James Russell Lowell - Forgotten Books

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

CAMBRIDGE

MCM I V

COPYRI GHT 1 864. AND 1 87 1 BY JAMES RU SSELL LOWELL

COPYRI GHT 1 89 2 AND 1 89 9 BY MABEL LOWELL BURNETTCOPYRI GHT 1 904 BY HOUGHTON, M I FFL I N AND COMPANY

ALL RI GHTS RESERV ED

EDI TI ON LI M I TED TO ONE THOUSAND COPI ES

TH I S I S NUMBER 47 26;

PUBLI SHERS’

NOTE

IflHE present edition of the collectedwritings of James Russell Lowell hasbeen enriched by the addi tion of three

vo lumes containing his Letters, edited byCharles E liot N orton . I n these three volumesare included many letters hitherto unpubl ished,Which have been here inserted by ProfessorNorton in their proper chronological order. I none other respect it Wil l be noted that this edition varies from the R iverside Edi tion of 1 890namely

,in the retention of the origin al titles

of the various vo lumes of prose essays . Thesetitles have endeared themselves to many readersand have grown familiar through long use . Tosecure a practical uniform i ty of size throughout the edition, however, i t has been thoughtadvisable, Wi th Professor N orton

’s approval, totransfer to the first vo lume

,Fireside Travels

,

”

three of the shorter essays original ly pri nted inMy StudyW indows .” They are My Garden Acquaintance,

”Ou a Certain Conde

scension in Foreigners,” and “ A Good Word

for W inter .

4. PARK STREET, 1 904 .

am“5

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CAMBRI DGE THIRTY YEARS AGO

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

LEAVES FROM MV JOURNAL IN ITALY AND

ELSEWHERE

I . AT SEA

11. IN THE MEDITERRANEAN

111 . I TALY

I V . A FEW BITS OF ROMAN MOSAIC 222

MY GARDEN ACQUA I NTANCE

ON A CERTAIN CONDESCENSION IN FOR

EIGNERS

A GOOD WORD FOR W INTER

L I ST OF I LLUSTRAT I ONS

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL Fron tispieceFrom a crayon dxawing in 1 857 by S . W. Rowse,in the possession of Professor Charles Elio t Norton

CAMBRIDGE I N 1 824

From a drawing by Charles Copel and

LITTLE SQUAW AND BI G SQUAW MOUN

TAINS

From a photograph by H. W . Gleason

TIVOLI

From a photograph

V I LLA D I LANTE

From a photograph

BALTIMORE ORIOLE

From a drawing by L . A. Fuertes

FRESH SNOW

From a photograph by H. W. Gleason

I NTRODUCT I ON

AWTHORNE makes somewhere theobservation that the portrayal of theexternal events of an author ’s l ife often

serves to h ide the man instead of revealing him .

The remark has a singular pertinency whenapplied to H awthorne himself

,but it is scarcely

less true of James Russell Lowel l . Full andvarious as was Lowell ’s intellectual a nd spiritualexperience

,his l ife wa s for the most part barren

of outward adventure,and to insis t too closely

upon its mere chrono logy and circumstance is tom iss the secret of its inner sp irit . H e wa s bornin 1 8 1 9 in that O ld Cambridge which he andother men have described so charmingly ; wa sgraduated at H arvard College ; soon adoptedl iterature as his call ing ; won a deserved reputa tion as a poet ; became professor of modernlangu ages at h is alma mater

,but never lost touch

with American public l ife ; wa s appo inted M inister to Spain and afterwards to Great Britain ;wrote prose and poetry to the very en d of a l iferich in friendship and afi

‘

ection and patrio tism ;

INTRODUCTION

and he died in 1 89 1 , one of the most honoredand representative figu res in American letters,i n the homestead where he wa s born . I n onesense

,that is all there is to say . Lovers of litera

ture need not greatly concern themselves withthe exact dates of publication of Lowell ’s books

,

or with the precise limits of his service as professor, editor, and diplomat . Such facts are notwithout interest

,but too much emphasis upon

them is likely to hide the real Lowell instead ofrevealing him .

Yet in issuing this new edition of his collected works, now rounded out, for the first time,by the inclusion of his “ Letters

,it has been

thought advisable to provide the reader withsuch easily told facts about Lowell ’ s life andliterary career as may be essential to an in tel l igent enj oyment of h is writings . M r. H orace E .

Scudder has written Lowell ’s biography in twoample

,scholarly Volumes other men of letters

have engaged themselves with briefer biographical sketches

,and there is no danger that the

reading public will be left ignorant of the careerof a man of such personal Vi tal ity and fascination . All that is here attempted, therefore, i s toset down for convenient reference a few memoranda concerning the outward course iofLowell ’ slife, indicating those changes in circumstance and

INTRODUCTION

varieties of experience which are reflected in hisbooks .I n Fireside Travels, the first volume of the

present edition,there is a whim sm a l and delight

ful sketch, written in 1 854 , entitled CambridgeThirty Years Ago .

” I t paints the Vil lage ofLowell ’ s boyhood . I n the westernmost of thosehalf dozen d ign ified old houses of the colon ialtime

,on the leisurely winding Tory Row

,l ived

his father,the Reverend Charles Lowell

,min

ister of the West Congregational Church inBoston

,some four miles away . I n this house,

E lmwood,wa s born James Russell Lowell

,the

youngest of five children, on Washington ’ sB irthday

,1 8 1 9 . The boy wa s dril led for col

lege in due time, with W . W . Story and T.W .

H igginson,at M r. William Wel ls

’

s school inCambridge . I n 1 834 he entered H arvard, as hisfather

,grandfather

,and great—grandfather had

done before him . H e read w ide ly in college,

and contributed to the student magazine proseand rhyme ne ither better nor worse than mostundergraduate writing . But he must be characterized, upon the whole, as Stevenson said ofh is own career at Edinburgh

,as an “ idle and

u nprofitable” though sure ly far from an “ ugly

student . An unlucky rustication for “ continued neglect of his college duties kept him from

INTRODUCTION

del ivering his class poem upon his graduationin 1 83 8. The poem, wh ich wa s promptly publ ished, i s naturally prized by collectors, but itaffords scanty prophecy of a notable l iterarycareer.Poetry, however, became for the next half

dozen years the young man ’s ch ief concern .

He studied law,indeed

,while continuing to

reside under his father’s roof,and took his de

gree in 1 840, but he manifested about as muchveritable zeal for the profession as Thackerayhad shown in London

,a few years before . Like

Thackeray,too

,Lowell 'made some brief and

disastrou s incursions into the field ofjourn a l ism .

But the real record of his ardent emotional l ifein th is period is to be traced in the volume nowentitled “ Earlier Poems

,

” which includes thematerial published in his first book, “ A Year ’sLife

,

”1 84 1 , and in his

“ Poems,

” issued in 1 84 3 ,although dated 1 84 4 . I n all this verse, togetherWith much that is uncertain in thought andtroubled in mood

,there is abundant evidence

of the ben eficen t influ en ce of Maria White, thebeautiful and gifted girl

,herself a poet

,whom

Lowell married in D ecember,1 84 4 , after a five

years ’ betrothal .The delicacy of the young wife ’s health, as

well as a casual opportunity for bread-winning,

INTRODUCTION

drew them at once to Philadelphia, where for afew months Lowell found editorial employmentupon the Pennsylvan ia Freeman

,

” an antislavery paper Which had been edited for a timeby Wh ittier . Returning the next summer

,to

E lmwood,Lowell iden tified h imself more and

more completely with the abolitionists . I n 1 84 6he began to write both editorial articles and versefor the “ National Anti-Slavery Standard ” ofN ewYork . To the columns of the Standardwere transferred in 1 84 8, the first series of“ Biglow Papers

,which had begun to appear

in the Boston Courier ” in 1 84 6 . They werepublished in book form in 1 84 8, a year m em or

able in the h istory of Lowell ’s l iterary reputation,

since it also witnessed the publication of hisFable for Critics ” and of a new volume ofpoems containing The Vi sion of Sir Laun fa l .These three productions

,written before Lowell

had reached the age of thirty,were proof not

merely of an extraordinary facili ty,variety

,and

bril liancy in composition,but also of a nature

capable of being profoundly m oved by moralquestions, tremulously sensitive to beauty, andtrained to a sound perception of literary values .These natural capacities were destined to ripen,and to receive a steadily widening recognitionfor more than forty years to come, but they are

INTRODUCTION

as fully and perhaps even more strikingly apparent in the three books issued in 1 84 8 than inthe literary productions of any subsequent year.But how dull are all formal records of Lowell ’s

ach ievements compared With the clear image ofthe man as it shines in the Letters ” whichh is friend Professor N orton has edited ! Between1 84 8 and 1 855, When he was appointed Longfellow’ s successor in the Smith Professorship ofModern Languages at Harvard, Lowell

’ s bio

graphers have comparatively little to record,except events of priva te joy and sorrow . I ndeedin those years sorrow wa s the more frequent v isita n t. Of the three daughters born to the Lowells

,but one survived babyhood

,and in 1 852 an

only son,Walter, died in Rome , where his par

ents were then soj ourning. Mrs . Lowell,whose

physical strength had always been fragile,died at

E lmwood the following year. The Lettersreveal something of Lowell ’s secret despondencyas well as his outward bravery . I n the Winterof 1 854-55the preparation ofwhat proved to bea masterly course of lectu res on poetry beforethe Lowell I nstitute in Boston served as a tonicfor his mind

,and the prompt appointment

to the H arvard professorship gave him keen

pleasure . H e spent a year in Europe in special

preparation for his new duties, which he assumed

INTRODUCTION

in the fall of 1 856 . A year later he marriedFrances Dunlap

,a woman of great charm

, who

had had the care of his'

motherless daughterMabel . I n the words of his friend,W . J . Stillman

,She was to him healing from sorrow

and a defence against all trouble, a very springof life and hope .” I n that same year of 1 857Lowell became editor of the newly founded At

lantic Monthly .

” For the next twenty years hewas largely occupied with teach ing, editing, andessay writing ; with prose, in short, rather thanwith po etry .

Lowell ’s editorship of The Atlantic continued unti l May, 1 86 1 , When he transferred itto James T. Fie lds, one of the members of the

publish ing-house into whose hands the magazinehad passed . M r. Scudder has an admirablechapter upon Lowell as an editor of “The Atlantic and he describes also, though with less particu la rity, Lowell

’ s connection with the NorthAmerican Review .

” The Review wa s thena dign ified quarterly, published in Boston, andLowell held a j oint editorsh ip of it

,with Pro

fessor Norton as colleague,for about ten years

,

beginning with 1 863 . For a m a n constitutionally impatient of details and restless under routine labor

,Lowell ca rrl ed his double load, of

teaching and editing,with a commendably stou t

xviii INTRODUCTION

heart,although his Letters are n ot withou t

sighings and groanings most humorouslyuttered .

H is work as a college teacher has been vividlydescribed by Professor Barrett Wendell andother pupils . I t wa s h ighly unconventional inmethod, usefia l to some of his students, inspiringto a few, and was at least faithfully performed .

Whether i t really interfered with his creativeactivity

,as Lowell often

,both then and later

,

wa s inclined to think it did, is not so easy todetermine . Too many unknown quantities arealways involved in that parti cular equation .

Lowell ’s reputation as a prose writer, however i t might have been affected by a greaterfreedom for production, rests upon the essaysproduced between his assumption of the editorial chair in 1 857 and his appointment as Minister to Spain in 1 877. Any characterization oftheir learning

,wit, and robust humanism would

be out of place here, and is in any case superfluous . I f Lowell ’s essays do not attract bytheir own inherent and evident qualities, praiseof them is u seless . I t should be noted thatmany of the longest and most amb itious of theessays appeared first in the North AmericanReview .

”F ive volumes of the present edition

represent this period of purely literary prose“ FiresideTravels

,

”1 864 ;

“Among My Books,

https://www.forgottenbooks.com/join

INTRODUCTION

in that movement for independence of partycontrol wh ich contributed to the defeat of M r.

Blaine as a candidate for the nomination for thePres idency in 1 876 . Lowe l l had been a delegate to the Republican National Convention . I n1 877 President Hayes , acting upon the friendlysolicitation of M r. H owells

,ofiered to Lowell

the post of M inister to Austria,and upon

Lowell ’ s declining this proposal,the appoint

ment as Minister to Spain,which he accepted .

After an honorable service of over three years,

he wa s transferred to the more important postat London

,to the great satisfaction of most of

his’

cou n trym en,and to the pleasure of count

less friends in England . Lowell served as Minister to Great Britain until 1 885, manifestingunfail ing tact in many trying circumstances,cementing good wil l be tween the two countries,and acquitting himself on all publ ic occasionswith d istinction . The volume entitled “ Litera ry and Political Addresses

” is made upmainly of the sagacious

,witty

,and graceful ad

dresses wh ich he was called upon to make during his soj ourn in England

,the most sign ifica n t

being the noteworthy address on D emocracy,”

delivered at B irmingham in 1 884 .

Lowell was sixty-six when a change of administration brought him home . His health,

INTRODUCTION

never absolutely robust, wa s somewhat broken .

Mrs . Lowell had d ied during his stay in London

,and he now made h is residence tem pora r

i ly with his daughter, Mrs . Burne tt, in the re

tired village of Sou thboro , Massachusetts . H isl etters to his old friends continued

,as always

,

to be charm ing, but they betray the inevitablepathos wh ich the sight of a narrowing circlebrings . Whenever it was poss ible, he spent h issummers in England . H e busied himself witha few tasks

,like the preparation of a un iform

edition of h is writings . H e wrote verse,win

ning and grave, and with all the old pleasurein composition . H e made addresses upon notable occasions

,such as the two hundred and

fiftieth anniversary of H arvard, in 1 886 , andthe celebration of the centenary ofWashington ’ sinaugu ration , in 1 889 . H onors kept com ing toh im

,and his tried friends

,in th is country and

abroad,were unfail ing in the ir loyalty . At last

he had the happiness of going back to live atE lmwood

,and the fortune— rare in our no

madic America of closing a l ife fortunate inso many of its endeavors under the roof whichhad sheltered him as a dreaming boy . The endcame on the twelfth of August

,1 89 1

CAMBR I DGE TH IRTY YEARS AGO

CAMBRI DGE TH IRTYYEARS AGO

I S54

A . MEMO I R ADDRE S SED TO THE EDELMANN

STORG I N ROME

N those quiet old winter evenings, aroundour Roman fireside

,i t was not seldom

,my

dear Storg, that we talked of the advantagesof travel

,and in speeche s not so long that our

cigars would forget their fire (the measure ofjust conversation) debated the comparative advantages of the Old and NewWorlds . You willremember how serenely I bore the imputationof provincialism

,wh ile I asserted that those ad

vantages were reciprocal that an orbed and bala n ced l ife would revolve between the O ld andthe New as opposite

,but not antagonisti c poles

,

the true equator lying somewhere m idway between them . I asserted also

,that there were two

epochs at wh ich a man m ight travel,— before

twenty, for pure enjoym en t,and after thirty

,for

instru ction . At twenty, the eye is suffi cien tlydel ighted with merely see ing ; new things a re

pleasant only because they are not old ; and wetake everything hearti ly and naturally in the

4 CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO

right way,for even mishaps are like knives

,

that either serve u s or cut u s, as we grasp themby the blade or the handle . After th irty

,we carry

along our scales, with lawful we ights stampedby experience, and our chem ical tests acquired bystudy

,with which to ponder and essay all arts

,

insti tutions,and manners

,and to ascertain either

their absolute worth or their merely relativevalue to ourselves . On the who le

,I declared

myself in favor of the after thirty method,

was it partly (so difficu lt is i t to distinguish between opinions and personalities) because I hadtried it myself

,though with scales so imperfect

and tests so inadequate Perhaps so,but more

be cause I held that a man should have travelledthoroughly round himself and the great termim agm

’

ta just outside and inside h is own threshold

,before he undertook voyages of discovery

to other worlds . Far countries he can safestVisi t who himself is doughty

,

” says Beowu lf.Let him first thoroughly explore that strangecountry laid down on the maps as SEAUTON ;let him look down into its craters

,and fin d

whether they be burnt out or only smouldering ; let him know between the good and evilfruits of its passionate tropics ; let him experiencehow healthful are its serene and high-lying tablelands ; let him be many times driven back (ti llhe wisely consent to be bafil ed) from its specul a tively inquisitive northwest passages that lead



abroad,we m ight certainly ask that they should

be fam iliar w ith the ir own vi llages . I f not eventhat

,then it is of little im port wh i ther they

go , and let u s hope that, by seeing how calmlythe ir own n arrow neighborhood bears the irdeparture, they may be led to think that thecircles of disturbance set in motion by the fallof their tiny drop into the ocean of eternity willnot have a radius of more than a week in anydirection ; and that the world can endure thesubtraction of even a justice of the peace with

provoking equanimity . I n this way,at least

,for

e ign travel may do them good, —maymake them,

if not wiser,at any rate less fussy . I s it a great

way to go to school, and a great fee to pay forthe lesson ? We cannot give too much for thegenial stoicism which , when l ife flou ts u s andsays

,Put tha t iny our p ipe a nd sm oke it can pufi

'

away with as sincere a re l ish as if it were tobaccoof Mount Lebanon in a narghileh of D amascus .I t has passed into a scornful proverb

,that it

needs good optics to see what is not to be seenand yet I should be inclined to say that the firstessential of a good traveller was to be gifted witheyes ight of precisely that kind . All his sensesshould be as de l icate as eyes ; and, above all, heshould be able to see with the fin e eye of imagination

,compared with which all the other organs

with which the m ind grasps and the memoryholds are as clumsy as thumbs . The demand for

CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO 7

this kind of travel ler and the opportunity for himincrease as we learn more and more minutely thedry facts and figures of the most inaccessiblecorners of the earth ’s surface . There is no hopeof another Ferdin a nd Mendez Pinto, with h isstatistics of D reamland

, who makes no diffi cu ltyof impressing fourscore thousand rhin ocero tsto draw the wagons of the king of Ta rta ry

’

s

army,or ofkil l ing e ight hundred and fifty thou

sand men with a floa rish ofhis quill,

for whatwere a few ciphers to him, when h is inkhornwa s full and all Christendom to be astonished ?but there is all the more need of voyagers whogive u s some th ing better than a census ofpopulation

,and who know of other exports from

strange countries than can be expressed byGive me the traveller who makes me

feel the mystery of the Figure at Sal's,whose Ve il

h ides a new mean ing for every beholder,rather

than him who brings back a photograph of theuncovered countenance

,with its one unvarying

granite story for all . There is one glory of theGazetteer with h is fixed facts , and another ofthe Poet with h is variable quanti ties of fancy .

After all, my dear Storg, i t is to know thingsthat one has need to travel

,and not m en . Those

force u s to come to them,but these come to u s,

—sometime s whether we wil l or no . Theseexist for u s in every variety in our own town .

You may find your antipodes without a voyage


to Ch ina ; he l ives there, just round the nextcorner

,precise

,formal, the slave of precedent

,

making all his teacups with a break in the edge,

because h is model had one,and your fancy de

cora tes him with an endlessness of airy pigtail .There

,too, are John Bull, Jean Crapaud, H ans

Sauerkraut,Pat Murphy, and the rest .

I t has been written :He needs no ship to cross the tide,Who, in the live s around him,

seesFair Window-prospects opening WideO

’er history ’ s fields on every side ,

Rome , Egypt, England, Ind, and Greece.

Whatever moulds of various brainE

’er shaped the world to weal or woe,

Whatever empires wax and wane,To him Who hath not eyes in vain,His village-microcosm can show .

’

Bu t every thing is not a Thing, and all Ming:are good for noth ing out of their natural lza bz

'

ta t .

I f the heroic Barnum had succeeded in transplanting Shakespeare ’ s house to America

,what

interest would it have had for us, torn out ofits appropriate setting in softly hilled Warwicksh ire

,which showed u s that the most English

of poets must be born in the most English ofcounties ? I mean by a s z

'

ng that which is nota mere spectacle

,that which some Virtue of the

m ind leaps forth to,as it also sends forth its

sympathetic flash to the m ind,as soon as they


come within each other’ s sphere of attraction,

and,with instantaneous coali tion

,form a new

product,knowledge .

Such,in the understanding it gives u s of early

Rom an h istory,is the li ttle territory around

Rome,the g en tis cuna éula , without a s ight of

which Livy and N iebuhr and the maps a re vain .

So,too

,on e must go to Pompeii and the M useo

Borbom’

co, to get a true conception of that wondrous artistic nature of the Greeks, strongenough

,even in that petty colony

,to survive

foreign conquest and to assim ilate barbarianblood

,showing a grace and ferti li ty of invention

whose Roman copies Rafaello himself couldonly copy

,and enchanting even the base uten

sils of the kitchen with an inevitable sense ofbeauty to wh ich we subterranean Northmenhave not yet so much as dreamed of climbing.

Mere s ights one can see quite as well at home .Mont Blanc does not tower more grandly in thememory than did the dream-peak wh ich loomedafar o n the morning horizon of hope

,n or did

the smoke-palm of Vesuvius stand more erectand fair

,with tapering stem and spreading top

,

in that Parthenopean air,than under the diviner

sky of imagination . I know what Shakespearesays about homekeep ing youths

,and I can fancy

what you wi ll add about America be ing interesting only as a phenomenon

,and uncomfort

able to l ive in,because we have not yet done


with getting ready to l ive . But is not your Europe

,on the other hand, a place where m en have

done l iving for the present, and of value chieflybecause of the men who had done l iving in itlong ago ? And if

,in our rapidly moving coun

try, one feel sometimes as if he had his homeon a railroad train , is there not also a sa tisfa ction in knowing that one is going ~com ewhere ?

To what end Visit Europe,if people carry with

them, as most do, their old paroch ial horizon ,going hardly as Americans even

,much l ess as

men ? Have we not both seen persons abroadwho put u s in mind of parlor go ldfish in theirvase, isolated in that little globe of the ir ownelement

,incapable of commun ication with the

strange world around them,a show themselves

,

while it wa s always doubtful if they could seeat all beyond the l imits of their portable prisonThe wise man travels to discover himself ; itis to find himself out that he goes out of himse lf and his habitual associations

,trying every

thing in turn till he find that one activity, thatroyal standard

,sovran over him by divine right,

toward which all the disbanded powers of hisnature and the irregular tendencies of his l ifegather j oyfully

,as to the common rally ing-point

of their loyalty .

All these things we debated while the ilexlogs upon the hearth burned down to tinkl ingcoals

,over which a gray

,soft moss of ashe s grew

CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO 1 1

betimes,mocking the poor wood with a pale

travesty of that green and gradual decay on forest floors, i ts natural en d . Already the clock atthe Cappuccin i told the morning quarters, andon the pauses of our talk no sound intervenedbut the m ufii ed hoot of an owl in the near convent-garden, or the rattl ing tramp of a patrol ofthat French army wh ich keeps h im a prisoner inh is own city who claims to lock and unlock thedoors of heaven . But sti l l the discourse wouldeddy round one obstinate rocky tenet of mine,for I maintained

,you remember

,that the wisest

man was he who stay ed at home ; that to seethe antiqu ities of the O ld World was nothing

,

s ince the youth of the world wa s really no fa rther away from u s than our own youth ; andthat, moreover, we had also in America thingsamazingly old

,as

,our boys

,for example . Add

,

that in the end this antiquity is a matter ofcomparison

,wh ich skips from place to place

as n imbly as Emerson ’ s Sph inx,and that one

old th ing is good only til l we hav e seen an older .

England is ancient til l we go to Rome Etruriadethrones Rome, but only to pass this sceptreof antiqu i ty wh ich so lords it over our fancie sto the Pelasgi , from whom Egypt straightwaywrenches it, to give i t up in turn to older India .And wh ither then ? As well rest upon the firststep

,since the efl

'

ect of what is old upon themind is single and positive

,not cumulative . As

w a r] V INHOJ I’

I VO J OALI SHEAI ND

1 2 CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGOD

soon as a th ing is past, i t is as in fin ite ly faraway from u s as if i t had happened m illions ofyears ago . And if the learned Hue t be correct

,

who reckoned that all human thoughts and re

cords could be included in ten fol ios,what so

frightfully old as we ourse lves, who can , if wechoose

,hold in our memorie s every syllable of

recorded time , from the first crunch of Eve ’stee th in the apple downward

,be ing thus ideally

contemporary with hoariest E ld ?

Thy pyramids built up With newer mightTo us are nothing novel, nothing strange .

’

Now,my dear Storg, you know my (what

the phrenologists call) inhabitiveness and ad

hesiven ess,— how I stand by the old thought

,

the old th ing,the old place, and the old friend,

till I am very sure I have got a better,and

even then m igrate painfully . Remember theold Arabian story

,and th ink how hard it is to

pick up all the pomegranate—seeds of an oppon e n t

’

s argument, and how, so long as one re

m ains , you are as far from the end as ever.S ince I have you entirely at my mercy (for youcannot answer me under five weeks) , you willnot be surprised at the advent of this le tter. Ihad always one impregnable position

,wh ich was

,

that,however good other places might be , there

was only one in which we could be born,and

which therefore possessed a quite peculiar andinalienable Virtue . We had the fortune, wh ich


1 4 CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO

within five minutes of each other, by the electrictelegraph. I n two cen turies we have seen re

hearsed the dispers ion of man from a smal lpoint over a whole continent ; we witness withour own eyes the action of those forces whichgovern the great m igration of the peoples nowhistorical in Europe ; we can watch the actionand reaction of different races

,forms of govern

ment,and h igher or lower civil izations . Over

there,you have only the dead precipi tate, de

manding tedious analysis but here the elementsare all in solution

,and we have only to look to

see how they will combine . H istory,which

every day makes less account of governors andmore of man

,must find here the compendious

key to all that picture-writing of the Past .Therefore it is, my dear Storg , that we Yankeesmay stil l esteem our America a place worth l iving in . But calm your apprehensions ; I do notpropose to drag you with me on such an historica l circumnavigation of the globe, but onlyto show you that (however needful 1t may be to

go abroad for the study of a sthetics) a man whou ses the eyes of his heart may find here alsopretty bits of what may be called the socialpicturesque

,and little landscapes over which that

I ndian-summer atmosphere of the Past broodsas sweetly and tenderly as over a Roman ruin .

Let us look at the Cambridge of thirty yearssince .


The seat of the oldest college in America, i thad

,of course

,some of that cloistered qu iet

wh ich characterizes all univers ity towns . Evennow de l icate ly thoughtfii l A. H . C. te l ls methat he finds in its inte l lectual atmosphere a repose which recalls that of grand old Oxford .

But,underlying this

,it had an idiosyncrasy of

its own . Boston was not yet a city, and Cambridge was sti ll a country V illage , with its ownhabits and traditions

,not yet feel ing too strongly

the force of suburban gravitation . Approachingit from the west by what was then called theNew Road (so called no longer, for we changeour names as readily as thieves

,to the great de

triment of all h istorical association) , you wouldpause on the brow of Symonds ’ Hil l to enj oya View singularly soothing and placid . I n frontof you lay the town

,tufted with e lms

,l indens

,

and horse—chestnuts,wh ich had seen M a ssa chu

setts a colony,and were fortunate ly unable to

emigrate with the Tories,by whom

,or by whose

fathers , they were planted . Over it rose thenoisy belfry of the College

,the square

,brown

tower of the church,and the sl im

,ye l low spire

of the parish mee ting-house,by no means u n

graceful,and then an invariable characteris tic of

New England rel igious architecture . On yourright

,the Charles slipped smoothly through

green and purple salt—meadows,darkened, here

and there,with the blossoming black-grass as


with a stranded cloud—shadow . Over thesemarshes

,level as water, but without its glare,

and with softer and more soothing gradationsof perspective, the eye was carried to a horizonof softly rounded h i lls . To your left hand,upon the O ld Road, you saw some half dozendign ified old houses of the colonial time

,all

comfortably fronting southward . I f it wereearly June , the rows of horse—chestnuts alongthe fronts of these houses showed

,through every

crevice of their dark heap of foliage,and on the

end of every drooping limb,a cone of pearly

flowers, while the hill behind wa s white or rosywith the crowding blooms of various fruit-trees .There is no sound

,unless a horseman clatters

over the loose planks of the bridge,while h is

antipodal shadow glides silently over the mirro t ed bridge below

,or unless,

O Winged rapture , feathered soul of spring,Blithe voice of woods, fields, waters, a ll in on e,Pipe blown through by the warm , mild breath ofJuneShepherding her white flocks of woolly clouds ,The bobolink has come , and climbs the WindWith rippling Wings that quiver not for flight,But only joy, or, yielding to its Will,Runs down, a brook of laughter, through the a ir .

Such was the charmingly rural picture wh ichhe who

,thirty years ago

,went eastward over

Symonds ’ H il l had given h im for nothing,to

hang in the Gallery of Memory . But we are aci ty now

,and common councils have as yet no



island, who had seen no gentry s ince the Vas

salls went,and who thought that Boston had i ll

kept the day of her patron saint,Botolph

,on

the 1 7th of June, 1 775. The hooks were to beseen in Massachuse tts H all from which hadswung the hammocks of~ Burgoyne ’s captiveredcoats . I f m emory does not deceive m e

,

women still washed clothes in the town spring,

clear as that of Bandus ia . One coach suffi cedfor al l the travel to the metropolis . Commencement had not ceased to be the great holiday ofthe Puritan Commonwealth

,and a fitting one

it was,the festival of Santa Scholastica

,whose

triumphal path one may conceive strewn withleaves of spell ing—book instead of bay . The students (scholars they were called then) wore theirsober un iform

,not ostentatiously d is tinctive or

capable of rousing democratic envy,and the old

l ines of caste were blurred rather than rubbedout, as servitor wa s softened into ben eficia ry .

The Spanish king felt sure that the gesticulatingstudent was either m ad or reading D on Qu ixote,

”a nd if

,in those days

,you met a youth

swinging his arms and talking to himself,you

might conclude that he wa s e i ther a lunatic or

one who wa s to appear in a part at the nextexhibition or commencement . A favorite placefor the rehearsal of these orations was the retiredamphitheatre of the Gravel-p it, perched un re

garded on whose dizzy edge,I have heard m any


a burst of p lusquam Ciceronian eloquence, and

(often repeated) the regu lar m luto fvos, pra esta n

tissz'

m a e, etc . , which every year (with a glance atthe ga llery) causes a

'

flutter among the fans innocent of Latin

,and delights to applauses of con

scious superiority the youth almost as innocentas they . I t is curious, by the way, to note howplainly one can fee l the pulse of self in the plaudits of an audience . At a political meeting

,if

the enthus iasm of the‘

l ieges hang fire,i t may be

exploded at once by an allusion to their in te l l igence or patriotism ; and at a literary fe stival,the first Latin quotation draws the first applause,the clapp ing of hands be ing intended as a

~

tribu te to our own familiarity with that sonoroustongue

,and not at al l as an approval of the

particular sentiment conveyed in it . For ifthe orator should say

,

“Well has Tacitus re

marked, Am er ica n i om ne: gua a’

a m ‘vi na tura e

fa rm dign issim i ,” i t would be all the same . But

the Gravel—pit wa s patient, if irresponsivenor did the declaimer always fail to bring downthe house, bits of loosen ed . ea rth falling nowand then from the precipitous walls

,the ir cohe

sion perhaps overcome by the Vibrations of thevoice, and happily satirizing the effect of mostpopular discourses

,which prevail rather with

the earthy than the spiri tual part of the hearer.Was it possible for us in those days to conceiveof a greater potentate than the president of the

zo CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO

University,in h is square doctor’ s cap

,that still

fil ia l ly recalled Oxford and Cambridge ? I f therewas a doubt, it was suggested only by the govern or, and even by h im on artillery-election daysalone

,superbly martial with epaulets and buck

skin breeches,and bestriding the wa r—horse

,

promoted to that solemn duty for his tamenessand steady habits .Thirty years ago, the town had indeed a character . Railways and omnibuses had not rolledfla t all little social prominences and pecul iarities

,making every man as much a citizen every

where as at home . No Charlestown boy couldcome to our annual festival without fighting toavenge a certain traditional porcine imputationagainst the inhabitants of that h istoric spot

,to

which our youth gave vent in fanciful imitationsof the dialect of the sty

,or derisive shouts of

“ Charlestown hogs ! The penny newspaperhad not yet silenced the tripod of the barber

,

oracle of news . Everybody knew everybody,

and all abou t everybody, and V il lage wit, whoseh igh ’change was around the l ittle marke t-housein the town square

,had label led every more

marked individuality with nicknames that clunglike burs . Things were established then , andmen did not run through all the figures on thedial of society so swiftly as now

,when hurry

and competition seem to have qu ite unhungthe modu lating pendu lum of steady thrift


and competent training. Some slow-mindedpersons even followed their father’ s trade

,— a

hum il iating spectacle,rarer every da y . We had

our establ ished loafers,topers

,proverb-mongers,

barber,parson

,nay

,postmaster, whose tenure

wa s for l ife . The great political engine did notthen come down at regular quadrennial intervals, l ike a nail-cutting machine, to make al loffi cia l l ives of a standard length, and to genera te lazy and intriguing expectancy . Life flowedi n recogn ized channels

,narrower perhaps

,but

with all the more individuality and force .There was but one white-and-yellow—washer,whose own cottage, fresh-gleaming every Junethrough grapevine and creeper

,was his only

s ign and advertisement. H e was said to possess a secret, which died with him like that ofLuca della Robbia

,and certainly conce ived all

colors but wh ite and yellow to savor of savagery

,civi lizing the stems of his trees annually

with l iquid l ime,and meditating how to extend

that candent baptism even to the leaves . H i s

p ie—p lzmts (the best in town) , compulsory mo

n a stics, blanched under barre ls, each in his little hermitage, a vegetable Certosa . His fowls,his ducks, his geese, could not show so muchas a gray feather am ong them

,and he would

have given a year’ s earnings for a white peacock . The flowers which decked his l ittl e door

y a rd were whitest China-asters and goldenest

zz CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO

sunflowers, wh ich last, backsliding from theirtraditional Parsee faith, used to puzzle us ur

chins not a l ittle by staring brazenly every wayexcept towards the sun . Celery too

,he raised

,

whose V irtu e is its paleness , and the silveryonion

,and turnip, which, though ou twardly

conforming to the green heresies of summer,

nourish a purer faith subterraneously,like early

Christians in the catacombs . I n an obscurecorner grew the sanguine beet

,tolerated only

for its usefii ln ess in allaying the asperities ofSaturday ’ s sal t-fish . H e loved winter betterthan summer

,because Nature then played the

whitewasher,and challenged with her snows

the scarce infe rior purity of his overalls andneck-cloth . I fancy that he never rightly likedCommencement

,for bringing so many black

coats together . H e founded no school . O thersmight essay his art

,and were allowed to try

the ir ’prentice hands on fences and the likecoarse subj ects

, but the ceiling of every housewife waited on the leisure of Newm a n (ic/meum an the s tudents called h im for his diminutiveness) , nor would consent to other brush thanhis . There wa s also but one brewer, Lewis,who made the V illage beer, both spru ce andginger

,a grave and amiable Ethiopian, making

a discount always to the boys,a nd wisely , for

they were his chiefest patrons . H e wheeledh is whole stock in a wh ite-roofed handcart, on


whose front a signboard presented at e ithe r endan insurrectionary bottle ; yet insurgent after nomad Gall ic fash ion

,but soberly and Saxonly

discharging itse lf into the restrain ing formularyof a tumbler

,symbol ic of orderly prescription .

The artist had struggled manfully with the difficu l ties of his subj ect

,but had n ot succeeded so

we ll that we did not often debate in wh ichof the tw in bottles Spruce wa s typified, and inwh ich Ginger. We always be l ieved that Lewism entally distingu ished between them,

but bysome pecul iari ty occult to exoteric eyes . Th isambulatory chape l of the Bacchus that givesthe col ic

,but not inebriates

,only appeared

at the Commencement holidays,and the lad

who bought of Lewis laid out h is money we ll,getting respect as we ll as beer

,three sin to

every glass , Beer, sir ? yes, s ir : spruce or

ginger,

sir ? I can yet recall the innocentpride w ith which I walked away after thatsomewhat risky ceremony (for a bottle sometimes blew up) , dilated not al one wi th carbonicacid gas

,but with the more e thereal fixed a ir

of that titular flattery . Nor was Lewis proud .

When he tried h is fortunes in the cap ital onelection days , and stood amid a row of riva lvenders in the very flood of custom

,he never

forgot his small fe l low citizens,but welcomed

them with an assuring sm ile,and served them

with the first.


The barber’ s shop was a museum,scarce

second to the larger one of Greenwood in theme tropolis . The boy who wa s to be clippedthere was always accompanied to the sa crifice

by troops of friends, who thus inspected thecurios ities gra tis . While the watchful eye ofR. wandered to keep in check these ratherunscrupulous explorers , the unpaus ing shearswould sometimes overs tep the boundaries ofstrict tonsorial pre scription

,and make a notch

through which the phrenological developmentscould be distinctly seen . As M ichael Ange lo’ sdes ign wa s m odified by the shape of h is block

,

so R .,rigid in artistic proprieties

,would con

trive to give an appearance of des ign to thisaberration

,by making it the keynote to his

work,and reducing the whole head to an

appearance of premature baldness . What acharming place it was

,— how full of wonder

and delight ! The sunny little room ,fronting

southwes t upon the Common, rang with canaries and Jav a sparrows

,nor were the fam il iar

note s of robin,thrush, and bobolink wanting.

A large Wh ite cockatoo harangued vaguely, atintervals, in what we believed (on R.

’

s authority) to be the Hottentot language . H e hadan unveracious a ir

,but in what inventions of

former grandeur he was indulging, what sweetSouth—African Argos he was remembering,what trop ical heats and giant trees by un con



rarity enter the town , i t gravitated naturally tothese walls, to the Very n ail that waited to re

ceive it, and where, the day after its accession,it seemed to have hung a l ifetime . We alwayshad a theory that R . wa s immensely rich (howcould he possess so much and be otherwiseand that he pursued his calling from an am iableeccentricity . H e wa s a conscientious artist

,and

never submitted it to the choice of his v ictimwhether he would be perfumed or not . Faithfully was the bottle shaken and the odoriferousm ixture rubbed in

,a fact redolent to the whole

school-room in the afternoon . Sometimes the

persuasive tonsor would impress one of the a ttendant volunteers

,and reduce his po ll to shoe

brush crispness,at cost of the reluctant nine

pence hoarded for Fresh Pond and the next halfholiday . So purely indigenous was our popu lation then

,that R . had a certain exotic charm

,a

kind of game flavor, by being a Dutchman .

Shall the two groceries want their ‘va tes ra cer ,where E . 81 W . I . goods and country prodoocewere sold with an energy mitigated by the quietgenius of the place

,and where strings of urchins

waited,each with cent in hand

,for the unweighed

dates (thus giving an ordinary business tra n sa ction all the excitement of a lottery) , and buying,not only that cloying sweetness

,but a dream

also of Egypt,and palm-trees , and Arabs, in

wh ich Vision a print of the Pyramids in our


geography tyrannized like that taller thoughtof Cowper

’sAt one of these the unwearied students usedto ply a j oke handed down from class to class .Enter 1 1

,and asks gravely, “ Have you any

sour apples,D eacon

Well,no

,I have n ’

t any just now that areexactly sour ; but there

’

s the bell-flower apple,

and folks that l ike a sour apple generally l ikethat .” (Exit A. )Enter B Have you any sweet apples

,

D eacon“Well

,no

,I have n ’

t any just now that areexactly sweet ; but there

’s the bell-flower apple

,and folks that l ike a sweet apple general ly

l ike that. " (Exit B . )There is not even a tradition of any one ’sever having turned the wary deacon ’s fla nk

,and

h is Laodicean apples‘

persisted to the end, neitherone th ing nor another . Or shall the two townconstables be forgotten

,in whom the law stood

worthily and amply embodied,fit e ither of' them

to fil l the uniform of an English beadle P Grimand silent as N inevite statues they stood oneach side of the meeting-house door at Comm en cem en t

, propped by long staves of blue andred, on wh ich the I ndian with bow and arrow,and the mailed arm with the sword

,hinted at

the invisible sovereignty of the state ready toreinforce them, as


For Achi lles ’ portrait stood a spearGrasped in an armed hand . ”

Stalwart and rubicund men they were,second

only,if second, to S . , champ ion of the county,

and not incapable ofgen ia l unbendings when thefasces were laid as ide . One of them still surVives in octogenarian Vigor

,the H erodotus of

V il lage and college legend,and may it be long

ere he depart,to carry with him the pattern of

a courtesy,now

,alas old-fashioned

,but which

might profitably make part of the instruction ofour youth among the other humanities ! Longmay R. M . be spared to u s, so gen ial, so courtly,the last man among us who will ever know howto lift a hat with the nice graduation of socialdistinctions . Someth ing of a Jeremiah now, hebewails the decline of our manners . My ch i ldren

,

” he says,say

,Yes sir

,

’ and No sir ;’

my grandchildren,Yes

,

’ and No and I amevery day expecting to hear D—n your eyesfor an answer when I ask a service of my greatgrandchildren . Why

,s ir

,I ca n ‘

rem em ber whenmore respect wa s paid to Governor H ancock ’slackey at Commencement

,than the governor

and all his suite get now .

” M . i s one of thoseinvaluable men who remember your grandfather,and value you accordingly.

I n those days the population was almostwholly without fore ign admixture . Two Scotchgardeners there were

,Ru le

,whose daugh ter


(glimpsed perhaps at church, or poss ibly themere Mrs . H arris of fancy) the s tudents n icknamed Anarchy or M iss Rule

,and later Fra

ser, whom wh iskey sublimed into a poet, full ofbloody h istories of the Forty—twa, and showingan imaginary French bullet, sometimes in oneleg

,sometimes in the other, and some times, to

ward nightfall,in both . H e asserted that he had

been at Coruna,calling it by its archaic name

of the Groyne,and thus raising doubts in the

m ind of the young listener who could find nosuch place on h is map . With this claim to am ilitary distinction he adroitly contrived tom ingle another to a natural one , asserting doubletee th all round h is j aws, and, having thus createdtwo sets of doubts , s ilenced both at once by asingle demonstration

,displaying the grinders to

the confusion of the infide l .The old court—house stood then upon thesquare . I t has shrunk back out of sight now,and students box and fence where Parsons oncelaid down the law

,and Ames and D exter showed

the ir ski ll in the fence of argument . Times havechanged

,and manners

,s ince ChiefJu stice D ana

(father of Richard the First, and grandfather ofRichard the Second) caused to be arrested forcontempt of court a butcher who had come inwithout a coat to witness the administration ofh is country ’ s laws, and who thus had his curiosity exemplarilygra tified . Times have changed

3o CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO

also since the cellar beneath it wa s tenanted bythe twin brothers Snow . Oyster-men were theyindeed

,s ilent in their subterranean burrow

,and

taking the ebbs and flows of custom with biva lvian serenity . Careless of the months with anR in them

,the maxim of Snow (for we knew

them but as a unit) was ,“ When ’

ysters aregood

,they a ir good ; and when they ain

’ t,they

is n’

t .” Grecian F (may his shadow never be

less l) tells this, his great laugh expected all thewhile from deep vaults of chest

,and then com

ing in at the close,hearty

,contagious

,mounting

with the measured tread of a j ovial but statelybutler who brings ancientest goodfellowshipfrom exhaustless b ins, and enough, withoutother sauce, to give a flavor of stalled ox to adinner of herbs . Let me preserve here an a n

ticipa tory elegy upon the Snows, written yearsago by some nameless college rhymer.

D I FFUGERE NIVES

Here lies, or lie, decide the question, you,If they were two in on e or on e in two,P. 8 . Snow, Whose memory shal l not fade,Castor and Pollux of the oyster-tradeHatched from on e eg , at once the shell they burst(The last, perhaps, a P. S . to the first) ,So homoousian both in look and soul,So undiscernibly a single Whole ,That whether P. was S . , or S . was PSurpassed all skill in etymology ;

CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO

On e kept the shop at once, and al l we knowIs that toge ther they were t/ze Great Snow,

A snow not deep , yet with a crust so thickIt never melted to the son ofTick;Perpetual nay, our region wa s too low,

Too warm,too sou thern, for perpe tual Snow;

S till , like fair Leda ’ s sons , to whom t wa s givenTo take their turns in Hades and in Heaven,Our Dioscuri n ew would bravely shareThe cell ar’ s darkness and the upper air ;

Twice every year would ea ch the shades e scape ,And, like a sea -bird, seek the wave-washed Cape ,Where ( Rumor voiced) on e spouse sufii ced for bo th;No bigamist, for she upon her oath,Unskilled in letters, could not make a guessAt any difference twixt P. and S .

A thing not marvellous , since Fame agreesThey were as l ittle different as two peas,And she, like Paris , when his Helen la idHer han d ’mid snows from Ida’ s top conveyedTo cool their wine of Chios, could not know,

Between those rival candors , whi ch was Snow.

VVhiche’er behind the counter chanced to be

Oped oysters oft, his clam-shells seldom he ;If e ’ er he laughed, ’

t was with no loud guff'aw,

The fun warm ed through him wi th a gradual thawThe nicer shades ofwi t were not hi s gifi ,

Nor was it hard to sound Snow’ s simple drift ;His were plain joke s, that many a time beforeHad set his tarry messmates in a roar,When floun dering cod beslimed the deck ’ s wet planks,The humorous specie ofNewfoundland Banks .

But Snow is gone, and , let us hope , sleeps well,Buried ( his las t brea th asked it) in a shell ;


Fate With an oyster-knife sawed off his thread,And planted him upon his latest bed.

Him on the Stygian shore my fancy seesNoting choice shoals for oyster colonies ,Or, at a board stuck hi ll of ghostly forks,Opening for practice visionary Yorks .And whither he has gone , may we too go,Since no hot place were fit for keeping Snow !

74 m m tis n i‘vis .

Cambridge has long had its port, but thegreater part of its maritime trade was, thirtyyears ago

,intrusted to a single Argo

,the sloop

H arvard,which belonged to the College

,and

made annual voyages to that vague Orientknown as D own East

,bringing back the wood

that,i n those days

,gave to w inter l ife at Har

vard a crackle and a cheerfulness,for the loss

of which the greater warmth of anthracite hardlycompensates . N ew England life, to be genuine,must have in it some sentiment of the sea, i twas thl S 1n stin ct that printed the device of thep ine-tree on the old money and the old flag

,

and these periodic ventures of the sloop H arvard made the old Viking fibre V ibrate in thehearts of all the Vil lage boys . What a perspective of mystery and adventure did her sailingopen to u s With what pride did we hail herre turn ! She wa s our scholiast upon RobinsonCrusoe and the mutiny of the Bounty . H er



as silent and deserted as the pa laces of N imroud . Great wh ite-topped wagons, each drawnby double files of six or eight horses

,with its

dusty bucket swinging from the h inder axle,and

its grim bull-dog trotting silent underneath,or

in m idsummer panting on the lofty perch besidethe driver (how elevated thither baffled conj eeture) , brought all the wares and products of thecountry to their mart and seaport in Boston .

These fil led the inn-yards, or were ranged s ideby side under broad-roofed sheds

,and far into

the n ight the m irth of the ir lusty drivers clamored from the red-curtained bar—room ,

while thesingle lantern

,sway ing to and fro in the black

cavern of the stables,made a Rembrandt of the

group of ostlers and horses below . There were,bes ide the taverns

,some huge square stores

where groceries were sold,some hous es

,by

whom or why inhab i ted was to u s boys a problem

,and

,on the edge of the marsh , a currier

’ sshop

,where

,at high tide

,on a floa ting platform ,

men were always beating skins in a way to remind on e of Don Quixote ’ s fulling—mills . Nordid these make all the Port . As there is alwaysa Coming Man who never comes, so there is aman who always comes (it may be only a quarter of an hour) too early . This man, so far asthe Port is concerned

,was Rufus D avenport .

Looking at the marshy flats of Cambridge , andconsidering their nearness to Boston

,he resolved


that there should grow up a suburban Venice .Accordingly

,the marshes were bought

,canals

Were dug, ample for the commerce of both I nd ies

,and four or five rows of brick houses were

bui lt to meet the first wants of the wading settl ers who were expected to rush in WHENCE ?

This s ingular question had never occurred tothe enthusiastic proj ector . There are laws whichgovern human m igrations quite beyond the control of the speculator

,as many a man with de

s irable building—lots ha s discovered to his cost .Why mortal men will pay more for a chessboard square in that swamp than for an acreon the breezy upland close by, who shall say ?And again

,why

,having shown such a pass ion

for your swamp, they are so coy of m ine, whoshall say ? Not certainly any one who

,l ike

D avenport,had got up too early for his gener

ation . I f we could only carry that s low,im

perturbable old clock ofOpportunity,that never

strikes a second too soon or too late,in our fobs

,

and push the hands forward as we can thoseof our watches ! With a foreseeing economy ofspace wh ich now seems ludicrous

,the roofs

of th is forl orn hope of houses were made fia t,

that the swarm ing population m ight have whereto dry their clothes . But A. U . o . 30 showedthe same View as A. U . c . 1

,— only that the

brick blocks looked as if they had been struckby a m a la ria . The dull weed upholstered the


decaying wharves, and the only fre ight thatheaped them wa s the kelp and eel-grass left byhigher floods . I nstead ofa Venice, behold aTor

zelo The unfortunate proj ector took to the lastrefuge of the unhappy book-making

,and

bored the reluctant public with what he called aright—aim Testament, prefaced by a recom m en

dation from General Jackson,who perhaps

,from

its title,took it for some treatise on ball-practice .

But even Cambridgeport, my dear Storg, didnot want associations poetic and venerable . Thestranger who took the “ Hourly at Old Cambridge

,if he were a phys iognomist and student

of character,might perhaps have had his cu

riosity excited by a person who mounted thecoach at the Port . So refin ed wa s his whole appea ra n ce , so fastidiously neat his appare l, butwith a neatness that seemed less the result ofcare and plan than a someth ing as proper to theman as whiteness to the li ly, that you wouldhave at once classed h im with those individuals

,

rarer than great captains and almost as rare asgreat poets

,whom Nature sends into the world

to fil l the arduous offi ce of Gentleman . Were

you ever emperor of that Barataria which underyour pea cefii l sceptre would present, of course,a model of government, this remarkable personshould be Duke of B ienséance and Master ofCeremonies . There are some men whom destinyhas endowed with the faculty of external neat


ness,whose clothes are repe llent of dust and

mud,whose unwithering white neck—cloths per

severe to the day ’ s end, unappeasably see ing thesun go down upon the ir starch , and whose l inenmakes you fancy them he irs in the maternall ine to the instincts of al l the washerwomenfrom Eve downward . There a re others whoseinward natures possess th is fatal cleanness

,in

capable of moral dirt-spot . You a re not longin discovering that the stranger combines in himself both these propertie s . A nimbus of hair,fin e as an infant’ s, and early white, showing re

fin em en t of organ ization and the predom inanceof the sp iri tual over the phys ical, undulated andfloa ted around a face that seemed like pale flam e

,

and over which the fl itting shades of express ionchased each other

,fugitive and gleam ing as

waves upon a fie ld of rye . I t was a countenancethat

,w ithout any beauty of feature

,was very

beautiful . I have said that it looked l ike paleflame

,and can find no other words for the im

pression i t gave . H ere wa s a man all soul, hisbody seem ing a lamp of fin est clay, whose service was to feed with magic oils

,rare and fra

grant, that wavering fire which hovered over it.You , who a re an adept in such matters

,would

have detected in the eyes that artist—look whichseems to see p ictures ever in the a ir

,and which

,

if it fall on you, makes you feel as if all theworld were a gallery

,and yourself the rather


indifferent Portrait of a Gentleman hung therein .

As the s tranger brushes by you in alighting,you dete ct a single incongruity, a sme l l ofdead tobacco-smoke . You ask his name

,and

the answer is, M r. Allston .

”

M r . Allston ! and you resolve to notedown at once in your diary every look

,every

gesture,every word of the great painter Not

in the least . You have the tru e Anglo-Normanindifference, and most likely never think ofhim again til l you hear that one of his p ictureshas sold for a great price

,and then contrive to

let your grandchildren know twice a week thatyou met him once in a coach

,and that he said

,

Excuse me,sir

,

” in a very Titianesque manner

,when he stumbled over your toes in get

ting out . H i therto Boswell is quite as un iqueas Shakespeare . The country gentleman

,j our

n eying up to London, inquires of M istressD avenant at the Oxford inn the name ofhis pleasant companion of the night before ;Master Shakespeare

,an ’

t please your worship .

” And the Justice,not without a sense

of the unbending,says

,

“ Tru ly,a merry and

conceited gentleman I t is lucky for the peaceof great men that the world seldom fin ds outcontemporaneously who its great men are

, or,

perhaps,that each man esteems himself the for

tu n a te he who shall draw the lot of memoryfrom the helmet of the future . Had the eyes


of some Stratford burgess been achromatictelescopes

,capable of a perspective of two hun

dred years Bu t,even then

,would not his re

cord have been fuller of J ay s than of my sIze

’

r Neverthe l ess, i t is curious to considerfrom what in fin itely varied points of View wem ight form our estimate of a great man ’ s character

,when we remember that he had h is points

of contact with the butcher,the baker

,and the

candlestick-maker,as well as with the ingen ious

A,the sublime B

,and the Right Honorable C.

I f it be tru e that no man ever clean forgetseverything

,and that the act of drowning (as is

asserted) forthwith brightens up all those o’er

rusted impressions,would it not be a curious

experiment,if,after a remarkable person ’s death

,

the public,eager for minutest particulars

,should

gather together al l who had ever been broughtinto relations with him

,and

,submerging them

to the hair ’s-breadth hitherward of the drowning-point

,subj ect them to strict cross-exam ina

tion by the Humane Society, as soon as theybecome conscious between the resuscitatingblankets P All of us probably have brushedagainst destiny in the street

,have shaken hands

with it, fallen asleep with it in railway carriages,and knocked heads with it in some one or otherof its yet unrecognized inca rnations .Will i t seem like presenting a tra ct to a col

porteur , my dear Storg, if I say a word or two


about an artist to you over there in I taly ? Bepatient

,and leave your button in my grasp yet

a l ittle longer . T. G. A., a person whose op in

ion is worth having, once said to me, that, however one ’s notions might be m odified by goingto Europe, one always came back with a h igheresteem for Allston . Certainly he is thus far thegreatest English painter of historical subj ects .And only consider how strong must have beenthe artistic bias in him

,to have made him a

painter at all under the circumstances . Therewere no traditions of art

,so n ecessary for guid

ance and inspiration . Blackburn, Sm ibert, Copley

,Trumbull

,Stuart

,—it wa s, after all , but a

Brentford sceptre which their he irs could aspireto

,and theirs were not names to conjure with

,

l ike those from which Fame,as through a si lver

trumpet,had blown for three cen turies . Copley

and Stuart were both remarkable men ; but theone painted l ike an inspired silk-mercer

,and

the other,though at his best one of the great

est of portrait painters,seems sometimes to have

mixed his colors with the claret of which heand his generation were so fond . And whatcould a successful artist hope for

,at that time,

beyond the mere wages of his work ? H is picture would hang in cramped back parlors, between deadly cross-fires of lights, sure of thegarret or the auction-room ere long, in a country where the nomad population carry no house



fashion as a ribbon at the buttonhole,but so

gentle,so retiring, that it seemed no more than

an assured and emboldened modesty ; here wa sambition

,undebased by rivalry and incapable

of the s idelong look and all these massed andharmonized together into a puri ty and depthof character, into a tone, which made the dailyl ife of the man the greatest masterp iece of thea rt1st.

But let u s go back to the O ld Town . Th irtyyears since

,the Mu ster and the Cornwall is a l

lowed some vent to those natural instincts whichPuritan ism scotched, but not killed . The Cornwallis had entered upon the estates of the oldGuy Fawkes procession, confisca ted by the Revolu tion . I t wa s a masquerade

,in which that

grave and suppressed humor,ofwhich the Yan

kees are fulle r than other people,burst through

all restraints,and disported itself in all the wild

est vagaries of fun . Commonly the Yankee inh is pleasures suspects the presence of PublicOpinion as a detective

,and accordingly is apt

to pinion himself in his Sunday suit. I t is acurious commentary on the a rtificia l ity of ourlives that men must be disgu ised and m askedbefore they will venture into the obscurer corners of their individuality, and display the truefeatures of their nature . One remarked it inthe Carnival

,and one especial ly noted it here

am ong a race natural ly self-restrained ; for Silas


and Ezra and Jonas were not only disgu ised asRedcoats

,Continentals

,and I ndians, but not

unfrequently disguised in drink also . I t is aquestion whether the Lyceum

,where the public

is obl iged to comprehend al l vagrom men,sup

pl ie s the place of the old popular amusements .A hundred and fifty years ago, Cotton Matherbewails the carnal attractions of the tavern andthe training-field, and tells of an old Indian whoimperfectly understood the English tongue , butdesperately mastered enough of it (when undersentence of death) to express a desire for instant hemp rather than listen to any moreghostly consolations . Puritanism I am perfectly aware how great a debt we owe it triedover again the old experiment of driving outnature with a pitchfork, and had the usual success . I t was like a sh ip inwardly on fire, whosehatches must be kept hermetically batteneddown for the adm ittance of an ounce ofH eaven ’s own natural air would explode itutterly . Morals can never be safely embodiedin the constable . Polished

,cu ltivated, fasci

nating M ephistophe les l i t is for the ungov

ern ab le breakings—away of the soul from un

natural compressions that thou wa itest with adeprecatory smile . Then it is that thou ofierestthy gentlemanly arm to unguarded youth for apleasant stroll through the City of D estruction

,

and, as a special favor, in troducest him to the


bewitching Miss C irce, and to that model ofthe hosp itable old English gentleman

, M r .

Comus .But the Muster and the Cornwall is were not

peculiar to Cambridge . Commencement daywa s . Saint Pedagogus was a worthy whose feastcould be celebrated by men who quarrel led withminced-pies

,and blasphemed custard through

the nose . The holiday preserved all the features of an English fair . Stations were markedout beforehand by the town constab les

,and dis

tingu ished by numbered stakes . These wereass igned to the different venders of small waresand exhibitors of rarities

,whose canvas booths

,

beginn ing at the market-place,sometimes half

encircled the Common with their j ovial embrace .Now all the Jehoiada—boxes in town were forcedto give up their rattling deposits of specie, ifnot through the legitimate orifice

,then to the

brute force of the hammer. For hither werecome all the wonders of the world, making theArabian N ights seem possible

,and these we be

held for half price not without mingled emotions

,pleasure at the economy

,and shame

at not paying the more manly fee . H ere themummy unveiled her withered charms, amore marvellous N inon

,still attractive in her

three-thousandth year. H ere were the Siamesetwins ; ah ! i f al l such forced and unnaturalunions were made a show of Here were the


flying horses (their supernatural effect injuredlike that of some poems by the Vi sibil ity ofthe man who turned the crank) , on which , aswe ti l ted at the ring

,we fe lt our shoulders

tingle with the a ccola de, and heard the clink ofgolden spurs at our heels . Are the realitiesof l ife ever worth half so much as its cheats ?

And are there any feasts half so fi l l ing at theprice as those Barmecide ones spread for u s

by Imagination ? H ither came the Canadiangiant

,surreptitiously seen

,without price

,as he

alighted,in broad day (giants were always fool

ish) , at the tavern . H ither came the great horseColumbus

,with shoes two inches thick

,and

more wise ly introduced by night . I n the troughof the town-pump might be seen the mermaid

,

i ts poor monkey ’s head carefully sustainedabove water

,to keep it from drowning. There

were dwarfs,also

,who danced and sang, and

many a proprietor regretted the transaudientproperties of canvas

,wh ich allowed the frugal

publ ic to share in the melody without enteringthe booth . I s it a slander of] . H .

,who reports

that he once saw a deacon,eminent for psalm

ody, lingering near one of those vocal tents,and, with an assumed air of abstraction , fu rtively drinking in , with unhabitual ears , a song,not secular merely

,but with a dash of l ibertin

isrn ? The New England proverb says,Al l

deacons are good, but there ’ s odds in dea


cons . On these days Snow became superterra n ea n , and had a stand in the square, andLewis temperately contended with the strongerfascinations of egg—pop . But space would failme to make a catalogue of every thing. N o

doubt, Wisdom also, as u sual, had her quietbooth at the corner of some street

,without en

trance-fee,and, even at that rate, got never a

customer the whole day long . For the bankrupt afternoon there were peep-shows, at a centeach.

But all these shows and their showmen are asclean gone now as those of Caesar and Timourand Napoleon

,for which the world paid dearer.

They are utterly gone out,not leaving so much

as a snufi'

beh ind,— as little thought of now as

that John Robins, who was once so considerable a phenomenon as to be esteemed the lastgreat Antichrist and son of perdition by the entire sect of Muggletonians . Were Commencement what it used to be

,I should be tempted

to take a booth myself,and try an experiment

recommended by a satirist of some merit,whose works were long ago dead and (I fear)deedeed to boot.

Men en ius, thou who fain wouldst kn ow how calmly m en

can passThose biting portraits of themselves, disguised as fox or

ass,Go borrow coin enough to buy a fii ll-length psyche-glas s,


Engage a rather darkish room in some well-sought position,And let the town break out wi th bills, so much per head ad

m ission,GREAT NATURAL CURI OSI TY THE 131001231 L I VI NG FOOL

Arrange your mirror cleverly, before it set a stool,Admit the public on e by on e, place each upon the sea t,Draw up the curtain , let him look his fil l , and then retreat .Sm ith mounts and takes a thorough view, then comes serenely

down,Goes home and tells his wife the thing is curiously like Brown ;Brown goes and stares, and tells his w ife the wonder’ s core

and pithIs that t is just the counterpart of that conceited Smith .

Life calls us all to such a show : Men en ius, trust in m e,

While thou to see thy neighbor sm il’st, he does the same for

thee .

My dear Storg, would you come to myshow

,and

,instead of looking in my glass

,in

sist on taking your money ’s worth in staring atthe exhib itor ?

Not least among the curiosi ties which theday brought together were some of the graduates

,posthumous men

,as it were

,disentombed

from country parishes and district schools,but

perennial also,in whom freshly surv ived all the

College j okes,and who had no intell igence later

than their Senior year . These had gathered toeat the College dinner, and to get the TriennialCatalogue (their l iéro d

’

ora) , referred to oftenerthan any volume but the Concordance . Aspir

ing men they were certainly,but in a right

unworldly way ; this scholastic festival opening


a peaceful path to the ambition which m lght

else have devastated mankind with Prolusionson the Pentateuch , or Ge nealogies of the D or

mouse Fam ily . For since in the academ ic processions the classes are ranked in the order ofthe ir graduation, and he has the best chance atthe dinner who has the fewest teeth to ea t i twith

, so , by degrees, there springs up a competition in longevity, the prize contended forbeing the oldest surviving graduateship . Thisis an office

,it is true

,without emolument

,but

having certain advantages, nevertheless . Theincumbent

,if he come to Commencement

,is a

prodigious l ion, and commonly gets a paragraphin the newspapers once a year with the (fiftieth)last survivor of Washington ’ s Life Guard . I fa clergyman

,he is expected to ask a blessing

and re turn thanks at the dinner,a function

which he performs with centenarian longa n imi ty

,as if he reckoned the ordinary life of man

to be fivescore years , and that a grace must belong to reach so far away as heaven . Accordingly, this silent race is watched, on the courseof the Catalogue

,with an interest worthy of

Newmarket ; and as star after star rises in thegalaxy of death, till one name is left alone, anoasis of life in the stellar desert, i t grows solemn .

The natural feeling is reversed,and it is the

solitary life that becomes sad and monitory, theStyl ites there on the lonely top of his century



it can draw at pleasure . H ave you ever seena man whose check would be honored for am illion pay his toll of one cent ? and has notthat bit of copper, no bigger than your own ,and piled with it by the careless toll-man

,given

you a tingling Vision of what golden bridges 126could pass

,into what E lysian regions of

taste and enj oyment and culture,barred to the

rest of us Some th ing like it is the impressionmade by such characters as K.

’

s on those whocome in contact Wi th them .

There wa s that in the soft and rounded (Ihad almost said melting) outlines of his facewhich reminded one of Chaucer . The headhad a placid yet dign ified droop l ike his . H e

wa s an anachronism ,fitter to have been Abbot

of Fountains or Bishop Golias,courtier and

priest, humorist and lord spiritual, all in one,than for the mastership of a provincial college

,

which comb ined,with its purely scholastic func

tions,those of accountant and chief of police .

For keep ing books he wa s incompetent (unlessi t were those he borrowed) , and the only discipl in e he exercised was by the unobtrusivepressure of a gentleman l iness which renderedinsubordination to Izim impossible . But theworld always judges a man (and rightly enough ,too) by his little faults, wh ich he shows a hundred times a day

,rather than by h is great Vir

tues,which he discloses perhaps but once in a


l ifetime,and to a single person

,nay, in pro

portion as they a re rarer,and he is nobler, is

shyer of letting their existence be known at all .H e wa s one of those misplaced persons whosemisfortu ne it is that their l ives overl ap two distinct eras

,and are already so impregnated with

one that they can never be in healthy sympathy with the other . Born when the NewEngland clergy were s til l an establishment andan aristocracy

,and when office was almost a l

ways for life,and often hereditary

,he lived to

be thrown upon a time when avocations of al lcolors -might be shuffled together in the l ife ofone man

,l ike a pack of cards

,so that you

coul d not prophesy that he who was ordainedto-day might not accept a colonelcy of fil ibusters to-morrow . Such temperaments as his a ttach themselves, l ike barnacles, to what seems

permanent ; but presently the good ship Progress weighs anchor, and whirls them away fromdrowsy tropic inle ts to arctic waters of unnaturalice . To such crustaceou s natures

,created to

cling upon the immemorial rock amid softestmosses, comes the bustling N ineteenth Century and says, Come

,come

,bestir yourself

and be practical ! get out of that old shell ofyours forthwith ! Alas ! to get out of theshel l i s to die !One of the old travellers in South Amer

ica tells of fishes that built their nests in trees


(p iscium et summ a Iza esit genus a lm a) , and giyes aprint of the mother fish upon her nest

,wh ile her

mate mounts perpendicularly to her without aidof legs or wings . Life shows plenty of such incongru ities between a man ’ s place and h is nature

(not so eas ily got over as by the traveller’s un

doubting engraver) , and one cannot help fancyingthat K . wa s an instance in point . H e never encountered, one would say, the attraction properto draw out his native force . Certainly , few

'

m en

who impressed others so strongly , and of whomso many good things are remembered

,left less

behind them to justify contemporary estimates .He printed nothing

,and wa s perhaps one of

those the electric sparkles of whose brains,dis

charged naturally and health ily in conversation,

refuse to pass through the non-conducting medium of the inkstand . H is a nd would make adel ightfii l collection . One or two of his offi cia lones will be in place here . H earing that Porter ’sflip (wh ich wa s exemplary) had too great an a t

traction for the col legians,he resolved to inves~

tiga te the matter himself. Accordingly, enteringthe old inn one day

,he called for a mug of it,

and,having drunk it, sa id, And so , M r . Porter,

the young gentlemen come to drink your fl ip ,do they ?” “ Yes

,s ir

,—sometimes .” “Ah

,we l l ,

I should think they would . Good-day, M r.

Porter,

” and departed,saying nothing more ;

for he always wisely al lowed for the existence of


a certain amount of human nature in ingenuousyouth . At another time the Harvard Washington asked leave to go into Boston to a collation which had been offered them . Certainly

,

young gentlemen,

” said the president,but

have you engaged any one to bring home yourmuskets the College be ing respons ible forthese weapons

,which belonged to the state .

Again,when a student came with a physician ’s

certifica te, and asked leave of absence, K . grantedit at once

,and then added, “ By the way, M r .

,persons interested in the relation which

exists b etween states of the atmosphere andhealth have noticed a curious fact in regard tothe cl imate of Cambridge, especial ly within theCollege l imits

,the very small number of

deaths in proportion to the cases of dangerousillness .” This is told of Judge W. ,

h imselfa wit

,and capable of enj oying the humorous

del icacy of the reproof.Shall I take Brahmin Al cott’ s favorite word

,

and ca l l him a daemonic man ? No,the Latin

gen ius is quite old-fashioned enough for me,

means the same th ing,and its derivative gen ia lity

expresses, moreover, the base of K .

’

s being .

How he suggested cloistered repose,and quad

ra ng les mossy w ith centurial associations l H ow

easy he was, and how wi thout creak was everymovement of his mind ! This life

,

wa s goodenough for him, and the next not too good .


The gentleman-l ike pervaded even his prayers .H is were not the manners of a man of the world

,

nor of a man of the other world either ; but bothmet in him to balance each other in a beautifu lequilibrium . Praying, he leaned forward uponthe pulpit—cu shion as for conversation

,and

seemed to feel himself (without irreverence) onterms of friendly, but courteous, familiarity withH eaven . The expression of his face was that oftranquil contentment, and he appeared less tobe supplicating expected mercies than thankfulfor those already found

,as if he were saying

the gra tia s in the refectory of the Abbey ofThe lem e . Under h im flourished the H arvardWashington Corps

,whose gyrating banner

,in

scribed Ta m M a rti guam M ercurio (a tgui m ag is

Ly a eo should have been added) , on the eveningof training-days

,wa s an accurate dynamometer

of Willard ’s punch or Porter’ s flip . I t was they

who,after being royally entertained by a maiden

lady of the town,entered in their orderly book

a y ote that Miss Blank was a gentleman . I seethem now

,returning from the imminent deadly

breach of the l awofRechab,u n ab le to form otherthan the serpentine line of beauty

,while their

officers,brotherly rather than imperious

,instead

of reprimanding, tearfully embraced the moreeccentric wanderers from military precision .

Under him the Med . Facs . took their equal placeamong the learned societies of Europe, number


ing among their grateful honorary membersAlexander

,Emperor of all the Russias, who (iti

College legends may be tru sted) sent them inreturn for the ir diploma a gift of medals confisca ted by the authorities . Under him the College fire-engine wa s vigilant and active in suppressing any tendency to spontaneous comba stion among the Freshm en

,or rushed wildly to

imaginary conflagra tion s, generally in a di rection where punch wa s to be had . All theseuseful conductors for the natural e lectrici ty ofyouth

,dispersing it or tu rning it harmles sly into

the earth,are taken away now

,wisely or not,

is questionable .An academic town

,in whose atmosphere there

is always something antiseptic,seems natural ly

to draw to itse lf certain varieties and to preservecertain humors (in the Ben Jonsonian sense) ofcharacter

,— men who come not to study so

much a s to be studied . At the headquarters ofWashington once

,and now of the Muses, l ived

C but before the date of these recol lec

tions . H ere for seven years (as the law wasthen) he made his house his castle, sunninghimself in h is elbow-chair at the front door, onthat seventh day, secure from every arrest butD eath ’s . H ere long survived him his turbanedwidow, s tudious only of Spinoza, and refusingto molest the canker—worms that annually disleaved her elms, because we were all vermicu lar


alike . She had been a famous beauty once , butthe canker years had left her leafless

,too ; and

I used to wonder, as I saw her sitting alwaysturbaned and always alone at her accustomedw indow

,whether she were ever Visi ted by the

reproachful shade of him who (in spi te ofRosalind) died broken—hearted for her in herradiant youth .

And this reminds me of J . F who , alsocrossed in love

,allowed no mortal eye to be

ho ld h is face for many years . The eremitic instin ct is not peculiar to the Thebai

’

s,as many

a New Engl and Village ca n testify ; and it isworthy of consideration that the RomishChurch has not forgotten this among her otherpoints of intimate contact with human nature .F became purely vespertinal

,never s tirring

abroad till after dark . H e occupied two rooms,

migrating from one to the other,as the n eces

s itie s of housewifery demanded,thus shunning

all sight of womankind,and be ing practically

more solitary in his dual apartment than Monta ign e

’

s D ean of St . H i laire in h is s ingle one .When it was requisite that he should put h issignatu re to any legal instrument (for he wa san anchorite of ample means) , he wrapped himself in a blanket

,allowing nothing to be seen

but the hand wh ich acted as scribe . What impressed us boys more than anything else wasthe rumor that he had suffered his beard to



If K. were out of place as president,that

was not P. as Greek professor. Who that eversaw h im can forget him

,i n his old age

,l ike a

lusty winter, frosty but kindly, with great silverspectacles of the heroic period

,such as scarce

twelve noses of these degenerate days couldbear ? H e was a natural celibate

,not dwelling

l ike the fly in the heart of the apple,” but

like a lonely bee rather,absconding himself in

Hymettian flowers, incapable of matrimony asa solitary palm-tree . There was

,to be sure

,a

tradition of youthful disappointment,and a

touching s tory which L . told me perhaps confirm s it . When Mrs . died

,a carriage with

blinds drawn followed the funeral train at somedistance, and , when the coffi n had been loweredinto the grave, drove hastily away to escapethat saddest of earthly sounds

,the first rattle

of earth upon the l id . I t was afterward knownthat the carriage held a single mourner

,—our

grim and undemonstrative professor . Yet Icannot bring myse lf to suppose him susceptibleto any tender passion after that s ingle lapse inthe immaturity of reason . H e might havej oined the Abderites in s inging their mad chorusfrom the Andromeda ; but it would have beenin deference to the language merely

,and with

a s ilent protest against the sentiment . I fancyhim arranging h is scrupulous toilet, not forAmaryllis or Nem ra, but, l ike Machiavelli, for


the society of h is beloved classics . His earshad needed no prophylactic wax to pass theSirens ’ isle ; nay, he would have kept them thewider open, s tudious of the dialect in whichthey sang

,and perhaps triumphantly detecting

the ZEol ic digam ma in their lay . A thoroughlysingle man

,s ingle-minded

,single-hearted, but

toning over his single heart a single-breastedsurtout

,and wearing always a hat of a single

fashion,— did he in secret regard the dual

number of his favorite language as a weakness ?

The son of an officer of distinction in the Revolu tion ary War, he mounted the pulpit withthe erect port of a soldier

,and carried his cane

more in the fashion of a weapon than a staff,but with the point lowered

,in token of surren

der to the peaceful proprieties of his call ing .

Yet sometimes the martial instincts would burstthe cerements of black coat and clerical neckcloth, as once, when the s tudents had got intoa fight upon the training-field, and the l icentious soldiery

,furious with rum

,had driven

them at point of bayonet to the College gates,

and even threatened to l ift their arms againstthe Muses ’ bower. Then , l ike Maj or Gofi

‘

e atD eerfield, suddenly appeared the gray-hairedP.

, all h is father resurgent in him,and shouted :

Now, my lads, stand your ground, you

’

re inthe right now ! D on ’ t let one of them set footwi thin the College grounds ! Thus he al lowed

6o CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO

arms to get the better of the toga ; but raised it,l ike the Prophet ’s breeches

,in to a banner

,and

carefully ushered resistance with a preamb le ofinfringed right . Fide l ity wa s his strong characteristic, and burned equably in h im through al ife of eighty-three years . H e drilled himselftil l inflex ible habi t stood sentinel before al lthose postern weaknesses which temperamentleaves unbolted to temptation . A lover of thescholar ’s herb

,yet loving freedom more

,and

knowing that the animal appetites ever holdone hand behind them for Satan to drop a bribein

,he wou ld never have two cigars in his house

at once,but walked every day to the shop to

fetch h is s ingle diurnal solace . Nor would hetrust himself with two on Saturdays

,preferring

(since he could not Violate the Sabbath evenby that infin itesim a l traffic) to depen d on Providential ravens

,wh ich were seldom wanting in

the shape of some black-coated friend whoknew h is need

,and honored the scruple that

occasioned it. H e wa s faithful, also, to his oldhats

,in which appeared the constan t service of

the antique world,and which he preserved for

ever,piled like a black pagoda under his dress

ing-table . No scarecrow was ever the residaary legatee of lzis beavers

,though one of them

in a ny of the neighboring peach-orchards wouldhave been sovereign against an attack of Freshmen . H e wore them all in turn, getting through


all in the course of the year,l ike the sun

through the signs of the zodiac, modulatingthem according to seasons and celestial phenomena

,so that never was spider—web or chick

weed so sensitive a weather-gauge as they . Nordid his political party find him less loyal .Taking al l the tickets

,he would seat himself

apart,and carefully compare them with the l ist

of regu lar nom inations as printed in his D ailyAdvertiser

,before he dropped his ballot in the

box . I n less ambitious moments, i t almostseems to me that I would rather have had thatslow, conscientious vote of P.

’

s alone, than tohave been chosen Alderman of the ward !I f you had walked to what was then Sweet

Auburn by the pleasant Old Road, on someJune morn ing thirty years ago

,you would very

likely have met two other characteristi c persons,

both phantasmagoric now,and be longing to

the past . Fifty years earlier, the scarlet—coated,rapiered figures of Vassall, Lechm ere

,O l iver

,

and Brattle creaked up and down there on redheeled shoes

,l ifting the ceremonious three-cor

n ered hat, and offering the fil ga cious hospita l ities of the snuE-box . They are all shadowy alikenow

,not one of your E truscan Lucumos or

Roman Consuls more so,my dear Storg . First

is W . , h is queue slender and tapering, l ike thetail of a Violet crab

,held out horizontally by

the high collar of his shepherd ’s-gray overcoat,


whose style was of the latest when he studiedat Leyden in his hot you th . The age of cheapclothes sees no more of those faithful old garments

,as proper to their wearers and as dis

tin ctive as the barks of trees, and by long useinterpenetrated with their very natu re . Nor dowe see so many Humors (s til l in the old sense)now that every man ’ s soul belongs to thePublic

,as when social distinctions were more

marked,and men felt that their personalities

were their castles,in which they could intrench

themselves against the world . Nowadays menare shy of letting their true selves be seen

,as

if in some former life they had committed acrime

,and were al l the time afraid of discovery

and arrest in this . Form erly they used to insiston your giving the wall to their peculiarities

,

and you may sti l l find examples of it in the parson or the doctor of retired Vil lages . On e ofW .

’

s oddities was touch ing . A l ittle brook usedto run across the street

,and the sidewalk was

carried over it by a broad stone . Of coursethere is no brook now . What use did that l ittleglimpse of a ripple serve,where the children usedto launch their ch ip fleets ? W .

,in going over

this stone,wh ich gave a hollow resonance to the

tread,had a trick of striking upon it three times

with his cane,and mu ttering, “ Tom

,Tom ,

Tom I u sed to think he was only m im icking w1th his voice the sound of the blows, and


possibly it wa s that sound which suggested histhought

,for he wa s remembering a favorite

nephew,prematurely dead . Perhaps Tom had

sailed his boats there ; perhaps the reverberation under the old man ’s foot hinted at the hollowness of l ife ; perhaps the fleeti ng eddies ofthe water brought to mind the fug a ces a nnas .

W . ,l ike P.

,wore amaz ing spectacles

,fit to trans

mit no smaller image than the page of m ightiestfol ios of D ioscoride s or H ercules de Saxon ia

,

and ris ing full-disked upon the beholder l ikethose prodigies of two moons at once

,portend

ing change to monarchs . The great collar disallowing any independent rotation of the head

,

I remember he used to turn h is whole personin order to bring theirfoci to bear upon an ob

ject . One can fancy that terrified Nature wouldhave yielded up her secrets at once

,without

cross-examination,at their first glare . Through

them he had gazed fondly into the great mare ’ snest of Junius

,publishing h is observations upon

the eggs found therein in a tall octavo . I t wa she who introduced vaccination to th is WesternWorld . Malicious persons disputing his claimto th is distinction

,he published this advertise

ment Lost, a gold snufil box , with the in scription, ‘The Jenner of the O ld World to theJenner of the N ew .

’ Whoever shall return thesame to D r. shall be suitably rewarded .

”

I t was never returned . Wou ld the search after


i t have been as fruitless as that of the alchemistafter h is equally imaginary gold ? Mal iciouspersons pers is ted in believing the box as Vis ionary as the claim it was meant to buttress with asemblance of real ity . H e u sed to stop and saygood-morning k indly

,and pat the shoulder of

the blushing school-boy who now,with the

fierce snow-storm wildering without, s its andremembers sadly those old meetings and partings in the June sunshine .Then there wa s S .

,whose resounding Haw,

haw,haw by Shorge positive ly enlarged the

income of every dweller in Cambridge . I ndownright

,honest good cheer and good neigh

borhood, it was worth five hundred a year toevery on e of u s . I ts j ovial thunders cleared themental air of every sulky cloud . Pe rpe tualch i ldhood dwelt in him

,the ch ildhood of h is

native Southern France,and its fix ed air wa s all

the time bubbling up and sparkling and winking in his eyes . I t seemed as if h is placid oldface were only a mask behind wh ich a merryCup id had ambushed himself

,peep ing out all

the while,and ready to drop it when the play

grew tiresome . Every word he uttered seemedto be h ilarious

,no m atter what the occasion . I f

he were s ick,and you Vis ited h im

,if he had met

with a misfortune (and there are few m en sowise that they can look even at the back of aretiring sorrowwith composure) , it wa s all one ;



front door of America) in’

93 , and, in honor ofthe ceremony, had his head powdered afresh,and put on a suit of court—mourning for LouisXV I . before he set foot on the wharf. My fancyalways dressed him in that Violet s ilk

,and his

soul certainly wore a full court—suit. What wasthere ever l ike his bow ? I t wa s as if you hadreceived a decoration

,a nd ,

cou ld write yourselfgentleman from that day forth . His hat rose

,

regreeting your own,and

,having sailed through

the stately curve of the old régime,sank gently

back over that placid brain, which harbored nothought less white than the powder which covered it. I have sometimes imagined that therewa s a graduated arc over his head, invisible toother eyes than his

,by which he me ted out to

each his rightful share of castorial cons ideration .

I carry in my memory three exemplary bows .The first i s that of an old beggar, who , alreadycarrying in his hand a white hat

,the gift of

benevolence,took off the black one from his

head also,and profoundly saluted me with both

at once,giving me

,in return for my alms

,a

dual benediction, puzzling as a nod from Janus

Bifrons . The second I received from an oldcardinal

, who was taking h is walk just outsidethe Porta San Giovanni at Rome . I paid h imthe cou rtesy due to his age and rank . Forthwith rose

,first

,tfie Hat second, the hat of his

confessor ; third, that of another priest who


attended him ; fourth, the fringed cocked hatof h is coachman ; fifth and sixth, the ditto, ditto,of his two footmen . H ere wa s an investment,indeed ; six hundred per cent . interest on as ingle bow l The third bow

,worthy to be noted

in one ’s almanac among the other m im bi lia , wasthat of S . ,

in wh ich courtesy had mounted tothe last round of her ladder

,—and tried to

draw it up after her.But the genial veteran is gone even while I

am writing this,and I will play O ld Mortality

no longer. Wandering among these recentgraves , my dear friend, we may chance upon

but no, I wi ll not end my sentence . Ibid you hearti ly farewel l

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

ADDRES SED TO THE EDELMANN STORG AT THE

BAGN I D I LUCCA

HURSDAY,l l tb August I knew

as little yesterday of the interior ofMaine as the least penetrating person

knows of the inside of that great social millstone which

,driven by the river Time

,sets

imperatively a-going the several wheels of ourindividual activities . Born while Maine wasstil l a province of native Massachusetts

,I was

as much a foreigner to it as yourself, my dearStorg . I had seen many lakes

,ranging from

that ofVirgil ’s Cumaean to that of Scott’ s Caledon ian Lady ; but Moosehead, within two daysof me, had never enj oyed the profit of beingmirrored in m y retina . At the sound of

'

thename, no reminiscential atoms (according toKenelm D igby ’ s Theory of Association

,—as

good as any) stirred and marshalled themselvesin my brain . The tru th is, we think l ightly ofNature ’s penny shows, and estimate what wesee by the cost of the ticket. Empedocles gave

72 A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

his life for a pit entrance to JEtn a,and no doubt

found his account in it . Accord ingly, the cleanface of Cousin Bull is imaged patroniz ingly inLake George, and Loch Lomond glasses thehurried countenance of Jonathan

,diving deeper

in the s treams of European association (andcoming up drier) than any other man . Or is thecause of our not caring to see what is equallywi thin the reach of all our neighbors to besought in that aristocratic principle so deeplyimplanted in human nature ? I knew a paupergraduate who always borrowed a black coat,and came to eat the Commencement dinner

,

not that it wa s better than the one which dailygraced the board of the publ ic institution inwhich he h ibernated (so to speak) during theother three hundred and sixty-four days of theyear

,save in this one particular

,that none of

his eleemosynary fellow commoners could eatit . I f there are unhappy men who wish thatthey were as the Babe Unborn

,there are more

who would aspire to the lonely distinction ofbeing that other figu ra tive personage, the O ldest I nhabitant . You remember the charmingirresolu tion of our dear Esthwa ite (l ike Macheath between h is two doxies) , divided betweenhis theory that he is under thirty

,and his pride

at being the only one of u s who witnessed theSeptember gale and the rej oicings at the Peace ?N ineteen years ago I wa s walking through the


74 A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

the horn in clear vision at the terminus of thisSocratic perspective .

’Awl, my young frien’

, you’

ve larned n eow

thet wu t a man kin see any day for n awthin’

childern half price, he never doos see . N awthin

pay,n awthin

’ vally .

”

With this modern instance of a wise saw,I

departed,deeply revolving these things with

myself,and convinced that

,whatever the ratio

of population,the average amount of human

nature to the square mile differs l ittle the worldover . I thought of it when I saw people uponthe Pincian wondering at the alchemist sun

,as

if he never burned the leaden clouds to gold insight of Charles Street. I thought of it when Ifound eyes first discovering at Mont Blanc howbeautiful snow was . As I walked on

,I said to

myself,There is one exception

,wise hermit

,

i t is j ust these gra tis pictures which the poetputs in his show-box

,and which we all gladly

pay Wordsworth and the rest for a peep a t .

The divine faculty is to see what everybodycan look a t .

Wh ile every well-informed man in Europe,

from the barber down to the diplomatist,has

his V iew of the Eastern Question, why should

I not go personally down East and see for m yself Why not

,l ike Tancred, attempt my own

solution of the Mystery of the Ori ent,

doubly mysteriou s when you begin the two

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL 75

words with capitals ? You know my way ofdoing things

,to let them simmer in my m ind

gently for m onths,and at last do them im

promp tu in a kind of desperation, driven by theEumenides of un fu lfil led purpose . So

,after

ta lking about Moosehead ti ll nobody believedme capable of go ing thither, I found myself atthe Eastern Rai lway station . The only eventof the j ourney hither (I am now at Waterville)was a boy hawking exh ilaratingly the last greatrailroad smash

,th i rteen l ives lost

,— and no

doubt devoutly wishing there had been fifty .

This having a mercantile interest in horrors,

holding stock,as it were, in murder, misfortune,

and pesti lence, must have an odd effect on thehuman mind . The birds of ill omen

,at whose

sombre flight the rest of the world turn pale,are the ravens which bring food to this l ittl eoutcast in the wilderness . I f this lad give thanksfor daily bread

,it would be curious to inquire

what that phrase represents to his understanding .

I f there ever be a plum in it, it is S in or D eaththat puts it in . O ther details of my dreadfu lride I will spare you . Suffice i t that I arrivedhere in safety

,—in complexion like an Ethio

pian serenader half got-up, and so broiled andpeppered that I wa s more like a devil led kidney than anyth ing else I can think of.

10 P . M . The civil landlord and neatchamber at the E lmwood House were very

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

grateful,and after tea I set forth to explore the

town . I t has a good chance of being pretty ;but

,l ike most American towns

,it is in a hob

b ledehoy age, growing yet, and one cannot tellwhat may happen . A ch i ld with great promiseof beauty i s often spoiled by its second teeth .

There is something agreeable in the sense ofcompleteness wh ich a walled town gives one .I t is entire, l ike a crystal, a work which manhas succeeded in fin ishing . I th ink the humanmind pines more or less where everything isnew

,and is better for a diet of stale bread . The

number of Americans who Vi sit the O ld World,

and the deep inspirations with which theybreathe the air of antiquity

,as if their mental

lungs had been starved with too thin an atmosphere

,i s beginning to afford matter of specu

lation to observant Europeans . For my ownpart

,I never saw a house which I thought old

enough to be torn down . I t is too like thatScythian fashion of knocking old people on thehead . I cannot help thinking that the indefinable someth ing which we call cha ra cter is cumul a tiye , that the influen ce of the same climate

,

scenery,and associations for several generations

is necessary to its gathering head,and that the

process is disturbed by continual change ofplace . The American is nomadic in religion, inideas

,in morals

,and leaves his faith and opinions

with as much indifi’

eren ce as the house in which


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

cotton for fig—leave s among the antediluvianpopulations, and commended man

’ s first disobedience as a wise measure of political econom y . But to return to our college . We cannothave fin e buildings til l we a re less in a hurry .

We snatch an education l ike a meal at a railroad station . Just in time to make u s dyspeptic

,the wh istle shrieks, and we must rush, or

lose our places in the great train of l ife . Yetnoble architecture is one element of patriotism,

and an eminent one of culture,the fin er portions

of wh ich are taken in by unconscious absorption through the pores of the mind from thesurrounding atmosphere . I suppose we mustwait

,for we are a great b ivouac as yet

,rather

than a nation on the march from the Atlanticto the Pa cific, and pitch tents instead of building houses . Our very Vi l lages seem to be inmotion

,following westward the bewitching

music of some Pied Piper of H amelin . Westill feel the great push toward sundown givento the peoples somewhere in the gray dawn ofh istory . The cl iff-swallow alone of all animatednature emigrates eastward .

Fr iday , 1 2th . The coach leaves Watervilleat five o ’ clock in the morning, and on e mustbreakfast in the dark at a quarter past four

,be

cause a train s tarts at twenty minutes beforefive

,the passengers by both conveyances be

ing pastured gregariously . So one must be up

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

at half past three . The primary geological formations contain no trace of man

,and it seems

to me that these eocene periods of the day arenot fitted for sus taining the human forms ofl ife . On e of the Fa thers he ld that the sun wascreated to be worshipped at h is ris ing by theGentiles . The m ore reason that Christians (except

,perhaps

,early Christians) should abstain

from these heathenish ceremonials . As one a rriving by an early train is welcomed by a drowsymaid with the sleep scarce brushed out of herhair

,and finds empty grates and pol ished ma

bogany,on whose arid plains the pioneers of

breakfast have not yet encamped,so a person

waked thus unseasonably 1s sent into the worldbefore h is faculties are up and dressed to servehim . I t might have been for this reason thatmy stomach resented for several hours a p ieceof fried beefsteak which I forced upon it

,or,

more properly speaking,a piece of that leathern

conveniency wh ich in these regions assume s thename . You will find i t as hard to believe , mydear Storg , as that quarrel of the Sorbonists,whether one should say ego a m a t or no, that theuse of the gridiron is unknown hereabout

,and

so near a river named after S t. Lawrence , too lTo-day has been the hottest day of the sea

son,yet our drive has not been unpleasant.

For a considerable distance we followed thecourse of the Seba sticook River

,a pretty stream

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

with alternations of dark brown pools and winecolored rap ids . On each s ide of the road theland had been cleared

,and little o’

n e-story farmhouses were scattered at intervals . But thestumps stil l held out in most of the fie lds, andthe tangled wilderness closed in behind

,striped

here and there with the sl im white trunks ofthe elm . As ye t only the edges of the greatforest have been n ibbled away . Sometimes aroot—fence stre tched up its bleaching antlers

,

l ike the trophies of a gian t hunter . Now andthen the houses thickened into an unsociallooking Vi l lage

,and we drove up to the grocery

to leave and take a mail-bag,stopping again

presently to water the horses at some pall idl ittle tavern

,whose one red-curtained eye (the

bar-room) had been put bu t by the inexorablethrust of Maine Law . Had Shenstone travelledth is road, he would never have written thatfamous stanza of h is ; had Johnson , he wouldnever have quoted it. They are to real inns asthe skull of Yorick to his face . Where theseV il lages occurred at a distance from the river

,i t

was diffi cu lt to account for them . On the riverbank

,a saw-mill or a tannery served as a logical

prem ise,and saved them from total in con se

quen tia l ity . As we trailed along, at the rate ofabout four miles an hour

,i t was discovered that

on e of our mail-bags wa s missing . Guesssomebody ’

l l p ick it up,” said the driver cool ly


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

There being four passengers for the Lake,a

veh icle called a mud-wagon was de tailed at N ew

port for our accommodation . I n this we j oltedand rattled along at a l ivel ier pace than in thecoach . As we got farther north

,the country

(especially the h ills) gave evidence of longercultivation . About the thriving town of D ex

ter we saw fin e farms and crops . The houses,

too,became prettier ; hop-Vines were trained

about the doors,and hung their clustering thyrsi

over the open windows . A kind of wild rose

(called by the country folk the primrose) andasters were planted about the door-yards

,and

orchards, commonly of natural fruit, added tothe pleasant home-look . But everywhere wecould see that the wa r between the white manand the forest was stil l fierce

,and that it would

be a long while yet before the axe wa s buried .

The haying being over,fires blazed or sm ou l

dered agains t the s tumps in the fie lds, and theblue smoke widened slowly upward through thequiet August atmosphere . I t seemed to me thatI could hear a sigh n ow and then from the immemorial pines

,as they stood watching these

camp-fires of the inexorable invader . Eveningset in

,and

,as we crunched and crawled up the

long gravelly hills, I sometimes began to fancythat Nature had forgotten to make the corresponding descent on the other side . But ere longwe were rushing down at full speed ; and, in

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

Spired by the dactyl ic be at of the horses ’ hoofs,I essayed to repeat the opening lines of Evan

ge l in e . At the moment I was beginning, weplunged into a hollow

,where the soft clay had

been overcome by a road of unhewn logs . I

got through one line to th is corduroy a ccom

pa n im en t,somewhat as a country choir stretches

a short metre on the Procru stean rack of a longdrawn tune . The resul t wa s l ike th isThihis ibis thebe fohorest prihihim eheval ; thebe m urhur

muring pihin es hahand thebe hehem lohocks 1”

At a quarter past eleven, P . M .,we reached

Greeriv il l e (a littl e vi llage wh ich looks as if ithad dripped down from the hills

,and settled in

the hollow at the foot of the lake), having a c

complished seventy-two miles in eighteen hours .The tavern was totally extingu ished . The driverrapped upon the bar—room window

,and after

a wh i le we saw heat—l ightnings of unsuccessfulmatche s followed by a low grumble of vocalthunder

,which I am afraid took the form of

imprecation . Presently there was a great success, and the steady blur of l ighted tallow succeeded the fil gitiv e bril l iance of the pine . Ahostler fumbled the door open

,and stood staring

at but not see ing us, with the sleep stick ing outall over h im . We at last contriv ed to launch h im

,

more like an insensible m issi le than an intell igentor intell igible being

,at the slumbering landlord

,

who came out wide awake, and welcomed us as

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

so many half dollars, twenty-five cents eachfor bed

,ditto breakfast . 0 Shenstone

,Shen

stone The only roost wa s in the garre t,which

had been made into a s ingle room,and contained

eleven double beds, ranged along the walls . I twa s l ike sleeping in a hospital . However

,nice

customs curtsy to eighteen-hour rides,and we

slept .Sa turday , 13 th .

-This morning I performedmy toilet in the bar—room

,where there was an

abundant supply of water, and a halo of interested spectators . Afte r a suffi cient breakfast, weembarked on the l ittle steamer Moosehead, andwere soon throbb ing up the lake . The boat

,it

appeared, had been chartered by a party, thisnot being one of her regular trips . Accordinglywe were mulcted in twice the usual fee

,the phi

losophy ofwhich I could not understand . H owever

,it always comes easier to u s to comprehend

why we receive than why we pay . I dare say itwas quite clear to the captain . There were threeor four clearings on the western shore but afterpassing these

,the lake became wholly primeval ,

and looked to us as it did to the first adven turous Fren chm a n who paddled across it . Sometimes a cleared point would be pink with theblossoming willow-herb

,a cheap and excellent

substitute for heather,and

,l ike al l such , not

quite so good as the real th ing . On all s idesrose deep-blue mountains

,of remarkably grace


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

names . Pike’s Peak is a curious h it in thi s

way. But these surveyors’ names have no

natural stick in them . They remind one ofthe epithets of poetasters, which peel off l ikea badly gummed postage-stamp . The earlysettlers did better, and there is something pleasant in the sound of Graylock, Saddleback andGreat Haystack .

I love those namesWherewith the exiled farmer tam esNature down to companionshipWith his old world’ s more homely mood,

And s trives the shaggy w ild to clipIn the arms of familiar habitude .

I t is possible that Mount Marcy and MountH itchcock may sound as well hereafter as H ell espon t and Peloponnesus, when the heroes,their namesakes, have become mythic with a n

tiqu ity . But that is to look forward a great way .

I am no fanatic for I ndian nomenclature,— the

name of my native district having been Pigsgu sset,— but let u s at least agree on names forten years .There were a couple of loggers on board

,in

red fla n n e l shirts, and with rifles . They werethe first I had seen , and I wa s interested intheir appearance . They were tal l, well-knitmen

,straight as Rob in Hood, and with a quiet,

self—contained look that pleased me . I fell intotalk with one of them .


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

I s there a good market for the farmers herein the woods P I asked .

None better . They can sell what they raiseat the ir doors

,and for the best of prices . The

lumberers want it all,and more .

”

I t must be a lonely l ife . But then we allhave to pay more or less l ife for a l iving .

”

“ Well,i t is lonesome . Should n ’

t l ike it.After all

,the best crop a man can raise is a

good crop of society . We don ’ t l ive none toolong

,anyhow ; and without society a fellow

could n ’

t tell more ’

n half the time whether hewa s alive or not.”

This speech gave me a glimpse into the lifeof the lumberers ’ camp . I twa s plain that therea man would soon find out how much alive li ewas

,there he could learn to estimate h is qual

i ty, weighed in the nicest self-adjusting balance .

The best arm at the axe or the paddle,the sur

est eye for a road or for the weak po int of aj a mthe steadiest foot upon the squirming log

,the

most persuasive Voice to the tugging oxen ,all these things are rapidly settled

,and so an

aristocracy is evolved from this democracy of

the woods, for good old mothe r Nature speaksSaxon stil l

,and w ith her e ither Canning or

Kenning means King .

A s tring of five loons wa s flying back andforth in long

,irregular zigzags

,uttering at in

terva ls their wi ld,tremu lous cry

,which always

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

seems far away, l ike the last faint pulse of echodying among the hil ls, and which is on e ofthose few sounds that

,instead of disturbing

solitude , only deepen and confirm it. On ourinland ponds they are u sually seen in pairs

,and

I asked if it were common to meet five together .My question wa s answered by a queer—lookingold man , chiefly remarkable for a pair of enormous cowhide boots

,over wh ich large blue

trousers of frocking strove in vain to crowdthemselves .

“ Wahl,

’

t ain ’ t ushil,said he

,and it ’s

called a sign 0’ rain comin ’,that is .”

Do you think it wil l rain P

With the caution of a veteran a uspex, heevaded a direct reply . Wah l

,they da say i t ’s

a sign 0’ rain said he .

I d iscovered afterward that my interlocutorwa s Un cle Zeb . Form erly, eve ry New England town had its representative uncle . H e wasnot a pawnbroker

,but some elderly man who

,

for want of more defin ed family ties , had gradua l ly assumed this avuncular relation to thecommun ity

,inhabiting the border-land between

respectab il ity and the almshouse, with no regular call ing

,but ready for odd jobs at haying,

wood-sawing,whitewashing

,associated with the

demise of pigs and the ailments of c attle, andpossessing as much patriotism as m ight be implied in a devoted attachment to New Eng


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

whether it were the Virtue of the foot or its casewhich set at naught the w iles of the adversary;or, looking up suddenly, he would exclaim

,

“Wahl, we eat som e beans to the’

Roostick war,

I tell y ou When his poor old clay was wetw ith gin

,his thoughts and words acqu ired a rank

flavor from it, as from too strong a fertil izer .

At such times, too, his fancy commonly re

Verted to a prehistoric period of his l ife,when

he singly had settled all the surrounding country

,subdued the I njuns and other wild animals

,

and named all the towns .We talked of the winter-camps and the lifethere . The best thing is

,

” said our Uncle,to hear a log squeal thru the snow . Git agood

,col ’

,frosty m orn in

’

,in Feb ’ua ry say, a n

’

take a n’ hitch the critters on to a log that ’11

scale seven thousa n’

,a n

’ i t ’11 squeal as pootyas a n ’

thin’

y ou ever hearn, I te ll you.

A pause .Lessee

,— seen Cal Hutchins lately ?

No .

”

Seems to me ’ s though I hed n’

t seen Calsence the ’

Roostick wa r. Wahl,” etc . , etc .

Another pause .To look at them boots you ’

d think theywas too large ; but kind 0

’ git your foot into’em

,and they ’

t e as easy ’s a glove . (I ob

served that he never seemed really to get hisfoot in ,— there wa s always a qualifying kind

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

“ Wahl,my foot can play in ’em like a

young hedgehog.

By this time we had arrived at Kineo,— a

flou rishing Vi llage of one house, the tavern keptby ’Squire Barrows . The ’Squire is a large

,

hea rty man,with a voice as clear and strong as

a northwest wind,and a great laugh suitable to

it. His table is neat and we l l suppl ied, and hewaits upon it h imself in the good old landl ordlyfash ion . On e may be much better of? here

,to

my th inking, than in one of those giganticColumbaria which are foisted upon u s patientAmericans for hotels

,and where one is packed

away in a pigeon-hole so near the heavens that,

if the come t should flirt i ts tai l (no unlikelyth ing in the month of fl ies) , one would ru n

some risk of be ing brushed away . H ere onedoes not pay h is diurnal three dollars for anundivided five-hundredth part of the pleasureof looking at gil t gingerbread . H ere one ’ s rel a tion s a re with the monarch himself

,and one

is not obl iged to wait the slow le isure of those“ attentive clerks whose praises are sung bythankful deadheads

,and to whom the slave

who pays may fee l as much gratitude as mightthril l the heart of a brown-paper parce l towardthe expressman who labels it and chucks itunder his counter .Sundoy , 1 4 th .

— The loons were right. Aboutmidnight it bega n to rain in earnest

,and did

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

not hold up till about ten o ’clock this morning.

Th is is a Maine dew,

” said a shaggy woodman cheerily, as he shook the water out of hisw ide-awake ; “ if i t don

’ t look out sharp,it ’11

begin to rain afore it thinks on ’

t .” The day

wa s mostly spent within doors ; but I foundgood and intell igent society . We should haveto be shipwrecked on Juan Fernandez not tofin d men who knew more than we . I n thesetravelling encounters on e i s thrown upon hisown resources

,and is worth just what he carries

about him . The social currency of home,the

smooth-worn coin which passes freely amongfriends and neighbors

,is of no account . We are

thrown back upon the old system of barter ; and,even with savages

, we bring away only as muchof the wild wealth of the woods as we carrybeads of thought and experience

,strung one by

one in painful years, to pay for them with . A

u sefii l old j ackknife will buy more than thedaintiest Louis Quinze paper-folder fresh fromParis . Perhaps the kind of intelligence one getsin these out-of-the-way places is the best,where one take s a fresh man after breakfast ins tead of the damp morning paper, and where themagne tic telegraph of human sympathy flashesswift news from brain to brain .

Meanwhile,at a pinch

,to—morrow ’s weather

can be discussed . The augury from the flightof birds is favorable

,— the loons no longer


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

experience is of so l ittle u se to us,what a dolt

is he who recommends to man or nation theexperience of others ! Like the mantle in theold ballad, i t is always too short or too long,and exposes or trips u s up . Keep out of thatcandle

,says old Father Miller

,or you ’

11geta singeing .

” “ Pooh, pooh, father, I’

ve beendipped in the new asbestos preparation, and

frozz ! it is all over with young H opeful . H owmany warnings have been drawn from Pretorianbands

,and Janizaries

,and Mamelukes

,to make

Napoleon I I I . impossible in 1 851 I foundmyself thinking the same thoughts over again

,

when we walked later on the beach and pickedup pebbles . The old time-ocean throws uponits shores ju st such rounded and polished resultsof the eternal turmoil

,but we only see the beauty

of those we have got the headache in stoopingfor ourselves

,and wonder at the du l l brown

b its of common stone with which our comradeshave stuffed their pockets . Afterwards this little fable came of it.

DOCTOR LOBSTER

A perch, who had the toothache, onceThus moaned, like any human dunceWhy must great soul s exhaust so soonLife ’ s thin and unsubstantial boon PExistence on such sculpin terms,Their vulgar loves and hard-won worms,

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

What is it all but dross to m e,

Whose nature craves a larger sea ;Whose in ches, six from head to tail,Enclose the spirit of a whale ;Who, if great baits were s til l to win ,By wa tchfii l eye and fearless finMight with the Z odiac ’ s awfil l twainRoom for a third immortal gain PBetter the crowd ’ s un thinking plan,The hook, the jerk, the fi-ying-pan0 Death , thou ever roam ing shark,Engulf m e in eternal dark 1”

The speech was cut in two by flightA real shark had come in sight ;No metaphoric monster, on e

It soothes despair to ca ll upon,But stealthy, sidelong, grim, i-wis ,A bit of downright Nemesis ;While it recovered from the shock,Our fish took shelter ’neath a rock :Thi s was an ancient lobster’ s house ,A lobster of prodi gious n ous,80 old that barnacle s had spreadTheir whi te encampments o ’ er hi s head,And of experience so stupend,His claws were blunted at the end,Turning life ’ s iron pages o ’

er,

That shut and can be oped no more .

Stretching a hospitable claw,

At once , said he, the point I saw ;My dear young friend, your case I m e,

Your great-great-grandfather I knew ;He wa s a tried and ten der friendI know, I a te him in the end :

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

In this vile sea a pilgrim long,Still my sight ’ s good, my memory strong;The only sign that age is nearIs a slight deafness in this ear ;I understand your case as wellAs this my old familiar shell ;This Welt-schrnerz is a brand-n ew notion ,Come in since first I knew the ocean ;We had no radicals, nor crimes,Nor lobster-po ts , in good old times ;Your traps and nets and hooks we owe

To Messieurs Louis Blanc and CoI say to all my sons and daughters,Shun Red Republican hot waters ;No lobster ever cast hi s lotAmong the reds , but went to potYour trouble ’

s in the jaw, you said PCome, let m e just nip off your head ,And

,when a n ew on e comes , the pain

Will never trouble you againNay, nay, fear naught : ’ t is nature ’ s law .

Four time s I ’ve lost this starboard claw ;

And still, ere long, another grew,

Good as the old,— and better too

The perch consented, and next dayAn osprey, marketing that Way,Picked up a fish wi thout a head,Floating with belly up, stone dead .

MORAL

Sharp are the teeth of ancient saws ,And sauce for goose is gander’ s sauce ;But perch ’ s heads are n ’

t lobster’ s claws .


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

everyth ing accommodate itself to that . Shal l Iconfess that this morning I would rather havebroken the moral law than have endangered theequ ipoise of the birch by my awkwardness ?

that I should have been prouder of a compliment to my paddling than to have had bothmy guides suppose me the author of H amlet ?Well

,Cardinal R ichel ieu used to j ump over

chairs .Wewere to paddle about twenty miles ; butwemade it rathe r more by cross ing and recrossingthe lake . Twice we landed, once at a camp

,

where we found the cook alone, baking breadand gingerbread . Monsieur Soyer would havebeen startled a l ittle by this shaggy professor

,

— this Pre-Raphaelite of cookery . H e repre

sented the sa laera tus period of the art,and his

bread was of a bri ll iant yellow,l ike those cakes

tinged with saffron,which hold out so long

against time and the flies in l ittl e water-sideshops of seaport towns,— dingy extremitie s oftrade fit to moulder on Lethe wharf. H is waterwas better

,squeezed out of ice-cold granite in

the neighboring mountains,and sent through

subterranean ducts to sparkle up by the doorof the camp .

“ There ’

s nothin ’ so sweet a n ’

hu lsom e asyour rea l spring-water,

” said Uncle Zeb, “ gitit pure . But it ’s drefli e hard to git it that ain ’ tgot sun thin ’ the matter of it. Snow-wa ter ’

l l

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL 99

burn a man ’ s inside out,— I larned that to the

’

Roostick war,— and the snow lays terriblelong on some 0’

thes’

ere hills . Me a n ’

Eb Stileswas up old Ktahdn onet j es t about this time 0’

year,a n

’ we come a crost a kind 0’ holler like

,

as ful l 0’ snow as your stockin ’ ’

s full 0’ yourfoot. I see it fust, a n

’ took a n’ rammed a set

tin ’—pole wahl,it was all 0’ twenty foot into

’

t, a n’ cou ld n ’

t fin’ no bottom . I dunno as

there ’ s snow—water enough in this to do nohurt . I don ’ t somehow seem to think that rea lspring-water ’

s so plenty as it used to be . AndUncle Z eb

,with perhaps a littl e over-refin em en t

of scrupulosity,appl ied hi s l ips to the Ethiop

ones of a bottle of raw gin , with a kiss that drewout its very soul, a bosiu that Secundus mighthave sung . H e must have been a Wonderfu ljudge of water

,for he analyzed this

,and de

tected i ts latent snow simply by h is eye, andwithout the clumsy process of tasting . I couldnot help thinking that he had made the deserth is dwelling-place chiefly in order to enj oy them inistrations of this one fa ir sp iri t unmolested .

We pushed on . Little islands loomed trembling between sky and water

,l ike hanging gar

dens . Gradually the film y trees defin ed themselves

,the aerial enchantment lost its potency

,

and we came up with common prose islandsthat had so late been magical and poetic . Theold story of the attained and unattained . About

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

noon we reached the head of the lake,and took

possession of a deserted wougon , in wh ich tocook and eat our dinner. No Jew

,I am sure

,

can have a more thorough dislike of salt porkthan I have in a normal state

, ye t I had alreadyeaten it raw with hard bread for lunch

,and rel

ished i t keenly . We soon had our tea-kettleover the fire

,and before long the cover wa s

chattering with the escaping s team,wh ich had

thus vainly begged of all men to be saddled andbridled

,ti l l James Watt one day happened

to overhear it. One of our guide s shot threeCanada grouse

,and these were turned slowly

be tween the fire and a bit of salt pork,wh ich

dropped fatness upon them as it fried . Al

though my fingerswere certainly not made beforeknives and forks

,yet they served as a conven

ien t substitute for those more ancient inventions .We sat round

,Turk—fashion

,and ate thankfully,

while a party of aborigines of the Mosqu itotribe

,who had camped in the wongou before we

arrived,dined upon u s . I do not know what the

British Protectorate of the Mosquitoes amountsto ; but, as I squatted there at the mercy ofthese b loodthirsty savages

,I no longer wondered

that the classic Everett had been stung into awillingness for wa r on the question .

This ’ere ’

d be about a complete place for acamp

,ef there wa s on ’y a spring 0

’ sweet waterhandy . Frizzled pork goes wal, don

’t it P Yes,


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

choly , and which was fin ished, and the rest of h isvoice apparently j erked out of him in one sharpfalsetto note, by his tripping over the root of atree . We paddled a short distance up a brookwhich came into the lake smoothly through alittle meadow not far ofl". We soon reachedthe Northwest Carry, and our guide, pointingthrough the woods

,said That" s the Ca n nydy

road . You can travel that clea rn to Kebeck ,a

hunderd a n’ twenty mile

,

” a privilege ofwh ichI respectfully declined to avail myself. Theoffer

,however

,remains open to the pub l ic . The

Carry i s called two miles ; but this is the estimate of somebodywho had nothing to lug . Ihad a headache and all my baggage

,which

,with

a traveller’ s in stin ct, I had brought with me .

(P. S . I did not even take the keys out ofm ypocket

,and both my bags were wet through be

fore I came back . ) My estimate of the distanceis eighteen thousand six hundred and seventyfour miles and three quarters

,— the fraction

being the part left to be travelled after one ofmy companions most kindly insisted on relievingme of my heaviest bag . I know very well thatthe ancient Roman soldiers used to carry sixty

pounds’ weight

,and all that but I am not

,and

never shall be,an ancient Roman soldier

,no,

not even in the m iraculous Thundering Legion .

Uncle Zeb slung the two provender firkin s acrosshis shoulder

,and trudged along, grumbl ing that

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

he never see sech a con tra iry pair as them .

H e had begun upon a second bottle of his particu la r kind 0

’ spring-water,and

,at every rest

,

the gurgle of th is peripatetic fountain might beheard

,followed by a smack, a fragment ofmosaic

song,or a confused clatter with the cowhide

boots,being an arbitrary symbol, in tended

‘

to re

present the fes tive dance . Chris tian ’ s pack gavehim not half so much trouble as the firkin s gaveUncle Z eb . I t grew harder and harder to slingthem

,and with every fresh gulp of the Batavian

el ixir,they got heavier. Or rather

,the truth wa s

,

that h is hat grew heavier,in which he wa s carry

ing on an extens ive manufacture of bricks without straw . At last affairs reached a crisis

,and a

particularly favorable pitch offering,with a pud

dle at the foot of it, even the boots afl'

orded nosuffi cien t ballast, and away went our Uncle, thesate ll ite firkin s accompanying faithfully h is headlong flight . D id ever exiled monarch or disgracedmin ister find the cause of his fall in himse lfP I sthere not always a strawberry at the bottom ofou r cup of l ife

,on wh ich we can lay all the blame

of our deviations from the straight path ? Tillnow Uncle Zeb had contrived to g ive a gloss ofvol ition to smaller stum b l ings and gyrations, byexaggerating them into an appearance of playfulburlesque . But the present case wa s beyond anysuch subterfuges . H e held a bed ofju stice wherehe sat

,and then arose slowly

,with a stern deter

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

mination ofvengea n ce stifi'

en ing every muscle ofhis face . But what would he select as the cu lprit ?I t ’s that cussed firkin , he mumbled to himself. I never knowed a firkin cair on so , no

,

not in the ’

Roostehicick war . There, go

’ long,

wil l ye P and don’ t come back till you ’

V e larnedhow to walk with a gen e lm a n ! And

,seizing

the unhappy scapegoat by the bail,he hurled it

into the forest . I t is a curious circumstance thati t was not the firkin containing the bottle whichwa s thus condemned to exile .The end of the Carry wa s reached at last

,and

,

as we drew near it, we heard a sound of shouting and laughter . I t came from a party of menmaking hay of the wild grass in Seboom ok meadows

,which lie around Seboom ok Pond

,into

which the Carry empties itself. The ir camp wasnear

,and our two hunters set out for it

,leaving

u s seated in the birch on the plashy border of thepond . The repose was perfect. Another heavenhallowed and deepened the polished lake, andthrough that nether world the fish-hawk ’s doublefloa ted with balanced wings, or, wheel ing sudden ly, flashed his whitened breast against thesun . As the clattering kingfisher flew unsteadilyacross

,and seemed to push his heavy head along

with ever—renewing effort,a Vi sionary mate fl it

ted from downward tree to tree below . Sometall alders shaded u s from the sun, in whose yellow afternoon light the drowsy forestwas s teeped,


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

the overarching alders of the brook,our two

hunters could not repress a grave and measuredapplause . There is never any extravaganceamong these woodmen ; their eye, accustomedto reckon l ng the number of feet which a treewil l sca le, is rapid and close in its guess of theamount of stuff in a man . I t was louu’ori u

louo’

ui a, however, for they themselves were a c

counted good men in a b irch . I wa s amused,

in talking with them about him,to meet with

an instance of that tendency of the human mindto assign some utterly improbable reason forgifts which seem unaccounta ble . After duepraise

,one of them said, I guess he

’

s got someI njun in him,

” al though I knew very well thatthe speaker had a thorough contempt for thered man

,mentally and physically . H ere was

mythology in a small way,— the same thatunder more favorable auspices hatched H elenout of an egg and gave Merl in an I ncubus forhis father . I wa s pleased with all I saw of M .

H e wa s in h i s narrow sphere a true am g d paw,

and the ragged edges of his old hat seemed tobecome coronated as I looked at him . H e im

pressed me as a man really educated, that is,

with his aptitudes drown out and ready for use .H e was A. M . and LL . D . in Woods College,—Axe-master and D octor of Logs . Are notour educations commonly like a p ile of bookslaid over a plant in a pot ? The compressed

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

nature struggles through at every crevice, butcan never get the cram p and stunt out of it .We spend all our youth in bui lding a vessel forour voyage of life

,and set forth with streamers

flying ; but the moment we come nigh thegreat loadstone mountain of our proper destiny

,

out leap all our carefully driven bolts and nails,

and we get many a mouthful of good sal t brine,

and many a buffet of the rough water of experience

,before we secure the bare right to l ive .

We now entered the outlet,a long—drawn

aisle of alder,on .ea ch s ide of wh ich spired tal l

firs , spruces, and wh ite cedars . The motion ofthe b irch reminded me of the gondola

,and they

represent among water—craft the felidae,the cat

tribe,stealthy

,s ilent, treacherous, and preying

by n ight . I closed my eyes, and strove to fancymyself in the dumb city, whose only horses arethe bronze ones of St. Mark and that of Colleoni . But Nature would allow no rival

,and

bent down an alder—bough to brush my cheekand recall me . Only the rob in s ings in theemerald chambers of these tal l sylvan palaces

,

and the squirrel leaps from hanging balcony tobalcony.

The rain which the loons foreboded hadraised the West Branch of the Penobscot somuch that a strong current was setting backinto the pond ; and when at last we brushedthrough into the river, i t wa s fil l l to the brim ,

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

too fil l l for moose, the hunters said . Riverswith low banks have always the compensationof giving a sense of entire fulness . The sun

sank behind its horizon of pines,whose po inted

summits notched the rosy west in an endlessblack sierra . At the same moment the goldenmoon swung slowly up in the east

,l ike the

other scale of that H omeric balance in whichZeus weighed the deeds of men . Sunset andmoonrise at once Adam had no more in Eden— except the head of Eve upon his shoulder.The stream was so smooth that the floa tinglogs we met seemed to hang in a glowing atmosphere

,the shadow-half being as real as the

solid . And gradually the mind was etherizedto a l ike dreamy placidity

,til l fact and fancy

,

the substance and the image, floa ting on the

current of reverie,became but as the upper and

under halves of one unreal reality .

I n the west stil l l ingered a pale-green light .I do not know whether it be from l ifelongfamiliarity

,but it always seems to me that the

pinnacles of pine—trees make an edge to thelandscape which tells better against the twilight

,

or the fainter dawn before the rising moon,than

the rounded and cloud—cumulus outline of hardwood trees .After paddling a couple of miles, we foundthe arbored mouth of the little M a l ahoodu s

River,famous for moose . We had been on the


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

Ha lf p a st Eleven , m .—No sign of a

moose yet. The birch , i t seems, wa s strainedat the Carry, or the p itch was softened as shelay on the shore during dinner

,and she leaks

a little . I f there be any Virtue in the sitzba d,I

shall discover it . I f I cannot extract green cucumbers from the moon ’s rays

,I get something

quite as cool . One of the guides shivers so asto shake the b irch .

Qua rter to Twelve.— Lotorfrom the Fresizet

The water in the birch is about three inchesdeep

,but the dampness reaches already nearly

to the waist . I am obliged to remove thematches from the ground-floor of my trousersinto the upper story of a breast—pocket. Meanwhi le

,we are to sit immovable

,—for fear of

frightening the moose,—which induces cramps .

Hulf pust Twelve. A crashing is heard onthe left bank . This is a moose in good ea r

nest . We are besought to hold our breaths, ifpossible . My fingers so numb, I could not,if I tried . Crush ! crush again

,and then a

plunge,followed by dead stillness . Swimmin ’

erik, whispers guide, suppressing all un n ecessary parts of speech, don ’ t stir . ” I

,for

one,am not likely to . A cold fog which has

been gathering for the last hour has fin ishedme . I fancy myself one of those naked pigsthat seem rushing out of market-doors in winter

,frozen in a ghastly attitude of gallop . I f I

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

were to be shot myself,I should feel no in

terest in it . As it is, I am only a spectator,having declined a gun . Sp la sh ! again ; thistime the moose is in sight

,and cl ick ! cl ick !

one rifle m isses fire after the other . The fogha s qu ietly spiked our batteries . The moosegoes crash ing up the bank

,and presently we

can hear i t chawing its cud close by . So we l iein wait

,freezing .

At one o ’clock, I propose to land at a deserted wongon I had noticed on the way up,where I will make a fire

,and leave them to re

frigera te as much longer as they please . Axein hand

,I go plunging through waist-deep

weeds dripping with dew, haunted by an intense conviction that the gnawing sound wehad heard wa s a bear, and a bear at least eighteen hands h igh . There is something pokerishabout a deserted dwelling, even in broad daylight ; but here in the obscure wood, and themoon fil tering unwillingly through the trees !Well

,I made the door at last

,and found the

place packed fil l ler with darkness than it everhad been with hay . Gradually I wa s able tomake things out a little

,and began to hack

frozenly at a log which I groped out . I was rel ieved presently by one of the guides . H e cutat once into one of the uprights of the building till he got some dry splinters

,and we soon

had a fire l ike the burning of a whole wood

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

wharf in our part of the country . My com pa nion went back to the birch, and left me to keephouse . F irst I knocked a hole in the roof

(wh ich the fire began to l ick in a relishing way)for a chimney

,and then cleared away a damp

growth of p ison-elder,

” to make a sleepingplace . When the unsuccessful hunters returned,I had everything qu ite comfortable , and wassteaming at the rate of about ten horse-power aminute . Young Te lem a chu s ‘l wa s sorry to giveup the moose so soon

,and

,with the teeth chat

tering almost out of his head, he declared thathe would

Ll ike to stick i t out all night . How

ever,he reconciled h imself to the fire, and, mak

ing our beds of some splits which we pokedfrom the roof

,we lay down at half past two .

I,who have inherited a habit of looking intoevery closet before I go to bed, for fear of fire ,had become in two days such a stoic of thewoods

,that I went to sleep tranquil ly

,certain

that my bedroom would be in a blaze beforemorning . And so, indeed, i t was ; and thewithes that bound it together being burned off

,

on e of the s ides fe l l in withou t waking me .Tuesday , After a sleep of two hours

and a half,so sound that i t was as good as eight,

we started at half past four for the hay—makers ’

camp again . We found them just getting break

This wa s my nephew, Charles Russell Lowell, who fellat the head of his brigade in the battle of Cedar Creek .


A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

wintry woods to those spice-lands of characterwh ich we dwellers in cities mu st reach

,if at all

,

by weary voyages in the monotonous track ofthe trade s .By the way, as we were em birching last even

ing for our moose—chase, I asked what I wa s todo with my baggage . Leave it here

,said our

guide,and he laid the bags upon a platform of

alders,wh ich he bent down to keep them be

yond reach of the rising water .Will they be safe here PAs safe as they would be locked up in your

house at home .And so I found them at my retu rn ; onlythe hay-makers had carried them to their campfor greater security agains t the chances of theweather .We got back to Kineo in time for dinnerand in the afternoon

,the weather being fin e

,

went up the mountain . As we landed at thefoot

,our guide pointed to the remains of a red

shirt and a pair of blanket trousers . That,

said he, i s the reason there’

s such a trade inready—made clo ’es . A suit gits pooty well woreout by the time a camp breaks up in the spring

,

and the lumberers want to look about rightwhen they come back into the settlements

,so

they buy som ethin’ ready-made

,and heave ole

bust—up into the bush .

” Tru e enough,thought

I,this is the Ready—made Age . I t is quicker

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

being covered than fitted . So we all go to theslop-shop and come out uniformed

,every mo

ther’

s son with habits of thinking and doing cuton one pattern

,with no special reference to his

peculiar build .

Kineo rises 1 750 feet above the sea, and 750above the lake . The climb is very easy

,with

fin e outlooks at every turn over l ake and forest . Near the top is a spring of water, whicheven Uncle Zeb m ight have allowed to be wholesome . The l ittle tin dipper was scratched allover with names

,showing that vanity

,at least

,

i s not put out of breath by the ascent . 0 Gl ym a ndia s, King of kings ! We are all scrawlingon something of the kind My name is en

graved on the institutions ofmy country,

” thinksthe statesman . But, alas ! institutions are aschangeable as ti n dippers ; men are content todrink the same old water

,if the shape of the

cup only be new, and our friend gets two l inesin the Biographical D ictionaries . After all, theseinscriptions

,which make us smile up here

,are

about as valuable as the Assyrian ones whichHincks and Rawl inson read at cross—purposes .H ave we not Smiths and Browns enough

,that

we must ransack the ruins ofN im roud for more ?Near the spring we met a Bloomer ! I t was thefirst chron ic one I had ever seen . I t struck meas a sensible costume for the occasion

,and it

will be the only wear in the Greek Kalends,

A MOOSEHEAD JOURNAL

when women believe that sense is an equivalentfor grace .The forest primeval is best seen from the topof a mountain . I t then impre sses one by itsextent

,l ike an Oriental epic . To be m it I S no

thing,for then an acre is as good as a thousand

square miles . You cannot see five rods in anydirection

,and the ferns

,mosses

,and tree-trunks

just around you are the best of 1t . As for solitude

,night wi ll make a better one with ten feet

square of pitch dark and mere size is hardlyan element ofgrandeur

,except in works of man

,

— as the Colosseum . I t is through one or the tother pole of vanity that men feel the sublimein mountains . I t is e ither

,H ow small great I

am beside it ! or, Big as you are, l ittl e I’s soul

will hold a dozen of you . The true idea of aforest is not a solvu solvugg iu, but somethinghumanized a little

,as we imagine the forest of

Arden,with trees standing at royal intervals

,

a commonwealth,and not a communism . To

some moods,i t is congenial to look over end

less leagues of unbroken savagery without a h intof man .

Wednesday . Th is morning fished . Telemachus caught a lokor of thirteen pounds and a half

,

and I an overgrown cu sk,wh ich we threw away,

but which I found afterwards Agassiz wouldhave been glad of

,for al l is fish that comes to

his net,from the fossil down . The fish, when


LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL I N

ITALY AND ELSEWHERE


1 22 LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL

the piper of H amelin , and whose successionended

,let u s hope, with Chateaubriand . But

for them,Byron, whose real strength lay in his

s inceri ty,would never have talked about the

sea bounding beneath him like a steed thatknows his r ider,

” and all that sort of thing .

Even if it had been true, steam has been as fatalto that part of the romance of the sea as to handloom weaving . But What s ay you to a twelvedays ’ calm such as we dozed through in midAtlantic and in mid-Augu st

P I know nothingso tedious at once and exasperating as that regular slap of the wilted sail s when the ship risesand falls with the slow breathing of the sleepingsea

,one greasy

,brassy swell following another

,

slow,smooth

,immitigable as the series of

Wordsworth ’ s Ecclesiastical Sonnets . ” Evenat his best

,Neptune

,in a této—c‘z-této, has a way

of repeating h imself, an obtusene ss to the no

quid n im is , that i s s tupefying . I t reminds me oforgan-music and my good friend Sebastian Bach .

A fugue or two will do very well ; but a concert made up of nothing else is altogether tooepic for me . There is nothing so desperatelymonotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonderat the cruel ty of pirates . Fancy an existence inwhich the coming up of a clumsy finba ck whale,who says Pooh to you solemnly as you leanover the tafi

'

ra il , is an event as exciting as anelection on shore ! The dampness seems to

AT SEA

strike into the wits as into the lucifer-matches,so that one may scratch a thought half a dozentimes and get nothing at last but a faint sputter,the forlorn hope of fire, which only goes farenough to leave a sense of

'

suffocation behind it .

Even smoking becomes an employment insteadof a solace . Who less l ikely to come to theirwit’s end than W. M . T. and A. H . C ? YetI have seen them driven to five meals a day formental occupation . I sometimes s i t and pityNoah ; but even he had this advantage over allsucceeding navigators

,that

,wherever he landed

,

he was sure to get no ill news from home . H e

should be canonized as the patron saint of newspaper correspondents

,being the only man who

ever had the very last authentic intell igence fromeverywhere .The finba ck whal e recorded just above hasmuch the look of a brown-paper parcel

,the

whitish stripes that ru n across him answeringfor the pack—thread . H e has a kind of accidental hole in the top of his head

,through which

he poo/z-paoli s the rest of creation, and whichlooks as if it had been made by the chancethrust of a chestnu t rai l . H e was our first event .Our second wa s harpooning a sunfish, whichbasked dozing on the lap of the sea

,looking

so much like the giant turtle of an alderman ’ sdream

,that I am persuaded he wou ld have let

himself be made into mock-turtl e soup rather


than acknowledge his imposture . But he brokeaway just as they were hauling him over theside

,and sank placidly through the clear water

,

leaving behind him a crimson trai l that wavereda moment and wa s gone .The sea

,though

,has better sights than these .

When we were up with the Azores,we began

to meet flying-fish and Portugu ese men-of-warbeautiful as the galley of Cleopatra, tiny craftthat dared these seas before Columbus . I haveseen on e of the former rise from the crest of awave

,and

,glancing from an other some two

hundred feet beyond,take a fresh fl ight of per

haps as far . How Calderon would have simil ized th is pretty creature had he ever seen it !H ow would he have run him up a nd down thegamut of simile ! I f a fish, then a fish withwings if a bird

,then a b ird with fin s ; and so

on,keeping up the light shuttle cock of a con

cc i t as is his wont. I ndeed, the poor thing isthe most kill ing bait for a comparison, and Iassure you I have three or four in my inkstandbut be calm

,they shal l stay there . Moore,

who looked on all nature as a kind of Gra dusud Pornossum ,

a tizosourus of similitude, andspent his l ife in a game of What is my thoughtlike ? with himself, did the fiying-fish on his wayto Bermuda . So I leave him in peace .The most beau tifu l thing I have seen at sea,all the more so that I had never heard of it, is



n ightfall, i t seemed at first perfectly dead ; butwhen I shook it, the whole broke out into whatI can only l iken to milky flames

,whose lambent

s i lence was strangely beautiful,and startled me

almost as actual proj ection might an alchemist .I could not bear to be the death of so muchbeauty ; so I poured it all overboard again .

Another sight worth taking a voyage for isthat of the sails by moonl ight . Our course wa s“ south and by east

,half south,

” so that weseemed bound for the full moon as she rolledup over our wavering horizon . Then I used to

go forward to the bowsprit and look back . Ourship was a clipper

,with every rag set

,stunsails

,

sky-scrapers,and all nor was it easy to believe

that such a wonder could be built of canvas asthat white many-storied pile of cloud thatstooped over me or drew back as we rose andfel l with the waves .These are all the wonders I can recall of my

five weeks at sea, except the sun . Were youever alone with the sun P You think it a verysimple question ; but I never was, i n the fullsense of the word

,til l I was held up to him one

cloudless day on the broad buckler of the ocean .

I suppose one might have the same feeling inthe desert. I remember getting something likeit years ago

,when I climbed alone to the top

of a mountain,and lay face up on the hot gray

moss,striving to get a notion of how an Arab

AT SEA

m ight feel . I t wa s my American commentaryof the Koran

,and not a bad one . I n a New

England winter,too

,when everything is gagged

w ith snow,as if some gigantic phys ical geo

grapher were taking a cast of the earth ’s face inplaster

,the bare knob of a h ill wi ll introduce

you to the sun as a comparative stranger . Butat sea you may be alone with him day afte r day

,

and almost all day long . I never unders toodbefore that noth ing short of full daylight cangive the supremest sense of solitude . D arknesswill not do so

,for the imagination peoples i t

with m ore shapes than ever were poured fromthe frozen loins of the populous North . Thesun

,I sometimes think

,is a l ittle g routy at sea,

especially at h igh noon,fee l ing that he wastes

his beamson those fru i tl ess fisrrows . I t is otherwise with the moon . She comforts the night,as Chapman fin e ly says, and I always found hera compan ionable creature .

I n the ocean horizon I took untiring de l ight .I t is the true magic circle of expectation andconj ecture , almost as good as a wish ing-ring .

What w ill rise over that edge we sai l towardsdaily and never overtake ? A sa il P an isl a n d P

the new shore of the Old World ? Somethingrose every day, wh ich I need not have gone sofa r to see, but at whose levee I wa s a muchmore faithful courtier than on shore . A cloudless sunrise in mid-ocean is beyond comparison


for simple grandeur . I t is l ike D ante ’s -style,

bare and perfect . Naked sun meets naked sea,

the true classic of nature . There may be moresentiment in morning on shore, the shiveringfairy-j ewelry of dew, the s i lver point-lace of

sparkling hoar—frost,— but there is al so morecomplexity

,more of the romantic . The one

savors of the elder Edda,the Other of the Min

n esingers .

And I thus floa ting, lonely elf,

A kind of planet by myself,The mi sts draw up and 6111 away,And in the east a warming gray ,Faint as the tint of oaken woodsWhen o ’ er their buds May breathes and broods ,Tells that the golden sunrise-tideI s lapsing up earth ’ s thirsty side ,Each momen t purpling on the crestOf some stark billow farther westAnd as the sea-moss droops and hearsThe gurgling flood that nears and nears,And then with tremulous contentFloats out each thankfil l fil am en t,

So waited I un til it came,God ’ s daily miracle , O shameThat I had seen so many daysUn thankfifl, without wondering praise,Not recking more this bliss of earthThan the cheap fire that lights m y hearth !But now glad thoughts and holy pourInto my heart, as once a yearTo San Min ia to ’ s open door,In long procession , chantin g clear,



Scandinavian snake, he b inds toge ther for u s

the two hemispheres of Past and Present, of

Be l ief and Science . H e is the link which kn itsus seaboard Yankees with our Norse progen itors

,interpreting be tween the age of the dragon

and that of the railroad train . We have madeducks and drakes of that large estate of wonderand del ight bequeathed to u s by ancestral Vikings

,and this alone remains to us unthrift H eirs

of Linne .I fee l an undefin ed respect for a man who has

seen the sea-serpent . H e is to his brother fisherswhat the poet is to h is fe l low men . Where theyhave seen nothing better than a school of horse~mackerel

,or the idle coils of ocean round Half

way Rock,he has caught authentic gl impses of

the w ithdrawing mantle-hem of the Edda age . Icare not for the monster himself. I t is not thething

,but the belief in the thing

,that is clear to

me . May it be l ong before Professor Owen iscomforted with the s ight of his unfleshed vertebrae, long before they stretch many a rood behindKimball ’s or Barnum ’ s glass

,reflected in the

shallow orbs of M r. and Mrs . Public,which

stare,but see not ! I speak of him in the s in

gu lar number, for I insist on believing that thereis but one left

,without chance of duplicate .

When we read that Captain Spalding, of thepink-stern Three Poll ies

,has beheld him rushing

through the brine l ike an infin ite series of be

AT SEA

witched mackerel-casks, we feel that the mystery

of old Ocean,at least

,has not yet been sounded,

that Faith and Awe survive there un evaporate . I once ventured the horse—mackere l theoryto an old fisherm a n , browner than a tomcod .

Hos-m a ckril he exclaimed indignantly ;hos-m a ckri l be (here he used a phrasecommonly indicated in laical l iterature by thesame sign which serves for D octorate in D ivinity) , don

’ t yer spose I know a hos-m a ckril P

The intonation of that I would have silencedProfessorM onkba rn s Owen with his provoking

p/zoou forever . What if one should ask lzim ifhe knew a trilob ite P

The fault of modern travellers is,that they

see nothing out of sight. They talk of eoceneperiods and tertiary formations

,and te l l us how

the world looked to the plesiosaur . They takescience (or nescience) with them ,

instead of thatsoul of generous trust their elders had . Alltheir senses are sceptics and doubters

,material

ists reporting things for other sceptics to doubtsti l l further upon . Nature becomes a reluctantwitness upon the stand

,badgered with geologist

hammers and phials of acid . There have beenno travellers s ince those included in H akluytand Purchas

,except Martin

,perhaps

,who saw

an inch or two into the invis ible at the WesternI slands . We have peripateti c lecturers

,but no

more travellers . Travellers ’ stories are no longer


proverbial . We have picked nearly every apple

(wormy or otherwise) from the world’s tree of

knowledge, and that without an Eve to temptu s . Two or three have hitherto hung luckilybeyond reach on a lofty bough shadowingthe interior of Africa, but there is a GermanD octor at this Very moment pelting at themwith sticks and stones . I t may be only nextweek

,and these too

,bitten by geographers and

geologists,wil l be thrown away .

Analysis is carried into everything . EvenD eity is subj ected to chemic te sts . We musthave exact knowledge

,a cabinet stuck full of

facts pressed,dried

,or preserved in -spirits

,in

s tead of the large,vagu e world our fathers had .

With them science was poetry with u s, poetryis science . Our modern Eden is a lzortus siccus .

Tourists defraud rather than enrich u s . Theyhave not that sense of aesthetic proportion whichcharacterized the elder traveller. Earth is nolonger the fin e work of art i t was , for nothing isleft to the imagination . Job H ortop, arrivedat the height of the Bermudas, thinks it fulltime to indulge us in a merman . Nay, there is astory told by Webster

,in h is Witchcraft, of

a merman with a mitre, who, on be ing sent backto h is watery diocese of fin l a n d , made what advance s he could toward an episcopal benedictionby bowing his head thrice . D oubtless he hadbeen consecrated by St. Anthony of Padua . A



world were yet untraversed and unmapped .

With every step of the recent traveller our inheritance of the wonderful is diminished . Thosebeautifully pictured notes of the Possible areredeemed at a ruinous discount in the hard andcumbrous coin of the Actual . H ow a re we notdefrauded and impoverished ? D oes CaliforniaV ie with El D orado P or are Bruce ’ s Abyssiniankings a set—ofi

'

for Prester John P A bird in thebush is worth two in the hand . And if thephilosophers have not even yet been able toagree whether the world has any existence independent of ourselves

,how do we not gain a

loss in every addition to the catalogue of VulgarErrors P Where are the fishes which n idifica tedin trees ? Where the monopodes shelteringthemselves from the sun beneath their singleumbrella-l ike foot

,umbrella-l ike in every

thing but the fatal n ecessity of being borrowed PWhere the Acephali, with whom H erodotus,in a kind of ecstasy

,wound up his climax of

men with abnormal top-pieces P Where the

Roc whose eggs are possibly bou lders, needingno far—fetched theory of glacier or iceberg toaccount for them P Where the tails of the menof Kent ? Where the no legs of the bird ofparadise P Where the Unicorn

,with that single

horn of his, sovereign against all manner of

poisons P Where that Thessalian spring, which,without cost to the country, convicted and pun

AT SEA 1 35

ished perj urers P'Where the Amazons of Orel

lana P Where , in short, the Fou n ta in o ou th P

All these,and a thousand other varieties , we

have lost,and have got noth ing instead of

them . And those who have robbed us of themhave s tolen that wh ich not enriches themselves .I t is so much wealth cast into the sea beyondal l approach of diving—be lls . We owe no thanksto M r . J . E . Worcester, whose Geography wes tudied enforcedly at school . Ye t even he hadhis relentings

,and in some softer moment

vouchsafed u s a fin e, inspiring print of theMaelstrom

,answerable to the twenty-four mile

diameter of its suction . Year by year,more and

more of the world gets disenchanted . Even theicy privacy of the arctic and antarctic circles isinvaded . Ou r youth are no longer ingenuous

,

as indeed no ingenui ty i s demanded of them .

Everything is accounted for,everything cut and

dried, and the world may be put toge ther aseasi ly as the fragments of a dissected map . TheMysterious bounds nothing now on the North

,

South , East, or West. We have pl ayed JackHorner with our earth

,til l there is never a

plum left in it.


I N THE MEDITERRANEAN

The first sight of a shore so historical as thatof Europe gives ‘

a n American a strange thrill .What we always feel the artistic ‘want of athome is background . I t is all idle to say weare Englishmen, and that English history isours too . I t is precisely in this that we a re not

Engl ishmen, inasmuch as we only possess theirh istory through our minds

,and not by life-long

association with a spot and an idea we call England . H istory without the soil it grew in ismore instructive than inspiring, an acquisition, and not an inheritance . I t is laid away inour memories

,and does not run in our ve ins .

Surely,in all that concerns aesthetics

,Europeans

have us at an immense advantage . They startat a po int which we arrive at after weary years

,

for l iterature is not shut up in books,nor art in

galleries both are taken in by unconscious absorption through the fin er pores of mind andcharacter in the atmosphere of society . We arenot yet out of our Crusoe-hood, and must makeour own tools as best we may . Yet I th ink weshall find the good of it one of these days, inbe ing thrown back more wholly on Nature ;and our l iterature, when we have learned to feelour own strength, and to respect our own


1 3 3 LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL

which he asked to look a t,and , after a criticalexamination, handed back to me, saying, “ Ishould n ’

t wonder if that ’ere was a good p iece0

’ Since then he has transferred a partof his regard for my knife to its owner . I l ikefolks who l ike an honest bit of steel

,a nd take

no interest whatever in your Raphaels,Cor

reggios, and stuff.” There is always more than

the average human nature in a man who has ahearty sympathy with iron . I t is a manly metal

,

with no sordid associations like gold and silver.My sailor fii l ly came up to my expectation onfurther acquaintance . H e m ight well be calledan old salt who had been wrecked on Spitzbergen before I wa s born . H e was not anAmerican, but I should never have guessed itby his speech, which was the purest Cape Cod,and I reckon myself a good tas ter of dialects .Nor wa s he less Americanized in all histhoughts and feel ings

,a singular proof of the

ease with which our omnivorous country assim ila tes foreign matter, provided it be Protestant

,for he was a grown man ere he became

an American citizen . H e used to walk the deckwith h is hands in his pockets

,in seeming ab

stra ction , but nothing escaped his eye . How hesaw

,I could never make out

,though I had a

theory that i t wa s with his elbows . After hehad taken me (or my knife) into his confiden ce,he took care that I should see whatever he

IN THE MED ITERRANEAN

deemed of interest to a landsman . Withoutlooking up, he would say, suddenly, Ther ’sa whale b lowin ’

cl earn up to win ’

a rd,”

or,

Them ’

s porpises to leeward : that meanschange 0’ wind .

”H e is as impervious to cold

as a polar bear,and paces the deck during his

watch much as one of those yellow hummocksgoe s slumping up and down h is cage . On

the Atlantic,if the wind blew a gale from the

northeast,and i t was cold as an English sum

mer,he wa s sure to turn out in a cal ico sh irt

and trousers,his furzy brown ches t half bare

,

and slippers,without stockings . But lest you

m ight fancy this to have chanced by defect ofwardrobe

,he comes out in a monstrous pea

j acket here in the Mediterranean,when the

even ing is so hot that Adam would have beenglad to leave off his fig—l eaves . I t ’s a kind 0 ’

damp and unwholesome in these ’ere waters,

”

he says,evidently regarding the Midland Sea

as a Vile standing pool,in comparison with the

bluff ocean . At meals he is superb,not only

for h is strengths,but his weaknesses . H e has

somehow or other come to think m e a wag,

and if I ask him to pass the butter,detects an

occult j oke,and laughs as much as is proper

for a mate . For you must know that our socialhierarchy on shipboard is precise

,and the sec

ond mate,were he present, would only laugh

half as much as the first . M r. X . always combs


h is hair,and works himself into a black frock

coat (ou Sundays he adds a waistcoat) before hecomes to meals, sa crificing himself nobly andpainfully to the social proprieties . The

’ secondm ate , on the other hand, who eats after us, enj oys the privilege of shirt-sleeves

,and is

,I

th ink,the happier man of the two . We do not

have seats above and below the salt,as in old

time,but above and below the white sugar .

M r. X . always takes brown sugar, and it is delightful to see how he ignores the exis tence ofcertain delicates which he considers above hisgrade

,tipping his head on one side with an air

of abstraction, so that he may seem not to denyh imse lf

,but to omit helping himself from inad

v erten ce or absence of mind . At such times hewrinkles his forehead in a pecul iar manner

,in

scru table at first as a cuneiform inscription,but

as easily read after you once get the key . Thesense of it is something like this I

,X .

,

know my place,a height of wisdom attained by

few . Whatever you may think, I do not seethat currant j el ly, nor that preserved grape .Especial ly

,a kind Providence has made me

blind to bowls of white sugar,and deaf to the

pop of champagne corks . I t is much that amerciful compensation gives me a sense of thedingier hue of H avana

,and the muddier gurgle

of beer . Are there potted m ea ts P My physicia n has ordered me three pounds of minced



He was as th in ’

s a shingle when he come aboordlast V ’

yge . Them trousis’

l l bust yit . H e don ’ tdarst take ’em of? n ights, for the whole ship

’ scompany could n ’

t git him into ’em agin .

” Andthen he turns aside to enj oy the intens ity of hisemotion by himself, and you hear at intervalslow rumblings, an indigestion of laughter . He

tells me of St . E lmo ’s fires,Marvell ’s oorposcmts,

though with him the original corpos sontos hassuffered a sea change, and turned to oom ep lousum s, pledges of fin e weather . I shall not soonfind a pleasanter companion . I t is so del ightfu lto meet a man who knows just what you do not.Nay

,I think the tired m ind finds something in

plump ignorance like what the body feels incushiony moss . Talk of the sympathy of kindred pursuits I t is the sympathy of the upperand nether millstones

,both forever grinding the

same grist,and wearing each other smooth .

One has not far to seek for book-nature, artistnature, every variety of superinduced nature, inshort

,but genuine human-nature is hard to find .

And how good it is ! Wholesome as a potato,fit company for any dish . The freemasonry ofcu l tivated men is agreeable, but a rtificia l , and Ilike better the natu ral grip with wh ich manhoodrecognizes manhood .

X . has one good story , and with that I leaveh im

,wishing him with al l my heart that little

inland farm at last wh ich is h is calenture as he

IN THE MEDITERRANEAN

paces the windy deck . One evening, when theclouds looked wild and whirling

,I asked X . if

it was coming on to blow . No, guess not,said he ; bumby the moon ’

l l be up, and scoffaway that ’ere loose stuff.” His intonation setthe phrase scofi

'

away in quotation-marks asplain as prin t. So I put a query in each eye , andhe went on . Ther ’ was a Dutch cappen onet,a n

’ h is mate come to him in the cabin,where he

sot takin ’ h is schnapps,a n

’ says , Cappen , it’

s

a-gittin ’ thick,a n

’ looks kin ’ o ’ squally ; hed n’

t

we ’

s good ’s shorten sa il P’

Gim m y my a l

minick,

’ says the cappen . So he looks at it aspe ll

,a n

’ says he,

‘The moon ’

s doo in less ’

n

half an hour,a n

’ she ’

11 scoff away ev ’

ythin’ clare

agin .

’

So the mate he goes,a n

’ bumby downhe comes agin, a n

’ says,Cappen ,

th is ’ere ’

s thea l lfiredest, powerfu l lest moon

’

t ever you didsee . She ’ s scoffed away the m a in toga l l a n ts

’

l,

a n’ she ’

s to work on the foretops’

l n ow. Guessyou ’

d better look in the a lm in ick agin,a n

’

fin’

out when this moon sets . ’ 80 the cappen thought’

t wa s’bout time to go on deck . D readful slow

them Dutch cappen s be .

” And X . walked away,

rumbling inwardly, like the rote of the sea heardafar .And so we arrived at Malta . D id you everhear of one of those eating-houses

,where

,for a

certain fee, the guest has the right to make onethru st with a fork into a huge pot

,in which the


whole dinner is bubbling, ge tting perhaps a bitof bo iled meat

,or a potato

, or else noth ing ?Well

,when the great caldron of war is seething

,

and the nations stand round it striving to fishout something to their purpose from the mess

,

Britannia always has a great advantage in hertrident . Malta is one of the titb its she has impaled with that awful implement . I wa s notsorry for it, when I reached my clean inn, withits kindly English landlady .

ITALY

The father of the celebrated M r . JonathanWild was in the hab i t of saying

,that travel

ling was travelling in one part of the world aswell as another ; it consisted in being such atime from home

,and in traversing so many

leagues ; and he appealed to experience whethermost of our travellers in France and I taly didnot prove at their return that they might havebeen sent as profitably to Norway and Greenland .

” Fie lding himself, the author of this sarcasm

,wa s a very different kind of trave ller, as

h is Lisbon j ournal shows ; but we think he toldno more than the truth in regard to the fargreater part of those idle people who powder



by two k inds of men only, those‘

of theh ighest genius and cu l tu re, and those whol lywithout either .I t gradually becomes clear to u s that the

easiest things can be done with ease only bythe very fewest people

,and those specially en

dowed to that end . The English language, forinstance

,can show but one since re diarist

,

Pepys ; and yet it should seem a simple matterenough to j ot down the events of every day forone ’ s self without thinking of Mrs . PosterityGrundy

, who has a perverse way, as if she werea testatrix and not an heir

,of forgetting pre

cisely those who pay most assiduous court toher . On e would think, too, that to travel andtel l what you have seen should be tolerablyeasy ; but in ninety-nine books out of a hundred does not the tourist bore us with the sen

sa tion s he thinks he ought to have experienced,instead of letting u s know what he saw andfelt ? I f authors would only consider that theway to write an enlivening book is not by seeing and saying just what would be expected ofthem

,but precisely the reverse

,the public would

be gainers . What tortures have we not seenthe worthiest peoplego through in endeavoringto get up the appropriate emotion before somefamous work in a fore ign gallery , when the onlysincere feel ing they had was a praiseworthy desire to escape ! I f one does not like the Venus

ITALY

of Melos,let him' not fret about it

,for he may

be sure she never will .Montaigne fe lt obl iged to separate himself

from travelling-companions whose only notionof the ir function was that of putting so manyleagues a day behind them . His theory wasthat of Ulysses, who was not content with seeing the cities of many men, but would learntheir m inds also . And th is way of taking timeenough

,wh ile we think i t the best everywhere,

i s espe cially excellent in a country so much thereverse offust as I taly, where impressions needto steep themselves in the sun and ripen slowlyas peaches

,and where oorp e diam should be

translated take your own tim e. But is there anyparticular reason why everybody should go toI taly

,or

,having done so

,should tel l everybody

else what he supposes he ought to have seenthere ? Surely, there must be some adequatecause for so constant an effect .Boswell

,in a letter to S ir Andrew Mitchell

,

says that, if he could only see Rom e, it wouldgive h im talk for a lifetime . ” The utmoststretch of his longing is to pass four monthson class ic ground

,

” after wh ich he will comeback to Auchinleck uti oouf

vi fvo sutur ,— a con

dition in which we fear the poor fellow returnedth ither only too often

,though unhapp ily in no

metaphorical sense . We rather th ink,that

,

apart from the pleasure of saying he had been

1 4 s LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL

there,Boswell was really drawn to I taly by the

fact that it was classic ground, and this not somuch by its association With great events as withgreat m en

, for whom,wi th all his weaknesses

,he

had an invincible predi lection . But I taly has amagnetic virtue quite peculiar to her

,which com

pels al ike steel and straw, finding something inmen of the most diverse temperaments by whichto draw them to herself. Like the Siren

,she

sings to every voyager a different song,that

lays hold on the special weakness of h is nature .The German goes thither becauseW inckelmannand Goethe went

,and because he can find there

a sausage stronger than his own ; the Frenchman

,that he may flavor his infide l ity with a

bitter dash of U l tramontanism,or find fresher

zest in his chattering boulevard after the sombrelonel iness of Rome ; the Engl ishman , becausethe same Providence that hears the youngravens when they cry is careful to furn ish preyto the courier also

,and because h is money will

make him a M i lor in pa rtibus . But to theAmerican

,e specially if he be of an 1m agin a tive

temper,I taly has a deeper charm . She gives

him cheaply what gold cannot buy for h im athome

,a Past at once legendary and authentic,

and in which he has an equal claim with everyother foreigner . I n England he is a poor relation whose right in the entail of home tradition s has been docked by revolution ; of


150 LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL

church,on the highway, bitten by the univer

sal gadfiy of bettering its position, where wehave known a tree to be cut down merely because it had got to be so old

,

” the senseof permanence, unchangeableness, and reposewhich Italy gives u s is delightful . The oft-re

pea ted non é p iu com e em pr im e: may be tru eenough of Rome politically

,but it is not true

of it in most other respects . To be sure, gasand railroads have got in at last but on e m aystil l read by a lucern a and travel by ‘votturu, ifhe l ike

,using Alberti as a gu ide-book, and put

ting up at the Bear as a certain keen-eyed Gascon did three cen tu r1es ago .

There is,perhaps

,no country with which we

are so intimate as with I taly,none of which

we are always so willing to hear more . Poetsand prosers have alike compared her to a beautlfil l woman ; and while one finds nothing butloveliness in her

,another shudders at her fatal

fascination . She i s the very Witch-Venus ofthe Middle Ages . Roger Ascham says , “ I wasonce in I ta ly myself, but I thank God myabode there wa s but nine days and yet I sawin that little time

,in one city

,more liberty to

s in than ever I heard tell of in our noble cityof London in nine years . H e quotes trium pha n tly the proverb,— I ng lose itu/iunuto, di

ofvolo inouruuto. A century later, the entertaining Richard La sse ls, Gent . , who Travelled

ITALY

through I taly Five times as Tu tor to severalof the Engl is/z Nobil ity and Gentry, and whois open to new engagements in that k ind, declares

,that

,For the Country itself

,i t seemed

to me to be N a ture’

s D a r l ing , and the EldestS ister of a l l other Countries carrying awayfrom them all the greatest blessings and favours ,and rece iving such gracious looks from the Sunand Hea ven , that, if there be any fault in I ta ly ,

i t is,that her MotherN a ture hath cockered her

too much,even to make her become Wanton .

”

Plainly, our Tannhauser is but too ready to goback to the Venus—bergAnother word about I taly seems a dangerous

experiment . Has not all been told and toldand told again ? I s it not one ch ief charm ofthe land

,that it is changeless without being

Chin ese P D id not Abbot Samson,in 1 1 59 ,

Scotti lzobitum iuduens (which must have shownhis mass ive calves to great advantage) , probablysee much the same popular characteristi cs thatH awthorne saw seven hundred years later ?Shall a man try to be entertain ing after Monta ign e , ae sthetic after Winckelmann , wise afterGoethe , or trenchant after Forsyth P Can hehope to bring back anyth ing so useful as thefork, wh ich honest Tom Coryate made prize oftwo centuries and a ha lf ago, and put into thegreasy fingers of Northern barbarians ? I s notthe D escrittion e

” of Leandro Alberti stil l a


competent itinerary ? And can one hope topick up a fresh Latin quotation, when Addisonand Eustace have been before him with the irscrap-baske ts P

I f there be anything which a person of evenmoderate accomplishments may be presumedto know, it is I taly . The only open questionleft seems to be whether Shakespeare were theonly man that could write his name who hadnever been there . I have read my share ofI talian travels

,both in prose and verse

,but

,as

the nicely discriminating Dutchman found thattoo moch lager-beer was too moch

,but too

moch bra hndee was j os t bright,” so I am in

cl in ed to say that too much I taly is just whatwe want . After D es Brosses

, we a re ready forH enri Beyle

,and Ampere

,and H i llard

,and

About,and Ga l lenga , and Julia Kavanagh ;

Corinne only makes u s hungry for GeorgeSand . That no one can tell u s anyth ing new isas undeniable as the compensating fact that noone can tel l u s anything too old .

There are two kinds of travellers,— those

who tell u s what they went to see, and thosewho te ll u s what they saw . The latter class arethe only ones whose j ournals are worth the sifting ; and the value of their eyes depends onthe amount of individual character they tookw ith them

,and of the previous culture that had

sharpened and tutored the faculty of observa



cots,for centuries inaccessible to man

,troop ing

with noisy rooks and daws ; the fitfu l roar andthe s ilently hovering iris

,which

,borne by the

wind across the face of the c l ifl",transmutes the

travertine to momentary opal,and whose dim

mer ghost haunts the moon light,as well a t

tempt to describe to a Papuan savage that wondrous ode ofWordsworth which rouses and stirsin the soul all its dormant instincts of resurrection as with a sound of the last trumpet .No

,i t is impossible . Even Byron ’s pump sucks

sometimes,and gives an unpleasant dry wheeze,

especially,i t seems to me

,at Terni . I t is guide

book poetry,enthusiasm manufactured by the

yard,wh ich the hurried traveller (John and

Jonathan are always in a hurry when they turnperipatetics) puts on when he has not a rag ofprivate imagination to cover his nakednesswithal . I t must be a queer kind of love thatcou ld “ watch madness with unalterable m ien

,

when the patient,whom any competent physi

cia n would have ordered into a strait-waistcoatlong ago

,has shivered himself to powder down

a precipice . But there is no madness in thematter . Velino goes over in his full senses, andknows perfectly well that he shall not be hurt,that h is broken fragments will reunite moreglibly than the head and neck of Orrilo . H e

leaps exu l tant,as to h is proper doom and ful

film en t, and out of the mere waste and spray


ITALY 1 55

of his glory the god of sunshine and song buildsover the crown ing moment of his destiny a trium pha l arch beyond the reach of time and ofdecay .

The fi rst day we made the Giro, coming backto a merry dinner at the Sibil la in the even ing.

Then we had some special tea,for the I tal

ians th ink tea-drinking the chief religious observance of the I ng lesi, and then we had fifteen pauls ’ worth of i l lum in a tion ,which wroughta sudden change in the scenery, l ike those thatseem so matter-of-course in dreams

,turning

the Claude we had seen in the morning into akind ofPiranesi-Rembrandt. The illumination ,by the way, which had been prefigured to us bythe enthusiastic I talian who conducted it assomething second only to the Giroudolu, turnedout to be one b lue-light and two armfuls ofstraw .

The Edelmann Storg is not fond of pedestrian locomotion

,nay

,I have even sometimes

thought that he looked upon the invention oflegs as a private and personal wrong done tohimself. I am quite sure that he inwardly bel ieves them to have been a consequence of theFall, and that the happier Pre-Adamites weremonopodes, and incapable of any but a ve

hicu lar progression . A carriage,with horses and

driver complete, he takes to be as simple a production of nature as a po tato . But he is fond of


ske tch ing, and after breakfast, on the beautifulmorn ing of Wednesday

,the 2 1 3 t

,I persuaded

him to walk out a mile or two and see a fragment of aqueduct ruin . I t is a single gloriousarch, bu ttressing the mountain-side upon theedge of a sharp descent to the valley of the Anio .

The old road to Subiaco passes under it,and

it is crowned by a crumbling tower built in theMiddle Ages (whenever that was) against theGaetani . While Storg sketched, I clambered .

Below you,where the valley widens greenly to

wards other mountains,which the ripe I talian

air distances with a bloom l ike that on u n

plucked grapes, are more arches, ossified arteries of what wa s once the heart of the world .

Storg’

s sketch wa s high ly approved of by Leopoldo

,our gu ide, and by three or four peasants ,

who,being on their way to their morning

’ swork in the fie lds, had, of course, nothing inparticular to do

,and stopped to see us see the

ruin . Any one who has remarked how grandlythe Romans do nothing will be slow to bel ievethem an effete race . Their sty le is as the co

lossa l to all other,and the name of Eternal City

fits Rome also, because time is of no account init . The Roman always waits as if he couldafl

'

ord i t amply, and the slow centuries movequite fast enough for h im . Time is to otherraces the fie ld of a taskmaster, wh ich they mustpainfully til l ; but to the Roman it is an en


158 LEAVES FROM MY j OURNAL

the C itadel, of course, and one enthusiast a ttempted a l ikeness of the fall

,wh ich I unhap

pily mistook afterward for a semblance of thetail of one of the horses on the Monte Caval lo .

Then we went to the Vi lla d ’ Este,famous on

Ariosto’

s account,- and which Ariosto never

saw . But the laurels were worthy to have madea chaplet for h im , and the cypresses and theViews were as fin e as if he had seen them everyday of his life .Perhaps something I learned in going tosee one of the gates of the town is more to thepurpose

,and may assist one in erecting the

horoscope of I ta lic: Un itu. When Leopoldofirst proposed to drag me through the mud toView this interesting piece of architecture

,I de

m u rred . But as he was very earnest about it,

and as one seldom fails getting at a bit of character by submitting to one ’s gu ide

,I yielded .

Arrived at the spot,he put me at the best point

of v1ew,and said

,

Behold,Lordship

I see nothing out of the common,said I .

Lordship is kind enough here to look at agate

,the like of which exists not in all I taly

,

nay,in the whole world

,I speak not of Eng

land,

” for he thought me an I nglese.

“ I am not blind, Leopoldo ; where is themiracle PH ere we dammed up the waters of the

ITALY

Anio,first by a rtifice conducted to this spot,

and letting them out upon the Romans, whostood bes ieging the town

,drowned almost a

whole army of them . (Lordsh ip conce ives P)They suspected nothing ti ll they found themselves all torn to p iece s at the foot of the hillyonder . (Lordship conceives P) Eb ! per Ba oco!we watered their porridge for them .

Leopoldo used we as Lord Buchan did I ,mean ing any of h is ancestors .But tell me a l ittle

,Leopoldo

,how many

years is it since this happen ed P

N on suprei, signoria it was in the a n tiquest

times,certainly ; but the Romans never come

to our Fair,that we don ’ t have blows about it,

and perhaps a stab or two . Lordship understands P

I was qu ite repaid for my pilgrimage . I th inkI understand I talian politics better for hearingLeopoldo speak of the Romans

,whose great

dome is in fil l l s ight of Tivoli,as a foreign na

tion . But what perennia l boyhood the wholestory ind icatesStorg

’

s sketch of the morn ing ’ s ru in was sosuccessful that I seduced him into a n ew expe

dition to the Ponte Sant’ Antonio,another aque

duct arch about eight miles off. Th is was forthe afternoon

,and I succeeded the more easily

,

as we were to go 6 11 horseback . So I told Leopoldo to be at the gate of the Vil la of H adrian

,


at three o ’clock,with three horses . Leopoldo ’ s

face,when I said three

,was worth see ing ; for

the poor fel low had counted on nothing morethan trotting bes ide our horses for sixteen miles

,

and getting half a dollar in the evening . Be

tween doubt and hope,his face seemed to exude

a kind of o il,wh ich made it sh ine externally

,

after having first lubricated all the muscles inwa rdly.

With three horses,Lordship ?

Yes,t/zroo.

Lordship is very sagacious . -With three

horse s they go much qu icker . I t is fin ished,then

,and they will have the kindness to find

me at the gate with the beasts,at three o ’clock

precisely .

”

Leopoldo and I had compromised upon theterm Lordsh ip . H e had found me in themorning celebrating due rites before the Sibyl ’sTemple with strange incense of the n icotianherb

,and had marked me for his prey . At the

very high tide of sentiment,when the traveller

l ies with oyster-l ike openness in the soft oozeof reverie, do these paras itic crabs , the ciceron i ,insert themselves as his inseparable bosom companions . Unhappy bivalve, lying so softlybetween thy two shells, of the actual and theposs ible

,the one sustaining

,the other widening

above thee,til l

,obl ivious of native mud, thou

fanciest thyself a proper citizen only of the



him I was a Cafire , i t would have been just asclear to him . H e surrendered the Excelleney,

” but on general principles of humannature

,I suppose, would not come a step lower

than Lordship .

”So we comprom ised on that .

P. S . I t is wonderful how soon a republicanear reconciles itselfwith syllables of this description . I think citizen would find greater difiicu lties in the way of its naturalization, and asfor orotfier—ah ! well, in a Christian sense,certainly .

Three o ’clock found u s at the Vi l la of H a

drian . We had explored that incomparable ruin,and consecrated it

,in the H omeric and Anglo

Saxon manner,by eating and drinking . Some

of u s sat in the shadow of one of the great walls ,fitter for a city than a palace, over which a N i leof ivy

,gu sh ing from one narrow source

,spread

itself in widening inundations . A happy fewlistened to stories of Bagdad from Mrs . R ich,whose silver hair gleamed

,a palpable a n a chron

ism,l ike a snow—fall in May

,over that ever

youthfu l face, where the few sadder l ines seemedbut the signature of Age to a deed of quitclaimand release . D ear Tito, that exemplary travellerwho never lost a day

,had come back from re

newed explorations,convinced by the eloquent

oustode that Serapeion was the name of an ofli cerin the Prae torian Guard . I was explaining, inaddition , that Nuum a ciziu, in the Greek tongu e,

ITALY

sign ified a place'

a rtificia l ly drained, when thehorse s were announced .

Th is put me to reflection . I fel t,perhaps, a

li ttle as Mazeppa must, when told that his steedwas at the door . For several years I had notbeen on the back of a horse, and was it notmore than l ikely that these mountains m ightproduce a yet more refractory breed of theseferociou s animals than com m on P Who couldtell the effect of graz ing on a volcanic soil l ikethat hereabou t P I had vague recollections thatthe saddle nu l l ified the laws governing theimpulsion of inert bodies

,exacerbating the cen

trifuga l forces into a virulent activity, and pro

portion ably narcotizing the centripetal . Thephrase ra tio proportioned to the squa res of the

dista nces impressed me with an awe which explain ed to me how the laws of nature had beenof old person ified and worshipped . M editatingthese th ings

,I walked with a cheerfii l aspect to

the gate,where my saddled and bridled martyr

dom awaited me .“ Eccom i quiz! said Leopoldo hilariously .

Gentlemen will be good enough to selectfrom the three best beasts in Tivoli .Oh, this one will serve me as well as any,

said I , with an air of indifl’eren ce, much as Ihave seen a gentleman help himself in advertently to the best peach in the dish . I am notmore selfish than becomes a Christian of the


n ineteenth century, but I looked on th is as aclear case of tuhula in noufm g io, and had noticedthat the animal in question had that tremulousdroop of the lower l ip which indicates sen il ity

,

and the abdication of the wilder propensities .Moreover

,he was the only one provided with

a curb b it, or rather with two huge iron leverswhich might almost have served Archimedesfor his problem . Our saddles were flat cushionscovered with leather

,brought by years of fric

tion to the highest state ofpolish . Instead of apommel

,a perpendicular stake

,about ten inches

h igh,rose in front

,which

,in case of a s tum

ble,would save one ’s brains

,at the risk of cer

tain evisceration . Behind, a glary slope invitedm e constantly to slide over the horse ’s tail . These lfish prudence of my choice had well-n igh

proved the death of me, for this poor old bru te,with that anxiety to oblige a forestiero whichcharacterizes everybody here

,could never make

up his mind which of his four paces (and he hadthe rudiments of four— walk, trot, rack, andgallop) would be most agreeable to me . Theperiod of transition is always unpleasant

,and it

was all transition . H e treated me to a hodgepodge of all his several gaits at once . SaintVitus was the only patron saint I could thinkof. My head j erked one way, my body a n

other,while each of m y legs became a pen

dulum vibrating furiously, one always forward



olive-trees, said to be five hundred years old,and wh ich had certainly employed all the ir timein getting into the weirdest and wonderfu l lestshapes . Clearly in this green commonwealththere wa s no heavy roller of public op inion tofla tten all character to a lawn-l ike uniformity .

Everyth ing was individual and eccentric . Andthere wa s something fea rfil l ly human, too, inthe wildest contortions . I t was some such woodthat gave D ante the h int of h is human fore st inthe seventh circle

,and I should have dreaded to

break a twig,lest I shou ld hear that voice com

plaining,Perche mi scerpi ?

Non hai tu spirto di pietate alcuno ?

Our path lay along a kind of terrace, and atevery opening we had glimpses of the billowyCampagna

,with the great dome bulging from

its rim,while on our right, changing ever as we

rode,the Alban Mountain showed u s some new

grace of that sweeping ou tl ine pecu liar to volcanoes . At intervals the substru ctions of Romanvillas would crop out from the soil l ike massesof rock

,and deserving to rank as a geological

formation by themselves . I ndeed, in gazinginto these dark caverns

,one does not th ink of

man more than at Stafi'

a . Nature has adoptedthese fragments of a race who were clear to her .She has not sufi

'

ered these bones of the greatQueen to lack due sepu lchral rites, but has flung

ITALY

over them the ceremonial handfuls of earth , andevery year carefully renews the garlands ofmemorial flowers . Nay

,if what they say in

Rome be true,she has even made a n ew conti

nent of the Colosseum,and given it aflor a of

its own .

At l ength,descending a l ittle

,we passed

through farm-yards and cultivated fiel ds, where,from Leopoldo ’ s conversations with the laborers

,we discovered that he himself d id not know

the way for which he had undertaken to beguide . However

,we presently came to our

ruin,and very noble it was . The aqueduct had

here been carried across a deep gorge,and over

the l ittle brook which wimpled along be lowtowered an arch

,as a b it ofShakespea re bestrides

the exiguous rill of a discourse which it wasintended to ornament . The only human habitation in sight wa s a little casetta on the top ofa neighboring hill . What else of man ’ s workcould be seen was a ruined castl e of the MiddleAges, and, far away upon the horizon , the eternal dome . A valley in the moon could scarcehave been lonelier, could scarce have suggestedmore strongly the feeling of preteriteness andextinction . The stream below did not seem somuch to sing as to murmur sadly

, Conclusum

est ; peri isti and the wind, sighing through thearch, answered, Per i isti Nor was the silence ofMonte Cavi withou t meaning. That cup, once


full of fiery wine, in wh ich it pledged Vesuviusand I Etn a later born , was brimmed with innocent water now. Adam came upon the earth toolate to see the glare of its last orgy , l ighting theeyes of saurians in the reedy Campagna below .

I almost fancied I could hear a voice l ike thatwhich cried to the Egyptian pilot, Grea t Pun isdea d ! I was looking into the dreary socketwhere once glowed the eye that saw the wholeearth vassal . Surely

,this wa s the world’s au

tum n, and I could hear the feet of Time rus

tling through the wreck of races and dynasties,

cheap and inconsiderab le as fallen leaves .But a gu ide is not engaged to lead one into

the world of imagination . He is as deadly tosentiment as a sniff of hartshorn . H is positionis a false one

,l ike that of the critic

,who is sup

posed to know everything,and expends him

self in showing that he does not . I f you shouldever have the luck to attend a concert of thespheres

,under the protection of an I talian cise

roue, he will expect you to l isten to him ratherthan to it . H e will say : “ Eeoo, S ignoria , thatone in the red mantle is Signor Mars, eh !what a noblest husso is S ignor Mars ! but nothing (Lordship understands P) to what SignorSaturn used to be (he with the golden belt,S ignoria ) , only h is voice is in ru ins now,scarce one note left upon another ; but Lordship can see what it was by the remains, Ro



m ountain . H owever, such trifles are nothing toan accomplished gu ide .

,I remembered h is quoting H orace in the

morning .

D o you understand Latin, Leopoldo P

I did a little once, Lordship . I went tothe Jesuits ’ school at Tivoli . But what use ofLatin to a pover iuo l ike me ?Were you intended for the Church ? Why

did you leave the school PEh

,Lordship and one of those shrugs

which m ight mean that he left it of his ownfree will

,or that he wa s expelled at point of

toe . H e added some contemptuous phraseabout the priests .

“ But, Leopoldo, you are a good Ca tho

Eh,Lordship, who knows ? A man is no

blinder for being poor, nay,hunger sharpens

the eyesight sometimes . The card inals (theirEminences tell us that i t is good to be poor

,

and that,in proportion as we lack on earth

,it

shall be made up to u s in Paradise . Now,if

the cardinals (their Eminences bel ieve whatthey preach, why do they want to ride in suchhandsome carriages PBut are there many who th ink as you

Everybody,Lordship

,but a few women and

fools . What imports it what the fools th ink ?

ITALY

An immense deal, I thought, an immensedeal ; for of what material is public opinionmanufactured P

Do you ever go to church POnce a year

,Lordship, at Eas ter, to mass

and confess ion .

”

Why once a year ?Because , Lordsh ip, one must have a cer

tifica te from the priest . One m ight be sent toprison else

,and on e had rather go to con fes

s ion than to jai l . Eh, Lordship, i t is a porcher ia .

I t is proper to add that in what Leopoldosaid of the priests he wa s not speaking of hisold masters

,the Jesu its . One never hears any

th ing in I taly against the purity of their l ives, orthe ir learn ing and abi lity

,though much against

their unscrupulousness . Nor wi ll any one whohas ever enj oyed the gen tle and dign ified hos

pita l ity of the Benedictine s be ready to believeany evil report of them .

By this time Storg had fin ished his sketch,and we remounted our graz ing steeds . Theywere brisker as soon as the ir noses were turnedhomeward, and we did the eight m iles back inan hour. The setting sun streamed throughand among the Michael Ange l esque olivetrunks , and, through the long colonnade of thebridle-path, fired the scarle t waistcoats andbodices of homeward villagers

,or was sullen ly


absorbed in the long black cassock and fiappedhat of a priest, who courteously saluted thestrangers . Sometimes a mingled flock of sheepand goats (as if they had walked out of on e ofClaude ’ s p ictures) followed the shepherd, who ,satyr-l ike

,in goat-skin breeches

,sang such

songs as were acceptable before Tubal Cainstruck out the laws of musical time from hisanvil . The peasant, in his ragged brown cloak,or with blue j acket hanging from the leftshoulder

,still s trides Romanly

,iuoedit rear,

and h is eyes have a placid grandeur,inherited

from those which watched the glittering snakeof the Triumph

,as it undulated along the Via

Sacra . By his side moves with equal pace hiswoman porter

,the caryatid of a vast entabla

ture of household stu ff, and learn ing in thatharsh school a s inuous poise of body and asecurity of step beyond the highest snatch ofthe posture-master .As we drew near Tivoli the earth wa s fastswinging into shadow . The darken ing Campagna

,climbing the sides of the nearer Monti

cell i in a gray belt of olive-spray, roll ed ontowards the blue island of Sora cte

,behind

which we lost the sun . Yes, we had lost the

sun ; but in the wide chimney of the largestroom at the Sibilla there danced madly

,crack

ling with ilex and laurel,a bright ambassador

from Sunland,Monsieur Le Feu, no pinch



day not being the regu lar period of departurefor that prodigiou s structure . We had givenLeopoldo twice his fee, and, setting a meanvalue upon our capacities in proportion

,he ex

pected to bag a neat percentage on our bargain .

Alas . he had made a false estimate of the An

glo-Norman mind,which

,capable of generos ity

as a compl iment to itself,will stickle for the

dust in the balance in a matter of bu siness,and

would blush at being done by Mercury himself.Accordingly

,at about nine o ’clock there

came a knock at the door,and

,answering our

Fu'vor iseu ! in stalked Leopoldo, gravely followed by the two commissioners of the company .

Behold me returned,Lordship, and these

men are the Vettur in i .”

Why is it that men who have to do withhorses are the same all over Christendom ? I sit that they acquire equine characteristics, orthat this particular mystery is magnetic to certain sorts of men ? Certainly they are markedunmistakably

,and these two worth ie s would

have looked perfectly natural in Yorkshire orVermont . They were just alike,—fortem gueGyun ,fortem gue Cloom

‘hum ,and you could not

spl it an epithet between them . S imultaneouslythey threw back their large overcoats , and dis

played sphero idal figures,overwhich the s trongly

ITALY

pronounced stripes of their plaided waistcoatsran l ike parallels of lati tude and longitude overa globe . Simultaneously they took off the ir hatsand said

,Your servant

,gentlemen . I n I taly

it is always necessary to make a oom hinuz iouebeforehand about even the most customarymatters

,for there is no fixed highest price for

anyth ing . For a minute or two we stood reckoning each other ’ s forces . Then I opened thefirst trench wi th the usual, H ow much do youwish for carrying us to Rome at half past sevento morrow morning ?

The enemy glanced one at the other,and the

result of this ocular witen agem ot wa s that onesaid

,Four scudi

,gentlemen .

”

The Edelmann Storg took his cigar from hismouth in order to wh is tle

,and made a rather

indecorous allus ion to four gentlemen in thediplomatic service of his Maj esty

,the Prince of

the Powers of the Air .Whe-ew ! qua ttro dia voli said he .

M uoohe exclaimed I,attempting a fla nk

movement,

“ I had rather go on foot ! andthrew as much horror into my face as if a proposition had been made to me to commit robbery

,

murder,and arson all together .

For less than three scudi and a half thediligence parts not from Tivoli at an extraordi

nary hour,

” said the stout man,with an imper

turb ab le gravity, intended to mask his retreat,


and to make it seem that he was making thesame proposal as at first .

S torg saw that they wavered, a nd opened uponthem with h is flying artil lery of sarcasm .

D o you take u s for I ng lesi We a re verywell here

,and will s tay at the S ibil la

,

” he sniffedscornfully .

How much will Lordship give ? (Thiswas showing the white feather .)

Fifteen pauls (a scudo and a half) , huo

num uuo included .

”

I t is impossible,gentlemen ; for less than

two scudi and a ha lf the diligence parts not fromTivoli at an extraordinary hour.”

Fifteen pauls .”

Will Lordship give two scudi ? (with aslight flavor of mendicancy) .

F ifteen pauls (growing firm as we sawthem waver) .Then

,gentlemen

,i t is all over ; it is im

poss ible, gentlemen .

”

Very good ; a pleasant evening to you !and they bowed themselves out .As soon as the door closed beh ind them ,

Leopoldo, who had looked on in more and

more anxious silence as the chance of plunderwa s wh ittled slimmer and slimmer by the sharpedges of the parley, saw instantly that it was forhis interest to turn state ’s evidence against h isaccomplices .



being cheated .

” The courier mused a moment,

and said,But no, s ir, I should not be happy ;

then it would not be some times more,some

times less,a nd I should miss the excitement of

the game .”

224 .—This morning the diligence was at

the door punctu ally,and

,taking our seats in

the coupe, we bade farewell to La Sibilla . Butfirst we ran back for a parting glimpse at thewaterfall . These last looks , l ike lovers

’ lastkisses

,a re nouns of multitude, and presently

the povero sta l l iere, signori, waited upon u s,

cap in hand,telling u s that the vetturino wa s

impatient,and begging for drink-money in the

same breath . Leopoldo hovered longingly afar,

for these vultures respect times and seasons,

and while one is fleshing his beak upon theforeign prey

,the others forbear. The passengers

in the diligence were not very l ive ly . TheRomans are a grave people

,and more so than

ever since ’

4 9 . Of course, there was one priestamong them . There always is ; for the m a ntis

religiosa is as inevitable to these public conveyauces as the curculio is to the plum ,

and onecould almost fancy that they were bred in thesame way

,that the egg wa s inserted when

the veh icle was green,became developed as it

ripened,and never left it till i t dropped withered

from the pole . There was noth ing noticeableon the road to Rome

,except the strings of

ITALY

pack-horses and mules which we met return ingwith empty l ime-sacks to Tivo l i,when ce comesthe supply of Rome . A ra ilroad was proposed,but the government would not allow it, becauseit would interfere w ith th is carrying-trade

,and

wisely granted instead a charter for a road toFra sca ti

,where there was no business whatever

to be interfered with . About a m i le of th is isbuilt in a style worthy of ancient Rome ; and it isposs ible that eventually another mile may be a ccomplished

,for some half dozen laborers are at

work_upon it with wheelbarrows, in the leisurely

Roman fashion . I f it be ever fin ished, i t willhave noth ing to carry but the conviction of itsown uselessness . A rai lroad has been proposedto C iv ita Vecchia but that is ou t of the question

,because it wou ld be profitab le . On the

whole,one does not regret the failure of these

schemes . On e would not approach the solitaryemotion of a l ifetime, such as is the first s ightof Rome, at the rate of forty miles an hour .I t is better

,after painfully crawling up on e of

those long paved h il ls,to have the postil ion

turn in h is saddle,and

,pointing with h is wh ip

(without looking, for he knows instinctive lywhere it is) , say, Eooo Sa n Pietro Then youlook tremblingly

,and see it hovering Visionary

on the horizon ’s verge, and in a moment youa re rattl ing and rumbling and wallowing downinto the valley, and it is gone . So you play


h ide—and-seek with it all the rest of the way,and have time to converse with your sensations .You fancy you have got used to it at last ; butfrom the next hill-top

,lo

,there it looms again

,

a n ew wonder, and you do not feel sure that itwil l keep its tryst ti ll you find yourself underits shadow . The D ome is to the E ternal Citywhat Vesuvius is to Naples ; only a greaterwonder

,for M ichael Ange lo hung it there .

The traveller climbs it as he would a mountain,

and finds the dwell ings of men h igh up on itssacred cl iffs . I t has its annual eruption , too, atEaster

,when the fire trickles and palp itates

down its mighty shoulders,seen from far-ofi

'

Tivoli . No,the locomotive is less impertinent

at Port1c1,hail ing the imprisoned Titan there

with a kindred shriek . Let it not vex the solemnRoman ghosts

,or the nobly desolate Campagna,

with whose sol itudes the shattered vertebra: ofthe aqueducts are in tru er sympathy .

24 th . To-day our j ourney to Subiaco properly begins . The j ocund morning had calledthe beggars to their s treet-corners , and thewomen to the windows ; the players of m orro

(a game probab ly as old as the invention offingers) , of chuck-farthing, and of bowls, hadcheerfully begun the labors of the day ; theplaintive cries of the chair—seaters

,frog-venders,

and certain other peripatetic merchants , themeaning of whose vocal advertisements I could



n acu lum had been interposed between the bodyand the axle, so that we sat, as it were, on paving—stones, mitigated only by so much as we llseasoned ilex is less flin ty-hearted than tufo orhreooiu . I f there were any truth in the theoryof developments, I am certain that we shouldhave been furnished with a pair of rudimentaryel liptical springs

,at least, before half our day

’ sj ourney was over . H owever, as one of thosehappy illustrations of ancient manners, whichone meets with so often here

,i twa s instru ctive ;

for I now clearly understand that it wa s notmerely by reason of pomp that H adrian usedto be three days in getting to his villa

,only

twelve miles off. I n spite of the author of“ Vestiges,

” Nature, driven to extremities, candevelop no more easy cushion than a blister,and no doubt treated an ancient emperor anda modern republ ican with severe impartial ity .

I t was diffi cu l t to talk without b iting one ’ stongue but as soon as we had got fairly beyondthe gate

,and out of sight of the last red-legged

French soldier,and tightly buttoned doga n iere,

our driver became loquacious .I am a good Catholic, better than most,

said he suddenly .

What do you mean by that ?Eh they say Saint Peter wrought miracles,

and there are enough who don ’ t be l ieve it butI do . There ’

s the Barberini Palace, behold

ITALY

one miracle of Saint Peter There ’

s the Farnese, behold another ! There ’

s the Borghese,behold a third But there ’

s no end of them .

No saint,nor a l l the saints put together, ever

worked so many wonders as he ; and then, perBuooo ! he is the uncle of so many folks,why, that

’

s a miracle in itse lf, and of the greatest lPresently he added D o you know how

we shall treat the priests when we make ournext revolution ? We shall treat them as theytreat u s

,and that is after the fashion of the

buffalo . For the buffalo is not content with getting a man down

,but after that he gores him and

thru sts h im,always, always , as if he wished to

cram him to the centre of the earth . Ah, if Iwere only keeper of hell-gate ! Not a rascal ofthem all should ever get out into purgatorywh ile I stood at the door !We remonstrated a little, but it only exa s

pera ted him the more .Blood of Judas they will eat nothing else

than gold, when a poor fe l low’ s belly is as

empty as San Lorenzo yonder . They ’ l l haveenough of it one of these days but melted !How do you think they will like i t forsoup

P

Perhaps,if our veh icle had been blessed with

springs, our ‘vetturino would have been more

placable . I confess a growing moroseness in


myself,and a wandering speculation or two as

to the possible fate of the builder of our chariotin the next world . But I am more and morepersuaded every day that, as far as the popularmind is concerned

,Romanism is a dead th ing

in I taly . I t survives only because there is nothing e lse to replace i t with, for m en must weartheir old hab its (however threadbare and out atelbows) till they get better . I t is l iterally a su

perstition , a something left to sta nd over tillthe great commercial spirit of the nineteenthcentury balances his accounts again

,and then it

will be banished to the l imbo of profit and loss .The Papacy l ies dead in the Vatican

,but the

secre t is kept for the present, and governmentis carried on in its name . After the fact getsabroad

,perhaps its ghost will terrify men a l ittle

wh ile longer,but only while they are in the

dark,though the ghost of a creed is a hard thing

to give a mortal wound to,and may be laid,

after all,only in a Red Sea of blood .

So we rattled along til l we came to a largea lbergo just below the village of Colonna .While our horse wa s taking his r infresco, wecl imbed up to it

,and found i t desolate enough,

the houses never rebuil t s ince Consul Rienzisacked it five hundred years ago . I t wa s a kindofgray incrustation on the top of the h il l, chieflyinhabited by p igs

,ch ickens

,and an old woman

with a distafi,who looked as sacked a nd ru in



other event, a nightingale sm gm g m a fullblossomed elder-bush on the edge of a brookjust across the road . So l iquid were the notes

,

and so full of spring, that the twig he til ted onseemed a conductor through which the mingledmagnetism of brook and blossom flowed intohim and were precipitated in mus ic . Natureunderstands thoroughly the value of contrasts

,

and accordingly a donkey from a shed hard-by,h itched and hesitated and agonized through hisbray

,so that we might be conscious at once of

the positive and negative poles of song . I t wa spleasant to see with what undoubting enthusiasmhe went through his solo, and vindicated Providen ce from the imputation of weakness inmak ing such trifles as the nightingale yonder .G ive ear

,0 heaven and earth he seemed

to say,nor dream that good

,sound common

sense is extinct or out of fashion so long as Il ive .” I suppose Nature made the donkey hal fabstractedly

,whi le she wa s feeling her way up

to her ideal in the horse,and that his bray is

in like manner an experimental sketch for theneigh of her fin ished animal .We drove on to Palestrina

, passing for somedistance over an old Roman road, as carriageable as when it wa s built. Palestrina occupiesthe place of the once famou s Temple of Fortun e,whose ru ins are perhaps a fitter monument of

ITALY

the fickle goddess than ever the perfect fanewas .

Come hither, weary ghosts that wailO

’er buried Nim roud

’s carven wall s ,

And ye whose nightly foo ts teps frailFrom the dread hush ofMemphian hallsLead forth the whispering fim era ls !

Come hi ther, shade of ancient painThat, m uffled si tting, hear’ st the foam

To death-deaf Cartha ge shout in vain,And thou that in the Sibyl’ s tomeTear-sta in ’ st the never after Rome !

Come, Marius, Wolsey, all ye greatOu whom proud Fortune stam ped her heel,

And see herself the sport of Fate,Herself di scrowned and made to feelThe treason of her slippery wheel !

One climbs through a great part of the townby stone steps

,passing fragments of Pelasgic

wall (for history, l ike geology, may be studiedhere in successive rocky stra ta ) , and at lengthreaches the inn

,called the Cupp el luro, the sign

of wh ich is a great tin cardinal ’s hat,swinging

from a small building on the other side of thestreet, so that a better View of it may be had fromthe hostelry itself. The landlady

,a stout woman

of about sixty years,welcomed u s heartily, and

burst forth into an eloquent eulogy on somefresh sea—fish which she had just received from


Rome . She promised everything for dinner,leaving u s to choose ; but as a skilful jugglerfl itters the cards before you

,and

,wh i le he seems

to offer all, forces upon you the one he wishes ,so we found that whenever we undertook to select from her voluble bill of fare

, we had in someunaccountable manner always ordered sea-fish .

Therefore,after a few vain efforts

,we contented

ourselves,and

,while our dinner wa s cooking,

climbed up to the top of the town . H ere standsthe deserted Palazzo Barberini

,in which is a

fin e Roman mosaic pavement . I t was a drearyold place . Ou the ceil ings of some of the apartments were fading out the sprawl ing apotheosesof heroes of the family (themselves long agofaded utterly) , who probably went through asomewhat difl

'

eren t ceremony after their deathsfrom that represented here . On e of the roomson the ground-floorwa s still occupied, and fromits huge grated windows there swelled and subs ided at intervals a confused turmoil of voices

,

some talking,some singing, some swearing, and

some lamenting,as if a page of D ante’ s “ I n

ferno had become suddenly aliv e under one ’ seye . Th is was the prison, and in front of eachwindow a large stone block allowed tete—e‘z-teted iscourses between the prisoners and their friendsoutside as well as the passing in of food . English j ails were like this in Queen E lizabeth ’stime and later . In Heywood ’s “Woman killed



he perhaps took for a sun in reduced circumstances

,doubtfu l whether to crow or cackle .

She looked at h im admiringly,felt of him

,

sighed,gazed sadly at his coral crest

,and put h im

back again . This ceremony she repeated withhy e or s ix of the baskets, and then went backinto the k itchen . I thought of Thessalian bagsand Arab ian enchantresses, and wondered ifthese were transformed travel lers

,for travel

l ers go through queer transformations sometimes . Should Storg and I be crowing andscratching to-morrow, instead of going to Sub ia co P Should we be Plato ’ s men, with thefeathers, instead of without them P I wouldprobe this mystery . So

,when the good woman

came in to lay the table,I asked what she had

been doing with the fowls .I thought to kill one for the gentlemen ’s

soup but they were so beautiful my heart failedme . Still, if the gentlemen wish it only Ithought two p igeons would be more de l icate .Of course we declined to be accessory to such

a murder,and she wen t off de l ighted, returning

in a few minutes with our d inner . F irst we hadsoup

,then a roasted kid

,then boiled pigeons

(of which the soup had been made) , and last the

pesoi di m ore, which were not qu ite so great anovelty to u s as to our good hostess . However,hospitality

,l ike so many other th ings

,is recip

roca l,and the guest must bring h is half, or it

ITALY

i s naught. The pro speri ty of a dinner l ies inthe heart of h im that eats it

,and an appetite

twelve miles long enabled u s to do as great

justice to the fish as if we were crowding allLent into one meal . The landlady came and satby us a large and serious cat, winding her greattail round her

,settled herself comfortably on the

table,l icking her paws now and then, w ith a

poor relation ’ s look at the fish ; a smal l dogsprang into an empty chair

,and a large on e

,with

very con fiden tia l manners, would go from oneto the other of us

,laying h is paw upon our arms

as if he had an important secret to communicate,

and alternate ly pricking and drooping h is earsin hope or despondency . The u lhergutr iee forthwith began to tel l u s her story

,-how she wa s

a widow, how she had borne thirteen ch i ldren,twelve stil l l iving, and how she received a pension of sixty scudi a year

,under the old Roman

law, for her meritoriousness in th is respect .The portrai t of the son she had lost hung overthe ch imney-place

,and

,pointing to it

,she

burst forth into the following droll threnody .

The remarks in parentheses were screamedthrough the kitchen-door

,which stood aj ar

,or

addressed personally to u s .

O my son , my son the doctors killed him ,

just a s truly as if they had poisoned him ! 0how beautiful he wa s ! beautiful ! heuutiful ”BEAUTI FUL (Are not those fish done yet P)


Look,that is his l ikeness,— but he wa s hand

somer . H e wa s as big as that (extending herarms) , b ig breast

,b ig shoulders

,big s ides

,

big legs (Eat’

em, eat

’em , they won’ t hurt you ,

fresh sea—fish, fresh fresh FRESH l l) I toldthem the doctors had murdered him

,when they

carried him with torches ! H e had been hunting

,and brought home some rabbits

,I remem

ber,for he wa s not one that ever came empty

handed,and got the fever

,and you treated him

for consumption , and ki lled h im l (Shall I comeout there

,or will you bring some more fish P)

”

So she went ou,talking to herse lf

,to us

,to the

l ittle servo in the kitchen, and to the medicalprofession in general, repeating every epithe tthree times

,with increasing emphasis

,til l her

vo ice rose to a scream,and contriving to mix up

her living children with her dead one,the fish

,

the doctors,the servo , a nd the rabbits, til l it wa s

hard to say whether it wa s the fish that had largelegs

,whether the doctors had killed them

,or the

serfvu had kil led the doctors, and whether the

hel lo hel lo hel lo referred to her son or aparticularly fin e rabbit .

251h .

— H aV ing engaged our guide and horsesthe n ight before

,we set out betimes th is morn

ing for O levano . From Palestrina to Cavi theroad winds along a narrow valley

,following the

course of a stream which rustles rather than roarsbe low . Large chestnu t—trees lean every way on



trived, by incessant drumming with h is heels,to ge t h is mule in front, is hai led .

Ho,Petru ccio , what is the meaning of al l

this press of people PFesm ,

Lordship,at Genezzano .

What FestuOf the Madonna

,Lordship

,and touches

h is hat,for they are all dreadfully afraid of her

for some reason or other .We are in luck

,this being the great festu of

the year among the mountains,a thing which

people go out of Rome to see .Where is Genezzano PJust over yonder

,Lordship, and pointed

to the left,where wa s what seemed l ike a mon

strous crystallization of rock on the crown of ahill

,with three or four taller crags of castle tow

ering in the midst,and all gray

,except the tiled

roofs,whose wrinkled sides were gold-washed

with a bright yellow lichen,as if ripples, turned

by some spell to stone,had contrived to detain

the sunsh ine with which they were touched atthe moment of transformation .

The road,wherever it came into sigh t

,burned

with brill iant cos tumes,l ike an illuminated page

ofFroissa rt. G igantic guide meanwhile shows anuncomfortable and fidgety reluctance to turnaside and enter fairyland

,which is wholly u n

accountable . I s the huge earthen creature anAfrite

,under sacred pledge to Solomon, and in

ITALY

danger of being sealed up again,if he venture

near the festival of our Blessed Lady P I f so,tha t also were a ceremony worth seeing, and weinsist . H e wriggles and swings his great feetwith an evident impulse to begin kicking thesides of his mule again and fly . The way overthe hill s from Genezzano to O levano he pron ou n ces soom oa

’

issim a,demanding of every pea

sant who goes by if it be not entirely impassable .Th is leading qu estion , pu t in all the tones ofplaus ible entreaty he can command

,meets the

invariable reply,

“Esoom oa'a,a’

a vvero m a per lo

hostie— eh (it is bad, of a tru th, but for thebeas ts— eh and then one of those indescribable shrugs, unintelligible at first as the compassto a savage

,but in which the expert can make

twenty hair’s-breadth dis tinctions between N . E .

and N . N . E .

Finding that destiny had written it on h isforehead

,the guide at last turned and went

cantering and kicking toward Genezzano,we

following . Just before you reach the town,the

road turns sharply to the righ t,and

,crossing

a l ittl e gorge, loses itself in the dark gateway .

Outs ide the gate is an open space,which formi

ca ted with peasantry in every varie ty of costumethat wa s not Parisian . Laughing women werecl imbing upon their horses (which they bestridel ike men) ; pilgrims were chanting, and begga rs

(the howl of an I talian beggar in the country


i s some th ing terrible) howling in discordantrivalry . I t wa s a scene l ively enough to makeH eracl itus shed a double allowance of tears ;but our giant wa s still discomforted . As soonas we had entered the gate

,he dodged into a

l ittle back street, j ust as we were getting outof which the mystery of his unwillingness wa scleared up . H e had been endeavoring to avo ida creditor . But it so chanced (as Fa te can hanga man with even a rope of sand) that the enemywa s in position just at the end o f th is very lane

,

where it debouched into the Piazza of the town .

The d isputes of I talians are very droll things,

and I will accordingly bag that which is nowimminent

,as a specimen . They quarrel as u n

accountably as dogs,who pu t their noses to

gether,dislike each other’ s kind of smell

,and

instantly tumble one over the other,with noise

enough to draw the eye s of a whole street . Sothese people burst out

,without apparent pre

l im in a ries,into a noise and fury and war-dance

which would imply the very utmost pitch andagony of exasperation . And the subsidence isas sudden . They explode each other on merecontact

,as if by a law of nature

,l ike two hos

tile gases . They do not grow warm, but leapat once from zero to some degree of white-heat,to indicate wh ich no Anglo—Saxon thermometerof wrath is high ly enough graduated . I f I wereasked to name one universal characteristic of



with drooping head and ears while the thundersof this man-quake burst over him . So feels thetorto ise that sustains the globe when earth suffers fiery convulsions .

Birba nte retorted the credi tor, and theopprobriou s epithet clattered from between hisshaking j aws as a refractory copper is rattledout of a Jehoiada—box by a child .

Auda te fvi fa r fr iggere howled giant .

Auda te ditto, a'itta echoed creditor

,

and behold,the thing is over ! The giant pro

mises to attend to the affair when he comesback

,the creditor returns to his booth

,and we

ride on .

Speaking of I talian quarrels,I am tempted

to parenthesize here another wh ich I saw atCivita Vecchia . We had been five days on ourway from Leghorn in a French steamer

,a

voyage performed usually,I think

,in about

thirteen hours . I t was heavy weather, blowingwhat a sailor wou ld call half a gale of wind, andthe caution of our captain, not to call i t fear,led h im to put in for shelter first at Porto Ferraj o in Elba

,and then at Santo Stefano on the

I talian coast . Our little black water-beetle ofa mail—packet wa s knocked about pretty well,and all the I talian passengers disappeared inthe forward cab in before we were out of port.When we were fairly at anchor with in the harbor of Civita Vecch ia, they crawled out again ,

ITALY

sluggish as winter flies, their vealy faces mezzotinted with soot . On e of them presently ap

pea red in the custom-house, his only luggagebe ing a cage closely covered with a dirty redhandkerchief, which represented his linen .

What have you in the cage P asked thea’

og a n iere.

Eh nothing other than a parrot .There is a duty of one scudo and one ba

jo ccho, then .

”

Sa nto a’

ia volo but what hoggishnessThereupon instant and simultaneous blow

up, or rather a series of explosions , l ike thosein honor of a Neapol itan saint’s-day

,lasting

about ten minutes,and followed by as sudden

quiet . I n the course of it,the owner of the

bird,playing irreverently on the first half of

its n ame (papp a gallo) , hinted that i t would bea high duty for his Holiness himself (Papa ) .After a pause for breath

,he said quietly

,as if

noth ing had happened, Very good,then

,s ince

I must pay,I will

,

” and began fumbling forthe money .

Meanwhile, do me the politeness to showm e the bird

,

” said the offi cer .

With all pleasure,

” and,l ifting a corner of

the handkerch ief, there lay the obj ect of dispute on his back

,stone dead

,with his claws

curled up helplessly on each side his breast . Ibelieve the owner would have been pleased had


i t even been his grandmother who had thusevaded duty, so exquisite is the pleasure of anI tal ian in escap ing payment of anything .

I make a present of the poor bird,

” said heblandly .

The publ ican, however, seemed to fee l thathe had been somehow cheated

,and I left them

in high debate,as to whether the bird were dead

when it entered the custom-house,and

,if it had

been , whether a dead parrot were dutiab le . D o

not blame me for be ing entertained and tryingto entertain you with these trifies . I rememberVirgil ’s s tern

Che per poco e che teco non mi risso,

but D ante ’s j ourney was of more import to himself and others than mine .I am s truck by the freshness and force of the

passions in Europeans,and cannot help fee l ing

as if there were something healthy in it . WhenI think of the versatile and accommodatinghabits of America

,i t seems l ike a land without

thunder—storms . I n proportion as man growscommercial

,does he also become dispassionate

and incapable of e lectric em otion s P The driving-wheels of all—powerful natures are in theback of the head

,and

,as man is the highest

type of organization,so a nation is better or

worse as it advances toward the highest typeof man

,or recedes from it. But it is ill with a



l ike the little Piazza of Genezzano seen fromthe church porch . As we wound through thenarrow streets again to the stables where we hadleft our horses, a branch of laurel or ilex wouldmark a wine-shop, and, looking til l our eyecooled and toned itself down to du sky sympathywith the crypt, we could see the smoky interiorsprinkled with white head-cloths and scarletbodices

,with here and there a yellow spot of

lettuce or the red inward gleam of a wine-fla sk .

The head-dress is precisely of tha t most ancientpattern seen on Egyptian statues

,and so colos

sal are many of the wearers that you might a lmost think you saw a party of young sphinxescarousing in the sunless core of a pyramid .

We rem ounted our beasts, and, for about amile, cantered gayly along a fine road, and thenturned into a by—path along the fla nk of amountain . H ere the guide ’s stra a’a seom oa'issim abegan

,and we were forced to dismount, and

drag our horses downward for a mile or two .

We crossed a small plain in the valley,and then

began to climb the oppos ite ascent . The pathwa s perhaps four feet broad, andwa s paved withirregularly shaped blocks of stone

,which, hav

ing been raised and lowered, tipped, twisted,undermined, and generally capsized by the rainsand frosts of centuries

,presented the most dia

bo l ica l ly ingenious traps and pitfalls . All thewhile the scenery wa s beau tiful . Mountains of

ITALY

eve ry shape and hue changed the ir slow outlinesever as we moved, now opening, now clos inground u s, sometimes peering down solemnly atu s over each other ’s shoulders, and then sinkingslowly out of s ight, or, a t some sharp turn ofthe path

,seem ing to stride into the valley and

confront us with the ir craggy challenge, achallenge which the little valleys accepted

,if we

did not,matching their rarest tints of gray and

brown,and pink and purple

,or that royal dye

to make which all these were profusely meltedtogether for a moment’s ornament

,with as

many"

shades of various green and yellow . Graytowns crowded and clung on the tops of peaksthat seemed inaccessible . We owe a great dealof picturesqueness to the quarrels and thieveriesof the barons of the Middle Ages . The trave l ler and artis t should put up a prayer for theirbattered old souls . I t wa s to be out of theirway and that of the Saracens that people weredriven to make their homes in spots so sublimeand inconven ient that the eye alone finds i tp leasant to climb up to them . Nothing else butan American land company ever managed to induce se ttlers upon terri tory of such uninhabitable quality . I have seen an insect that makesa mask for himself out of the l ichens of therock over wh ich he crawls

,contriving so to de

ceive the birds and the towns in th is wild re

gion would seem to have been built on the same


principle . Made of the sam e ston e with thecl iffs on which they perch, i t asks good eyesightto make them out at the distance of a few m iles

,

and every wandering mountain-mist annihilatesthem for the moment .At intervals

,I could hear the giant

,after dig

ging at the side s of h is mule with h is spurlesshee l s

,growling to himself

,and imprecating an

apoplexy (a eoia’eute) upon the path and him who

made it. This is the universal malediction here,

and once it wa s put into rhyme for my ben efit .I was coming down the rusty steps of San Gregorio one day

,and having paid no heed to a

stout woman of th irty-odd who begged somewhat obtrusively

,she screamed after me

,

Ah, vi pigli un accidente,Voi che non date mente

Ah, may a sudden apoplexy,You who give not, come and vex ye l

Our guide could not long appease his mindwith this milder type of objurgation , but soonin ten sified it into a ooidenta ooio, wh ich means a selected apoplexy of uncommon size and ugliness .As the path grew worse and worse

,so did the t e

petition of this phrase (for he was slow of inven tion ) become more frequent, ti ll at last he didnothing but kick and curse

,mentally

,I have no

doubt,including us in his malediction . I th ink i t

would have gra tified Longinus or Fu sel i (both of



orchards,grain-fie lds in their earliest green

,and

dark stripes of new-ploughed earth, over wh ichthe cloud-shadows melted tracklessly towardthe hills which round softly upward to MonteCavi .When our dinner came

,and with it a flask of

drowsy red Aleatico,l ike ink with a suspicion

of l ife-blood in it, such as one m ight fancy Shakespeare to have dipped his quill in

,we had our

table so placed that the satisfaction of our hunger might be dissen sua l ized by the View from thewindows . Many a glutton has eaten up farmsand woodlands and pastures, and so did we,ae sthetically, saucing our fr itta ta and flavoringour Aleatico with landscape . I t is a fin e thingwhen we can accustom our animal appetites togood society, when body and soul (l ike masterand servant in an Arab tent) sit down togetherat the same board . This thought is forced uponone very often in I taly, as one picnics in en

chanted spots,where Imagination and Fancyplaythe parts of the unseen waiters in the fairy-story,and serve us with course after course of theirethereal dishes . Sense is sa tisfied with less andsimpler food when sense and spirit are fed together

,and the feast of the loaves and fishes is

spread for u s anew. If it be important for astate to educate its lower classes, so is it for uspersonally to instruct, elevate, and refin e our

senses,the lower classes of our private body

ITALY

politic,which

,if left to their own bru te instincts,

wi ll disorder or destroy the whole commonwealth with flaming insurrection .

After dinner came our gu ide to be paid . H e,

too,had had hisfr itta ta and hisfia sco (or two) ,

and came back absurdl y comic,reminding one

of the giant who wa s so taken in by the littletailor . H e was not in the least tipsy ; but thew ine had excited his poor wits

,whose destiny

i t was (awkward servants as they were to tripup and tumble over each other in proportionas they became zealous . H e was very anx iousto do us in some way or other ; he only vaguelyguessed how

,but felt so gigantically good

natured that he could not keep his face soberlong enough . I t is quite clear why the I tal ianshave no word but recita re to express acting, forthe ir stage is no more theatric than their street

,

and to exaggerate in the least would be ridicu

lous . We graver tempered and mannered Septen trion s must give the pegs a screw or two tobring our spirits up to nature ’ s concert—pitch .

Storg and I sat enj oying the exh ibition ofou r giant, as if we had no more concern in itthan as a comedy . I t was nothing but a spectacle to us

, at wh ich we were present as cri tics,wh ile he inveighed

,expostulated

,argued

,and

besought, in a breath . F ind ing all h is attemptsmiscarry, or resul ting in noth ing more sol idthan applause, he said, Forse non eap iseouo


(Perhaps you don’ t understand ?) Cap isoono

pur’

troppo (They understand only too well) ,repl ied the landlord, upon which terra e fi l iusburst into a laugh, and began begging for morebuona m a no. Fail ing in th is, he tightened h issash

,offered to kiss our lordships ’ hands

,an act

of homage which we declined, and departed,carefully avoiding Genezzano on his return

,I

make no doubt .We paid our b i ll

,and after I had written in

the guest-book,

Bere AleaticoM i e molto simpatico,

went down to the door, where we found ourguides and donkeys

,the host’s handsome wife

and handsomer daughter,with two ofher daugh

ters,and a crowd of women and ch ildren waiting

to witness the exit of the foreigners . We madeall the mothers and children happy by a discriminating la rgesse of copper among the littleones . They are a charming people, the nativesof these out-of-the-way I talian towns, if kindness

,courtesy

,and good looks make people

charming . Our beards and felt hats,which make

us pass for artists, were our passports to thewarmest welcome and the best cheer everywhere . Re luctantly we mounted our donkeys,and trotted away

,our guides (a man and a boy)

running by the flank (true henchmen, haunchmen

, fla nguiers or flunkeys) and inspiring the



was beyond all reasonable surmise . Barren hillss tood sullenly aloof all around, incapable of anycrop but lichens .We entered the gate

,and found ourselves

in the midst of a group of wild-looking mengathered about the door of a wine-shop . Someof them were armed with long guns

,and we

saw (for the first time in situ) the tall bandit hatwith ribbons wound round it

,—such as one

is fam i liar with in operas,and on the heads of

those inhabitants of the Soa h'

na ta in Rome, who

have a costume of the ir own,and placidly serve

as models through the whole p ictorial rangeof divine and human n ature

,from the Pa a’re

Eterno to Judas . Twenty years ago, when mynotion of an I talian was divided be tween a monkand a bravo

,the first of whom did nothing but

enter at secret doors and drink your health in

poison , while the other lived beh ind corners,supporting himself by the productive industryof digging your person all over w ith a stiletto,I should have looked for instant assass inationfrom these carous ing rufii a n s . But the onlyblood shed on the occasion was that of the grape .A ride over the mountains for two hours hadmade u s th irsty

,and two or three bajocchi gave a

tumbler of v ino a soiutto to all four of u s . Youare wel come

,

” said one of the men,we are all

artists after a fashion ; we are all brothers .” The

man ners here are more republican , and the title

ITALY

of lordship disappears altogether. Another cameup and insisted that we should drink a secondflask ofwin e as his guests . I n vain we protested ;no artist should pass through Roj a te withoutaccepting that token of good will, and with theliberal he lp of our guides we contrived to gulpit down . H e wa s for another ; but we protestedthat we were entire ly full, and that it wa s imposs ible . I dare say the poor fellow wouldhave spent a week ’ s earnings on u s

,ifwe wou ld

have l et h im . We proposed to return the civi li ty

,and to leave a paul for them to drink a

good j ourney to u s after we were gone ; butthey would not l isten to it . Our entertainerfollowed u s along to the Piazza

,begging one of

u s to let h im serve as donkey-driver to Subiaco . When th is was den ied, he said that therewas a festa here also, and that we must stoplong enough to see the process ion of z itel le

(young girls) , wh ich would soon begin . Buteven ing wa s already gathering, the cl ouds grewmomently darker

,and fierce

,damp gu sts, striking

us with the suddenness of a blow,promised a

wild n ight . We had still eight m ile s of mountain-path before u s, and we struggled away . Aswe crossed the next summit beyond the town

,

a sound of chanting drifted by u s on the wind,

wavered hither and thither,now heard

,now

lost,then a doubtful something be tween song

and gust, and, l ingering a few moments, we saw


the white head—dresses, gliding two by two,across a gap between the houses . The sceneand the music were both in neutral tints

,a

sketch,as it were

,in sepia a little blurred .

Before long the clouds almost brushed u s asthey eddied silently by, and then it began torain

,first m i stily, and then in thick, hard drops .

Fortu n a te ly there wa s a moon , shining placidlyin the de sert heaven above all this turmo il

,or

we could not have found our path,which in

a few moments became a roaring torrent a lmost knee-deep . I t wa s a cold rain

,and fa r

above u s,where the mountain-peaks tore gaps

in the clouds, we could see the wh ite s ilence ofnew-fallen snow . Sometimes we had to dismount and wade

,a circumstance which did

not make our saddles more comfortable whenwe returned to them and could hear them goorosh, orosh, as the water gurgled out of themat every j olt . There was no hope of shelternearer than Subiaco, no sign of man, and nosound but the mu l ti tudinous roar of waters onevery side . Rivulet whispered to rivulet

,and

water—fal l shouted to water-fall,as they leaped

from rock to rock,all hurry ing to re inforce the

main torrent below,which hummed onward

toward the Anio with dilated heart . So gatheredthe hoarse Northern swarms to descend uponsunken I taly ; and so forever does phys ical a ndintellectual force seek its fatal equil ibrium

,rush



took the lead, and, as I looked back, I laughedto see the loll ing ears of Storg

’

s donkey thrustfrom under his long cloak, as if he were com ingout from a black Arab tent. We soon left thembehind, and paused at a bridge over the Aniotil l we heard the patter of little hoofs again . Thebridge is a single arch

,bent between the steep

edges of a gorge through which the Anio huddled far below, showing a green gleam here andthere in the struggling moonl ight

,as if a fish

rolled up h is burn ished fla nk . After a n otherm ileand a half

,we reached the gate

,and awaited our

companions . I t was dreary enough,— waiting

always is,and as the snow—ch i lled wind

whistled through the clamp archway where westood

,my legs il lustrated feelingly to me how

they cool water in the East,bywrapp ing the j ars

with wet woollen and setting them in a draught .At last they came ; I remounted, and we wentsl iding through the steep, wet stree ts til l wehad fairly passed through the whole town . Be

fore a long bu ilding of two stories,without a

symptom of past or fii ture l ight,we stopped .

Eooo la Pa letta said the guide, and began topound furiously on the door with a large stone

,

which he some time before had provided forthe purpose . After a long period of sullen irrespon siven ess, we heard descending footsteps,l ight streamed through the chinks of the door,and the invariable Chi 2? which precedes

ITALY

the unbarring of all portals here,came from

within .

“ Due forestier i ,” answered the gu ide,

and the bars rattled in hasty welcome . Makeu s

, we excla imed, as we stiffly cl imbed downfrom our perches

,your biggest fire in your

biggest ch imney,and then we wi ll talk of sup

per ! I n five minutes two great laurel fagotswere sp itting and crackling in an enormous fireplace ; and Storg and I were in the costumewh ich Don Qu ixote wore on the Brown Mountain . Of course there was nothing for supperbut afr itta ta ; but there are worse things in theworld than afr itta ta eon prosciutto, and we discussed it l ike a society just emerging from barba rism

,the upper half of our persons presenting

all the essentials of an advanced civilization,

while our legs skulked under the table as freefrom sartorial imperti nences as those of thenoblest savage that ever ran wi ld in the woods .And so eooooi fin a lm en te a rr iva ti

27th . Noth ing can be more lovely thanthe scenery about Subiaco . The town itself isbuilt on a kind of cone rising from the midstof a valley abounding in olives and Vines

,with

a superb mountain horizon around it,and the

green An io cascading at its feet . As you walkto the high—perched convent of San Benedetto

,

you look across the river on your right justafter leaving the town

,to a cliff over which the

ivy pours in torrents, and in which dwellings


have been hollowed out . I n the black doorway of every one sits a woman in scarlet bodiceand white head—gear, with a d istal!, spinning,wh i le overhead countless nightingales s ing atonce from the fringe of shrubbery . The gloriou s great white clouds look over the mountain-tops into our enchanted valley

,and some

times a lock of their vapory wool would betorn OH"

,to l ie for a while in some inaccess ible

ravine l ike a snow-drift ; but it seemed as ifno shadow could fly over our privacy of sunshine to-day . The approach to the monasteryis del icious . You pass out of the hot sun intothe green shadows of ancient ilexes

,l eaning

and twisting every way that is graceful,their

branches velvety with bril l iant moss,in which

grow feathery ferns,fringing them with a halo

of verdure . Then comes the convent,with its

pleasant old monks,who show their sacred

vessel s (one by Cellin i) and the ir rel ics , amongwhich is a huger-bone of one of the I nnocents .Lower down is a convent of Santa Scholastica

,

where the first book wa s printed i n I taly .

But though one may have daylight till aftertwenty-four o ’ clock in I taly

,the days a re no

longer than ours, and I must go back to LaPale tta to see about a ‘

vettura to Tivoli . Ileave S torg ske tching, and walk slowly down ,l ingering over the ever—changeful Views, l ingering opposite the n ightingale-cl iff

,but get back



your past se lf and your past self ’ s do ings,when

you have forgotten both . But here is my bitof American scenery, such as it is .While we were waiting for the boat

,we had

time to investigate P. a l ittle . We wanderedabout with no one to molest u s or make u s

afraid . No cicerone wa s lying in wait for u s,no

verger expected with funeral solemn ity the morethan compulsory shil ling . I remember thewhole population of Cortona gathering roundme

,and beseeching me not to leave their city

till I had seen the la mp adoue, whose keeper hadunhappily gone out for a walk, taking the keywith him . Thank Fortun e , here were no anti

qu ities, no gal leries of Pre-Raphael ite art, everylank figu re looking as if it had been stretchedon a rack , before which the Anglo—Saxon writhesbecause he ought to l ike them and cannot forthe soul of him . I t is a pretty little village,cuddled down among the hills, the clay soil ofwhich gives them

,to a pilgrim from the parched

gravelly inland,a look of almost fanatical green .

The fie lds are broad, and wholly given up tothe grazing of cattle and sheep, which dottedthem thickly in the breezy sunshine . The opendoors of a barn

,through which the wind flowed

rustl ing the loose locks of the mow, attractedu s . Swallows swam in and out with level wings,or crossed each other

,twittering in the dusky

mou th of their hay-scented cavern . Two or

ITALY

three hens and a cock (none of your gawkyShanghais

,long—legged as a French peasant on

his stilts,but the true red cock of the ballads,

fii l l—chested, coral-combed, fountain-tai led) wereinqu iring for hay-seed in the background .

What frame in what gallery ever enclosed sucha picture as is squared with in the groundsel

,

s ide-posts,and lintel of a barn-door

,whether

for eye or fancy ? The shining floor suggeststhe fla i l-beat of au tumn

,that pleasantest of

monotonous sounds,and the later husking—bee

,

where the lads and lasses s it round laughinglybusy under the swinging lantern .

H ere we found a fin e , stalwart fellow shearing sheep . This wa s something new to u s, andwe watched h im for some time with many questions, wh ich he answered with ofil ha nd goodnature . Going away I thanked h im for havingtaught me something . H e laughed

,and said

,

Ef you ’

l l take off them gloves 0’ yourn,I ’

11

give ye a try at the practical part on’

t .”H e

wa s in the right of it. I never saw anythinghandsomer than those brown hands of his

,on

which the sinews stood out, as he handled hisshears, tight as a drawn bowstring. How muchmore adm irable is this tawny V igor

,the badge of

fru itful toil, than the crop of early muscle thatheads out under the forcing-glass of the gymnas ium ! Fore ign ers do not feel easy in America,because there are no peasants and underlings


here to be humble to them . The truth is,that

none but those who fee l themselves only artificia l ly the superiors of our sturdy yeomensee in their self-respect any uncomfortable a s

sumption of equality . I t is the last thing theyeoman is l ikely to think of. They do not likethe I say, ma good fellah k ind of style

,and

commonly contrive to snub it . They do notvalue condescension at the same rate that he doeswho vouchsafes it to them . I f it be a good thingfor an Engl ish duke that he has no social su

periors, I think it can hardly be bad for a Yankee farmer . I f it be a bad thing for the dukethat he meets none but inferiors

,i t cannot harm

the farmer much that he never has the chance .At any rate, there was no thought of incivilityin my fr iend Hobbin o l

’

s gibe at my kids, onlya kind of j olly superiority . But I did not liketo be taken for a city gent, so I told him I wa sborn and bred in the country as well as he . H elaughed again

,and said

,Wal

,anyhow, I

’

ve

the advantage of ye , for you never see a sheepshore

,and I ’

V e be ’n to the Opery and shoresheep myself into the bargain . H e told me thatthere were two hundred sheep in the town, andthat his father could remember when there werefour times as many . The sea laps and mumblesthe soft roots of the h il ls , and licks away anacre or two of good pasturage every season .

The father,an old man of eighty, stood looking



the m other . I f you could see her ! She isbella, bel la , BELLA We thought no more ofit ; but after dinner, the good creature, with nowarning but a tap at the door and a humble con

perm esso, brought her in all her bravery, andshowed her off to u s as simply and naturallyas if she had been a picture . The girl, whowa s both beau tifu l and modest

,bore it with the

dign ified ap lom h of a statu e . She knew we ad

mired her,and liked ir, but with the in difl

'

eren ce

of a rose . There is someth ing very charming,

I think,in this wholly unsophisticated con

sciousn ess, with no alloy of vanity or coquetry .

A FEW BITS OF ROMAN MOSAIC

Byron hit the white, which he often shotvery wide of in his I talian Guide—Book, whenhe cal led Rome my country .

” But it is a feeling which comes to one slowly

,and is absorbed

into one ’ s system during a long residence . Perhaps one does not feel it till one has gone away,as things always seem fairer when we look backat them

,and it is out of that inaccessible tower

of the past that Longing l eans and beckons .H owever it be

,Fancy gets a rude shock at eu

tering Rome,which i t takes her a great while

A FEW BITS OF ROMAN MOSAIC 223

to get over . She has gradually made herself bel ieve that she is approaching a city of the dead,and has seen nothing on the road from C ivitaVecchia to disturb that theory . M i lestones, withVia Aure l ia carved upon them ,

have confirm ed it. I t is e ighteen hundred years ago withher

,and on the died of time the shadow has not

yet trembled over the l ine that marks the beginn ing of the first century . She arrives at thegate

,and a dirty

,blue man

,with a cocked hat

and a white sword—belt,asks for her passport .

Then another man,as l ike the first as one spoon

is l ike its fe llow,and having

,l ike him

,the look

of being ru n in a mould,tells her that she must

go to the custom-house . I t is as if a ghost, whohad scarcely recovered from the j ar of hearingCharon say,

“ I’

l l trouble you for your obolus,if you please

,should have his portmanteau

seized by the Stygian tide-waiters to be searched .

I s there anything,then

,contraband of death ?

asks poor Fancy of herse lf.But it is the misfortune (or the safegu ard)

of the English m ind that Fancy is always anoutlaw

,l iable to be laid by the heels wherever

Constable Common Sense can catch her . Shesubmits qu ietly as the postilion cries

,Tee—ip

cracks h is wh ip,and the rattle over the pave

ment begins,struggles a moment when the p il

lars of the colonnade stalk ghostly by in themoonlight, and fin a l ly gives up all for lost when


she sees Bern im s angels polking on the ir pedesta ls along the s ides of the Ponte Sant’ Angelowith the emblems of the Passion in the ir arms .You a re in Rome

,of course the shirro said

so, the a’

og a uiere bowed it, and the postil ion sworeit ; but it is a Rome of modern houses , muddystreets

,dingy oaf és, cigar-smokers , and French

soldiers,the manifest jun ior of Florence . And

yet full of anachronisms,for in a l ittle wh ile you

pass the column of Antoninus,fin d the D oga ua

in an ancient temple whose furrowed p illars showthrough the recent plaster

,and feel as if you saw

the statue of Minerva in a Paris bonnet . Youare driven to a hotel where all the barbarian language s are spoken in one wild conglomerate bythe Com m issiouna ire, have your dinne r wholly inFrench

,and wake the next morn ing dreaming

of the Tenth Legion,to see a regiment of Cha s

sours a’

o Vincennes trotting by .

For a few days one undergoes a tremendousrecoil . O ther places have a distinct mean ing .

London is thev isib le throne ofK ing Stock V er

sailles is the apotheosis of one of Louis X I V .

’

s

cast periwigs ; F lorence and Pisa are cities of theMiddle Ages ; but Rome seems to be a parodyupon itself. The ticket that admits you tosee the starting of the horses at carnival hasS . P. Q . R . at the top of it, and you give the oustode a paul for showing you the wolf that suckledRomulus and Remus . The Sena tus seems to be



mere absence of man , but the sense of h is de

pa rtu re , tha t makes a profound lonel iness . Musing upon them ,you cannot but feel the shadowofthat d isembodied empire, a nd, rem em bering howthe foundations of the Capitol were laid wherea human head was turned up, you are impe lledto prophesy that the Idea of Rome wil l in ca rnate itself again as soon as an I tal ian brain isfound large enough to hold it

,and to give unity

to those discordant members .But

,though I intend to observe no regu lar

pattern in my Roman mosaic,which will re

semble more what one finds in his pockets aftera walk

,a pagan cube or two from the palaces

of the Caesars,a few Byzantine b its

,given with

many shrugs of secrecy by a lay-brother at SanPaolo fuori lo m ura , and a few more (quite asancient) from the manufactory at the Vatican ,i t seems natural to begin what one has to sayof Rome with something about St . Pe ter’s ; forthe saint s its at the gate here as wel l as in Paradise .I t is very common for people to say that they

are disappointed in the first sight of St . Peter’s

and one hears much the same about N iagara .I cannot help thinking that the fault is in themselves ; and that if the church and the cataractwere in the habit of giving away their thoughtsw ith that rash generos ity which characterizestourists

,they might perhaps say of their visitors,

A FEW BITS OF ROMAN MOSAIC 2 27

Well,ify ou are those Men of whom we have

heard so much,we are a little d isappointed, to

tel l the truth !” The refin ed tourist expectssomewhat too much when he takes it for grantedthat St . Peter’ s wil l at once decorate him w iththe order of im ag1n a t1on , Just as Victoria kn ightsan alderman when he presents an address . Or

perhaps he has been getting up a little a rchitecture on the road from Florence, and is discomfited because he does not know whether he oughtto be pleased or not, which is very much as ifhe should wait to be told whether it was freshwater or salt which makes the exhaustless graceof N iagara’ s emerald cu rve, before he benignlyconsented to approve . I t would be wiser, perhaps

,for him to consider whether

,if M ichael

Ange lo ha d had the bu i lding of him ,h is own

personal s tyle would not have been more impress ive .I t is not to be doubted that minds are of asmany different orders as cathedrals

,and that

the Gothic imagination is vexed and discomm oded in the vain endeavor to flatten its pinn a cl es, and fit i tself into the round Romanarches . But if it be impossible for a man to likeeverything

,i t is quite possible for him to avoid

being driven mad by what does not please himnay

,it is the imperative duty of a wise man to

find out what that secret is which makes a thingplea sing to another . I n approaching St. Peter

’s,


one must take his Protestant shoes off h is feet,

and leave them beh ind h im , in the PiazzaRu sticucci . O therwise the great Bas ilica, withthose outstretching colonnades of Bramante

,

wil l seem to be a bloated spider lying in waitfor him

,the poor heretic fly . As he l ifts the

heavy leathern flapper over the door,and is

discharged into the interior by its 1m petuous

recoil,let him disburthen his mind altogether

of stone and mortar,and think only that he is

standing before the throne of a dynasty which,

even in its decay,is the most powerful the

world ever saw . Mason-work is all very wellin itself

,but it has nothing to do with the affair

at present in hand .

Suppose that a man in pouring down a glassof claret could drink the South of France

,that

he could so disintegrate the wine by the forceof imagination as to taste in it all the clusteredbeauty and bloom of the grape, all the danceand song and sunburnt j oll ity of the Vintage .Or suppose that in eating bread he could transubstantiate it with the tender b lade of spring,the gleam-flitted corn-ocean of summer, theroyal autumn

,with its golden beard

,and the

merry funerals of harvest . Th is is what thegreat poets do for u s, we cannot tell how, withtheir fatally chosen words

,crowding the happy

veins of language again with al l the life andmeaning and mu s ic that had been dribbling



the Vis ible, tangible raw material of imagination .

She is the only poet among the churches,and

,

wh i le Protestantism is unrolling a pocket surveyor

’

s-plan , takes her votary to the p innacleof her temple

,and shows h im meadow

,upland

,

and ti llage,cloudy heaps of forest clasped with

the river’s j ewelled arm,h i l lsides wh ite with the

perpetual snow of flocks, and, beyond all, theinterminable heave of the unknown ocean .

H er empire may be traced upon the map bythe boundaries of races ; the understand ing isher great foe ; and it is the people whose vocabu lary wa s incomplete till they had inventedthe a rchword Humbug that defies her. Withthat leaden bullet John Bull can bring downSentiment when she flies her h ighest . And themore the pi ty for John Bull . One of these dayssome one whose eyes are sharp enough willread in the Times a standing advertisement,Lost

,strayed

,or stolen from the farm-yard of

the subscriber the valuable horse Pegasu s .Probably has on h im part of a new ploughharness

,as that is also m issing. A suitable re

ward,etc . J . BULL .

”

Protestantism reverses the poetical process Ihave spoken of above

,and gives not even the

bread of life,but instead of it the alcohol, or

distil led intellectual result . This was very wellso long as Protestanti sm continued to protest ;for enthusiasm sublimates the understanding


into imagination . But now that she also hasbecome an establ ishment, she begins to perceivethat she made a blunder in trusting herse lf tothe inte l lect alone . She is beginn ing to feel herway back again

,as on e notices in Puseyism ,

and other such hints . One is put upon reflec

tion when one sees burly Englishmen,who dine

on beef and porter every day, marching proudlythrough St . Pe ter’ s on Palm Sunday, w ith thosefrightfully a rtificia l palm-branches in the ir hands .Roman ism wisely provides for the childish inmen .

Therefore I say again,that one must lay

as ide h is Protestantism in order to have a truefeeling of St . Peter’ s . H ere in Rome is thelaboratory of that mysterious enchantress

,who

has known so well how to adapt herself to allthe wants

, or, if you will, the weaknesses ofhuman nature

,making the re tirement of the

convent-cel l a merit to the solitary,the scourge

or the fast a piety to the ascetic,the enj oyment

of pomp and music and in cen se a relig ious actin the sensual

,and furn ishing for the very soul

i tse lf a confida n te in that ea r of the dumb confess ion a l , where it may securely disburthenitself of its sins and sorrows . And the dome ofSt. Peter’ s is the magic circle within which sheworks her most potent incantations . I confessthat I could not enter it alone without a kindof awe .


But,se tting entire ly as ide the effect of this

church upon the imagination,i t is wonderful

,

if on e cons ider it only materially . M ichaelAngelo created a new world in which everything was colossal, and it m ight seem that hebu il t this as a fit temple for those giganticfigu res with which he peopled it to worshipin . H ere his Moses should be h igh-priest

,the

service should be chanted by his prophetsand sibyls

,and those great pagans should be

brought h ither from San Lorenzo in F lorence,

to receive baptism .

H owever unsatisfactory in other matters,sta

tistics a re of service here . I have seen a refin edtouris t who entered

,Murray in hand

,sternly

resolved to have St. Peter ’s look small,brought

to terms at once by being told that the canopyover the h igh altar (looking very l ike a fourpost bedstead) was n inety-e ight feet high . I fhe still obstinates himself

,he is fin ished by

being made to measure one of the marble putti ,wh ich look like rather stoutish babies

,and are

found to be six fee t,every sculptor’s son of

them . This ceremony is the more interesting,as it enables him to satisfy the guide of h is proficien cy in the I talian tongue by call ing them

putty at every convenient opportunity . O therwise both he and h is assistant terrify each otherinto mutual unintel ligibility with that linguafra nca of the English-speaking travel ler, which



only takes lodgings for the night,and is ready

to pay h is b i l l and be 05 i n the morn ing . H e

should take h is motto from B ishop Go l ia s’

s

“ M ihi est propositum in ta herna m or i,though

not in the sufistic sense of that misunderstoodChurchman . But Bull can se ldom be said totrave l at all, since the first step of a true trave ll er is out of himse lf. H e plays cricke t and huntsfoxes on the Campagna

,makes entries in his

betting-book while the Pope is giving h is benediction

,and po ints out Lord Cal ico to you

awfully during the S is tine M iserere. I f he lethis beard grow

,it always has a startled air

,as

if it suddenly remembered its treason to Sheffield

,and only makes him look more English

than ever . A masquerade is impossible to h im,

and h is fancy balls are the solemnest facts inthe world . Accordingly, he enters St . Pe ter’ swith the dome of S t . Paul ’s drawn tight overhis eyes

,l ike a criminal ’s cap

,and ready for

instant execution rather than confess that theEnglish Wren had not a stronger wing thanthe I tal ian Angel . I l ike this in Bull , and itrenders him the pleasantest of trave ll ing-compan ions ; for he makes you take England alongwith you

,and thus you have two countries at

once . And one must not forge t in an I talianinn that it is to Bull he owes the clean napkinsand shee ts

,and the priv i lege of h i s morn ing

bath . Nor should Bull himself fail to remem


ber that he a te with his fingers ti ll the I taliangave h im a fork .

Brown ing has given the best p icture of St .Peter ’s on a festival-day, ske tching it with a fewVerses in his large s tyle . And doubtless i t is thescene of the grandes t spectacle s wh ich the worldcan see in these latter days . Those Easter

pomps, where the antique world marche s visib ly before you in gilded mai l and crimsondouble t

,refresh the eyes

,and a re good so long

as they continue to be merely spectacle . Butif one think for a moment of the servant of theservants of the Lord in cloth of gold, borne onmen ’ s shoulders

,or of the ch ildren receiving

the blessing of their Holy Father,with a regi

ment of French soldiers to protect the fatherfrom the ch ildren, it become s a l ittle sad . I fone would fee l the full mean ing of those ceremonials

,however

,let him consider the co in ci

den ces between the Romish and the Buddhistforms of worship

,and remembering that the

Pope is the direct he ir,through the Pontifex

Maximus, of rites that were ancient when theEtruscans were modern

,he wi ll look with a

feel ing deeper than curiosity upon forms whichrecord the earl iest conquests of the I nvisible

,

the first triumphs of m ind over muscle .To me the noon silence and sol itude of St .

Pe ter’ s were most impressive,when the sunlight

,

made Vis ible by the mist of the ever-burning


lamps in wh ich it was entangled,hovered under

the dome l ike the holy dove goldenly descending . Very grand also is the twil ight

,when all

outl ines melt into myste rious vastness,and the

arches expand and lose themselve s in the deepen ing shadow . Then , standing in the deserttransept

,you hear the far-ofi

'

vespers swell anddie l ike low breathings of the sea on some con

jectured shore .As the sky is supposed to scatter its goldenstar—pollen once every year in meteoric showers

,

so the dome of S t. Pe ter ’s has its annual efli orescen ce of fire . Th is il lumination is the greatshow of Papal Rome . Just after sunset

,I stood

upon the Trinita dei Monti and saw the littledrops of pale light creep ing downward from thecross and trickling over the dome . Then, asthe sky darkened behind

,i t seemed as if the

setting sun had lodged upon the horizon andthere burned out

,the fire s till clinging to his

massy ribs . And when the change from thes i lver to the golden illumination came , i t wa sas if the breeze had fanned the embers intoflame again .

Bitten with the Anglo-Saxon gadfiy thatdrives us all to disenchant a rtifice

,and see the

springs that fix it on,I walked down to get a

nearer look . My next glimpse was from thebridge of Sant’ Angelo ; but there was no timenor space for pau se . Foot-passengers crowding



playing with an element which can be so terrible adds to the zest of the spectacle . And thenfire i s not the leas t degraded by it, because it isnot utilized . I f beauty were in use, the factorywould add a grace to the river

,and we should

turn from the fire-writing on the wall of heavento look at a message printed by the magnetictelegraph . There may be a beauty in the useitself; but util ization is always downward, andit is this fee ling that makes Sch il ler ’s Pegasusin yoke so universally pleasing . So l ong as thecurse of work clings to man

,he will see beauty

only in play . The capital of the most frugalcommonwealth in the world burns up five thousand dollars a year in gunpowder, and nobodymurmurs . Provident Judas wished to util izethe o intment, but the Teacher would rather thatit should be wasted in poem .

The best lesson in aesthetics I ever got (and,l ike most good lessons

,i t fell from the l ips of

no regular professor) was from an I rishman onthe day the Nymph Coch ituate was formallyintroduced to the people of Boston . I madeone with other rustics in the streets

,admiring

the dignitaries in coaches with as much Christian chari ty as is consis tent with an elbow in thepit of one ’ s stomach and 3. heel on that toewhich is your only inheritance from two excellent grandfathers . Among other allegorical phen om en a

,there came along what I should have


ca lled a hay-cart, if I had not known it was atriumphal car

,fil led with that faires t varie ty of

mortal grass wh ich with us is apt to spindleso soon into a somewhat sapless womanhood .

Thirty-odd young maidens in wh ite gowns,with

blue sashe s and p ink wreaths of French crape,

represented the United States . (H ow shall wel imit our number

,by the way, if ever Utah be

admitted P) The ship, the printing-press, eventhe wondrous train of express-wagons

,and other

sol id b its of civic fantasy,had left m y H iber

nian neighbor unmoved . But this brought h imdown . Turning to m e

,as the most appreciative

public for the moment,with face of as much

delight as if h is head had been broken, he cried,Now th is is ra iy beautiful To tha l ly regya rd

less uV expin se Methought my shirt—sleevedlecturer on the Beautiful had hit at least onenail hi l l on the head . Voltaire but epigrammatized the same thought when he said, L o supeijflu,chose tres—nécessa ire .

As for the ceremonies of the Church,one

need not waste time in seeing many of them .

There is a dreary samene ss in them,and one

can take an hour here and an hour there,as it

please s him, just as sure of finding the samepattern as he would be in the first or last yardof a roll of printed cotton . For myse lf

,I do

not like to go and look with mere curiosity at


what is sacred and solemn to others . To howmany the se Roman shows are sacred, I cannotguess ; but certainly the Romans do not valuethem m uch . I walked out to the grotto ofEgeriaon Easter Sunday

,that I might not be tempted

down to St . Peter’s to see the mockery of PioNono ’s benediction . I t is certainly Christian

,

for he ble sses them that curse him,and does all

the good which the waving of his fingers cando to people who would u se him despitefullyif they had the chance . I told an I talian servantshe m ight have the day ; but she said she didnot care for it.

“ But, urged I , will you not go to receivethe blessing of the Holy Fa ther P

No,sir . "

D o you not wish it ?Not in the least his blessing would do me

no good . I f I get the blessing of H eaven,it

will serve my turn .

There were three families of foreigners in ourhouse

,and I believe none of the I talian servants

went to S t . Peter ’s that day . Yet they comm on ly speak kindly of Pius . I have heard thesame phrase from several I tal ians of the working-class . H e is a good man

,

” they said,but

ill led .

”

What one sees in the streets ofRome is worthmore than what one sees in the churches . Thechurches themselves are general ly ugly . St.



thought,and strikes me as perhaps somewhat

n igga rdly toward on e in whom you cannot he lpfee l ing therewa s so vast a possib i lity . And thenh is Eve

,his D avid, his Sibyls, his Prophe ts, his

Sonnets ! Well, I take it all back, and comeround to St. Peter’s again just to h in t that Idoubt about domes . I n Rome they are so muchthe fashion that I felt as if they were the goitreof architecture . Generally they look heavy .

Those on St. Mark ’s in Venice are the onlylight ones I ever saw

,and they look almost airy

,

l ike tents puffed out with wind . I suppose onemust be sa tisfied with the interior effect

,wh ich

is certainly noble in St . Peter’s . But for im

pressiven ess both within and without there isnothing like a Gothic cathedral for m e

,nothing

that crowns a city so nobly,or makes such an

island of twilight s ilence in the m idst of its noonday clamors .Now as to what one sees in the streets

,the

beggars are certainly the first th ings that drawthe eye . Beggary i s an institution here . TheChurch has san ctified i t by the establ ishment ofmendicant orders

,and indeed it is the natural

resu lt of a social system where the non-producing class makes not only the laws

,but the ideas .

The beggars ofRome go far toward proving thediversity of origin in mankind

,for on them

surely the curse of Adam never fell . I t is eas ierto fancy that Adam Va ur ien , the first tenant of


the Fool ’s Paradise, after sucking h is thumbsfor a thousand years

,took to wife Eve F a n ien te,

and became the progenitor of this race,to whom

also he left a calendar in which three hundredand sixty-five days in the year were made feasts,sacred from all secular labor. Accordingly, theynot merely do nothing, but they do it assiduou sly and almost with re l igious fervor. I haveseen ancient members of this sect as constant attheir accu stomed street-corner as the b it of broken column on which they sat ; and when aman does this in rainy wea ther, as rainy weatheris in Rome

,he has the spiri t of a fanati c and

martyr.I t is not that the I talians are a lazy people .

On the contrary,I am sa tisfied that they are in

dustrious so far as they are allowed to be . But,as

I said before,when a Roman does nothing

,he

does it in the high Roman fashion . A friend ofmine wa s having one of his rooms arranged fora private theatre

,and sent for a person who wa s

said to be an expert in the bu siness to do it forh im . After a day ’ s tria l

,he was sa tisfied that

his lieutenant was rather a hindrance than ahelp , and resolved to dismiss him .

What is your charge for your day ’ s services PTwo scudi

,sir .

Two scudi ! F ive pauls would be toomuch . You have done nothing but stand with


your hands in your pockets and get in the wayof other people .”

Lordship is perfectly right ; but tha t is myway of working .

I t is impossible for a stranger to say who maynot beg in Rome . I t seems to be a sudden madness that may seize any one at the s ight of aforeigner. You see a very respectable-lookingperson in the street

,and it is odds but

,as you

pass him,h is hat comes off

,his whole figure

suddenly dilapidates itself,assuming a tremble

of professional weakness,and you hear the ever

lasting gua lohe cosa per ea rith You are in doubtwhether to drop a bajoccho into the next cardin a l

’

s hat which offers you its sacred cavity inanswer to your salute . You begin to believethat the ha t wa s invented for the sole purposeof ingu lfing coppers, and that its highest typeis the great Tr iregno itself, into wh ich the penceof Peter rattle .But you soon learn to distinguish the estab

l ished beggars, and to the three professionselsewhere considered l iberal you add a fourthfor this latitude

,mendicancy . I ts professors

look upon themselves as a k ind of gu ild whichought to be protected by the government . Ifell into talk with a woman who begged of mein the Colosseum . Among other things shecomplained that the government did not at allconsider the poor .



woman ; she delicately expressed her resentmentby exclaiming, Thanks, signor ia . God will reward even youA begging friar came to me one day with asubscription for repairing his convent . “ Ahbut I am a hereti c

,

” said I . Undoubtedly,

with a shrug,implying a respectfu l acknow

ledgment of a foreigner ’ s right to choose warmand dry lodgings in the other world as well asin this

,but your money is perfectly orthodox .

”

Another favorite way of doing nothing is toexcavate the Forum . I think the Fa uieutes l ikethis all the better

,because it seems a kind of

satire upon work, as the witches parody theChristian offi ces of devotion at their Sabbath .

A score or so of old men in voluminou s cloakssh ift the earth from one side of a large pit tothe other

,in a m a n n er so leisurely that it is pos

itive repose to look at them . The most b igotedanti—Fourierist might acknowledge this to beattractive industry .

One conscript father trails a small barrow upto another

,who stands leaning on a long spade .

Arriving,he fumbles for h is snuff-box, and

offers it deliberately to h i s friend . Each takesan ample pinch , and both seat themselves toawait the result . I f one should sneeze, hereceives the Fel icith ! of the other ; and, afteral lowing the titil lation to subside

,he replies,

Gra z ia Then follows a little conversation,and


then they prepare to load . But it occurs to thebarrow-driver that this is a good opportunityto fil l and l ight his pipe ; and to do so convenien tly he needs h is barrow to s it upon . H e

draws a few whiffs, and a l ittle more conversation takes place . The barrow is now ready ; butfirst the wie lder of the spade w i ll fil l his pipealso . This done, more whifi

'

s and more conversation . Then a spoon fu l of earth is thrown intothe barrow, and it starts on i ts return . Butm idway it meets an empty barrow

,and both stop

to go through the snuff-box ceremon ial oncemore

,and to discuss whatever new thing has

occurred in the excavation since their las t encounter. And so it goes on all day .

As I see more of material antiquity,I begin

to suspect that my interest in it is mostly factitious . The relations of races to the physicalworld (only to be studied fruitfully on the spot)do not excite in me an interest at all proportiona te to that I fee l in the ir influen ce on the moraladvance of mankind

,which one may as easily

trace in his own library as on the spot . Theonly u seful remark I remember to have madehere is, that, the situation of Rome be ing farless s trong than that of any city of the Etruscanleague , i t must have been buil t where it is forpurposes of commerce . I t is the most defensible point near the mouth of the Tiber. I t is


only as rival trades-folk that Rome and Carthage had any comprehensible cause of quarrel .I t is only as a commercial people that we canunderstand the early tendency of the Romanstowards democracy . As for antiquity

,after read

ing history,one is haunted by a discomforting

suspicion that the names so painfully decipheredin hieroglyphic or arrow-head inscriptions a reonly so many more Smiths and Browns masking it in unknown tongues . Moreover

,if we

Yankees are twitted with not knowing the difference be tween big and grea t, may not those ofus who have learned it tu rn round on many amonument over here with the same reproach PI confess I am beginning to sympathize with acountryman of ours from Michigan

,who asked

our Minister to direct him to a specimen ruinand a specimen gallery

,that he might see and

be rid of them once for all . I saw three youngEnglishmen going through the Vatican by catalogue and number

,the other day

,in a fashion

which John Bull is apt to consider exclusivelyAmerican . Number 300 l says the one wi thcatalogue and pencil ; have you seen it ? ”

Yes,answer his two comrades

,and

,checking

it ofl, he goes on with Number 30 1 . H avingwitnessed the unavail ing agonies ofmanyAngloSaxons from both sides of the Atlantic in the ireffort to have the correct sensation before manyhideous examples of antique bad tas te, my heart



belief as to be more compan ionable . I find i tharder to bridge over the gulf of Paganism thanof centuries . Apart from any difference in themen

,I had a far deeper emotion when I stood

on the Sa sso a’i D a nte than at Horace ’s Sabinefarm or by the tomb of Virgil . The latter

,in

deed,interested me chiefly by its association

with comparatively modern legend ; and one ofthe buildings I am most glad to have seen inRome is the Bea r I n n

,where Montaigne lodged

on his arrival .I th ink it must have been for some such

reason that I l iked my F lorentine better thanmy Roman walks, though I am vastly morecontented with merely be ing in Rome . Florence is more noisy ; indeed, I th ink it thenoisiest town I was ever in . What with thecontinual j angling of its bells

,the rattle of

Austrian drums,and the street-cries

,Aurora

m i ra ooapr iooia . The I talians are a vociferouspeople, and most so among them the Fl orentines . Walking through a back street one day,I saw an old woman higgling with a peripateticdealer

,who

,at every interval afforded him by

the remarks of his veteran antagonist,would

tip his head on one side,and shout

,with a

kind of wondering enthusiasm,as if he could

hardly trust the evidence of his own senses tosuch loveliness

, O,che bel lezza .

’ che hel le-e

ezza The two had been contending as obsti


mately as the Greeks and Troj ans over the bodyof Patroclus

,a nd I wa s curious to know what

was the obj ect of so much desire on the oneside and adm iration on the other. I t wa s ahalf dozen of weazeny baked pears

,beggarly

remnant of the day ’s tra ffi c . Another time Istopped before a stall , debating whether to buysome fin e-looking peaches . Before I had madeup my m ind

,the vender

,a stout fe l low

,with

a voice like a prize-bull of Bashan,opened

a mouth round and large as the muzzle of ablunderbuss

,and let fly into my ear the fol

lowin g pertinent observation “ Bel le pesche .

’

hel lo pe—e—esohe (crescendo) . I stared at him

in stunned bewi lderment ; but, see ing that hehad re loaded and was about to fire again, tookto my heels

,the exploded syllable s rattl ing

after me like so many buckshot . A single turn ip is argument enough with them till midnight nay

,I have heard a rufli a n ye ll ing over

a covered basket,which

,I am convinced

,was

empty,a nd only carried as an excuse for his

s tupendous vocalism . I t never struck me before what a qu iet people Americans are .Of the pleasant places within easy walk of

Rome, I prefer the garden of the Vi lla Albani,as being most I talian . One does not go toI taly for examples of Price on the Picturesque .Compared with landscape—garden ing

,it is Ra

cine to Shakespeare, I grant but it has its own


charm,nevertheless . I like the balustraded

terraces,the sun—proof laurel walks

,the vases

and statues . I t is only in such a climate thatit does not seem inhuman to thrust a nakedstatue out of doors . Not to speak of their incongruity, how dreary do those white figureslook at Fou n ta in s Abbey in that shrewd Yorkshire atmosphere ! To put them there showsthe same bad taste that led Prince Polonia, asThackeray calls him

,to build an a rtificia l ruin

with in a mile of Rome . But I doubt if theI talian garden will bear transplantation . Farther north

,or under a less constant sunshine

,

i t is but half hardy at the best. Within thecity

,the garden of the French Academy is my

favorite retreat, because l ittle frequented ; andthere is an arbor there in which I have readcomfortably (sitting where the sun could reachme) in January . By the way, there is something very agreeable in the way these peoplehave of making a kind of fireside of the sunshine . With a s i t i s either too hot or too cool,or we a re too busy . But, on the other hand,they have no such thing as a chimney-corner.Of course I haunt the collections of art faith

fu lly ; but my favorite gallery, after all, is thestreet . There I always fin d something entertaining

,at least. The other day, on my way to

the Colonna Palace,I passed the Foun ta in of




Trevi,from which the water is n ow shut off on

account of repairs to the aqueduct . A scantyri l l of soap-sudsy l iquid stil l trickled from oneof the conduits

,and

,see ing a crowd

,I stopped

to find out what nothing or other had gatheredit . On e charm of Rome is that nobody hasanyth ing in particular to do

,o r

,if he has

,can

always stop doing it on the sl ightest pretext .I found that some eels had been discovered

,

and a very vivacious hunt was going ou,the

chief N imrods being boys . I happened to bethe first to see a huge ee l wriggling from themouth of a pipe

,and pointed h im out . Two

lads at once rushed upon him . One essayedthe capture with h is naked hands ; the other,more provident

,had armed h imse lf with a rag

of woollen cloth with which to maintain h is gripmore secure ly . Hardly had this latter arrestedhis slippery prize

,when a ragged rascal

,watch

ing h is opportunity,snatched it away

,and in

sta n tly secured it by thrusting the head intoh is mouth

,and closing on it a set of teeth like

an ivory Vice . But alas for il l-got gain ! RobRoy ’s

Good old plan,That he should take who has the power,And he should keep who can ,

did not serve here . There is scarce arood in Rome wi thout one or more

254 LEAVES ‘FROM MY JOURNAL

cocked hats in it, emblems of authority andpol ice . I saw the fla sh of the snow-white crossbe lts, gleaming through that dingy crowd likethe p a na che of H enri Quatre at Ivry

,I saw the

mad plunge of the canvas—shielded head-p iece,

sacred and terrib le as that of Gessler ; andwh ile the greedy throng were dancing aboutthe a ngu il l iceps, each taking his chance twitchat the undulating obj ect of all wishes

,the cap

tor dodging his head hither and thither (vu ln erab le, l ike Achilles, only in his

’eel,as a

Cockney tourist would say) , a pair of broadblue shoulders parted the assai lants as a ship ’ sbows part a wave, a pair of blue arms, terminating in gloves of Berl in thread

,were stretched

forth,not in benediction

,one hand grasped

the slippery Briseis by the waist,the other be

stowed a cuff on the j aw-bone of Achilles,

which loosened (rather by its authority than itsphysical force) the hitherto refractory incisors,a snufi

‘

y bandanna wa s produced, the prisonerwa s depos ited in this temporary watch-house,and the cocked hat sailed maj estically away withthe property thus sequestered for the ben efitof the state .

Gaudeant angui llae si mortuus sit homo ille,Qui , quasi morte reas , excruc iaba t eas !

I f you have got through that last sentencewithout stopping for breath

,you are fit to begin


MY GARDEN ACQUA I NTANCE


260 MY GARDEN ACQUAINTANCE

I first read h im, I have walked over some ofhis favorite haunts, but I stil l see them throughhis eye s rather than by any recollection of actualand personal Vision . The book has also thedelightfulness of absolute leisure . M r. Whiteseems never to have had any harder work todo than to study the habits of his featheredfellow townsfolk, or to watch the ripening ofhis peaches on the wall . No doubt he lookedafter the souls of his parishioners with offi cia l

and even friendly interest,but

,I cannot help

suspecting, with a less personal sol icitude . Forhe seems to have l ived before the Fall . H isvolumes are the j ournal of Adam in Paradise

,

Annihilating all that ’ s madeTo a green thought in a green shade .

I t is positive rest only to look into that gardenof his . I t is vastly better than to

See great Diocle tian walkIn the Sa lon ian garden’ s noble shade

for thither ambassadors intrude to bring withthem the noises of Rome, while here the worldhas no entrance . No rumor of the revolt ofthe American Colonies appears to have reachedhim . The natural term of an hog’s l ife hasmore interest for h im than that of an empire .Burgoyne may surrender and welcome ofwha t

consequence is tha t compared with the fact thatwe can explain the odd tumbl ing of rooks inthe air by their turning over to scratch them

MY GARDEN ACQUAINTANCE 26 1

selves with one claw ”? Al l the couriers in

Europe spurring rowel-deep make no stir inM r. White ’s l ittle Chartreuse ; but the arrivalof the house-martin a day earlier or later thanlast year is a piece of news worth sending express to all his correspondents .Another secret charm of this book is i ts inadvertent humor, so much the more de liciousbecause unsuspected by the author. Howpleasant is his innocent vanity in adding to thelist of the Bri tish

,and stil l more of the Sel

born ian,fa una I bel ieve he would gladly have

consented to be eaten by a tiger or a crocodile,

if by that means the occas ional presence with inthe parish l imits of e ither of these a n thropophagous brutes could have been e stabl ished . H e

brags of no fin e society, but is plainly a l ittleelated by “ having considerable acquaintancewith a tame brown owl .

” Most of u s haveknown our share of owls

,but few can boast of

intimacy with a feathered on e . The great eventsof M r. White ’ s l ife

,too

,have that dispropor

tion a te im porta n ce which is always humorous .To think of his hands having actually beenthought worthy (as neither Wi lloughby

’s norRay ’s were) to hold a stilted plover, the Cha raa'r ius him a ntopus, with no back toe, and thereforel iable , i n speculation, to perpetual vacil lat1ons l I wonder, by the way, if m etaphysi

cia n s have no hind toes . In 1 770 he makes

26 2 MY GARDEN ACQUAINTANCE

the acquain tance in Sussex of an old familytorto ise

,

” which had then been domesticatedfor thirty years . I t is clear that he fell in lovewith it at first sight . We have n o means of

tracing the growth of his passion but in 1 780

we find him eloping with its obj ect in a postchaise . The rattle and hurry of the journeyso perfectly roused it that, when I turned itout in a border, i t walked twice down to thebottom of my garden . I t reads like a CourtJournal ° “ Yesterday morning H . R . H . thePrincess Alice took an airing of half an houron the terrace of Windsor Castle This tortoise might have been a member of the RoyalSociety

,if he could have condescended to so

ignoble an ambition . I t had but just been discovered that a surface incl ined at a ce rtain anglewith the plane of the horizon took more of thesun ’ s rays . The tortoise had always knownthis (though he unostentatiously made no parade of it) , and used accordingly to tilt himselfup against the garden wall in the autumn . H e

seems to have been more of a philosopher thaneven M r. White himself, caring for nothingbut to get under a cabbage—leaf when it rained,or when the sun wa s too hot, and to bury himse lfa l ive before frost, a four-footed D iogenes,who carried his tub on h is back .

There are moods in wh ich this kind of h istory is infin ite ly refresh ing . These creatures



up, to have more trees, and larger, blown downthan h is neighbors . With us descendants of thePuritans especially, these weather competitionssupply the abnegated excitement of the racecourse . Men learn to value thermometers ofthe true imaginative temperament

,capable of

prodigious elations and corresponding dej ections . The other day (5th July) I marked 98

°

in the shade,my high-water mark

,higher by

one degree than I had ever seen it before ! Ihappened to meet a neighbor ; as we moppedou r brows at each other, he told me that he hadjust cleared and I went home a beatenman . I had not felt the heat before

,save as a

beautiful exaggeration of sunshine ; but now itoppressed me with the prosaic vulgarity of anoven . What had been poetic intensity becameall at once rhetorical hyperbole . I might sus

pect his thermometer (as indeed I did, for weHarvard men are apt to th ink il l of any graduation save our own ) but it was a poor consolation . The fact remained that his herald Mercury

,standing a-tiptoe

,could look down on

mine . I seem to glimpse something of thisfamiliar weakness in M r. White . H e

, too, hasshared in these mercurial triumphs and defeats .Nor do I doubt that he had a true countrygentleman ’s interest in the weathercock ; thath is first question on coming down of a morningwas, l ike Barabas

’s,I n to w h a t u a rte r “ e “ e L l on

’s b ill P

MY GARDEN ACQUAINTANCE 265

I t is an innocent and heal thful employmentof the mind

,distracting one from too contin

ual s tudy of oneself,and leading one to dwell

rather upon the indigestion s of the elements thanone ’s own . D id the wind back round , or goabout with the sun P is a rational question thatbears not remotely on the making of

'

hay andthe prosperity of crops . I have li ttle doubt thatthe regulated observation of the vane in manydifferent places, and the interchange of resultsby telegraph

,would put the weather

,as it were

,

in our power,by betraying its ambushes before

it is ready to give the assault . 1 At first sight,nothing seems more drolly trivial than the l ivesof those whose single ach ievement is to recordthe wind and the temperature three times a day.

Yet such men are doubtless sent into the worldfor this special end

,and perhaps there is no

kind of accurate observation,whatever its ob

j ect, that has not its fin a l use and value forsome one or other. I t is even to be hoped thatthe speculations of our newspaper editors andtheir myriad correspondents upon the s igns ofthe political atmosphere may also fil l the ir ap

pointed place in a wel l-regulated universe, if itbe only that of supplying so many more j acko

’—lanterns to the fis tu re historian . Nay,the

observations on fin a n ce of an M . C. whose soleknowledge of the subj ect has been derived from

1 This was written before we had a Weather Bureau .


a life long success in getting a l iving out of thepublic without paying any equivalent therefor

,

wil l perhaps be of interest hereafter to someexplorer of our oloa oa m a xim a

,whenever it is

cleansed .

For many years I have been in the hab i t ofnoting down some of the leading events of myembowered solitude

,such as the coming of cer

tain b irds and the l ike— a kind of m ém oires

pour ser‘vir

,after the fashion of White

,rather

than properly diges ted natural history . I thinkit not impossible that a few simple stories of mywinged acquaintances might be found entertaining by persons of kindred taste .There is a common notion that animals arebetter meteorologists than men

,and I have l ittle

doubt that in immediate weather-wisdom theyhave the advantage of our sophisticated senses

(though I suspect a sailor or shepherd wouldbe their match) , but I have seen nothing thatleads me to believe their minds capable of erecting the horoscope of a whole season , and lettingu s know beforehand whether the winter will besevere or the summer rainless . Their foresightis provincial or even parochial,

By nature knew he ech a scen sioun

Of equinoxial in thil ke toun .

’

I more than suspect that the Clerk of theWeather himself does not always know verylong in advance whether he is to draw an order




food . I have once been Vis ited by large flightsof cross-bi lls ; and whenever the snow l ies longand deep on the ground

,a flock of cedar—birds

comes in midwinter to eat the berries on myhawthorns . I have never been quite able tofathom the local

,or rather geographical pa rtia l i

ties of birds . Never before th is summer ( 1 870)have the king-birds

,handsomest of flyca tchers,

built in my orchard ; though I always knowwhere to find themwi thin half a mile . The rosebreasted grosbeak has been a familiar bird inBrookl ine (three miles away) , yet I never sawon e here till last July, when I found a femalebusy among my raspberries and surpris inglybold . I hope she was prospecting with a View tose ttlement in our garden . She seemed

,on the

whole, to th ink well of my fruit, and I wouldgladly plant another bed if i t would help to winover so de l ightful a ne ighbor.The return of the robin is commonly a n

n ou n ced by the newspapers,like that of eminen t

or notorious people to a watering-place, as thefirst authentic n otifica tion of spring. And suchhis appearance in the orchard and garden n u

doubtedly is . But,in spite of his name of

m igratory thrush,he stays with us all winter,

and I have seen him when the thermometermarked 1 5 degrees below zero of Fahrenhe it,armed impregnably with in

,l ike Emerson ’s Tit

mouse,and as cheerful as he . The robin has a


bad reputation among people who do not valuethemselves less for be ing fond of cherries .There is

,I adm i t

,a sp ice of vu lgarity in him ,

and h is song is rather of the Bloom fie ld sort,too large ly ballasted with prose . His ethics areof the Poor Richard school, and the main chancewh ich calls forth all h is energy is al toge ther of

the belly . H e never has those fin e intervalsof lunacy into wh ich h is cous ins, the catbirdand the mavis

,are apt to fall . But for a ’ that

and tw ice as muckle ’

s a’ that

,I would not ex

change him for all the cherrie s that ever cameout of Asia M inor . With whatever faults, hehas not wholly forfeited that superiority wh ichbelongs to the ch ildren of nature . H e has afin er taste in fruit than could be distilled frommany success ive committees of the HorticulturalSociety

,and he eats with a re l ish ing gulp not

inferior to D r . Johnson ’s . H e fee ls and free lyexercises his right of em inent domain . His isthe earl iest mess of green peas his al l the mulberries I had fancied m ine . But if he get alsothe lion ’ s share of the raspberries

,he is a great

planter, and sows those wi ld ones in the woods ,that solace the pedestrian and give a momentarycalm even to the j aded victims of the Wh iteHil ls . H e keeps a strict eye over one

’ s fruit,

and knows to a shade of purple when yourgrapes have cooked long enough in the sun .

During the severe drought a few years ago,


the robins wholly van ished from my garden . Ine ither saw nor heard one for three weeks .Meanwhi le a small foreign grape-V ine

,rather

shy of bearing, seemed to find the dusty aircongenial

,and

,dreaming perhaps of its sweet

Argos across the sea, decked itself with a scoreor so of fair bunches . I watched them from dayto day ti ll they should have secreted sugarenough from the sunbeams

,and at last made

up my m ind that I would celebrate my Vintagethe next morn ing . But the robins too had somehow kept note of them . They must have sentout spies

,as d id the Jews into the prom ised

land,before I wa s s tirring . When I went with

my baske t, at least a dozen of these wingedvintagers bustled out from among the leaves,and alighting on the nearest tree s interchangedsome shri l l remarks about me of a derogatorynature . They had fairly sacked the V ine . NotWellington ’s veterans made cleaner work of aSpan ish town ; not Federals or Confederateswere ever more impartial in the confisca tion ofneutral chickens . I was keeping my grapes asecret to surprise the fair F idele with, but therobins made them a profounder secret to herthan I had meant . The tattered remnant of asingle bunch wa s all my harvest-home . Howpaltry it looked at the bottom of my basket,as if a humm ing-bird had laid her egg in aneagle ’ s nest ! I could not he lp laughing ; and



lenges inqu iry . Do I look like a bird thatknows the flavor of raw vermin ? I throw m yself upon a jury of my peers . Ask any rob inif he ever ate anyth ing less ascetic than the frugal berry of the juniper

,and he will answer that

his vow forbids him . Can such an open bosomcover such depravity ? Alas , yes ! I have nodoubt h is breast was redder at that very m o

ment with the blood of my raspberries . On thewhole

,he is a doubtful friend in the garden .

H e makes his dessert of all kinds of berries,

and is not averse from early pears . But whenwe remember how omn ivorous he is

,eat ing his

own we ight in an incredibly short time,and that

Nature seems exhaustless in her invention ofn ew insects hostile to vegetation

,perhaps we

may reckon that he does more good than harm .

For my own part,I would rather have h is

cheerfulness and kind neighborhood than manyberries .For his cousin

,the ca tbird, I have a stil l

warmer regard . Always a good s inger, he sometimes nearly equals the brown thrush, and hasthe merit of keep ing up his music later in theevening than any b ird of my fam il iar acquaintance . Ever s ince I can remember, a pair ofthem have bu i lt in a gigantic syringa

,near our

front door,and I have known the male to s ing

almost un interruptedly during the even ings ofearly summer till tw i light duskened into dark .


They differ greatly in vocal talent, but all havea de lightful way of crooning over, and, as itwere

,rehearsing the ir song in an undertone

,

which makes the ir nearness always unobtrusive .

Though there i s the most trustworthy witnessto the imitative propens ity of this b ird, I haveonly once

,during an intimacy of more than

forty years,heard h im indulge it . I n that case

,

the imitation was by no means so close as todece ive

,but a free reproduction of the note s of

some other birds,especially of the oriole

,as a

kind of variation in h is own song. The catb irdis as shy as the robin is vulgarly fam i l iar . Onlywhen h is nest or his fledg l ings are approacheddoes he become noisy and almost aggressive . Ihave known him to station h is young in a thickcorne l-bush on the edge of the raspberry-bed

,

after the fruit began to ripen,and feed them

there for a week or more . I n such cases heshows none of that conscious guilt which makesthe robin contemptible . On the contrary

,he

will maintain h is post in the th icket,and sharply

scold the intruder who ventures to steal hisberries . After all

,his claim is only for tithes

,

wh ile the robin wi l l bag your entire crop if heget a chance .

D r . Wa tts’

s s tatement that “ birds in theirlittle nests agree,

” l ike too many others intended to form the infant m ind

,is very far from

being tru e . On the contrary,the most peacefu l


re lation of the different species to each other isthat of armed neutrality . They are very j ealousof ne ighbors . A few years ago, I wa s much interested in the house-build ing of a pair of summer yellow-birds . They had chosen a verypretty site near the top of a tall white lilac

,

w ithin easy eye-shot of a chamber window . Avery pleasant thing i t was to see their l ittle homegrowing with mu tual help

,to watch their in

du striou s skill in terrupted only by little fl irtsand snatches of endearment

,frugally cut short

by the common sense of the tiny housewife .They had brought their work nearly to an end,and had already begun to l ine it with fern—down

,

the gathering of which demanded more distant j ourneys and longer absences . But

,alas !

the syringa,immemorial manor of the catbirds,

wa s not more than twenty feet away,and these

giddy neighbors had,as it appeared, been

all along j ealously watchful,though silent, wit

ne sses of what they deemed an intrusion ofsquatters . No sooner were the pretty matesfairly gone for a new load of lining, than

To their unguarded nest these weasel ScotsCame stealing .

’

S i lently they flew back and forth,each giving

a vengeful dab at the nest in passing . They didnot fall to and del iberately destroy it

,for they

m ight have been caught at their mischief. Asit wa s, whenever the yel low-birds came back,



had sawn through the flesh of the th igh and somuch harmed itself that I thought it humaneto put an end to its misery . When I took outm y kn ife to cut their hempen bonds, the headsof the family seemed to divine my friendly intent . Suddenly ceasing their cries and threats

,

they perched quie tly within reach of my hand,

and watched me in my work of manumission .

This,ow ing to the flu ttering terror of the pris

oners, wa s an affair of some delicacy ; but erelong I was rewarded by seeing one of them flyaway to a neighboring tree

,wh ile the cripple

,

making a parachute of his wings,came l ightly

to the ground,and hopped off as well as he

could with one leg, obsequiously waited on byh is elders . A week later I had the satisfactionofmeeting him in the pine-walk, in good spirits,a nd already so far recovered as to be able tobalance himself with the lame foot. I have nodoubt that in his old age he accounted for hislameness by some handsom e story of a woundreceived at the famous Battle of the Pines

,

when our tribe,overcome by numbers

,wa s

driven from its ancient camping-ground . Of

late years the j ays have V is ited us only at interva l s ; and in winter their bright plumage, setoff by the snow

,and their cheerful cry

,are es

pecia lly welcome . They would have furnishedI Esop with a fable, for the feathered crest inwhich they seem to take so much satisfaction is


often their fatal snare . Country boys make ahole with their finger in the snow-crust just largeenough to adm it the j ay ’ s head

,and

,hollowing

it out somewhat beneath, bait it with a few kerne ls of corn . The crest s lips eas ily into thetrap

,but refuses to be pulled out again

,and he

who came to feast remains a prey .

Twice have the crow-blackb irds attempteda settlement in my pines, and tw ice have therob ins

,who claim a right of preemption

,so

su ccessfii l ly played the part of border rufii a n sas to drive them away, to my great regret

,for

they are the best substi tute we have for rooks .At Shady Hill (now, alas empty of its so longloved household) they bu ild by hundreds, andnothing can be more cheery than the ir creakingclatter (like a convention of old-fashioned tavern-signs) as they gather at even ing to debatein mass meeting their windy politics

,or to gos

sip at their tent—doors over the events of theday . Their port is grave

,and their stalk across

the turf as martial as that of a second-rate ghostin Hamlet . They never meddled w ith mycorn

,so fa r as I could discover .

For a few years I had crows,but their nests

are an irres istible bait for boys,and their settle

ment was broken up . They grew so wonted asto throw off a great part of the ir shyness

,and to

tolerate my near approach . On e very hot dayI stood for some time within twenty feet of a

,


mother and three children, who sat on an elmbough over my head , gasping in the sultry air,and holding the ir wings half spread for coolness . All birds during the pairing season become more or less sentimental

,and murmur

soft nothings in a tone very unlike the grindingorgan repetition and loudness of their habitualsong . The crow is very comical as a lover

,and

to hear him trying to soften his croak to theproper Saint Preux st andard has something thecfl

’

ect of a Mississippi boatman quoting Tennyson . Ye t there a re few things to my ear moremelodious than his caw of a clear winter morning as it drops to you filtered through fivehundred fathoms of cri sp blue air. The hostil ity of all smaller b irds makes the moralcharacter of the crow

,for al l his dea con l ike

demeanor and garb,somewhat questionable .

H e could never sally forth without insult. Thegolden robins

,especially

,would chase him as

far as I could follow with my eye, making himduck clums i ly to avoid their importunate b i lls .I do not believe

,however

,that he robbed any

nests hereabouts, for the refuse of the gasworks

,which

,in our free-and—easy community

,

is allowed to poison the river, supplied himwith dead alewives in abundance . I used towatch him making h is periodical visits to thesalt-marshes and coming back with a fish in hisbeak to his young savages, who, no doubt, l ike



nearness of a human dwe ll ing perhaps give thebirds a greater feeling of security ? They arevery bold

,by the way, in quest of cordage , and

I have often watched them stripping the fibrou sbark from a honeysuckle growing over the verydoor . But

,indeed

,all my birds look upon me

as if I were a mere tenant at wi l l,and they were

landlords . With shame I confess it, I have beenbullied even by a humming-bird . This spring

,

as I was cleansing a pear-tree of its l ichens,

one of these l ittle zigzagging blurs came purring toward me

,couch ing h is long bill l ike a

lance,his throat sparkl ing with angry fire

,to

warn me off from a M issouri-currant whosehoney he was sipping . And many a time heha s driven me out of a flower—bed . Th is summer

,by the way , a pair of these winged emer

a lds fasten ed their mossy acorn-cup upon abough of the same e lm which the oriole s hadenlivened the year before . We watched all theirproceedings from the w indow through a n operaglass

,and saw their two nestl ings grow from

black needle s with a tuft of down at the lowerend

,till they whirled away on their first short

experimental flights . They became strong ofwing in a surprisingly short time

,and I never

saw them or the male bird a fter,though the

female was regular as usual in her Vis its to ourpe tunias and verbenas . I do not th in k it groundenough for a generalization, but in the many

MY GARDEN ACQUAINTANCE 28 1

times when I watched the old birds feed ingtheir young

,the mother always al ighted, wh i le

the father as un iformly remained upon the wing .

The bobolinks a re generally chance V isitors,tinkl ing through the garden in blossom ing—time ,but th is year

,owing to the long rains early in

the season,their favorite meadows were flooded,

and they were driven to the upland . So I hada pair of them domiciled in my grass-fie ld . Themale used to perch in an apple—tree

,then in full

bloom,and

,while I stood perfectly sti ll close

by, he would circle away, quivering round theentire he ld of five acres

,with no break in his

song,and se ttle down again among the blos

soms,to be hurried away almost immediately

by a new rapture of music . H e had the volub il ity of an I tal ian charlatan at a fair

,and

,l ike

him,appeared to be proclaim ing the merits

of some quack remedy . Opoa’

ela’

oo -try

D octor-L inoohz’

s—opodela’

oo he seemed to repeatover and over again

,with a rapidity that would

have distanced the deftest-tongued Figa ro thatever rattled . I remember Count Gurowski saying once

,with that easy superiority of know

ledge about this country wh ich is the monopolyof fore igners , that we had no singing-b irds !Well, we ll, M r . H epworth D ixon has foundthe typ ical America in Oneida and Salt LakeCity . Of course, an intell igent European is thebest judge of these matters . The truth is there


a re more singing-b irds in Europe because therea re fewer forests . These songsters love the

neighborhood of man because hawks and owlsa re rarer, while the ir own food is more abundant . Most people seem to th ink, the moretree s

,the more birds . Even Chateaubriand

,

who first tried the primitive-forest-cure, andwhose description of the wilderness in its imagin a tive effects is unmatched, fancies the peo

ple of the air singing their hymns to h im . So

far as my own observation goes,the farther one

penetrates the sombre solitudes of the woods,

the more se ldom doe s one hear the vo ice of anys inging-bird . I n spite of Chateaubriand ’s m in u ten ess of de tail, in spite of that marve l lousreverberation of the decrep1t tree falling of itsown weight

,which he was the first to notice

,I

cannot he lp doubting whether he made his wayvery deep into the wilderness . At any rate, ina letter to Fon ta n es

,written in 1 804 , he speaks

of m es che‘va ux pa issa uts 21 guelgue dista nce. Tobe sure Chateaubriand wa s apt to mount thehigh horse

,and this may have been but an after

thought of the gra nd seigueur , but certainly onewould not make much headway on horsebacktoward the druid fastnesses of the primeval p ine .

The bobolinks build in cons iderable numbersin a meadow within a quarter of a mile of u s .

A house less lane passes through the midst oftheir camp

,and in clear westerly weather, at



Father of light, what sunnie seed,What glance of day hast thou confinedInto this bird P To al l the breedThis busie ray thou hast assigned ;Their magnetism works all nightAnd dreams of Paradise and light . ’

On second thought,I remember to have heard

the cuckoo strike the hours nearly all night withthe regularity of a Swiss clock .

The dead l imbs of our elms,which I spare

to that end, bring us the fl icker every summer,

and almost daily I hear his wild scream andlaugh close at hand

,himself invisible . H e i s a

shy bird,but a few days ago I had the satis

faction of s tudying him through the blinds ashe sat on a tree within a few feet of me . Seenso near and at rest, he makes good his claimto the title of pigeon-woodpecker. Lumberershave a notion that he is harmful to timber, digging little holes through the bark to encouragethe settlement of insects . The regular rings ofsuch perforations which one may see in almostany apple-orchard seem to give some probabil ity to this theory . Almost every season asolitary quai l Vis its us

,and

,unseen among the

currant-bushes,calls Boh White, Boh White, as

if he were playing at hide-and-seek with thatimaginary being . A rarer Vis itant is the turtledove

,whose pleasant coo (something like the

m uffled crow of a cock from a coop covered


with snow) I have sometimes heard, and whomI once had the good luck to see close by me inthe mulberry-tree . The wild-p igeon , once num erou s, I have not seen for many years .

‘Of

savage b irds , a hen-hawk now and then quarters h imself upon u s for a few days , s ittingsluggish in a tree after a surfe it of poul try .

On e of them once offered me a near shot frommy study-window one drizzly day for severalhours . Bu t it wa s Sunday, and I gave h im theben efit of its gracious truce of God .

Certain b irds have disappeared from ourne ighborhood with in my memory . I rememberwhen the wh ippoorwil l could be heard in SweetAuburn . The n ight—hawk, once common, isnow rare . The brown thrush has moved fartherup country . For years I have not seen or heardany of the larger owls

,whose hooting was one

of my boy ish terrors . The cl iff-swa l low, stra nge

em igrant,that eastward takes h is way, has come

and gone again in my time . The bank-swallows,we l l-nigh innumerable during my boyhood, nolonger frequent the crumbly cl iff of the gravelpit by the river . The barn—swallows, wh ich onceswarmed in our barn

,flashing through the dusty

sun streaks of the mow, have been gone thesemany years . My father would lead me out tosee them gather on the roof

,and take counse l

before the ir yearly migration,as M r. Wh ite

1 They made their appearance again thi s summer


used to see them at Se lborne . Eheu,fuga oes !

Thank fortune, the swift stil l glue s h is nest, androlls h is distant thunders night and day in thewide-throated ch imneys

,stil l sprinkles the even

ing air with h is merry twittering . The popu

lous herony in Fresh Pond meadows has beenwe l l—n igh broken up, but sti ll a pair or twohaunt the old home

,as the gyps ie s of E llan

gowan their ruined huts,and every evenm g fly

over u s rive rwards,clearing the ir throats with

a hoarse hawk as they go , and, in cloudy weather

,scarce higher than the tops of the chim

neys . Sometimes I have known one to alightin one of our trees

,though for what purpose I

never could divine . Since this was written,they

began in greater numbers to spend the day in agroup of pines just within my borders . Once

,

when my exploring footstep startled them,I

counted fifty flashing in circles over my head .

By watchful protection I induced two pairs ofthem to build

,and

,as if sensible of my friend

ship,they made their nests in a pine within a

hundred feet of the house . They shine foreverin Longfellow’ s verse . Kingfishers have sometimes puzzled me in the same way, perched athigh noon in a pine, springing the ir watchman

’srattle when they fl itted away from my curiosi ty,and seeming to shove their top-heavy headsalong as a man does a wheelbarrow .

Some birds have left us, I suppose, because



messmate s of the Ancient Mariner did towardsh im after he had shot the albatross . But thepewee s came back at last

,and one of them is

now on his wonted perch,so near my window

that I can hear the cl ick of his b ill as he snapsa fly on the wing with the unerring precisiona state ly Trasteverina shows in the capture ofher smaller deer. The pewee is the first b ird top ipe up in the m orning ; and, during the earlysummer he preludes his matutinal ej aculationofp ewee with a slender whistle, unheard at anyother time . H e saddens with the season

,and

,

as summer declines,he changes h is note to eheu,

pewee as if in lamentation . Had he been anI talian b ird

,Ovid would have had a plaintive

tale to tell about him . H e is so familiar as oftento pursue a fly through the open window intomy l ibrary .

There is something inexpressibly dear to mein these old friendships of a l ifetime . There isscarce a tree of mine but has had, at some timeor other

,a happy homestead among its boughs,

and to which I cannot say,Many light hearts and wings,

Whi ch now be dead, lodged in thy living bowers .

My walk under the pines would lose half itssummer charm were I to miss that shy anchorite

,the Wilson ’s thrush

,nor hear in haying

time the metall ic ring of his song,that justifies

his rustic name of scy the-whet . I protect my


game as j ealously as an English squire . I f anybody had oo logized a certain cuckoo

’ s nest Iknow of (I have a pair in my garden every year) ,it would have left me a sore place in my m indfor weeks . I love to bring these aborigines backto the mansuetude they showed to the earlyvoyagers

,and before (forgiv e the involuntary

pun) they had grown accustomed to man andknew his savage ways . And they repay yourk indness with a sweet familiarity too de l icateever to breed contempt . I have made a Penntreaty with them

,preferring that to the Puritan

way with the natives,wh ich converted them to

a little H ebraism and a great deal of M edfordrum . I f they wi ll not come near enough to me

(as most of them will), I bring them close withan opera-glass

,a much better weapon than a

gun . I would not,if I could

,convert them from

the ir pretty pagan ways . The only one I sometimes have savage doubts about is the red squ ir

rel . I think he oo logizes . I know he eats cherries (we counted five of them at one time in as ingle tree

,the stones pattering down l ike the

sparse hai l that pre lude s a storm) , and that hegnaws off the small end of pears to get at theseeds . H e steals the corn from under the nose sof my poultry . But what would you have ?H e will come down upon a l imb of the tree Iam lying under ti ll he is within a yard of me .H e and his mate wil l scurry up and down the


great black-walnut for my divers ion,chattering

like monkeys . Can I sign his death-warrantwho has tolerated me about his grounds solong

P Not I . Let them steal, and welcome . Iam sure I shou ld, had I had the same bringingup and the same temptation . As for the birds

,

I do not bel ieve there is one of them but doesmore good than harm and of how many featherl ess b ipeds can this be said P


ON A CERTA IN CONDESCENSION

IN FOREIGNERS

ALKI NG one day toward the Vi llage

,as we used to call i t in the good

old days,when almost every dwell er

in the town had been born in it,I was enj oying

that de licious sense of disenthralment from theactual wh ich the deepen ing tw il ight brings withit,giving as it does a sort of obscure novelty to

th ings fam il iar . The coolness, the hush , brokenonly by the distant bleat of some belated goat,querulous to be disburthened of her milky load

,

the few faint stars,more guessed as yet than seen

,

the sense that the coming dark would so soonfold me in the secure privacy of its disguise,all th ings combined in a resul t as n ear absolute

peace as can be hoped for by a man who knowsthat there i s a writ out against him in the handsof the printer’s devil . For the moment, I wasenj oy ing the blessed privilege of thinking without be ing called on to stand and de l iver whatI thought to the small publ ic who a re goodenough to take any interest therein . I love old

294 CONDESCENSION I N FOREIGNERS

ways,and the path I was walking fe lt kindly

to the feet it had known for almost fifty years .How many fleeting impressions it had sharedwith me ! H ow many times I had lingered tostudy the shadows of the leaves mezzotintedupon the turf that edged it by the moon

, of

the bare boughs etched with a touch beyondRembrandt by the same unconscious artist onthe smooth page of snow ! I f I turned round,through dusky tree-gaps came the first twinkleof evening lamps in the dear old homestead .

On Corey ’ s Hi ll I could see these tiny pharosesof love and home and sweet domestic thoughtsfla sh out one by one across the blacken ing saltmeadow between . How much has not keroseneadded to the cheerfulness of our even ing landscape ! A pair of night-herons flapped heavilyover me toward the hidden river . The war wasended . I might walk townward without thataching dread of bulle tins that had darkened theJuly sunshine and twice made the scarle t leavesof October seem stained with blood . I remembered wi th a pang, half proud, half painful , how,so many years ago

,I had walked over the same

path and felt round my finger the soft pressureof a little hand that wa s one day to harden wi thfaithful grip of sabre . On how many paths,leading to how many homes where proud M em

ory does all she can to fil l up the fires ide gapswith shining shapes

,must not men be walking



Fresh Pond meadows made all orie ls cheap withhue s that showed as if a sunset-cloud had beenwrecked among their maples . One might beworse off than even in America

,I thought .

There a re some th ings so elastic that even theheavy roller of democracy cannot fla tten themaltogether down . The mind can weave itselfwarmly in the cocoon of its own thoughts anddwell a hermit anywhere . A country withouttraditions

,without ennobling associat ions

,a

scramble ofp a r fveuus, with a horrible conscious

ness of shoddy running through politics, manners

,art

,l iterature

,nay

,re l igion itselfP I

confess,i t did not seem so to m e there in that

il l imitable qu iet,that serene self-possession of

nature,where Collins might have brooded his

Ode to Evening,

” or where those Verse s onSolitude in Dodsley

’

s Col lection, that H awthorne l iked so much

,might have been com

posed . Traditions P Granting thatwe had none,

all that is worth having in them is the commonproperty of the soul

,an estate in gave lkind

for al l the sons of Adam,—and, moreov er, if

a man cannot stand on h is two fee t (the primequality of whoever has left any trad1t1on beh indhim) , were it not be tter for h im to be honestabout it at once

,and go down on all fours ?

And for associations,if one have not the wit to

make them for himself out of native earth,no

ready-made ones of other men w ill avail much .

CONDESCENSION I N FOREIGNERS 297

Lexington is none the worse to m e for not being in Greece

,nor Gettysburg that its name

is not Marathon . Ble ssed ol'd fie lds

,

” I wasjust exclaim ing to myself

,l ike on e of Mrs .

Radc l ifie’

s heroes,“ dear acres , innocently securefrom h is tory, which these eye s first behe ld, mayyou be also those to wh ich they shall at lastslowly darken when I wa s interrupted by av o ice wh ich asked m e in German whether I wasthe H err Professor

,D octor

,So-a n d-so P The

D octor was by brevet or vaticination,to

make the grade easier to my pocket .One feels so intimately assured that one is

made up, in part, of shreds and leavings of thepast

,in part of the interpolations of other people

,

that an honest man would be slow in saying y esto such a question . But my name is So-andso ” is a safe answer

,and I gave it. Wh ile I had

been romancing with myse lf,the stree t—lamps

had been l ighted,and it wa s under on e of these

detectives that have robbed the Old Road of itspriv ilege of sanctuary ai

'

ter nightfall that I wa sambushed by my foe . The inexorable vi llainhad taken my description

,i t appears

,that I

m ight have the less chance to escape h im . D r.

Holmes tells u s that we change our substance,

not every sev en years,as was once be l ieved

,but

w ith every breath we draw . Why had I not thewit to avail myse lf of the sub terfil ge , and, likePeter, to renounce my identity, especially, as in


certain moods of mind,I have often more than

doubted of it myselfP When a man is,as it

were,his own front door

,and is thus knocked

a t, why may he not assume the right of thatsacred wood to make every house a castle

,by

denying himself to all v isita tion s P I was trulynot at home when the question wa s put to me

,

but had to recall myself from al l out—of-doors,

and to piece my self-consciousness hasti ly together as well as I could before I answered it.I knew perfectly well what was coming. I t

is seldom that debtors or good Samaritans wayl ay people under gas-lamps in order to forcemoney upon them

,so far as I have seen or

heard . I was also aware, from considerable ex

perien ce , that every foreigner is persuaded that,by doing this country the favor of coming to it,he has laid every native thereof under an obl i

ga tion , pecuniary or other, as the case m ay be,

whose discharge he is entitled to on demandduly made in person or by letter. Too muchlearning (of this kind) had made me mad in the

provincial sense of the word . I had begun lifewith the theory of giving something to everybeggar that came along

,though sure of never

finding a native-born countryman among them .

I n a small way,I wa s resolved to emu late H a

tem Tai ’ s tent,with its three hundred and s ixty

hy e entrances,one for every day in the year,

I know not whether he was astronomer enough


300 CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS

that he could not miss it . General Banks,in

h is noble zeal for the honor of h is country,

would confer on the Secretary of State the powerof imprison ing, in case of wa r, all these seekersof the unattainable, thus by a stroke of the penannih i lating the s ingle poetic element in ourhumdrum life . Alas ! not everybody has thegenius to be a Bobbin-Boy

,or doubtless all

these also would have chosen that more prosperou s l ine of l ife But moralists

,sociologists

,

political economists,and taxes have slowly con

vin ced m e that m y beggarly sympathies werea sin against society . Especially was the Buckledoctrine of averages (so flattering to our freewill) persuasive with me ; for as there must bein every year a certain number who would bestow an alms on these abridged editions of theWandering Jew

,the withdrawal of my quota

could make no possible difference,s ince some

destined proxy must always step forward to fil lmy gap . Just so many m isdirected letters everyyear and no more ! Would it were as easy toreckon up the number of men on whose backsfate has written the wrong addre ss

,so that they

arrive by mistake in Congress and other placeswhere they do not belong May not these wanderers of whom I speak have been sent into theworld without any proper address at all PWhereis our D ead-Le tter Offi ce for such PAnd ifwi sersocial arrangements should fu rnish us wi th some

CONDESCENSION I N FOREIGNERS 30 1

th ing of the sort,fancy (horrible thought l) how

many a workingman ’ s friend (a k ind of industry in which the labor is light and the wagesheavy) would be sent thither because not calledfor in the ofli ce where he at present l ies 1But I am leaving my n ew acquaintance too

long under the lamp-post . The same Ganowhich had betrayed me to him revealed to mea well-se t young man of about half my ownage

,as well dressed, so far as I could see, as I

was,and with every natural qu a lifica tion for

getting his own livel ihood as good,if not bet

ter, than my own . H e had been reduced to thepainful necessity of call ing upon me by a seriesof crosses beginning with the Baden Revolution

(for which, I own , he seemed rather young,but perhaps he referred to a kind of revolutionpractised every season at Baden-Baden) , continued by repeated failures in bus iness, foramounts which must convince me of his entirerespectability, and ending with our civil war.During the latter, he had served with distin ction as a soldier

,taking a main part in every

important battle, with a rapid l ist of which hefavored me

,and no doubt would have admitted

that,impartial as Jonathan Wild

’s great a n cestor

,he had been on both sides

,had I baited

h im with a few hints of conservative opin ionson a subj ect so distressing to a gentleman wishing to profit by one

’s sympathy and unhappily


doubtful as to wh ich way it m ight lean . Fora l l these reasons, and, as he seemed to imply,for h is merit in consenting to be born in Germany

,he considered himself my natural cred

itor to the extent of five dollars, which hewould handsome ly consent to accept in greenbacks

,though he preferred specie . The offer

wa s certainly a generous on e , and the claimpresented with an assurance that carried convic

tion . But,unhappily, I had been led to re

mark a curious natural phenomenon . I f I wa sever weak enough to give anyth ing to a petition er of whatever nationality, i t always raineddecayed compatriots of his for a month after .Post hoe ergopropter hoe may not always be safelogic

,but here I seemed to perce ive a natural

connection of cause and effect . Now, a fewdays before I had been so tickled with a paper

(professedly written by a benevolent Americanclergyman) certifying that the bearer, a hardworking German

,had long “

sofered with rheumatic paints in his l imps

,that

,after copying

the passage into my note-book, I thought i tbut fair to pay a trifling honora rium to the au

thor. I had pulled the string of the showerbath I t had been running shipwrecked sailorsfor some time

,but forthwith it began to pour

Teutons,redolent of lager-hier . I could not

help associating the apparition of my new friendwith this series of otherwise unaccountable phe



fain to confess that I fe lt a sensible itching ofthe biceps, and that my fingers closed with sucha grip as he had just informed me wa s one ofthe effects of our unhappy climate . But hap

pening just then to be where I could avo idtemptation by dodging down a by-street, I hasti ly left him to fin ish his diatribe to the lamppost

,wh ich could stand it better than I . That

young man will never know how near he cameto being assaulted by a respectable gentlemanof middle age

,at the corner of Church Street .

I have never felt quite sa tisfied that I did allmy duty by him in not knocking him down .

But perhaps he might have knocked m e down ,and then P

The capacity of indignation makes an essential part of the ou tfit of every honest man

,but

I am incl ined to doubt whether he is a wise onewho allows himself to act upon its first hints .I t should be rather, I suspect, a la tent heat inthe blood, which makes itse lf felt in character,a steady reserve for the brain

,warming the

ovum of thought to life,rather than cooking it

by a too ha sty enthus iasm in reach ing the boiling—po int . As my pulse gradually fell back toits normal beat

,I reflected that I had been u n

comfortably near making a fool of m yse lfl— a

handy salve of euphuism for our vanity, thoughit does not always make a just al lowance toN ature for her share in the business . What

CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS 305

poss ible claim had my Teutonic friend to rob meof my composure ? I am not

,I th ink

,specially

th in-skinned as to other people ’s op in ions ofmyse lf

,having, as I conce ive, later and fuller

inte lligence on that po int than anybody e lsecan give me . Life is continually we igh ing u s

in very sens itive scales , and te l ling every oneof us precise ly what h is real we ight is to the

last grain of dust . Whoever at fifty does notrate h imse lf qu ite as low as most of his a c

quaintance would be like ly to put h im,must

be e ither a fool or a great man , and I humblydi sclaim be ing e ither . But if I wa s not smarting in person from any scattering shot of mylate companion ’ s commination

,why should I

grow hot at any impl ication of my countrytherein P Surely her shoulders are broad enough

,

if yours or mine are not,to bear up un der a

considerable avalanche of this kind . I t i s thebit of truth in every slander

,the h int of l ike

ness in every caricature,that makes u s smart .

“ Art thou there,old Truepenny P H ow did

your blade know its way so well to that oneloose rive t in our armor ? I wondered whe therAmericans were over-sensitive in th is re spect

,

whether they were more touchy than otherfolks . On the whole

,I thought we were not .

Plutarch , who at least had studied phi losophy,if he had not mastered it

,could not stomach

something H erodotus had said of Boeotia,and


devoted an essay to showing up the delightfulold trave ller’s malice and ill breeding . Frencheditors leave out of Montaigne ’ s Trave lssome remarks of his about France

,for reasons

best known to themselves . PachydermatousD eutschland, covered with trophies from everyfie ld of letters, still winces under that questionwh ich Pere Bouhours put two centuries ago

, Si

uh Al lem a nd pout Etre hel—espr it ? John Bull

grew apoplectic wi th angry amazement at theaudacious persiflage of Puckler-Muskau . Tobe sure

,he was a prince

,—but that wa s not all

of it,for a chance phrase of gentle H awthorne

sent a spasm through all the j ournals of England . Then this tenderness is not peculiar toa s ? Console yourself

,dear man and brother

,

whatever else you may be sure of, be sure atl east of this

,that you are dreadfully like other

people . Human nature has a m uch greatergenius for sameness than for originality

,or the

world would be at a sad pass shortly . The surprising thing is that men have such a taste forthis somewhat musty flavor that an Englishman

,for example

,should fee l h imself defrauded

,

nay,even outraged

,when he comes over here

and fin ds a people speaking what he admits tobe something like English

,and yet so very

different from (or, as he would say, to) thosehe left at home . No thing, I am sure

,equals

my thankfulness when I meet an Englishman



and com ing upon them 1n the darkness like anarmed man . Coula

'Laius have the proper feelings of a father towards ( Edipus, announced ashis destined destroyer by infallible oracles

,and

felt to be such by every conscious fibre of hissoul P For more than a century the Dutch werethe laughing—s tock ofpo l ite Europe . They werebutter-firkin s

,swil lers of beer and schnaps

,and

their ‘vrouws from whom Holbein painted the

all—but love l iest of Madonnas,Rembrandt the

graceful girl who sits immortal on his knee inD resden

,and Rubens his abounding goddesses

,

were the synonymes of clumsy vulgarity . Evenso late as I rving the ships of the greatest navigators in the world were represented as sailingequally well stern-foremost . That the aristocratic Venetians should have

Riveted With gigantic pilesThorough the centre their n ew-ca tchéd miles,

was heroic . But the far more marve llous achievement of the Dutch in the same kind was ludicrou s even to republican Marvell . M eanwh ile

,

during that very century of scorn,they were the

best artists,sailors

,merchants

,bankers

,printers,

scholars,jurisconsults

,and statesmen in Europe

,

and the genius of Motley has revealed them tous

,earn ing a right to themselves by the most

heroic struggle in human annals . But, alas !they were not merely simple burghers who hadfairly made themselves H igh Mightinesses

,and


could treat on equal terms with anointed kings,but the ir commonwealth carried in its bosomthe germs of democracy . They even unm uz

zled, at least after dark, that dreadfu l mastiff,the Press

,whose scent is, or ought to be, so

keen for wolves in sheeps ’ clothing and for certain other an imals in l ions ’ sk ins . They madefun of Sacred Maj esty, and, what wa s worse,managed uncommonly well without it . I n anage when periwigs made so large a part of thenatural dign ity of man

,people with such a turn

of mind were dangerous . H ow could they seemother than vulgar and hateful PI n the natural course of things we succeeded

to this unenviable position ofgen era l butt. TheDutch had thriven under i t pretty we ll, andthere was hope that we could at least contriveto worry along . And we certainly did in a veryredoubtable fashion . Perhaps we deserved someof the sarcasm more than our Dutch predecessors in office . We had nothing to boast of inarts or letters

,and were given to bragging over

much of our merely material prosperity,due

quite as much to the Virtue of our continent asto our own . There was some tru th in Carlyle ’ ssneer

,after all . Till we had succeeded in some

h igher way than this, we had only the successof physical growth . Our greatness , l ike that ofenormous Russia

,was greatness on the map

,

barbarian mass only ; but had we gone down,

3 10 CONDESCENSION IN FORE I GNERS

l ike that other Atlantis , in some vast cataclysm ,

we should have covered but a pin ’s point onthe chart of memory, compared with those idealspaces occupied by tiny Attica and crampedEngland . At the same time

,our cri ti cs some

what too easily forgot that material must makeready the foundation for ideal triumphs

,that

the arts have no chance in poor countries . Butit must be allowed that democra cy stood fora great deal in our shortcoming . The Edinburgh Review never would have thought ofasking

,

“ Who reads a Russian book ? ” andEngland wa s sa tisfied with iron from Swedenwithout being im pertin en tly inquisitive after herpainters and statuaries . Was it that they ex

pected too much from the mere miracle of Freedom ? I s i t not the highest art of a Republic tomake men of flesh and b lood, a nd not the marbleideals of such ? I t may be fairly doubted whetherwe have produced th is higher type of man yet .Perhaps it is the collective

,not the individual

,

humanity that is to have a chance of nobler deve lopm en t among u s . We shall see . We havea vast amount of imported ignorance

,and

,stil l

worse,of native ready-made knowledge

,to di

ges t before even the preliminaries of such a consum mation can be arranged . We have got tolearn that statesmanship is the most complica ted of all arts

,and to come back to the ap

prenticeship system too hastily abandoned . At


3 1 2 CONDESCENSION I N FOREIGNERS

but we must ring at the area-bell,and not ven

ture to awaken the more august clamors of theknocker . Our manners, i t must be granted,had none of those graces that stamp the casteof Vere de Vere , in whatever mu seum of British antiquities they may be hidden . I n short

,

we were vulgar .This was one of those horribly vague accusations, the V ictim of which has no defence . An

umbre l la is of no avail against a Scotch mist .I t envelops you , it penetrates at every pore, i twets you through withou t seeming to wet youat all . Vulgarity is an eighth deadly sin, addedto the list in these latter days

,and worse than

all the others put together,since it perils your

salvation in this world, - far the more important of the two in the minds of most men . I t

profits nothing to draw nice distinctions between essential and conventional

,for the con

ven tion in th is case is the essence , and you m aybreak every command of the decalogue withperfect good breeding

,nay

,if you are a droit

,

without los ing caste . We,indeed

,had it not

to lose, for we had never gained it. How

am I vulgar P asks the culprit, shudderingly .

Because thou art not like unto U s,answers

Lucifer,Son of the Morning

,and there is no

more to be said . The god of this world maybe a fallen angel

,but he has us there ! We

were as clean , so far as my observation goes,

CONDESCENSION I N FOREIGNERS 3 1 3

I th ink we were cleaner,morally and physical ly,

than the English, and therefore, of course, thaneverybody el se . But we did not pronounce thediphthong ou as they did, and we said eether

and not eyther , following therein the fashion ofour ancestors

,who unhapp i ly could bring over

no Engl ish better than Shakespeare ’ s ; and wedid not stammer as they had learned to do fromthe courtiers

,who in this way flattered the

H anoverian king,a foreigner among the peo

pl e he had come to reign over. Worse thanall

,we might have the noblest ideas and the

fin est sentiments in the world,but we vented

them through that organ by wh ich men are l edrather than leaders

,though some physiologists

would persuade us that Nature furn ishes hercaptains with a fin e handle to their faces, thatOpportun ity may get a good purchase on themfor dragging them to the front .This state of things was so painful that ex

cel len t people were not wanting who gave theirwhole genius to reproducing here the originalBull, whe ther by gaiters, the cu t of their whiskers, by a factitious brutali ty in their tone, orby an accent that wa s forever tripping and falling fla t over the tangled roots of our commontongue . Martyrs to a false ideal

,i t never oc

curred to them that nothing is more hatefu lto gods and men than a second-rate Englishman, and for the very reason that this planet

3 1 4 CONDESCENSION I N FOREIGNERS

never produced a more splendid creature thanthe first-rate one, witness Shakespeare and theI ndian Mutiny . Witness that truly sublimeself-abnegation of those prisoners lately amongthe bandits of Greece

,where average men gave

an example of qu iet forti tude for wh ich all thestoicism of antiquity can show no match . Witness the wreck of the Birkenhead

,an example

of disciplined heroism, perhaps the most pre

cious , as the rarest, of all . I f we could contrive to be not too unobtrus ively our simpleselves

, we should be the most delightful ofhuman beings

,and the most original ; whereas,

when the plating of Anglicism rubs off,as it

’

always will in points that come to much wear

,we

are liable to very unpleasing conj ectures aboutthe quality of the metal underneath . Perhapson e reason why the average Bri ton spreadshimself here with such an easy air of superiority may be owing to the fact that he mee tswith so many bad imitations as to concludehimself the only real thing in a wilderness ofshams . H e fancies himself moving through anendless Bloomsbury

,where his mere apparition

confers honor as an avatar of the court-endof the universe . Not a Bull of them all butis persuaded he bears Europa upon h is back .

Th is is the sort of fellow whose patronage isso divertingly in sufierable . Thank Heaven heis not the only specimen of cater-cousinship


3 1 6 CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS

for their cackle . Such men as Agassiz, Guyot,and Goldwin Smith come with gifts in theirhands ; but since it is commonly Europeanfai lures who bring hither their remarkable giftsand acquirements, this View of the case is sometimes just the least b it in the world provoking .

To think what a delicious seclu sion of contemptwe enj oyed til l California and our own ostentatiouspa rvenus, flinging gold away in Europe thatm ight have endowed libraries at home

,gave u s

the il l repute of riches What a shabby downfall from the Arcadia which the French offi cersof our Revolutionary War fancied they saw herethrough Rousseau—tinted spectacles ! Something of Arcadia there really was

,someth ing of

the O ld Age ; and that divine provincialismwere cheaply repurchased could we have it backagain in exchange for the tawdry upholsterythat has taken its place .For some reason or other

,the European has

rarely been able to see America except in carica tu re . Would the first Review of the worldhave printed the n ia iser ies of M . Maurice Sandas a picture of society in any civi lized country ?M . Sand, to be sure, has inherited nothing ofh is famous mother ’s l iterary ou tfit, except thepseudonym . But since the conductors of theRevue could not have publ ished his story because it wa s clever, they must have thoughtit valuable for its tru th . As true as the last

CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS 3 1 7

century Englishman ’ s picture of Jean CrapaudWe do not ask to be sprinkled with rosewater,but may perhaps fairly protest against beingdrenched with the rinsings of an unclean imagin a tion . The next time the Revue allows suchill-bred persons to throw their slops out of itsfirst-floor windows, let it honestly preface thedischarge with a g a re l

’

ea u that we may runfrom under in season . And M . Duvergier deH aura n n e, who knows how to be entertaining !I know that lo Fra ufa is est p lutot iua

’iscret gue

confia ut, and the pen slides too easily when indiscretions will fetch so much a page ; but shouldwe not have been ta ut-soit-peu more cauti oushad we been wri ting about people on the otherside of the Channel ? But then it is a fact inthe natural history of the American

,long famil

iar to Europeans,that he abhors privacy

,knows

not the m eaning of reserve, l ives in hotels because of their greater publ icity

,and is never so

pleased as when h is domestic affairs (if he maybe said to have any) are paraded in the newspapers . Barnum

,it is well known

,represents

perfectly the average national sentiment in thisrespect. However it be

,we are not treated l ike

other people,or perhaps I should say like

people who are ever likely to be met with insocie ty .

I s it in the climate ? E ither I have a falsenotion of European manners, or else the atmo

3 1 8 CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS

sphere affects them strangely when exportedh ither . Perhaps they sufl

'

er from the sea voyagelike some of the more delicate wines . Duringour civil war an English gentleman of theh ighest description wa s kind enough to callupon m e

,

'

m a in ly, as it seemed, to inform mehow entirely he sympathized with the Confedera tes, and how sure he felt that we could neversubdue them

,they were the gentlem en of

the country,you know .

” Another,the first

greetings hardly over,asked me how I accounted

for the universal meagreness ofmy countrymen .

To a thinner man than I , or from a stouterman than he

,the question m ight have been of

fensive . The Marquis of H a rtingtonI wore a

secession badge at a public ball in New York .

I n a civil ized country he migh t have beenroughly handled ; but here , where the hienséa noesare not so well understood

,of course nobody

minded it. A French traveller told me hehad been a good deal in the British colonies

,

and had been astonished to see how soon thepeopl e became Americanized . H e added, with

1 On e of Mr. Lincoln’ s neatest strokes of hum or was histreatment of this gentleman when a laudable curiosity inducedhim to be presented to the Pres ident of the Broken Bubble .

Mr . Lincoln persisted in calling him Mr . Partington . Surelythe refin em en t of good breeding could go no filrther . Givingthe young man his real name ( al ready notorious in the newspapers ) would have made his visit an insult . Had Henri I V .

done this, it would have been famous .



verse of th is generation . And T. H . , the meregrasp of whose manly h and carries with it thepledge of frankness and friendsh ip

,of an abid

ing simplicity of nature as affecting as it is rare !The fin e

’

old Tory aversion of former timeswa s not hard to bear. There was somethingeven refreshing in it

,as in a northeaster to a

hardy temperament . When a British parson,

travelling in Newfou ndl a n d while the slash ofour separation wa s still raw, after prophesyinga glorious future for an island that continuedto dry its fish under the aegis of Saint George

,

glances disdainfully over h is spectacles in parting at the U . S . A. , and forebodes for them aspeedy relapse into barbarism

,

” now that theyhave madly cut themselves of? from the humanizing influ en ces of Britain

,I sm i le with barbarian

self-conce it . But this kind of thing became bydegrees an unpleasant anachronism . For meanwhi le the young giant was growing, was beginning indeed to feel tight in his clothes

,was

obliged to let in a gore here and there in Texas,

i n Cal ifornia,in New Mexico

,in Alaska

,and

had the scissors and needle and thread readyfor Canada when the time came . H is shadowloomed l ike a Brocken-spectre over againstEurope

,the shadow of what they were com

ing to,that was the unpl easant part of it . Even

in su ch . m isty image as they had of him ,it was

painfully evident that his clothes were not of

CONDESCENSION I N FOREIGNERS 32 1

any cut hitherto fashionable,nor conce ivable by

a Bond Street tai lor,— and th is in an age

,too,

when everyth ing depends upon clothes,when,

if we do n o t keep up appearances,the seem ing

solid frame of th is universe,nay

,your very God,

would slump into himself,l ike a mockery king

of snow,being nothing

,after all

,but a prevai l

ing mode,

'a make-believe of believing. Fromth is moment the young giant assumed the re

spectab le aspect of a phenomenon, to be got ridof if poss ible

,but a t any rate as legitimate a

subj ect of human study as the glacial period orthe silurian what-d ’

ye—call-ems . I f the man of

the primeval drift—heaps be so absorb ingly interes ting

, why not the man of the drift that is justbeginning

,of the drift into whose irres istible

current we a re j ust being sucked whether wewil l

'

or no ? I f I were in their place,I confess

I should not be frightened . Man has survivedso much

,and contrived to be comfortable on

this planet after surviving so much I am someth ing of a protestant in matters of governmentalso

,and am wi ll ing to get rid of vestments and

ceremon ies and to come down to bare benches,

if only faith in God take the place of a generalagreement to profess confiden ce in ritual andsham . Every mortal man of u s holds stock inthe only public debt that is absolute ly sure ofpayment

,and that is the debt of the Maker

of this Universe to the Universe he has made .

3 22 CONDESCENSION IN FORE I GNERS

I have no notion of sell ing out my share s ina pan ic .I t was something to have advanced even to

the dign i ty of a phenomenon, and yet I do notknow that the re lation of the individual Ame rican to the individual European was bettered byit ; and that, after all, must adjust itself comfortab ly before there can be a right understanding between the two . We had been a desert

,

we became a museum . People came hither forscien tific and not social ends . The very cockney could not complete his education withouttaking a vacant stare at u s in passing . But thesociologists (I think they call themselves so)were the hardest to bear . There wa s no escape .I have even known a professor of this fearfulscience to come d isguised in petticoats . Wewere cross—examined as a chemist cross-examinesa new substance . Human ? yes, all the e lementsare present

,though abnormally combined . C iv

il ized ? Hm ! that needs a stricter assay . Noentomologist could take a more friendly interestin a strange bug . After a few such experiences,I, for one, have fe l t as if I were merely one ofthose horrid things preserved in spirits (andvery bad spirits

,too) in a cabinet . I wa s not the

fe llow being of these explorers : I was a curiosity ; I wa s a specim en . Hath not an Americanorgans, dimensions, senses , affections, passions,even as a European ha th P I f you prick us, do


3 24 CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS

generation to generation with the chaos aroundthem . That is precise ly the battle wh ich theEnglish race on this continent has been pushingdoughtily forward for two centuries and a half.D oughtily and silently, for you cannot hear inEurope that crash

,the death-song of the per

fect tree, that has been going on here fromsturdy father to sturdy son, and making thiscontinent habitable for the weaker O ld Worldbreed that has swarmed to it during the lasthalf centu ry . I f ever men did a good strokeof work on this planet

,i t was the forefathers of

those whom you are wondering whether it wouldnot be prudent to acknowledge as far-off cousins . Alas

,man of genius, to whom we owe

so much,could you see nothing m ore than

the burning of a foul chimney in that clash ofMichael and Satan which flam ed up under yourvery eyes PBefore our war we were to Europe but a huge

mob of adventurers and shopkeepers . LeighHunt expressed it well enough when he saidthat he could never think of America withoutseeing a gigantic counter stretched all along theseaboard . And Leigh Hunt, without knowingit,had been more than half Americanized

,too

Feuda l ism had by degrees made commerce, thegreat civi l izer

,contemptible . But a tradesman

with sword on thigh and very prompt of strokewa s not only redoubtable

,he had become re


spectab le also . Few people, I suspect, alludedtwice to a needle in S ir John H awkwood

’

s pre

sence,after that doughty fighter had exchanged

it for a more dangerous tool of the same metal .D emocracy had been h itherto only a ludicrouseffort to reverse the laws of nature by thru stingCleon into the place of Pericles . But a democracy that could fight for an abstraction, whosemembers held life and goods cheap comparedw ith that larger l ife which we call country

,was

n ot merely unheard of, but portentous . I t wa sthe nightmare of the O ld World taking uponitse lf flesh and blood

,turning out to be sub

stance and not dream . S ince the Norman crusader clanged down upon the throne of the

porphy ro-gen iti, carefully draped appearances

had never received such a shock,had never been

so rudely called on to produce the ir titles tothe empire of the world . Authority has had itsperiods not unlike those of geology

,and at last

comes Man claiming kingship in right of hismere manhood . The world of the Sauriansmight be i n some respects more p icturesque, butthe march of events is inexorable, and that worldis bygone .The young giant had certainly got out oflong clothes . H e had become the enfa nt terr ibleof the human household . I t was not and willnot be easy for the world (especial ly for ourBrit ish cousins) to look upon u s as grown up .

3 26 CONDESCENSION I N FORE I GNERS

The youngest of nations, i ts people must also beyoung and to be treated accordingly

, wa s thesyllogism

,as if l ibraries did not make all na

tions equally old in all those respects,at least

,

where age is an advantage and not a defect .Youth

,no doubt

,has its good qualities

,as people

fee l who are los ing it, but boyishness is anotherthing . We had been somewhat boyish as a nation

,a l ittle loud

,a l ittle pushing

,a little brag

gart . But might it not partly have been becausewe felt that we had certain claims to respect thatwere not admitted ? The war which establ ishedour position as a Vigorous nationality has alsosobered us . A nation, like a man, cannot lookdeath in the eye for four years without somestrange reflection s

,without arriving at some

clearer consciousness of the stuff i t is made of,

withou t some great moral change . Such achange

,or the beginning of it

,no observant per

son can fail to see here . Our thought and ourpolitics

, our bearing as a people, are assuminga manlier tone . We have been compe l led to seewhat wa s weak in democracy as well as what wa sstrong . We have begun obscurely to recognizethat things do not go of themselves, and thatpopular government is not in itself a panacea

,is

no better than any other form except as the V irtue and wisdom of the people make it so , andthat when men undertake to do their own k ingship, they enter upon the dangers and responsi


3 28 CONDESCENSION I N FOREIGNERS

and wh ich wil l demonstrate itself,let u s hope

,

in the character of the people . Outsiders canonly be expected to judge a nation by theamount it has contributed to the civilization ofthe world ; the amount, that is, that can be seenand handled . A great place in history can onlybe achieved by competitive examinations

,n ay,

by a long course of them . How much n ew

thought have we contributed to the commonstock ? Till that question can be triumphantlyanswered

,or needs no answer

,we must continue

to be simply interesting as an experiment, to bestudied as a problem

,and not respected as an

attained result or an accomplished solution .

Perhaps,as I have hinted

,their patronizing

manner toward u s is the fair resul t of the ir failing to see here anything more than a poorimitation

,a plaster cast of Europe . And a re

they not partly right ? I f the tone of the u n

cultivated American has too often the arroganceof the barbarian

,is not that of the cultivated

as often vulgarly apologetic ? I n the Americathey meet with is there the simplici ty, the manl in ess, the absence of sham,

the sincere humannature

,the sensitiveness to duty and implied

obligation,that in any way distingu ishes u s

from what our orators call the efi'

ete civil ization of the O ld World ” P I s there a politicianamong u s daring enough (except a Dana hereand there) to risk his futu re on the chance of

CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS 329

our keeping our word with the exactness ofsupersti tious communities l ike England ? I s itcertain that we shall be ashamed of a bankruptcyof honor, if we can only keep the letter of ourbond ? I hope we shall be able to answer allthese questions with a frank y es . At any rate

,

we would advise our Vis itors that we a re notmerely curious creatures

,but be long to the

family of man, and that, as indiv iduals, we arenot to be always subj ected to the competitiveexamination above mentioned

,even if we a c

knowledged the ir competence as an examin ingboard . Above all, we beg them to rememberthat America

~

is not to u s,as to them

,a mere

obj ect of external interest to be discussed andanalyzed

,but in u s

,part of our very marrow .

Le t them not suppose that we conce ive of ourselves as exiles from the graces and amenitiesof an older date than we, though very much athome in a state of things not yet al l i t m ight beor should be

,but wh ich we mean to make so

,

and which we find both wholesome and pleasant for men (though perhaps not for di letta n ti)to l ive in . The full tide of human existence ”

may be fe l t here as keenly as Johnson fe l t i t atCharing Cross

,and in a larger sense . I know

one person who is singu lar enough to thinkCambridge the very best spot on the habitableglobe . D oubtless God could have made abetter

,but doubtless he never did .

”


I t wil l take England a great while to get overher airs of patronage toward us, or even passablyto conceal them . She cannot he lp confoundingthe people with the country, and regarding u s

as lusty juven iles . She has a conviction thatwhatever good there is in u s is wholly English

,

when the truth is that we are worth nothingexcept so far as we have disinfected ourselvesof Anglicism . She is especial ly condescendingjust now

,and lavishes sugar-plums on u s as if

we had not outgrown them . I am no believerin sudden conversions

,especially in sudden

conversions to a favorable opinion of peoplewho have just proved you to be mistaken injudgment and therefore unwise in policy . Inever blamed her for not wishing well to dem ocra cy, how should she ?— but Alabamasare not wishes . Let her not be too hasty inbelieving M r. Reverdy Johnson

’ s pleasantwords . Though there is no thoughtful man inAmerica who would not consider a wa r withEngland the greatest of calamitie s

,yet the feel

ing toward her here is very far from cordial,

whatever our Min ister may say in the effusionthat come s after ample din ing . M r. Adams,with his famous My Lord

,this means war,

”

perfectly represented his country . Justly ornot, we have a feeling that we have beenwronged

,not merely insu lted . The only sure


3 32 CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS

We know that perfectly well . But pray,when

we look to be treated as men,don’ t shake that

rattle in our faces,nor talk baby to u s any

longer .Do, child, go to it grandam, chi ld ;Give grandam kingdom, and it gran damGive it a plum, a cherry, and a fig l

”

A GOOD WORD FOR WINTER


336 A GOOD WORD FOR WINTER

s ingular charm for many minds,especially in

the country . There is someth ing touching in theconstancy with which men attend free lectures

,

and in the honest patience with wh ich theyl is ten to them . H e who pays may yawn orshift testily in his seat, or even go out with anawfii l reverberation of critici sm,

for he hasbought the right to do any or all of these andpaid for it . But gratu itous hearers are a n aesthetized to suffering by a sense of virtue . Theyare performing perhaps the noblest

,as it is one

of the most diffi cu lt, of human functions ingetting Something (no matter how small) forNothing . They are not pestered by the awfulduty of securing their money ’s worth . Theyare wasting time

,to do which elegantly and

without lassi tude is the h ighest achievement ofcivil ization . I f they are cheated, i t is, at worst,only of a superfluous hour which wa s rottingon their hands . Not only is mere amusementmade more piquant

,but instruction more pal

atable,by this universally relished sauce of

gratuity . And if the philosophic observer findsan obj ect of agreeable contemplation in theaudience

,as they l isten to a discourse on the

probabil ity of making missionaries go downb etter with the Feej ee-I slanders by balancingthe hymn-book in one pocket with a bottle ofWorcestershire in the other, or to a plea forarming the female gorilla with the ballot, he

A GOOD WORD FOR WINTER 3 37

also takes a friendly interest in the lecturer, andadmire s the wise economy of Nature who thuscontrives an ample fie ld of hones t labor for herbores . Even when the insidious hat is passedround after one of these eleemosynary feasts

,

the rel ish is but heightened by a conscientiousrefusal to dis turb the satisfaction ’ s completenesswith the rattle of a single contributory penny .

So firm ly persuaded am I of th is gra tis-instinctin our common humanity that I bel ieve I couldfil l a house by advertising a free lecture onTupper considered as a ph ilosophic poe t

,or on

my personal recollections of the late James K.

Polk . This being so, I have some times wondered that the peep-shows which Nature provides with such endless varie ty for her ch ildren

,

and to which we are adm itted on the bare condition of hav ing eyes

,should be so generally

neglected . To be sure, eyes are not so commonas people think, or poets would be plen tier,and perhaps also these exhibitions of hers arecheapened in estimation by the fact that in en

j oy ing them we are not getting the better ofanybody else . Your true lovers of nature

,how

ever,contrive to get even ’

this solace andWordsworth

,look ing upon mountains as his

own peculiar sweethearts,wa s j ealous of any

body else who ventured upon even the mostinnocent flirta tion wi th them . As if sueh fellows,indeed

,cou ld pretend to that nicer sense of


what—d ’

ye-call-it which wa s so remarkable in

h im Marry come up Mountains,no doubt

,

may 1n sp1re a profounder and more exclusivepassion, but on the whole I am not sorry to havebeen born and bred among more domesticscenes

,where I can be hospitable without a

pang . I am going to ask you presently to takepotluck with me at a board where Winter shallsupply whatever there is of cheer .I think the old fellow has h itherto had scantjustice done h im in the main . We make himthe symbol of old age or death

,and think we

have settled the matter . As ifo ld age were neverkindly as well as frosty as if i t had no reverendgraces of its own as good in their way as thenoisy impertinence of childhood

,the elbowing

self-conceit of you th, or the pompous mediocrity of middle life ! As if there were anythingd iscreditable in death, or nobody had ever longedfor it Supposewe grant that Winter is the sleepof the year

,what then P I take it upon me to

say that his dreams are fin er than the best realityof his waking rivals .

Sleep, Silence’ child, the father of soft Rest, ”

is a very agreeab le acquaintance,and most of us

are better employed in h is company than anywhere else . For my own part, I th ink Wintera pretty wide-awake old boy

,and his b lufl

'

sincerity and hearty ways are more congenial to



but,like a truly great one as he is

,he brings

you down to your bare manhood, and bids youunderstand him out of that

,with no adven ti

tious helps of association, or he will none ofyou . H e does not touch those melancholychords on which Autumn is as great a master asH eine . Well, is there no such thing as thrumm ing on them and maundering over them tillthey get out of tune, and you wish some manlyhand would crash through them and leave themdangling brokenly forever PTake W inter as youfind him ,

and he turns out to be a thoroughlyhonest fe llow

,with no nonsense in him

,and

tolerating none in you ,which is a great comfort

in the long run . H e is not what they call agenial critic ; but bring a real man along withyou

,and you wil l find there is a crabbed gen

erosity about the old cynic that you would notexchange for all the creamy concessions ofAutumn . Season ofm ists and mellow fruitfulness

,

”

quo tha P That’ s just it ; Winter soon

blows your head clear of fog and makes yousee things as they are I thank him for it ! Thetru th is, be tween ourselves, I have a very goodOpinion of the whole family, who always welcome me without making me feel as if I weretoo much of a poor relation . There ought tobe some kind of distance, never so l ittle, youknow

,to give the true relish . They are as good

company,the worst of them, as any I know, and


I am not a little flattered by a condescensionfrom any one of them ; but I happen to holdWinter’ s re tainer, this time, and, like an honestadvocate

,am bound to make as good a show

ing as I can for him,even if it cost a few slurs

upon the rest of the househo ld . Moreover,Winter is coming, and one wou ld like to get onthe bl ind side of h im .

The love of Nature in and for herself,or as

a mirror for the moods of the mind,is a mod

ern th ing. The flee ing to her as an escape fromman was brought into fashion by Rousseau ; forhis prototype Petrarch

,though he had a taste

for pretty scenery, had a true antique horror forthe grander aspects of nature . H e got once tothe top of Mont Ventoux

,but it is very plain

that he did not enj oy it. Indeed,i t is only

with in a centu ry or so that the search after the

picturesque has been a safe employment . I t isnot so even now in Greece or Southern I taly .

Where the Anglo-Saxon carves h is cold fowl,

and leaves the relics of his picnic,the ancient

or m edimva l man m ight be pretty confiden t

that some rufli a n would try the edge of h is knifeon a chicken of the Platon ic sort

,and leave more

precious bones as an offe ring to the gen ius of theplace . The ancients were certainly more socialtha nwe

,though tha t,perhaps,wa s n a tura l en ough,

when a good part of the world wa s still coveredwith forest . They huddled together in cities as

34 2 A GOOD WORD FOR WINTER

well for safety as to keep their minds warm .

The Romans had a fondness for country l ife,

but they had fin e roads,and Rome wa s always

within easy reach . The author of the Book ofJob is the earl iest I know ofwho showed any

profound sense of the moral meaning of the outward world ; and-. I think none has approachedhim since

,though Wordsworth comes nearest

with the first two books of the Prelude . But theirfeeling is not precisely of the kind I speak of asmodern

,and which gave rise to what is called

descriptive poetry . Chaucer opens his Clerk ’sTale with a bit of landscape admirable for itslarge s ty le, and as well composed as any Claude .

There is right at the west end of I ta ille,Down at the root ofV esulus the cold,A lusty plain abundant of vitaille,Where many a tower and town thou mayst behold,That founded were in time of fathers old,And many an o ther delectable sight ;And Sélucés this noble country hight . ”

What an airy precision of touch there is here,

and what a sure eye for the points of characterin landscape ! But the picture is altogether subsidiary . No doubt the works of Salvator Rosaand Gaspar Poussin show that there must havebeen some amateur taste for the grand and terrible in scenery but the British poet Thomsonsweet-souled is Wordsworth ’ s apt word) was

the first to do with words what they had done



so dear,i t could not have been much better in

the city,to judge by M énage ’ s warning against

the danger of our dressing-gowns taking fire,

while we cuddle too closely ove r the sparingblaze . The poet of Winter himself is said tohave written in bed

,with his hand through a

hole in the blanket ; and we may suspect thatit was the warmth quite as much as the companythat first drew men together at the cofi

’

ee-house .Coleridge

,in January

,1 800, writes to Wedge

wood : I am sitting by a fire in a rug greatcoat . I t is most barbarously cold

,and

you,I fear

,can shield yourself from it only by

perpetual imprisonment .” This thermometrical

View ofWinter is,I grant

,a depressing one for

I think there is nothing so demoralizing as cold .

I know of a boy who,when h is father

,a bitter

economist, wa s brought home dead, said onlyNow we can burn as much wood as we l ike .I would not off-hand prophesy the gallows forthat boy . I remember with a shudder a pinchI got from the cold once in a rai lroad-car . Aborn fanatic of fresh air

,I found myself glad

to see the windows hermetically sealed by thefreezing vapor of our breath

,and plotted the

assassination of the conductor every time heopened the door. I felt myself sensibly barbarizing, and would have shared Colonel Jack

’sbed in the ash-hole of the glass-furnace witha grateful heart . S ince then I have had more

A GOOD WORD FOR WINTER 345

chari ty for the prevailing ill opinion of Winter .I t was natural enough that Ovid should measure the years of his exile in Pontu s by the number of winters .

Ut sum us in Ponto, ter fii gore con stiti t Ister,Facta est Euxin i dura ter unda maris :

Thrice hath the cold bound Ister fast, since IIn Pontus was, thrice Euxine ’ s wave made hard .

Jubin a l has printed an Anglo-Norman piece ofdoggere l in which Winter and Summer dispute which is the better man . I t is not withouta kind of rough and inchoate humor

,and I like

i t because old Wh i tebeard gets tolerably fairplay . The j olly old fellow boasts of h is rate ofl iving

,with that contempt of poverty which is

the weak spot in the burly English nature .

]a Dieu n e place que m e avyen ge

Que n e face plus honourEt plus despenz en uh soul jourQue vus en tote vostre vie :

Now God forbid it hap to m e

That I make not more grea t display,An d spend more in a single dayThan you can do in all your l ife .

The best touch,perhaps

,13 Winter’ s claim for

credi t as a mender of the highways,wh ich was

not without point when every road in Europewas a quagmire during a good part of the yearunless it wa s bottomed on some remains of R0man engineering .

GOOD WORD FOR WINTER

Je su, fet-i], seignur et mestreEt Pi bon droit le dey estre,Quant de la bowe face caucé

Par um pe ti t de geele

Master and lord I am , says he ,And oi' good right so ought to be,Since I make causeys, safely crost,Of mud, with just a pinch of frost .

But there is no recognition of Winter as thebest of out-door company .

’

Even Emerson,an open-air man

,and a

bringer of it,if ever any

,confesses

,

The h'ost-king ties my fumbling feet,Sings in my ear, my hands are stones,Curdles the blood to the marble bones,Tugs at the heartstrings, numbs the sense,And hems in life with narrowing fence .

”

Winter was l iterally the inverted year,as

Thomson called him ; for such entertainmentsas could be had mus t be got within doors . Whatcheerfulness there wa s in brumal verse was thatof H orace ’s dissolve fr igus l igna super fooo la rge( epoueus, so pleasantly associated with the cleverest scene in Roderick Random .

” This is the

Mais vous Yver, trop estes plainDe n ége , vent, pluye, e grézil ;

Ou vous deust bannir en exil ;Sans point Hater, je parle plain ,Yver vous n ’ estes qu ’nn vilain .



A rural, sheltered, solitary scene,Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers joinTo cheer the gloom . There studious let m e sit

And hold high converse with the mighty dead . ”

Doctor Aken side, a man to be spoken of withre spect, follows Thomson . With him

,too

,

“Winter desolates the year,and

How pleasing wears the win try nightSpent with the old il lustxi ous deadWhile by the taper’ s trembling lightI seem those awful scenes to treadWhere chiefs or legislators lie, ” etc .

Aken side had evidently been reading Thomson . H e had the conceptions of a great poetw ith less faculty than many a little one

,and is

one of those versifiers of whom it is enough tosay that we are always will ing to break h im ofl"

in the middle (as I have ventured to do) withan etc . , well knowing that what follows is butthe coming—round again of what went before

,

marching in a circle with the cheap numerosityof a stage army . I n truth, i t is no wonder thatthe short days of that cloudy northern climateshould have added to Winter a gloom borrowedof the mind . We hardly know

,til l we have

experienced the contrast,how sensibly our win

ter is alleviated by the longer daylight and thepe llucid atmosphere . I once spent a winter inD resden

,a southern climate compared with

England,and really almost lost my respect for


the sun when I saw him groping among thechimney-pots oppos ite my windows as he described h is impoverished a re in the sky . Theenforced seclusion of the season makes it thetime for serious s tudy and occupations that demand fix ed incomes of unbroken time . This iswhy Milton said that his vein never happilyflowed but from the autumnal equinox to thevernal, though in his twentieth year he hadwritten , on the return of spring,

Pallor P an et nobis redeun t in carmina viresI ngen ium que mihi m un ere veris adest P

Err I P or do the powers of song returnTo m e, and genius too , the gifts of Spring ?

Goethe,so far as I remember

,was the first

to notice the cheerfulness of snow in sunshine .H is Harz-reise im Winter gives no hint of it,for that is a diluted reminiscence of Greek tragicchoru ses and the Book of Job in nearly equalparts . I n one of the singularly interesting andcharacteristic letters to Frau von Stein, however,written during the j ourney

,he says : I t is

beautiful indeed ; the m ist heaps itself togetherin l ight snow-clouds

,the sun looks through, and

the snow over everything gives back a feel ingof gayety .

” But I find in Cowper the first re

cogni tion of a general amiability i n Winter . Thegentleness of his temper, and the wide chari tyof his sympathies, made it natu ral for h im to


find good in everything except the human heart .A dreadful creed distilled from the darkes tmoments of dyspeptic solitaries compelled himagainst his will to see in tha t the one evil thingmade by a God whose goodness is over all hisworks . Cowper’s two walks in the morning andnoon of a winter’ s day are delightful

,so long as

he contrives to let h imself be happy in the graciousn ess of the landscape . Your mu scles growspringy, and your lungs dilate with the crispair as you walk along with him . You laughwith him at the grotesque shadow of yourlegs lengthened across the snow by the justrisen sun . I know nothing that gives a purerfeeling of outdoor exh ilaration than the easyverses of this escaped hypochondriac . But Cow

per also preferred h is sheltered garden-walk tothose robuster j oys , and b itterly acknowledgedthe depressing influen ce of the darkened year .I n D ecember, 1 780, he writes At this seasonof the year

,and in this gloomy uncomfortab le

climate,i t is no easy matter for the owner of a

m ind like mine to divert i t from sad subj ects,

and to fix i t upon such as may administer to itsamusement .” Or was it because he was writingto the dreadful N ewton P Perhaps his poetrybears tru er witness to his habitual feeling, forit is only there that poets d isenthral themselvesof their reserve and become fully possessed oftheir greatest charm

,the power of being



0 Winter, ruler of the inverted year,Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes filled,Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeksFringed with a beard made White with other snowsThan those of age , thy forehead wrapt in clouds,A leafless branch thy sceptre , and thy throneA sli ding car, indebted to no Wheels,But urged by storms along its slippery way ,

I love thee all unlovely as thou seem ’st,

And dreaded as thou art Thou hold’ st the sunA prisoner in the yet undawning east,Shortening his journey between morn and noon,And hurrying him, impatient of his stay ,Down to the rosy west, but kindly stillCompensating his loss with added hoursOf social converse and instructive ease ,And gathering at short notice , in on e group,The family dispersed , and fix in g thought,Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares .I crown thee king of intimate delights,Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happine ss ,And all the comforts that the lowly roofOf undisturbed Retirement, and the hoursOf lon g uninterrupted evening know .

”

I call this a good hum a n bit of writing, imagin a tive , too,

‘—not so flu shed, not soh ighfaluting (let me dare the odious word asthe modern sty le since poets have got hold of atheory that imagination is common sense turnedinside out

,and not common sense sublimed,

but wholesome,masculine

,and strong in the

s implicity of a mind wholly occupied with itstheme . To me Cowper is still the best of our


descriptive poets for every-day wear . And whatunobtrusive sk ill he has ! How he heightens,for example , your sense of winter evening se

elusion,by the twanging horn of the postman

on the bridge ! That horn has rung in myears ever since I first heard it

,during the con

sulate of the second Adams . Wordsworthstrikes a

‘

deeper note ; but does it not sometimes come over one (just the least in the world)that one would give a nyth ing for a bit of naturepure and simple

,without quite so strong a fla

vor ofW . W.P W . W . is, of course , subl ime

and all that but For my part,I wil l make

a clean breast of it, and confess that I can’ t look

at a mountain without fancying the late laureate ’ s gigantic Roman nose thrust between meand it

,and thinking of D ean Swift’ s profane

version of Rom a nos rerum a'om iuos into Rom a n

nose I a ra re uh dom y our nose But do I judgeverses

,then

,by the impression made on me

by the man who wrote them P Not so fast, my

good fri end, but, for good or evil, the characterand its intellectual product are inextricably interfused .

I f I remember aright,Wordsworth himself

(except in his m agn ificen t skating—scene in thePrelude) has not much to say for winter outof doors . I cannot recal l any p ictu re by h imof a snow-storm . The reason may poss ibly bethat in the Lake Country even the winter


storms bring rain rather than snow . H e wasthankful for the Christmas Vis its of Crabb Robinson

,because they helped him through the

winter . H is only hearty praise of Winter iswhen

,as Général Février, he defeats the

French

Humanity, delighting to beholdA fond reflection of her own decay,Hath pain ted Winter like a traveller old,Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day,In hooded mantle , limping o ’ er the plainAs though his weakness were disturbed by painOr, if a juster fancy should allowAn undisputed symbol of command,The chosen sceptre is a withered boughI nfirm ly grasped within a withered hand .

These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn ;But mighty Winter the device shall scorn . ”

The Scottish poet Grahame,in h is “ Sab

bath,

” says manfullyNow is the time

To visit Nature in her grand attire

and he has one l ittle picture which n o other'

poet has surpassed

High-ridged the whirled drift has almost reachedThe powdered keystone of the churchyard porchMute hangs the hooded bell ; the tombs lie buried .

Even in our own climate,where the sun shows

his winter face as long and as brightly as incentral I taly

,the seduction of the chimney cor

ner is apt to predominate in the m ind over the



J . H ., one of those choice poets who will not

tarnish their bright fancies by publication, a l

ways insists on a snow-storm as essential to thetrue atmosphere of whist . Mrs . Battles

,in her

famous rule for the game,implies winter

,and

would doubtless have added tempest,if it could

be had for the asking . For a good sol id readalso

,into the small hours

,there is nothing like

that sense of safety against having your evening laid waste, which Euroclydon brings, as hebellows down the chimney

,making your fire

gasp,or rustles snow-flakes against the pane

with a sound more soothing than silence .Emerson, as he is apt to do, not only hit thenail on the head

,but drove it home

,in that

last phrase of the tumul tuous privacy .

”

But I would exchange this, and give something to boot

,for the privilege of walking out

into the vast blur of a north—northeas t snowstorm

,and getting a strong draught on the fur

nace within,by drawing the first furrows through

its sandy drifts . I love those

Noontide twilights which snow makesWith tempest of the blinding flakes . ”

I f the wind veer too much toward the east, youget the heavy snow that gives a true Alpineslope to the boughs of your evergreens, andtraces a ske leton of your elms in white ; butyou mu st have plenty of north in your gale if


you want those driving nettles of frost thatsting the cheeks to a crimson manlier than thatof fire . During the great storm of two wintersago

,the most robustious periwig-pated fe llow

of late years, I waded and floun dered a coupleof miles through the wh ispering n ight, andbrought home that feeling of expansion wehave after be ing in good company .

“ Greatthings doeth H e which we cannot comprehend ;for he saith to the snow, ‘Be thou on theearth .

’

There is excellent snow scenery in Judd ’ sMargaret

,but some one has confisca ted my

copy of that adm irable book, and, perhaps,H omer’ s picture of a snow—storm is the bestyet in its large simplicity :

And as in winter-time, when Jove his cold sharp javelinsthrows

Amongst us mortals, and is moved to Whi te the earth withsnows,

The winds asleep, he freely pours till highest prom in en ts,Hill-tops, low meadows, and the fields that crown withmost contents

The toils of m en , seaports and shores, are hid, and everyplace,

But floods, that fair snow ’ s tender flakes, as their ownbrood, embrace .

”

Chapman,after all

,though he makes very

free with him,comes nearer Homer than any

body e lse . There is noth ing in the original ofthat fair snow’ s tender flakes

,but neither Pope

358 A G OOD WORD FOR WINTER

nor Cowper cou ld get out of their heads thePsalm ist ’ s tender phrase

,I—I e giveth h is snow

like wool, for which also H omer afl'

ords nohint . Pope talks of “ dissolving fleeces,

” andCowper of a “ fleecy mantle .

” But D avid isnobly simple

,wh i le Pope is simply nonsensical

,

and Cowper pretty . I f they must have prettiness

,Martial wou ld have suppl ied them with it

in h is

Densum tacitarum vellus aquarum ,

wh ich is too pretty, though I fear it wou ld have

pleased D r. D onne . Eu sta thius of Thessalon ica calls snow 1380171 e

’

p1’

018es, woolly water, whicha poor old French poet, Godeau, has am pl ifiedinto this

Lorsque la fi'oidure inhumaineDe leur verd ornement depouill e les foretsSous un e neige épaisse il couvre les guérets,Et la neige a pour eux la chaleur de la laine .

I n th is,as in Pope

’s Vers ion of the passage inHomer

,there is

,at least

,a sort of suggestion

of snow—storm in the bl inding drift of words .But

,on the whole

,if one would know what

snow is, I should advise h im not to hunt upwhat the poets have said about it

,but to look

at the sweet miracle itself.The pre ludings of Winter are as beautifu l asthose of Spring. I n a gray D ecember day,when

,as the farmers say

,i t is too cold to snow,



to come back, here is an earth that would notbruise her foot nor stam 1t . I t is

The fanned snowThat ’ s bolted by the northern blasts twice o

’er

( Sofii a ta e stretta dai venti Schi avi ) ,Winnowed and packed by the Sclavon ian winds,

packed so hard sometimes on h il l-slopes thati t will hear your weight . What grace is in al lthe curves, as if every one of them had beenswept by that inspired thumb of Phidia s

’

s j ourneyman !Poets have fancied the footprints of the wind

in those l ight ripples that sometimes scurryacross smooth water with a sudden blur . Buton this gleaming hush the aerial de luge has left

plain marks of its course and in gull ies throughwhich it rushed torrent-l ike

,the eye finds i ts

bed irregu larly scooped like that of a brook inhard beach-sand

, or, in more sheltered spots,traced with outlines like those left by the sliding edges of the surf upon the shore . The air,after all

,is only an infin ite ly thinner kind of

water,such as I suppose we shall have to drink

when the s tate does her whole duty as a moralreformer . Nor is the wind the only thing whosetrail you will notice on this sens itive surface .You will find that you have more ne ighborsand night V isi tors than you dreamed of. H ereis the dainty footprint of a cat ; here a dog haslooked in on you like an amateur watchman to


A GOOD WORD FOR W I NTER 36 1

see if all is right,slumping clumsily about in

the mealy treachery . And look ! before youwere up in the morning

,though you were a

punctual courtier at the sun ’ s levee,here has

been a squ irre l zigzagging to and fro l ike ahound gathering the scent

,and some tiny bird

searching for un imaginable food,

- perhaps forthe tin ier creatu re

,whatever it i s

,that drew this

slender continuous trai l like those made on thewet beach by light borderers of the sea . Theearl iest autographs were as frail as these . Poseidon traced h is l ines

,or giant birds made their

mark,on preadamite sea-margins ; and the

thunder—gust left the tear-stains of its suddenpassion there ; nay, we have the signatures ofdel ica test fern-leaves on the soft ooze of aeonsthat dozed away their dreamless le isure beforeconsciousness came upon the earth with man .

Some whim of Nature locked them fast in stonefor us afterthoughts of creation . Wh ich of u sshall leave a footprint as imperishable as thatof the ornithorhynchus

,or much more so than

that of these Bedou ins of the snow—desert P

Perhaps it wa s only because the ripple and therain-drop and the bird were not thinking ofthemse lves

,that they had such luck . The

chances of immortali ty depend very much onthat . How often have we not seen poor mortals, dupes of a season

’s notoriety,carving their

names on seeming—solid rock of merest beach


sand,whose feeble hold on memory shall be

washed away by the next wave of fickle opinion ! Well, well, honest Jacques, there are better th ings to be found in the snow than sermons .The snow that falls damp comes commonlyin larger flakes from windless skies

,and is the

pretties t of all to watch from under cover .This is the kind Homer had in mind ; andD ante

,who had never read him

,compares the

a’

i la ta tefa la’e, the flaring flakes

,of h is fiery rain,

to those of snow among the mountains withoutWind . This sort of snow-fall has no fight in it,and does not challenge you to a wrestle l ike thatwhich drives well from the northward

,with all

moisture thoroughly Winnowed out of it by thefrosty wind . Burns

,who was more out of doors

than most poets,and whose barefoot Muse got

the color l n her cheeks by Vigorous exercise inal l weathers

,was thinking of this drier deluge,

when he speaks of the“ whirling drift

,

” andtells how

ChanticleerShook oil" the powthery snaw .

’

But the damper and more deliberate falls havea choice knack at draping the trees ; and abouteaves or s tone walls

,wherever

,indeed, the

evaporation is rapid, and it finds a chance tocling

,i t will build itself out in curves of won

derfii l beauty . I have even one of these dumb



Philips, who really loved Natu re and yet likedher to be mighty fin e

,as Pepys would say

,with

a heightening of powder and rouge

And yet but lately have I seen e ’ en hereThe winter in a lovely dress appear.

Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,

Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow,

At evening a keen eastern breeze arose ,And the descending rain unsulli ed froze .

Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,

The ruddy noon disclosed at once to viewThe face of Nature in a rich disguise,And brightened every object to my eyes ;For every shrub, and every blade of grass ,And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass ;In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show,

And through the ice the crimson berries glow ;The thick-sprung reeds, which watery marshes yield,Seem polished lances in a hostile field;The stag in limpid currents with surpriseSees crystal branches on his forehead rise ;The spreading oak, the beech, the towering pine,Glazed over in the freezing ether shine ;The fi'ighted birds the rattling branches shun ,Which wave and gli tter in the di stant sun ,When, if a sudden gust of wind arise,The brittle forest into atoms flie s,The crackling wood beneath the tempest bendsAnd in a spangled shower the prospect ends . ”

I t is not uninstructive to see how tolerableAmbrose is

,so long as he sticks manfully to

what he really saw . The moment he undertakesto improve on Nature he sinks into the mere


court poet,and we surrender him to the jea l

ousy of Pope without a s igh . His rattl ingbranches

,

” crackling wood,

” and crimson berries glowing through the ice are good

,as tru th

always is after a fashion but what shall we sayof that dreadful stag wh ich, there is l ittle doubt,he valued above all the rest

,because it was

purely h is own ?The damper snow tempts the amateur architeet and sculptor . His Pente l icus has beenbrought to h is very door

,and if there a re boys

to be had (whose company beats all other recipes for prolonging life) a m iddle-aged Masterof the Works will knock the years off his a ccount and make the family B ible seem a dealerin fool ish fables

,by a few hours given heartily

to th is business . First comes the Sisyphean toi lof rolling the clammy balls til l they refuse tobudge farther . Then , if you would play thestatuary

,they a re p iled on e upon the other to

the proper height or if your a im be masonry,whe ther of house or fort

,they must be squared

and beaten solid with the shovel . The materialis capable of very pretty effects

,and your young

companions meanwh ile are unconsciously learning lessons in ae sthetics . From the feeling ofsatisfaction with wh ich one squats on the clampfloor of his extemporized dwel l ing, I have beenled to th ink that the backwoodsman must geta sweeter savor of se lf-sufii cingn ess from the


house his own hands have built than Bramanteor Sansovino could ever give . Perhaps the fortis the bes t thing

,for it calls out more masculine

qualities and adds the cheer of battle with thatdumb arti l lery which gives pain enough to testpluck without risk of serious hurt . Already

,as

I write, i t is twenty-odd years ago . The bal ls flythick and fast . The uncle defends the waisthigh ramparts against a storm of nephews

,his

breast plastered with decorations l ike anotherRadetsky

’

s . H ow well I recal l the indomitablegood humor under fire of him who fell in frontat Ball ’s Bluff

,the silent pertinacity of the

gentle scholar who got his last hurt at FairOaks

,the ardor in the charge of the gallant

gentleman who , with the death-wound in h iss ide

,headed his brigade at Cedar Creek 1

H ow it all comes back,and they n ever come

I cannot again be the Vauban of fortresses inthe innocent snow

,but I shall never see ch i ldren

moulding their clumsy giants in it without longing to help . I t wa s a pretty fancy of the youngVermont sculptor to make his first essay in thisevanescent material . Was it a figure of Youth,I wonder P Would it not be wel l if al l artis tscould begin in stuff as perishable

,to melt away

when the sun of prosperity began to shine, andleave nothing behind but the gain of practisedhands P I t is pleasant to fancy that Shakespeareserved his apprenticeship at this trade, and



and the dregs of your blood with them . A purercurrent mounts to the brain, courses sparkl ingthrough it

,and rinses it thoroughly of all de

jected s tuff. There is nothing left to breed anexhalation of ill humor or despondency . Theysay that this ra refied atmosphere has lessenedthe capacity of our lungs . Be i t so . Quart potsa re for muddier liquor than nectar . To me, thecity in winter is infin ite ly dreary, the sharpstreet-corners have such a ch i ll in them

,and

the snow so soon loses its maidenhood to become a mere drab

,do ing shameful things

,

”

as Stee le says of politicians,

“ without beingashamed . I p ine for the Quaker purity of mycountry landscape . I am speaking

,of course

,

of those winters that are not n iggardly of snow,

as ours too often are,giving u s a gravelly du st

instead . No thing can be uns ightl ier than thosep iebald fie lds where the coarse brown h ide ofEarth shows through the holes of her raggedermine . But even when there is abundance ofsnow

,I fin d as I grow older that there are not

so many good crusts as there used to be . WhenI first observed th is , I rashly set i t to the a ccount of that general degeneracy in nature (keeping pace wi th the same melancholy phenomenonin man) which forces itself upon the attentionand into the philosophy of m iddle l ife . Buthappening once to be weighed, it occurred tome that an arch which would bear fifty pounds


could hardly be blamed for giving way undermore than three times the weight . I have sometimes thought that if theologians would remember th is in their arguments

,and consider that

the man may slump through,with no faul t of

h is own,where the boy would have skimmed the

surface in safety,it would be better for al l pa r

ties . However, when you do ge t a crust thatwil l bear

,and know any brooklet that runs down

a hil lside,be sure to go and take a look at him ,

especially if your crust is due,as it commonly

i s,to a cold snap following eagerly on a thaw .

You wil l never find him so cheerful . As heshrank away after the last thaw

,he bu ilt for

h imself the most exquis ite caverns of ice to runthrough

,if not “ measureless to man like those

of Alph,the sacred river

,yet perhaps more

pleas ing for their narrowness than those forthe ir grandeur . What a cunn ing S ilversmith isFrost l The rarest workmansh ip of D e lh i orGenoa cop ies h im but clums ily

,as if the fin

gers of all other artists were thumbs . Fernworkand lacework and fi l igree in endless variety

,and

under it all the water tinkles l ike a distant gu itar

,or drums like a tambourine

,or gurgles l ike

the Tokay of an anchorite ’s dream . Beyonddoubt there is a fairy process ion marching alongthose frai l arcade s and translucent corridors .

Their oaten p1pcs blow wondrous shril l ,The hemlocks small blow clear .

”


And hark ! is that the ringing of Titania’ sbridle , or the bells of the wee , wee hawk thatsits on Oberon ’s wrist P This wonder of Frost’shandiwork may be had every winter

,but he can

do be tter than this , though I have seen it butonce in my l ife . There had been a thaw without wind or rain

,making the a ir fat with gray

vapor . Towards sundown came tha t '

chil l,the

avant-courier of a northweste rly gale . Then,

though there wa s no perceptible current in theatmosphere , the fog began to attach itself infrosty roots and fil am en ts to the southern sideof every twig and grass-s tem . The very postshad poems traced upon them by this dumb minstre l . Wherever the mo ist seeds found lodgment grew an inch-deep moss fin e as cobweb

,a

slender coral reef,argentine

,delicate

,as of some

silent sea in the moon , such as Agassiz dredgeswhen he dreams . The frost, too, can wield adelicate graver

,and in fancy leaves Piranesi far

behind . H e covers your window—pane withAlpine etchings

,as if in memory of that sanc

tu ary where he finds shel ter even in m idsum

mer .Now look down from your hillside across the

valley . The trees are leafless , but this is theseason to study their anatomy, and did you evernotice before how much color there is in thetwigs of many of them ? And the smoke fromthose chimneys is so blue it seems like a feeder



of a peasant kindling his winter morning fire .

H e rises before dawn,

Sol licitaque manu ten ebra s explora t inertesV estiga tque focum la esus quem denique sen sit.

Parvulus exusto rem an eba t stipite fum us,

Et cinis obduc tae celaba t lumina prun ae .

Adm ovet his pron am submissa fronte lucern am ,

Et producit acu stupas hum ore carentes,Excita t et crebris languen tem fla tibus ign em ;

Tandem concepto tenebrae fii lgore recedun t,

Oppositaque manu lumen defendi t ah aura .

With cautious hand he gropes the sluggish dark,Tracking the hearth which, scorched, he feels ere long.In burnt-out logs a slender smoke remained,And raked-up ashes hid the cinders

’eyes ;

Stooping, to these the lamp outstretched he nears,And, with a needl e loosening the dry Wick,With frequent breath excites the languid flame .

Before the gathering glow the shades recede,And his bent hand the n ew-caught light defends .

Ovid he ightens the p icture by a single touch

Ipse genu posito flam m as exsuscita t aura .

Kneeling, his breath calls back to life the flames .

I f you walk down now into the woods, youm ay find a robin or a bluebird among the red

cedars,or a nu thatch scal ing deviously the trunk

of some hardwood tree with an eye as keen asthat of a French soldier foraging for the pot-ou

feu of his mess . Perhaps a blue-j ay shrills ca hca h in his corvine trebles, or a chickadee

A GOOD WORD FOR WINTER . 373

Shows feats of his gymnas tic play ,Head downward, clinging to the spray .

But both h im and the snow-bird I love betterto see

,tiny flufi

'

s of feathered l ife,as they scurry

about in a driving mist of snow,than in this

serene air .Coleridge has put into verse one of the mostbeautiful phenomena of a winter walk

The woodman winding westward up the glenAt win try dawn, Where o

’er the sheep-track’ s maze

The Viewless snow-mist weaves a gli stening haze ,Sees full before him, gliding without tread,An image with a halo round its head . ”

But th is aureole is not pecul iar to winter . Ihave noticed i t often in a summer morn ing

,

when the grass was heavy with dew,and even

later in the day,when the dewless grass was still

fresh enough to have a gleam of its own .

For my own part I prefer a winter walk thattake s in the n ightfall and the intense s i lencethat ere long follows it . The evening lamps lookye l lower by contrast with the snow

,and give

the windows that hearty look of which our secretive fires have almost robbed them . The starsseem

To hang, like twinkling winter lamps,Among the branches of the leafless trees,

or, if you a re on a h il l-top (whence it is sweetto watch the home-lights gleam out one by one) ,


they look nearer than in summer,and appear

to take a conscious part in the cold . Especiallyin one of those s tand-still s of the air that forebode a change of weather

,the sky is dusted

with motes of fire of which the summer watchernever dreamed . Winter, too, is, on the whole,the triumphant season of the moon

,a moon

devoid of sentiment,if you choose

,but with the

refreshment of a purer intellectual light, thecooler orb of middle life . Whoever saw anything to match that gleam

,rather divined than

seen,which runs before her over the snow

,a

breath of light,as she rises on the infin ite s ilence

of winter n ight P H igh in the heavens, also sheseems to bring out some intenser property ofcold with her chilly polish . The poets haveinstinctively noted th is . When Goody Blakeimprecates a curse of perpetual chill upon HarryGi ll

,she has

The cold, cold moon above her head

and Coleridge speaks of

The silent icicles ,Quietly gleaming to the quiet moon .

As you walk homeward, for i t is time thatwe should end our ramble,— you may perchance hear the most impress ive sound in nature

,unless it be the fall of a tree in the forest

during the hush of summer noon . I t is thestifled shriek of the lake yonder as the frost


James Russell Lowell - Forgotten Books

Documents