so full of creative thought 
 and taste, as to compel us to infer that they answer 
 a purpose quite beyond the ordinary ideas of men. 
 Other beings are being ministered to besides men. 
 As our eye glances over a meadow purpled with June, 
 it does not follow that all this gorgeous life rises and 
 expends itself for us, alone or chiefly, or that there is 
 no more life in it than so much as our coarse senses 
 perceive. Flowers have a life that ministers chiefly 
 in another direction. They are sent to do God s 
 work in unrevealed paths, and to diffuse influence by 
 channels that we hardly suspect. A lighthouse upon 
 a promontory jutting far out into the sea, cannot tell 
 its keeper what it has been doing all night. While 
 he slept, it burned on. It flashed its beams far out 
 
382 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 along the beaded crests of waves, and fell upon the 
 eye of the watcher, on an Indiaman, returned from 
 months of sailing out of sight of land, to tell him 
 where he was, ! and how near to his port. It cheered 
 some storm-tossed mariner that had lost his reckon 
 ing, and at its flash first knew, for many days, where 
 he was. It warned many a sail, that then stood^off 
 from perilous shoals. It confirmed and cheered many 
 a navigator, who, as it sent its beams forth to him, 
 knew that his calculations were right. And so all 
 night long, its long silent beams shot forth into the 
 darkness, conveying mute lessons and tidings to a 
 hundred ocean craft, and yet it kept no journal, and 
 made no report of its doings ; and when, in the morn 
 ing, the keeper arose to trim his dying lamps, he 
 knew nothing of all the mysterious signallings that 
 had been going on, message* of life and death, sent 
 on beams of light through the darkness, to passers-by 
 on the far-off sea. 
 
 Has God no lights and signals? Has the unkindled 
 glow of Beauty no relation to those that pass by us 
 through the invisible realm ? Do we that look upon 
 the kindled flowers, imagine what they have done, or 
 are doing, to eyes that watch from afar? Because 
 their life is not one fitted to commune with us, have 
 they no life and communion the other way? 
 
 Flowers may beckon toward us, but they speak 
 toward heaven and God ! 
 
CHILDHOOD AND DISENCHANTMENT. 383 
 
 CHILDHOOD AND DISENCHANTMENT. 
 
 HE progress of disenchantment marks the 
 advance and decline of age. Our youth 
 occupies itself unconsciously in surrounding 
 all things with the hues and proportions of 
 the imagination. Mountains will never again be so 
 large as in childhood, nor roads so long, nor stones so 
 heavy, nor colors so bright, nor distances so limitless. 
 When the ripe man, after years of absence, revisits 
 the scenes of childhood, he is disappointed and sur 
 prised. Is it possible that this little stone, which was 
 a landmark in our games, ever seemed so vast as 
 it did? 
 
 Is this the river this thread of silver water 
 from whose edge we used to look fearingly into the 
 current ? And those immense trees, in whose tops 
 winter winds roared, and summer birds sang, can it 
 be possible that they were . so small as this ? Once we 
 thought it a feat to throw a stone up to the middle 
 branches ; now to jerk one over the top is a mere 
 trifle. The well is not so deep as it was, the pas 
 ture is not so large, the road to Aunt Bull s not so 
 long, nor to the brook beyond where we watered the 
 horse every day, nor to the orchard, nor to Mr. Bid- 
 well s, nor clear round to the pond ! 
 
 In like manner do our wonderful books and won 
 derful heroes diminish in interest and importance. 
 Robinson Crusoe and Pilgrim s Progress alone hold 
 out, and are as engaging in later years as in earlier. 
 But even that incomparable marvel and soul-stirring 
 
384 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 repository of wonder, the Arabian Nights, has lost 
 its wonderfulness. We read it with sadness to find 
 that we are so little interested where once we were 
 intoxicated with excitement. Meanwhile the witch 
 stories, the children s tales, the Jack the Giant-Killer 
 and his compeers, are gone forever. 
 
 If we could array before our judgment now the 
 wits, the skilful men, the strong men, that excited our 
 youthful admiration, it is very probable that we 
 should turn them all off as worth scarcely a thought. 
 It is said that the strong man of the town could lift a 
 barrel of cider and drink from the bung. We used 
 to imagine what a time Samson would have had with 
 such another giant ! And it is to be doubted whether 
 Samson, with all his strength, ever lifted a barrel of 
 cider and drank out of its bung. 
 
 In these degenerate days of railroads, stage-coaches 
 are no longer the important things they were in our 
 childhood. When the horn sounded, far up the 
 street, where the road comes into the village, no mat 
 ter where we were, nor at what play, we ran and 
 tumbled into the front-yard to see the wonder of each 
 alternate day. There came the four horses, and the 
 swinging, round-topped stage, and that great man, 
 the stage-driver ! 
 
 If he had commanded us, we verily believe we 
 should have raced and chased the town over, on his 
 errands, enough compensated by being under the 
 command of a man so wonderful. Not Solomon in 
 all his glory was ever arrayed like one of these, or 
 drove such horses, or had such supreme influence 
 upon the children ! And then, to go down to the 
 stage-yard, where Parks kept his horses ; to walk 
 
CHILDHOOD AND. DISENCHANTMENT. 385 
 
 reverently about the new, red, magnificent stage, to 
 look in at the stable-door and see a long row of hind 
 legs, and half as many long tails whisking around 
 them, and to wonder what was outside of the door 
 beyond, and take to our heels with desperate fear 
 when the hostler, in imaginary anger, roared out, 
 " Clear out, you rascals ! what are you doing here ? " 
 these experiences weighed on our after thoughts, 
 and formed a part of our boyish conversations, and 
 were of as much relative importance to us then as 
 now revolutions and battles are. 
 
 But there are some things that lose nothing, and 
 gain much. Those yearning thoughts toward the In 
 finite and the Eternal, those solemn and trembling 
 moods of veneration in the presence of evident mani 
 festations of Divine Power, those heart-lovings to 
 ward noble friends who were worthy of all that the soul 
 could give them, these suffer no declension and no 
 diminution. Age deepens veneration and love. Our 
 riper judgment approves the heart s experience, and 
 adds new impressions. Thus, it would seem as if all 
 experiences that are nearly related to the senses and 
 the body wane as we grow old, while those that spring 
 from the soul inherit something of its immortality, 
 and neither fade with years, or fall away, but, like all 
 the nobler faculties of the mind, grow brighter as 
 they advance toward the gate at whose threshold all 
 weakness ends, and perfectness begins. 
 
 17 
 
386 EYES AND EAKS. 
 
 MY PICTURE-GALLERY. 
 
 HAVE seen the principal galleries of pic 
 tures in American cities, and a few of the 
 eminent collections in London and Paris. 
 It may seem to some like vain and foolish 
 boasting to say that I have a collection of pictures 
 far surpassing any at home or abroad. Yet I con 
 scientiously affirm it. Of course, it would be the 
 vice of a curmudgeon to shut up such a collection. 
 I keep it open through the day, and often far into 
 night. No fee is charged for admission. Entrance 
 is permitted at all times, even when a new arrange 
 ment of pictures is going on, for I have so many 
 pictures that all cannot be exhibited at once, and 
 every day I make some fresh dispositions. Although 
 figure-pieces largely outnumber all others, yet there 
 are admirable sea-pieces, ships, bits of landscape, fine 
 cloud effects, very well executed trees, fruit-pieces, 
 animals of many kinds, true to life. Great pains 
 has been taken with costume. It would be difficult 
 to find any disposition of cloth, from the out-blossom 
 ing of a beggar s coat to the heavy folds of velvet 
 and satin, or the fine plaits of linen and lace, that I 
 have not on exhibition. Will you walk with me 
 and take a mere cursory view ? 
 
 Let us go out the front door into the street. 
 There ! see that sad face coming. The artist under 
 took to depict the expression of one who had been 
 well bred, whose thoughts and feelings were refined, 
 who had for years passed from reverse to reverse ; 
 
MY PICTURE-GALLERY. 387 
 
 by turns sickness, or watchings for the sick ; poverty 
 without sordidness ; neglect of friends borne without 
 bitterness of spirit ; and at length age with sharp ills 
 that cripple the limbs and make walking a slow tor 
 ture. See how gentle and even tranquil the face is ! 
 Cheerfulness, patience, and divine trust overlie the 
 sharp features, as gold is put along salient edges of 
 great rooms to catch the light, and take away a 
 sense of heaviness and gloom. FrSre never painted 
 such a head. It is a noble study, within and 
 without. 
 
 Just beyond, and in admirable contrast, see that 
 group of little girls. There are six of them. The 
 eldest is ten years old. They are full of life and 
 motion. Just a shade of consciousness is falling 
 upon them, but no regulated vanity as yet. Their 
 hair was well brushed, but the wind has been brush 
 ing it again, as it does leaves and tall grass, into the 
 beauty of negligence. Their cheeks are flushed with 
 running. Would you see how sweet and loving they 
 are ? Let us walk along past them. Here they come, 
 running, free, eager, without rudeness. They seize me 
 by my hands, by my arms, by my skirts. They look 
 up with pretty questions in their mouths and inno 
 cence in their eyes, while one or two, less acquainted 
 or more shy, hang just on the edge of the group, 
 wistful but unventuresome. I never tire of this pic 
 ture. And such has been the matchless skill of the 
 artist that it never looks to me twice alike. 
 
 Walk on. Look down at your feet. Do you see 
 those exquisite effects ? The shadows of leaves and 
 branches are cast upon a golden ground of sunlight, 
 and, most wonderful in a picture, they move. These 
 
388 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 long films of shade that shift hither and thither are 
 willow spray. They seem like shadows of spirits. 
 How unlike the rigid forms and positive motion of 
 the leaves of the linden, or fern-leaved ailanthus, that 
 much-abused, beautiful tree. This is an endless pic 
 ture. Walk where you may, and as long as you 
 will, filmy shadows, mottled with gold, move in a 
 dreamy maze upon the cold, gray stones. We walk 
 on pictures. The most delicate etchings, the most 
 exquisite pencil-sketches, cannot compare with these 
 leagues of frescoes under foot. 
 
 Stop. Look up at that window. Set as in a frame is 
 a child s face, looking for some expected father, and 
 just behind the young mother. They do not know 
 what a rare picture they form. Neither do others. 
 For, while half behind a tree, to shield my curiosity 
 and interest, I look at them and at the passers-by, 
 scarcely one looks up, and then but a single glance ; 
 and yet Reynolds never composed so sweet a figure, 
 in such exquisite color, with such beautiful expression. 
 Notice, by the curbstone yonder, that German woman 
 with a cart drawn in part by two dogs. The hand 
 cart is full of half-burnt coal and cinders. What 
 grizzly dogs, fierce and harsh to every strange comer ; 
 but how lovingly do they spring and tug to reach their 
 mistress as she comes out, dusty, grimed, weather- 
 tanned, with her fragments of fuel ! And she ! Five 
 hundred people will go past her, and she will not know 
 it. She is as separate from this crowd of life as if she 
 were a carved stone, or a growing tree. Her thoughts 
 and theirs have no more acquaintance than have the 
 birds in the air with the fish in the sea. And yet 
 there is a voice at home that will call out to her, and, 
 
MY PICTURE-GALLERY. 389 
 
 with strange resurrection, up from this hard exterior 
 will come the glow, the love, the yearning sympathy 
 of motherhood ! In the streets, dogs, dirt, and wo 
 man ; in the house, mother and babe ! and the dif 
 ference is that of before and after resurrection ! 
 
 Here go the misses to school ! In twos and threes 
 the street is lighted up with faces and beautiful 
 colors ! If I were a rich man, I would build a 
 mansion, and have never less than a thousand chil 
 dren under care. To pass the age of twelve should 
 be the fault for which expulsion should be visited. 
 But there falls a broad shadow on the street. Look 
 up. It is one of those unfolding banks of white, full 
 of lines and cinctures of gray. Is it a tabernacle 
 holding spirits within ? Or is it some island floated 
 off from ethereal realms ? Or is this a caravan such as 
 move through the highways of the air, freighted with 
 treasures to some provincial star, in which odors and 
 essences have given out ? The shadow moves slowly 
 down the street, colors fade out, the tracing of leaves on 
 the path is effaced, grays gain ground and white van 
 ishes, until that yellow flood behind, following close, 
 pours the tide of sunlight again on all the street ! 
 
 There moves a funeral, twenty Carriages; and, 
 except in the first, all seem to take a cheerful view 
 of death in others. The sexton and undertaker is 
 in his glory. He rides in front, as if he returned in 
 triumph from the war. To him death means fees, 
 gloves, scarfs, and a spectacle arranged in the very 
 best taste for grief. Vanity and money go up to the 
 very gates of immortality. The doctor had professional 
 curiosity in the act of death ; the nurse is vain of 
 the number whom she has laid out, and this is only 
 
390 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 one more ! The man that made the coffin is vain 
 of the work ; the sexton is vain of the whole job ; the 
 grave-digger looks with complacent eye on the grave, 
 dug, he assures you, better than by any other op 
 erator in that line, and in half the time. There was 
 much meaning in the Apostle s sentence, " It is sown 
 in corruption and in dishonor ana in darkness." 
 
 Here comes a nurse, with a plump babe in a little 
 carriage, another sort of procession, from death to 
 life this is going. Five steps behind, the young 
 mother, herself fair and but a girl ; yet would you 
 please her? Look at her child, and look again. 
 
 But you grow tired of looking at pictures ? Well, 
 it is tiresome. There are too many for once. Let s 
 go back, forget what we have seen, look on some paint 
 and canvas, and be filled with enthusiasm ! For men 
 admire men and their works more than God and his 
 works. It is but a part of human egotism. 
 
 FAIRY MUSIC. 
 
 MOSQUITO has an intense individuality. 
 Others of insects there are that love plun 
 der, that will shed blood to secure their 
 ends, that are prowlers in the night. But 
 this only of all these adventurers commits indecent 
 depredations under the color of the Fine Arts. 
 
 Gnats, fleas, bed-bugs, chiggers, and other things 
 that shall be nameless, make a business of supplying 
 their hunger, without refinement, without the accom- 
 
FAIRY MUSIC. 391 
 
 paniments of conversation, or any refinements whatso 
 ever. It is mere appetite. But a mosquito will not 
 gorge himself for the sake of eating. He first offers 
 you a song. He will exhibit you many feats of dex 
 terity. He is a good gymnast, and nimble enough. 
 Your first intimation of his presence is the finest of 
 audible sounds, as if he had strung a gossamer upon 
 his violin, and was sounding the scale far up in those 
 tones which end the earthly scale and join on to the 
 ethereal sounds too fine for gross mortal ears. It 
 draws nearer. It is not a dull monotone. His swift 
 flight and a habit of excursion give to his music the 
 variable and intermitting effects noticed in an JSolian 
 harp, now loud, now soft, now near, and now far 
 distant. It is this variety, among other things, that 
 gives such effect to his music. Many persons that 
 do not listen to common music listen instantly when 
 ever they hear his. Persons without any natural 
 musical ear can detect to a nicety every note of this 
 airy musician, and often he sets them to beating time 
 for him. 
 
 Some have supposed that the mosquito was of a 
 devout turn, and never would partake of a meal with 
 out saying grace ; but that can hardly be, so long is 
 the ceremony, unless he be imagined a Puritan, ad 
 dicted to excessive length of service. Others suppose 
 him a gallant, out on a serenade, singing gayly to 
 some fair one ; or some roysterer, returning home 
 from too convivial a meeting, and singing ditties and 
 snatches as he goes. But no one who will examine 
 this gentle creature can hold these theories. He is 
 spare, which indicates temperate habits. He is slight 
 and slender, and may be a little vain of his figure ; 
 
392 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 but the sober gray of his dress shows that he is not 
 a vain beau. 
 
 I am, upon profound meditation, satisfied that the 
 mosquito has a natural voice ; that, like the nightin 
 gale and whippoorwill, he sings of preference at 
 night ; and that blood-sucking is but an accident, 
 while the fine arts are the true aim of his being. The 
 great populous world of mosquitos never touch meats. 
 They are born to vegetable juices. They are a refined 
 and tiny species of vegetarians. 
 
 We all know that a mosquito is born in the water. 
 He is not of a turbulent disposition, and does not 
 affect unquiet waters, but still pools and stagnant res 
 ervoirs. Here he first appears as a horizontal wrig 
 gler. Shortly he mounts to the surface, to see if he 
 can in some way get ashore. In lack of better means, 
 he strips off his skin, tucks it under him as a float, 
 pulls out from their folds a nice pair of wings, for 
 which he had no use when under water, and holds 
 them up to dry in the sun. This is the crisis of his 
 being. Before he got at his wings, before he stript 
 off his water-proof garments, he was nowhere so much 
 at home as in the water. But now, while he is sailing 
 on its surface with his skin-boat under him, should a 
 puff of wind upset him, all is over. The element that 
 nourished him an hour before would now drown him. 
 His whole success in life depends upon a still and 
 dry hour, in which to get his legs stretched and his 
 wings ironed out. But once let him rise, and now 
 " the world is all before him where to choose " ! His 
 first preference, next of course to music, is vegetable 
 juice. He banquets on the sap of tender herbaceous 
 stems. He seeks the shadows of underbrush, of 
 
FAIRY MUSIC. 393 
 
 weedy nooks, of forests ; and here, for the most part, 
 he passes his tranquil life in airy music. 
 
 As there are some adventurers even in the most 
 moral societies, so there are some restless mosquitos, 
 who disdain advice, breaking from the traditions and 
 customs of the fathers, and wander into by and forbid 
 den paths. Such enter houses without leave, go 
 without knocking into chambers, and spy out other 
 people s business. But, even then, a mosquito cannot 
 forget the elegance of his native tastes. His flute, if 
 it be a flute that he blows, or viol, if it be stringed 
 music that we nightly hear, is his constant compan 
 ion. Some rude and indiscriminating people have 
 called him the pirate of the night. Whenever did a 
 pirate preface his deeds of blood with music ? No. 
 My own impression is, that the mosquito comes on a 
 serenading errand. He brings you music. It is be 
 nevolence, it is a love of harmonious numbers, that 
 inspires him. And yet old harpers, after their strains, 
 expected a full cup of ruby wine. And our tiny 
 singer, being thirsty, alights upon the first succulent 
 thing to slake his thirst. But that is a mere accident. 
 That, after drawing blood, they may be perverted, I 
 do not deny. There is much blood in the world that 
 would turn the head of stronger creatures than nios- 
 quitos. 
 
 But, my dear Mr. Bonner, mosquitos cannot be 
 treated fitly without some allusion to the conduct of 
 persons visited by them. Admit that they are dis- 
 sigreeable ; what do you think they would say of us, 
 were they to write for the LEDGER? Let my next 
 take up this subject again. Do you object to mosqui 
 tos in the LEDGER ? 
 
394 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 MOSQUITOS. No. 2. 
 
 HE day has been too hot. The night is sul 
 try. You are nervous and restless. No 
 place so good as the bed, and to the cham 
 ber you repair, hoping soon to lose all 
 remembrance of your cares and troubles in sleep. 
 The light is extinguished, and you resign yourself 
 to the pleasing sensations of approaching rest. When 
 lo ! a thin, piercing sound salutes you ! It needs no 
 interpretation. It is a mosquito come a-serenading. 
 Is there any trumpet that can wake a nervous man 
 more quickly or more entirely ? Every sense is 
 attent. Now the sound comes near, now recedes, 
 now it is lost. It soon comes again, and, watching 
 your opportunity, you give yourself a broad slap 
 upon the face, hoping that the mosquito shared it 
 with you ! For a moment he seems dead. You 
 experience a minute satisfaction of petty revenge. 
 But soon the inevitable sound comes again, but with 
 a hither and thither motion. You are acutely atten 
 tive. This time, to make sure, your hand is disen 
 gaged, and lies outside of the coverlet, ready for a 
 surprising blow. He alights. You feel his delicate 
 touch upon your forehead. Quicker than winking, 
 your hand follows him with such a slap as makes 
 the room echo. But he is quicker than you are, 
 and besides, sees in darkness much better. He is 
 off like a sprite, and sings and pipes in a distant cor 
 ner. By this time you are quite excited, you dis 
 course : " The thief (some men put naughty adjec- 
 
MOSQUITOS. 395 
 
 tives before the noun), if he would hold his peace 
 and come and eat his fill, and be off, he should be 
 welcome. But the intolerable piping is worse than 
 a surgeon s lancet." Suppose, my friend, that you 
 should get up, light the gas, hunt for him! You 
 had better close the blinds, for, however suitable 
 your condition may be in itself considered, yet, if 
 seen from a neighbor s window, a night-capped man 
 in search of a mosquito, at twelve at night, en dis 
 habille, must subject himself to some ridicule. There, 
 now, return to your work. You cannot find him? 
 After all, perhaps that last slap did the business for 
 him. It certainly did for you. See how red your 
 much-abused face is ! Why not let him take a little 
 blood out of it ? It would be improved. 
 
 The hero returns to his couch, and the tiny foe 
 returns to the hero. Again the horn sounds, again 
 he strikes out at him, and again misses. At length, 
 tired out, the victim falls asleep. The little trum 
 peter draws near and sounds a challenge. He cir 
 cuits all about, and sings every note in his serenade. 
 At length he alights upon a chosen spot, and hav 
 ing satisfied his hunger, retires to some dark corner, 
 overswollen, to collapse and die. 
 
 All this would not be worth telling but for its 
 application. I see on every hand men engaged in 
 beating themselves on account of fears, cares, frets, 
 and petty annoyances. 
 
 The mother sits by her child slightly ill. She 
 imagines all possible evils, she torments herself for 
 hours and days at possible, but improbable results. 
 It is a mosquito game. The real evil is petty, and 
 if quietly taken would soon cease of itself. But she 
 
EYES AND EARS. 
 
 must punish herself by every ingenious imagination. 
 Love has its mosquitos. How many sounds does 
 jealousy hear. How many dreads does anxious love 
 breed. How many nameless fears, and how many 
 "what ifs." 
 
 Much of the anxiety of business is mere musquito- 
 hunting. When I see a man pale and anxious, not 
 for what has happened, but for what may happen, I 
 say, " Strike your own face, do it again, and keep 
 doing it, for there is nothing else to hit." 
 
 Everybody has his own mosquitos, that fly by night 
 or bite by day. There are few men of nerves firm 
 enough to calmly let them bite. Most men insist 
 upon flagellating themselves for the sake of not hit 
 ting their troubles. 
 
 BOOK-KEEPING. 
 
 OMEBODY has sent to me a very nice book 
 on Book-keeping. And no book could have 
 been more timely. There is no other point 
 on which I have a more lively interest than 
 that of keeping books. In fact, I have found it very 
 difficult to get them, and still more difficult to keep 
 them. There seems to be no conscience formed as to 
 book theft. It is doubtful whether any indictment 
 could be made to lie against a man for such an act as 
 borrowing and keeping your book. It is rather a 
 mark of confidence. He thus says, " Ah, he is my 
 friend, and he will not expect me to carry the book 
 
BOOK-KEEPING. 39T 
 
 again to him. When he wants it he will come after 
 it. We always have things in common. " Pencils, 
 umbrellas, canes, and books are not property. They 
 cannot be appropriated by one man as owner. They 
 belong to the category in which is included air, light, 
 water, and fire ; who wants them may have them. I 
 will not say that this is yet the written law. It is the 
 common law. 
 
 Books ? The only bodies are they for noble spirits, 
 that have no ailments or annoyances. Books talk to 
 you, not through the ear, but another way. They 
 shout their silent meaning at the soul through the 
 eye. They never importune, and are never reluctant. 
 They are always full without eating. They are still, 
 but never sleep. They grow old without infirmity. 
 They are neither sick nor weary ; they outwatch the 
 watcher, and greet the morning, and wait for the stars 
 at evening. For every other guest we make a couch 
 and spread a table. But strange are the manners of 
 books and pictures, that bring rest to our pertur 
 bations, and are guests that perform all the offices of 
 hospitality for the host. 
 
 Why should they be singled out for theft ? When 
 my spoons disappear, there is at least a pleasure in 
 saying, " A thief has got them." But even that pleas 
 ure is denied me when books appear no more. 
 
 Once there came an artist with letters of renown 
 from a friend. He needed help. A fine copy had I 
 of " Stuart s Athens," uncut, large paper, early im 
 pressions. So gladly and greedily did he devour the 
 matter therein, that I was beguiled, tempted of the 
 Devil, to offer to let him take the precious volumes 
 to his room, the better to ease his tasks and help his 
 
398 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 toil. He took them. He thanked me much, and his 
 face glowed. The volumes were large three and 
 heavy ; they ought to be, since they had the Par 
 thenon in them, and the whole Acropolis, and many 
 temples to boot. He went, they went, four years 
 went, and he never returned, nor have the books 
 returned ! They are gone ! That thief of an artist 
 I sigh for revenge. Could I have and hold him, 
 he should be shut up in a book-case for indefinite 
 years, and be sentenced to read Tupper or Wise s 
 Letters. No. I relent. Not the last. Punishments 
 may be severe, but should never be cruel. 
 
 How many first volumes are gone ? What is a 
 widowed volume ? that they would take the set 
 if they will take any ! The surprise of their " taking 
 off" conies to you too at unexpecting moments. You 
 are discussing with a friend of some matter ; there 
 is illustration or proof in Kugler s Handbook. You 
 run for it, and then first learn that it is gone ! That 
 gem from Didot s press, all that you know of it is, 
 it was here, it is not here, and it never will be here. 
 That last clause is the result of long experience. If 
 a book is poor, it is not worth the trouble of return 
 ing ; if good, it is too valuable to be returned. 
 
 When we are Pope, we intend to make great 
 changes in the Creeds and Articles. Stealing books, 
 i. e. borrowing them, shall be put among the mortal 
 sins, and private revenge upon stealers of books shall 
 be venial, under a very slight tariff. 
 
 Then, when we are Emperor, we intend, every year, 
 to require each man in the empire who can read and 
 write, to make solemn search of his household, and to 
 file an affidavit that there is not remaining with him 
 
BOOK-KEEPING. 399 
 
 a borrowed book ! Thus I would reinstate the old 
 Jubilee ; only for men, it was once in seven, and once 
 in fifty years : but for books it should come as often 
 as Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year s come ! 
 
 My dear Mr. Bonner, you will now understand 
 how delighted I was to perceive that this subject was 
 attracting attention and that treatises were written 
 upon it. " Book-Keeping " for schools, too, it says. 
 That s beginning at the right place ! I have not read 
 the book yet; but any attempt to rectify this great 
 evil of books that cannot be kept must do good. I 
 commend them to Sabbath schools. " Practical Book 
 keeping." Admirable theme ! Much-needed reform! 
 "Embracing," saith the cover, " single and double 
 entry." This is obscure. "Entry,?" does this refer 
 to the act of entering once and twice for books? 
 Why limit it to single and double ; why not say ten 
 and twenty times entry? Men that will take one 
 volume would take twenty if they could ; if they 
 come once, they come twenty times. 
 
 But perhaps this is explained in the book. I shall 
 read it soon. No doubt it will be another excellent 
 moral aid to weak consciences. The work that will 
 teach me BOOK-KEEPING, will do what nothing has 
 done before. I cannot keep money. I cannot keep 
 books. Blessed is he that shall teach me how ! 
 
400 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 SPEAKING-HALLS. 
 
 ARGE rooms, or halls, for public meetings 
 are not to be regarded merely as convenien 
 ces ; they are institutions of instruction. 
 And that quite independently of the mere 
 knowledge that is dispensed in them. Our system of 
 government demands of its people the habit of confer 
 ence , of frequent assembly for consideration of com 
 mon interests. Whatever tends to bring people to 
 gether in peaceable ways, to elicit their thoughts, to 
 move them with common sentiments, or to inspire 
 them, even for an hour, with feelings common to them 
 all, alike and together, confers a great benefit. It is 
 on this account that convenient and inviting public 
 halls are a means of education. They furnish also 
 places of entertainments, for fairs, social assemblies, 
 for the meetings of societies, lodges, and associations. 
 Whatever brings our people peaceably together does 
 them good. In our climate, and with our national 
 habits, the open air meetings of Southern Europe, the 
 fetes-champetres, cannot be expected, and provision 
 must be made under shelter. 
 
 Churches and town-halls were the earliest provisions 
 for popular gatherings. Pleasure next opened ball 
 rooms and concert-rooms. But it is to the lecture 
 system that we are indebted more than to any other 
 influence for the rapid progress made within ten years 
 in building spacious and elegant public, halls. Ten or 
 fifteen years ago, and, except in a few of the principal 
 cities, no hall could be found which would now be 
 
SPEAKING-HALLS. 401 
 
 deemed respectable. Now, in all the larger towns, 
 and in many villages even, we find large and conven 
 ient audience-rooms. And much more attention is 
 every year bestowed upon warming, lighting, and ven 
 tilating them. As yet but few answer all the prime 
 conditions of a good hall. These indispensable condi 
 tions are, strength of structure, ease of entrance and 
 exit, abundance of light, that yet does not dazzle the 
 eyes, the means of regulating the temperature, good 
 speaking qualities, and, lastly, but eminently, ventila 
 tion. 
 
 It is simply a piece of wantonness to build an en 
 trance-way so small that, upon alarm of fire, the 
 audience could not easily clear the hall without crush 
 ing and trampling each other. In no other thing is 
 economy more culpable. Every hall should have an 
 exit and vomitory at each end, and, if large enough to 
 hold two thousand people, there should be side open 
 ings also. Even in times without alarm, the jamming 
 and pushing of people wedged together in narrow 
 passages is an outrage, not only upon convenience, but 
 upon propriety. It ought to be made a matter of leg 
 islation. The law should require a definite relation 
 between the containing power of the hall and the pas 
 sages and vomitories. 
 
 The lighting needs less reformation, since in all 
 large rooms gas is introduced. But much improve 
 ment may take place in the disposition of the flame. 
 When the jets are lifted up toward the ceiling, ar 
 ranged either along the cornice or in central clusters, 
 with suitable openings for the passing off of heat and 
 smoke, they afford the most agreeable light. But 
 when this cannot be done, all strong lights at the end 
 
402 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 where the speaker stands should be avoided. They 
 are a source of great suffering to many, and of annoy 
 ance to all. 
 
 It is the practice, frequently, to place on the lec 
 turer s desk an Argand lamp, or a camphene lamp, or 
 other intense flame, as if the only thing required was, 
 light enough. These glaring and intense lights put 
 out the speaker s eyes, and the hearers too. They 
 are intolerable. It is literally true, that they prevent 
 one s seeing his manuscript ; for, by dazzling the eye, 
 and heating the head, they produce indistinctness of 
 vision. The best of all lights are simply a pair of 
 sperm candles ! They give abundance of light, they 
 throw it just where you need it, they do not blear the 
 speaker s eyes, nor dazzle the audience ; they require 
 no snuffing, can be moved easily, and may be pro 
 cured in any village. 
 
 Of ventilation we almost despair. What good will 
 words do, when stench, stupidity, fainting, and half- 
 suffocation do not avail ? Only this week, on the 10th 
 of December, we spoke in the hall of one of our best 
 old New England towns, where every person in the 
 room was poisoned by the foul air. Nothing fresh 
 could get in, and nothing foul could get out. It has 
 been so for several years, and will continue to be so. 
 People in other things sensible, and public-spirited, 
 seem to be infatuated on this subject. Bad air seems 
 to be, if not a luxury, a necessary of life. 
 
 Even when ventilation is attempted, it is often with 
 an ignorance that is ludicrous. We once were gravely 
 pointed by a committee-man to the efforts made for 
 ventilating a hall capable of holding twelve hundred 
 people. And what was it ? A round hole not above 
 
CONVERSATIONAL FAULTS. 403 
 
 eight inches in diameter ! This was expected to 
 change the air for twelve hundred people. 
 
 Perhaps, at another time, we will mention some of 
 the best speaking-halls in the country. 
 
 CONVERSATIONAL FAULTS. 
 
 |YERY child is early admonished of the rude 
 ness of interrupting a person while speak 
 ing. But why this caution should be con 
 fined to children we cannot imagine. Their 
 rudeness is the least provoking of any. It is the 
 exhibitions that we meet in genteel society that mar 
 our comfort most and excite our surprise. And 
 among adults we learn to be patient with impetuous 
 natures, whose strong and ungoverned feelings, touched 
 by some spark in your words, go off like bombs, past 
 all power of restraint. 
 
 But the aggravated offenders are those who inter 
 ject your conversation with comments and hints, or 
 vexatious corrections, or meddling smartness, and so 
 take from you all pleasure of fluency. Just as you 
 are coming to the nub of a story, they quietly drop a 
 sentence which tells the whole, and leave you with 
 only the mortifying remnants. Is it a jest that is 
 loaded and in your hand ? They slyly step behind 
 you and pull the trigger, leaving you empty as an 
 exploded gun-barrel. 
 
 Sometimes a single word, like a drop of ink in a 
 tumbler of water, will change the color of a whole 
 
404 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 statement. You cannot repel it, nor answer it, for 
 it attacks nothing, says nothing positively, but only 
 fixes in the mind certain suggestions. 
 
 There is an inflection of this evil, equally vexatious. 
 It is when a shrewd lip comments in your ear, whis- 
 peringly, or aside, upon the remarks or address to 
 which you are listening. It may be that you are not 
 of a retentive countenance. A ludicrous word, dropped 
 just right, sets you into a laugh, irresistible just in 
 proportion to its impoliteness. You seem to mock 
 the person speaking, while the arch-whisperer sits 
 demurely, without blame, as innocent as a dove. 
 
 Yet less bearable are the comments of conceited 
 persons, upon some performance to which you wish 
 to give your attention. While a symphony is per 
 forming, they interpolate it ; " Sublime," " Fine, very 
 fine, don t you think so ? " " Rather dull, that." Dur 
 ing a discourse they are perpetually setting their 
 remarks upon your ears, bringing you back to con 
 sciousness,, and to contempt. They sing in your ears 
 like mosquitos, they alight upon you as flies in sum 
 mer-days, only you are debarred the pleasure of aim 
 ing a good slap at them. It is seriously to be con 
 sidered whether this is not a case where a hearty box 
 on the ear would not be entirely proper, moral, and 
 reformatory ? 
 
 But there is another rudeness which, if less fre 
 quent, is equally annoying. It is the rudeness of 
 the talker and not of the interrupter. Many will 
 ask you a question and answer it themselves ; they 
 will find fault with you, and race forward with re 
 marks so as to prevent any explanation ; nay, they 
 will aggravate the matter by putting stupid replies 
 
CONVERSATIONAL FAULTS. 405 
 
 into your mouth, and then answering them. " Don t 
 speak, I know what you are going to say, but it 
 is not. so, for," &c., &c. 
 
 Many persons have a very cool way of seeing what 
 you think, and insisting upon it ; they saw it in 
 your eyes, or in your face, and will permit no denial. 
 Sometimes you are caught upon a turbulent stream 
 of talk which sweeps you down in the most ludicrous 
 way. You are whirled round, and soused, and over 
 whelmed with the rushing talk, which you cannot 
 answer or get rid of or modify. At a table, or in 
 car or boat, a man of opposite politics pours at you 
 for a half-hour, misstating your position, charging 
 you with all manner of absurdities, exaggerating 
 facts, and abusing you and your friends and your 
 party, and all the world generally, while you are 
 like a man being played on by a fire-engine, dish 
 evelled, soused, half-smothered, and rolled up into a 
 ridiculous heap. 
 
 Ought not some mark to be put upon such men, to 
 warn every one of their danger ? We mark danger 
 ous places on the highway ; we put up a sign on a 
 broken bridge ; we warn people from a dangerous 
 ford. And yet these are lesser dangers ! Why should 
 not men wear some badge significant of their propen 
 sities ? We put buttons on oxen s horns as a hint. 
 We put a board on a cow s face intimating her dan 
 gerous propensity ; we put a shackle or a poke upon 
 a horse that is addicted to extending the area of 
 his freedom. Why not put signs upon dangerous 
 people ? 
 
40 (J EYES AND EARS. 
 
 BOOTS. 
 
 HE difference between 7 and 8 is not very 
 great ; only a single unit. And yet that 
 difference has power over a man s whole 
 temper, convenience, and dignity. At Buf 
 falo, my boots were set out at night to be blacked. 
 In the morning no boots were there, though all the 
 neighboring rooms had been served. I rang. I 
 rang twice. " A pretty hotel, nearly eight o clock, 
 going out at nine, breakfast to be eaten, and no boots 
 yet." The waiter came, took my somewhat emphatic 
 order, and left. Every minute was an hour. It 
 always is when you are out of temper. A man in his 
 stocking-feet, in the third story of a hotel, finds him 
 self restricted in locomotion. I went to the door, 
 looked up and down the hall, saw frowzy chamber 
 maids ; saw, afar off, the master of the coal-scuttle ; 
 saw gentlemen walking in bright boots, unconscious 
 of the privileges which they enjoyed, but did not see 
 any one coming with my boots. A German servant 
 at length came, round and ruddy-faced, very kind and 
 good-natured, honest and stupid. He informed me 
 that a gentleman had already taken boots No. 78 (my 
 number). He would hunt him up ; thought he was 
 breakfasting. Here was new vexation. Who was 
 the man that had taken my number and gone for my 
 boots. Somebody had them on, warm and nice, and 
 was enjoying his coffee, while I walked up and down, 
 with less and less patience, who had none too much 
 at first. No servant returned. I rang again, and 
 
BOOTS. 407 
 
 sent energetic and staccato messages to the office. 
 Some water had been spilled on the floor. I stepped 
 in it, of course. In winter cold water feels as if it 
 burned you. Unpacked my valise for new stockings. 
 Time was speeding. It was quarter past eight ; train 
 at nine, no boots and no breakfast. I slipped on a 
 pair of sandal-rubbers, too large by inches for my 
 naked foot, and while I shuffled along the hall, they 
 played up and down on my feet. First, one shot off; 
 that secured, the other dropped on the stairs ; people 
 that I met looked as if they thought that I was not 
 well over a last night s spree. It was very annoying. 
 Reached the office, and expressed my mind. First 
 the clerk rang the bell three times furiously, then ran 
 forth himself, met the German boots, who had boots 
 79 in hand, narrow and long, thinking perhaps I 
 could wear them. Who knows but 79 had my boots ? 
 Some curiosity was beginning to be felt among by 
 standers. It was likely that I should have half the 
 hotel inquiring after my boots. I abhor a scene. 
 Retreated to my room. On the way thought that I 
 would look at room 77 s boots. Behold, they were 
 mine ! There was the broken pull-straps ; the patch 
 on the right side, and the very shape of my toe, in 
 fallible signs ! The fellow had marked them 77 and 
 not 78. And all this hour s tumult arose from just 
 the difference between 7 and 8. 
 
 I lost my boots, lost the train, lost my temper, and, 
 of course, lost my good manners. Everybody does 
 that loses temper. But, boots once on, breakfast 
 served, a cup of coffee brought peace and good-will. 
 The whole matter took a ludicrous aspect. I moral 
 ized iipon that infirmity that puts a man s peace at 
 
408 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 the mercy of a Dutchman s chalk. Had he written 
 seventy-eight, I had been a good-natured man, look 
 ing at Niagara Falls in its winter dress. He wrote 
 seventy-seven, and I fumed, saw only my own falls, 
 and spent the day in Buffalo ! 
 
 Are not most of the pets and rubs of life as undig 
 nified as this ? Few men could afford to-morrow to 
 review the things that vexed them yesterday. We 
 boast of being free, yet every man permits the most 
 arrant trifles to rule and ride him. A man that is 
 vexed and angry turns the worst part of himself out 
 to sight, and exhibits himself to the pity or contempt 
 of spectators. Who would put on a buffoon s coat 
 and fool s cap and walk forth to be jeered ? And yet 
 one s temper does worse by him than that. And men 
 submit to it, not once, but often, and sometimes every 
 day ! I wonder whether these sage reflections will 
 make me patient and quiet the next time my boots 
 are misplaced ? 
 
 COMPLIMENTS. 
 
 OW far may one consistently with truth and 
 honor employ compliments in his intercourse 
 with society ? This question requires us 
 to fix the meaning of a compliment. Is it 
 anything different from flattery ? Flattery may be 
 given by means of a compliment, and yet there are 
 many compliments that are true, well deserved, and 
 sincere. Both compliment and flattery belong to the 
 element of praise. Every one holds that it is right 
 
COMPLIMENTS. 409 
 
 to praise, if it be rightly done. But when one is 
 praised for things not meritorious, or which the person 
 has not performed, or for qualities not possessed, or 
 when the praise is out of proper proportion to "desert 
 or fact, it is flattery. And yet this does not hit the 
 precise moral element that determines it. Yiolation 
 or exaggeration of the truth of facts may be an in 
 discretion only. It must be done intentionally, it 
 must be done insincerely, and for a purpose. Flattery 
 is praise insincerely given for an interested purpose. 
 
 A compliment is usually praise delivered in some 
 unexpected and beautiful form. A compliment is 
 praise in an art-form. It may be a mere intimation ; 
 a graceful comparison, an illusion, or an inference 
 made or implied. It is praise crystallized. It bears 
 about the relation to praise that proverbs do to formal 
 philosophy, or that form does to poetry. 
 
 Compliments may then be Christianly honest. Sev 
 eral exquisite instances are to be found in St. Paul s 
 letters and speeches. That men employ them deceit 
 fully, flatteringly, affords no just reason against a 
 sincere and honest use of them. On the contrary, 
 there is all the more need of showing by their wise 
 use that a perversion is unnecessary. 
 
 But there is a benevolence in compliments. It 
 tempts one to look for agreeable traits among his 
 friends, and not for faults. There is among the young 
 of our time an impression that caustic and critical 
 things are smart and genteel. It is supposed that 
 dashing wit, unscrupulous cuts, and sometimes an 
 abrupt and rude demeanor, are signs of gentlemanly 
 freedom. This is a sad declension from the polished 
 and kind gentilities of former schools of good manners. 
 
 18 
 
410 EYES AND EAKS. 
 
 But a habit of saying agreeable things in an elegant 
 way, if it does not degenerate into falseness, will work 
 benefit upon the speaker ; sweetening his mind, turn 
 ing him back from bitter and hateful things, and in 
 clining him to the way of kindness. It will confer 
 great pleasure on the object, since nothing can be 
 more agreeable in the minor scenes of life than sud 
 denly to receive praise for well-doing, in a form that 
 pleases at once both the moral sense and the taste. 
 A man, however, must be kind, of good taste, and 
 thoroughly honest, to use compliments without danger 
 to himself. 
 
 SMELL AND PERFUMERY. 
 
 HE sense of smell is perhaps the lowest of 
 the senses. Its range is least of all its im 
 portance and its pleasures. It would be a 
 curious problem to determine the relative 
 amount of pleasure which men derive from the ear 
 or eye. Upon the ear is based the science of music ; 
 upon the eye the fine arts of painting, sculpture, &c. 
 By the eye we derive all pleasures of form, color, pro 
 portion ; by the ear come the delights of converse, 
 the benefit of discourse, the pleasure of music. 
 
 There is no such range to the sense of taste. With 
 this sense is connected the whole sustenance of human 
 life. It is by food that the body is every day rebuilt, 
 and tasting has much to do with food. But, as com 
 pared with these major senses, smell has but a limited 
 function. And, as the world is constituted, it is 
 
SMELL AND PERFUMERY. 411 
 
 doubtful whether we do not derive as much pain as 
 pleasure from the sense of smell. 
 
 Civilization or barbarism are alike full of bad odors. 
 Nature for the most part is sweet-smelling. When it 
 is considered that universal death is followed by con 
 tinuous decay, in the animal and vegetable worlds, 
 it is surprising that there is so little evil odor in 
 the air. The woods are fragrant, the fields are of a 
 wholesome smell. Whatever decays is soon resolved 
 to inodorous elements, and the exhaling gas is swept 
 off into the great purifier, the atmosphere of the 
 globe. 
 
 If one lives in the country, it is his own fault if 
 his nose is not at peace with all things. Winter is 
 pure and inodorous. Summer is full of balmy leaves, 
 sweet-smelling fruits, and perfumed flowers, and a 
 man may surround his dwelling with beds of fragrant 
 plants that shall fill his house with pleasure which 
 ever way the wind blows. 
 
 But what can we do in cities ? In the first place, 
 it is almost impossible to keep our dwelling sweet. 
 Even if the sewers work, the kitchen does too. Three 
 times a day we have our food sent up in a spiroteal 
 form. However good a mixed dinner may taste, it 
 seldom smells agreeably in the parlor. Coffee smells 
 gratefully even from afar, and better and better till 
 smell is lost in taste. But ham and eggs, waffles, 
 griddle-cakes, send up a faint, greasy stench through 
 all the house, pah ! 
 
 Then comes gas. Can human imagination conceive 
 of odor more utterly abominable ? And yet how few 
 dwellings have not a leak somewhere ? In June come 
 worms. The whole air reeks with sickening, vermic- 
 
412 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 ular stench. No sooner does this begin to abate be 
 fore the ailanthus-tree sheds its heavy, noisome odor 
 that fills the streets and penetrates the dwelling past 
 all escape. 
 
 But what shall be said of a human being that, 
 amid all these grievances, deliberately adds to the 
 army of stenches that of voluntary perfumes ? Under 
 the plea of pleasing smells, men and women contrive 
 to fill their hair, their dress, their handkerchiefs, with 
 all manner of odors except agreeable ones. The hair 
 is rancid with bear s grease, with ox-marrow, with 
 pomatum, with named and unnamed oils, and they 
 all stink! 
 
 Every time the handkerchief comes forth, a gust 
 of musk is wafted into your face, warm, fainting, 
 sickening ! There are five hundred named odors, 
 more or less, sold in bottles, that are only so many 
 different ways of trying to hide the universal smell 
 of musk. Is it apple-blossom ? It smells musk. Is 
 it mille-fleurs ? It is musk. Is it geranium ? It is 
 musk again. Orange smells musk. Violets, helio 
 tropes, roses, fade away to their base, the inevitable 
 and universal musk. The gloves smell of it, the silks, 
 the whole person seems infested with civets. 
 
 Your worship is almost destroyed in church. One 
 smell is before you, another behind you. The odors 
 of sanctity are manifold abominations. If you repair 
 to the concert-room, the air is polluted and waiting for 
 you. Good manners forbid a gentleman to hold his 
 nose while talking with a lady drenched with cologne 
 or lavender. One may almost recognize his friends as 
 dogs do game, by their peculiar odor. Every one 
 affects a peculiar smell. We might almost name per- 
 
THE GOOD OF DISORDER. 413 
 
 sons by their favorite odor. Miss Yanilla smiles yon 
 der ; next her the charming Miss Orris-root. There 
 are several of the Lemon Verbena family present, and 
 yet more of the Lemon family. Then there are the 
 Bergamots, the Orange-blossoms, the Bitter Almonds, 
 and other old and respectable families. 
 
 Once in a while comes a lady of transcendent good 
 taste, wholly inodorous. She does not carry a sandal- 
 wood fan. She wears nothing kept in a camphor- 
 wood trunk. Her silks have neither been hung in a 
 cedar closet, nor been smoked with French pastilles. 
 Her gloves smell of kid leather as they ought to. 
 No myrrh, no incense, no nuts, blossoms, fruits, seeds, 
 or leaves, have been crushed to yield for her any odor 
 of offence. She is pure as water, and as inodorous ; 
 as bright as a pearl, and as scentless ; witching as an 
 opal, and as devoid of perfume. 0, that she might 
 live a thousand years, and be the ancestress of ten 
 thousand just like her ! 
 
 THE GOOD OF DISORDER. 
 
 |MONGr the superstitions of education are 
 those in favor of order. It is not that 
 there is no such thing as order, but that its 
 advocates are bigoted, are narrow and ex 
 clusive. It is coolly taken for granted, that if order 
 is good, disorder is bad. As if there might not be 
 bad order and good disorder ! 
 
 If order is Heaven s first law, disorder is at least 
 
414 EYES AND EAES. 
 
 its second. What is order, as applied, I mean, to 
 things ? It is simply arrangement according to some 
 notion, and disorder is simply arrangement accord 
 ing to some other notion. They might be called pri 
 mary order and secondary order. 
 
 As practice almost always precedes philosophy, so 
 already there is to be found the fact of disorder for 
 the sake of benefits which cannot be had by despotic 
 order. If a parlor is arranged with chairs in rows 
 all around the walls, with everything in right lines, 
 every one says, how stiff, how intolerable, how little 
 taste is manifested ! But swing round the lounge in 
 the corner, carelessly; let the chairs be scattered 
 about, just as they would be if persons had but now 
 used them ; shove the centre table a little out of the 
 very middle of the medallion, so that it shall not be 
 set, and then people say the parlor has a social and 
 easy air. What is this but a disguised revolt against 
 the despotism of order ? The same is more remark 
 ably true in gardens and pleasure-grounds. For 
 merly, grounds were arranged by geometric principles. 
 Everything was squared and mated. Mathematical 
 exactness ruled. Even the figures of geometry were 
 copied. The French gardens might be said to be 
 geometry in blossom. Against this has come up what 
 is called the Natural Style. And what is the natural 
 or picturesque style of landscape gardening ? It aims 
 to reproduce the beauty of nature, together with its 
 negligence and graceful disorder. It is a system based 
 upon the rejection of any absolute rule. It aims to 
 arrange things just as they would be if they never 
 had been arranged at all. 
 
 These instances are enough to show that the preju- 
 
THE GOOD OF DISOKDER. 415 
 
 dices which lofty and virtuous housekeepers have 
 against disorder are not founded in philosophy, and 
 that order is often a mere nuisance. We don t be 
 lieve it to be Heaven s first law ; though we did not, 
 for rhetorical effect, choose to say so earlier in this 
 article. In so far as it can be made a foil, a back 
 ground, a judicious contrast to disorder, we have no 
 doubt it has a place and a function. But it is only a 
 path to be trod on the way to graceful disorder. 
 
 The face of Nature is the most obvious and thor 
 ough refutation of the popular superstitions about 
 order. Nothing is orderly till man takes hold of it. 
 Everything in creation lies around loose, or is mixed 
 up in the most inextricable disorder. Not in confu 
 sion. Disorder is never to be confounded with con 
 fusion. If our housekeepers had had the making of 
 Nature, the world would have been a vast bureau, 
 and every drawer would have had its appropriate 
 specimens in lamentable regularity. Here we should, 
 have had Mineralogy, next Botany, next Zoology, and 
 so on, in intolerable order. As it is, thank Nature ! 
 things are scattered about all over the world splen 
 didly, and no housekeeper was ever created to put 
 this world "to rights." 
 
 We spoke of bureaus. There is our own for in 
 stance. It is a moderately good one, with a mova 
 ble top, and a looking-glass attached. Our way of 
 arranging is, to put everything down on the top, just 
 as it comes. Hers is just the other way. 
 
 We treat it as we should the globe, and leave things 
 just as they dropped. Books, combs, and brushes, a 
 fishing-reel, a pamphlet, matches, and lozenges, co 
 logne, and troches, a battle-hymn and letters, watch- 
 
416 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 cases, and ribbons. Then one would know where to 
 look if anything were missing. Alas! order steps 
 up the moment we leave, and this beauteous disorder 
 vanishes ! It is distressing to every tender feeling of 
 taste to open the first drawer. All is adjusted ; noth 
 ing left to the imagination. Every lace smooth, every 
 one folded, flat, regular. So it will be to-morrow, so 
 next week, and to the end ! The next drawer is mine. 
 There repose the snow-white shirts, the pile of hand 
 kerchiefs ; and they repose like Egyptian dead in rows 
 and shelf-like order. Once in a while we thrust in a 
 genuine touch of Nature, that is said to make all men 
 kin ; but a flatiron does not take a wrinkle out of linen 
 quicker than the order does out of the drawer ! And 
 so it is with the next, and the next. So is it with the 
 closet, with parlor, and entries. The same rectangu 
 lar fate presides in parlor and dining-room. Nay, it 
 stealthily creeps into the very study. Let us, in a 
 moment rash with desperation, say our soul s faith 
 (though it be heresy) that no housekeeper foreor 
 dained housekeepeer has any rights in a study. 
 Here are we this morning, just returned after four 
 days absence. We left this room a Paradise, we find 
 it a Purgatory. Our table was blossoming all over 
 with a luxuriant and tangled abundance of letters, 
 papers, scraps from newspapers, books, and books on 
 books. It was a journal. Each day s deposit for 
 weeks was there, almost with the regularity of geolog 
 ical strata. We could go back as in a register, and 
 recall the topics of each several day, until memory 
 failed, and the lower strata of papers, the very primi 
 tive formations, went back to dim and remote times 
 inexplorable. Like an onion or tulip-bulb, the table 
 
THE GOOD OF DISORDER. 417 
 
 was constructed in layers. Fatal absence ! Misplaced 
 confidence! We returned to find everything death- 
 struck. All was order ! Our articles sorted, our let 
 ters filed, our scraps classified, our pens collected and 
 huddled like raw recruits in awkward squads, the 
 scissors, the knife, the pins, the ink, the mucilage, 
 standing round like officers dressed for a parade-day. 
 A month will not suffice to bring back again the ad 
 mired disorder, the graceful melange. 
 
 And then the books! 
 
 Mr. Bonner, you have a kind nature, a genuine, 
 sympathizing heart. Every one has seen how heartily 
 you stand up for your friends, how heartily you 
 thwack your adversaries. But even you cannot con 
 sole us nor avenge us of our adversary ! She steals 
 in ! She views the happy scene ! There was Bayle 
 lying on the floor, with Mape s Farmer in his lap, and 
 an Atlas genially covering both. There was a squad 
 ron of Living Ages lying around, like a picket of 
 cavalry at ease. In one corner was a thicket of 
 newspapers, on the sofa a ream of paper, a shawl, 
 an Affghan, a Concordance, a Bible, new books uncut, 
 magazines, and various other treasures ; near the win 
 dow all the books that at various times for a month 
 we had bought up, but had not put up, waiting till 
 we had time to arrange; near the door a stack of 
 portfolios, and here and there a picture, patiently 
 waiting tq be hung. The book-cases were in benevo 
 lent sympathy with the floor. Indeed, the book-case 
 might be called a vertical floor, and the floor a 
 horizontal book-case. Whichever way the eye turned 
 it found unexpected contrasts. Nothing was tame. 
 Everything was fitted to excite surprise in a well- 
 is* AA 
 
418 EYES AND EARS. 
 
 regulated housekeeper s mind. It was a stimulating 
 sight. No art could have designedly arranged it. 
 It was the workmanship of distributive and gradual 
 chance. Like frostwork on the window, it defied 
 invention and challenged imitation. 
 
 The same remorseless hand that would rub out a 
 windowful of frost etchings, for the sake of seeing 
 vulgar things outside, has invaded our room and 
 "put everything to rights." Twp months of indus 
 trious carelessness will scarce suffice to bring back my 
 paradise ! And all the time that fatal fear will over 
 hang us that, in an unguarded hour, the same calamity 
 will sweep through the room again, and where it 
 found all, everything in disorder and loneliness, leave 
 everything blasted with regularity and order ! 
 
 But ah, the days are coming ! But seven days is 
 it to Spring ! Then in one more month, and all 
 our ills will be healed. We shall send everybody to 
 the country. We shall be sole monarch. Then, 
 descending, we shall overturn the despotism of the 
 parlors, and bring to the solitude of the house the 
 joyful boon of disorder ! We will forget to put 
 anything in its place. The sofa shall sprout with 
 strange things. Every corner be planted with new 
 commodities. The book-case door shall never be shut. 
 The chairs shall never have less than half a dozen 
 books. Engravings shall lie in heaps. Right in the 
 midst of manuscripts shall be seen bread and cheese 
 and apples that had begun to be eaten ; the ashes 
 shall heap itself in gray disorder ; kindling-wood and 
 waste paper shall ruffle the hearth ; and everything see 
 everything doing what it was never expected to do. 
 Brooms we hate as we do a tyrant s rod. We will 
 
THE GOOD OF DISORDEK. 
 
 419 
 
 expel them ! Dust-brushes are an utter abomination. 
 We will drive them forth! At present we think it 
 meet to submit. But we snuff the balmy air that 
 tells us that the vernal days are coming. To us they 
 mean more than to anybody else. To all they mean 
 grass, leaves, lambs, birds, flowers, and odorous smell 
 of soil and vegetation. But to us they mean also 
 domestic liberty, the end of tyrannous order, the res 
 toration of nature to the house, the undisturbed reign 
 of joyous disorder ! 
 
 Cambridge : Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
 
ny Books in this list will be sent free of postage, on receipt 
 of price. 
 
 BOSTON, 135 WASHINGTON STREET, 
 OCTOBER, 1862. 
 
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by TlCKNOR AND FlELDS. 13 
 
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