WITH 
 
 HINTS FOR THEIR IMPROVEMENT 
 
 NATHANIEL HILLYER EGLESTON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1878
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1 878, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 THE LATE 
 
 ANDREW JACKSON DOWNING, 
 
 WHOSE WRITINGS HAVE DONE SO MUCH FOR THE IMPROVEMENT OF OUR 
 
 COUNTRY LIFE, AND TO INSPIRE OUR PEOPLE WITH 
 
 A TASTE FOR RURAL ENJOYMENTS, 
 
 THESE ESSAYS ARE GRATEFULLY 
 
 Jnscribeb.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Love of the open country an Anglo-Saxon trait. Increases with age. 
 An instinct of nature. Lack of appreciation of rural life, how account- 
 ed for. Improvement in this respect in recent years. Influence of 
 poets and essayists Page 7 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 VILLAGE LITE AS IT 18 AND AS IT SHOULD BE. 
 
 General beauty of our older villages, particularly those of New England. 
 Home-like appearance. Tokens of civilization and culture. Room for 
 improvement. Schools and education. False ideas of the aim of life. 
 Worldly success too highly estimated. Simple tastes. Possibilities. 
 Ideal of rural life. Hints and suggestions 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 
 
 City and country compared. Tributes of poets and philosophers to the 
 country. Varro, Horace, Lord Bacon. Yet a strong and increasing 
 flow of population to the city. One third of the people living in cities 
 and towns. Disproportionate growth of city and country. Houses 
 and farms deserted. Actual decline of popidation in some towns. De- 
 cline in character also. Educating and civilizing forces lessened or 
 lost. No community. The city, also, unduly crowded. Life in the 
 city burns fast 1!)
 
 ji CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DOUBLE INJURY. 
 
 The country depopulated; the city overcrowded. Balance lost. City 
 and country both needed. Mutually dependent. The city stimula- 
 tive of enterprise. Great undertakings dependent upon cities and 
 towns. Value of New York or London in this respect. Atlantic 
 Telegraph. Pacific Railroad. Cities not "great sores." Villages 
 not necessarily Arcadias of innocence Page 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CAUSES OF OVER-POPULATING OF TOWNS. 
 
 Causes of over- population. Business considerations will not account for 
 it. Country dull. Lack of society. Visitors from the city ready to 
 go back to it again. Abandoned country-seats. Servants will not stay 
 in the country. Rush of others to the city. General movement of 
 life in the country slow. Lack of recreation and amusements. Soci- 
 ety more precious than money or lands 30 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DULNESS OF THE COUNTRY. 
 
 Country ought not to be dull. Attractions of nature. Poets delight in 
 the country, and are perpetually singing its charms. Bryant, Words- 
 worth. The poet's eye and feeling wanted. Abundant natural 
 sources of delight in the country. Twofold problem : to bring people 
 into contact with each other and into communion with nature 38 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MEANS AND OCCASIONS OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 
 
 Social gatherings to be encouraged. Fault of parents in this respect. 
 Local attachment to be encouraged. Local interest to be developed. 
 Special days and occasions to be observed. Farmers' Clubs, social 
 dinners, fairs and festivals, lectures, concerts, and games 44
 
 CONTENTS. Hi 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT SOCIETIES. 
 
 Benefit of associated action. Importance of some organization. May be 
 simple. Name unimportant. Do first what can be done most united- 
 ly. Plant trees. Make walks. Care for the cemetery. Avoid at- 
 tempting too much at once. One thing at a time. Hasten slowly. 
 Both sexes to be enlisted. Refining influence of woman Page 52 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LAUREL HILL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 Example of a village-improvement society. Its history and methods of 
 working. Results. Pecuniary gain. By-laws and regulations of the 
 Association 60 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 
 
 Trees the universal charm of the country. Their beauty, grace, and 
 grandeur. Pleasure of tree - planting. Lord Bacon's testimony. 
 Great variety of trees in our country. Which to plant. Varieties at 
 Washington. Value of evergreens. Beauty of the hemlock. How to 
 plant trees. Caution against over-planting. Too much shade to be 
 avoided. Need of sunshine. Space for growth and effect 71 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 VINES AND CLIMBING PLANTS. 
 
 Great value for purposes of adornment. Vine the emblem of grace and 
 beauty. Adapted to all places. Great variety of vines. How much 
 a vine will do for the embellishment of a place. Climbing roses. 
 Trumpet creeper. Wistaria. Hop-vine. Convolvulus. Clematis. 
 Honeysuckle. Virginia creeper. Woodbine. Vines for indoor cult- 
 ure ; for screens SG
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 
 
 Flowers a sign of taste and culture. Their abundance. Love of them 
 to be encouraged. Caution against cultivating too many kinds. A 
 few choice ones better than many inferior. Best disposal for effect. 
 Avoid unpleasant contrasts of color. Masses on a lawn. Mounds and 
 beds of intricate pattern to be avoided. Indoor cultivation. Winter 
 plants. Cheerful influence. Flowers types of beauty. Good fruit al- 
 ways in demand. No danger of over-supply. No product more valu- 
 able in proportion to cost. Conducive to health Page 95 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 
 
 The abode of human beings. Supreme reference to be had to this in its 
 plan. Limitations. House to fit the inmates, not the inmates the 
 house. Family should indicate its character by the house it lives in. 
 Nautilus or periwinkle. The ideal house. Imitations and fashions. 
 Eccentricities. Common-sense the first requisite. Location as affect- 
 ing style. Materials to be used. Site; dampness to be avoided. 
 Hill-side desirable. Southern exposure best. Neighborhood of trees 
 welcome. Style; simple and tasteful, rather than ornate. Nothing 
 for show; everything for use. Advice of architect desirable, even for 
 small buildings. Saving thereby. Color; white to be avoided. 
 Flan to be thoroughly considered. Protection from cold and heat. 
 Ornament; truthfulness. Imitation. Shams. Graining. Use of 
 woods unpainted. Costly houses out of place in the country. 
 Homes rather than show-places 108 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FENCES AND HEDGES. 
 
 Fences not pleasing objects. Great expense attending them. Statis- 
 tics. Unsocial. Many needless fences. Reasons for removing them
 
 CONTENTS. V 
 
 from near houses. Cattle not to be allowed to go at large. Beauty 
 gained by removal of street fences. Williamstown. South Manches- 
 ter. Greeley. Hedges of two kinds, for fences and for screens. 
 Thorny shrubs and evergreens. Evergreens preferable. Hemlock. 
 Norway Spruce. Arbor-vitae. How to make a hedge Page 134 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 LAWNS. 
 
 Trees and grass the main embellishment of a country place. Common 
 appearance around village dwellings. Wiiat it might be. Beauty of a 
 lawn. How to make one. Preparation of ground. Kind and quanti- 
 ty of seed. After-treatment. Sheep and cattle as lawn-inowers. . 147 
 
 WATER. 
 
 Inadequate use of this element. First physical need of life an abundance 
 of water. Health and cleanliness. ^Esthetic value of water. No 
 landscape complete without it. Effect of even small streams. Cas- 
 cades and fountains. How cheaply attainable. Mohammedan baths 
 and mosques. 155 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS OF COUNTRY LIFE. DRAINAGE. 
 
 The country has been considered peculiarly healthy. Cities now in many 
 respects more healthy than the country. Reasons for this. Preventa- 
 ble causes of disease. Typhoid fever. Lessening of the death-rate in 
 London. Great improvement in drainage there. Fevers now more 
 prevalent in the country than in cities. Contamination of air and water; 
 not obvious to the senses. The earth as a filter. Poisonous wells. 
 Sinks and cesspools. Slow poisoning. Death not the greatest evil. 
 Epidemics not so destructive of life as many ordinary diseases. Drains, 
 how to be made. Illustrations... . 164-
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS OF COUNTRY LIFE (continued}. 
 
 VENTILATION. 
 
 Drainage and ventilation closely connected. Composition of the atmos- 
 phere. Respiration, its uses and effects. Influence of trees and 
 plants on the atmosphere. Animal and vegetable kingdoms correlat- 
 ed. How rapidly air may be contaminated. Difficulty of detecting 
 contamination. Close rooms. Air-tight stoves. Carbonic acid. 
 Weather-strips. Decaying vegetables in cellars. Ventilating-flues. 
 Furnaces. Dangers to be avoided in their use. Open fireplaces the 
 best ventilators. Franklin stoves. Instrument for indicating impuri- 
 ty of the air Page 184 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS OF COUNTRY LIFE (continued). 
 CARE OF THE SICK. 
 
 Physicians. Hospitals. Nurses. Nurses 'often more important than 
 doctors. The nurse the physician's best assistant. Power of recov- 
 ery in human constitution. Patients often killed by ignorant kind- 
 ness. Sick-rooms, what they are and what they should be. Furni- 
 ture. Pictures. Plants. Ventilation. Change of scene impor- 
 tant. Need of trained nurses 199 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 CEMETERIES. 
 
 Regard for the bodies of the dead universal. First use of money was to 
 buy a burial-place. Abraham and Jacob. Egypt and the Pyramids. 
 God's acre. Death a sleep. Modern cemeteries. What may be 
 done for village cemeteries. Old burial-grounds often a disgrace. 
 Good place to begin village improvement. All interested in the com- 
 mon burial-ground. Evil of many burial-places in one village. Ef- 
 fort to concentrate care and attention upon one. Laying out new 
 cemeteries. How it should be done. Receiving -tombs. Burial- 
 services 207
 
 CONTENTS. vii 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 KOADS AND BRIDGKS. 
 
 Roads tokens and measures of civilization. Few good roads in our 
 country. Bad location of roads. Effect of grade on draught. Statis- 
 tics. Hills and levels. Over hills or around them. Economy of 
 easy grades. Material of roads. Drainage of roads. Proper form of 
 surface. Illustrations. Embellishment of roads. Trees by the road- 
 side. Street parks. Footways. Pedestrianism a lost art in the 
 country. Miss Catharine M. Sedgwick. Street lamps. Bridges; 
 strength the first requisite. Bridges frequently ugly objects. Beauty 
 may be combined with strength. Bridges in Europe. Rustic 
 bridges Page 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 
 
 Wasteful and rapid consumption of forests. Lumber trade. Consump- 
 tion by railroads, furnaces, arts, and manufactures. Fencing and fuel. 
 Effect of destruction of trees on climate, health, and agriculture. 
 Trees as screens from winds. Equalizers of temperature. Effect on 
 rainfall ; on the flow of streams. Removal of forests a cause of 
 floods and droughts. Need of tree-planting. Its profitableness. To 
 be encouraged by law. Forestry. How this matter is managed in 
 Europe. Arbor Day 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SCHOOLS AND SCHOOL-HOUSES. 
 
 The old school-house. Its site. Little comfort in it. The three R's. 
 Importance of the work done in it. Place of instruction should be 
 beautiful. The teaching should be the best possible. Meaning of 
 education. Proper surroundings of the school-house. Pleasant walks. 
 Trees and flowers. Gardens. Lowell factories. Pictures and 
 other works of art in the school-room. Training the perceptive pow- 
 ers. .. . 270
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIII. 
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 The church as it often is. Little architectural beauty. Site. Exposed 
 to sun and wind. Uncomfortable and cheerless. What is done in the 
 church. How much worship there. Sensational preaching. Minister 
 and parish. Loose relation. System of terrorism. Minority gov- 
 erns. Churches managed on commercial rather than religious prin- 
 ciples. Picture of a different scene. Building simple but tasteful. 
 Walls ivy-hung. Interior arrangements. Order and style of services. 
 Precious and lasting influence Page 282 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIY. 
 
 THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 
 
 Secret of success in establishing libraries. A good start important. 
 A new educating influence in the community. Sketch of such a libra- 
 ry. Many other things group -around it. Lectures, concerts, reading 
 and social rooms. The basis of a village-improvement society 295 
 
 CHAPTEK XXY. 
 
 WORK AND PLAT. 
 
 Americans a hard-worked people. Should be more of the play element. 
 More in our systems of education. Natural sciences. Relaxation a 
 duty. Best results of life depend upon it. Country boys broken down 
 by over-work. More holidays desirable. Games and sports 307 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 OUR VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 
 
 " Thanksgiving " a festival of best character. Pre-eminently a family 
 festival. Appropriate symbol of the family spirit. How best observed. 
 Religion the crown of the festivity. Illustration. Peculiarly the 
 village festival 318
 
 " Would I a house for happiness erect, 
 Nature alone should be the architect; 
 She'd build it more convenient than great, 
 And, doubtless, in the country choose her seat." 
 
 COVVLEY. 
 
 " In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleas- 
 ant, it were an injury and sullenness against Nature not to go out and see 
 her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth." 
 
 MILTON: Tractate of 'Education.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "I never had any other desire so strong and so like to covetousness as 
 that one which I have had always that I might be master at last of a 
 small house and large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to 
 them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of 
 them, and study of nature ; 
 
 And there (with no design beyond my wall) whole and intire to lie, 
 In no unactive ease, and no unglorious poverty." COWLEY. 
 
 THE love of the open country, the fields, the woods, 
 the streams, seems to be a peculiarly Anglo-Saxon trait, 
 and to have come down to us even from our Teutonic 
 ancestors. The historian Tacitus, in his Germania, has 
 noticed the difference in this respect between the peo- 
 ple of that country and the Eomans, and says of the 
 former, " They live apart, each by himself, as woodside, 
 plain, or fresh spring attracts him." But it is in Eng- 
 land that this love of the country has reached the high- 
 est development. The Englishman lives in the town 
 or city only under protest, and is all the while claiming 
 the country as his true home. Our people, so far as 
 they are of English descent, have the same inherited 
 trait. The child is hardly out of leading-strings before 
 he fairlv revels in the scenes of rural life, if he has the
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 opportunity; and, though this delight of early days may 
 be seemingly supplanted by the occupations or pleasures 
 of maturer years, it is yet very sure to assert itself from 
 time to time, and usually with a strength that increases 
 with our years. To many a one chafed by the cares 
 and anxieties of busy life in the city or town, the one 
 hope that has buoyed him up and enabled him to keep 
 a cheerful spirit amid his struggles has been that of a 
 home to be secured by-and-by, on the old ancestral farm, 
 perhaps, where the memory of boyish days and boyish 
 pleasures exhales a perpetual aroma ; or, on some other 
 favored spot, where he may look out upon trees and 
 rocks and sky and clouds, cultivate his acres at his own 
 will, and, after the gentle and unexciting toils of the 
 day, be lulled to rest by the 
 
 "Liquid lapse of murmuring streams." 
 
 And is it not the token of man's essential kinship 
 with nature, and of his true dignity, that he has such 
 longings for the aspects of natural scenery ; that more 
 and more he cleaves to the earth, loves to press the sod 
 with his feet in daily tread, and to engage, though it 
 may be with feeble hand, in the occupations of country 
 life ? Is there not the manifestation of one of the best 
 feelings of his nature in this longing in his advancing 
 years his second childhood, as we call it to throw 
 himself again upon the bosom of "Mother Earth?" 
 That second childhood is the time of man's return, so 
 commonly, to the purity and healthfulness of feeling
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 which are the special mark and the true glory of our 
 opening days. And so, though it may sometimes be 
 accompanied by bodily feebleness, it is really the ripen- 
 ed glory of life, as it stands calm and serene, after the 
 manifold discipline of earlier and more active years, the 
 successes and disappointments which have attended our 
 various occupations ; when we have learned by experi- 
 ence what is essential to our happiness and what is only 
 adventitious ; and when we turn from the personal and 
 selfish conflicts of the world around us, and find pleas- 
 ure in the kindred openness and unselfishness of little 
 children, and in communion with nature, and through 
 it with Him who framed its diverse forms. 
 
 It must be confessed, however, that in many eases we 
 live amid the beauties and glories of the natural world, 
 but, " having eyes, see not," or only half see at the best. 
 "Ask the connoisseur," says Ruskin, "who has scam- 
 pered over all Europe, the shape of the leaf of an elm, 
 and the chances are ninety to one that he cannot tell 
 you ; and yet he will be voluble of criticism on every 
 painted landscape from Dresden to Madrid, and pretend 
 to tell you whether they are like nature or not." So 
 we have known a whole roomful of farmers, and farm- 
 ers' wives and daughters, to puzzle themselves over a 
 bunch of common corn-tassels on a mantel, utterly un- 
 able to tell what they were, though familiar with them all 
 their lives. It was simply because they had never look- 
 ed at them except in the hazy, indefinite way in which 
 
 so many look at most things, and so were unable to rec- 
 
 B
 
 10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ognize these well-known objects when removed from 
 the cornfield to the drawing-room. These are only a 
 few illustrations of a very common defect a neglect 
 to use faculties aright as a consequence of which we 
 fail to find in natural objects many delights which they 
 were designed to afford and which they are ready to 
 give us. 
 
 Everything, therefore, which helps us to see nature 
 with appreciative eyes is to be welcomed. Much has 
 been accomplished in recent years in this direction by 
 the wide diffusion, through the press, of what our most 
 tasteful and discriminating writers have had it in their 
 hearts to say. We have followed our poets and essay- 
 ists into the fields and woods and along the sounding 
 shore. The greatly increased facilities of travel, also, 
 have brought multitudes into the presence of some of 
 the most impressive natural scenes, and wrought upon 
 them, thereby, a lasting and precious influence. The 
 pleasant aspects of rural life have thus been presented 
 to view, and an interest in rural scenes has been awak- 
 ened which gives promise of most beneficial results. 
 
 If the following essays shall help any to a better ap- 
 preciation of country life, or aid in making that life 
 more nearly what its ideal should be, the object of the 
 writer will be gained. 
 
 WILLIAMSTOWN, MASS., June, 1878.
 
 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 VILLAGE LIFE AS IT 18 AND AS IT SHOULD BE. 
 
 "For it is not in great cities nor in the confined shops of trade, but 
 principally in agriculture, that the best stock or staple of men is grown. 
 It is in the open air in communion with the sky, the earth, and all liv- 
 ing things that the largest inspiration is drunk in, and the vital energies 
 of a real man constructed. The modern improvements in machinery 
 have facilitated production to such a degree that when they become dif- 
 fused through the world, only a few hands, comparatively, will be requisite 
 in the mechanic arts ; and those engaged in agriculture, being proportion, 
 ally more numerous, will he more in a. condition of ease. Here opens a 
 new and sublime hope. If a state can maintain the practice of a pure 
 morality, and can unite with agriculture a taste for learning and science 
 and the generous exercises I have named, a race of men will ultimately 
 be raised up having a physical volume, a native majesty and force of 
 mind, such as no age has yet produced." BUSHNELL. 
 
 HARDLY any one can pass through the villages of the 
 older portions of our country, particularly those of New 
 England in the warmer seasons of the year especially, 
 when the vegetation is in its freshness and luxuriance 
 without being impressed by their general beauty, and 
 feeling that many of them are choice places for family
 
 12 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 homes. The happy combination of hill and valley, 
 mountain and plain ; the dense masses of woods crown- 
 ing so many of the more elevated portions; the wide 
 stretches of meadow with their emerald beauty ; and the 
 great abundance of streams of water, from the broad 
 rivers to the almost threadlike springs which gush out 
 of the ground at such brief intervals, these, together 
 with a reasonable fertility of soil a fertility which 
 sufficiently rewards honest industry while it does not in- 
 vite speculation nor encourage idleness and a climate 
 which, though somewhat rigorous, is probably as health- 
 ful as any, combine to make New England one of the 
 choicest dwelling-places of man. If to these we add the 
 tokens of peculiar civilization and culture which char- 
 acterize New England the influences of the school- 
 house and the church, which have been felt here from 
 the beginning, and which every traveller sees and feels, 
 however hurriedly he may pass along we shall not be 
 wrong in thinking that few places on the globe are bet- 
 ter fitted to furnish homes of the highest type. The 
 fertile plains of the West may offer the prospect of a 
 more rapid accumulation of wealth. The warmer lati- 
 tudes of our Southern States may appeal to the senses 
 and tempt with their languid charms, but 
 
 " Man is the nobler growth our realms supply, 
 And souls are ripened in our northern sky." 
 
 It was something besides accident that swept the 
 Mayflower from her destined port in more southern
 
 VILLAGE LIFE AS IT IS AND AS IT SHOULD BE. 13 
 
 waters and landed her precious freight of souls on the 
 coast of New England, there to plant the seeds of a 
 civilization that was to overspread a continent. Man 
 comes to his best only through a struggle ; and to wres- 
 tle with storms and rocks seems to be about the best 
 gymnastic for the development of the sturdiest and 
 most effective character. The man who has his home 
 in New England certainly need not envy the dwellers 
 in other places. They may have more of ease in their 
 lot. Their fields may yield a larger harvest and with 
 less demand of labor; but it is likely to be at the ex- 
 pense of temptations or deprivations which more than 
 counterbalance such advantages. "A man's life con- 
 sisteth not in the abundance of the things which he 
 possesseth." It is the quality, not the quantity, which 
 decides the case. 
 
 " He most lives, 
 Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best." 
 
 Whatever inspires the best thought and feeling is to 
 be desired rather than mere fertility of soil or balminess 
 of air. And New England has, in her character and 
 scenery, as well as in her institutions, a perpetual stim- 
 ulation of what is best. 
 
 But, after all, our village life, whether in New Eng- 
 land or elsewhere, is not yet what it ought to be. 
 Much of it is crude and low and gross. We have not 
 improved our advantages as we might and should have 
 done. Culture, as yet, has made comparatively little 
 advancement. The school, which is the boast of our
 
 14 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 country, has not yet done for us what it should have 
 done. It has done much ; but how much more remains 
 to be accomplished before we can claim to be a truly 
 educated people ! Then, the lessons to be learned in the 
 school of nature have been learned only in small part. 
 How few have their eyes open to see the forms and 
 read the language of the world they daily live in ! How 
 little impression do the objects of nature make upon 
 the mass of people ! The higher faculties of the soul 
 too often lie in a dormant state. We wait for a better 
 time. In too many of our village homes the life is of 
 a low and animal type ; the energies are too much on 
 a level with those of the cattle. It is too often a dig- 
 ging drudgery for the sake of food or for the accumu- 
 lation of money, unrelieved by any higher object or the 
 cultivation of the refining tastes. The body is cared 
 for, while the mind and heart are neglected. Books are 
 few and too commonly of the trashy sort. Or if there 
 is any waking-up of the mind, it is in being sharp at 
 a bargain. We are often far more ready to overreach 
 than we are to help a fellow-man ; and many a father 
 will be found to give indubitable signs of pleasure at 
 seeing his child get the better of another by some trick 
 of shrewdness or audacity. It argues a capacity in the 
 child to get on in the world, and that, in the estimation 
 of many, is the chief end of man. Meantime the soft- 
 er, gentler feelings are hardly thought worthy of culti- 
 vation ; the finer tastes are not developed ; and the child 
 grows up too often a dull, hard, selfish man ; his whole
 
 VILLAGE LIFE AS IT IS AND AS IT SHOULD BE. 15 
 
 life "of the earth, earthy," when it might be all the 
 while so much higher, better, and happier. 
 
 And so, in the cases where our village life has reach- 
 ed a superior development, how charming is the sight ! 
 Some simple little cottage, lacking even paint, it may 
 be, but wearing the look of neatness all about it, needs 
 no opening of the door to tell that all is neatness within. 
 A few flowers under the window, an unmistakable look 
 of thoughtfulness and tender feeling stamped upon ev- 
 erything, even upon the grass in the door-yard how 
 much more delightful is the sight of such a place than 
 that of so many of our ambitious houses, set up in their 
 stilted fashion, unmeaning masses of brickwork and 
 carpentry, the bold advertisements of newly acquired 
 riches, as vulgar as they are expensive ! And then, 
 when one goes within such an unpretending cottage, 
 and finds it at once the home of mind and heart 
 everything plain and simple, perhaps, but taste making 
 all beautiful, and, with more than the power of Midas, 
 converting everything it touches into something better 
 than gold ; when he finds only a few books, it may be, 
 but these of solid character, and evidently for use rather 
 than show, and the talk not vulgar gossip or neighbor- 
 hood scandal, but of a character thoughtful and elevat- 
 ing, pure and good one feels how precious to the coun- 
 try and the world are such homes. 
 
 If our village homes were generally of this character, 
 what a renovated country would ours be! If even a 
 majority of. the houses in any of our country villages
 
 16 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 were really homes such as we have just sketched, how 
 changed and heightened in character would the life of 
 such a .village become ! The many petty jealousies and 
 causes of dispute which now so commonly exist, follow- 
 ed, as they so frequently are, by open animosities and 
 disgraceful quarrels, would be prevented by the preva- 
 lence of a general kindliness of feeling, and a mutual 
 regard for each other's interests in place of the selfish- 
 ness which now so often reigns. The village households 
 would become, so to speak, members of a larger family 
 the village family and a common interest and com- 
 mon feeling would characterize the place and regulate 
 the style and tonp of life, while yet leaving the freest 
 play for individual tastes and feelings. In such a com- 
 munity a thousand good influences would surround the 
 young from the beginning, and give them such helps 
 towards a noble spirit of life that their advancement 
 in character would be sure and rapid. Many sources of 
 entertainment and improvement would be found in such 
 a community which in others are almost unknown, and 
 life would become a nobler, sweeter, happier thing than 
 it is or can be in most communities as they now are. 
 
 And so, perhaps, we shall be thought to be wasting 
 time upon an ideal which is never, or at best only in 
 the far-away distance, to become real. But if that ideal 
 is only to be realized, if at all, at some distant time, this 
 should not prevent us from doing something to secure 
 the fruits which lie in that direction. Here is a man, 
 for instance, who has the reputation of being a good
 
 VILLAGE LIFE AS IT IS AND AS IT SHOULD BE. 17 
 
 farmer. He has been diligent and industrious. He 
 prides himself on raising as good crops as any of his 
 neighbors, and his fields are kept in good condition. 
 He is not ashamed to have them looked at. And as the 
 result of his labor he has a handsome sum laid away in 
 the bank, or where it is equally safe. But perhaps in 
 his busy industry upon the farm, the surroundings of 
 his house have been somewhat forgotten. Perhaps the 
 sight which meets his eyes, and the eyes of his family, 
 most frequently is that of a door-yard filled with the 
 waste material of farm and house, with carts and ploughs, 
 some serviceable, and some for many years past use; with 
 unsightly heaps of wood. and chips lying about in dis- 
 orderly confusion. There are, it may be, no convenient 
 walks by which one can get to the well with comfort, or 
 to the road when the rain has been falling or the dew is 
 heavy on the sward. Perhaps the ground about the 
 house shows a growth of weeds rather than grass. The 
 fences, it may be, are not kept in as good repair just 
 around the dwelling as they are out upon the farm, where 
 the protection of the crops seems more to demand them. 
 The gates, seldom closed, have fallen down. In short, 
 there is about the house of this well-to-do and successful 
 farmer an air of neglect and carelessness. Things look 
 untidy. The poultry, and possibly the pigs, have free 
 range of the door-yard, and there is no place where the 
 wife and daughters can go and sit down comfortably 
 out-of-doors in pleasant weather when the household 
 work is done. They are fairly imprisoned at home.
 
 18 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 Can there not be an improvement here? A few days' 
 work in the autumn season, after the harvest toil is over, 
 or in early springtime, before other work presses, would 
 change many such places for the better. Let there be 
 a determination that the home of the family shall at 
 least look as well as the home for the cattle. Let the 
 unsightly bushes and weeds in the fence corners be 
 cut away and rooted up, so that they shall not appear 
 again another year. Let the pigs and the poultry go to 
 their own place. Let the ruins of old carts and wagons, 
 ploughs and scrapers, be broken up and conveyed to the 
 wood-pile and the receptacle for .old iron. Let the wood 
 and chips be gathered and properly housed. Let the 
 rubbish of any and every sort be removed to its ap- 
 propriate place. Let trees and shrubs be planted, and 
 the green grass be invited to grow, where now perhaps 
 only dock and plantain thrive. Let a few roses and 
 vines be set within easy reach of doors and windows. 
 How soon will such touches of taste and care change 
 the whole aspect of the place, and change perhaps the 
 character of the occupants as well ! for the cultivation 
 of our grounds is often a cultivation of ourselves. 
 
 It is an easy step, also, from the improvement of 
 one's immediate surroundings to the endeavor to do 
 something for the entire village where one lives. But 
 in regard to what is desirable, both for the individual 
 and for the community as a whole, we shall speak 
 more at large in subsequent chapters.
 
 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 
 "God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.'' COWLEY. 
 
 THE pointed contrast between life in the open coun- 
 try and life in the city, set forth in the above quotation 
 from one of our elder poets and essayists, has been made 
 by many another writer. Indeed, it is one of the com- 
 monplaces of literature. We may trace it all the way 
 from Cowper's 
 
 "God made the country, and man made the town;" 
 
 and Lord Bacon's opening of his "Essay on Gardens" 
 with the words " God Almighty first planted a garden," 
 up to old Varro, who, in his De Re Rustica, says, " Di- 
 mna natura dedit agros, ars humana cedificavit urbes" 
 Essayists, poets, travellers, and philosophers alike have 
 been wont to pay tribute to the charms and attractions 
 of the country as compared with the scenes of city life. 
 Every schoolboy who has gained admission to college is 
 familiar with the "Beatus ille qui procul negotiis" of 
 Horace ; and it is almost the singularity of the many- 
 sided Macaulay that he seems to have cared little for the 
 aspects of external nature, content if he could be allowed
 
 20 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 to live in London, and walk from day to day the old his- 
 toric streets and courts of the " City," or busy himself 
 amid the books and manuscripts of the British Museum. 
 A poet himself has said that "Poetry was born among 
 the shepherds," and that " one might as well undertake 
 to dance in a crowd as to make good verses in the midst 
 of noise and tumult." 
 
 And yet, with all literature and philosophy against it, 
 there is a large and ever-increasing practical vote in fa- 
 vor of the town as a place of living. Yery good peo- 
 ple, also, some of the best and most intelligent, seem to 
 prefer the man-made town, to the God-made country. 
 There is, moreover, a manifest and increasing tendency 
 of population to concentrate in towns and cities. One 
 third of the people of our new and essentially agricultur- 
 al country are already thus gathered. The growth of 
 towns and cities is disproportionately rapid as compared 
 with that of the villages and hamlets of the open country. 
 And this is the fact not only with us, but with many 
 older nations. London and Berlin never before were 
 growing so rapidly as now. The same is true of other 
 European cities cities which have no such ample 
 spaces around them as ours have, no such spaces from 
 which to draw their population, and in supplying the 
 wants of whose people they may find a sustaining 
 market for the commodities of their mercantile and 
 manufacturing industries. 
 
 Nor is it, with us, the new towns and cities of the 
 West merely that are making disproportionate growth
 
 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 21 
 
 in population, but the oldest cities of the East are show- 
 ing a like rapid increase. New York, Boston, and Phil- 
 adelphia are populating themselves more rapidly than 
 the country around them, as truly as Chicago and San 
 Francisco. Indeed, so strong is the flow from the coun- 
 try to the cities and manufacturing towns, especially in 
 New England, that in many of the country districts 
 there is not only a comparatively slow growth of popu- 
 lation, but an actual decline. The sight is only too com- 
 mon, and painful as it is common, among our Eastern 
 villages, of houses going to decay or actually fallen down, 
 with none to take their place. The people who once 
 dwelt in them have left them, and no children of theirs 
 have come in their stead. The farms, once teeming 
 with grain and cattle, are now, in many cases, over- 
 grown with bushes or young forests, or only partly kept 
 under cultivation by some immigrant from Ireland, Ger- 
 many, or Canada, who has bought them because they 
 were cheap, and too undesirable to find any other pur- 
 chaser. 
 
 The last census has made some surprising revelations 
 in this respect. The population of our hill-towns es- 
 pecially seems to have slidden down, in large measure, 
 into the valleys, along whose streams have grown up im- 
 portant centres of manufacture. As a consequence, not 
 only have many of the older villages not held their own 
 in population, but they have lost in character as well as 
 in people. The more enterprising having gone away, 
 all the movements of society become less vigorous in
 
 22 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 consequence. There is less wealth, therefore less ex- 
 penditure upon roads, upon houses and buildings of 
 every kind, upon schools and churches, upon books and 
 papers, and in travel and intercourse with other places, 
 which is such a fruitful source of intelligence. All 
 these educating and civilizing forces are lessened in 
 quantity, if not entirely lost. So, there will no longer 
 be found rising up in such a place from time to time, as 
 formerly, one and another fit to stand as leaders in so- 
 ciety, and to have an influence reaching perhaps far be- 
 yond the local limits of the place. There will be no 
 skilful lawyer or wise magistrate, no highly cultivated 
 clergyman, fit to be looked up to as an authority in all 
 matters of general knowledge as well as in his special 
 professional studies. The place can no longer, by its 
 character, or the compensation which it offers, attract the 
 presence or command the services of such. The great 
 law of supply and demand rules here as elsewhere, and 
 forbids it. And this decay once begun, the tendency of 
 things becomes strong in this direction. For a time the 
 influence of certain families of culture and of wealth 
 may successfully resist the downward course of things, 
 and hold up the life and spirit of the village. But it is 
 only for a few years. The next generation will very 
 likely feel the downward drag of the community around 
 them too severe to be longer endured, and sons and 
 daughters, though loath to leave the consecrated home 
 scenes, will take their departure to more congenial 
 places.
 
 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 23 
 
 And now there will be less to hold any to the place. 
 The depopulation will go on with accelerated speed. 
 Family after family will disappear. Their places, if fill- 
 ed at all, will probably be tilled with aliens, with people 
 of a lower grade of culture, and such as have no ties of 
 relationship or of historical connection with the place 
 which might form a bond of union with the existing 
 society. Thus the attractions of social interest are less- 
 ened all the while. Social life stagnates. The place is 
 no longer a community as it once was, but a loose ag- 
 gregation of individual atoms, as it were, each living by, 
 and for, and in himself. There is no longer any esprit 
 de corps, such as there should be in any community, 
 making it an occasion of pride to every resident there 
 that he can say that it is his home. In fact, it will 
 sometimes be found that the process of decline has gone 
 so far, and the change become so great, in some of our 
 once honored villages, that the present inhabitants seem 
 at the best but dwarfs and pigmies under the great 
 name of the place where they live, and where great 
 men and noble women once dwelt. 
 
 Such is the tendency to check the growth of many of 
 our villages ; and as this is checked by emigration, the 
 growth of the larger towns and cities is proportionally 
 increased. They are the receptacles not only of the en- 
 terprising, but of the discontented and dissatisfied. So, 
 in addition to those who may be said to be needed for 
 the proper life and work of the city, or the trading and 
 manufacturing town, there is a large inflow upon them
 
 24 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 of those who are not needed, who crowd every avenue 
 of industry, make life a hot competition for gain, and 
 even a struggle for very existence, and many of whom, 
 in the end, become a burden upon society, if not an ab- 
 solute danger to it. 
 
 Life burns fast in the crowded city and the busy mart. 
 These places must be recruited from the open country. 
 But more recruits offer than are wanted. More recruits 
 offer than will fill the ranks. There is a large mass 
 gathered in every such place, who can only be mere 
 camp-followers, a poor, or rough and lawless set, who 
 live upon the waste or the plunder of the great moving 
 and effective army.
 
 A DOUBLE INJURY. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DOUBLE INJUKY. 
 
 "In town one can find the swimming-school, the gymnasium, the danc- 
 ing-master, the shooting-gallery, opera, theatre, and panorama ; the chem- 
 ist's shop, the museum of natural history, the gallery of fine arts ; the 
 national orators, in their turn; foreign travellers, the libraries, and his 
 club. In the country he can find solitude and reading, manly labor, cheap 
 living, and his old shoes ; moors for game, hills for geology, and groves 
 for devotion. " EMERSON. 
 
 IT is easy to see that the tendency of which we 
 have been speaking in the previous chapter works a 
 double harm. The country is depopulated ; the city 
 and town are overcrowded. The proper balance of 
 population, and so the proper adjustment of life, of 
 business, and of society, is lost. Life is not so desir- 
 able either in city or country as it otherwise would 
 be. In the city, and largely because of the overcrowd- 
 ing, it is feverish and frivolous, and, sometimes, fero- 
 cious. The extremes of good and evil there meet. 
 In the country, on the other hand, life is often dull 
 and enfeebled and greatly deficient in the social ele- 
 ment. The great expanses of the country want more 
 people, or more contact of the people with each other. 
 The city, also, wants the country. It is dependent 
 upon it for its very existence. In its rapid consump- 
 
 C
 
 26 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 tion of life, it must draw from the country a supply 
 of fresh mind and muscle which it cannot produce 
 from itself ; and it must have the products of open 
 field and forest, and of the mineral deposits of the 
 wide country, to furnish the staple of its trade and 
 manufacture. The country, also, needs the city. It 
 needs it as the ultimate market for its surplus prod- 
 ucts, as the place of exchange by means of which the 
 productions of one clime or one continent are made 
 the possible possession of every other, and by which 
 the cottager of Yermont or of Oregon may make the 
 whole world tributary to his daily comfort. The 
 country needs the city also for the stimulating power 
 of its concentrated enterprise, its quick and intelli- 
 gent action, its speedy reception and utilization of 
 every new thought and every wise plan. Great na- 
 tional undertakings are dependent very much upon 
 great cities and towns. The country villages of New 
 York would never have built the Erie Canal, though 
 all felt its desirableness as a means of getting the 
 products of their fields and forests to market. Our 
 villages would never have given us the Pacific Rail- 
 road or the Atlantic Telegraph. They would never 
 have given us the daily newspaper, or the daily me- 
 teorological reports of the Signal Service Bureau, for 
 which he who ploughs the open sea, and he who 
 ploughs the open field, look daily with expectant in- 
 terest. They would never have originated, certainly 
 never have earned on with efficiency, our great mis-
 
 A DOUBLE INJURY. 27 
 
 sionary and philanthropic enterprises. The Ameri- 
 can Board of Foreign Missions, or any of our Home 
 Missionary Societies, would die, or dwindle to a feeble- 
 ness next to death, if they were dependent for success 
 upon their village supporters alone. The mainspring 
 of these, and of all great enterprises, is in the populous, 
 busy town or city. It is our merchant princes by 
 whom these are originated or pushed forward. It is 
 they who send our commerce to the ends of the world, 
 who cover continents with iron highways, and with 
 their telegraphic wires fulfil the promise of Puck 
 
 "I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes." 
 
 It is they, largely, who endow our colleges and schools 
 of highest grade, who push geographical research, if 
 possible, even to the poles, and who are ready to send 
 the Gospel of Christ wherever the most adventurous 
 explorer shall find a fellow-man. 
 
 Let us not forget, then, in our love of the country, 
 or when we hear its praises spoken, how much all owe 
 to the city and the busy town. Let us not forget what 
 treasures of power, of wealth, of civilization, of enter- 
 prise, of art, of science, of philanthropy, and of religion 
 are garnered up in such a metropolis as New York or 
 London. Why, they are worlds in themselves. The 
 whole earth is there in miniature. It is easy to talk 
 of cities as being "great sores" and the like; to say 
 they are slums of foulness, haunts of vice and crime ;
 
 28 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 to point to their thousands of paupers, and their thou- 
 sands more ready for any violence and to prey like 
 tigers upon the peace and order of society. It is easy, 
 also, and too common, to talk of the purity and inno- 
 cence of those who dwell in the open country, when it 
 may be questioned whether, if the same number of 
 people in the country as compose the city's population 
 were to be suddenly confined to the city's space, and 
 their character and conduct as closely scrutinized, there 
 would not be found as much of evil as among the ha- 
 bitual residents of the city, though not, perhaps, in the 
 same forms. Says the author of " Recreations of a 
 Country Parson," "I have long since found that the 
 country, in this nineteenth century, is by no means a 
 scene of Arcadian innocence ; that its apparent sim- 
 plicity is sometimes dogged stupidity ; that men lie 
 and cheat in the country just as much as in the town ; 
 and that the country has even more of mischievous tit- 
 tle-tattle ; that sorrow and care and anxiety may quite 
 well live in Elizabethan cottages grown over with 
 honeysuckle and jasmine, and that very sad eyes may 
 look forth from windows round which roses twine. 
 People may pace up and down a country lane, be- 
 tween fragrant hedges of blossoming hawthorn, and 
 tear their neighbors' characters to very shreds." Cer- 
 tainly we could not do without our cities except at the 
 peril of almost all that distinguishes our present life 
 from that of the Dark Ages. Our civilization, with 
 all that we include in that term, what is it, as the very
 
 A DOUBLE INJURY. 9 
 
 word tells us, but the character which properly belongs 
 to the civis the one who lives in the city ? 
 
 While, therefore, we deplore the tendency to leave 
 the country for the city, so far as it results in the de- 
 pletion of the country and the overcrowding of cities 
 and towns, and the disturbance of the proper balance 
 between them, and while the object of our writing is 
 to do something, if possible, to counteract this, it will 
 not be, we trust, out of any lack of appreciation of the 
 importance of the city, or the peculiar and unequalled 
 privileges which it holds in possession.
 
 30 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CAUSES OF OVEK-POPULATING OF TOWNS. 
 
 " Man in society is like a flower 
 Blown in its native bed ; 'tis there alone 
 His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 
 Shine out ; there only reach their proper use." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 "Plain living and high thinking are no more." 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Lsr looking for the causes which occasion the strong 
 tendency of population towards the city or town, and 
 the readiness to forsake the country for them, it is evi- 
 dent that business considerations alone are not suffi- 
 cient to account for it. The demands, or the possibil- 
 ities even, of trade would not draw the masses so 
 strongly to the city, nor would the prospect of in- 
 creased gain lead them in such crowds to the manu- 
 facturing town. Of course, cities and trading and 
 manufacturing towns are naturally built up as the 
 country around them grows. They are places for the 
 exchange or manufacture of the products of the soil. 
 They can exist only as these first exist. This is their 
 foundation, and they should grow as the country grows 
 in population and productiveness. But, as we have
 
 CAUSES OF OVER-POPULATING OF TOWNS. 31 
 
 seen, and as is only too apparent to every one, cities 
 and towns are growing far more rapidly than the 
 country, and at the expense of the villages, as well as 
 to the detriment of the cities and towns themselves. 
 The reasons of this lie deeper than the simple induce- 
 ments of trade. 
 
 If those who come from their city homes as tem- 
 porary visitors to the country, or even a majority of 
 those whose habitual residence is in the country, were 
 asked to characterize country life by a single word, they 
 would pronounce it dull. The occasional visitor from 
 the city finds the change so great that life in the coun- 
 try has for a time the zest of novelty and striking con- 
 trast. All scenes and habits are new. There is a 
 piquancy and flavor in everything that for a while de- 
 lights. The commonest things provoke attention be- 
 cause new. But this soon passes away, and he begins 
 to weary of the new scenes and objects. Our city 
 guests of the summer, for the most part, are so ready 
 to bid good-bye to the country that they willingly lose 
 the most charming portion of the country year, the 
 ripening days of autumn, when the heats are lessened 
 and the fruits are offering their luscious juices and 
 delicate aromas, and the trees are ready to march out, 
 like a bannered army, in all their gorgeous array of 
 color. And how often does the man who goes to 
 build his villa in the country tire of it in a year or 
 two, and go back to his city home ! As he returns 
 he finds himself moving also with the tide, whereas be-
 
 32 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 fore lie had been struggling against it. There is a gen- 
 eral pressing from country to city. The young men 
 are eagerly looking for any employment that will take 
 them from the farm. They jump at the chance of 
 leaving a good home, where friends and food and 
 clothing are abundant, for the store, where they may 
 sell dry-goods or groceries at a salary which will not 
 enable them to live with comfort, if with decency. 
 Young women will stitch all day, and evening too, in 
 a milliner's shop, and sleep in a garret, rather than give 
 themselves to the wholesome work of housekeeping in 
 the country. Not the smallest or poorest -paid situa- 
 tion in town or city offers but a hundred are ready to 
 take it, while it is a matter of the greatest difficulty to 
 procure competent farm-laborers or tolerable domestic 
 service for the country household. If you ask these 
 people why they are so eager for the town, and so 
 ready to leave the country, their answer, when you 
 fairly get it, is, the country is dull. And by country 
 they mean life in the country, not the visible, material 
 world. The country, as a physical thing, is not dull or 
 uninteresting. In contrast with the uniform streets 
 and blocks of the city or large town, the country is 
 infinitely varied and picturesque, and full of the charm 
 of new and beautiful objects. 
 
 " There are flowers in the meadow, 
 There are clouds in the sky, 
 Songs pour from the woodland, 
 The waters glide hy ;
 
 CAUSES OF OVER-POPULATING OF TOWNS. 33 
 
 Too many, too many 
 
 For eye or for ear, 
 
 The sights that we see, 
 
 And the sounds that we hear." 
 
 It is not the country, physically considered, that is 
 dull, but country life the life of the people who live 
 in the country. Their life is not in keeping with the 
 material world around them. It is not, in a large 
 majority of instances, what life in such a situation 
 ought to be. We throw out of account, of course, the 
 life of the pioneer, the man who is just hewing himself 
 a lodging-place in the forest or breaking up the soil of 
 the prairie now for the first time. The attractions of 
 place or of society are little to be considered in such 
 circumstances. We speak of established communities. 
 And it cannot be denied that in many, if not in most, 
 of our country villages the spirit and usages of society 
 are dull. There is a heavy weight upon the general 
 life, which presses fearfully upon the spirits of the 
 young especially. The movement of things in the 
 country is like that of the cattle, sluggish. It may be 
 sure ; it may tend, on the whole, in the right direction. 
 So does that of the cattle. But this is the day of roads 
 and of the locomotive, and the sound of these is in the 
 air and echoing among the hills and valleys, even when 
 they are not in sight. The young hear it, if the old do 
 not, and it stimulates a quickened movement in them, 
 or the desire to be where a quickened movement will 
 be possible to them.
 
 34: VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 Life in the country may be in general on the side of 
 good order, thrift, and virtue, but it is slow and heavy. 
 It drags. It does not readily take the stimulus of new 
 ideas. It does not believe much in improvement. It 
 is content with old methods,- and not much disposed to 
 consider whether there can be any better ones. The 
 general life in the country is unquestionably sluggish. 
 It is withal a life, too much, of dull, hard drudgery. 
 The yoke also comes on the shoulders at an early age 
 with excessive severity ; and the boys, like too many 
 of the colts, are broken down before they reach the 
 years of mature strength and endurance. The late 
 war showed that the town and city boys could endure 
 a strain under which those from the country frequently 
 failed. To this drudgery of country life there is little 
 relief, whether to the man in the field or the woman in 
 the house. Day in and day out, year in and year out, 
 it is very much the same hard, heavy strain. There is 
 little change except from work to idleness or sleep, or 
 perhaps the dull gossip of the neighboring kitchen, or 
 the duller and worse gossip of the store or tavern. The 
 talk is, in large part, the dripping of scandal or story- 
 telling of a low cast. There is little of earnest or high- 
 toned thinking, little grappling with things which are 
 not material. There is little alertness of mind, little of 
 the spirit of inquiry ; as how could there be much, 
 when body and mind are so dragged and spent with 
 the heavy, incessant tug of such an unvarying round 
 of life? *
 
 CAUSES OF OVER-POPULATING OF TOWNS. 35 
 
 As for amusement and recreation, there is next to 
 none, at least that is worthy of the name. It has been 
 said of the New England villagers particularly that their 
 only recreations are their funeral occasions. There is 
 too much ground for the sarcasm. The very general 
 attendance of country people at funerals is not alto- 
 gether a token of sympathy and respect. It is, in no 
 inconsiderable measure, the assertion by human nature 
 of its right to break away from dull drudgery of the 
 house and the soil, and, as a thinking, feeling being, to 
 become a participant in society. And so you shall see 
 the people, assembled from distant parts of the town, 
 as they stand about the doors before and after the 
 solemn service, hearing and telling the news, shaking 
 hands with a new feeling of brotherhood, and so going 
 home in some sense refreshed, for anything is a refresh- 
 ment and recreation which takes one out of the rut of a 
 dull, plodding life. This getting together at a funeral, 
 as also the gathering in company at the church on the 
 Sabbath, is a very important matter, therefore, apart from 
 the religious solemnities of such occasions. If what is 
 solemn leads to the joyful and the genial, through the 
 pleasant interchange of thoughts and feelings on the 
 doorstep or under the horse-sheds, all the better for the 
 people, and none the worse, perhaps, for the worship. 
 It is the easier and more frequent getting together for 
 various purposes and on various occasions, it is the 
 more palpable presence of society which town and city 
 afford, that give them the preference over the country.
 
 36 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 It is the more manifest presence of the human, the 
 more constant and intimate commingling of the human, 
 that, beyond and above all the attractions of fashion or 
 wealth, draws people to the city. Bridget will consent 
 to be shut up in a basement kitchen during work-hours, 
 because, when work-hours are ended, she can quickly 
 have around her a company of like spirits, or can meet 
 them as she goes on her errands to the corner grocery 
 or to the baker, when she will utterly refuse to share 
 with the farmer's wife an ample apartment whose win- 
 dows open upon boundless views of beauty and admit 
 none but healthful airs. 
 
 It is society, and varied society, which the soul craves, 
 unless its cravings have been so long ungratified that it 
 settles down into an ignorant or enforced contentment 
 with itself and its habitual surroundings. All physical 
 and material things will not make amends for the lack 
 of society, for the commingling of soul with soul. Much 
 as the human being may grasp after what is material, 
 and material as his life may seem to be, he is, after all, 
 a spiritual being, a creature of feelings and sympathies, 
 and all riches cannot satisfy him. Money, land, food, 
 drink, dress ; these are not enough. There must be 
 something more, and something higher communion 
 with his kind, the interchange of thought and feeling 
 with others. This he finds most, and most easily reach- 
 ed, where those of his kind are massed together in the 
 town or city. Here, too, in the large community, socie- 
 ty of the most congenial character is easy to be found.
 
 CAUSES OF OVER-POPULATING OF TOWNS. 37 
 
 Then, growing out of this consolidation or aggrega- 
 tion, come facilities for various social delights ; such as 
 books, plays, concerts, lectures, and shows of different 
 kinds, reaching in quality through a wide range, which 
 adapts them to all tastes and all grades of feeling and 
 culture. 
 
 Now, grant that there is an abnormal and unhealthy 
 craving for excitement which impels many to turn away 
 from country life and seek the city with its crowds and 
 varied sights and scenes. Grant, also, that low passions 
 tend thither, because of the easier gratification afforded. 
 Enough remains in the prevalent habit of life in the 
 country to account for the readiness to forsake it for 
 the town. It is not to be wondered at that our boys 
 and girls, not to speak of those older, who have any en- 
 terprise of spirit, should be willing to leave the paternal 
 acres. It is the defective social element of our country 
 life which is the most efficient cause of the depletion of 
 the country and the disproportionate gathering of popu- 
 lation in the large towns and cities. Other causes do 
 their part to occasion this result, but this is the grand 
 and most constantly influential cause. The remedy for 
 the evil, therefore, if remedy there be, is to be applied 
 principally at this point.
 
 38 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 DTJLNESS OF THE COUNTRY. 
 
 "Accuse not Nature, she hath done her part." MILTON. 
 
 "To smell to a fresh turf is wholesome for the body." THOMAS 
 FULLER. 
 
 LIFE in the country ought not to be dull or unattrac- 
 tive. There is no necessity for it. In certain respects, 
 as we have seen, the city may possess advantages not to 
 be found in the open country. This must be so, else 
 cities would never come into existence. And so to 
 many persons the city or great town must be the most 
 desirable place for residence. But the mass of people 
 dwell, and ever will dwell, in the country. Cities can 
 exist only as there is a country back of them to create 
 and sustain them. They have no self-creative power. 
 " The profit of the earth is for all : the king himself 
 is served by the field." So says the Scripture. Agri- 
 culture, the tilling of the ground, is the bottom and 
 foundation of all life, of all industries, of all enjoy- 
 ments. This dependence of all upon what is produced 
 in the open country is often forgotten, and multitudes 
 who flock to the city, without any legitimate call of 
 business, find that they have escaped discomforts and
 
 DULNESS OF THE COUNTRY. 39 
 
 troubles which might have been removed, only to meet 
 those far greater and more persistent in character. 
 
 We might conclude beforehand that the place de- 
 signed by a good Creator for the larger part of man- 
 kind to live in would be as desirable, because as promo- 
 tive of comfort, as any. Nay, it ought to be the most 
 desirable. And so who does not know how the poets, 
 who are the true seers and have the deepest insight of 
 things, are always singing the charms of the country 
 and taking us out with them through woods and fields, 
 and under the open sky, and fixing our gaze upon a 
 thousand delightful objects? The material world be- 
 comes a living thing to them. And thus our own Bry- 
 ant, clinging to the country as he did, resting and may 
 we not say revelling there after his daily business in 
 the city was done, expresses a wide-spread feeling when, 
 in the familiar words of his " Thanatopsis " he says 
 
 " To him who, in the love of Nature, holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language. For his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
 Into his darker musings with a mild 
 And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware." 
 
 So Wordsworth says 
 
 "The sounding cataract 
 Haunted me like a passion ; the tall rock, 
 The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 
 Their colors and their forms, were then to me
 
 4:0 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 An appetite a feeling and a love, 
 That had no need of a remoter charm 
 By thoughts supplied, nor any interest 
 Uoborrowed from the eye." 
 
 Cowper in like manner gives this expression to his 
 feelings in respect to the country : 
 
 "I never framed a wish, or formed a plan, 
 That flattered me with hopes of earthly bliss, 
 But there I laid the scene. There early strayed 
 My fancy ; ere yet liberty of choice 
 Had found me, or the hope of being free, 
 My very dreams were rural." 
 
 It were easy, by turning the leaves of our volumes 
 of poetry, to bring the very woods and fields about 
 us, odorous with their scents and vocal with their pe- 
 culiar sounds. And if there were more of this po- 
 etic feeling or sensibility, the country would be more 
 attractive than it is as a place of living. As it is, we 
 often find those who are dwelling amid the most de- 
 lightful scenery quite insensible to its charms. The 
 most beautiful landscape is but "common earth" to 
 many. " Having eyes, they see not, neither do they un- 
 derstand." And one of the problems involved in mak- 
 ing country life properly attractive and giving it its 
 true interest is that of giving people this power to see, 
 the ability to behold what a world of life and beauty 
 they are living in, and so to have all the powers of their 
 souls brought into communion with it, and, through it, 
 with all the creation and with the Creator himself. 
 What is wanted is to lift our country life out of the dull,
 
 DULNESS OF THE COUNTRY. 41 
 
 mechanical, and monotonous condition in which it is 
 found to so great an extent, and to bring it into a con- 
 dition of inspiration from all the life of nature and so- 
 ciety. 
 
 The problem is seen to be twofold, therefore to bring 
 those living in our country villages into closer and more 
 frequent contact with one another, and thus to develop 
 the social element which every soul so much needs ; 
 and, secondly, to bring all into contact and communion 
 with nature, and thus give a higher tone and inspira- 
 tion to the life of each and all. 
 
 The country is dull and irksome to many, and espe- 
 cially to the young, because there are so few occasions 
 of coming together and uniting in common pleasures, 
 and thereby gratifying the social instinct of our nature. 
 We are made for society. We may be absorbed for a 
 time in the busy cares and ambitions of middle life so 
 as to be temporarily oblivious of, or indifferent to, the 
 claims of society. But in our younger, and again in 
 our older years, we feel that life is a partnership affair, 
 that to be alone is not to live. We yearn for our kind. 
 We want to exchange thought and feeling with others. 
 We want to touch hands and to touch hearts. We want 
 to look at pleasant things with other eyes as well as our 
 own, to see and hear in company with others. 
 
 Now, the too common fact is, that our country vil- 
 lages furnish few opportunities for social intercourse. 
 Life drags on with an almost unvarying round of toil. 
 There is little to break up its monotony. There are 
 
 D
 
 4:2 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 few sources of rational amusement open to all. And 
 amusement certainly has its place as one of the needs 
 of a truly healthy life, healthy in the largest and best 
 sense. As the cattle cannot profitably be kept in the 
 yoke all the while, no more can the man. The farmer 
 himself will accomplish the most in his farm -work if 
 now and then he gives himself up to some social enjoy- 
 ment. He will be the fresher and more vigorous for it, 
 and he will find more of enjoyment in his life of toil. 
 
 The young feel a special craving for society. It is, 
 in fact, their life. And it is because this craving of 
 their nature is not adequately gratified, but is even of- 
 ten rudely rebuked, and the means of innocent pleasure 
 denied, that they are so frequently ready to leave home 
 and friends and try the chances of town or city. The 
 son and daughter not only feel the absence of occasions 
 of social enjoyment, but they see father and mother 
 leading a monotonous round of drudgery in the field 
 and in the house alike, with little variation, the joints 
 of the body stiffened prematurely by the steady drag of 
 unremitted work, and the joints of the mind stiffened 
 at the same time by the dull and narrow and unvarying 
 habit of thought. And who can blame them if they 
 shrink back at the prospect of leading such a life them- 
 selves? The wonder is rather that more do not flee 
 from the country. 
 
 But this may be changed, and should be. The boys 
 and girls at school, or just emerging from it, in the 
 fresh fervor of youth, feel that there is, or ought to be,
 
 DULNESS OF THE COUNTRY. 43 
 
 something better for them than such a dull, mechanical 
 life as they see most of those around them are living. 
 And they are right in this. Life in the country ought 
 to be full of freshness from youth to oldest age. The 
 life of a farmer ought to be a truly royal life. There 
 is no life more independent or free from wearisome 
 care than his may be. There is none that has more 
 abundant natural resources for delight and for that 
 which will interest and occupy all the faculties of the 
 man. There is none which better affords place for the 
 use of all knowledge, even that which is most scientific. 
 There is none which can supply a larger variety of em- 
 ployments and thereby guard against monotony and 
 dulness more effectually than a life on the broad acres 
 of the open country. The husbandman is king, or may 
 be. It is his own fault if he lives as a serf, or in a way- 
 only to dull and dwarf his higher and better nature.
 
 44 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MEANS AND OCCASIONS OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 
 
 ' ' How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude ! 
 But grant me still a friend in my retreat, 
 Whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 RECOGNIZING the deficiency in the social element of 
 country life as that which principally renders it dull 
 and distasteful to so many, and the chief reason why 
 there is such a disposition to forsake the country and 
 crowd the towns and cities with a disproportionate pop- 
 ulation, it is manifest that the first thing to be done, if 
 we would remedy the evil, is to make some resolute en- 
 deavor to improve the social life of our country villages. 
 Something is needed to draw out in the inhabitants of 
 our villages the feeling that they are dwellers together 
 in a common home, and that they have a common inter- 
 est in it and in each other. Something is needed to 
 stimulate into more active exercise the feeling of mutu- 
 al interest and common enjoyment as well as a common 
 responsibility for the general ongoing of things around 
 them. There is need of something to draw the people 
 together, in one way and another, and in larger or 
 smaller numbers, from time to time, old and young, and
 
 MEANS AND OCCASIONS OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 45 
 
 men and women alike, that they may look into each 
 other's faces, and, for the time, engage in some common 
 work or common pleasure, and thereby have the bonds 
 of a common interest and fellow-feeling cemented and 
 strengthened. Something is needed which shall local- 
 ize their feeling and cause their thoughts to gather 
 about the place in which they dwell with a special in- 
 terest, to give them a certain pride in their own village, 
 and make them feel that it is a good and desirable place 
 in which to live ; that if it has not something of celeb- 
 rity and attractiveness, which other places may have, it 
 has yet something which they have not, or has it in bet- 
 ter form and degree. 
 
 This feeling needs to be cultivated, especially in the 
 young, who naturally have as yet felt the fewest ties of 
 attachment to any place or society, and who are readi- 
 est to move whithersoever the attractions and pleasures 
 of society may be, or seem to be, strongest. Parents, 
 and the older members of our village communities, have 
 been greatly at fault in not cultivating in the young a 
 feeling of interest in, and attachment to, the place in 
 which their home has been fixed. They have been at 
 fault in not having more of it themselves, and in not 
 manifesting more what feeling of this sort they have 
 had. " This is our village ;" " This is our home." Too 
 seldom has there been the feeling which stood ready to 
 vent itself in such words. So far as it has existed, as 
 doubtless it has to a considerable extent, it has been for 
 the most part a dumb and voiceless feeling. As a con-
 
 46 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 sequence, the young have grown up commonly in great 
 ignorance of the place where their very life originated, 
 and, while they may have come to have a respectable 
 knowledge of the geography and history of the world 
 at large, have often been lamentably ignorant of the 
 features and objects of interest in the village where 
 they were born. Many a boy has been able to give 
 a more intelligible account of Patagonia or Greenland 
 than of the town and county of his own residence. 
 
 Now, what is wanted is something that shall develop 
 the local interest of the dwellers in our villages in one 
 another and in the place where they live ; something to 
 cultivate in old and young alike the feeling of attach- 
 ment to their local home. Almost anything, therefore, 
 is to be encouraged which will serve to bring the peo- 
 ple together. A mountebank show is better than noth- 
 ing. But other and better occasions may easily be had. 
 The national anniversary and Decoration - day might 
 easily be improved in every village, not only as the 
 means of stimulating the feeling of patriotism, but the 
 feeling of local attachment as well. The old "May- 
 day" of our English ancestors might be revived. So, 
 also, farmers' clubs are to be encouraged, or something 
 of the sort, under a different name. These should not 
 only draw the whole village together once a year for a 
 show of the annual products in cattle, grain, and fruits, 
 but on more frequent occasions, though, perhaps, not in 
 so large numbers. They may not always result in se- 
 curing a larger immediate pecuniary return for the
 
 MEANS AND OCCASIONS OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 4.7 
 
 farmer's labor ; though nothing is more certain to bring 
 an increase of this sort than an increase of intelligence 
 in the methods of labor which such gatherings are well 
 calculated to promote. But, however this may be, they 
 do result in a culture of the better feelings and sensi- 
 bilities, which is of more importance than the best and 
 most profitable culture of the soil. No company of 
 men can come together as friends and neighbors to dis- 
 cuss corn or potatoes, or anything that concerns their 
 common life, without going home the better for so do- 
 ing. They feel anew the touch of a common humanity, 
 and they are better men for what they have mutually 
 given and received in the interchange of thought and 
 by the secret magnetism of their personal presence. 
 They have a new and deeper interest in one another 
 and a kindlier feeling towards each other. The farm- 
 ers' sons should, of course, be included in these gather- 
 ings, and be made to feel that they are for their sake as 
 much as for that of their elders. Instead of being mere- 
 ly allowed to hang about upon the outskirts of such as- 
 semblings, as has been so commonly the usage, they 
 should be made to feel that they are an essential part 
 of them. It has been the bane of our agricultural life 
 too commonly that the sons of our farmers have been 
 made mere drudges and dependents, instead of being 
 early recognized as having a partnership in the com- 
 mon work and the common rewards of the home hus- 
 bandry, and thus too often have been fairly driven off 
 from the place which had become more a place of ser-
 
 48 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 vitude than a home, and, therefore, had little to attach 
 them to it. 
 
 If these meetings are also open to the farmers' wives 
 and daughters, as they should be, the result will be all 
 the better. The tone of the talk will be more refined 
 more of the soul and less of the soil while the light 
 of woman's eye shining upon the scene, even when her 
 voice, perhaps, may not be heard, will serve to quicken 
 all the better sensibilities of man's nature. And then 
 there will be the little hand-shakings and interchanges 
 of family and neighborhood news in the doorway and 
 on the steps before and after the formal gatherings and 
 discussions. Or there will be the free loosing of the 
 tongue and the unbosoming of the heart, perhaps, at the 
 social dinner or tea which is the accompaniment of the 
 meeting, that will make the result all the better ; for 
 this dining or supping together is, after all, one of the 
 great motive forces of a truly human society. A good 
 dinner is recognized in political circles as an important 
 instrument of diplomacy. "We have it, also, on the au- 
 thority of a very eminent and very intellectual clergy- 
 man that it is impossible to carry on a ministerial club 
 successfully without having a good dinner or supper 
 as one of its adjuncts. And ever since Jacob secured 
 Esau's birthright by a mess of pottage, and conquered 
 his will by an assault on his stomach, the importance of 
 this organ has been recognized. Body and soul are 
 strangely linked together. We are not all body, and 
 we cannot be all aoul if we would. The attempt thus
 
 MEANS AND OCCASIONS OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 49 
 
 to etherealize ourselves makes us ghosts or dyspeptics, 
 and not men. 
 
 And so fairs and festivals of almost all sorts are to 
 be encouraged on the same account. In a pecuniary 
 view, the former are expensive. They commonly cost 
 more than they come to, though many persons have an 
 easy way of cheating themselves into the belief that 
 they thus secure large returns upon a small investment. 
 And, accompanied as they frequently have been by 
 grab -bags and lotteries in one form or another, their 
 moral influence has been bad. Their real value is so- 
 cial, not pecuniary; and as man is worth more than 
 money, so these occasions for the development of the 
 social part of our nature are worth more than all the 
 most successful speculations of the Exchange. The 
 heart at such times coins feelings which are more pre- 
 cious than any coinage of the mint. Let fairs and fes- 
 tivals, then, be encouraged and multiplied as often as 
 fit occasions for them can be found. They may occupy 
 time. But how can time be better employed? They 
 may require the expenditure of some labor in preparing 
 for them. But what labor is spent to better purpose? 
 And when the work is over, how many pleasant com- 
 panionships will have been formed or cemented anew, 
 and how many pleasant memories will remain ! The 
 community will have been drawn together ; hearts will 
 have come into closer fellowship ; the sense of a com- 
 mon humanity will have been deepened; and some- 
 thing besides dollars and cents, or digging and ditching,
 
 50 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 will have been thought of. And then, so far as digging 
 and ditching are a necessary part of the villager's life, 
 he will go back to it from these social and festive occa- 
 sions with a freshened spirit and a more willing heart ; 
 he will go back to it feeling that he is not a mere dirt- 
 digger, after all, but that there is another and better 
 side to his life. 
 
 It is but a short step from these farmers' clubs and 
 fairs and festivals to many other things which appeal 
 to, and at the same time cultivate, the social feeling, 
 and which tend to give attractiveness and interest to the 
 place where they are found. Such are debating soci- 
 eties and lecture associations, either separately or com- 
 bined. The former may easily be established in connec- 
 tion with every district school ; and one can hardly be es- 
 tablished without proving a source of interest and enter- 
 tainment to the whole neighborhood. And every town 
 may have an instructive course of lectures, as the lei- 
 sure winter evenings come on, which will prove a happy 
 occasion of reunion to the entire community. Nor is it 
 necessary to send abroad, unless occasionally, perhaps, 
 for the brilliant stars of the lecture firmament. Let 
 there but be a readiness to give a modicum of honor to 
 a prophet in his own country, to cherish and appreciate 
 home talent ; and then, when the schoolmaster has giv- 
 en his address on some theme which he has studied, and 
 Farmer A comes with his experience on the culti- 
 vation of corn or on the improvements which have been 
 made in the art of husbandry ; or Blacksmith B
 
 MEANS AND OCCASIONS OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 51 
 
 gives his essay on iron, or the strength of materials, or 
 some other subject with which he is familiar; or Car- 
 penter C his discourse on house -building or the 
 
 various qualities and uses of timber; and the doctor, 
 the lawyer, and the minister contribute their quota 
 from their various stores of knowledge and the contents 
 of their libraries, the people who come to hear will 
 listen to honest and instructive thought, if not always 
 to the smoothest or most startling periods; and the 
 home life and society of their own village will have 
 new value in their esteem, and they will be more ready 
 to think that the lines have fallen to them in pleasant 
 places, and be more content than ever with their coun- 
 try home. 
 
 Then how easy to have, in almost every village, some 
 organization for musical purposes a glee club, per- 
 haps, or a band of instrumental performers which 
 shall from time to time call the people together, in 
 larger or smaller numbers, and in different neighbor- 
 hoods, it may be, for a pleasant entertainment of mu- 
 sic, combined with cheerful conversation and harmless 
 games of various kinds. 
 
 It is easy to see, when we come to look at the subject 
 thus, how readily means are afforded for developing the 
 social spirit of our village life, and thus waking that 
 life from the dulness and seeming torpor which too 
 often characterize it, and giving it a new interest and 
 attractiveness.
 
 52 VILLAGES AJS T D VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT SOCIETIES. 
 
 "The real elements of beauty in a village are not fine houses, costly 
 fences, paved roadways, geometrical lines, mathematical grading, nor any 
 obviously costly improvements. They are, rather, cosiness, neatness, sim- 
 plicity, and that homely air that grows from these and from the presence 
 of a home-loving people." GEORGE E. WARING, JR. 
 
 WE have spoken of fairs, festivals, fanners' clubs, 
 and the like as deserving encouragement on account of 
 their contributions to the social life of our villages and 
 consequent tendency to make our village life more at- 
 tractive. But when these means of social improvement 
 have come into use to any considerable extent, there 
 will grow up such an interest in the village home as 
 will lead many to wish to do something to make it 
 additionally attractive to add something of method 
 and system to the work of improvement. As a new 
 spirit is developed in one and another; as the social 
 feelings are quickened ; as something of taste is felt 
 stirring in here and there one, there will be more and 
 more of desire, on the part of those so affected, to do 
 something for the whole community of which they 
 form a portion. Very naturally they will desire to see 
 a better outward look on the village itself the houses
 
 VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT SOCIETIES. 53 
 
 in which they live, the streets along which they have 
 occasion so often to walk or ride. The desire is a laud- 
 able one ; and yet it often fails of attaining its object, 
 except very slowly and partially, for want of the aid 
 of systematic and associated action, and because action 
 in this direction and for this object is something un- 
 familiar in practice. There are some, if not many, in 
 nearly every village, probably, who have, in a degree 
 at least, the spirit of improvement; who desire their 
 own advancement in culture and character, and who 
 carry this feeling, to some extent, into the arrangement 
 of their own houses and their surroundings ; and who 
 would gladly see an improvement in the aspect of the 
 whole town or village where they live. But, alone, 
 they are comparatively powerless to effect the desired 
 object. It is true that what any one may do to im- 
 prove his own residence, or to improve himself, has the 
 force of example, and is likely to stimulate the feeling 
 of improvement in others, and thus produce some good 
 result. But this influence works slowly. The desired 
 result may be much hastened by bringing together and 
 combining the power of those who have like feeling 
 and taste. And there is often a good deal of feeling 
 and taste existing in a latent state, as it were, which any 
 such organization calls out and makes manifest, which 
 otherwise would never have made itself known. 
 
 Hence, among the most hopeful agencies for the im- 
 provement of our village life are those various organi- 
 zations and associations which have been springing up
 
 54 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 within the last few years, known generally as Village- 
 improvement Societies, though sometimes bearing oth- 
 er names. Such organizations deserve to be encouraged 
 on very many accounts. 
 
 They may begin, if need be, in a very humble way. 
 They may begin in almost any neighborhood. It is 
 not at all necessary to wait till the whole village or 
 town can be set moving in this direction. If only those 
 living on some one street or in some one neighborhood, 
 or a considerable part of them, associate themselves for 
 purposes of improvement, their aim will sooner or later 
 extend so as to take in the entire town, and their organ- 
 ization will enlarge itself proportionally or be merged 
 in another of wider scope. Sooner or later the thing 
 will expand so as to meet to the fullest extent the re- 
 sult desired. What, is most needed is a beginning. If 
 there are but half a dozen neighbors, or half a dozen in 
 the whole town, known to each other as having some 
 desire to see a better state of society and a better look 
 to the village where they live, let them get together 
 some evening and resolve to do what they can, by their 
 combined efforts, to bring about the desired result. 
 But let the meeting and the earnest talk not end in 
 talk ; and that it may not so end, let not those assem- 
 bled be afraid to organize themselves into a visible and 
 formal society or association. Some organization is in- 
 dispensable to success. They need not fear that such 
 a course will look ambitious or presuming. 
 
 And now, having sufficient courage and earnestness
 
 VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT SOCIETIES. 55 
 
 of purpose to organize themselves into a visible body or 
 corporation, they need not waste time in deciding by 
 what particular name they will be known. This is, 
 comparatively, unimportant. If they happen to have 
 most prominently in mind at the start the desirableness 
 of trees to cover the nakedness of some place from 
 which the ruthless axe at some former time has swept 
 away every green thing, let them call themselves the 
 " Tree-planting Association " of such a town or village. 
 If it is a neighborhood movement for the general bet- 
 terment of things around them, they may designate 
 themselves the " Neighborhood-improvement So- 
 ciety." Or, if it is a more wide -spread movement at 
 the outset, they may style themselves the " Village-im- 
 provement Society of ." The name is of little 
 
 consequence. It is the action under it which is of im- 
 portance. What is wanted is something to hold them 
 together in a visible unity, so that they may act united- 
 ly, systematically, and with their combined force and 
 efficiency. Being thus organized, and having taken 
 some name, it is very important that their few officers 
 should be selected with reference to their earnestness 
 and efficiency rather than their dignity or the personal 
 position which they may have in the community. Our 
 societies are not unfrequently so loaded down with 
 dignity in their officers that their effectiveness is very 
 small. 
 
 The constitution of the societ} r may be as simple as 
 its name. Nothing elaborate or long-drawn is neces-
 
 56 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 sary. Let the object or objects of the association be 
 stated in as few and simple words as may be. Let 
 there be a president, secretary, treasurer, and an execu- 
 tive committee of two or three it may be a few more 
 and then the society is ready for work. 
 
 With what work it shall best begin will depend upon 
 the peculiarities of the place and also upon the sea- 
 son of the year. Some places need improvement most 
 in one direction ; others, in a different one. With some 
 it will be most needful in outward things, while in 
 others it may be most demanded in respect to things 
 within doors and those which more directly respect so- 
 cial feeling and habits. If the association comes into 
 being and takes form in the cooler season of the year, 
 then it will naturally turn its attention first to the pro- 
 motion of social enjoyment by means of pleasant gather- 
 ings in one place and another festivals, concerts, games, 
 and the like ; while it will also be discussing, from time 
 to time, in its meetings, plans for operations when the 
 right season comes, which will do something for the 
 improvement of the outward appearance of the village. 
 If the organization of the society takes place in spring- 
 time, its first efforts will naturally be put forth in the en- 
 deavor to secure some outward improvement or embel- 
 lishment ; and, perhaps, no better start is likely to be 
 made than by planting trees along some naked street 
 or upon some open ground which has been left at the 
 confluence of two or three roads waiting to be fashion- 
 ed, with little effort, into a lovely park. Or it may be
 
 VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT SOCIETIES. 57 
 
 the village church has been left, like a great rocky 
 boulder, standing in some bleak place, exposed alike to 
 the blaze of the sun and the blasts of the storm, forlorn 
 and cheerless. It would be a thing welcomed by all if 
 this could be changed, as it could be by only a day or 
 two given, at the right season, to the planting of trees. 
 If the parish minister should be a member of the Im- 
 provement Society as he very likely would be he 
 might be willing to lend a voice in church on the Sab- 
 bath as well as a hand at the right time elsewhere, by 
 doing as one clergyman we wot of did, who one day, 
 calling to his aid the words of Isaiah, gave the follow- 
 ing among his Sabbath notices: "All those who are 
 willing to aid in making the surroundings of the house 
 of God pleasant and comely are invited to go out into 
 the woods with me to-morrow and 'bring the fir-tree, 
 the pine-tree, and the box together to beautify the place 
 of God's sanctuary, and make the place of his feet glo- 
 rious.' " The result in that case was a pleasant, social 
 day on the hill-sides spent in gathering the trees, and 
 nearly a hundred of them, of various kinds, planted 
 around the church, where they now stand, the adorn- 
 ment of the village and a monument to the memory 
 of that minister to which the people point with pride 
 and affection. 
 
 Perhaps the village cemetery has been neglected, and 
 is an unsightly and disagreeable place. If so, here is a 
 feasible point at which to begin the work of village im- 
 provement. No other work could be undertaken, either, 
 
 E
 
 58 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 which would be likely to excite a more general interest 
 or elicit a more general co-operation, for all have a man- 
 ifest concern in the good keeping of the place where lie 
 the remains of friends and kindred, and where all are 
 so soon to lie down. Let the work be undertaken of 
 surrounding the place of the dead with some barrier 
 which shall protect its sacred ground from the intru- 
 sion of wandering cattle. Let it be girt about with an 
 evergreen hedge, emblematical of our immortality, our 
 essential life thus asserting itself, as it were, in the very 
 citadel of death. Let the paths that lead through the 
 cemetery be cleared of their grass and weeds ; the half- 
 fallen gravestones be set up again, and trees and shrubs 
 planted along the avenues, or in other places, under the 
 grateful shadow of which the visitor to the graves of 
 dear friends may sit down for rest and tranquil contem- 
 plation. 
 
 In the various ways now suggested, and in many oth- 
 ers not named, the desired work may be begun and car- 
 ried forward. It matters little, as we have said, where 
 the beginning is made. One thing will naturally lead 
 to another until the whole field is covered. One thing, 
 too, will commonly be enough for any one year, while 
 several years will be required to accomplish some of 
 the objects which a village -improvement society will 
 be likely to undertake. Such an association must not 
 attempt too much at once. In this respect, "hasten 
 slowly" is true wisdom. 
 
 It ought to be said, moreover, that this combined vil-
 
 VILLAGE-IMPKOVEMENT SOCIETIES. 59 
 
 lage-improvement work is eminently one for both sex- 
 es. There can be no dispute about woman's rights 
 here, for this is peculiarly a work of taste and feeling ; 
 and, in matters of taste and feeling, woman's claim to 
 a hearing and a participation none will dispute. The 
 union of the sexes in councils about village improve- 
 ment will make the consultations all the more pleasant, 
 and the work finally done all the more satisfactory. 
 We have in mind one village, which stands as a model 
 for work of this kind, where the work has been done 
 largely through the instrumentality of women. In all 
 the councils that have led to the improvement of this 
 village the gentler sex have borne a conspicuous part, 
 and their suggestions have been cordially welcomed. 
 
 So it should be in all such cases. The sexes should 
 combine in the work of improving their common home. 
 The refining and tasteful influences of the one should 
 co-operate with the executive energy of the other. The 
 result will be all the more complete and satisfactory for 
 this combination of qualities. Besides, it would be a 
 great loss to miss the opportunities which the frequent 
 consultations of such associations afford for the meeting 
 of the sexes together in one of the pleasantest ways 
 possible. Such assemblings are to be encouraged on 
 all accounts.
 
 60 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LAUKEL HILL ASSOCIATION. 
 "Woodman, spare that tree!" G. P. MORRIS. 
 
 A BKIEF sketch of a single successful organization for 
 the purpose of village improvement may make the sub- 
 ject more clear, and prove a better incitement to action 
 in the right direction than much more that might be 
 said in another and more general form. Most people 
 are more ready to work from a pattern than to originate 
 for themselves, even when the work to be done is sim- 
 ple. We give a few pages, therefore, to a sketch of the 
 Laurel Hill Association of Stockbridge, Mass., which 
 has become somewhat widely known, and has served as 
 the model of several like associations. And if any one 
 would see at a glance what steady and persistent work 
 can do, though neither large numbers nor large capital 
 is engaged in it, let him visit the hills of Berkshire, 
 and, after looking down upon its most beautiful village, 
 and passing along its clean and shaded streets, let him 
 ask some of its inhabitants to describe to him the place 
 as it was a score of years ago. 
 
 The Laurel Hill Association had a very simple and 
 modest beginning, showing in this that such organiza-
 
 THE LAUREL HILL ASSOCIATION. . 61 
 
 tions need not be started with any great formality or 
 any plan of immediate great effects. It had its origin 
 in the endeavor, on the part of a few sensible and taste- 
 ful persons, to preserve a well - wooded hill, situated 
 nearly in the centre of the village, from falling a victim 
 to the woodman's axe, and so becoming, instead of the 
 " thing of beauty " it was, only an unsightly object. 
 The rocky and wood-crowned eminence was purchased, 
 and subsequently given in trust to a small company 
 who had organized themselves for the purpose ; and as 
 the hill abounded in the kalmia, or laurel, this easily 
 gave name to the association. 
 
 But it was not enough for the association simply to 
 preserve the hill, or to add something to its attractive- 
 ness by clearing away the tangled underbrush or re- 
 moving the dead or decaying trees. The securing of 
 the hill as a matter of taste, and not because it was good 
 for so much cord-wood, and therefore so much annual 
 pecuniary income, naturally stimulated the proprietors, 
 and put them upon doing something more in the direc- 
 tion of right feeling and public improvement. So they 
 began by taking in hand the cemetery, which, like so 
 many of our village burial-grounds, had been left in neg- 
 lect. Accumulated rubbish was removed. Walks were 
 cleaned up and new ones constructed. The fallen head- 
 stones were made to stand erect again. It was not long 
 before, through the influence of the association, the 
 town was induced to make an appropriation of money 
 sufficient to surround the cemetery with a neat fence of
 
 62 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 iron, within which was planted a belt of evergreens. 
 Subsequently, a stone receiving-tomb was built, where 
 the bodies of the dead might be temporarily deposited 
 when, on account of the frozen ground in winter, or of 
 tempestuous weather, immediate burial might not be 
 convenient. And thus the work has gone on from 
 year to year until that plain country burial-place has 
 become a beautiful and pleasant spot, and, although in 
 the midst of the dwellings of the villagers, is not re- 
 garded as an objectionable presence. 
 
 From putting in order the cemetery, trimming and 
 smoothing its pathways, it was easy and natural for the 
 association to undertake to put the streets and walks of 
 the village in better condition. The two works soon 
 came to be carried on together. Beginning at the cen- 
 tre, where everybody had occasion to come for the sake 
 of the post-office, the churches, and the stores, the ine- 
 qualities and inconveniences of the principal street were 
 corrected by proper grading and drainage ; and ample 
 gravel walks on either side were constructed in place of 
 the narrow and devious trails which so commonly serve 
 for paths in our country villages, the footways of the 
 horses and cows being usually better cared for than 
 those over which their owners have to pass. The peo- 
 ple living along the street were also stimulated to put 
 their premises in a clean and tasteful condition, and to 
 keep them so. Next followed the planting of trees 
 near the roadside wherever trees were lacking. The 
 children, sometimes in their thoughtlessness disposed to
 
 THE LAUREL HILL ASSOCIATION. 63 
 
 treat young trees too rudely by climbing them or mak- 
 ing them turning-goals in their cheery sports, were not 
 only held in check, but made auxiliaries of the associa- 
 tion in its work, and put under a beneficial culture 
 for themselves. Any boy who would undertake to 
 watch and care for a particular tree during two years 
 was rewarded by having the tree called by his name. 
 Other children were paid a few pennies, from time to 
 time, for the loose papers and other unsightly things 
 which they would pick up and remove from the street. 
 
 Gradually this work of the association extended. It 
 soon took in hand the streets connected with the main 
 one, and reaching out towards the borders of the town. 
 Year by year it pushed its walks out from the village 
 centre towards the remoter points. Year by year it 
 extended its lines of trees in the same manner, thus 
 seeking to facilitate intercourse between the various 
 parts of the town and to make the means of travel 
 easy and pleasant. 
 
 In the winter season and the early spring the associ- 
 ation, gathered in its frequent and familiar consultations 
 from house to house, would consider what further im- 
 provements were most needed, and then perhaps would 
 vote an appropriation for the construction of a walk, 
 or the planting of trees along some street, on condi- 
 tion that the dwellers in the vicinity should contribute 
 a like sum either in money or labor. Thus, directly 
 or indirectly, a good many have been led to help on 
 the work who have not been members of the associa-
 
 64 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 tion. And so the process of constructing walks, im- 
 proving roads, planting trees and hedges, and stimulat- 
 ing the people generally to a more tasteful care of their 
 premises has gone forward. Little by little, and in 
 many nameless ways, the houses and barns, the door- 
 yards and farms, have come to wear a look of neatness 
 and intelligent care that makes the Stockbridge of to- 
 day quite a diiferent place from the Stockbridge of 
 twenty, or of even ten, years ago. 
 
 All this has been done, too, at comparatively little pe- 
 cuniary expense. Yearly subscriptions, ranging from ten 
 dollars down to one, have been solicited, the payment of 
 which has easily been made ; and with the money thus 
 secured from year to year, and the additional contribu- 
 tions made in labor, the work has been accomplished. 
 It has really been no tax upon the town, and hardly 
 a burden upon any one. It has rather been a source 
 of pleasure all along, and a kind of healthful rec- 
 reation. Meantime the improved appearance of the 
 place has increased the market-value of the houses and 
 lands by a large percentage. People of wealth and taste 
 from abroad, from the great cities, have been attracted 
 to the place, and have built handsome residences for 
 themselves and made large expenditures which have 
 gone, to a considerable extent, into the pockets of the 
 villagers ; and thus the association, though not aiming 
 at pecuniary results, but only at those of taste and 
 feeling, is found to be the best paying investment, even 
 in a pecuniary view, which the people have made.
 
 THE LAUREL HILL ASSOCIATION. 65 
 
 Travellers passing through Stockbridge are apt to 
 speak of it with admiration as a finished place ; and, 
 compared with many even of the New England vil- 
 lages, it has such a look. But the Laurel Hill Associa- 
 tion does not consider its village home finished, nor its 
 own work completed. Still the work goes on. Com- 
 mittees are even now conning plans for further im- 
 provements. The association is all the while widening 
 the scope of its action. By itself, or by suggestions and 
 stimulations offered to others, it is aiming at the culture 
 of the village people through other agencies than those 
 of outward and physical adornment. It fosters libraries, 
 reading-rooms, and other places of resort where inno- 
 cent and healthful games, music, and conversation will 
 tend to promote pleasant social feeling and lessen vice 
 by removing some of its causes. 
 
 The monthly meetings of the association are of the 
 pleasantest kind. Composed of both sexes, and assem- 
 bling in turn at the houses of the different members, 
 the evenings are spent in discussing whatever tends to 
 the improvement of their common home. Something 
 higher and more important than the fashions or the or- 
 dinary gossip of the village occupies the attention, and 
 leaves no regret afterwards for time misspent. 
 
 Once a year the association holds its public festival, 
 and modestly invites all who will to come and see 
 what it is doing and what it has done. In the month 
 of August, on some bright and sunny afternoon, you 
 may see the villagers, together with the city guests
 
 66 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 summering here and in the neighboring towns, mak- 
 ing their way up the slope of Laurel Hill to a plateau 
 half-way from its base to the summit. Here, under the 
 shade of lofty oaks and elms, there is easy standing- 
 room for two thousand persons. Upon the eastern 
 side of this plateau, where the hill presents a perpen- 
 dicular face of rock, a rostrum of earth covered with 
 turf has been built, from which the eye looks out, 
 through the arching canopy of trees, upon a lovely 
 stretch of meadow, with the winding Housatonic near 
 by, and a portion of the Tacouic range bounding the 
 western horizon. Here, upon their earthen platform, 
 gather the officers of the association, with the orator 
 of the occasion, and possibly the poet, with perhaps a 
 band of music near them, while the assembled com- 
 pany distribute themselves in groups on the green 
 grass, or on the adjacent rocks which form the galler- 
 ies of this rustic theatre. Prayer is offered. The sec- 
 retary and treasurer make report of the transactions of 
 the society during the year. The officers for the en- 
 suing year are chosen. Then the attention of the com- 
 pany is asked to an address, usually by some present 
 or former resident of Stockbridge who has gained a 
 measure of distinction in letters, in trade, or in art, 
 and who is willing thus to recognize his duty to the 
 place of abode. A poem, perhaps, follows, then short 
 speeches from one and another whom the president 
 espies among the trees, and calls upon for a contribu- 
 tion for the occasion. The speeches are interluded by
 
 THE LAUREL HILL ASSOCIATION. 67 
 
 strains of music and pleasant neighborly talk. All is 
 simple and unstudied. It is the village festival. 
 People come together here who meet nowhere else. 
 And here all are equal. Old and young, rich and 
 poor, meet together. All feel that they are welcome ; 
 arid as the sun begins to throw his slant shadows down 
 the hill-side and along the green meadows, the groups 
 move homeward with a kindlier interest in one anoth- 
 er, and a stronger attachment to the place where their 
 lot has been cast. 
 
 To complete the account of this association w r e give 
 its constitution, which may possibly be of service to 
 such as have in contemplation the formation of a sim- 
 ilar organization. 
 
 BY-LAWS A.ND REGMJLA.TIONS 
 
 or TUB 
 
 LAUREL HILL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 ARTICLE I. 
 
 This Association shall be called "The Laurel Hill Association of Stock- 
 bridge." 
 
 ARTICLE II. 
 
 The objects of this Association shall be to improve and ornament the 
 streets and public grounds of Stockbridge, by planting and cultivating 
 trees, cleaning and repairing the sidewalks, and doing such other acts as 
 shall tend to beautify and improve said streets and grounds. 
 
 ARTICLE III. 
 
 The officers of this Association shall consist of a president, four vice- 
 presidents, a clerk, a treasurer, a corresponding secretary, and an execu-
 
 68 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 tive committee of fifteen, part of whom shall be ladies. These officers 
 shall be elected at the annual meeting (except the first election, which 
 shall be on the 3d of September, 1853), and shall hold their offices until 
 others shall be elected in their places. 
 
 ARTICLE IV. 
 
 The president, vice-presidents, clerk, treasurer, and corresponding sec- 
 retary shall be ex-officio members of the executive committee. 
 
 ARTICLE V. 
 
 It shall be the duty of the president to preside at all meetings of the 
 Association, and in his absence the senior vice-president shall preside. 
 It shall also be the duty of the president and vice-presidents to procure 
 addresses at the annual meetings of the Association. 
 
 ARTICLE VI. 
 
 It shall be the duty of the clerk to keep a correct and careful record of 
 all the proceedings of the Association, in a suitable book to be procured 
 for that purpose, and to notify all meetings of the Association. 
 
 ARTICLE VII. 
 
 It shall be the duty of the treasurer to keep safely all the moneys be- 
 longing to the Association, and to pay them over on the orders of the 
 executive committee. 
 
 ARTICLE VIII. 
 
 It shall be the duty of the corresponding secretary to correspond with 
 absent members, and to do all the correspondence of the Association. 
 
 ARTICLE IX. 
 
 It shall be the duty of the executive committee to employ all laborers, 
 make all contracts, expend all moneys, direct and superintend all the 
 improvements of the Association at their discretion. They shall hold 
 meetings monthly from April to October in each year, and as much 
 oftener as they may deem expedient. 
 
 They shnll have power to institute a system of premiums to be award- 
 ed for planting and protecting ornamental trees, and making such other 
 improvements as they shall deem best.
 
 THE LAUREL HILL ASSOCIATION. 69 
 
 ARTICLE X. 
 
 Every person over fourteen years of age who shall plant and protect 
 a tree under the direction of the executive committee, or pay the sum 
 of one dollar annually, and obligate him or herself to pay the same for 
 three years, shall be a member of this Association. And every child 
 under fourteen years of age who shall pay, or become obligated as above, 
 for the sum of twenty-five cents, or an equivalent amount of work annual- 
 ly for three years, under the direction of the executive committee, shall 
 be a member of this Association. 
 
 ARTICLE XI. 
 
 The payment of ten dollars annually for three years, or of twenty-five 
 dollars in one sum, shall constitute a person a member of this Association 
 for life. 
 
 ARTICLE XII. 
 Honorary members may be constituted by a vote of the Association. 
 
 ARTICLE XIII. 
 
 The autograph signatures of all the members of the Association shall be 
 preserved. 
 
 ARTICLE XIV. 
 
 The annual meeting of the Association shall be held on Laurel Hill, 
 on the fourth Wednesday of August, at two o'clock in the afternoon. 
 Notices of said meeting shall be posted on each of the churches, and 
 at the post-office, at least seven days prior to the time of holding said 
 meeting, and a written notice sent to all non-resident members, said 
 notices to be signed by the corresponding secretary. Other meetings 
 of the Association may be called by the executive committee, on seven 
 days' notice, as above prescribed. 
 
 ARTICLE XV. 
 
 At the annual meeting the executive committee shall report the 
 amount of money received and expended during the year ; the number 
 of trees planted by their direction ; the number planted by individuals, 
 and the doings of the committee in general. Their report shall be en- 
 tered on the records of the Association.
 
 70 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 ARTICLE XVI. 
 
 Five members present at any meeting of the executive committee shall 
 constitute a quorum for transacting business. 
 
 ARTICLE XVII. 
 
 No debt shall be contracted by the executive committee beyond the 
 amount of available means within their control to pay it, and no mem- 
 ber of this Association shall be liable for any debt of the Association 
 beyond the amount of his or her subscription. 
 
 ARTICLE XVIII. 
 
 These by-laws and regulations may be amended at the suggestion of 
 the executive committee, sanctioned by a vote of a majority of the mem- 
 bers present at any meeting of the Association.
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 71 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 
 
 "What we lack, perhaps, more than all is, not the capacity to perceive 
 and enjoy the beauty of ornamental trees and shrubs the rural embellish- 
 ment alike of the cottage and the villa but we are deficient in the knowl- 
 edge and the opportunity of knowing how beautiful human habitations 
 are made by a little taste, time, and means expended in this way.'' A. J. 
 DOWNING. 
 
 " The man who loves not trees to look at them, to lie under them, to 
 climb up them (once more a schoolboy), would make no bones of murder- 
 ing." CHRISTOPHER NORTH. 
 
 THE one natural and universal beauty of a village is 
 in its trees, so that one can hardly think of a pleasant 
 bit of country without them. Mountains may be grand 
 from their very bulk and massiveness, or awful even, by 
 reason of their sometimes scarred and naked cliffs, but 
 they are beautiful only as they are clothed with the 
 verdure of trees. So water, whether in the form of 
 running stream or placid lake, is one of the charms of 
 the country. Yet the stream must be fringed with trees, 
 occasionally at least, and linger now and then in shady 
 nooks, and the lake must lie like a gem in a setting of 
 verdurous foliage, in order to produce the best effect, 
 and make the strongest appeal to the sense of the beau- 
 tiful. The water, otherwise, is valuable only as so much
 
 72 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 mill-power, or to afford means of transportation for mer- 
 chandise. And so every one feels that half the beauty 
 of the natural world, if not more, is gone when comes 
 the annual fall of the leaves, for then, except for the 
 evergreens, the trees hardly seem trees to us. They are 
 only so much dead wood, apparently, which we look upon 
 very much as we do upon that in the carpenter's shop 
 or the lumber-yard valuable for certain purposes of 
 human art and comfort, but touching us no longer with 
 sentiment, nor drawing out our feeling as to living things 
 which have on this account some relation to ourselves. 
 
 We need no apology, therefore, after having spoken 
 in a general way about village life, its needs, and the 
 means of its improvement, for offering some more par- 
 ticular considerations in regard to what must bear so 
 important a part in the outward improvement of our 
 villages as trees. 
 
 A tree! What object appeals more certainly to the 
 universal heart of man ? Its very commonness may be 
 a reason why very many, and especially those who have 
 grown up in well-wooded districts, are not distinctly con- 
 scious of the pleasure which they find in trees. It is 
 like their unconsciousness of the delight, the daily en- 
 joyment of the atmosphere. But who, least emotional 
 of mortals though he be, has not, at some time, if not 
 often, felt a tree to be a precious thing? The tired 
 wayfarer, reclining by the dusty roadside under its cool, 
 refreshing shade ! What more precious or truly human 
 picture than that ? A party of old and young, of both
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 73 
 
 sexes, picnicking on a summer's day beneath the spread- 
 ing boughs of some grand old oak ! How could such a 
 happy scene be without that tree? Yonder lofty and 
 majestic elm, the growth of a century, standing by the 
 side of some farm-house, which, though ample in size, it 
 dwarfs to a cottage as it rises above it with its dome of 
 shade, and tosses its giant arms high over roof-tree and 
 chimney-top ! What an object to fill one at the same 
 time with wonder and admiration ! How it starts deep 
 and meditative thoughts even in the casual beholder! 
 That lordly pine, or hemlock, refusing to be robbed of 
 its beauty at any season of the year, but singing, like a 
 hundred ^Eolian harps, with every breeze, and holding 
 itself before us as an emblem of life and immortality, 
 to cheer us when all around is wrapped in the chill 
 white robe of winter, what object on earth, next after 
 the immortal man himself, is more beautiful or more 
 noble ? " Woodman, spare that tree !" You cannot 
 replace in a lifetime what your axe may destroy in an 
 hour. It has taken a lifetime and more to build up 
 that miracle of beauty. 
 
 "In what one imaginable attribute that it ought to 
 possess," asks Christopher North, in the Nodes Am- 
 brosiancp, " is a tree, pray, deficient ? Light, shade, 
 shelter, coolness, freshness, music, all the colors of the 
 rainbow, dew and dreams, dropping through their soft 
 twilight at eve and morn dropping direct, soft, sweet, 
 soothing, restorative from heaven." What a blessing to 
 have such things around us ! What a blessing to be able 
 
 F
 
 74 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 to place them just where we will, to plant and care for 
 them, and see them under our hands growing into ob- 
 jects of beauty and delight, the adornment and one of 
 the chief charms of our homes ! Does it need any argu- 
 ment to show the healthful influence healthful alike to 
 body and soul which they are adapted to exert upon us ? 
 There has always been a charm for the finest minds in 
 tree-planting. It has been at the same time one of the 
 best recreations and one of the pleasantest studies for 
 those of the noblest powers. Scholars and statesmen, 
 poets and philosophers, have delighted to occupy their 
 time in producing effects by means of such planting. 
 Says Lord Bacon, " God Almighty first planted a gar- 
 den ; and, indeed, it is the purest of human pleasures ; 
 it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man, with- 
 out which buildings and palaces are but gross handi- 
 works ; and a man shall ever see that, when ages grow 
 to civility and elegancy, men come to build stately, 
 sooner than to garden finely, as if gardening w r ere the 
 greater perfection." 
 
 We know only comparatively little of what Bacon 
 means by gardening ; that is, by any practice in our own 
 country. Gardening, in his sense, implies the planting 
 of whole acres with trees, and the production of land- 
 scape effects by a careful and well-studied disposal of 
 them in groups and belts, and sometimes in banks of 
 forest almost, as well as by the judicious placing of single 
 trees. "We know little of this. Our planting is mostly 
 confined to the arrangement of a few trees in small en-
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 75 
 
 closures, or along the roadside, with occasionally some- 
 thing on a little larger scale, as when we lay out a city 
 park of a few acres. 
 
 But even with the small scale on which we work, 
 there is occasion for the production of decided effects 
 and room for study in order to make them most pleas- 
 ing. 
 
 And here let us say that no country in the world, per- 
 haps, affords a larger variety of trees for use in planting 
 than our own, or trees finer or more desirable in them- 
 selves. To a great extent we are ignorant of our tree- 
 wealth, and not unfrequently have we sent abroad for 
 trees when we have had much better ones at home. 
 We might mention the Lombardy poplar, for instance, 
 a tree very fashionable forty or fifty years ago and the 
 relics of the fashion are to be seen now occasionally 
 but a poorer thing in the shape of a tree it would be 
 hard to find. A single one, with its tall, spiry form, as 
 a contrast to the spreading forms of other trees, in a 
 considerable plantation, would be admissible, and per- 
 haps produce a good effect. But to fill one's door-yard 
 with such, or to plant them in rows along the roadside 
 for miles together, as has sometimes been done, is the 
 merest caricature of tree -planting. If we want pop- 
 lars, moreover, we have them in our own forests, and 
 need not go to Italy for them, or to the nurseries. And 
 so, also, we have scores of other trees in our forests of 
 which we may avail ourselves for the embellishment 
 of our village streets and door-yards. We have limited
 
 76 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 ourselves to the use of half a dozen trees, as a gen- 
 eral thing, in our planting, when we might easily have 
 taken our choice from half a hundred. We have up- 
 wards of forty kinds of oak alone in our country, and 
 yet we hardly know what it is to plant an oak. What 
 trees we have of this sort are such as have been left in 
 the cutting-off of our forests, or those which have come 
 up spontaneously. But there is hardly a grander tree 
 in the world than many of our oaks. This tree, how- 
 ever, like all, or nearly all, our trees, needs to grow alone 
 to have, literally, an "open field" for itself in order 
 to show its true character. Our woodmen know' that if 
 they want the most serviceable tree for timber, they 
 must seek it in the open ground rather than in the for- 
 est. The tree that grows in the forest, crowded by 
 others, neither has the strength nor the beauty of the 
 one that grows by itself, and consequently battles with 
 the winds and bathes in the daily sunshine, and has 
 room to toss its arms abroad and develop its peculiar 
 nature completely. 
 
 In planting for beauty, therefore, care should be taken 
 to select trees from the open ground, or those which 
 grow upon the edge of the forest rather than in its 
 depths. Oftentimes very fine trees will be found grow- 
 ing along the division fences of the farm. Choosing 
 trees thus, we should next endeavor to avail ourselves 
 of the great variety offered to our hand. Instead of 
 contenting ourselves with the elm and the maple, as so 
 many have done, though these are in themselves trees
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. ff 
 
 of the finest character, we should call to our aid also such 
 as the ash, and the beech, and the birches, as well as the 
 tulip, or whitewood, and the chestnut and hickory.* 
 Then, among trees which have been brought from 
 abroad, but which are now easily obtained at home, we 
 have the horse-chestnut, a tree both beautiful in shape 
 and beautiful for its clusters of bright flowers. And 
 then there is the whole pine family, as we may call them, 
 or the evergreens. We have done hardly anything with 
 this class of trees except to cut them down for fire-wood 
 or lumber. In this respect we are widely in contrast 
 with the English, who often almost fill their lawns and 
 parks with the different kinds of evergreens. And yet 
 there is more reason why we should plant this class of 
 trees than they. We need them in our bright sunshine, 
 so prevalent, to tone down the too abundant light, and to 
 give a sense of coolness to our homes and streets in the 
 heats of summer ; whereas the English are under dark- 
 ened and dripping skies almost all the time. Then they 
 are specially desirable in the winter, when other trees 
 
 * For the satisfaction of those who may not be acquainted with many 
 of our native trees, or who may like to know the opinion of others in re- 
 gard to the merit of different trees, we give a list of those which the Park 
 Commission at Washington, D. C., composed of three men of high stand- 
 ing as horticulturists, have chosen for planting on the borders of streets. 
 They have planted nearly forty- thousand trees, which have mostly been 
 made up of the following twelve varieties, and which we place in the order 
 of preference given them by this commission : White maple, American 
 linden, American elm, scarlet maple, box elder, sugar-maple, American 
 white ash, English sycamore, button-ball, tulip-tree, honey-locust, Norway 
 maple.
 
 78 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 have lost their foliage and the glare of the snow is almost 
 blinding. How pleasant and refreshing it is then to let 
 the eye rest upon the soft yet vivid green of the pines ! 
 Comparatively few also know what a protection from 
 the cold of winter may be secured by means of the trees. 
 A single row of pines, planted near the most exposed 
 side of a dwelling, will furnish a very effective barrier 
 against the chilling blasts from the northwest ; and a belt 
 of such trees, two or three deep, will almost change a 
 winter climate to a temperate one. This is accomplished 
 both by the obstruction which the almost solid mass of 
 leaves offers to the passage of the wind, and by the pos- 
 itive heat which the trees also impart to the atmosphere. 
 For it has been found by experiment that the vital func- 
 tions of growing trees, like the vital functions of our 
 own bodies, are attended by the evolution of heat which 
 is given out to the surrounding air. It is easy to see, 
 therefore, that very much might be done by the use of 
 the evergreens to make our village homes more beauti- 
 ful, and at the same time more comfortable. 
 
 And here let us say a few words for one of our most 
 beautiful but least appreciated evergreens. We mean 
 the hemlock pine. We hold it to be altogether the 
 finest evergreen that is native to our country, and rival- 
 led by few that grow anywhere. And yet, because part- 
 ly of its very abundance in many portions of our coun- 
 try, covering whole mountain-sides, and because of its 
 inferiority to the harder woods, and even to the white 
 and yellow pines, for use as lumber or fuel, it has come
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 79 
 
 to be held, among our villagers especially, as a cheap sort 
 of tree to be made little account of. And so it has been 
 very little planted, and seldom thought of as a desirable 
 addition to the door-yard or the street. But there is 
 really no such beauty in our woods, and no such adorn- 
 ment as it is capable of giving to our dwellings and our 
 villages. Whoever has had one or more of these trees 
 fairly established on his lawn, or has seen one that has 
 had a proper chance to grow in the forest, where it could 
 throw out its arms symmetrically on all sides and lift its 
 head without impediment year by year towards the sky, 
 has been ready to confess that there is no tree at the 
 same time so graceful and so grand. The elm, among 
 deciduous trees, alone can match it. The white and 
 yellow pines and the spruce fir are stiff and ugly in com- 
 parison. The Norway spruce is its only rival, but it is 
 of a coarser make and less attractive. Both have the 
 beautiful habit of drooping their lower branches till 
 they almost, or quite, touch the ground, and then rising 
 in majestic and graceful cones till they overtop almost 
 all other trees. But the hemlock has a delicacy of foli- 
 age and a grace in every limb which the other has not. 
 Its whole structure is instinct with life and beauty. Its 
 taper branches, ending and clothed all through with its 
 most delicate leaflets, sway with every motion of the air, 
 and toss themselves about as in a perpetual joy of life. 
 The Dryads surely must have this tree for their home 
 and temple. How its new shoots, coming out in the 
 spring season and as they do in a measure even after
 
 80 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 almost every rain in the summer of a lighter tint than 
 the older leaves, seem fairly to smile upon you as you 
 behold! 
 
 "O hemlock-tree! O hemlock-tree! how faithful are thy branches! 
 Green not alone in summer-time, 
 But in the winter's frost and rime! 
 O hemlock-tree! O hemlock-tree! how faithful are thy branches!" 
 
 It is a pity this tree should not be made use of more 
 than it is for the embellishment of our home surround- 
 ings ; not to the exclusion of the other evergreens, but 
 in company with them. Together they make up a very 
 pleasant and desirable variety, while any and all of them 
 form a fine background for the various deciduous trees. 
 How one of our white birches, for instance, stands out 
 against a belt of dark pines ! The effect is almost mag- 
 ical. And not only is the landscape effect better when 
 evergreens are mingled with deciduous trees, but both 
 classes of trees seem to grow better in each other's 
 company than separately. This is usually nature's own 
 way of growing them. Abundant experiments also 
 have proved that many deciduous trees are very much 
 benefited by the shelter which neighboring evergreens 
 give them. It is wise, then, on all accounts, to mingle 
 these different classes of trees in our planting. 
 
 Some may think the evergreens specially difficult of 
 management, but it is not so. There is just one thing 
 to be remembered in transplanting them, and that is 
 that we must not allow their roots to become dry, 
 whether by exposure to sun or wind. It is important,
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 81 
 
 therefore, that they should be transplanted, if possible, 
 in a cloudy or, better, a misty and still day, or else that 
 their roots be covered while they are being removed 
 from their old to their new home. If one will only thus 
 guard their roots from becoming dry, he may transplant 
 a hemlock or a white pine with as much ease and cer- 
 tainty of subsequent growth as he can a maple. Ever- 
 greens may be transplanted with this care in the warm 
 months of July and August as well as in the early 
 springtime. It is best commonly, however, to choose 
 small trees, because it is not easy to find large and sym- 
 metrical ones, and because, in the case of all small trees, 
 we are likely to take up a greater proportional share of 
 roots than with those which are larger. 
 
 And whatever tree is handled, evergreen or decidu- 
 ous, large or small, let it not only be taken up carefully, 
 but planted also carefully. This should be the inflex- 
 ible law. Careless planting is a great waste of time 
 and timber, and very unsatisfactory. A few good trees 
 full of vitality, and, therefore, making lusty growth 
 from year to year, are better, worth more every way, 
 than ever so many dead-and-alive things mere apolo- 
 gies for trees of which, alas ! we see too many. Treat 
 a tree as such a living, divinely created thing ought to 
 be treated. A tree has rights which white men, black 
 men, and men of all other colors are bound to respect. 
 Do not wrench it up by force from the soil into which 
 it has woven its very life for years; do not tear its 
 rootlets asunder in the hasty endeavor, with rude in-
 
 82 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 struments, to separate them from their hold. But with 
 whatever painstaking may be needful, let the roots be 
 gently separated from the soil. Remember that they 
 are the digestive organs of the tree ; the organs which 
 are to gather and assimilate its food and convert it into 
 tissue ; and that the fine, fibrous roots are, for this pur- 
 pose, of more consequence than the large ones. The 
 tree can no more grow without them than a man can 
 grow without a stomach. Take them up carefully, 
 therefore; preserve them so far as possible. And if, 
 after all, some roots are broken in the removal, let the 
 fractured ends be smoothly pared off with the knife so 
 that the wounds may be quickly healed and new root- 
 lets begin to be formed ; then replant the tree as care- 
 fully as it has been taken from the ground. Do not, as 
 so many do, treat it like a post and thrust it into a hole 
 only just large enough for it, and then, ram the earth 
 around it and leave it to take care of itself ; but be sure 
 to make a hole as large as the natural spread of the 
 roots, and even larger, so that they may easily push 
 themselves out for the growth of corning years. For 
 the same reason, make the hole of generous depth ; then 
 see that the earth is made fine and of nutritious rich- 
 ness. Thus, make a bed for the tree carefully, as you 
 would make one for yourself, and then lay it therein, 
 tucking the earth carefully about all its finest roots, 
 and with gentle pressure bringing it into firm contact 
 with them, settling it occasionally, perhaps, as you go 
 on, with a few quarts of water, and finally mulching
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 83 
 
 the surface with some old straw or with flat stones. 
 It will pay, as a child well nursed pays, by a healthy 
 growth. It will reward you with its own tree-smiles 
 every year and every day. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to add that, as some portion 
 of the roots is likely to be lost in the process of trans- 
 planting, even when much care is exercised, it is proper 
 that a corresponding portion of branches should be re- 
 moved in order to preserve the requisite balance be- 
 tween roots and branches, the two important parts of 
 the tree-system. The necessary top-pruning should not 
 be done, however, by lopping off at once the whole top 
 down to a certain distance, nor by removing one or 
 more of the lower and larger limbs, but rather by a 
 shortening - in of all the branches a few inches, which 
 will leave the shape of the tree uninjured and pre- 
 serve the proper balance between the digestive and 
 the breathing organs of the tree. 
 
 And now one caution in conclusion. Trees are good, 
 but we may have too many of them, and we may not 
 have them in the proper place. It is easy for the tree- 
 planter to overcrowd his grounds ; especially is this apt 
 to be the case when small trees are planted. The plant- 
 er is anxious for immediate effect at least, planters in 
 this country usually are. And so he plants a lawn in 
 miniature, which, in itself, looks well enough. But 
 when a few years have gone by, the impatient planter 
 finds that his lawn has become a thicket. The trees 
 have expanded, as it was their nature to do, until there
 
 84 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 is hardly any vacant space left. Now trees, to have 
 their best effect, must be seen singly or in a harmoni- 
 ous group of two or three perhaps, and not crowded 
 together as in a forest, where their individuality is 
 lost. They appear at their best, also, only when they 
 have spaces of clean turf around them, in which they 
 are set as enamel. And when trees are allowed to be 
 crowded, not only is their beauty and charm as trees 
 lost, but the highest beauty of the ground is also lost, 
 for nothing will make amends for the lack of some 
 space of clear, unobstructed turf, on which the sun may 
 throw its light and across which may play the shadows 
 of the clouds. There are few things upon which the 
 eye rests with such abiding satisfaction, from day to 
 day and from year to year, as a breadth of clean, 
 luxuriant grass. Neither trees nor flowers, however 
 rich or abundant, can take its place. Then, moreover, 
 the crowding of trees near a dwelling is prejudicial 
 to health. Not that trees in themselves are harmful. 
 On the other hand, science has shown us that it is the 
 office of the trees, through their lungs, the leaves, to 
 reverse the action of our own lungs, to inhale carbon- 
 ic acid, and to throw out into the air the oxygen which 
 we need. But there is no hygienic agency equal to 
 that of the sun. This is the true fountain of life. 
 Plants and animals alike, without it, have but a sickly 
 life or die. No trees, therefore, or anything else, ought 
 to be allowed to keep its beams from striking upon our 
 houses and coming every day, for a while at least, into
 
 TREES AND TREE-PLANTING. 85 
 
 our rooms. Blinds, curtains, carpets, all ought to make 
 way for the sun and give it welcome. Then if we want 
 the shade of trees, let it be sought at some little dis- 
 tance from the dwelling. On all accounts, whether of 
 health or aesthetic effect, there should be a clear space 
 of some breadth around every house, where hardly so 
 much as a shrub should break the smooth green of the 
 turf or the clean sweep of gravel. If one can have a 
 single elm near by, so large, and its branches so lifted up 
 that the light can strike under them abundantly, except 
 at mid-day, it is well. One such tree is enough almost 
 to satisfy the most ardent tree-lover and to adorn suffi- 
 ciently any dwelling-place. But if more are wanted, let 
 them be planted farther away. They look best at a lit- 
 tle distance, as do good pictures. Then their different 
 forms can be best seen, and the play of light and shade 
 upon them with every changing hour and phase of sky. 
 There has been much debate as to the best season of 
 the year for tree-planting, but, like many other debates, 
 this is, perhaps, interminable. Spring and autumn 
 planting are advocated, one as confidently as the other. 
 We would undertake to plant as readily in the one sea- 
 son as the other. The advantage of planting in the au- 
 tumn seems to us to be chiefly this, that it secures so 
 much work done, which, if postponed until spring, may 
 not be done then on account of the many things which 
 are pressing for attention at that season of the year.
 
 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 VINES AND CLIMBING PLANTS. 
 
 " Or the}' led the vine 
 
 To wed her elm ; she, spoused, about him twines 
 Her marriageable arms, and with her brings 
 Her dower, th' adopted clusters, to adorn 
 His barren leaves." Paradise Lost. 
 
 " Man, like the generous vine, supported lives ; 
 The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives." 
 
 POPE. 
 
 AMONG the things that go to the outward adornment 
 and beautifying of our homes, whether in city or coun- 
 try, and so to the making them the more attractive and 
 enjoyable, few deserve a larger place in our esteem than 
 vines and climbing plants. Yet their very modesty 
 and unobtrusiveness often cause them to be overlook- 
 ed, like the grace of modesty in character itself. But 
 there is scarcely any adornment of such universal ap- 
 plicability. They are a grace and charm for almost 
 every place. In the crowded city there is hardly any- 
 thing which can do so much, in giving a touch of nature 
 and of beauty to a home amid walls and pavements of 
 stone or brick, as a single vine or climbing plant. In 
 the narrow space which is all that can usually be at-
 
 VINES AND CLIMBING PLANTS. 87 
 
 tained between one city house and another, there is 
 seldom room for any tree to develop itself and show 
 what it can be or do. We have to content ourselves 
 commonly with mere shrubs. Yet in the narrowest 
 spaces it is possible to embower one's self and house- 
 hold amid vines, and to rejoice in a grateful seclusion 
 from curious eyes, while at the same time enjoying the 
 balm of the open air. And even when shut up to the 
 necessity of living in a city " block," there is no man- 
 sion so grand, or with walls so smoothly chiselled or so 
 deftly carved, but that an ivy or a wistaria can cling to 
 it, and give it an added grace beyond the reach of any 
 craftsman, and touch the heart with something softer 
 than stone, as it greets the eyes of the dwellers there, 
 or only those of the passers-by. 
 
 But the open country is the true home of the vines and 
 climbers, and here they work their best effects, though 
 they have often been greatly overlooked and neglected 
 amid the wealth of vegetation around them. One is 
 often surprised to find people who are regarded as 
 among the most intelligent and observing of our coun- 
 try villagers entirely ignorant of some of the most beau- 
 tiful climbing plants which grow in profusion within 
 easy reach of them, perhaps within daily sight. Take, 
 for instance, one of our most charming climbers, the 
 clematis, known in some sections as " old man's beard," 
 one of a dozen species, which grows abundantly along 
 many of our New England brooks, and hangs out its 
 beautiful silky tresses in autumn upon so many of the
 
 88 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 hedge-rows that skirt the dusty roadway. Hardly any- 
 thing is more delicate and graceful. It is a most rapid 
 grower, covering large spaces in a single season, while it 
 is also among our hardiest plants. Yet how many farm- 
 ers have driven their cows to pasture for years through 
 thickets of it without so much as noticing it, certainly 
 without having any sense of its loveliness ; and many a 
 farmer's wife or daughter has seen its white, starry flow- 
 ers and its silky tresses by the roadside without think- 
 ing how easily its charms might be transferred to the 
 door-yard or the porch at home, now bare. 
 
 Nothing that grows commends itself to us more, on 
 the score both of beauty and usefulness, than this class 
 of plants. The grape type of all the climbers with 
 its inimitable grace of form, neither needing nor admit- 
 ting any touch of man to improve it in this respect, 
 while hanging out at the same time to the sight and 
 offering to the taste its purple and luscious clusters 
 what growth can equal it ? Well, therefore, do the 
 Scriptures take it as the type of all that is most beauti- 
 ful and precious. Israel, God's chosen one, is a vine. 
 A golden vine, curiously carved, we know also, was one 
 of the chief adornments of the temple at Jerusalem. 
 And our blessed Saviour offers himself to us, in his 
 most endearing relation, under the figure of the vine, 
 of which we are, or may be, branches, drinking our 
 life from and bearing fruit with him to the glory of 
 the Heavenly Father. 
 
 It has been well said
 
 VINES AND CLIMBING PLANTS. 89 
 
 " beauty is its own excuse for being," 
 
 and the great Maker has set around us enough of the 
 forms and hues of beauty to show us that it has a value 
 in itself and in his eye, and that the love of the beauti- 
 ful is no unworthy feeling, but one which he would cul- 
 tivate in us by every possible means. And in the vine 
 he has shown us how closely the beautiful and the use- 
 ful are linked together. 
 
 It is set down as one of the tokens of prosperity un- 
 der the reign of King Solomon that " Judah and Israel 
 dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his 
 fig-tree." It would be better for us if we were to be- 
 come more Oriental in our habits, in this respect at least, 
 and, in the season of warmth and leafage, were to sit 
 more than we do under our vines, if not under our fig- 
 trees ; if, after the day's work, there were rest and pleas- 
 ant talk under the grape arbor, or if the tea-table were 
 occasionally spread beneath the vine trellis, and the fla- 
 vor of the hyson were mingled with that of the blossoms 
 or the clusters of the grape. They do this over the wa- 
 ter, and we shall, sometime, perhaps, learn to do the 
 same. In Germany and France especially, one may 
 often see whole families taking their repast, and partic- 
 ularly the evening meal, in the open air. It is health- 
 ful healthful not less to mind than to body. It helps 
 to gather a tender feeling about the home. The very 
 soil gets a more hallowed association, and the children 
 will turn to it in after-life with a sweeter affection and 
 a stronger attachment. It draws them into sympathy 
 
 G
 
 90 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 with nature herself, and tends to inspire them with her 
 precious influences. 
 
 It is surprising what a charm is sometimes given to 
 a very ordinary and humble dwelling by one of 
 these climbing vines. Who has not felt, in traversing 
 some country road, the power of a prairie rose, climbing 
 up by the door-side and over the simple porch of a 
 low -roofed farm-house, to dignify, and even glorify, 
 what otherwise would have been passed by without no- 
 tice, and to draw tender thoughts and feelings towards 
 the unknown dwellers within ? And then there is the 
 trumpet creeper, aptly named from its great, red, trum- 
 pet-shaped flowers, and in respect to which one is at a 
 loss whether most to admire its flaming clusters of blos- 
 soms or its delicate foliage. What a grand climber this 
 is ! How it mantles walls and buildings with its beauty ! 
 We carry in mind now the picture of one of these, seen 
 more than twenty years ago in one of our Connecticut 
 towns. It was a low stone building, erected in the prim- 
 itive days, but now with its roof ready to fall in, and it 
 was tenanted only by a couple too poor to have a better 
 shelter from the cold and storm. But over that build- 
 ing, scarred and seamed by time, climbing up its sides, 
 and fairly rioting over its long stretch of roof, and cover- 
 ing its stone chimney, which it almost smothered in its 
 loving and luxuriant embrace, went that royal climber, 
 the living sheet of green, spangled all over with crimson 
 blossoms, so shapely withal and dignified. Why, it seem- 
 ed that those walls of stone might well have been built
 
 VINES AND CLIMBING PLANTS. 91 
 
 for no other purpose than as a scaffolding to show what 
 a wealth of grace and beauty the Heavenly Father had 
 put into one of these humble plants that run wild about 
 us, asking only the privilege of some support that they 
 may lift themselves up into our sight to bless us with 
 their beauty and lift up our souls with them. 
 
 And then what shall we say of the hop-vine, the hu- 
 mulus of the botanists, like humility itself drawing its 
 very name from the ground, or humus ? Let us say of 
 it that, like humility, it has a heavenly grace. There is 
 a common way of speaking rather contemptuously of 
 this plant. Is it because of its commonness ? It ought 
 to be so common as to find a place in every door-yard. 
 What a strong, sturdy grower it is ! What a lusty 
 vitality it shows! Ready to burst from the ground at 
 the first approach of springtime, before most other 
 plants have begun to grow, this has climbed up and 
 is looking in at your window to greet you with its 
 beauty, and soon it has gone far into the air with its 
 twining wreaths. Give it a support, a cord reaching 
 up to your roof, and it will climb there in a few 
 weeks ; or, if trained upon a pole with some cross-bars, 
 platform-like, at the top, so that it can hang down its 
 graceful stems like a canopy, there is hardly a finer 
 sight as autumn approaches than this common and 
 modest humulus, with its clusters of golden catkins 
 swaying in every breeze. 
 
 We are apt to think of the hop from the utilitarian 
 point of view. It suggests beer, and prosaic yeast, and
 
 92 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 the bitter tea which many good old housewives pre- 
 pare as a nervine. But apart from all these and other 
 domestic uses, it is an object of rare beauty, and de- 
 serves to be cultivated, if only on this account. 
 
 Then there is the convolvulus, or morning-glory, 
 which every one is supposed to know, but the won- 
 derful beauty of which so few do really know. We 
 might say it is the poor man's delight, it is so com- 
 monly found near the cottages of the poor, if it were 
 not so characteristic of almost all this class of plants 
 that they are within reach of those of slender means. 
 There is no one who may not have his grape-vine al- 
 most for the asking, or if he will go into the woods or 
 hedge-rows and dig it. Even the choicest of our grape- 
 vines may now be had by the day-laborer in exchange 
 for an hour or two of his work. The ivy, the wistaria, 
 the Boursault roses, are equally cheap. No one need 
 be without them. No cottage or farm-house need be 
 without the charm of their luxurious beauty. 
 
 Then there is the honeysuckle tribe graceful, rich 
 in color, and fragrant with odor. How easy to have 
 one or more of these near our dwelling ! How cheap 
 the charms they bring, and all the more precious be- 
 cause they draw around us the added charm of the 
 bees, with their soothing murmur and promise of nec- 
 tar by-and-by, and of the humming-birds with their won- 
 drous beauty of color, miniature rainbows on wings ! 
 
 Last, but by no means least in value, let us speak of 
 the Virginia creeper, known also as the woodbine and
 
 VINES AND CLIMBING PLANTS. 93 
 
 the American ivy, though it is not a true ivy, but be- 
 longs to the grape family. It is to be found over a 
 wide extent of country. But no commonness or 
 familiarity can lessen its beauty. Those who have 
 seen it encasing some tall dead trunk, where a forest 
 has been cut away, or completely mantling the walls 
 of some church, robing its tower and even its turret- 
 tops with its veil of green, and then seeming almost 
 to set them aflame when, in the autumn, its leaves ex- 
 change their green for scarlet, need no words from 
 any one to kindle their admiration for this most love- 
 ly climber. 
 
 Such are a few out of a large class of plants which 
 are adapted, in a remarkable degree, to aid us in impart- 
 ing outward and visible beauty and comfort to our 
 dwellings, and especially to dwellings in the country, 
 and so helping to make country life the more attrac- 
 tive. Besides those which have been mentioned, there 
 are many more of like character, which are peculiarly 
 adapted for culture within doors, lending us their 
 beauty not only in the summer season, but through 
 the long, cold days of winter, when all our vines in 
 the open air, in the Northern States at least, are obliged 
 to drop their leaves and their beauty together. The 
 English ivy and the German, and many other plants 
 more delicate in structure, are ready to our hand for 
 the decoration of the rooms we daily occupy, so that 
 we need, at no season of the year, to be without the 
 charm of these graceful climbers.
 
 94: VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE, 
 
 And one thing more may be said in regard to this 
 class of plants before we leave them. They are not 
 only most beautiful in themselves, but they are at the 
 same time our best means of hiding from sight much 
 that may be deformed or otherwise repulsive to the 
 sight. A squash-vine in the garden, with its massive 
 leaves and golden blossoms cups fit for royalty itself 
 will beautify while it conceals a compost-heap. So, is 
 the dwelling, or some building near it, bare and rude, 
 or unpleasing in form and proportion, let a vine or a 
 creeper mantle its side or hang along its cornice, and 
 the deformity is hidden and beauty takes its place. 
 And thus in many ways these rapid growers, which may 
 so easily be trained to go wherever we will, may be 
 made available for a double use to offer us the charm 
 of their own beauty and loveliness, and to shut from 
 sight what we would have concealed.
 
 FKUITS AND FLOWERS. 95 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 
 
 "To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 
 
 WORDSWOKTH. 
 
 AMONG the many divinities to whom the ancient 
 Romans paid honor were Flora and Pomona, the dei- 
 ties of flowers and fruits. And not the least worthy 
 of a place in the most serious regard of any people 
 are those products over which these fancied divinities 
 were thought to preside. Which of the two affords 
 most pleasure to man it might be difficult to decide ; 
 for, while the fruits are at the same time grateful to 
 the taste and valuable as a means of sustaining life, 
 the flowers appeal at once to the senses of sight and 
 smell, and offer a more constant and varied source of 
 delight. But we need not discuss the comparative 
 merits of the two sources of pleasure, since both are 
 within the reach of almost every one. The more im- 
 portant fact to be considered is that few of us make as 
 much of either as we might. We neither have as 
 many flowers or fruits as we might have, nor do we 
 derive from them as much pleasure as they are capable
 
 96 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 of giving us. Why this is so it might not be easy to 
 determine. It would seem to be by some depravity 
 of nature, for flowers are everywhere in exhaustless 
 profusion, and fruits follow flowers, and both offer 
 themselves to man to be improved by his culture to 
 an extent which knows hardly any limit. Every year 
 surprises us with the discovery of new flowers or the 
 development of some new beauty and grace in the old 
 and well-known ones ; while the fruit-culturist is con- 
 stantly rewarded by the gain of new varieties, or the 
 marked improvement of the old in the qualities which 
 make them pleasurable or useful. 
 
 In the country, then, in and around our village 
 homes, where land space is abundant, flowers and 
 fruits ought to abound. The fairest show of these 
 products of nature should not be found, as is now so 
 often the case, in the city or the market-town rather 
 than in the open country. Our villages, with their 
 farms and cottages, ought to be rich and beautiful 
 with these proper products of the soil. 
 
 Flowers are a sign of taste and culture, and we 
 never see a flowering plant set in the window of a 
 dwelling, however humble, but that we think the 
 better of the inmates on account of it. Some of the 
 household, we know, may be coarse; but that bloom- 
 ing plant, cheap and common though it may be, grow- 
 ing perhaps in no vase of elegant proportions, but, 
 perchance, in some broken piece of crockery no longer 
 able to do its duty in the cupboard or on the table,
 
 FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 97 
 
 tells unmistakably that in some heart, at least, in 
 that home in the heart of mother or daughter there 
 is a real love of the beautiful, and a refinement of 
 feeling which breaks out from the drudgeries of its 
 surroundings and asserts itself in this way, bringing 
 itself thus into communion with the whole outward 
 world of nature, and with the whole realm of taste 
 and culture. 
 
 And every such sign of taste and love for the beauty 
 of nature is to be encouraged. Children should be in- 
 cited oftener than they are to have their little flower- 
 gardens. It is one of the commonest desires of chil- 
 dren, as they see others cultivating flowering plants, 
 to have some of their own. And if this desire were 
 properly gratified, especially if they were given a 
 pleasant and well-prepared place for their floriculture, 
 instead of some out-of-the-way, weedy, and undesirable 
 spot, as is commonly the case, and if they were helped 
 to tend and watch the growing plants, and to notice 
 from time to time the wonderful developments of 
 their growth, there would be established in them a 
 love of nature and a taste for the beautiful that would 
 go with them through life, and make their life all the 
 healthier and better. 
 
 Nor should the cultivation of flowers be thought 
 something more appropriate for girls than for boys. 
 We make a difference here that we should not. It 
 would be a special blessing to our boys if, from their 
 youngest years, they were incited to sow the seeds
 
 98 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 of various plants and then to watch and assist their 
 growth, and thus become acquainted with the laws of 
 nature and with the beautiful and wondrous processes 
 of vegetable life. It would cultivate their observing 
 faculties. It would store their minds with valuable 
 knowledge. It would soften and refine their man- 
 ners. It would give us a succession of grown-up men, 
 more intelligent, and therefore more capable of man- 
 aging, the affairs of husbandry and making farm-life 
 successful, than the mass of our farmers now are ; 
 while it would also make them more refined and taste- 
 ful, and the work of the farmer more tasteful also. 
 Then husbands would not, as now they sometimes do, 
 look upon the flower-beds in the garden as so much 
 land wasted, and the time given to their care by the 
 wife or daughters as so much time misspent or taken 
 from more important uses ; but husband and wife, and 
 sons and daughters, would be in harmony of feeling, 
 and all would delight to co-operate in embellishing 
 their home and blessing their daily life with the beauty 
 and cheer which flowers are capable of giving. Such 
 a common and accordant employment would also tend 
 to draw the family together and strengthen the bond 
 of attachment to each other, and would do much to 
 withstand those influences the effect of which is, too 
 often, to loosen the ties of domestic life, and to make 
 the home less precious and attractive than it should 
 be. 
 
 But where there is a love of flowers and a desire to
 
 FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 99 
 
 cultivate them, mistakes are not uufrequently made 
 which lessen the pleasure that flowers might give. One 
 mistake often made is that of cultivating all sorts of 
 flowers indiscriminately. Slips and seeds are eagerly 
 caught up and thrust into the garden, with little thought 
 or knowledge of their character or habits, and the re- 
 sult is an incongruous growth, a wild disorder of beauty, 
 which almost turns beauty into deformity. For the 
 best effect and the greatest enjoyment in the care of 
 flowers, it is best, in most cases, to confine attention 
 and expend care upon a few plants, rather than to en- 
 deavor to have many. It is better to have a few of 
 choice character and perfect in growth than to have 
 ever so many which are imperfectly developed. One 
 or two roses, carefully tended, so as to bring out their 
 completeness of form and color, will give more pleas- 
 ure in their cultivation and be a richer embellishment 
 to the house grounds than a gardenful left to grow as 
 they may. So of other flowers. There is more pleas- 
 ure in being intimately acquainted with a few than in 
 having only a general knowledge of many. Another 
 mistake is made sometimes in cultivating plants, wheth- 
 er rare or common, which bloom unfrequently, it may 
 be only once in the year, and have no attractions except 
 for a brief period, rather than those which bloom much 
 oftener, perhaps blossom almost continuously. The 
 flower-garden thus often becomes an unsightly place, a 
 wilderness of stalks, with only occasional flowers. It is 
 much better every way, far more satisfactory, to be con-
 
 100 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 tent with such constantly blooming plants as the per- 
 petual or Bourbon roses, the salvias, pansies, daisies, 
 portulacas, geraniums, verbenas, alyssums, asters, and 
 the like, with only a few of the rarer kinds. 
 
 Then, as to the embellishment which flowers give to 
 a village home, in distinction from the pleasure which 
 they give to the cultivator as he or she tends and watches 
 them from day to day, it is better to cultivate each kind 
 of flowering plant by itself than to have the various 
 kinds intermingled in the same bed. Unpleasant con- 
 trasts of color are thus avoided. The tasteful eye is 
 often pained by the inharmonious combination of colors, 
 so that flowers, beautiful in themselves and when prop- 
 erly arranged, now cease to give pleasure. We may add 
 also that flowers appear more beautiful and are more 
 effective as embellishments of grounds when they are 
 planted in masses in the green turf of the lawn or door- 
 yard than when set in beds in the garden. When plant- 
 ed in the garden, the plants will have large spaces of 
 bare earth visible between or around them. The more 
 the ground can be concealed and only solid masses of 
 flowers left visible, relieved against the green turf, the 
 more pleasing the effect ; and there is no way in which 
 this can be better secured than by growing flowers, each 
 kind by itself, or at least those harmonizing in color, in 
 beds cut out of the closely shaven greensward. These 
 beds, let us also say, should not be raised up into mounds, 
 as is so often the practice. In our sunny and hot summer 
 climate most plants need all the rain which falls upon
 
 FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 101 
 
 them. But where the ground in which they stand is 
 heaped into mounds, a large part of the rain is carried 
 away from the plants, with the common result of a parch- 
 ing arid withering that make the flower-garden too often 
 anything but a pleasant object to look at. Time and 
 labor are, for the most part, wasted which are employed 
 in constructing mounds or beds of fanciful or elaborate 
 pattern for the flower-garden. These may please at 
 first by their evidence of care and good intention, but 
 they are difficult to keep in their proper shape. The 
 very work of cultivating the flowers, as well as the tread 
 of feet in visiting them, tends to impair the perfectness 
 of their shape, and unless this is preserved, they cease to 
 please. In this case, as in so many others, simplicity is 
 better than what is more elaborate and expensive. Our 
 costliest things are not the most needful nor the most 
 satisfactory. If we want flowers, we can have them ; 
 the poorest can have them. No heaping-np of mounds 
 or elaborate shaping of ground is necessary. Flowers 
 never look more beautiful than when seeming to spring 
 out of the green grass ; and it only requires an occasion- 
 al cutting of the grass roots, so that they shall not en- 
 croach upon the space designed for the flowering plants, 
 and these may then be left almost to themselves. With 
 a mass of flowers of one color, or of harmonious colors, 
 bedded in the green turf, and here and there another, 
 differing somewhat, it may be, in size and shape, and a 
 climbing rose or honeysuckle perhaps over the doorway, 
 what a charm may be given to almost any dwelling-place !
 
 102 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 But shall we confine the cultivation of flowers to the 
 open ground and the open season of the year, or shall 
 we have them with us at all seasons, and in the house as 
 well as in the garden or on the lawn ? This is some- 
 what a question of expense as well as of taste. Through- 
 out the northern portion of our country, flowers are a 
 forbidden thing out of doors for half the year. During 
 the long winter months we must resort to the florist if 
 we would have them, or we must create an artificial 
 summer in our houses, or in some apartment specially 
 arranged for the purpose. Happily, in these days, our 
 improved methods of warming afford us the ready 
 means of supplying that protection from the cold which 
 flowering plants demand. By the use of our self-feed- 
 ing stoves, in which we can keep a continuous fire dur- 
 ing the entire winter, or by means of a furnace, we are 
 able to maintain such a temperature in a single room, 
 or throughout the whole house, that it is quite practi- 
 cable to protect even tender plants from the severest 
 cold, and to have their bright colors and fragrance with 
 us all the year. It would be a great accession to many 
 of our country houses if better appliances for warming 
 them were introduced, so that the presence of flowers 
 might be had there at all seasons of the year. Our 
 farmers and villagers would find it a cheap expenditure. 
 Saying nothing of the gain on the score of health and 
 general comfort from having a warmer and more uni- 
 form temperature secured throughout their rooms, the 
 cheerful effect of bright blooming plants here and there
 
 FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 103 
 
 about the house, and their refining influence, would be 
 worth much more than their cost every year. They 
 would make the house more inviting and more satisfy- 
 ing to all the inmates, and tend to the production or 
 the confirming of a spirit of contentment. It would be 
 one of the things that would help to attach the children 
 to their home, to make them feel that it is a home, and 
 not a place merely for shelter and food, and so to make 
 them less disposed than they now often are to forsake 
 it for something pleasanter. Everything that increases 
 the comforts and attractions of the home makes other 
 places less attractive in comparison with it. Make the 
 surroundings of the house pleasant and healthful, with 
 green and graceful lawns, bright flowers, and intermin- 
 gled and properly balanced sunshine and shade; with 
 proper drainage and shaping of grounds, so that no un- 
 wholesome damps or noxious matters shall hang about 
 the premises to offend the senses or threaten the health. 
 Make the interior arrangements of the house cheerful 
 and pleasant. Let there be sunshine within as well as 
 without. Let there be no best room, never to be used 
 except on state occasions, but all the rooms good and 
 ready for use. Let all be well furnished, though it may 
 be inexpensively, and the children have rooms which 
 they can call their own, fitted up with some care, and 
 warmed for them, perhaps, in the cold winter nights. 
 In such homes children will grow up with strong roots 
 of attachment to hold them there. There is enough 
 wasted on many farms and country places to make
 
 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 them very palaces of comfort and beauty if it were 
 saved and properly applied in practical use. The Bible 
 tells us that God has made everything beautiful in its 
 season. And if he has made things beautiful, we may 
 be assured it is for a good purpose, and that we do well 
 to love the beautiful, and to bring ourselves into con- 
 tact with it wherever we can. The gospel of beauty 
 needs to be preached as well as the gospel of goodness ; 
 and, indeed, it is preached wherever a blossom unfolds 
 itself to the sight. The flowers are God's messengers, 
 designed to touch us with the sense of something more 
 and higher than the merely useful, to lift us above the 
 narrow questions, "What shall we eat? or, What shall 
 we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?" 
 " The life is more than meat." The life is more than 
 food. It consists in thoughts and feelings, and these 
 are closely connected with the sense of the beautiful. 
 And if the Creator has made the flowers to be especial- 
 ly the types and ministers of beauty, we shall do well 
 to surround ourselves with them, and to cultivate their 
 fellowship in our grounds and in our dwellings. 
 
 Closely related as they are, after what we have said 
 of flowers, we need not say much in respect to fruits. 
 That we might have more of them, and of better quality 
 and more desirable than what we now have, is clear. 
 What a few in every town and village have might be 
 had by almost every owner of a few acres, or even a 
 few rods. There are usually two or three persons in 
 every farming community who are noted for the abun-
 
 FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 105 
 
 dance and quality of the fruits which they cultivate 
 and send to market. They are a class by themselves, 
 thought to be of a somewhat higher order of farmers 
 and cultivators than those who limit themselves to the 
 growing of corn, potatoes, and the like. They are of 
 a higher order, inasmuch as they include in the range 
 of their work what the others are either too ignorant 
 or too lacking in enterprise to undertake. 
 
 But what the few have is clearly within the reach of 
 the rest. The cultivation of fruit requires care and at- 
 tention, as does the cultivation of anything else. Trees 
 bearing desirable fruit do not spring up spontaneously 
 and grow luxuriantly of their own accord. The origi- 
 nal crab-apple, perhaps, did so ; but the Baldwin or the 
 Spitzenberg does not. So with the many other fruits 
 which we prize. But, with a reasonable amount of 
 care, these fruits may be had by almost any owner of 
 the soil. They may be had with such care as almost 
 any cultivator can give without detriment to his other 
 work. A great deal of this care .can be given when 
 such work is not pressing, and in the odd moments 
 or odd hours of time which otherwise would very like- 
 ly be lost. Most of our fruits, probably, have been 
 raised in this easy and inexpensive way, and yet the 
 value of our fruit crop taken together is even now 
 quite noticeable. The census report gives the num- 
 ber of acres devoted to vines and fruit-trees as 4,500,- 
 000, and the estimated value of fruit products is as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 H
 
 106 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 Apples $50,400,000 
 
 Pears 14,130,000 
 
 Peaches 56, 135,000 
 
 Grapes .' . . . 2, 1 1 8,900 
 
 Strawberries 5,000,000 
 
 Other fruits 10,432,800 
 
 Total $138,216,700 
 
 This amounts in' value to nearly half that of our wheat 
 crop, one of our great staples. Great as this amount is 
 in the aggregate, it is only a beginning of what our 
 fruit crop might be, and with advantage to us in every 
 way. On the score of health, a larger consumption of 
 fruit is desirable. It is probable, also, that the agree- 
 ableness of fruit to the taste will cause the use of it to 
 keep pace with its increased production. The modern 
 processes of preserving fruits by canning, drying, and 
 otherwise, and the use of refrigerator cars and ships, by 
 which they can be transported long distances, tend, also, 
 to increase their consumption. By these means the 
 evils of unequal production in different years are avoid- 
 ed. The excessive product of a favorable year, instead 
 of being largely wasted, is carried over in part into a 
 less favorable one, and thus an even supply is secured. 
 By the same means, also, a large European market is 
 secured for our fruits. So, practically, the market for 
 good fruit is now unlimited, and there is abundant en- 
 couragement for the fruit-grower. Ninety thousand 
 barrels of apples are reported as having been sent to 
 Liverpool alone in the month of December, 1877. 
 The exports during the whole year amounted to nearly
 
 FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 107 
 
 $3,000,000. In 1871 they were only $509,000. This 
 shows a rapid increase. Our exports of dried fruits 
 for the year 1876 to 1877 amounted to 14,318,052 
 pounds. Thus we are beginning to send our apples, 
 peaches, and other fruits abroad in exchange for the 
 figs, oranges, and grapes which we have so long import- 
 ed from the countries across the sea. But this is only 
 the beginning. The exportation thus begun will in- 
 crease many fold. 
 
 And how pleasant it is to the cultivators of fruit to 
 have it in variety and abundance, none know better 
 than themselves. How agreeable fruit is to the taste, 
 what a contribution it is to the enjoyment of life, we 
 all know, in a measure at least. We might enjoy it 
 much more than we do, and find it contributing more 
 largely than it does both to our comfort and happiness. 
 On the score of health alone, we should find in the 
 greater abundance and more common use of fruit an 
 ample compensation for the cost of its attainment. 
 
 Let the flowers and the fruits, then, receive more at- 
 tention. On all accounts such attention is desirable. 
 It will repay us in more ways than one. It will add 
 at once to the charm and to the profit of village life.
 
 108 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 
 
 "Until common-sense finds its way into architecture there can be but 
 little hope for it." KDSKIN. 
 
 " Houses are built to live in, and not to look on ; therefore let use be 
 preferred before uniformity, except where both may be had. " BACON. 
 
 WHAT should be the structure in which .our village 
 residents may find the most fitting home? The ques- 
 tion implies that not every structure called a dwelling 
 is appropriate for those whose home is in the open coun- 
 try. A house is not simply a contrivance for shelter, or 
 something a certain number of cubic feet in dimensions, 
 and therefore capable of containing a given number of 
 animals, and furnishing them with the needful conven- 
 iences for eating and sleeping. It is the home of hu- 
 man beings; it is the nursery and abode of all those 
 feelings and sentiments which distinguish the human 
 creature, and which are so different from all that be- 
 longs to the mere animal. Every house should have su- 
 preme reference to this in its plan ; and when we see 
 so many structures occupied by man which were mani- 
 festly built with no such reference to the peculiarly hu- 
 man elements of our nature, we have only to say that 
 they are buildings, and not properly houses at all.
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 
 
 But even when the attempt is made to provide for 
 these inner wants of the man, his spiritual and aesthetic 
 nature, there are certain limitations to our work, arising 
 from various sources. Not to discuss these here, which 
 is unnecessary, it is enough to say that the less available 
 space for building in the city or populous town will 
 necessarily modify the character of the structures there 
 as compared with those in the open country. There 
 cannot be that freedom and variety of arrangement, 
 nor the same choice of material or position, which there 
 is in the latter. We expect in the city a certain uni- 
 formity of style in building, because the excessive cost 
 of land obliges the generality of house-builders to con- 
 struct their houses upon a very limited ground-space. 
 Hence we have, and are content to have, because we 
 deem it an inevitable necessity, whole streets and blocks 
 where the houses are indistinguishable from one an- 
 other except by the street numbers upon their doors. 
 Were it not for these, one would be as likely to go into 
 his neighbor's house as his own. In the country we 
 are happily able to avoid this tiresome uniformity, this 
 merging one's self in the mass, this loss of individuality. 
 
 Here there is room for each one to house himself as 
 he will. He may fit a house to himself instead of fit- 
 ting himself to a house, as he is obliged to do in the 
 city. And this is as it should be ; for where there are 
 no forbidding limitations, each person or family ought 
 to indicate its own character somewhat by the structure 
 in which it dwells. The house is for the man, not the
 
 HO VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 man for the house ; and in the ideal state of things the 
 house of an intellectual and refined family should as 
 certainly indicate by its very exterior that it is not the 
 abode of the coarse and sensual, as the shell of the nau- 
 tilus tells us that it is not the home of the periwinkle or 
 the clam. And though we may not hope to reach this 
 ideal, we may and should approximate towards it more 
 nearly than we do. At present it is only here and there 
 that we see a dwelling having a character of its own, 
 and indicating the character of those who occupy it. To 
 a great extent our country houses are mere imitations 
 of one another, or they are so many cubical structures 
 having as little meaning as a like number of magnified 
 dry-goods boxes. The imitations, moreover, are usually 
 without reason mere whims or conceits. Some one has 
 perchance added a new feature to the former customary 
 house of the place, and forthwith every new house must 
 be a copy of his, or at least a copy of that particular 
 feature. It is amusing to see how far this copying dis- 
 position will go, and what little and meaningless things 
 seem to satisfy it. You may go into some of our most 
 respectable and well-built villages and find, for exam- 
 ple, the conceit of painting that part of the house-wall 
 which is under a piazza-roof of a different color from 
 the rest. The house will be white, of course, but this 
 little piazza bit will be yellow perhaps, or green, or blue, 
 it matters not which, only for some reason, or want of 
 reason, it must be of another color from the general 
 mass of the house. And this petty conceit will run
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 
 
 perhaps through the whole village. In another village 
 a different but equally meaningless conceit will be seen 
 to be characteristic of the place. 
 
 For all good country building, for all good building 
 anywhere, the first requisite is, as Ruskin intimates, 
 common-sense. Let there be a reason for everything ; 
 and if one has a reason for everything he does in the 
 way of building, he will not be likely to go far astray. 
 The question to be asked all the while and at every 
 point is, "For what use is this or that to be done?" 
 Putting this question of use foremost, it will at once be 
 seen that the house of the farmer will call for a differ- 
 ent sort of rooms or a different arrangement of them 
 from what will be called for by the mechanic or the 
 professional man. The dairy-farmer, again, will need a 
 house somewhat varying from that of one whose fann- 
 ing processes are different. Then, in addition to these 
 reasons for building one kind of a house rather than an- 
 other, there will come in the size of one's family, the 
 pecuniary ability and the peculiar tastes and habits of 
 the family. All these things are to be considered, and 
 all have a legitimate influence in deciding what the 
 house shall be. But there are still other considerations 
 to be regarded. 
 
 Prominent among these are climate and the natural 
 features or peculiarities of one's place of abode. One 
 would not build in the same style amid the rugged hills 
 of New England as upon the smooth plains of the West 
 or the savannas of the South. The heavy snows of the
 
 112 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 former region call for a high-pitched roof that will 
 carry their burden or slide it speedily to the ground. 
 The very lines of the hills also, and the tapering ever- 
 greens which so commonly meet the eye, demand, if 
 the house is to be in keeping with them, that its lines 
 should tend upward. For the same reason a level re- 
 gion will suggest as appropriate a style whose lines tend 
 in a horizontal direction. Speaking architecturally, the 
 Gothic, or Pointed, and the Italian styles represent these 
 upright and horizontal lines ; and these styles, or modi- 
 fications of them, will be chosen accordingly as one's 
 place of abode is assimilated in its prevalent outlines to 
 the one or the other. That style will be best, in any 
 given case, w r hich produces a structure so in keeping 
 with its surroundings that it seems to have grown out 
 of the ground rather than to have been placed there 
 artificially or by construction. 
 
 The question is an important one " Of what material 
 shall we build?" The abundance of wood hitherto in 
 most parts of our country, the fact that almost every 
 householder could gather the material for his house 
 upon his own land, and get it ready for the carpenter 
 at little cost to himself, except his own labor, has led 
 to the almost exclusive use of this material in the 
 construction of our country houses. Coupled with the 
 abundance and cheapness of wood, there has been a 
 prejudice in the villages against the use of stone and 
 brick. Houses built of these latter materials have been 
 frequently damp and unwholesome. But this has been
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. H3 
 
 owing to a faulty method of construction. Usually no 
 provision has been made to prevent dampness from 
 coming up and filling the walls of the house from the 
 cellar below. Then, in addition to this, the plastering 
 has commonly been placed immediately in contact with 
 the walls, and thus the moisture has been constant- 
 ly and directly brought into the various rooms. All 
 that is necessary to prevent such a result is that just 
 above the level of the ground there should be a course 
 of stone in the walls of a slaty character, which will 
 prevent the dampness from being carried up by capil- 
 lary attraction ; or that a few courses of stone, or brick, 
 if the walls are of that material, should be laid in ce- 
 ment, which will intercept the moisture. Then, as a 
 protection from the dampness which might be absorbed 
 from the rains or the damp atmosphere, let strips of 
 wood an inch in thickness be nailed to the walls at 
 suitable intervals, and the lathing be applied to these in- 
 stead of being placed directly upon the brick or stone. 
 This will form an air-space between the outer wall of 
 the house and the inner wall of plastering, which will 
 effectually exclude all dampness. Many of our old 
 houses which have long been unwholesome on account 
 of moisture arising from the faulty mode of construc- 
 tion just adverted to, have been renovated and made 
 wholesome by simply applying strips to the old walls, 
 and putting a new surface of lath and plaster upon 
 these, thus creating the requisite air-space. 
 
 The advantages of brick and stone over wood as ma-
 
 114: VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 terials for building are so great that we are disposed to 
 say that nothing but great difficulty in procuring them 
 should make one willing to build of wood. The first 
 cost may be somewhat more than if the latter material 
 is used. But as an offset to this, brick and stone are 
 much more substantial and durable. A building con- 
 structed of these, when completed, is finished once for 
 all. On the other hand, a wooden structure is never 
 finished. It is all the while subject to decay. It is only 
 by covering it with pigments, encasing it in lead every 
 few years, that we are able to preserve it for any con- 
 siderable length of time. The cost of these frequent 
 paintings, and the repairs which come in spite of paint- 
 ing, will soon make the cost of the w r ooden building 
 equal to one of stone. 
 
 But in many cases it would cost no more at first to 
 build of stone than of wood, did we but take counsel 
 of common-sense. There are multitudes of places in 
 New England, and in other parts of the country, where 
 there are rocks lying on the very ground where one 
 would wish to build, ready to be broken to pieces and 
 wrought into walls for the dwelling ; or where, by 
 quarrying only a few feet below the surface, the build- 
 er may often find an abundance of stone. Now, if 
 he will only be content to lay the stone up in a 
 rough but solid manner, not expending labor and mon- 
 ey to dress it to a smooth surface, but leaving the un- 
 hewn pieces in their native form and honest beauty, 
 his walls need cost him but little. If he wants orna-
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. H5 
 
 ment, let him seek that also, as he may legitimately, 
 in a cheap way and from a source close at hand, and 
 better than any craftsman's chisel can give him. His 
 rough wall is just what the vines of various kinds love 
 to cling to. Let him plant them on this side and that, 
 and allow them to run over his house, chimneys and all, 
 without fear of their injuring it. Nothing adds such a 
 charm to the exterior of a house in the country, or, for 
 that matter, to a house in the city, as one or more vines 
 climbing up its sides, and holding it in their tender, lov- 
 ing embrace ; and one of the difficulties with our preva- 
 lent wooden houses is that we cannot allow 7 the vines to 
 run upon them freely, as we would often like to do, be- 
 cause we must tear them down every few years in order 
 to paint the houses ; or if they are suffered to cling to 
 them, they promote their decay. Nothing can be better, 
 nothing in the long run more satisfactory, than one of 
 these simple, rough, and solid structures, vine-clad and 
 mantled year by year with their garniture of leaves and 
 blossoms. It harmonizes completely with nature around 
 it, and year by year the touches of time, instead of 
 threatening its decay and destruction, only mellow its 
 hue, and make it more attractive. Such a house seems 
 a living thing, a growth, in which one may have per- 
 petual delight, and with which he may live in a constant 
 sweet fellowship. In this it differs from any painted 
 wooden structure whatsoever. Such a house may be 
 elaborate in finish within, or it may be as simple as its 
 exterior, and BO is adapted to the use of those differing
 
 116 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 greatly in fortune. To those of restricted means it will 
 suggest a correspondingly plain and simple furniture in 
 many rooms, much of which perhaps the helpful hands 
 of the household will construct. It will be a home of 
 taste and frugality rather than of show or extravagance. 
 It will be within and without a true village home. 
 
 Next in value to stone as a building material are 
 bricks ; but inferior, as being artificial, and, as common- 
 ly used, by no means as expressive. But we might put 
 this material to better use than we do. In Europe, some 
 of the finest buildings are constructed of bricks. By 
 moulding them of various forms, and combining differ- 
 ent colors, we can obtain very fine effects in brickwork. 
 The last few years have given us some illustrations of 
 what may be done in this way ; and it is to be hoped 
 that our monotonous and meaningless red-brick struct- 
 ures will give way to something more pleasing. Well- 
 burned bricks are a much more durable material for 
 building than many of the softer stones ; and for color 
 nothing can be better than that of the so-called " Mil- 
 waukee brick," for example, which is made in many 
 places in our Western States. This color, ranging from 
 a cream tint to almost a positive straw color, is one of 
 the best for its general harmony with objects around ; 
 and, varied in its effect, as it may be by combining with 
 it stones or bricks of a different hue, it is all that can be 
 desired. For use in the country, it is better to seek the 
 effect given by color and plain but decided mouldings 
 and projections in ordinary rough bricks than to expend
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 
 
 money in building with the carefully pressed bricks and 
 with the nice and elaborate finish which they require. 
 Their place is the city rather than the country. 
 
 But whether stone, bricks, or wood be chosen as the 
 material w r ith which to build, there are some considera- 
 tions equally applicable to all. As to site, the utmost 
 care should be taken to fix upon a spot which can be 
 effectively drained, and which is not in the vicinity of 
 standing water. The researches which have been made 
 within a few years by physicians and sanitary com- 
 missions have abundantly proved that the permanent 
 presence of water in the soil upon which a dwelling 
 is built, or the presence of standing water near it, is a 
 source of some of our most fatal diseases. The aim, 
 therefore, should be to secure a site free from this dan- 
 ger. The bottoms of valleys are also to be avoided, not 
 only on this account, but because any dampness or mi- 
 asmatic influence engendered upon the hills around is 
 likely to flow down into them. The summits of high 
 hills, however, are to be shunned, on account of the 
 trouble involved in climbing to them, and because of 
 their exposure to "winds and storms. One should build 
 under the shelter of a hill, upon its southern, sunny 
 slope, rather than upon its summit. In the larger part 
 of our country the advantage of such a situation will 
 be felt during the greater part of the year, and amid 
 the heats of summer such an exposure will be more 
 favored by the grateful and mitigating breezes than 
 almost any other. If one can build his house near a
 
 118 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 wood, so that he may have that as a screen from the 
 cold winds, let him do so. He will find the trees a 
 charming background for his dwelling, and a source 
 of comfort and pleasure in many ways. A little care 
 will enable one, in most of our states, to establish him- 
 self on some wooded or partially wooded slope, where 
 all the demands of healthfulness shall be met, and from 
 which he may look out upon a pleasant landscape. In a 
 country of so much natural beauty as ours, it is a pity 
 that so many have fixed their homes, seemingly, with 
 so little reference either to comfort or pleasantness. 
 
 We have said if one can build near a wood, let 
 him do so. Near a wood, but not in it. It is a 
 great mistake for one to bury himself in a forest. We 
 need sunshine more than shade, and can better dis- 
 pense with the latter than the former. Woods are de- 
 sirable for a screen, and to give certain pleasant effects 
 to the surroundings of a home, but this does not re- 
 quire that we should be under their shadows or the 
 drippings of their branches. They are better farther 
 away. Their effectiveness as a screen from winter 
 blasts is as complete when several rods distant as when 
 they are close by us, and for all effects of beauty and 
 embellishment a little distance is quite desirable. If 
 one can have two or three well -grown trees in the 
 immediate vicinity of his house, it is enough. But 
 sunshine he must have, and he should have it in every 
 room of his house, even in pantries and store-rooms, for 
 they are the sweeter for a sun-bath every day.
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. H9 
 
 On this account our houses should not be made to 
 face, as they usually do, the cardinal points of the com- 
 pass, but rather be set diagonally in reference to them ; 
 in other words, the corners of the house, and not its 
 sides, should face those points. For the same reason 
 our streets should not run in north and south, east 
 and west, directions, but diagonally to those courses. 
 Then at some time in the course of the day the sun 
 would shine upon all sides of the house, and therefore 
 into every room in it, whereas now the rooms upon the 
 north side of our houses, during the winter months, are 
 unvisited by the sun, and every one knows that they 
 are the least comfortable and least pleasant rooms. 
 
 Our country houses have too commonly been either 
 of the shabby or the showy sort, rather than homes 
 of comfort and taste. They have been either cheap 
 and ill-built structures, destitute of every sign of hu- 
 man taste, mere barns almost, or they have been pre- 
 tentious, built more for show than for convenience and 
 daily use and comfort. What is wanted is a style of 
 buildings which, while differing among themselves in 
 minor features, even as persons and families differ in 
 look and character, shall yet have a common appear- 
 ance of having been made for human beings to dwell 
 in, and to be the home of tender and refined feelings 
 and tastes. On the one hand, simplicity will be adorn- 
 ed and dignified by taste and refinement, and, on the 
 other, the most elaborate structure will be elaborate 
 only for purposes of utility and comfort, and not
 
 120 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 for show or display. We want no show-rooms in the 
 country, no rooms to be opened only on company oc- 
 casions. City style and manners may, perhaps, call for 
 these. But in the country house no room and no furni- 
 ture should be too good for the daily use and enjoyment 
 of the household. "We are not called upon to treat our 
 neighbors and visitors better than ourselves. There is 
 no sufficient reason why the largest and pleasantest 
 chamber should be kept in reserve for a chance visitor 
 to occupy only once or twice a year, and the well- 
 furnished parlor be opened only when " we have com- 
 pany." It is a wrong to ourselves to do so. Those 
 who occupy the house three hundred and sixty-five 
 days of the year ought to have the best of it rather 
 than the visitor of a day or an hour. We want the 
 refining influence of the best surroundings. It is bar- 
 barous in tendency for a family to spend the larger 
 part of its time in the kitchen and in small and scant- 
 ily furnished bedrooms. The children need the cult- 
 ure and refining influence which come from familiarity 
 with the best things that can be put within their reach ; 
 and to be brought up within sight of show-rooms and 
 nice furniture, which yet they must not enjoy, gives 
 them false ideas of life, teaches them to put show for 
 substance, and prepares them to grow up with a double 
 character, a feeling that it matters little how or in what 
 spirit they habitually live, if only they can put on the 
 proper appearance when occasion demands. 
 
 Let the best, then, be used used by all the household.
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 
 
 Let the amplest rooms, the best furniture, and the 
 finest prospects from windows be the daily enjoyment 
 of all. If visitors come, let them have that truest and 
 pleasantest welcome, a share with the family of those 
 things which they daily use, rather than special privi- 
 leges and attentions, which latter would keep them all 
 the while from being at ease. We are persuaded that 
 if many of our village families would move forward 
 from their rear offices and cramped bedrooms so as to 
 occupy the ampler apartments now so often closed for 
 the greater part of the time, devoting the abandoned 
 rooms to conveniences which now they lack, making 
 them into wash-rooms, bath-rooms, and store-rooms, 
 a new life would dawn upon them, and they would 
 soon wonder how they could have lived as they did, 
 when the means of better living were all the while at 
 hand. Such a removal would lift the whole family life 
 to a new and higher plane. It would make it more 
 dignified and more tasteful. It would inspire it with 
 new ideas and feelings. It would cultivate and in- 
 tensify the home feeling. It would form new ties to 
 hold the family together and give a new meaning to 
 the word home. 
 
 This is not a treatise on architecture, or we might say 
 much more on the construction of the country dwell- 
 ing-house. We assume that one about to build a house 
 in the country will call in the aid of a competent archi- 
 tect, or, if we may not assume this, we urge it upon 
 all as the best means of securing a satisfactory result. 
 
 I
 
 122 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 Every dwelling, as we have said, ought to be to some 
 extent an expression of the character of its occupants. 
 It should indicate by its appearance, its site, its form, 
 its surroundings, what sort of people have it for their 
 home. Therefore every house should be planned by 
 those who are to live in it. They know best what they 
 want a house for, and, consequently, w y hat kind of a 
 house they want. On this account, they should deter- 
 mine its general and many of its particular arrange- 
 ments. Yet, even in these an architect may often 
 make suggestions of the utmost importance, w r hich will 
 essentially modify the plan of the builder. It is the 
 business of an architect to deal with the various details 
 and modifications of structures. He is conversant with 
 the possible alterations of plan, and the adaptations of 
 means to uses. He has thought of them, and made 
 them familiar to his mind as they cannot be to any 
 other class. Few persons about to build have anything 
 more than a rude idea of what they want. The proper 
 adjustment of rooms to one another, so as best to serve 
 the purposes of the building and the comfort of the oc- 
 cupants, they are quite incapable of determining, while 
 in regard to the proper architectural form of the struct- 
 ure, within and without, they know almost nothing. 
 And this is simply because it is not their business to 
 know these things. It is the part of true wisdom, 
 therefore, for every one who is about to build him 
 a house, to consult an architect from the beginning. 
 Nor let it be thought that where the contemplated
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 123 
 
 structure is to be of the humbler sort, because there 
 is little money which can be expended for its con- 
 struction, the services of an architect can be dispensed 
 with, and a saving of cost be secured thereby. On the 
 contrary, it is in the case of the smaller and cheap- 
 er class of structures that the greatest advantage is to 
 be secured by the services of the architect. His taste 
 and knowledge of his art will enable him to put the 
 money and materials placed at his disposal into the 
 most serviceable and tasteful shape, and procure for his 
 employer that which will be permanently satisfying. 
 But let no one mistake the mere carpenter for an archi- 
 tect. The one who contemplates building a house will 
 have to go to the neighboring town or city, probably, 
 to find one who can fitly be called an architect, for no 
 village can furnish sufficient employment to induce 
 one to make his residence there. But it will be worth 
 one's while to go twenty-five or fifty miles, or even more, 
 if need be, in order to secure the services of an architect. 
 If he had a suit at law pending, or a legal question 
 to be settled, involving only a small amount, he would 
 not hesitate to travel as far and to be at any expense 
 necessary to secure proper professional advice. So let 
 him take his case or question of building to the archi- 
 tect and tell him what he wants, and then leave it with 
 him to make a plan for him and a contract, with proper 
 specifications, just as when any one commits his case to a 
 lawyer he leaves its management with him. In the case 
 of the building the result involves, not the gain or loss
 
 124: VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 of a small debt or the recovery of a piece of property, 
 but the construction of that which, by its tasteful form, 
 and convenience of arrangement, and substantial quali- 
 ty, is to be a life-long comfort and pleasure, or, for want 
 of these, a continual source of disappointment and re- 
 gret. The commission paid to a good architect for his 
 services is probably the most profitable expenditure in- 
 curred in building a house. 
 
 But some will not take the trouble to seek the advice 
 of an architect, or will not deem it expedient. Let us 
 make a few suggestions, therefore, for such and for any 
 who may heed them. They will be in the main such 
 as any good architect would make. 
 
 Having fixed upon a proper site for the building, one 
 sheltered rather than exposed, withdrawn somewhat 
 from the street and the noise and dust of the passers-by, 
 rather than thrust conspicuously upon the view, if there 
 is not absolute exemption from dampness resulting from 
 standing water in the neighborhood or from a wet and 
 springy subsoil, the first thing to be done is to thor- 
 oughly underdrain, by means of tiles, or ditches four 
 feet in depth and partially filled with stones at the bot- 
 tom, the whole vicinity of the house. Let these drains 
 lead the wet away from the house, and let one, at least, 
 be connected with the cellar, and at such a depth that 
 no water can by any possibility find standing-place 
 there. Let there be no mistake or neglect in this mat- 
 ter 'of drainage. There are many pieces of ground 
 which appear dry upon the surface, but which, owing
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 125 
 
 to a tenacious subsoil or to the abundance of springs 
 near at hand, are saturated with moisture. One who 
 has not tried the experiment will be surprised to see 
 the quantity of water which will escape from drains 
 properly constructed in such ground, and how con- 
 stant will be the flow. It is only by such drains that 
 moist land can be made a healthful place for a dwell- 
 ing, or be brought into the best condition for tillage. 
 It is safe, indeed, to presume that almost every site 
 chosen for a village' residence will be improved, both 
 as to healthfulness and profitable cultivation of the 
 ground, by being thoroughly underdrained. 
 
 The site being thus properly chosen and prepared, let 
 the contemplated building be planned consistently and 
 intelligently as a whole. Let its outward shape, and 
 color, if possible, be in harmony with the site and its 
 surroundings. A house in the country, where land is 
 usually abundant and one is not limited in ground- 
 space, should spread out laterally and rest broadly upon 
 the soil, rather than be lifted high into the air upon a 
 narrow foundation after the manner of city houses. 
 It should seem to grow out of the ground almost, 
 and to rest solidly upon it, bidding defiance to any 
 storms that may sweep along ; and as one family 
 need or convenience after another may call for more 
 room here and there, let this be gained by proper 
 additions on the one side or the other, and thus let 
 the house ramble out on the ground as though a live 
 and growing thing. It will be all the prettier and
 
 126 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 better for so doing, for thus freely moulding itself to 
 the wants of its occupants. 
 
 Of course, as already intimated, we should prefer to 
 build of stone, hoping to find it near at hand, and thus 
 to build solidly, and make the house, though but the 
 simplest cottage, all the more a part of the solid earth 
 itself ; and we should choose our stone so as to get not 
 only solidity, but a pleasing tint of color, if possible in 
 harmony with objects around. On the one hand, we 
 would avoid a very dark-colored stone, as giving a too 
 sombre effect to the house ; though even then, if the 
 walls are laid up in a rough way, and with stones for the 
 most part of small dimensions, the mortar will serve to 
 lighten up the color. On the other hand, if we were 
 building in the vicinity of a quarry of marble of purest 
 white, we should prefer to go some distance in order to 
 secure stone of a different color. Nature, in all her 
 bouquet of colors, does not give us white except in 
 bits, as in the flowers. She does not give us white in 
 masses. Even her marble is white only when freshly 
 broken open, and then she hastens to cover its surface 
 again with a softer and more pleasant tint, toning down 
 its glare and bringing it into harmony with surrounding 
 objects. The winter snows, to be sure, are white, but 
 there are special reasons for this, and we all know how 
 disagreeable the whiteness is how, oftentimes, we have 
 to hide it from our eyes <by veils and colored glasses. 
 It is strange, in view of these facts, that our people 
 should have chosen white so extensively as they have
 
 THE COUNTRY" DWELLING-HOUSE. 127 
 
 done as the color for their houses. It throws them out 
 of all harmony with objects around, and breaks up, often- 
 times, what would otherwise be a very pleasant picture. 
 A white house, especially in the glare of the full sun- 
 light, is a blot upon the landscape. It is tolerable only 
 when almost surrounded and hidden by trees, and so 
 has its color really changed. 
 
 Equally out of taste, though not so disagreeable, is 
 the custom of covering our houses, no matter what their 
 color, with patches of vivid green in the form of blinds 
 to the windows. Why the blinds of a house should be 
 of a different color from the house itself it would be 
 difficult to assign a reason, while it is not at all difficult 
 to see that by this arrangement what would otherwise 
 be the solid bulk of the house is broken up into patches 
 the house loop-holed, so to speak, and all dignity and 
 massiveness of effect utterly lost. 
 
 Where stone is not used for building, but wood takes 
 its place, there is a somewhat wider range of choice in 
 respect to color. Some one has given as a rule by which 
 to secure proper harmony of the house with its surround- 
 ings, to pull up a piece of turf, growing in the vicinity, 
 and paint the house the same color as that of the bottom 
 of the turf. Whether this rule be a good one or not, 
 one cannot go amiss, in choosing a pigment for his house, 
 if he copies the tints which he may find on the bark of 
 the trees close around him, or if he takes almost any of 
 the grays, or drabs, or neutral tints which are so easily 
 made by a mixture of the more positive colors.
 
 128 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 One can hardly be too careful to have his content 
 plated house thoroughly planned in all its parts, and in 
 their relation to one another, before beginning to build. 
 With a well-digested plan, the work of building is half 
 done. From cellar-floor to chimney-top the house should 
 form a consistent whole, its parts all mutually dependent. 
 The method of warming and ventilating the house, for 
 instance, will modify the construction of the cellar. If 
 a furnace is to be used, then a chimney-flue must be car- 
 ried up from the cellar, and a cold air box and other 
 appliances must be provided for in the very laying 
 of the foundations. So if water is to be carried freely 
 throughout the house, this will necessitate certain ar- 
 rangements which should be provided for at the outset. 
 All such things as air-ducts and water-pipes are more 
 easily arranged, and more cheaply, when the house is 
 contrived and is in process of building than afterwards. 
 
 A cheap and effective method for protecting houses 
 from the excessive cold of winter, and equally from the 
 heats of summer, ought to be adopted in every house. 
 This consists in interposing a space of air between the 
 rooms of the house and the outer walls and roof. This 
 is easily done in the case of a stone or brick building by 
 means of what is called " firring out." Strips of wood, 
 an inch in thickness, are nailed to the walls, and the lath- 
 ing fastened to these. Air, when confined, being one of 
 the best non-conductors of heat and cold, a thin space of 
 this kind is sufficient to prevent the cold or heat from 
 penetrating rapidly the rooms thus protected. Hence a
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 129 
 
 house so treated will be warmer in winter and cooler in 
 summer than it would be if built in the ordinary way. 
 In the case of wooden buildings the same effect is se- 
 cured by filling in the spaces between the studding with 
 bricks set upon edge and laid in coarse mortar. The 
 cheapest bricks can be used for this purpose. Or a par- 
 tition of lath and plaster may be placed half way between 
 the outer wall, or weather boarding, and the ordinary 
 plaster wall of the rooms. This will leave two air- 
 spaces, each an inch and a half wide. When houses are 
 built so that the chambers have their ceilings formed 
 wholly or in part by the roof timbers, it is necessary 
 that this double plastering should be extended to these 
 as well as to the side walls of the house. The expense 
 of this arrangement is so small (not more, probably, than 
 fifty dollars for a house of ample dimensions) that no 
 one should neglect so effective a protection against the 
 discomforts of heat and cold. 
 
 The place of ornament, and the extent to which it 
 should be used, is an important matter of consideration 
 for every builder. It is a safe rule for one's guidance 
 that no ornament is to be allowed for its own sake alone, 
 but only as it is an embellishment of what is useful. 
 And the embellishment should never go to the extent 
 of attracting attention to itself, to the exclusion of at- 
 tention from that which is sought to be embellished. 
 A veranda, for example, is a desirable feature of a 
 house. It affords opportunity for sitting or walking in 
 the open air while protected from sun and storm. But
 
 130 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 when such a structure is placed upon the northern side 
 of a house, where there is always abundant shade, and 
 where no one would wish to be during the storm, and so 
 is seen to have been built because it was thought to be 
 a pretty thing in itself, then it is at once an offence to 
 good taste and shows itself a useless expenditure of 
 money. The roof of a veranda, again, needs, of course, 
 supporting columns. They may be plain and simple, 
 and not conspicuous by their size, for the weight they 
 have to carry is small. But when they are expanded, 
 as they not unfrequently are, into a maze of elaborate 
 wooden lace -work cut out of thin boards, one cries 
 " away with them" at once. This principle of judgment 
 may be applied to all ornamentation, whether of the ex- 
 terior or interior of the house, as also to that of furni- 
 ture and dress. Whenever ornament attracts the chief 
 attention, as though existing for itself, we may well 
 consider it out of place, and a violation of good taste. 
 In general, the style of building in the country should 
 be characterized by simplicity ; and ornaments, whether 
 within or without, should be of a simple rather than an 
 elaborate character. They should partake of the severe 
 simplicity of nature rather than the intricate nicety of 
 art. And so doing, they will be really more beautiful 
 than anything which art alone can give. 
 
 But especially let all dishonest ornamentation be 
 avoided, as also dishonesty of any sort. The prevalent 
 custom of painting and graining pine and other cheap 
 woods, so as to resemble those more beautiful or costly,
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 
 
 is not only in bad taste, but bad morality ; and, like all 
 bad taste and bad morality, it costs more than that which 
 is good. These imitations never really deceive one. 
 No one, unless it be a child, thinks the painted pine is 
 oak or mahogany. But they pretend to be what they 
 are not, and so have a constantly debauching effect upon 
 those who see and tolerate them. From seeing such 
 pretences approved, children may easily grow up with 
 the belief that pretension may be indulged in anything 
 and anywhere. And yet we have these misrepresenta- 
 tions and false representations, these base imitations, 
 these falsehoods in wood and paint and plaster, not 
 only in our dwellings, but in our churches, the very 
 temples of Truth. Falsehood may be said to be ingrain- 
 ed in us thus. What wonder that the world is so full 
 of shams and falsehoods in character, when it is so full 
 of shams and falsehoods in carpentry ! 
 
 And then, if we want the effect of the beautiful grain 
 of woods, why not have it in an honest way, by using va- 
 rious woods just as they are, and as they are furnished 
 us by nature, instead of first covering up her beautiful 
 work with paint, and then upon that dead leaden sur- 
 face endeavoring to make a poor imitation of what is 
 beyond all imitation ? Our common pine has a beauti- 
 ful grain. By a little care in the selection of boards 
 with reference to the development of the grain, and 
 simply oiling or varnishing them after they have been 
 wrought into doors and the various finishings of a room, 
 we may have, at little cost, a room more beautiful than
 
 132 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 any grainer's brush can give us. Then we have the 
 maple, the ash, the white-wood, the birch, the catalpa, 
 the walnut, and a hundred other woods, which only 
 need to be treated in the same way, and they will give 
 us, used separately or in combination, an almost infinite 
 variety of effects. Every room in the house may thus 
 have a character and expression of its own, and almost 
 all needed embellishment may thus be had in a natural 
 and honest way, and at no inconsiderable saving of the 
 cost of paint and carpentry mouldings, to say nothing 
 of the saving of much labor needed for the scrubbing 
 and cleansing of the latter. 
 
 Such, it seems to us, should be the common country 
 house. Wealth may indulge in more elaborate, costly, 
 and highly finished structures ; but for the mass of those 
 whose residence is, and is to be, in the country, tasteful 
 simplicity should be the characteristic of their dwell- 
 ings. Their houses should be homes rather than show- 
 places, and their chief embellishment that of the beau- 
 tiful life lived in them. "What money is at command 
 in our villages should be expended for purposes of edu- 
 cation, and for the social improvement of the commu- 
 nity rather than for display in architectural construction. 
 A rich man in a village had better found a library or 
 endow a school of high order than build a palace for 
 himself. The library and the school will live and im- 
 part benefits to many generations to come. His palace 
 he does not know that any son of his will occupy when 
 he is gone.
 
 THE COUNTRY DWELLING-HOUSE. 133 
 
 In village life let show and parade be discouraged, 
 and let the endeavor be, on the basis of industry, 
 frugality, and simplicity, to carry the general culture 
 in intelligence, taste, morals, and virtue as high as pos- 
 sible.
 
 134 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FENCES AND HEDGES. 
 
 "The hedge was thick as is a castle wall, 
 So that who list without to stand or go, 
 Though he would all the day pry to and fro, 
 He could not see if there were any wight 
 Within or no." CHAUCER. 
 
 AMONG the things that have much to do with the 
 good appearance of a village are the fences by which 
 the grounds are divided from one another, or which 
 serve as boundaries of the roads. In most cases cer- 
 tainly they are anything but pleasing objects in them- 
 selves, while they often do much to detract from the 
 beauty of the country where they abound. In general 
 they may be regarded as an evil, though sometimes, 
 perhaps, a necessary evil. Boundaries and divisions of 
 lands to some extent we must have. Divisions of farms 
 into separate fields are also necessary for the best car- 
 rying-on of the work of agriculture. The pastures must 
 usually be separated from the cornfields by some ef- 
 fective barrier. But a great deal less of this is neces- 
 sary than many think; and every unnecessary fence 
 taxes the proprietor with a needless expense, while it is 
 a disfigurement to house or grounds, perhaps to both,
 
 FENCES AND HEDGES. 135 
 
 and to the general aspect of the vicinit\ T . In many 
 parts of our country the subdivision of lands and the 
 consequent expenditure for fences has been carried to a 
 lamentable extreme. It is not unusual to find single 
 acres of land, or several pieces of only a few acres each, 
 severed from a large farm and enclosed by themselves. 
 This not only involves a great expense for the construc- 
 tion and maintenance of fences, but oftentimes the 
 waste of much time in opening and shutting gates, in 
 the passage from one portion of the farm to another. 
 Added to this, also, is the loss of time in the cultivation 
 of such small enclosures occasioned by the necessity of 
 frequent turnings of the teams and machines employed. 
 Then there is a loss of ground involved also wherever 
 there are fences, the cultivation never coming quite 
 close to them ; and in the case of the very common 
 zigzag or Virginia fence, the loss of ground for cultiva- 
 tion is very considerable, while this unused space be- 
 comes a nursery of weeds and bushes, at the same time 
 unprofitable and unsightly. 
 
 The expense of fences is not considered as it should 
 be, and especially the fact that this expense increases in 
 proportion as the divisions of our farms are multiplied. 
 For instance, if we enclose a piece of ground measuring 
 ten rods by forty, equal to two acres and a half, it will 
 require one hundred rods of fence, which at one dollar 
 a rod makes the cost of fencing forty dollars an acre ; 
 whereas to enclose ten acres, or forty rods square, re- 
 quires only one hundred and sixty rods of fence, mak-
 
 136 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 ing the cost in this case only sixteen dollars an acre. In 
 the same way it is seen that if we enclose forty acres in 
 one field, the cost will be only eight dollars an acre, and 
 if we enclose a hundred acres, the cost will be reduced 
 to four dollars and four cents an acre. The great dis- 
 advantage, as to cost, when lands are divided into small 
 fields, is thus seen at once. But the whole story is not 
 yet told. These fences need to be renewed in from 
 seven to ten years. Isow, if we reckon seven per cent, 
 interest on the original cost of the fence and ten per 
 cent, for depreciation or annual repairs, we shall have, 
 in addition to the great disparity of original cost, as al- 
 ready shown, an annual cost of six dollars and eighty 
 cents an acre in the case of the field of two acres and a 
 half, and a cost of only eighty-five cents an acre in the 
 case of the field of one hundred acres. The economical 
 advantage of large fields is thus seen yet more strik- 
 ingly. We are persuaded that this cutting -up of 
 farms into small fields might be much lessened and 
 thereby a great burden be taken off from our agricult- 
 urists. Enough might be saved in this one way to 
 make the difference often between a pecuniarily suc- 
 cessful and thriving farmer and one who is running 
 all the while towards bankruptcy. The saving in this 
 item alone would furnish books, pictures, music, and 
 numerous other things to many a farmer's house where 
 now they are not found, because they cannot be af- 
 forded. And why should there ordinarily be any other 
 divisions on our farms than those which will separate
 
 FENCES AND HEDGES. 137 
 
 pasture ground from that used for tillage ? Why 
 should not the corn, oats, rye, and grass be allowed to 
 grow side by side in the same general enclosure ? They 
 will not quarrel or trespass on each other's ground.* 
 And then how much better the land looks when the 
 eye can range over large surfaces, with the graceful 
 curves which nature always gives them, unbroken by 
 any unsightly and stiff cross lines of fence ! Besides, 
 if smaller divisions are needed, as they may be tem- 
 porarily, it is easy to make them by means of movable 
 structures of wood or wire. These must come into 
 use more and more, as we realize the cost and incon- 
 venience of the old mode of enclosure, and the wire 
 fences have the great merit of being comparatively in- 
 visible, and therefore not being a blemish to the land- 
 scape. 
 
 The cost involved in the construction and repair of fences on a single 
 farm may not be readily estimated, partly because such cost accrues not 
 all at once, but gradually. Yet it is a real cost. And when we multiply 
 
 * If our farmers and village residents could generally visit Europe, they 
 would think fences less necessary than they now do. Throughout Eng- 
 land they are seldom to be seen, hedges taking their places. In Belgium 
 and France there are very few fences, the farms stretching side by side for 
 miles with no visible barriers between. In Lombardy and Northern Italy 
 fences are hardly known. 
 
 The comparative scarcity of timber in some parts of our own country 
 has happily led to views of the fence question which are in accord with 
 what we have been saying. In Illinois and Iowa, and perhaps others of 
 our Western States, the farmers are fencing only comparatively small por- 
 tions of their lands, relying upon herdsmen to watch their cattle and keep 
 them from the growing crops. 
 
 K
 
 138 
 
 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 this cost by that of the number of farms in an entire state, the sum be- 
 comes impressive. A few years ago Mr. Dodge, the statistician of the 
 Agricultural Department at Washington, from reports received from in- 
 telligent observers in all parts of the Union, compiled a statement from 
 which it appears that the whole cost offences in the United States amounts 
 to $1,700,000,000 ; and the cost of annual repairs to $198,000,000. The 
 matter is one of so much interest that we append Mr. Dodge's tables. 
 
 AMOUNT AND COST OF FENCES IN THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 States. 
 
 Acres Fenced. 
 
 Rods of 
 Fencing. 
 
 Total Cost of 
 Fencing. 
 
 Maine 
 
 4,377,925 
 
 31,214,605 
 
 $31,214,605 
 
 New Hampshire 
 
 3,288,117 
 
 28,771,023 
 
 34,525,227 
 
 Vermont 
 
 4,164,917 
 
 32,278,106 
 
 42,929,880 
 
 Massachusetts 
 
 2,481,767 
 
 21,095,019 
 
 36,916 283 
 
 Rhode Island 
 
 448,988 
 
 4,489,880 
 
 9,877,736 
 
 Connecticut 
 
 2,185,000 
 
 19,883,500 
 
 33,801,950 
 
 New York .... 
 
 20,549,909 
 
 169 536,749 
 
 228,874 611 
 
 New Jersev 
 
 2,736,251 
 
 25,310,321 
 
 40,496 513 
 
 Pennsvlvania 
 
 16,374,641 
 
 156,377,821 
 
 179,834 494 
 
 Delaware . . . 
 
 963,770 
 
 6 023 562 
 
 7 228 274 
 
 Maryland 
 
 4,112,936 
 
 25,911,496 
 
 32,389 370 
 
 Virginia 
 
 8,165,040 
 
 40,825,200 
 
 36,742 680 
 
 North Carolina 
 
 8,902,909 
 
 49,856,290 
 
 37,392 217 
 
 South Carolina 
 
 5,284,224 
 
 26,421,120 
 
 21,136,896 
 
 Georgia 
 
 11,035,877 
 
 60 255 888 
 
 45 191 916 
 
 Florida 
 
 736,172 
 
 3,415,838 
 
 2 459 403 
 
 Alabama 
 
 7,536,947 
 
 45,975,376 
 
 36,780 300 
 
 Mississippi 
 
 6,437,137 
 
 27,035,975 
 
 25,954 536 
 
 Louisiana 
 
 2,045,640 
 
 8,182,560 
 
 8,182 560 
 
 Texas 
 
 6,822,757 
 
 30,020,130 
 
 33,022 143 
 
 Arkansas 
 
 3,294,189 
 
 19,435,715 
 
 18,463 9' ; 9 
 
 Tennessee 
 
 10,027,762 
 
 65 681,841 
 
 62 397 748 
 
 West Virginia 
 
 4,067, ">89 
 
 36 605,601 
 
 32 945 040 
 
 Kentucky 
 
 13,381,978 
 
 80 '>9 1,868 
 
 76 277 274 
 
 Ohio 
 
 18,090.776 
 
 155 580,673 
 
 155 580 673 
 
 Michigan 
 Indiana 
 
 7,558,040 
 14 111 963 
 
 60,464,320 
 95 961 348 
 
 57,441,104 
 100 759 415 
 
 Illinois 
 
 22,606 406 
 
 107 380 4 9 8 
 
 128 856 513 
 
 Wisconsin 
 
 8,807 332 
 
 46 38 493 
 
 39 30 9 719 
 
 Minnesota. 
 
 1 857 681 
 
 7 430 7^4 
 
 6 539 037 
 
 Iowa 
 
 7,517,173 
 
 31 572,126 
 
 34 729 338 
 
 Missouri 
 
 12,274 766 
 
 64,442,5^1 
 
 64 442 521 
 
 Kansas 
 
 1,576 802 
 
 6 701 408 
 
 7 371 548 
 
 Nebraska 
 
 517 6'->4 
 
 2 070 496 
 
 2 174 9 
 
 California 
 
 4,974 504 
 
 24 141 642 
 
 29 598 298 
 
 Oregon 
 
 1,116 290 
 
 5 023 305 
 
 5 274 470 
 
 Nevada . . 
 
 74 115 
 
 296 460 
 
 444 690 
 
 
 

 
 FENCES AND HEDGES. 
 
 139 
 
 COST OP REPAIRS OP FENCES. 
 
 States. 
 
 Cost 
 per 100 
 Rods. 
 
 Total Cost. 
 
 States. 
 
 Cost 
 per 100 
 Rods. 
 
 Total Cost 
 
 Mjiine 
 
 $3.06 
 3.80 
 4.00 
 4.50 
 5.75 
 7.50 
 7.06 
 9.80 
 6.32 
 7.50 
 7.80 
 3.51 
 3.40 
 4.00 
 4.00 
 3.80 
 4.65 
 5.26 
 6.51 
 8.50 
 5.92 
 5.00 
 4.50 
 5.15 
 
 $955,166 
 1,093,298 
 1,291,124 
 949,275 
 258,168 
 1,491,262 
 11,969,294 
 2,480,411 
 9,883,078 
 451,767 
 2,021,096 
 1,432,964 
 1,695,113 
 1,056,844 
 2,410,235 
 129,801 
 2,137,853 
 1,422,092 
 532,684 
 2,551,712 
 1,150,594 
 3,284,092 
 1,647,252 
 4,035,031 
 
 Ohio 
 
 $5.25 
 4.00 
 5.40 
 9.50 
 4.55 
 5 10 
 
 $8,167,965 
 2,418,572 
 5,181,912 
 10,201,140 
 2,103,851 
 378,966 
 3,094,068 
 3,157,683 
 452,345 
 175,992 
 1,797,039 
 376,747 
 26,681 
 
 New Hampshire. 
 Vermont . 
 
 Michigan 
 
 Indiana 
 
 Massachusetts . 
 Rhode Island. . . 
 Connecticut .... 
 New York 
 New Jersey 
 Pennsylvania... . 
 Delaware . . . 
 
 Illinois 
 
 Wisconsin 
 
 Minnesota 
 
 Iowa 
 
 9.80 
 4 90 
 
 Missouri 
 
 Kansas 
 
 6.75 
 8.50 
 8.50 
 7.50 
 9 00 
 
 Nebraska 
 
 Maryland. 
 
 
 
 Oregon 
 
 North Carolina.. 
 South Carolina.. 
 Georgia 
 
 Nevada 
 
 Total cost of an- 
 
 
 
 $93,963,187 
 $104.852,995 
 
 Florida 
 
 Interest on the 
 original cost at 
 6 per cent 
 
 
 Alabama 
 
 Mississippi. 
 
 Louisiana. 
 Texas 
 
 Arkansas 
 Tennessee 
 West Virginia.. 
 Kentucky 
 
 Grand total, ex- 
 clusive of re- 
 building fences. 
 
 
 $198,806,182 
 
 
 
 
 In the closely settled portions of our villages, of 
 course the grounds will necessarily be in rather small 
 enclosures. But even here a good deal of fencing may 
 be dispensed with, and where this cannot be done the 
 fences can be made less obtrusive and less positively 
 ugly than they usually are. Anything almost would be 
 an improvement upon the generality of our fences. 
 They are unsightly things, for the most part. Nothing 
 can be less tasteful than our common picket fence, for 
 instance, with its stiff array of pikes set up as a barri- 
 cade around our dwellings, as though every passing
 
 14:0 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 man or beast were accounted an enemy against whom 
 we must entrench ourselves. And then when we give 
 up the picket or palisade fence, it is usually to replace 
 it with something as repulsive in iron, or some elabo- 
 rate gingerbread extravagance of the carpenter, alto- 
 gether incongruous and uncalled for and a great waste 
 of money. 
 
 As we become more civilized and tasteful we shall 
 feel less need of these barricades between us and our 
 fellow-men, and shall be unwilling to mar the sweep 
 and beauty of the lines which nature has given to the 
 surface of our fields, as we now so often do by these 
 stiff and tasteless structures. Many a house of respect- 
 able look, taken by itself, is now dwarfed and h'alf hid- 
 den by a huge and expensive fence stretched across its 
 front, useless because not enclosing ground enough for 
 the cultivation of flower or shrub, and not needed to 
 prevent any unwelcome intrusion, but which, if re- 
 moved, might give place to a beautiful sweep of lawn 
 stretching down to the very edge of the travelled road- 
 way and adding at once dignity and beauty to the 
 dwelling. Such a lawn is the best possible setting for 
 a house, be it large or small. It is the best possible 
 setting also for a few flowers or flowering shrubs. 
 
 And if any one interposes the objection that without 
 fences cattle will trample the flowers, or look in at the 
 windows, the ready answer is that it ought no longer to 
 be thought possible that any village will allow swine or 
 cattle to make pasture ground of its highways, or even
 
 FENCES AND HEDGES. 
 
 go upon them without a keeper. It ought to be under- 
 stood, also, as it very frequently is not, that the roads 
 really belong to the proprietors of the adjacent lands on 
 either side of them, and not to the town or the public 
 generally. A villager, if he is the owner of a plot of 
 ground, owns to the centre of the highway in front of 
 him. All the right the public have in the road is the 
 right to travel over it, and that too not where they 
 please, but in the particular path designed and prepared 
 for travel. The adjoining proprietors own and have as 
 much right to the grass or the fruit which grows on the 
 road in front of them as to that in their pastures or 
 their orchards. Hence the man who pastures his cattle 
 on the road is a trespasser upon his neighbors who own 
 the road, and may be prosecuted as such. His cattle 
 may be taken and impounded. 
 
 And as a man may take away the barricade 'fence in 
 front of his house, in most cases with manifest improve- 
 ment to the appearance and pecuniary value of his 
 premises, so he ought to be at liberty to remove his 
 farm fences by the roadside to any extent without sub- 
 jecting himself to any damage from cattle running at 
 large. In one state, at least Connecticut no man is 
 obliged to build a front fence, and if cattle come upon 
 any one's premises he can take possession of them and 
 hold them for the payment of damages. This ought 
 to be the law in every state. 
 
 We are so accustomed to see fences everywhere that 
 the suggestion of their disuse is very unwelcome to
 
 142 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 many, who yet are quite ready for anything which will 
 improve their residences. They have become so used 
 to their barricaded enclosures that they feel at first a 
 sense of vacancy and loss without them. But it only 
 needs the actual experiment for a few days or weeks to 
 convince almost any one of the improvement thus made. 
 And we have now some fine examples on a large scale 
 of the advantage resulting from the absence of fences, 
 especially from the fronts of dwellings. Individual 
 instances are to be found in very many of our towns 
 and villages, all over the country, as far West even as 
 Colorado. The village of South Manchester, Conn., 
 the seat of the silk-mills of the Brothers Cheney, is a 
 notable illustration of what may be done by not doing. 
 This village covers seven hundred and fifty acres of 
 land, and has a hundred and fifty houses ; but not a 
 wall or fence of any kind is to be seen between these 
 houses and the various roads along which they stand. 
 Each house has its lawn in front, dotted with flowers 
 and shrubs. An unmistakable look of comfort, neat- 
 ness, and taste pervades the village, and every visitor is 
 charmed by its appearance. Another illustration of 
 the effect of open grounds may be seen at Williams- 
 town, Mass., where the fences along the principal 
 street have been taken down one by one until, finally, 
 under an impulse of general improvement the present 
 year, aided by the pecuniary generosity and personal 
 influence of Mr. Cyrus W. Field, nearly all have been 
 removed, and the entire street, a mile in length, pre-
 
 FENCES AND HEDGES. 
 
 sents the appearance of a park. There is the unmis- 
 takable look of good neighborhood and kindly feeling 
 thrown over the whole place. The adjoining proprie- 
 tors have also, by this means, practically enlarged their 
 premises. The eye of each one, as he looks out from 
 his windows, sweeps along a ground surface far beyond 
 what he owns, lie has, it may be, a legal title to a 
 plot only fifty or a hundred feet in width. Yet he 
 seems to be living on one of many times that extent. 
 To look upon, his neighbor's trees and turf and flowers 
 are as much his own as they are his neighbor's. So all 
 gain by this practical enlargement of their possessions. 
 They gain, also, almost of necessity, some enlargement 
 of heart and feeling, a closer and kinder fellowship, a 
 deepening interest in each other. 
 
 Why should not this, or something approximating 
 this, be realized generally in the villages of our land ? 
 Why should they not thus seem to be, what they ought 
 to be, communities places of a common life, of com- 
 mon as well as individual feelings and tastes, where 
 all flow together as having common interests, hopes, 
 and joys, a real partnership in each other? 
 
 Hedges are of three kinds those designed for screens, 
 those designed to take the place of fences, and those for 
 decorative purposes. As yet they have come into use 
 but to a moderate extent in this country. In England 
 they are in very general use for the separation of fields, 
 and they form a conspicuous object in the landscape, so
 
 144 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 that English hedges have become quite famous. With 
 us hedges have been used thus far mainly on small 
 grounds, like those of our cities and their suburbs, 
 rather than in the open country and upon large farms. 
 There are two classes of plants suitable for hedges : 
 the thorny shrubs like the buckthorn, and the Osage 
 orange, or maclura, on the one hand, and on the other 
 the evergreens, like the arbor vitae. the Norway spruce, 
 and the hemlock. The former have an advantage, 
 where a barrier is needed which will effectually turn 
 cattle, in the fact that they have thorns against which 
 cattle are unwilling to push, and because they occupy 
 little space. The evergreens, on the other hand, have 
 greatly the advantage of beauty, and for all places 
 where they are needed simply as division boundaries, 
 or for screens, or for ornament, are much to be pre- 
 ferred. In the northern portions of our country espe- 
 cially, where for six months of the year the trees are 
 leafless, and the ground is brown or covered with snow, 
 there is ample reason for choosing evergreen hedges 
 wherever they can be used. Near a house, particularly, 
 such hedges should be chosen, for the ordinary thorn 
 hedges during the half-year when they are leafless are 
 by no means pleasant objects to look at. For screens, 
 also, none but evergreens are of any account, while 
 these are all that can be desired. Whether to shut off 
 the cold winds from the house or from the cattle in the 
 barn or barn-yard, or to hide from sight some undesir- 
 able objects, stables or other outbuildings, nothing bet-
 
 FENCES AND HEDGES. 145 
 
 ter than the Norway spruce or the hemlock could be 
 wished for. As a protection for a garden, excluding 
 the cold winds of early springtime, as well as intru- 
 sive poultry and other animals at all times, evergreen 
 hedges are most desirable, while they also aid mate- 
 rially to make a garden an object of beauty. For 
 tall hedges or screens the Norway spruce and the 
 hemlock are equally well adapted. For hedges that 
 are to be kept low the hemlock is preferable, being 
 a plant of finer and more delicate foliage, and bear- 
 ing the shears well, while in many parts of the coun- 
 try it is so abundant that cheapness will be in its 
 favor. 
 
 But, whatever plant is adopted, it needs to be borne 
 in mind that in securing a hedge one must proceed very 
 much as in building a house. The first thing is to have 
 a good foundation. In other words, the beauty and the 
 utility of a hedge consist in a good thick growth close 
 to the ground. Consequently the upward tendency of 
 the plants must be repressed by topping them until bot- 
 tom shoots are started in sufficient abundance. It will 
 require four or five years to grow a hedge in this way 
 to the height of four feet ; but when this is once done, 
 the work remains, and you have something of abiding 
 beauty and usefulness. 
 
 In growing such a hedge it is also necessary, certain- 
 ly very desirable, to prepare the ground by deep spad- 
 ing or ploughing, and by the proper intermixture with 
 the soil of some fertilizing material. Let the plants
 
 146 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 then be set therein in two rows the rows themselves 
 six inches apart and the plants twelve inches asunder 
 in the rows the plants of the different rows not oppo- 
 site each other, but alternate, thus : 
 
 This will make a hedge the more impervious to small 
 animals at the bottom, though we have grown hemlock 
 hedges in single rows, the plants a foot apart, which 
 would effectually shut out poultry. For evergreen 
 hedges plants should be chosen not more than eighteen 
 inches or two feet in height, and such, if possible, as 
 have well - developed lower branches. These, when 
 planted, should be cut down to a uniform height of 
 one foot. The next year one half of the first year's 
 growth should be cut off. And so from year to year 
 the top should be pruned or shortened in, and the 
 hedge thus built up in proper form and with the de- 
 sired thickness or density. If the pruning is not con- 
 tinued until the proper growth at the bottom is secured, 
 no subsequent care will remedy the defect. But with 
 this precaution, in a few years one may surround him- 
 self with a wall of living green that will rob the win- 
 ter of half its chill and irksomeness, and furnish a pleas- 
 ant object for the eye to rest upon at all times.
 
 LAWNS. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 LAWNS. 
 
 "Nothing is more pleasant to the eye than green grass kept finely 
 shorn. " BACON. 
 
 "The peculiar characters of the grass, which adapt it especially for the 
 service of man, are its apparent humility and cheerfulness. Its humility, 
 in that it seems created only for lowest service appointed to be trodden 
 on and fed upon. Its cheerfulness, in that it seems to exult under all 
 kinds of violence and suffering. You roll it, and it is stronger the next 
 day ; you mow it, and it multiplies its shoots as if it were grateful; you 
 tread upon it, and it only sends up richer perfume." RUSKIN. 
 
 THE two things that will do most to make a piece of 
 ground attractive and pleasant to look upon are trees 
 and grass. And this is true whether the ground be 
 large or small in extent ; whether it be a house lot on 
 the edge of some city, or a gentleman's park of thou- 
 sands of acres. These, then, are the most desirable out- 
 ward adornments of our village homes, as they are the 
 cheapest. Yet how slow we have been in our country 
 to apprehend this fact ! We have filled our grounds 
 with trellises and Chinese pagodas, and various conceits 
 of carpentry, with mounds and hillocks covered with 
 flowers and flowering shrubs, with plaster Floras and 
 Dianas, and with cast-iron deer and dogs, until we have 
 often been buried in a wilderness of incongruous and
 
 148 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 misplaced decorations. It is only within a short time 
 that we have come to understand what Lord Bacon 
 saw nigh three hundred years ago that Nature has 
 provided for us in the very grass of the field something 
 more beautiful than anything which we can put in its 
 place. It would seem as though our farmers would 
 have been so struck with the beauty of their hay-fields 
 when newly shorn by the scythe that they would have 
 made the attempt to secure something of the same ef- 
 fect, but more permanently, in the immediate vicinity 
 of their dwellings ; but this they seldom have done. 
 The value of grass with them has been simply in its 
 yield of hay and pasturage for the cattle. That there 
 was also a pleasure in it for themselves, a gratification 
 of the love of the beautiful something, likewise, to 
 nourish pleasant thoughts and tasteful feelings in their 
 children does not seem to have often come into their 
 minds. And so our farm-house surroundings have been 
 greatly lacking in a beauty and adornment easily with- 
 in reach. On one side there has been, perhaps, a plot 
 fenced off for a garden, which has only been an apology 
 for a garden, after all, so neglected has it been, the 
 rampant weeds choking the proper growths of the 
 place. In front there has been what has borne the 
 name of a " door-yard," it may be, into which the door 
 is never opened except on the rare occasions of a fu- 
 neral or a wedding, the usual entrance to the house 
 and exit from it being by a side or rear door, and prob- 
 ably through a varying mass of plantains and mallows
 
 LAWNS. 149 
 
 near the road, and the chips and dirt of the wood-pile 
 farther back ; well if carts and other agricultural imple- 
 ments have not also obstructed the pathway leading to 
 the house. 
 
 How easily might all this be changed ! Sweep away 
 those picket fences, which in most cases are no protec- 
 tion asrainst the intrusion of cattle, inasmuch as the 
 
 O ' 
 
 gates are usually left open. Remove the garden to 
 some ampler spot on the farm, where, planting the seeds 
 of his vegetables in long rows and in the open field, 
 the farmer can cultivate them easily with his plough, 
 as he does his field crops. Put the wood-pile, with its 
 attendant rubbish, in some place out of constant sight, 
 and the wood, when cut, snugly in the wood -house. 
 Let carts and wagons, ploughs and harrows, be sheltered 
 in their proper store-room. Then let the ground thus 
 made vacant be laid down to grass, and planted appro- 
 priately with trees singly and in clumps, with here and 
 there a bed reserved in the midst of the turf for a few 
 choice flowers, massed so as to give the full effect of 
 their bright colors; and the farmer or villager has 
 spread before him " from morn to noon, from noon to 
 dewy eve," a picture of ever changing yet abiding 
 beauty. It will be something to satisfy him. He will 
 delight in it more and more the longer he looks upon 
 it. It is really wonderful what effects may be had in 
 connection with a bit of grass and a few trees. As the 
 light changes every hour, and the tone of the atmos- 
 phere, so a lawn takes on a new look from hour to
 
 150 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 hour ; and then, as the shadows of the clouds pass over 
 it, it offers perpetually new phases and combinations of 
 light and shade, so that so simple and seemingly fixed 
 a thing as a piece of grass becomes a source of infinite- 
 ly varied and surprising pleasure. 
 
 But not every piece of grass is a lawn. It must be 
 green, velvety turf not rank stalks of grass showing 
 the bare earth between, as is so often the case. The 
 latter will do for a mowing-field, perhaps, but not for a 
 lawn. For this, we want a turf short and thick as the 
 pile of an Axminster carpet ; and we want a turf that 
 will keep its emerald greenness all through the year, 
 except in the frosty months, when, of course, we cannot 
 expect it. Every one knows that such lawns are not 
 common among us ; and some who have endeavored to 
 secure such have declared, after making much effort to 
 obtain them, that the thing is impossible. Nor is it 
 easy to have in this country lawns like those which are 
 so common in England, and which are so charming. 
 Our hot summer suns are very severe upon grass, as 
 upon other things. England, with its sky so often over- 
 cast with clouds and its frequent rains and fogs, enables 
 its people to have the luxury of the best lawns with lit- 
 tle care ; but with us, while the grass looks well in the 
 spring months, it is apt to look very brown and unin- 
 viting in July and August. 
 
 The first need, therefore the essential condition of 
 success in our country, in the production of a fine 
 lawn, is a good, deep, well -drained soil. Grass needs
 
 LAWNS. 151 
 
 for its full development a deeper soil than do some 
 trees. Give them a well-pulverized soil, and some of 
 our grasses will send their roots into it to the depth of 
 between three and four feet. Roots which have reach- 
 ed such a depth are, of course, little affected by drought. 
 No sun or want of rain will trouble them, but they will 
 go on pumping up their supplies of nutriment from 
 these cool, moist depths for the sustenance of the plants 
 above, making them quite independent of outward cir- 
 cumstances. Whoever, therefore, would have a lawn 
 which will not fail him at the very time when its beau- 
 ty would be most desirable should see to it that the 
 ground is thoroughly broken up by the trenching spade 
 or subsoil plough to a depth of two feet, while at the 
 same time he should see that it is sufficiently under- 
 drained to carry off any superfluous moisture. Let him 
 not trouble himself much about grades. To get ground 
 exactly level, or smoothed evenly into inclined planes, 
 is only a mechanical contrivance. It may be desirable 
 for a croquet-ground or the rampart of a fort ; but the 
 flowing lines which nature gives to the ground, the 
 gentle swells and corresponding hollows which succeed 
 each other, the ever- varying turns of the surface which 
 are to be found everywhere, except in the flattest prai- 
 ries of the West, are far more pleasing to the eye than 
 all the smoothing of art. They give opportunity for 
 that play of light and shade which is productive of the 
 highest beauty in landscape. 
 
 But, having secured a proper depth of soil, sufficient-
 
 152 VILLAGES AJsD VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 ly but not highly enriched, thoroughly pulverized and 
 cleared of all surface stones, so that the scythe or the 
 lawn-mower may do its work without hindrance or ob- 
 struction, the next thing needed is a proper seeding; 
 and here the two things to be chiefly considered are the 
 kind of seed and the quantity. No single kind of grass 
 seed will make a good lawn, however adequate it may 
 be for the production of a good hay-field. What we 
 want in a lawn is not a tall rank growth above ground, 
 but a fine, thick growth upon the ground. What we 
 want is not a crop of hay, but a carpet. It is an estab- 
 lished fact, also, that any one sort of seed will not cover 
 the ground with verdure; but that, after you have 
 given the soil all the seed of one kind which it will 
 sprout, you may sow another kind which will take root 
 in the vacant spaces that are left ; and yet another kind 
 of seed will occupy the places which still remain. Only 
 by a variety of seeds, therefore, can we cover the ground 
 with that thick mat of green which we speak of, appro- 
 priately, as a " velvet " lawn. In Europe, as many as a 
 dozen different kinds of seed are sometimes mixed for 
 the purpose of seeding a lawn ; and great care is taken 
 in adapting the kinds of seed to special soils and situ- 
 ations. In this country the grasses which have proved 
 most satisfactory for lawns are the common red-top, or 
 bent grass, the white clover, and the Kentucky blue or 
 June grass. To these is sometimes added the sweet 
 vernal grass. These grasses are mixed in different pro- 
 portions by different cultivators. A mixture frequent-
 
 LAWNS. 153 
 
 ly used consists of Khode Island bent a variety of red- 
 top eight quarts ; creeping bent, as it is called, three 
 quarts; red-top, ten quarts; Kentucky blue grass, ten 
 quarts; and white clover, one quart. Some use for 
 lawns a mixture of three fourths red-top and one fourth 
 white clover. 
 
 But whatever seed is used, let not the quantity be 
 stinted. From three to five bushels should be used to 
 the acre, according to the richness of the soil ; and in 
 the same proportion for a larger or smaller extent of 
 ground. 
 
 Having sown the seed, of proper kind and in proper 
 quantity, and rolled it in well, the beauty and continu- 
 ance of the lawn will be secured by frequent mowing 
 and occasional rolling. If the lawn is not cut frequent- 
 ly, it will soon become like any hay-field, and certainly 
 its principal beauty will be lost. About once in twelve 
 days or a fortnight the scythe or the lawn-mower should 
 go over the ground, and the grass cut should be left 
 upon the field to act as a mulch to the roots of the 
 grass, to protect them from our hot suns ; and, finally, 
 by its decay, to keep the ground properly enriched. 
 Treated in this way, with perhaps an occasional top- 
 dressing of ashes, a lawn will last a lifetime, and longer. 
 The durability of such a lawn makes the labor needed 
 at the outset for its establishment a cheap expenditure, 
 whether of care or money. 
 
 The trouble and expense of frequent cutting may 
 seem an objection to the establishment of a lawn on a 
 
 L
 
 154 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 large scale, except to people of considerable wealth. 
 The farmer may also think that the cutting and leaving 
 the grass involves the loss of some hay. But it is not 
 necessary, in order to have a lawn, that a large piece of 
 ground should be devoted to it. Only let there be a 
 proper depth of soil and sufficient space kept clear of 
 trees or shrubs to give some effect of breadth enough 
 to give room for a solid mass of sunshine to fall some- 
 where on the ground and even a city door-yard may 
 become a lawn. But in our villages and on our farms 
 we may make beauty and practical economy go hand in 
 hand by carefully and frequently mowing a limited por- 
 tion of ground near one's dwelling ; while the rest, sepa- 
 rated, perhaps, by an invisible wire fence, may be past- 
 ured by a few sheep, with some handsome Jersey cows 
 for companions. These creatures are among the best 
 of lawn-mowers, after all; and while they keep the 
 grass short and the ground in good heart, they are also 
 storing up wool and butter for their owner. At the 
 same time, they add beauty and life to the lawn itself, 
 and make it additionally attractive ; they add the only 
 thing possibly lacking to its completeness and our per- 
 fect satisfaction with it.
 
 WATER. 155 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WATEK. 
 
 " For fountains, they are a great beauty and refreshment ; but pools 
 mar all, and make the garden unwholesome, and full of flies and frogs. 
 Fountains I intend to be of two natures the one that sprinkleth or 
 spouteth water ; the other a fair receipt of water, of some thirty or forty 
 foot square, but without fish, or slime, or mud. For the first, the orna- 
 ments of images, gilt or of marble, which are in use, do well ; but the 
 main matter is so to convey the water, as it never stays, either in the 
 bowls or in the cistern." BACON. 
 
 SAYS John Ruskin, to whom the English public are 
 indebted more than to any other writer, not to say than 
 to all others, for the stimulus that has been given to the 
 observation and the love of nature, " Of all inorganic 
 substances, acting in their own proper nature and with- 
 out assistance or combination, water is the most won- 
 derful. If we think of it as the source of all the 
 changefulness and beauty which we have seen in the 
 clouds ; then as the instrument by which the earth we 
 have contemplated was modelled into symmetry, and 
 its crags chiselled into grace ; then as, in the form of 
 snow, it robes the mountains it has made with that 
 transcendent light which we could not have conceived 
 if we had not seen ; then as it exists in the foam of the 
 torrent in the iris which spans it, in the morning mist
 
 156 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 which rises from it, in the deep crystalline pools which 
 mirror its hanging shore, in the broad lake and glanc- 
 ing river; finally, in that which is to all human minds 
 the best emblem of unwearied, unconquerable power 
 the wild, various, fantastic, tameless unity of the sea ; 
 what shall we compare to this mighty, this universal 
 element for glory and for beauty, or how shall we 
 follow its eternal changefulness of feeling? It is like 
 trying to paint a soul." 
 
 A substance of such glory and beauty must have, of 
 course, large and important relations to life in the open 
 country, where streams and clouds abound relations 
 which it cannot have in the pent-up town or city. The 
 aesthetic value of water is something which belongs 
 peculiarly to country life. It is only as the city 
 snatches some bit of soil from the encroachments of 
 the constantly extending lines of streets and buildings, 
 and thus imports, so to speak, a piece of the country 
 within its precincts, and establishes some " Central 
 Park," where the water can find room to shoot into the 
 air as a fountain or expand into a miniature lake, that 
 it takes on anything of beauty or appeals to the finer 
 senses. Your Croton Aqueduct is only a mechanical 
 contrivance for securing what will quench the thirst 
 of men and beasts, or wash the city streets, or preserve 
 the city itself from destructive conflagrations. It may 
 be a triumph of engineering and very admirable as a 
 piece of masonry. Yet hardly anything makes less 
 appeal to the aesthetic faculty than such a contrivance.
 
 WATER. 157 
 
 But go back into the open country, whence the water 
 comes to suffer imprisonment for the vulgar uses of the 
 town, and you come upon it at once in a new character. 
 The brook or river goes winding at its own will, in 
 sweeping curves of grace and beauty, through the 
 meadows, brightening all the adjacent fields with a 
 luxuriant verdure, or babbling with sweet music over 
 the pebbly bottoms, or leaping down the hill-sides in 
 wild and foaming cascades that are a joy to the eye 
 and ear at once. The cattle take on an added look of 
 beauty as they stoop to drink by the brook-side, such as 
 they never could have at a watering-trough in the barn- 
 yard ; and the birds never seern so charming as when 
 flitting along some stream, or mingling their songs from 
 the branches above with the liquid song of the brook 
 below. And then, is water ever quite so refreshing 
 and so welcome to the thirsty lips as when it is caught 
 fresh from some spring that bursts from the turfy bank 
 or from some cleft in the rock near the old farm-house ? 
 The children hasten to catch it in their hands, making 
 cups of them, or, perchance, of some grape leaf, rather 
 than drink from the daintiest silver that adorns the 
 table. 
 
 But while this element, water, is so abundant, cover- 
 ing three fourths of the earth's surface, and the whole 
 soil full of it, so that it is ready to shoot forth from in- 
 numerable springs, and while it is in itself so beautiful 
 and capable of ministering to our love of beauty in so 
 many ways, it is remarkable that we derive so little
 
 158 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 benefit from it, compared with what we might, either 
 in the way of use or pleasure. It is the more remark- 
 able that this should be the case in the open country 
 the very home of the brooks and springs. Taking it 
 on the side of the most practical utility, how many of 
 the dwellers in the country live without any adequate 
 supply of water for even the necessary uses of life. 
 They will content themselves often with a well, and 
 that perhaps inconveniently located, and with such in- 
 adequate and clumsy appliances for raising the water 
 to the surface that to " bring a pail of water" is con- 
 sidered one of the hardest tasks of domestic life. And 
 so the pail of water is drawn only when absolutely 
 necessary ; and a drink of fresh water, instead of being 
 accessible as the air, is oftentimes one of the most dif- 
 ficult things to procure. For a large portion of the 
 time the inmates of the dwelling must, if they drink 
 at all, accept a stale draught tinctured with the rust of 
 the tin pail or the white-lead of the wooden one. And 
 then the poor cattle, in the long season when they are 
 not in pasture, must be left without any supply of 
 their want, except as they are driven, once a day, 
 perhaps, through the snows and storms of winter, to 
 some distant brook, where only with difficulty, and 
 with manifest danger to their limbs, they can manage 
 to quench their thirst through some hole in the ice. 
 What a shame and cruelty is this in a country such as 
 ours, which, like the promised land held out as an at- 
 traction to the Israelites of old, is " a land of brooks
 
 WATER. 159 
 
 of water, of fountains, and depths that spring out of 
 valleys and hills." 
 
 Then, also, for the demands of cleanliness and health, 
 how inadequate is the provision often made! In how 
 many of our country houses is there such a thing as a 
 bath-room, or water enough, easily accessible, to supply 
 it if there were one? Perhaps there is a small cistern 
 receiving the water from the house- roof, but, through 
 lack of proper protection against the intrusion of toads 
 and other animals, or the infiltration of noxious matters, 
 the water is rendered so repulsive that it is an unpleas- 
 ant thing to bring it near the face. Or the only store- 
 house for water may be how often it is so ! a barrel 
 at the corner of the house, with perhaps a board slant- 
 ing down under the projecting eaves of a portion of the 
 roof to serve as a conductor of the precious rain into 
 this generous receptacle ; and the scanty supply by this 
 means secured suggests the necessity of washing hands 
 and face as seldom as possible, while the ablution of 
 the whole body is not to be thought of, and so the less 
 said about personal cleanliness the better. 
 
 Happily this is not a correct picture of all our coun- 
 try homes. But it represents so many of them, ap- 
 proximately, at least, as to warrant the conclusion that 
 there ought to be a far better supply of water for our 
 villages than there now is. For the common uses of 
 life, for the common needs of a household, there is no 
 one thing more desirable than an abundant supply of 
 this element. To have it in unlimited amount, to have
 
 160 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 it convenient and easy of access this is the oil which 
 makes all the wheels of domestic life run smoothly. 
 If, as has been said so often, cleanliness is next to godli- 
 ness, then water is the first physical need of existence ; 
 and there are few of our farms and country homes 
 which might not be abundantly supplied from springs 
 near at hand, or, by the associated enterprise of the vil- 
 lage, from copious streams not far away. Everywhere, 
 almost, in our country, the water is waiting to be used, 
 waiting to bring us its blessings of health and manifold 
 comfort. The valleys and hills are full of springs ready 
 to pour their refreshing and healthful streams through 
 our dwellings. It requires a comparatively small out- 
 lay, in most cases, certainly, to secure an ample supply 
 of this most necessary element. The saving of steps 
 for the busy and often overburdened housekeeper, the 
 diminished lifting and carrying, the great amount of 
 time as well as labor saved in accomplishing the work 
 of the household, these, in a single year, and frequently 
 sooner than that, would more than pay for all the cost 
 involved in securing for our country dwellings an 
 abundant supply of water. And then its importance 
 in promoting health and the increased comfort and 
 pleasure of living thereby insured to all the inmates 
 of the house, who shall estimate this, who measure the 
 value of this by any figures of pecuniary cost ? There 
 is no virtue in drudgery though not unfrequently 
 men and women live as though there were and wher- 
 ever we can save labor or lighten it, it is not only our
 
 WATER. 161 
 
 privilege, but our duty to do so. The tone of life is 
 thereby elevated ; opportunity, at least, is given for the 
 higher life to assert itself. 
 
 We have spoken thus far of water mainly in refer- 
 ence to the utilities of life. But a proper consideration 
 of country living and what is needed to make our vil- 
 lage life more attractive and satisfying requires some- 
 thing to be said of the aesthetic qualities of water. 
 There is no perfect landscape where the eye cannot, 
 somewhere in the sweep of its vision, rest upon water. 
 Whatever else may be had, be it the most beautiful 
 contour of hill and vale, be it lofty crag or lawn-like 
 meadow, be it amplest sweep of forest and field, or 
 densest and richest verdure, there is a want felt so long 
 as the gleam of water is not seen. Nor is the needed 
 effect measured by mere quantity. A little stream, 
 across which you can almost leap, is worth as much 
 sometimes as a whole ocean. How such a stream, 
 shooting its silver thread through one of our green 
 meadows, will often light up the whole landscape ! 
 Who does not feel the beauty of water at times ? In the 
 tumbling cascade or in the expanse of a little lake, what 
 child even does not find something that touches a fount 
 of feeling within and calls out his admiration ? What 
 dullest son of toil is not stirred by such a sight, and 
 made sensible of something within him that is above 
 the drudgery of toil ? The jet of water, throwing up 
 its silver drops and its feathery spray from some door- 
 yard fountain, what passer-by does not have his steps
 
 102 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 arrested and his soul refreshed by the sight ? It has a 
 power of universal appeal. Old and young, the rudest 
 and the most cultured, are alike, though not, perhaps, 
 equally, touched by it. Why should we not have these 
 sights and their resulting pleasures oftener than we do ? 
 There is hardly a village, we may say hardly a farm or 
 cottage-yard, which might not have its plashing fountain 
 to gladden the sight. And nearly every village might 
 easily secure for its adornment some stretch of water, 
 with the accompaniment of one or more fountains, 
 around which the villagers might gather at will, and 
 which would be a constant delight to all. These 
 pleasures need not be costly. There is no necessity 01 
 great outlay for cast-iron basins and bronze dolphins 
 and naiads. These may be left for those of abundant 
 wealth and scanty taste. Their absence is commonly 
 more desirable than their presence. If the villager 
 can command though but a small stream from some 
 spring, with sufficient head to give a moderate degree 
 of pressure, all that is requisite is to scoop out a shal- 
 low basin of earth in his door-yard six or eight feet 
 across and coat it with hydraulic cement, which any 
 one can do, having first brought his supply -pipe up 
 through the bottom with a waste-pipe leading out from 
 the basin, near its margin, into a tank near by. A 
 sunken barrel filled with stones will answer for this 
 purpose. Now let him procure a stop-cock, and two 
 or three different jets, which he will find very cheap 
 in any city or large town, and he has at command not
 
 WATER. 163 
 
 only a perpetual fountain of water, but a perpetual 
 fountain of delight. It is really wonderful the many 
 effects and the constant yet ever-varying pleasure to be 
 derived, for old and young alike, from such a simple 
 and inexpensive source. Once possessed of such a 
 source of enjoyment, no one would be willing to part 
 with it for many times its cost. And then there are 
 many little streams running through our meadows or 
 down our hill-sides which we might, with only a little 
 labor, lead into new channels, and so cause them to flow 
 where the sight of them would be pleasantest, or across 
 which even the children might throw dams sufficient to 
 make them expand into little lakes that might be made 
 the home of fish and fowl, and a place for many a 
 pleasure and sport. 
 
 These are but hints and suggestions, when very 
 much more might be said. But these are enough to 
 indicate the great addition to the comfort and pleasure 
 of life in the country which might be made by the ju- 
 dicious use and management of the simple element of 
 water. Our country homes, of all places, ought to have 
 it in abundance. Its streams should be ready to flow 
 at house and barn and wherever else it would be useful 
 or pleasant. The bath-room should not be only a city 
 luxury, but should be deemed as necessary to the equip- 
 ment of a country house as is the kitchen. Health and 
 comfort demand it. The Mohammedans are as careful 
 to erect baths as they are mosques. Ought not Chris- 
 tians to be as thoughtful of cleanliness as they?
 
 164 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS OF COUNTRY LIFE. DRAINAGE. 
 
 "It is not enough that we build our houses on beautiful sites, and 
 where we have pure air and pure water ; we must also make provision 
 for preventing these sites from becoming foul, as every unprotected house- 
 site inevitably must by sheer force of the accumulated waste of its occu- 
 pants." GEORGE E. WARING, JR. 
 
 IF any advantage has been generally conceded to the 
 country as compared with the city, it has been that of 
 its healthfulness. The " healthy country ;" how stereo- 
 typed is that expression ! It is on every lip. The nar- 
 row and close streets of the city or large town, the 
 densely compacted population, the filthy dwellings in 
 great numbers, and the accumulation of many noxious 
 matters in streets and yards, have been regarded as cer- 
 tain and prolific sources of disease. And so, also, the 
 great cities of the world have been notorious for the 
 prevalence in them, from time to time, of great 
 plagues and epidemics of virulent character, while they 
 have been the almost constant homes of fevers and 
 other destructive diseases. 
 
 But the difference between city and country in re- 
 spect to healthfulness is not so great as it was. A 
 change in this regard has taken place within the last
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. -DRAINAGE. 165 
 
 twenty -five, certainly within the last fifty, years. This 
 has been occasioned by a better knowledge of the prin- 
 ciples of physiology and hygiene and the diffusion 
 of that knowledge among the people. The laws of 
 health are not only better known than they were 
 within the memory of those living, but the knowledge 
 of those laws is not confined to the few, and they 
 chiefly of the medical profession. It has become, to 
 some extent, the property of the masses. Popular 
 text -books on physiology are in our schools and on 
 our tables. These are supplemented also by lectures 
 on the subject adapted to the popular understanding, 
 while newspapers and magazines are doing not a little 
 in the same direction. 
 
 Of this increased knowledge the cities and towns 
 have reaped the benefit more than the open country. 
 This might have been expected. The former, having 
 been the greatest sufferers from the ravages of disease, 
 would naturally be the first to consider the means of 
 escaping them, and to apply the discoveries of science 
 for the promotion of health. The very necessities of 
 the case, and the greater promptness and energy of 
 action which mark the people in towns, as compared 
 with those in the open country, would lead to the 
 earlier adoption, by the former, of measures for the 
 improvement of their sanitary condition. This would 
 be stimulated, also, and made more effective by the 
 urgency of the medical profession, who would be more 
 likely to speak 9ut in the city and act vigorously
 
 166 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 in behalf of sanitary measures than in the country. 
 Their numbers, their facilities for combined action, 
 and their probably superior knowledge would lead to 
 this. 
 
 For these reasons, not to mention others, it has re- 
 sulted that very decided and systematic measures have 
 been taken, in many cities and large towns, for the pur- 
 pose of lessening or removing the prevalence and pow- 
 er of diseases. The earliest and most efficient move- 
 ments for this purpose were made in the city of Lon- 
 don, which brought to its aid in this work a commis- 
 sion established by the British Parliament. The re- 
 sults of the investigations made by this commission 
 have led to similar inquiries in other cities and to 
 many discoveries in regard to certain diseases, their 
 causes and remedies. 
 
 Attention has been specially called to what are term- 
 ed the preventable causes of disease. In consequence 
 of this, some diseases, which have been among those 
 most dreaded, have lost much of their terror, and are 
 now regarded as being quite within our control. Ty- 
 phoid fever, for example, is found to have such an es- 
 tablished connection with the contamination of drink- 
 ing-water, or of the air, by means of the decomposition 
 of organic substances, that it is quite within our power 
 to prevent its existence. Indeed, Dr. Rush anticipated 
 the knowledge of the present day by declaring, nearly 
 a century ago, that he was so well convinced that fe- 
 vers are subject to human control that he looked for
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. DRAINAGE. 167 
 
 the time when the law would punish cities and vil- 
 lages for permitting any sources of malignant or bil- 
 ious fevers to exist within their jurisdiction. 
 
 The effect of proper drainage and ventilation upon 
 the health of places using these means of preventing 
 the contamination of the water and the atmosphere 
 has been quite remarkable. It has reversed the relations 
 of city and country to the existence of fevers. Where- 
 as these were formerly regarded as the special pest of 
 cities, they are now most prevalent in the country. As 
 the result of what has been done in cities for the re- 
 moval of known causes of disease, the death-rate of the 
 population has been reduced in a measure that is very 
 noticeable. An English writer shows that by the sani- 
 tary measures already adopted, imperfect as they are, 
 the average mortality has been reduced from five to 
 more than thirty per cent, below what it was previous- 
 ly, and the reduction of the typhoid-fever rate has been 
 from ten to seventy -five per cent. Colonel Waring, 
 one of our best authorities on this subject, tells us that 
 when the improvement of sewerage was actively under- 
 taken in London, about twenty-five years ago, it was 
 found that the death-rate was so much reduced in some 
 of the worst quarters that, if the same reduction could 
 have been made universal, the annual deaths would 
 have been twenty-five thousand less in London, and 
 one hundred and seventy-seven thousand less in Eng- 
 land and Wales ; or, by another view, that the average
 
 168 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 age at death would have been increased to forty-eight, 
 instead of being, as it then was, twenty -nine. As 
 further evidence that the causes of disease are largely 
 within human control, we have facts like the following. 
 In 1790 the death-rate in the British navy was one in 
 forty-two, and the sick were two in every five. In 1813, 
 when measures had been taken to secure to vessels 
 better conditions of health, the death-rate was one in a 
 hundred and forty-three, and the sick only two in twen- 
 ty-one. Careful examination in Philadelphia at one 
 time showed that two fifths of all the deaths taking 
 place there were from diseases arising from want of 
 cleanliness. More than seventy-five per cent, of deaths 
 in New York, it is stated, are among the population 
 living in tenement-houses which are notoriously the 
 abodes of filth and in neglect of the ordinary means 
 of cleanliness. A drainage law was passed in the city 
 of New York in 1871, and under its operation a section 
 of the city east of Fifth Avenue and above Forty-fifth 
 street was drained. In two years diseases of a typhoid- 
 al and malarial type, which had prevailed there for 
 more than twenty-five years, almost disappeared. Such 
 facts show how healthy such a city as New York might 
 be, if all its people were living as those in the better 
 portions of the city live in clean streets and clean 
 houses. 
 
 All investigations show, and by an overwhelming 
 mass of proof from cases of every description, that ty- 
 phoid fever stands in close connection with the amount
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. DRAINAGE. 169 
 
 of neglected filth allowed to poison water or air. The 
 question of the prevalence of fevers, and of pythogenic 
 diseases generally, resolves itself, therefore, very much 
 into the question of the tolerance of filth, whether in 
 city or country. Dr. Derby, who has investigated the 
 subject with much care, says, " The well are made sick, 
 and the sick are made worse, for the simple lack of 
 God's pure air and pure water." The water and the 
 air may be contaminated in various ways, and often when 
 we least suspect it. There is a general conviction that 
 water taken from wells is wholesome. Most persons 
 probably would prefer the water from wells to that 
 taken from cisterns or from springs. That is, if they 
 were to think at all of the purity of the water and its 
 consequent healthfulness, apart from the consideration 
 of pleasantness to the taste, most persons would prob- 
 ably regard the water of our wells as being more free 
 from contaminations than that flowing from springs or 
 that collected in cisterns. But there is no water so 
 pure as that which falls as rain upon our house-roofs, 
 and is gathered thence. There is nothing to injure it, 
 except the foreign matter which collects upon the roofs 
 in the intervals between the rainfalls ; and that, in our 
 villages and in the open country, must be very little. 
 On the other hand, many of our springs may be injuri- 
 ously affected by noxious matters in the soil or upon 
 the surface near which they flow, and our wells may 
 easily be little better than receptacles of what is most 
 threatening and harmful to us. A well is not necessarily 
 
 M
 
 170 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 a good thing. Unless we know that it is in the midst 
 of clean surroundings, extending for a sufficient dis- 
 tance, and that it is protected from the intrusion of 
 deleterious matters, we have no assurance but that it 
 may be a storehouse of poison and death. Wells are of 
 the nature of drains, collecting water which filters from 
 the surface of the ground somewhere. They are, in 
 this respect, like springs ; and if the water flowing into 
 them passes through decaying animal or vegetable mat- 
 ter, there is great danger that it will be rendered unfit 
 for use as drink. The earth, indeed, possesses a certain 
 cleansing property. Dirty and unwholesome water, 
 filtered through it, is rendered clear and wholesome. 
 There is abundant proof of this. But another thing is 
 equally sure. Earth, long exposed to deleterious mat- 
 ters, and having them washed into it by rains, becomes 
 so saturated with them at length that it loses its purify- 
 ing power. The noxious matters then pass directly into 
 the water of the well without being cleansed. Now, 
 this is the case, to a great extent, in cities, and often in 
 the open country. The wells are frequently situated 
 where a great deal of noxious matter is deposited near 
 them. Sinks, cesspools, and privies are often in close 
 proximity to them. In the country, wells are often 
 placed, for the convenience of supplying water to the 
 cattle, near, if not actually in the barn-yard. And yet 
 people, instead of remembering that everywhere else 
 they expect liquids to settle down through the soil, and 
 disappear, act in these cases as though the earth were a
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. DRAINAGE. 
 
 solid and impervious barrier between the filth on or 
 near the surface and the deposit of water below from 
 which they draw their supplies. In London, in a given 
 instance, fever was generated all along a district where 
 milk was taken from a dealer who was accustomed to 
 dilute it with water from a particular well. On inves- 
 tigation it was found that this well had some connection 
 with a cesspool not far away. Similar instances abound 
 in our own country where the proof has been abundant 
 and incontrovertible that fatal diseases have been oc- 
 casioned by the pollution of wells in this way. The 
 fact has been put beyond all question by cases where, 
 when the cause of pollution has been removed, the dis- 
 ease has been checked ; and when the pollution, for some 
 reason, has been allowed to take place again, the disease 
 has returned, and then has been suppressed once more 
 by another removal of the source of pollution. This is 
 not a treatise on sanitary matters, or it would be in 
 place, and extremely interesting, to cite some of the 
 cases recorded in our medical and sanitary journals. It 
 is enough to say that too much care cannot be taken to 
 insure that all deleterious substances are kept at a proper 
 distance from wells. That distance will vary in differ- 
 ent circumstances, but it is safe to say that no such mat- 
 ters should be allowed to accumulate or be deposited 
 upon the ground within a hundred feet of a well. 
 
 It is a quite common practice in the country to throw 
 the sink water from the kitchen door, or to allow it to 
 flow from the sink-spout directly upon the surface of
 
 172 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 the ground near the house. The result is usually a 
 pool of greasy, decaying matter in close proximity to 
 the windows and doors of the dwelling. This is doubly 
 dangerous. In the first place, the gases generated from 
 the kitchen waste find easy access to the house, especial- 
 ly in the warm seasons of the year, through the open 
 windows and doors ; and some of the most hurtful gas- 
 es do not betray their presence by an offensive odor, 
 which might put us on our guard against them. To a 
 certain extent, foul substances emit a foul smell, and so 
 give us warning of their presence ; but it is not always 
 so.* The germs of fever and meningitis, and even con- 
 sumption, give no such warning of their presence or 
 approach. And so, also, when these germs are washed 
 down from the kitchen-drain or sink- spout, or from the 
 cesspool into the well, which is likely to be not very 
 distant, they may give no perceptible taint to the water. 
 Neither the eye nor the nose may detect the fatal poi- 
 son. The water may be clear and sparkling, and even 
 
 * The superintendent of the water-works in one of our cities, in reply 
 to some inquiries of ours in regard to drainage, after giving some facts on 
 the subject, makes the following statement: "A short time since, it was 
 necessary for an examination to be made in one of our main sewers. I 
 entered it, and passed about six hundred feet, when I perceived a fulness 
 in my face ; my forehead felt as though receiving blows from some flat 
 substance. I knew the cause and at once backed out, but none too soon, 
 as I could scarcely stand when in the street again. Now, there was no 
 odor except near the entrance ; but, you see, the poison was very active. 
 I felt thankful at my escape, I can assure you. 
 
 "This is a subject that people must be educated to, and must be appre- 
 ciated before we can say good-bye to typhoid fever and diphtheria."
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. DRAINAGE. 173 
 
 have an enviable reputation in its neighborhood for 
 pleasantness to the taste ; yet it may be deadly. It is 
 only by its effects that its really poisonous character will 
 become known. And when the drinking of such water 
 does not generate fevers or other diseases at once, it 
 very often induces a slow poisoning of the system, re- 
 vealed by a certain low tone of life, a chronic invalid- 
 ism, a general debility and incapacity for work of any 
 kind, and many unpleasant but perhaps unnaraable 
 feelings and ailments a sort of good-for-nothing con- 
 dition of the whole being, which is ready to issue in 
 diseases of various kinds whenever the proper exposure 
 comes or the appropriate conditions arise. 
 
 The evil effect of almost all polluted waters is very 
 much lessened by heating them to the boiling-point. 
 It is owing to the fact, doubtless, that so much of the 
 water which we use for drinking purposes is thus heat- 
 ed as in the making of tea and coffee, and in many 
 culinary processes that we do not experience more 
 disastrous results than we do from the foul and effete 
 matters which too often have access to the sources of 
 water supply. 
 
 As an illustration of the effect of heat upon the im- 
 purities of water, may be cited the case of one of the 
 prisoners at far-famed Andersonville, the dreadful mor- 
 tality at which has been largely attributed, and, without 
 doubt, justly, to the foul water which the prisoners were 
 obliged to drink. But one of the first prisoners sent 
 there, and who remained there until the end of the war,
 
 174 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 caine from the prison without having had anything of 
 the so common disorder of the bowels. He never drank 
 the water without boiling it. Being often detailed to 
 bury the dead, he was enabled to gather roots and sticks 
 sufficient to make a fire that would enable him to boil 
 what water he needed. Other evidence of a like char- 
 acter might be adduced. 
 
 Most persons have a reasonable or unreasonable fear 
 of epidemics, and when these break out are aroused to 
 take measures adapted to stay their ravages and prevent 
 their recurrence. But epidemics are, at the worst, un- 
 frequent, while other diseases of fatal character are an 
 abiding presence with us ; and the loss of life by epi- 
 demics is by no means equal to that from other causes 
 constantly in operation. Even when that most dreaded 
 scourge, as we call it cholera is rife, there are more 
 deaths from many other diseases, to which we pay little 
 attention, than from that. During the epidemic of 
 1849-50, there were reported thirty-one thousand five 
 hundred and six deaths from cholera in the United 
 States. During the same period, there were more than 
 the same number of deaths from other diseases of the 
 intestinal canal, and more from fevers alone. 
 
 It is the constant dangers, rather than the occasional, 
 against which we ought most to guard. The cardinal 
 health formula of old Hippocrates ought ever to be 
 kept in mind " Pure air, pure water, and a pure soil." 
 We seem, to a great extent, to have forgotten the im- 
 portance of the latter, if not of the former, of these.
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. DRAINAGE. 175 
 
 How long we may escape fatal results from the poison- 
 ous matters draining into our wells from sinks and cess- 
 pools, or coming back in gaseous form into our dwell- 
 ings from drains or the putrescent house-slops thrown 
 under the kitchen window, we cannot tell. But this 
 we know, or ought to know, that whenever we are liv- 
 ing under such circumstances, we are living under the 
 constant threat of disease and death; and when death 
 occurs in such cases, instead of saying that one died by 
 the act of Divine Providence, as we are so accustomed 
 to do, we ought rather to say, he died as the result of 
 human improvidence. It ought to be recognized as a 
 first duty to remove, as far as possible, or to a safe dis- 
 tance, all sources of danger from the pollution of the 
 soil. It should be a fixed principle with every house- 
 holder to see that all the waste substances of the house 
 waste food, waste matters from the body, decayed and 
 decaying vegetables, and organic substances of every 
 kind shall be removed from the house, and not allow- 
 ed to get back to it again, whether in solution in water 
 or mingled with the air we breathe. The wash of the 
 house should by some means be carried rapidly away, 
 and either made useful by being returned as fertilizing 
 matter to farm or garden by means of the compost- 
 heap, or conducted into some stream by which it shall 
 be washed away. At any rate, and at any cost, it should 
 be put at a distance from the dwelling. 
 
 Many of the drains used for the purpose of carrying 
 waste matters away from the house are worse than use-
 
 176 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 less ; they are positively harmful. They are causes, rath- 
 er than remedies, of danger. Instead of removing, they 
 often keep near us the foul and festering matters in 
 which are the seeds of disease and death. Who has not 
 been troubled with drains and sink-outlets filled up, so 
 that the wash of the house would no longer pass through 
 them ? Who does not also remember the sickening ef- 
 fect when the drain has been fully uncovered, in order 
 that the accumulated filth might be removed ? But the 
 sickening shock of such occasions is only the empha- 
 sized report of what has really existed every day for 
 weeks it may be months before. It is only the reve- 
 lation or uncovering of what existed, and was doing its 
 poisoning work unseen ; all the while breeding, slowly 
 if not swiftly, disorders of mild or malignant type, or 
 bringing on those nameless debilities and local affec- 
 tions which are ready to issue at any time in fatal 
 disease.* 
 
 * Even while writing this chapter, the papers have brought to us sever- 
 al illustrations of the results of defective or improper drainage. We copy 
 the following, not as being more remarkable than many others, but only 
 as an example of what is taking place all the while : 
 
 "The shocking story of the death, in rapid succession, of six children of 
 Patrick Murray, of Newport, B. I., by diphtheria, was telegraphed at the 
 time, with an account of the frenzy of the father, whose grief had almost 
 crazed him. The mayor of the city requested Colonel George E. Waring, 
 Jr., one of the most accomplished civil engineers in the country, to investi- 
 gate the case carefully, and the report is now published. It is condensed 
 in one word filth. That was the patent cause of the trouble. The drain- 
 pipes all led to a ' leaching cesspool ' in the ground which had not been 
 touched for ten years. There were virtually no traps in the pipes, and the 
 vilest gases flowed into the living room as easily as indeed, more easily
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. -DRAIN AGE. 177 
 
 As usually constructed our drains carry off the waste 
 and wash of the house so sluggishly that the greasy 
 matters, by themselves perhaps innocuous, become chill- 
 ed before they are carried far, and adhere to the sides 
 of the drain, serving also to fix other and more deleteri- 
 ous matters with them. Thus there gradually accumu- 
 lates a festering mass, which, occasionally at least, sends 
 back its polluting gases into the house, even though 
 there be a sink-trap ; and finally gives notice of its pres- 
 ence in a way to be no longer disregarded, by a com- 
 plete stoppage of the drain. 
 
 than pure nir. Besides this, out of the ' living-room ' of the family there 
 opened a sort of L, one room through which was the back entrance to the 
 house. Under this L, which had no cellar, ran the main outlet sewer- 
 pipe on its way to the cesspool. The pipe had recently broken ; filth had 
 oozed out and covered and permeated the sea- weed packing that had been 
 put over the pipe to keep it from freezing in winter, and with the first 
 warm weather deadly gases from the decomposition spread at once. The 
 first victim was the oldest child , her domestic duties kept her at the sink, 
 and the air she inhaled there, contaminated by the untrapped sink outlet, 
 hnd so weakened her that she went down first. The closing words of the 
 report should be read everywhere. Colonel Waring says : 
 
 " 'Murray's children are gone past recall ; but other children in New- 
 port, and all over the land, are being subjected to unsuspected dangers of 
 the sort above described; and I cannot close the record of this deplorable 
 calamity without entreating all physicians who may be called to cases of 
 filth-born disease to insist on an immediate and most searching scrutiny 
 of all possible sources of contamination ; and, if contamination is found, 
 upon the immediate removal of the whole family away from the infected 
 premises. If Patrick Murray and his family had been removed into Mr. 
 Cushing's stable, into a tent, or into a wholesome house, on the first devel- 
 opment of the disease, there might have been n chance of saving them. 
 Left where they were, they fell one after another before an unremitted as- 
 sault, which the simplest examination would have discovered.'"
 
 178 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 A mistake is often made in the construction of drains 
 by making them too large. A drain five inches in di- 
 ameter is large enough for any house. When larger 
 than this, the liquids passing through them are spread 
 over a wide surface, friction is increased, consequently 
 the waste matters move slowly, and there is the greater 
 danger of adhesion to the sides of the drain, and of con- 
 sequent accumulation and the generation of gases, if not 
 of final stoppage. The smaller drain has less surface 
 exposed to the deposit of offensive matters, while the 
 swifter flow of the current tends to sweep them all 
 away to their place of ultimate deposit. Our hydraulic 
 engineers have found it advantageous to use pipes of 
 smaller size than those which were considered necessary 
 for the same service a few years ago. 
 
 Drains should be made of tile or of metallic pipe 
 rather than of wood or bricks, on account of smoothness 
 of surface and the consequent readiness with which the 
 contents of the drains will flow away. They should 
 not be of porous material, nor have loose joints which 
 will allow the leakage of either gases or fluids. The 
 cement or the vitrified drain-tile is probably the best 
 material we have for this purpose, if it is carefully fit- 
 ted at the joints. To make the work of drainage en- 
 tirely satisfactory, however, there should be either such 
 an abundant supply of water flowing through the drain 
 all the time, from some spring or aqueduct source, as to 
 wash everything of waste nature quickly away to a safe 
 distance, or there should be some means by which, at
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. DRAINAGE. 
 
 179 
 
 frequent intervals, the drain can be flushed and so be 
 swept clean of all waste and deleterious substances. An 
 excellent contrivance for the latter purpose, known as 
 Field's Flush-tank, has been in use for several years in 
 England, but is little known as yet in this country. It 
 consists essentially of a tank a barrel or hogshead will 
 answer the purpose with an inlet for the house-waste 
 at the top through a grating, and a siphon tube, the bent 
 
 part of which is near the top of the tank. One foot of 
 the siphon is near the bottom of the tank, and the other 
 is so connected with the drain that when the siphon is 
 thrown into action by the filling of the tank to the top 
 of the siphon, the entire contents of the tank are at once 
 drawn off, and flow through the drain with such force 
 that nothing lodges by the way. The peculiar merit of 
 this tank is that the waste-water, and whatever may be
 
 180 
 
 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 contained in it, instead of being allowed to flow into 
 the drain in small quantities, as is so commonly the case, 
 and therefore to flow with so little force that greasy and 
 other matters may easily adhere to the sides of the drain 
 and finally obstruct it, is now discharged only when the 
 tank is completely filled, and then all at once and with 
 a strong and rapid flow. The accompanying cut, for 
 the design of which we are indebted to Colonel George 
 E. Waring, Jr., who is an authority on the subject of 
 drainage, will explain the construction and working of 
 this tank. 
 
 Care should be taken to secure such a slope in con- 
 structing a drain that its contents may readily flow off. 
 This should not be less than thirty inches in a hundred 
 feet ; a slope three times as great would be better, as 
 producing a more rapid and effectual flow. 
 
 But with the best arrangement in other respects, 
 great mischief may be wrought, and when we are least 
 aware of it, unless care be taken to cause all drains and 
 waste-pipes to be well ventilated, and so arranged by 
 proper and sufficient traps that the gases generated in 
 
 them shall not be 
 allowed to enter the 
 rooms of the dwell- 
 ing. 
 
 Here is given an 
 illustration of a 
 common form of 
 trap for a drain, the entrance to which is out-of-doors.
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. DRAINAGE. 181 
 
 If such a trap is placed within the house, there should 
 be a ventilating-pipe extending from the trap, or from 
 the drain near it, to a point in the open air, which will 
 convey any possible noxious gases to a safe distance. 
 
 Too much care cannot be taken with all traps and 
 drain-pipes, whether within doors or without, to see that 
 they are properly ventilated, and that no noxious gases 
 can escape from them into the apartments of the house. 
 The overflow pipes of our wash-basins, for want of 
 properly constructed traps and proper ventilation, have 
 often been overflow's of foul gases into our rooms. 
 
 With any arrangement there will be more or less of 
 effete matter adhering to the sides of the sewer and of 
 the drainage pipes, and this will give origin to delete- 
 rious gases ready to penetrate our houses and rooms 
 whenever opportunity offers. To prevent this, it is de- 
 sirable, in the first place, to give the sewer and the sew- 
 erage pipes, if there be any within the house, as free 
 communication as possible with the outer air. The 
 atmosphere is the great oxidizer of all foul matters that 
 by which they are consumed. The more and the soon- 
 er we can bring all foul and waste matters into contact 
 with the atmosphere, the better. Hence, in the case of 
 the flush-tank of which we have spoken, there ought to 
 be a ventilating-pipe extending from the top of the 
 tank to some point considerably above it, so that the 
 gases which will inevitably be engendered in it may pass 
 off to a place of safety. So, likewise, sewers should 
 have similar ventilating-pipes or openings ; and the soil-
 
 182 
 
 VILLAGES AXD VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 pipe connected with sinks or water-closets should be 
 carried from the drain or sewer to the top of the house 
 in a straight and unbroken line, and be three or four 
 inches in diameter, so as to admit abundance of air. It 
 should be of cast-iron, with joints effectively cemented, 
 so that no gas can escape through them. It should ex- 
 tend some distance above the roof, and its extremity be 
 covered with a hood, as shown in the accompanying cut, 
 so that whatever may be the currents 
 of wind, there may yet be a clear 
 upward and outward draught. All 
 water-basins should empty into this 
 main upright pipe by side pipes pro- 
 tected by traps, so that no gas may 
 be able to get back through the wa- 
 ter-closets into the house apartments. And then, final- 
 ly, there should be such a supply of water as will ef- 
 fectually wash away all effete matters, and carry them 
 as speedily as possible from the dwelling and to their 
 ultimate destination. Only thus can the work of drain- 
 age be effectually done. 
 
 The management of drains is attended with difficulty 
 at the best ; but their proper management is the price 
 of life and health, the latter of which is, in many in- 
 stances, more important than the former. Says Profess- 
 or Brewer, of New Haven, writing upon this very sub- 
 ject, " Let us not forget that the evil of death is not the 
 greatest one. A man dead may be a loss to a family or 
 a community, but he is not a burden. A sick man is
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. DRAINAGE. 183 
 
 no longer a producer ; he is a burden, often a heavy one, 
 on his friends." It is estimated that for every case of 
 death there are five cases of severe sickness ; and how 
 many cases are there of chronic, life-long ailments and 
 debilities of one sort or another? A large part of these 
 are believed to be connected more or less directly with 
 the improper disposal of the waste matters of our dwell- 
 ings and the consequent pollution of the water and the 
 air. Here, then, is the point where we should be will- 
 ing to expend most freely our care, and, so far as may 
 be needful, our money ; every interest of man and so- 
 ciety demands it. Stagnant water near houses; damp 
 cellars arising from a soil from which the water does 
 not readily find an outlet these evils should be reme- 
 died by thorough drainage, and, in connection with 
 these, all household wastes should be put at a safe 
 distance.
 
 184: VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS OF COUNTRY LIFE (continued). 
 VENTILATION. 
 
 " Man's greatest enemy is his own breath." 
 
 "It is not too general an expression to say that every thought and act 
 of man, as well as every action within his body, is accompanied by the 
 consumption of oxygen and deterioration of the surrounding air." DR. 
 EDWARD SMITH. 
 
 IN considering the sanitary aspects of country life, as 
 indeed of life anywhere, drainage and ventilation are 
 of paramount importance. It is difficult to decide 
 which of the two is the more important. They are 
 closely linked together, and often it is hardly possible to 
 separate them. Ventilation may be said to be the sew- 
 erage of the atmosphere ; the one implies or necessitates 
 the other. Drainage is imperfect without a proper sys- 
 tem of ventilation, as a proper system of ventilation 
 cannot be carried out without a corresponding system 
 of drainage. 
 
 It is because of the imperfect arrangements for venti- 
 lation connected with them that many modern plans for 
 underground drainage have been pronounced inferior, in 
 a sanitary point of view, to the old plan of carrying away 
 the filth and slops of houses by means of open surface
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. VENTILATION. 185 
 
 drains. The sight of the foul mass in the latter case is 
 not pleasant ; but it is better to have the sight of it and 
 feel that in the open air there is some probability that 
 the waste matters will be rapidly oxidized and so ren- 
 dered innoxious, or that the various gases engendered 
 will be rapidly dissipated by the free winds, than to 
 have these gases arising in a close drain where, for want 
 of proper outlet, they may be driven back into the va- 
 rious apartments of the house to work their mischief 
 there. 
 
 Nearly all are ready to admit the importance to health 
 of pure water and pure air. Comparatively few, how- 
 ever, will take the pains necessary to secure the one or 
 the other. People will take it for granted that they 
 have both pure air and pure water, without any suf- 
 ficient consideration of the facts on which their purity 
 depends. That one lives in the country, and not in the 
 city or densely populated town, is thought to be, of it- 
 self, the sufficient guarantee that he will have these 
 vital elements in a state of purity. If the water is not 
 turbid, and if there is no absolutely foul smell in the 
 atmosphere, it is supposed that both are in the proper 
 condition for the promotion of health. But modern 
 science has proved that while the senses of taste and 
 smell have an important office in warning us of many 
 things which are or would be prejudicial to health, they 
 are not sufficient to secure us against some of the great- 
 est dangers which threaten us on this score. Water, as 
 we have seen, may be poisonous when it is altogether 
 
 N
 
 186 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 pleasant to the taste, while, on the contrary, it may be 
 all that health demands, although so turbid that the eye 
 regards it with suspicion. So, also, the air may be un- 
 favorable to health when none of the senses can detect 
 the hurtful ingredient in it. It is not the foul-smelling 
 gases which mingle with the air that are the most harm- 
 ful. Carbonic acid and carbonic oxide, which are so 
 fatal, frequently give no sign of their noxious quality 
 to the senses. The former of these is even very grateful 
 to the taste. It is what gives the sparkle and the pleas- 
 ant tingle on the tongue to our most agreeable drinking- 
 waters, whether from the native spring or the so-called 
 "soda-fountain" of the shops, which, however, has no 
 trace of soda about it. 
 
 The air which we breathe, it hardly needs to be said, 
 is composed mainly of three ingredients in gaseous form. 
 One of these bears so small a proportion to the others 
 that the atmosphere is often said to be composed of the 
 latter alone, there being little more than a trace, or from 
 four to six parts of carbonic acid in ten thousand parts 
 of the atmosphere in its normal condition. In general 
 terms, and for ordinary purposes, the air may be regard- 
 ed as composed of oxygen and nitrogen. The former 
 constitutes about one fourth of the atmosphere in weight 
 and one fifth in bulk, the latter being three fourths of it 
 in weight or four fifths in bulk. 
 
 It is the oxygen of the air which supports life. The 
 nitrogen seems to be important, so far as respiration 
 and the support of animal life are concerned, chiefly as
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. VENTILATION. 187 
 
 a medium for the dilution of the oxygen, or a vehicle for 
 its proper conveyance into the body. In an atmosphere 
 of oxygen alone, life would go on too fast and end too 
 soon, as the familiar experiments of the chemists show 
 us that candles and other combustible substances burn 
 with increased brilliancy and increased rapidity in oxy- 
 gen. Respiration, we now know, is a true combustion, 
 as much so as the burning of wood or coal in the stove, 
 and resulting, as that does, in heat. It is the oxygen 
 we breathe which is the source of our animal heat, the 
 carbon and hydrogen of the blood, derived from our 
 food, being oxidized, as the wood or coal is oxidized 
 or burned in the stove. The chief difference between 
 the combustion going on in the human body and that 
 of a lamp or a fire is, that the former goes on at a lower 
 temperature and at a slower rate than the latter ; just as 
 in the rusting of iron, which again is a simple combus- 
 tion, the combustion goes on at a still lower tempera- 
 ture and a still slower rate. 
 
 We take in, or inhale, the air we breathe for the pur- 
 pose of bringing oxygen (or vital air, as it was formerly 
 called, because life is so dependent upon it) into contact 
 with the blood in the lungs, and through that into con- 
 tact with the contents of the blood throughout the body. 
 The oxidation of the carbon and hydrogen in the blood 
 gives origin to carbonic -acid gas and watery vapor, 
 which are thrown out from the body at every expira- 
 tion along with the nitrogen which we have inhaled. 
 " The body," says Dr. Edward Smith, " is a great oxi-
 
 188 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 dizing apparatus by which it sustains its bulk, produces 
 heat, and modifies the composition of the atmosphere ; 
 and when it has cast off that which, having been used, 
 is no longer useful to it, it not only deteriorates the at- 
 mosphere, but renders it impure." 
 
 In the natural arrangement of things, the oxygen of 
 the air is supplied in the proper proportion for the best 
 support of life and health, and provision is made for 
 removing from us at once the noxious products or waste 
 material thrown off by respiration. Gaseous substances 
 have a remarkable property of diffusibility. As the re- 
 sult of this, the carbonic acid thrown out from the lungs, 
 though heavier than common air, tends at once to spread 
 through the great ocean of the atmosphere above and 
 around, and so does not remain in hurtful proportions 
 near us to be inhaled in place of, or mingled with, the 
 pure oxygen. So, also, where there are trees and plants, 
 these perform an important sanitary function for us. 
 They breathe through their leaves, as we do through our 
 lungs. But there is one very important difference be- 
 tween the breathing of animals and that of plants. 
 While the former inhale oxygen and throw out carbonic 
 acid, which is poisonous to them, the plants greedily ab- 
 sorb this gas by their leaves or lungs, and, decomposing 
 it in their laboratory, add it to their own structure in 
 the form of solid carbon, while they set free, or pour 
 out into the air, the oxygen of the carbonic acid, fit to 
 be used again by man. 
 
 Thus we see how the animal and vegetable kingdoms
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. VENTILATION. 189 
 
 stand in most beautiful and important relation to each 
 other, the one built up out of the waste of the other. 
 And so, if men lived in the open air along with the 
 trees, and did nothing to pollute the atmosphere except 
 to pour into it the products of respiration, the trees 
 would keep the air pure for them. 
 
 But as we live in houses, and shut ourselves close in 
 them so that the trees can help us little, what shall we 
 do ? What, of course, but see to it that our houses are so 
 constructed as to secure the needful supply of oxygen for 
 our lungs, and the removal to a safe distance of the poi- 
 sonous matter which our lungs are all the while throw- 
 ing off. This is the simple dictate of self-preservation. 
 
 Every person, if he would breathe as good an atmos- 
 phere as that ordinarily found out-of-doors, requires 
 about a thousand cubic feet of pure air every hour. 
 This would be sufficient to fill a room ten feet square 
 and ten feet in height. Some have said that the hourly 
 demand of air for a state of health is three thousand 
 cubic feet ; but careful experiments have shown that 
 this is not necessary. But on the lower estimate which 
 we have given, it is easy to see how rapidly the air of 
 our public and private rooms must become vitiated un- 
 less some means be taken to avoid the danger. "Man's 
 greatest enemy," one has said, " is his own breath." By 
 the very processes of life, we are threatening ourselves 
 with death. Shut one in a close room, and he will soon 
 die, as certainly as though he were to place by him a 
 brazier of burning charcoal. Every time we breathe we
 
 190 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 make the air about us less fit to breathe. Our only 
 safety, therefore, is in having the air around us in mo- 
 tion, so that what we expire the noxious gases, the ef- 
 fete matter poured out of our bodies by means of the 
 lungs may be carried away and a supply of wholesome 
 air may be brought to us. Hence movement of the air 
 is essential to life. Still air is virtually death. 
 
 And yet, as though we were bent on suicide, what 
 pains we take, with our double windows, window-stops, 
 and weather-strips, to shut out the pure air from our 
 rooms and imprison that which we have fouled and 
 made unfit to be breathed, and to imprison ourselves 
 with it ! It is worse than substituting greenbacks for 
 gold, for it is debasing the currency of life. Then 
 think how the student often sits hour after hour ab- 
 sorbed in his studies, with door locked fast against any 
 possible opening ; or how our wives and daughters, 
 busy with needle or book, sit the whole morning or af- 
 ternoon in some small apartment through whose closed 
 doors no one comes or goes for hours together ! Think 
 also of the mere closets, called bedrooms, in which so 
 many sleep, or try to sleep, commonly with doors and 
 windows shut, as though all we need were space for a 
 bed and possibly a wash-stand ! Is it to be wondered 
 at that the brain of the student grows dull and refuses 
 to work, or that mothers and daughters have aching 
 heads, or that so many wake in the morning not rested 
 or refreshed, and with a good-for-nothing feeling and a 
 general lassitude ?
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. VENTILATION. 191 
 
 And, to make the matter worse, during the season 
 when windows and doors are kept constantly shut, we 
 also frequently place in sitting and sleeping rooms a 
 stove, which is itself a ravenous consumer of oxygen, 
 lives upon it, in fact, just as we do, and for the same 
 reason ; and this stove probably pours out from its vari- 
 ous joints a large amount of carbonic acid and carbonic 
 oxide. Thus the supply of vital air needful for us is 
 still further lessened. 
 
 The quantity of carbonic acid exhaled from the lungs 
 of an adult is estimated to be two hundred and fifty 
 gallons every twenty -four hours. In addition to the 
 vitiation of a close sleeping-room or sitting-room from 
 this cause, four pounds of moisture are in the same time 
 given off by perspiration, contaminated with various 
 minute organic and deleterious substances. " If," says 
 Prof. C. E. Joy, " the air of an occupied room loses one 
 per cent, of its oxygen, respiration becomes difficult ; 
 the loss of four per cent, renders life nearly insupport- 
 able, and death arrives when the loss reaches five or six 
 per cent." Think, then, what is the condition often of 
 our family apartments ; still more, what is the condition, 
 in regard to health, of our schools and churches and 
 other public buildings, where for every thousand per- 
 sons there will be thrown off, by the breath and by in- 
 sensible perspiration, from two to five hundred pounds 
 of fetid vapor, and two hundred pounds of carbonic- 
 acid gas every six hours. Can we wonder that we 
 have dull and disorderly schools, drowsy listeners to
 
 192 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 drowsy sermons, or headaches by day and by night, or 
 corrupting and fatal diseases of the lungs from corrupt 
 air constantly inhaled ? 
 
 But the story of the lack of proper ventilation in our 
 country homes is not yet fully told. Who does not re- 
 member the stifling atmosphere when he has been ush- 
 ered into the best room of some farm-house, the sicken- 
 ing, musty smell, making him think of fever in spite 
 of himself, and the mingled odors of decaying turnips, 
 onions, cabbages, and potatoes, coming up through the 
 crevices of the floor from the cellar below ? But what 
 is thus in the best room, and reveals itself so pungently, 
 because that room is shut perhaps for weeks together, is 
 equally present in the other rooms, only not so percep- 
 tibly, and is working its mischief all the while. And 
 this is the atmosphere in which many of the people of 
 our villages live from year to year. Our modern hos- 
 pitals and jails are palaces of purity in comparison with 
 many a stately country house. We make ourselves fit 
 for the hospital in our dwellings, and then perhaps go 
 to the hospital to learn how a building should be ar- 
 ranged to secure health. 
 
 Thus, in the matter of ventilation as well as in that 
 of drainage, the villages have become more defective 
 than the towns and cities, for in these necessity has at 
 length compelled attention to both . of these subjects, 
 while in the country they are as yet very generally 
 neglected. 
 
 It is a curious fact, also, stated on the authority of
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. VENTILATION. 193 
 
 Professor Joy, that attention was first drawn to the sub- 
 ject of ventilation in a practical way, not with a view to 
 benefit human beings, but brute animals. " It was not 
 for the sick in hospitals that new devices were intro- 
 duced, but for the silk-worms in the spinning of cocoons. 
 Observation showed the necessity of fresh air to the 
 preservation of the worms, and it was carefully intro- 
 duced ; and, after it was done, the same apparatus was 
 pronounced to be equally useful for man." So it was 
 because a man had successfully ventilated a stable in 
 New York that he was asked to apply his invention to 
 a public building. It was first the horses, then the men. 
 And to-day the hall in Paris in which meets the French 
 Institute, the first scientific body in the world, is said 
 to be the worst-ventilated room in Europe. 
 
 The first principle in regard to ventilation, or the 
 preservation of the air of our houses in a fit condition for 
 health, is that there must be opportunity for its free cir- 
 culation in the house and in every room of the house. 
 It is not necessary, however, that this circulation should 
 be attended with strong draughts, or currents, unpleas- 
 antly perceptible or dangerous. If there is a ventilat- 
 ing-flue in the house, or a properly arranged furnace by 
 which the house is heated, and the windows and doors 
 are not fitted close or sealed with the so-called weather- 
 strips, a sufficient change of air will be secured, the fresh 
 warm air from the furnace pushing out the vitiated air 
 through the crevices of doors and windows, or through 
 a flue designed expressly for the purpose of carrying off
 
 194 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 the impure air. Only care must be taken to avoid two 
 dangers first, that of having a furnace so imperfectly 
 constructed as to permit the gas from the burning coal 
 to get admission to the hot-air pipes; and, second, that 
 of taking the air to be heated from the cellar, and not 
 from without the house. For want of proper precaution 
 in regard to these dangers, many furnaces have been 
 prolific sources of disease. They have been but so many 
 contrivances for pouring poisonous gases into our rooms. 
 Too much care can hardly be exercised on both these 
 points. Cast iron, of which most furnaces until recently 
 have been constructed, has been proved to be permeable 
 by gases when it is heated to a high temperature. Pref- 
 erence should be given, therefore, to furnaces construct- 
 ed of wrought iron. Care should also be taken to have 
 as few joints and seams as possible around the fire-pot 
 and flues, and to see that these are so made that no gases 
 from the fire shall pass through them into the apart- 
 ments above. Then it should be remembered that the 
 air of no cellar is pure, or fit to be used as the source 
 from which the supply of heated air is to be drawn 
 for the purpose of respiration. It is simply a violation 
 of the laws of health to use it. No one should think of 
 using a furnace without having connected with it an air- 
 box of large size reaching a point outside of the house, 
 and considerably above the level of the ground. Steam 
 and hot-water heaters are, in some respects, preferable 
 to hot-air furnaces; but there can be no simpler or 
 more effective way of supplying an abundance of fresh
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. VENTILATION. 195 
 
 air to a whole house than a properly constructed fur- 
 nace. 
 
 It ought also to be remembered that every furnace 
 or heater should have as an essential part of it an appa- 
 ratus for evaporating water. The cold air from with- 
 out has less capacity for moisture than it has after it 
 is heated. If this increased capacity is not satisfied by 
 an evaporating-dish, the warmed air will take its desired 
 moisture from our lungs, or our furniture, or wherever 
 it can get it. Many housekeepers know that doors 
 shrink and chairs and tables open their joints when 
 the furnace fires have been in operation for a while. 
 They do not always understand the reason of it or the 
 remedy for it. Nor do they always consider that the 
 too dry air is as bad for us as it is for our furniture. 
 
 But the best of all ventilators within ordinary reach 
 is an open fireplace. Nothing has ever equalled the 
 old fireplace of a century ago as an instrument at the 
 same time of good cheer and good health. That old 
 fireplace, of which hardly more than the tradition now 
 remains, was the centre and glory of the country house. 
 The kitchen was the family living-room, and large 
 enough to be such with both comfort and decency. It 
 usually occupied the entire width of the house, with the 
 exception of a small portion reserved for pantry or bed- 
 room. In the centre of one side was a huge fireplace, 
 into which almost a cart-load of wood might be emptied 
 at a time, and where there was room besides for the 
 children to sit literally in the chimney-corner. Such
 
 196 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 logs were laid there for the foundation of the fire as no 
 man alone could lift. Tradition says they were some- 
 times drawn in by cattle. And then, when the arinf uls 
 of lesser logs, and limbs of oak and hickory and maple, 
 were piled high and had become fully ablaze, how the 
 flames danced and went roaring up the wide chimney ! 
 How the great mass of coals glowed upon the broad 
 hearth ! What pictures were, in imagination, painted, 
 and what castles were built among them ! How the 
 very music of the forests, like that hidden in old Cre- 
 monas, came out of the burning logs and limbs ! It 
 would have been pardonable, almost, if our Puritan 
 ancestors had become fire-worshippers. 
 
 With such a torrent of heated air rushing up the 
 chimney, and no weather-strips on doors or windows, 
 there was a pretty strong pull upon the outside air, and 
 it came in with such force sometimes as to give unpleas- 
 ant sensations of cold to the back when the face was 
 hardly able to bear the heat in front of it. But there 
 was health and good cheer around those old-time fire- 
 places. There was no chance for foul air in those old 
 living-rooms. The carbonic-acid and every other foul 
 gas had to go up the chimney, whether it would or not. 
 Oxygen was plenty and fresh all the time, and it show- 
 ed itself in the glow of the cheek and the healthful 
 sparkle of the talk as the family sat around the blazing 
 fire. Think of the change to air-tight stoves and weath- 
 er-strips of India-rubber demons of darkness and death ! 
 And yet our country people, with forests all around them,
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. VENTILATION. 197 
 
 elaborating for them, by the subtle chemistry of their 
 leaves, the life-giving oxygen, and offering them the 
 amplest supply of the best fuel for the promotion of 
 health, for a little seeming saving of present expense 
 and trouble have shut up the fireplaces which their 
 fathers built ; have drawn the carpet over and hidden 
 the sacred hearth -stone, on which were nurtured the 
 best virtues of family and social life ; have shut out the 
 air and the sunlight of heaven from their houses ; and 
 sit, sodden in mephitic vapors, over their close stoves or 
 furnace-registers. In working out the petty problem of 
 saving heat, we have done not a little to destroy health. 
 It is time for a reform in this matter. It is time that 
 our fires were so managed as to be sources of health as 
 well as of heat, as they easily may be. Better add ten 
 or twenty dollars, if need be, to the cost of the winter's 
 fuel, and secure the positive pleasure and benefit of the 
 cheerful open fire than pay twice or thrice that for the 
 services of the doctor. One room in the house at least 
 ought to have such an arrangement for the health and 
 daily enjoyment of the household. The old open fire- 
 place, or, what is next to it, the Franklin stove, should 
 be in every house. Then every chimney, where there 
 are no such open fireplaces, ought to have a ventilating- 
 flue a part of the chimney separated from the rest by a 
 thin partition of slate or some other like material, so 
 that the heat in the smoke-flue will be readily commu- 
 nicated to it, and cause a strong upward draught. By 
 means of openings into the ventilating -flue from the
 
 198 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 rooms adjacent to the chimney, a healthful change of 
 air may be secured at all times, and little will be want- 
 ing on the score of ventilation. 
 
 We are not accustomed to think of the air as a food ; 
 but the highest authorities now class it as such. And 
 if this is its true character, then who can fail to see the 
 importance of securing this in its purity and free from 
 all contaminating mixtures ? Moreover, the air is far 
 from being uniform in its quality. It varies in this re- 
 spect as do the other foods which we use. Hence the 
 need of daily, constant care, in order that we may ob- 
 tain that which is best. There is all the more need of 
 care, also, because the air is not a food which we take 
 only occasionally, a few times daily, or for which we 
 may substitute some other kind of food. We feed upon 
 this constantly, by day and by night, when we wake and 
 when we sleep. Nothing can take its place. This we 
 must have. This we must have constantly, and of 
 wholesome quality, or we perish. 
 
 Where is the chemist or philosopher who will invent 
 for us some apparatus which, in addition to the ther- 
 mometer, which shows us the temperature of the atmos- 
 phere, and the barometer, which gives us its weight, will 
 show us at a glance the condition of the atmosphere in 
 our rooms or elsewhere in regard to purity or impurity ? 
 The world is waiting for science thus to come to the aid 
 of practical life. Is it too much to hope that we shall 
 not have to wait long for what we so much need?
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. THE CARE OF THE SICK. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS OF COUNTRY LIFE (continued). 
 THE CARE OF THE SICK. 
 
 "Life hath its mission, fit for all and each: 
 
 It may be thine this lesson to secure, 
 What angel-whispers in thy sick-room teach, 
 'Learn thou to wait and patiently endure.'" 
 
 MRS. BARRETT. 
 
 HAVING spoken of drainage and ventilation as means 
 of promoting health and guarding against the prevent- 
 able causes of disease, it may be in place now to say 
 something in regard to the treatment of those who be- 
 come sick. It is not to be concealed that in the care of 
 the sick the advantage is, at present, on the side of the 
 city or town as compared with the open country. In 
 the first place, as to physicians and medicines, the towns 
 are better supplied than the villages. The most skilful 
 physicians, those conversant with diseases in the great- 
 est variety and with their various treatment, are natu- 
 rally to be found in the larger places. The benefit of 
 their united wisdom is also to be had there at any time, 
 while in the country the patient is often at an inconven- 
 ient distance from any medical help whatever. In the 
 case of severe or peculiar disorders, therefore, the pa
 
 200 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 tient in the country is at a disadvantage compared with 
 one in the city. The poorest sufferer in the city is not 
 far from a hospital, where he may have the best medical 
 advice combined with the best nursing which modern 
 science and art combined can give. Indeed, hardly any- 
 thing is more noteworthy in regard to our city life than 
 the improvement which has been made in all that prop- 
 erly constitutes the care of the sick. And what is par- 
 ticularly noticeable is, that a great increase of attention 
 has been given to the nursing of the sick, in distinction 
 from mere medical attendance. 
 
 After all, the former is of more importance than the 
 latter. Not in all cases. But the majority of our ail- 
 ments are not those for the cure of which we are de- 
 pendent upon the scientific or professional skill of the 
 physician. There is a power of self-recovery in the hu- 
 man constitution which is simply wonderful. The vis 
 medioatrix naturae is the greatest power which we 
 have at command in overcoming the assaults of disease. 
 And- it is often astonishing to see through what for- 
 lorn conditions and desperate straits this will take us. 
 
 In most cases of disease the chief thing to be done is 
 to let this latent power of self - recovery have a fair 
 chance to act, and every sensible practitioner is ready 
 to recognize in a good nurse his most effective ally. It 
 is the lack of such a helper that the physician finds the 
 most frequent hindrance to his own success in the treat- 
 ment of a disease. It is easy enough, for the most part, 
 to see what is the appropriate medicine to give, and to
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS.-THE CARE OF THE SICK. 201 
 
 have it given ; but that it shall be given at the right time 
 and in the right way, and that all the circumstances of 
 the patient shall be what they ought to be, so as to favor 
 the action of the medicine given, and facilitate and en- 
 courage the reactions of nature, this is not by any means 
 easy to secure. There may not be any neglect, in one 
 sense, yet in another there may be the greatest, and some- 
 times the most fatal. Many sick ones, doubtless, are lit- 
 erally killed by kindness. Friends must be doing some- 
 thing for them, and, in their ignorance, often do the 
 wrong thing. They must be doing something, when 
 perhaps the thing most needed is that they should just 
 do nothing, but give the patient a fair chance to fight 
 the battle with disease out of the armament which his 
 own nature has given him. What is needed most com- 
 monly is that we shall stand out of the way and let nat- 
 ure do her own work. If we will only stop infringing 
 her laws, and our friends will keep from their infringe- 
 ment to our harm, it will be quite surprising how soon 
 we shall ordinarily get the better of our ailments and 
 come up into a condition of health again. 
 
 We have, perhaps, been taking too much food, or food 
 of an improper character. The system has been burden- 
 ed with a load which it could not carry and go on with 
 the ordinary functions of life. We have been long 
 breathing an impure and noxious atmosphere, it may be, 
 taking in for food (for air is food in the highest sense) 
 some foul gases, and these have poisoned us. Now, 
 what is chiefly wanted is that we should stop in this 
 
 O
 
 202 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 destructive course of living, give the wearied body 
 the digestive organs especially rest for a time, and 
 let the lungs take in only pure air. Not a grain of 
 medicine, oftentimes, will be needed. 
 
 But now anxious and truly loving friends will be very 
 likely to come in with all sorts of herb drinks and ap- 
 plications ; and this nice thing and that will be forced 
 into the stomach, when the faint appetite is nature's 
 own indication that rest for the digestive organs, and 
 not food, is what is needed. And then, in addition to 
 this abuse, the patient is very likely to be shut up in 
 some small room at the best, and, as though this were 
 not bad enough, every door and window will be kept 
 closed as much as possible for fear of " exposure to the 
 air," as it is called, when the very thing wanted above 
 all else is a free exposure to the pure air of heaven. It 
 is simply marvellous to one who goes into many of our 
 sick-rooms from the open air, and scents the foul atmos- 
 phere in which the sick are literally imprisoned, that 
 they ever get well again. It is astonishing, also, that so 
 many of our physicians allow their patients to be kept 
 in such an atmosphere. Whether it is that they have 
 not yet attained proper convictions as to the importance 
 of purity of atmosphere, or think it no part of their 
 function to look to this in the treatment of their pa- 
 tients, there ought to be a great change in this respect. 
 
 When sickness comes, especially if it is of a sort in 
 which recovery is to be slow, as in the case of fevers 
 and many nervous disorders, the sick one should have.
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. THE CARE OF THE SICK. 203 
 
 if possible, the largest and pleasantest room in the 
 house. Something more is needed than just space 
 enough for a bed or an easy-chair. Yet how often is 
 it thought that this is all that is necessary. How many 
 of our good and kind country housekeepers would be 
 ready to give up the spare bedroom to an invalid ? 
 How many would even think of such a thing? But 
 the confinement of the sick-room is irksome and severe, 
 at the best. Think of the change from the freedom 
 which allowed one to go all about the house from room 
 to room at pleasure and abroad in the street, to the se- 
 clusion of a single room. Any one who thinks of it, or 
 who has had the experience of severe and protracted 
 illness, will feel that too much care cannot be taken to 
 give one who is sick a room of ample dimensions, and 
 as pleasant as possible in all respects. It should not be 
 on the shady side of the house, but by all means where 
 the sun can shine into it freely. The sunlight is not 
 only pleasant to the sight and cheering to the spirits, 
 and thus indirectly beneficial, but it is in itself a medi- 
 cine in the strictest sense. Then the furniture should 
 be pleasant ; the windows should have an agreeable 
 drapery ; flowering plants should lend their healthful 
 presence, and the walls should have some cheerful pict- 
 ures for the eyes to rest upon. In the time of health 
 it does not matter so much by what objects we are sur- 
 rounded. We are busied with other things, to a great 
 extent. But in sickness the eye and the mind are fill- 
 ed with the things nearest us. Every chair and table,
 
 204 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 every thread in the carpet, every figure and line on 
 the wall-paper, is known and noticed. And how weary 
 the poor invalid often is with the sight of things which 
 are uninteresting, if not positively disagreeable ! It is a 
 great relief, sometimes, simply to change the arrange- 
 ment of the furniture in the sick-room, putting the 
 chairs and table and bed in new positions. It breaks 
 up the old association of one with another that has be- 
 come so wearisome. It is like going into another 
 room. 
 
 It is very desirable that an invalid's room should 
 have an open fireplace. In the colder seasons of the 
 year, this is especially desirable as the best means of 
 securing proper ventilation. But there is hardly a 
 month in the year when a fire will not be servicea- 
 ble to the invalid by its pleasant warmth. And then, 
 apart from these uses, the sight of the blazing fire is 
 almost always very pleasant to the ailing one. It is 
 one of the most cheerful of companions, a most wel- 
 come and valuable nurse in itself. 
 
 One of the simplest and best contrivances for secur- 
 ing the admission of fresh and pure air, whether into 
 the rooms of the sick or the well, is to have a strip of 
 wood as long as the window is wide, and from one to 
 two inches in thickness placed beneath the lower 
 window -sash. This lifts the sash just far enough to 
 admit the air at the junction of the two sashes, but 
 in such a way that no draught or blast is felt, even 
 though the wind may be blowing freely. This may
 
 SANITARY ASPECTS. THE CARE OF THE SICK. 205 
 
 be a permanent fixture of the window, and with it, 
 especially in connection with the open fireplace, one 
 is sure of good air at all times, and without any harm- 
 ful exposure to the most delicate and feeble. One has 
 only to try it to see how effective is this simple arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 As we are coming to understand better the impor- 
 tance of proper care or nursing of the sick as com- 
 pared with the mere administration of medicine, it be- 
 comes apparent that we need to make some provision 
 for the training of nurses, so that we may have at com- 
 mand those who may with confidence be intrusted with 
 the care of the sick. A large field of usefulness is open 
 in this direction, and there will be an ample demand for 
 those who will qualify themselves for this work. A be- 
 ginning has been made by the establishment, in some 
 of our cities, of training-schools for nurses. But it is 
 only a beginning. One of the great wants of our 
 country villages is proper care for the sick. You may 
 search many of them through in vain to find a nurse 
 in time of sickness, one who is at once competent to 
 have the charge of the sick, and sufficiently disengaged 
 from other service to be available for this. 
 
 And so the sick are left to the haphazard attention 
 of friends and neighbors already burdened with cares 
 and duties ; and while there may be abundance of kind 
 feeling on their part, there may be such a lack of 
 knowledge, judgment, tact, and proper sensibility that 
 it is often difficult to tell whether the sick one is bene-
 
 206 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 fited by it all or not. It is much to be desired that in 
 almost every village there could be two, three, or 
 more nurses, trained either at some school established 
 for this purpose, or by the village physician, and hav- 
 ing such knowledge and experience that they could 
 be trusted by the physicians and by the friends of the 
 sick. They should have some knowledge of physiolo- 
 gy. They should have an intelligent discernment of 
 symptoms. They ought to know something of the nat- 
 ure and working of medicines. They should be able to 
 comprehend and carry out the wishes of the physician 
 in charge. And then they should have such an intel- 
 ligent and appreciative understanding of the peculiari- 
 ties and wants of the patients intrusted to their care, 
 and such a proper sense of the needs of the sick, that 
 they would make their every act, and every thought 
 even, to be somehow a ministry of benefit to them. 
 There are times in every physician's experience when, 
 if he could put such a nurse in charge of his patient 
 for only a single day, he would feel confident of his 
 passing the critical point and beginning his recovery 
 of health ; whereas, for want of ability to do so, he is 
 obliged to see the life go out, notwithstanding his own 
 skill and all the care and ministry of loving friends.
 
 CEMETERIES. 207 
 
 CHAPTEK XIX. 
 
 CEMETERIES. 
 
 "The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
 Await alike the inevitable hour. 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 
 
 GRAY. 
 
 A RESPECTFUL regard for the bodies of the dead seems 
 to be characteristic of mankind everywhere and in all 
 ages. The first use of money, so far as we know, was 
 for the purpose of a burial, and the first purchase of 
 land was that of a cemetery. Whether the final dis- 
 posal of the dead bodies of friends is by burial or burn- 
 ing, whether by mummification, as among the ancient 
 Egyptians, or by exposure upon stages or shelves in the 
 open air, as practised by some Indian tribes, each and 
 all of these methods of treatment spring from the same 
 common feeling of respect for the departed, which evi- 
 dences itself in a care for the bodies which the depart- 
 ed once inhabited. 
 
 Burial has been by far the most common method of 
 treating the remains of the dead. The ancient lands of 
 Assyria and Egypt show us the remains of vast burial- 
 places cities of the dead, as it were, removed from, yet
 
 208 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 near by, the cities of the living. And if the Pyramids 
 of the Nile were constructed for the burial-place of the 
 Egyptian kings, then no palaces of kings in their life- 
 time have equalled in grandeur the resting-places of 
 their bodies when dead. 
 
 Among the most impressive items of early history as 
 given us in the Old Testament Scriptures is that inter- 
 view of Abraham with Ephron, when the former pur- 
 chased of the latter the cave of Machpelah for a burial- 
 place, and then, by the interment of his beloved Sarah, 
 consecrated it as a family burying-ground. And what 
 a scene was that when, years afterwards, the vice-regal 
 Joseph led that grand funeral procession, composed of 
 his brethren and the high dignitaries of Pharaoh, as 
 they went up from Egypt to lay the body of Jacob 
 in that same rural cemetery of Machpelah ! The 
 world has seen few sights as imposing as that. 
 
 But all along the course of human history, from age 
 to age and from nation to nation, we find the ceme- 
 teries and monuments of the dead holding a conspicu- 
 ous place, and cherished with the greatest respect. 
 From the early days of Christianity the custom has 
 prevailed of burying the dead in the immediate vicin- 
 ity of churches. For a long time the "God's acre," 
 as the English people call it (the plot around the church 
 thickly studded with headstones), has been a familiar 
 sight. Considered in a purely religious aspect, it was 
 fitting that the bodies of Christian believers should 
 be laid down in the immediate neighborhood of the
 
 CEMETERIES. 209 
 
 church, the ever-present symbol of the believer's faith. 
 The Christian idea of death is pre-eminently that of 
 sleep a sleep from which one is soon to awake to a 
 higher realization than he ever had before of the glori- 
 ous and eternal verities of his faith. It was fit that the 
 body, whether to be literally raised or not, should pass 
 its brief sleep close by the place where those verities 
 had been so constantly proclaimed, and that burial- 
 places should take the name of cemeteries, or sleeping- 
 places. But in a sanitary point of view and aesthetical- 
 ly considered, the custom was objectionable, and on the 
 former account interments within cities and within and 
 around churches have come to be more and more for- 
 bidden by law, while good taste has chosen to make its 
 burial-places where they can be rendered more pleasant 
 in themselves than is possible within the limited space 
 that can be given to them in the crowded area of the 
 city or in the narrow bounds of the churchyard. Ac- 
 cordingly, there have sprung up in the vicinity of our 
 cities and large towns, within the last thirty or forty 
 years, many cemeteries or burial-places which have 
 combined, w r ith proper respect for the dead, a beauty 
 and tastefulness in themselves which have given them 
 a character of their own and made them objects of 
 general attractiveness. They have served to remove 
 some of the repulsive associations of death, to bring 
 the living into pleasant communion with the departed, 
 and to link the present life attractively to the life be- 
 yond. Vanity and pride will sometimes reveal them-
 
 210 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 selves in the elaborate and overwrought monuments 
 erected over the dead, as where will not vanity and 
 pride lift up their foolish heads ? But, on the whole, 
 the tone of these cemeteries is subdued and at the same 
 time tasteful, and the impressions which they tend to 
 make upon those who visit them are of a healthful 
 character. Mount Auburn, near Boston, and Green- 
 wood, near New York, are types of what, with only 
 minor differences in extent and style of development, 
 may be found near a large number of our cities and 
 most populous towns. 
 
 And the country villages are beginning to ask why 
 they may not have something approximately like these, 
 and some have answered the question in a very satis- 
 factory way. The old square or rectangular plot of 
 ground, chosen for convenience of access and the ease 
 with which its friable soil could be excavated and laid 
 out, garden-like, with its stiff, straight rows of human 
 bodies, crowded together as though land in the country 
 were too precious to be wasted even for affection's 
 sake, is giving way to something better and altogeth- 
 er more pleasant. The level, rectangular, monotonous, 
 and crowded burial-place is exchanged for one ampler 
 in extent, and having varying contours of lines sweep- 
 ing in different directions, and offering pleasing sur- 
 faces and attractive views to the eye continually. 
 
 There is often no better place to begin the work of 
 improving the outward aspect of a country village than 
 the cemetery. It has this advantage as a starting-point,
 
 CEMETERIES. 211 
 
 that it is something in which all are interested. A 
 good deal is thus gained at once for village improve- 
 ment, by having something proposed or undertaken in 
 which all can be enlisted. If you propose at first a 
 road, or a park, or an aqueduct, you are apt to have a 
 minority against you, because, perhaps, the road or the 
 park is not to be in their immediate vicinity. But the 
 cemetery is equally for all ; and if any are not moved to 
 activity in the work of improving an existing burying- 
 place or providing a new one, you have, at least, their 
 acquiescence. Opposition, if it comes at all, can only 
 come as against methods and plans, not against the ob- 
 ject itself. If the existing cemetery is in a neglected 
 condition, a strong appeal can be made to all through 
 their respect for departed friends. Perhaps there is 
 only a rude wall around the enclosure, which in process 
 of time has been thrown down in different places, so 
 that the cattle have free access and pasture at will on 
 the sacred graves of ancestors. Or the headstones have 
 been tilted by the frost or have been broken down. 
 Or the paths have become overgrown, and the whole 
 place is the home of wild weeds. It will not be diffi- 
 cult, in such cases, to make an effective appeal which 
 will enlist the entire community in the work of im- 
 provement. And then, having thus fortunately got 
 the great mass moving together for one desirable ob- 
 ject, it will be comparatively easy to enlist them in a 
 combined movement for some other good end. 
 
 The very fact of their having acted together once
 
 212 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 prepares them to act together again. They feel the 
 pleasure which always comes from fellowship and co- 
 operation. Having done one good thing, and being 
 able to see what they have accomplished, they will 
 even be eager to set about something else. Perhaps 
 the desirableness of good roads and footpaths will be 
 suggested, or the planting of trees along the village 
 streets, or a park or fountain may be spoken of as cal- 
 culated to improve the appearance of the village ; and 
 so one thing may easily and naturally lead on to anoth- 
 er, till in the course of a few years the whole appear- 
 ance of the place may be changed for the better. And 
 then it will be found that not only has the outward 
 aspect of the place where they live been improved, but, 
 what is best of all, the villagers themselves have been 
 greatly changed and improved by this coming together 
 and working together for common and worthy pur- 
 poses. What intermingling of thoughts and feelings 
 has it produced ! What a breaking - down of barriers 
 of distance or of timidity has it occasioned ! How this 
 gentle attrition of society has rounded ofE the sharp 
 edges of asperities, and smoothed away many an un- 
 couthness ! How this intermingling has removed shy- 
 ness, and encouraged confidence, and promoted true 
 knowledge of one another! And so there has been 
 going on continually an improvement of society, which 
 is the highest and most valuable sort of village im- 
 provement. 
 
 In regard to the subject of cemeteries much might be
 
 CEMETERIES. 213 
 
 said, but in a place like this only certain hints can be 
 given. A difficulty in many of our country towns 
 may arise from the fact that there are several places 
 of burial, perhaps as many as half a dozen in some 
 towns. This may have come from the fact that the 
 people are settled somewhat in clusters instead of being 
 distributed evenly throughout the town limits, or it 
 may be the result of local and family feeling in the ab- 
 sence of any common feeling and interest. The conse- 
 quence often is that none of these places of burial are 
 properly cared for ; and because the interest of the 
 people in them is so divided, it is not easy to arouse 
 the feeling needful to bring them all into fitting con- 
 dition. It may be difficult to decide in such cases just 
 what to do. It may be best to endeavor to concentrate 
 interest upon a single one, protecting the others from 
 utter neglect, but seeking to make the one as pleasant 
 and attractive as possible. Or it may, perhaps, be best 
 to abandon all and lay out a new one. In such a case 
 the old ones should be suitably protected by fences or 
 walls, and family affection may be relied on to some 
 extent to see that no injuries or depredations are com- 
 mitted. 
 
 In laying out a new cemetery, care should be taken, 
 not only to secure a pleasant site, but a sufficient extent 
 of ground. Most of our rural cemeteries are mere gar- 
 den-plots for size, and consequently cannot be made ob- 
 jects of beauty. If trees are planted, they soon over- 
 grow the whole space, and make it gloomy and for-
 
 214 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 bidding as well as very inconvenient. It is hardly pos- 
 sible to get any pleasant landscape effect on less than 
 ten acres of ground. This amount, therefore, should 
 be secured, and, if possible, where future enlargement 
 will be practicable. Of course, land having an undulat- 
 ing surface should be chosen. Then the paths and 
 burial-lots should be laid out somewhat in conformity 
 with the natural shape and sweep of the ground, and 
 by no means in straight lines. Human beings should 
 not be buried by square feet and inches. The separate 
 burial-plots should be of unequal size, adapted to the 
 uses of families unequal in numbers ; but all should be 
 large enough to allow the planting of trees and shrubs 
 without having them seem crowded or becoming an in- 
 terference with the pleasantness of the place. In short, 
 the cemetery should be laid out on such a broad scale 
 as to secure something of a park-like effect. If water 
 is at command, let it be made to play here and there in 
 fountains, with their pensive, soothing music. Let 
 bright, blossoming shrubs and plants enliven the dark 
 and sombre tone of the evergreens which are appro- 
 priately planted in such places. An evergreen hedge 
 may properly enclose the whole. And so, by all that 
 art and taste can do, let our burial-places be made 
 pleasant places of resort, moving to quiet meditation, 
 and at the same time to hopeful trust and heavenly as- 
 pirations. 
 
 A most valuable appendage of a rural cemetery, of 
 any cemetery, is a receiving-tomb or vault, where the
 
 CEMETERIES. 215 
 
 bodies of the dead may be temporarily deposited, when 
 for any reason immediate burial is not desirable or not 
 practicable. As they have commonly been conducted, 
 funerals in the country have frequently been attended 
 by great inconveniences and unnecessary exposures of 
 health. Often the company gathered at the house 
 where the funeral services are held is so large that the 
 doors are obliged to be held open, and through them, if 
 the weather is cold or stormy, come blasts of air which 
 are the fruitful causes of colds, if not of more serious 
 maladies. Then often follows another and even worse 
 exposure at the grave, where sometimes there is a sec- 
 ond service of a somewhat protracted character. How 
 much better would it be if, except in pleasant weather, 
 this second service were dispensed with, and the body 
 were quietly taken by a few friends and deposited in a 
 receiving-tomb, to be taken thence for final burial at a 
 convenient and pleasant season. There is no sufficient 
 call of duty which requires us, out of respect for de- 
 parted friends, to expose life and health in a country 
 cemetery in a northern winter. To do so is little less 
 than an act of barbarism. We can show our respect 
 for the dead and our sympathy with the living in other 
 ways than by facing tempests in order to effect a hasty 
 burial. And now that we have come to feel that our 
 burial-places should be made tasteful in appearance, is 
 it not time that our burial-services should lose some of 
 their harsh and even harmful features, and be brought 
 more into keeping with the cheerful, hopeful spirit of
 
 216 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 that Christianity which teaches us that death is only a 
 sleep preparatory to a glorious awakening and a never- 
 ending life to come ? 
 
 "Secure from every mortal care, 
 
 By sin and sorrow vexed no more, 
 Eternal happiness they share 
 
 Who are not lost, but gone before."
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 KOAD8 AND BRIDGES. 
 
 "The road is that physical sign, or symbol, by which you will best un- 
 derstand any age or people. If they have no roads, they are savages ; for 
 the road is the creation of man and a type of civilized society. . . . 
 
 "Jf you wish to know whether society is stagnant, learning scholastic, 
 religion a dead formality, you may learn something by going into universi- 
 ties and libraries; something, also, by the work that is doing on cathedrals 
 and churches, or in them ; but quite as much by looking at the roads. 
 For if there is any motion in society, the road, which is the symbol of 
 motion, will indicate the fact. . . . 
 
 "Nothing makes an inroad without making a road. All creative ac- 
 tion, whether in government, industry, thought, or religion, creates roads." 
 BDSHNELL. 
 
 "Ever}' judicious improvement in the establishment of roads and bridges 
 increases the value of land, enhances the price of commodities, and aug- 
 ments the public wealth." DK WITT CLINTON. 
 
 THE legislatures of our states are not more certain 
 to assemble at the designated time than they are to ap- 
 point among their standing committees one on " Roads 
 and Bridges." This indicates the important place 
 which these are recognized as having in our practical 
 and social life. They are at the same time the signs 
 and the instruments of our civilization. Without them 
 we should be barbarians. There could be no advance- 
 ment in the arts, no advancement in culture; and so 
 
 P
 
 218 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 the quality of our roads indicates very well the progress 
 we have made in civilization, in culture, in refinement. 
 
 Roads and bridges for the latter are strictly roads, 
 and best considered as such are, in their essential char- 
 acter, means of communication between mankind, in- 
 struments by which man comes in contact with his fel- 
 low-man, and so produces, or enlarges and improves, so- 
 ciety. In the rudest and most primitive stages of so- 
 ciety, a simple footpath like the Indian trail is all, per- 
 haps, that is necessary. But as intercourse increases the 
 desire of intercourse, and there arises a disposition or a 
 need for the exchange of commodities, the trail or the 
 bridle-path will gradually give place to something bet- 
 ter ; and so as the lines of intercommunication lengthen, 
 and the demands of trade and commerce increase, and 
 culture advances, the roadways will necessarily be im- 
 proved. The wheels of transit, instead of being left to 
 roll over the ground at each one's convenience or incon- 
 venience, will have a definite path provided for them by 
 a common agreement of those in the vicinage. Then 
 the larger public composing a state or municipality will 
 recognize the general interest of all in the roads; and, 
 as a consequence, laws will be enacted to regulate their 
 construction and use. This will result in securing a 
 certain uniformity and excellence in the roads. And 
 yet there will still be room left for each particular coun- 
 try or province to go beyond the mere requisitions of 
 the statute or of usage, and bring its roads up in quali- 
 ty to the demands of highest usefulness ; as when some
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 219 
 
 Rome, in the glory of its universal power, and as a 
 means of preserving that power, stretches out its high- 
 ways of stone to Scotland on the north, and to Asia 
 Minor and Spain on the east and west roads that have 
 outlasted the empire which constructed them, and are 
 the wonder of our day, unexcelled, as they are, even by 
 our boasted Telford or Mac-Adam roads. 
 
 That there is abundant room for the improvement of 
 our village roads no one can doubt. Comparatively few 
 of them meet the demands of the time. Most of them 
 are even a shame to our civilization. The more press- 
 ing necessities of life in a new country, the sparseness 
 of our population, the great spaces to be traversed, and 
 the scanty capital available for the construction of good 
 roads, have been an excuse for our past neglects in this 
 direction. But the time has come when these excuses 
 are no longer valid. Instead of being content with the 
 poor roads to which we have been accustomed, it is time 
 for us to make them what they ought to be. We can- 
 not, indeed, expect the best macadamized roads to be 
 constructed in our sparsely settled villages; but our 
 main country thoroughfares certainly ought to be far 
 better than they now are, and many of the minor roads 
 might be greatly improved, and with manifest pecuni- 
 ary advantage as well as with gain in other respects. 
 
 Frequently the location of our country roads is bad ; 
 and it would be the plainest economy to abandon many 
 of them and construct others in their place, rather than 
 continue to use them. Many of our roads have been
 
 220 
 
 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 laid out carelessly, and almost by accident. Old foot or 
 bridle paths have often grown into carriage-roads. In 
 cases not a few, a road has been laid directly over a hill 
 or through a swamp, when it might as easily have been 
 made to pass around such an obstacle ; or it has been 
 carried over a hill at a very steep incline, when, by a 
 little care, it might have surmounted it by a more easy 
 slope. The mechanical laws affecting transportation 
 were imperfectly understood until recently, except by 
 comparatively few. The effects of friction and gravity 
 upon the traction of loads, both on levels and inclines, 
 have been little taken into account in the construction 
 of our roads. Our railway building has taught us some 
 important lessons in regard to the grading and construc- 
 tion of common roads. We have learned, among other 
 things, that any but a very moderate grade obliges us 
 either to lighten our loads or to move them at the ex- 
 pense of a great strain upon our vehicles and the beasts 
 that draw them. Experiments of the most thorough 
 character, made in England and France, give us the 
 following conclusions on this subject. Calling the load 
 which a horse can draw on a level 100, 
 
 ise of 1 i 
 
 n 100 he can di 
 
 aw only 90 per < 
 
 1 
 
 50 " 
 
 81 
 
 1 
 
 44 
 
 75 
 
 1 
 
 40 ' 
 
 72 
 
 1 
 
 30 
 
 64 
 
 1 
 
 26 
 
 54 
 
 1 
 
 24 
 
 50 
 
 1 
 
 20 
 
 40 
 
 1 
 
 10 < 
 
 25
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 221 
 
 On a slope of 120 feet to the mile, a horse can draw 
 only three fourths as much as on a level. On a slope 
 of 220 to the mile he can draw only one half what 
 he can on a level ; and on a slope of 528 feet to the 
 mile, only one fourth as much. This latter slope is 
 that of one foot in ten ; and if we take a board, for 
 instance, and set it at that angle to represent the in- 
 cline of a road, it will seem a hill of easy ascent, 
 whereas it is really quite steep. Many of our roads 
 have a much sharper pitch than that. We are able to 
 surmount them after a fashion, but it is at the expense 
 of a great strain upon our animals and vehicles, and 
 with much useless expenditure of power. For very 
 short distances we can avail ourselves of what may be 
 called the reserve force of our horses and other draught 
 animals; and, by stimulating them to the utmost, we 
 can draw considerable loads up quite steep ascents. 
 But these must be very short, so that the team can 
 soon reach a level and rest. And even on short ascents, 
 how frequent is the sight of the poor animals straining 
 themselves to the utmost, and then not being able to 
 accomplish the work to which they have been put, 
 but falling victims to the heavy load behind them, and 
 dragged back by it, despite all the shouts and blows, 
 perhaps, of a cruel driver who has no mercy upon his 
 beasts. How frequent is the sight of loads stuck fast 
 upon some ascent, the strength of the animals attached 
 to them completely exhausted, and no possibility of 
 moving the loads onward until additional men and ani-
 
 222 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 mals are brought to the spot at considerable expense of 
 time and money. How often do we see parts of loads 
 lying by the roadside as proofs of the unavailing 
 strength of teams to surmount the neighboring grade 
 until a portion of their load has been thrown off ! The 
 strength of a chain is proverbially equal only to its 
 weakest part. So the weak part of a road is a hill. If 
 we have a road ten miles in length, and there is only 
 one hill of any steepness in its course, we can draw over 
 the level part of the road only such a weight as we can 
 draw up the hill. The amount that can be drawn up 
 the hill is the measure of available power for the entire 
 road. Nine tenths of the road ninety-nine hundredths 
 of it, perhaps may be level and smooth almost as a 
 railway, so that one horse might draw ten tons upon it ; 
 but a steep incline upon the remaining one hundredth 
 part of it may practically limit the loads to be drawn 
 over the road to a weight little more than that of the 
 vehicles themselves. There has been there is a great 
 overlooking of this stern fact. There is an enormous 
 waste of time and strength, and of vehicles, in our coun- 
 try for want of a proper construction of roads as to 
 grades as well as in other respects. In many cases, a 
 road which goes over a hill might have gone around it 
 without being any longer. And even if a road around 
 a hill were necessarily longer than one going over it, 
 it has been proved by the most careful investigations 
 that a road may profitably avoid an ascent, even when 
 it has to go twenty times the height of the ascent in
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 223 
 
 order to get around it. Let it only be remembered that 
 where there is a grade of one foot in twenty extending 
 for any considerable distance, it requires two horses to 
 draw the load which one could draw upon a level road ; 
 and that it practically doubles the number of horses or 
 cattle needed to do the work of the region where that 
 ascent has to be frequently passed, and we may, per- 
 haps, get some impression of the loss incident to the 
 improper grading of many of our roads. It is a most 
 silly and short-sighted feeling, also, which will sacrifice 
 the grade of a road to its straightness, as is sometimes 
 done, as though straightness were the highest excellence 
 of a road. The grade is the first thing to be considered. 
 The weight of load to be carried over a road, and the 
 speed with which it can be carried, both depend upon this 
 more than upon anything else ; though, of course, other 
 things being equal, straightness or directness is desirable. 
 Says Professor Gillespie, in his admirable treatise upon 
 roads a work which ought to belong to every town li- 
 brary, not to say to every road-maker " Eoads should 
 be so located and constructed as to enable burdens of 
 goods and of passengers to be transported from one 
 place to another in the least possible time, with the least 
 possible labor, and consequently with the least possible 
 expense." This should be taken as an axiom on the sub- 
 ject. Only a little calculation, also, would show that it 
 is the truest economy to make large expenditures, if 
 necessary, in order to secure for our roads as little de- 
 viation from a level direction as is consistent with the
 
 224 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 proper drainage of water from them. For this purpose 
 English engineers allow a slope of one foot in eighty, 
 and the French that of one in one hundred and twenty- 
 five, or forty-two feet to the mile. 
 
 Grade being properly regarded, the next thing to be 
 considered is the material of which the road is con- 
 structed. And here again we are often greatly at fault. 
 On a well-made road of broken stone, smooth and hard, 
 a horse can draw three times as much as on a road made 
 of gravel, and ten times as much as upon many of our 
 roads. As a matter of economy, therefore, we ought to 
 aim to secure roads as nearly as possible of this quality. 
 Two thirds of the expense of transportation may often 
 in this way be saved, to say nothing of the increased 
 pleasure of travelling where roads are of this character. 
 Yet what roads do we content ourselves with ? Rather, 
 what roads do we tolerate ? Often they are little more 
 than pathways over fields or through sand, or they are 
 rough and uneven, abounding in loose stones and deep 
 holes and ruts, covering the traveller now with dust and 
 now with mud according as the weather is dry or wet 
 and threatening him and his vehicle not unfrequently 
 with wreck. If there is any attempt at what might be 
 called making a road, it is usually thought sufficient to 
 scrape up the surface soil, be it sand or loam or clay, 
 with whatever stones may accompany such materials; 
 and, having rounded it up a little in the middle, leave it 
 to the wear and tear of vehicles until it becomes so bad 
 that it can be endured no longer, when the selectmen
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 225 
 
 or sundry other citizens proceed to "mend the road," 
 as it is termed, which means that they scrape back into 
 the centre of the road the material which the passing 
 vehicles, aided by the rains, have pushed off upon 
 the sides, and finish up the business by taking a quan- 
 tity of soil from near the adjacent fences and applying 
 it as a sort of top-dressing. The result is, for a time, 
 a worse road than before, and then a gradual decline 
 from a passable condition to one that is unsafe and 
 intolerable, when the " mending" process is renewed. 
 
 One of the most important requisites for a good road 
 is, that it shall be kept dry ; that no water shall flow 
 upon it from the bordering lands, and that the rain which 
 falls upon it shall quickly pass off. For this purpose, 
 it is very important that the road should be higher than 
 the adjacent land through which it passes, and that 
 there should be ditches on either side of it of sufficient 
 depth to carry away all water that might penetrate the 
 road from springs beneath it, or which might fall upon 
 it, as rain or snow, from above. These side -ditches 
 should also have such a slope as to carry off at once the 
 water that flows into them. No standing water should 
 be allowed by a roadside. 
 
 Proper drainage having been secured, the endeavor 
 should be made to construct as smooth and hard a road 
 as possible ; for this economizes labor in the transporta- 
 tion of goods or passengers, and at the same time makes 
 travel pleasant. Such a road is also kept in repair at 
 less cost than a poorer road. The best material with
 
 226 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 which to construct roads is broken stone. What is 
 known as trap-rock is the best, being at the same time 
 the hardest and toughest of our rocks, and breaking 
 into angular fragments, which pack well together. 
 "When this stone is not to be had, a softer may be used ; 
 and we are persuaded that it would be the truest econ- 
 omy for our villages to make their main roads of stone, 
 even when it has to be drawn a considerable distance. 
 The expense at first might seem large, but roads once 
 made in this way would be durable and require but lit- 
 tle outlay to keep them in repair. The construction of 
 such roads might also be made so gradual that the ex- 
 pense would not be burdensome. Let a village begin 
 with a small section of road that most travelled, for 
 instance and make that of proper material and in the 
 best manner first ; then let another section be taken in 
 hand the next year, and so on. The villagers would be 
 surprised to find how soon all their principal roads had 
 been made good roads, and at what an increase of pleas- 
 ure and comfort to themselves. In many parts of our 
 country, stone is so abundant that enough might be 
 taken from the surface of the adjacent fields to make 
 a good hard road, while at the same time benefiting 
 the fields for tillage purposes. 
 
 Where stone does not abound or is too expensive to 
 be used, gravel is the next best thing to be sought ; and 
 where this is not to be had, of course common earth 
 must be used. In the latter case the coarsest and hard- 
 est that can be obtained should be chosen. The sub-
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 227 
 
 soil is better than that of the surface. Turf is bad for 
 road-making, and should be avoided ; it is better for the 
 compost-heap. In these days, when anthracite coal is 
 so largely consumed in the country, the ashes may be 
 used with advantage on the roads. They are, perhaps, 
 as good as gravel. At any rate, and by whatever means 
 are necessary, let the best attainable materials be used 
 for the construction of the roads. There is little dan- 
 ger that any expenditure in this direction, however 
 great, will be regretted. The economic advantage of 
 a well-built road is illustrated by the fact, stated on 
 good authority, that for want of properly constructed 
 roads the Spanish Government, on one occasion, was 
 obliged to use 30,000 mules and horses for the purpose 
 of transporting about 500 tons of grain from Castile to 
 Madrid, when with good roads the work might have 
 been done by 300 horses. 
 
 We have spoken of the two most important requisites 
 of a good road a proper grade and proper materials 
 for its construction. Some other things, however, are 
 to be taken into consideration as having an important 
 bearing upon the subject. Among these may be men- 
 tioned the width of the road and the form given to its 
 surface. We should have better roads, in many cases, if 
 we did not undertake to make them so wide as we often 
 do. It is better cheaper to make a good road of fif- 
 teen or eighteen feet in width than to make an inferior 
 road thirty or forty feet broad. Wide roads waste land 
 which might be used more profitably for other pur-
 
 228 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 poses, and the cost of their construction and repair is 
 greater than in the case of narrower ones. If the road 
 is well made that is, so as to have a smooth, hard sur- 
 face there will be no need of rounding it up, as is so 
 often done. The surface may be nearly level. A slope 
 of three or four inches each way from the centre, in a 
 road twenty feet wide, is ample for the purpose of car- 
 rying off the water ; and only what is sufficient for that 
 purpose should be allowed. On such a road, vehicles 
 would pass over all parts of it with equal ease and 
 with equal comfort to travellers, instead of being con- 
 fined to the centre, as they now are, so far as possi- 
 ble, because the excessive slope commonly given to the 
 roads makes it unpleasant to ride upon the sides, the 
 wheels on one side of the carriage being necessarily so 
 much lower than on the other. Roads used thus equal- 
 ly, or almost equally, upon all parts of their surface 
 will be less likely to be worn into ruts and holes, to the 
 discomfort of the traveller and the strain of vehicles, 
 than roads as ordinarily made. The very fact that the 
 centre of our roads is commonly the only portion that 
 approaches a level, and the disposition to drive on that 
 portion in order to keep the vehicles upright, leads to 
 an excessive trampling of the road in that part, which 
 soon wears it down so as to make it lower than the por- 
 tion upon either side of it, and gives occasion to stand- 
 ing water, which tends to put the road out of good con- 
 dition for travel sooner than anything else. The wheels 
 of the carriages, for the same reason, being rolled main-
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 229 
 
 ly on the same line, tend to wear the road into ruts, in 
 which, at Bvery fall of rain, the water collects and flows 
 along in streams that soon get volume enough to tear 
 the road and break up its smoothness. If a road is only 
 well made as to material and shape, and properly drain- 
 ed, there will be hardly any need of water-bars, as any 
 rain falling upon the road will run off at once into the 
 side-ditches without wearing or injuring the road-bed. 
 Water-bars are often made so large and high that they 
 are a serious inconvenience. They are little else than 
 hills piled upon hills, increasing the amount of ascent 
 to be made, while, by the sudden checks and jolts which 
 they create, they often result in the breaking of harnesses 
 and vehicles and the serious injury of persons. If wa- 
 ter-bars are to be made at all. they should be made as 
 slight as possible, and of stone rather than earth. 
 
 The following cut shows a section of road as often 
 made, rounded up so much that travel is unsafe upon 
 
 the sides, while the centre soon gets worn lower than the 
 parts adjacent, and consequently becomes a depository for 
 water, to the speedy and permanent injury of the road. 
 The cut on the following page shows a cross-section of 
 a road as it should be. It consists of two inclined planes 
 with a slope of seven and a half inches from the centre 
 of the road to the ditch on either side. On a road of
 
 230 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 good material this slope is ample for the carrying-off 
 of water, and renders driving easy and pleasant on all 
 portions of the road. 
 
 But a good road-bed is not all that we want; for 
 mere transportation this is enough certainly it is the 
 prime requisite. But in so far as roads are the means 
 of facilitating the intercourse of human beings with 
 each other, they ought to be pleasant in every way, and 
 even minister to our sense of the beautiful. If I am 
 going to see a brother man, or only going on some er- 
 rand of business, let me go in as pleasant a way as prac- 
 ticable. Let my road take me through agreeable scenes 
 if it may. Let it be sheltered, if possible, from the 
 scorching heats of July and the sweeping blasts of De- 
 cember. 
 
 On the island of Jersey, oil the coast of France, the 
 roads are bordered with trees, so that the traveller pass- 
 es under an almost continuous arch of cool and living 
 green ; while all along the border upon which the trees 
 are planted which is a mound formed by casting up the 
 earth from the ditch on either side of the roadway 
 the loveliest ivies and other vines constantly greet the 
 eye. Managed in this way, the roads on that island 
 constitute one of the chief charms of a charming piece
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 231 
 
 of country. Why should not our roads be made pleas- 
 ant in some such way oftener than they are, instead of 
 being so frequently mere strips of mud or sand through 
 which we flounder in summer heat, and where we are 
 smitten and swept by the winter cold, dreading the 
 passage over them, and undertaking it only as a neces- 
 sity? In the island of Jersey the land is so limited in 
 extent and so valuable for cultivation that most of the 
 roads are only wide enough to accommodate a single 
 vehicle, with occasional wider places or turnouts where 
 carriages may pass each other. But with the broad 
 roads which we often have in this country, especially 
 in many of our New England towns, it is an easy thing 
 not only to have pleasant highways for travel, but to 
 make the roads at the same time most effective village 
 embellishments. All that is necessary is to construct, 
 in place of the driveway which ordinarily meanders 
 along such streets, without much regard either to con- 
 venience or beauty, a narrow but sufficient roadway 
 upon each side of the street, and rather near to the 
 houses, for the purpose of giving easy access to them, 
 together with diagonal roads now and then crossing 
 from side to side, so that there may be ample facility 
 of intercourse between neighbors living upon opposite 
 sides of the street. Then let the intervening space be 
 made into a lawn-like surface, with trees and shrubs ju- 
 diciously planted, and a fountain here and there throw- 
 ing up its silvery jets. How easy it would be for those 
 living along such a street, by their combined efforts, to
 
 232 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 convert it thus into a beautiful park which would be 
 a daily delight to them and the admiration of the pass- 
 ing traveller ! How many of our old roads, which are 
 now little more than dreary expanses of weeds and wild 
 grasses, might thus be made objects of beauty and the 
 means of a most desirable social culture ! Any one 
 who has traversed the wide village streets which stretch 
 along the valley of the Connecticut; who has visited 
 old Hadley, Deerfield, Longmeadow, Enfield, and Wind- 
 sor, to say nothing of other places in various parts of 
 the country, will at once perceive what an additional 
 charm might easily be given to many of our finest vil- 
 lages in the manner which we have suggested. 
 
 An instance of what can be done in this way may be 
 seen at Williamstown, Mass. The principal street of 
 this fine old village is a mile or more in length, and 
 nearly three hundred feet broad. The road, in its 
 course, meets three considerable hills not far apart, 
 which give it a pleasant variety and even picturesque- 
 ness of appearance. The natural beauty of the street 
 and of the village has long impressed those of appre- 
 ciative taste. Several years ago, the late Professor Al- 
 bert Hopkins, who was such a lover of nature, was 
 prominent in an endeavor to bring the street and the 
 grounds of the adjacent proprietors into a symmetrical 
 and harmonious arrangement, and to secure a tasteful 
 disposal of the whole. The wide street was made yet 
 wider, in portions of it at least, by the removal of the 
 fences in front of the college and its vicinity, and the
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 233 
 
 college grounds themselves, embracing the two central 
 elevations over which the road passes, were taken in 
 hand and brought into proper shape and made very 
 attractive. The various college societies, which own 
 some of the finest buildings in the village, have also 
 been prompt to bring their premises into a neat and 
 tasteful condition. 
 
 Thus gradually has the village been gaining in ap- 
 pearance for several years. But within a short time 
 a decided impulse has been given to the work of im- 
 provement here by Mr. Cyrus "W. Field, who with a 
 noble generosity all the more noteworthy because he 
 has no personal relationship with the place has already 
 expended more than five thousand dollars, a portion of 
 it in the embellishment of the college buildings and 
 grounds, but a larger share of it in converting into a 
 lovely park that part of the street which formerly con- 
 stituted the church green. This work is now so far 
 completed as to show what the effect is to be, and to 
 commend the enterprise of Mr. Field as an example to 
 others who have the needful wealth for such undertak- 
 ings. When the contemplated plans of improvement 
 are carried out to their completion, Williamstown will 
 sit more than ever as a queen of beauty among her sur- 
 rounding hills, and, with her noble college, will become 
 more attractive than ever for her unsurpassed beauty 
 and her cultured society. 
 
 And now, in the interest of humanity, before dismiss- 
 ing the consideration of the subject before us, let us 
 
 Q
 
 234 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 suggest that our various town authorities ought to be 
 somewhat more mindful than they sometimes are that 
 their roads are occasionally traversed by persons from 
 a distance, who may be at a loss to know how directly 
 any particular road may be conducting them towards 
 their destination, or how far they may be from it at 
 any particular time. For the benefit of such, as well 
 as for the comfort of the horses which may be thirsty 
 by the way, there should be consideration enough to 
 see that guide-boards are maintained at the junctions 
 of all roads with others, together with mile-stones, or 
 some other means of designating distances; and then, 
 at suitable intervals, where some spring gushes from 
 the hill-side, or where water may be conveniently ob- 
 tained, let there be drinking-troughs. A mossy old 
 log hollowed out, or a simple tub, is all that is need- 
 ed, and is more inviting in the country even to a 
 horse, we must think, than any fanciful cast-iron af- 
 fairs dolphins or swans such as we sometimes see. 
 Then, finally, let them sternly abate those nuisances 
 in the form of advertisements of patent medicines, dry- 
 goods, and groceries, and things innumerable which now 
 so often bedaub and disfigure the rocks and fences by 
 the roadside, as well as our bridges and many a lovely 
 and picturesque spot, shocking good taste by their star- 
 ing effrontery, and even endangering life by affrighting 
 the horses which draw us on our errands of business or 
 pleasure.
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 235 
 
 FOOTWAYS. 
 
 But while considering the importance of good roads, 
 we ought not to confine our attention to those which 
 are designed for the use of vehicles ; nor ought we to 
 provide a better pathway for our cattle and horses than 
 for ourselves. Yet this we often do. We pretend, at 
 least, to make proper roads for the transportation of 
 our property, and we make them with some reference, 
 certainly, to the safety and comfort of the animals which 
 are expected to traverse them. But how rarely in our 
 villages is there any adequate provision for the conven- 
 ient intercourse of those who have occasion to pass from 
 one place to another on foot ! One has commonly to 
 choose between the dusty or muddy highway made for 
 the cattle and the grass and stones and bushes which bor- 
 der it. Even in many of our closely settled villages, how 
 difficult it is often for one to get to the nearest neigh- 
 bor's house for a friendly call ! If there has been a rain 
 recently, the chance is that one cannot cross the street 
 comfortably on account of the mud ; and even in pleas- 
 ant weather the grass, heavy with dew, practically for- 
 bids all going out until late in the morning, when the 
 sun has dried up the excessive moisture. The result is, 
 that our country people hardly know the pleasure, the 
 luxury even, of a good daily walk. They really do not 
 know how to walk. If a call of business or pleasure is 
 to be made at the distance of half a mile, instead of 
 starting off vigorously on foot, the boy jumps upon his
 
 236 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 horse's back and the girl asks her brother to get the 
 wagoii ready for her. Pedestrianism is a lost art in the 
 country. The people, if they walk at all, go shambling 
 along like their cattle. A country boy's walk is laugh- 
 able, and a country girl's is little better. They may 
 sneer at city counter-jumpers and the like, but there are 
 thousands of men and women, merchants, clerks, and 
 Fifth -avenue ladies who daily take walks, and find 
 pleasure in them, which would utterly fatigue what are 
 deemed our hearty and robust country girls and women. 
 This conies in good part because in the city there are 
 smooth pavements on which to walk, while in the coun- 
 try there are hardly any paths over which the pedestri- 
 an can go at all times with comfort. The lack of proper 
 footways in the country is one of the greatest hindrances 
 to that social intercourse which is so desirable and so 
 much needed to make village life more attractive and 
 satisfying. There are few things which would do more 
 for the social life and true enjoyment of a village than 
 the making of good footpaths. Until we can have these 
 we would encourage our country girls and women to 
 do as did the late Miss Catharine M. Sedgwick. We 
 remember seeing her morning after morning, when she 
 was nearly, if not quite, seventy years of age, and at an 
 hour earlier than that at which most people take their 
 breakfast, the skirts of her dress shortened so as to 
 avoid the wet grass, and with stout shoes, starting off 
 for a walk with a vigor and a rapidity of pace that put 
 to shame the whole village in which she was for the
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 237 
 
 time a resident. How much this habit of taking daily 
 exercise on foot had to do with the prolongation of 
 her life, and how much her outdoor rambles had to do 
 with the healthful tone which pervades all her numer- 
 ous writings, we are not prepared to say. But we are 
 confident that such a habit in our mothers and daugh- 
 ters, and in all our people, would be healthful in the 
 extreme both to body and mind, and add greatly to 
 the enjoyment of life. 
 
 STREET LIGHTS. 
 
 If roads and footpaths are desirable as facilitating 
 intercourse between people, and so becoming the signs 
 and instruments of civilization and social advancement, 
 then it would seem that their usefulness requires that 
 they should be so lighted during the customary hours 
 of use that those passing over them, or desiring to do 
 so, can find their way without difficulty. And at hard- 
 ly any time do we more need the use of our roads, es- 
 pecially in the more densely populated villages, than in 
 the evening. It is after the day's work is over that we 
 have most leisure as well as the strongest desire for the 
 interchange of social intercourse. It is then especially 
 that we like to cross a neighbor's threshold and feel 
 that we have common interests and concerns. There 
 should be no unnecessary impediments to such inter- 
 course. The darkness should not hinder this commin- 
 gling of those who dwell in the same vicinity. In these 
 days of cheap illuminators, the cost of a dozen kerosene
 
 238 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LITE. 
 
 or naphtha lamps, properly screened from the wind by 
 lanterns, ought not to be felt as a burdensome tax upon 
 any village. Once adopted, such an aid to social inter- 
 course and general well-being will soon be deemed some- 
 thing indispensable. It is one of the signs of progress 
 that so many of our villages are turning their attention 
 to this subject. 
 
 BRIDGES. 
 
 After what we have said of roads, little needs to be 
 added in regard to bridges. Designed for the purpose 
 of conveying persons and goods across streams road- 
 ways over the water the first requisite in their con- 
 struction is strength ; but attention has been limited too 
 exclusively to this. The result is that we have a great 
 many structures spanning our larger and smaller streams 
 that are not only unsightly in themselves, but which 
 mar the beauty of the landscape of which they often 
 form a prominent feature. Why should not objects so 
 conspicuous as bridges almost always are be made pleas- 
 ant features of our towns and villages instead of being 
 repulsive ? Our utilitarianism has left in neglect what 
 might be an important source of beauty and pleasure in 
 our village life. If, instead of those huge wooden tun- 
 nels, often of a glaring red color, which so frequently 
 thrust their great bulk across our water-courses their 
 stiff, level lines quite out of harmony with the curves of 
 the stream and of the land on either side we could see 
 a graceful arch of stone, how much pleasanter would be 
 the sight! An addition of positive beauty would be
 
 ROADS AND BRIDGES. 
 
 made to the landscape. At the same time, such a struct- 
 ure would be more durable, and in the long run cheap- 
 er, than any other. Or if we do not choose to build of 
 stone, we can have bridges of iron or wood which will 
 be objects of real beauty, while serving the purposes of 
 utility. With hardly any additional cost, bridges may 
 be so made as to elicit the admiration of every one who 
 crosses them or beholds them from a distance. Such 
 structures so placed, as they almost necessarily are, are 
 peculiarly adapted to become ornamental features of 
 the scenery of which they form a part. One cannot 
 visit Europe without being made to feel that a bridge 
 is something more than a mere convenience for getting 
 across a stream. There we find them classing among 
 the most beautiful works of architecture, the stone 
 moulded into gracefully curving lines which harmo- 
 nize with the curving lines of the rivers and their 
 banks. Very likely they will be adorned with the 
 mosses of age, or decorated with mantling vines that 
 run luxuriantly over arch and wall, and link bridge and 
 water together. Our youthfulness as a nation and our 
 limited resources have hitherto been our excuse for 
 great deficiency in matters of an aesthetic character. 
 But we are old enough now, and rich enough, to have 
 some appropriate fruits of age and ample wealth. Our 
 bridges, among other things, ought to show this. And 
 our smaller streams, not less than the larger, should be 
 spanned by structures of a tasteful character. Even 
 the little runlets that cross our country roads so often,
 
 240 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 and over which we frequently throw such tasteless and 
 crazy structures two roughly hewn logs perhaps, with 
 a few warped and rattling loose planks laid across them 
 how easy it would be to make the numerous crossings 
 of them the occasions of positive pleasure by means of 
 graceful bridges, the cost of which would not be felt ! 
 In many places a charming effect might be gained by 
 the construction of rustic bridges, which would be so 
 completely in harmony with all the scene around, as 
 especially in some wooded or rocky region, a little re- 
 mote, perhaps, from the more populous portions of the 
 town or village. Any ordinary carpenter, almost any 
 one who has a little tasteful feeling, can build such a 
 bridge. It is only necessary to take two or three logs, 
 not hewn or shaped by axe or saw, but with the bark 
 left upon them, for the supports of the bridge floor; 
 then let some of the larger branches of the trees which 
 have been cut, their bark also left upon them, be tak- 
 en and pinned together to form the necessary rails or 
 guards for the sides. Smaller branches still may be 
 inwoven with these at pleasure, to give some effect 
 of ornament, and the work is done; and you have a 
 structure all-sufficient for the purposes of travel, while 
 it is in accord with the scenery around ; and instead 
 of hiding the stream from the passer-by, as so many of 
 our bridges do, this invites him to pause and contem- 
 plate the beauty of the water and of the fields and 
 woods, which get an additional loveliness as they are 
 bathed by it or reflected in its liquid mirror.
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 
 
 " A man was famous according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick 
 trees." Psa. Ixxiv. 6. 
 
 " The destruction of the woods, then, was man's first geographical con- 
 quest, his first violation of the harmonies of inanimate nature." G. P. 
 MARSH : Man and Nature. 
 
 WHEN the settlement of our country by the whites 
 began, it was so heavily timbered that in many places 
 the first problem was, how to get rid of the trees, so as 
 to have sufficient open space for the tillage needful for 
 the support of the settler and his family. The forests 
 were in the way. They were regarded as a nuisance 
 almost, rather than anything of value. In their haste 
 to clear up the soil, the settlers could not cut away the 
 trees fast enough. So they girdled and left to fall by 
 slow decay what they could not destroy with the axe 
 and consume at once. 
 
 As the settlement of the country has advanced and 
 various industries have arisen, as towns and cities have 
 come into being, as manufactures have increased, there 
 have come new demands upon our forests, and these 
 demands have been supplied not only with readiness, 
 but with recklessness, until there has come to be well-
 
 242 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 founded alarm lest our timber supply sliali fail us. Our 
 finest timber has been cut and consumed for fuel wher- 
 ever a price has been offered for it that would leave any 
 present profit after deducting the expense of chopping 
 and carrying to market. It has been estimated that a 
 single iron furnace in blast will consume from year to 
 year all the wood that can be properly spared from a 
 region extending three miles from it in every direction. 
 In other words, it would require nearly an ordinary 
 township of land, or a tract six miles square, to keep a 
 furnace supplied with fuel. Our railroads also are enor- 
 mous consumers of forests, both for the construction of 
 their road-beds, for fences, and for fuel. They consume 
 them for the latter purpose until scarcity carries up the 
 price so far as to lead to the partial or complete use of 
 coal. The fencing of our railroads alone requires lum- 
 ber to the value of $4,500,000. Our 65,000 miles of 
 telegraph lines have consumed 2,000,000 trees, and re- 
 quire 250,000 for their annual repair and increase. It 
 was estimated several years ago that the railroads of 
 Ohio consumed 700,000 cords of wood annually for fuel. 
 These roads required also more than 10,000,000 ties for 
 their construction, and these would need to be renewed, 
 on the average, every six years. There were in the same 
 state, at that time, sixteen miles of wooden railroad 
 bridges and ten miles of trestle-work, the timber of 
 which would have to be renewed almost as often as the 
 railroad ties. 
 What is true of Ohio is true also of many other
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 243 
 
 states, some of which, on account of having a smaller 
 proportional area covered with forest, are less able to 
 meet the demands made upon them. Then one has 
 only to look at the lumber trade of our country to be 
 astonished at the havoc we are making with our trees. 
 For instance, a gentleman writing from Wisconsin says 
 that there were 10,000,000 acres of land in Wisconsin 
 and Michigan, north of the 44th degree of latitude, 
 which were originally covered with valuable timber. 
 Since the settlements have commenced in that part of 
 the country, at least half of this has been cut off and sold, 
 and 1,000,000 acres of hard- wood timber have also been 
 felled and burned upon the ground by the farmers while 
 clearing up their lands. All along the rivers flowing 
 out from this region, lumber-mills have been erected, 
 many of which are of such capacity that they are able 
 each to cut annually 100,000,000 feet of lumber. Not 
 less than 1,750,000,000 feet of lumber were taken from 
 this vicinity in a. single year some time ago. The aver- 
 age yield of pine timber in this locality is estimated at 
 300,000 feet for forty acres. Beckoning it at 333,000 
 feet, it would require more than 200,000 acres annually 
 to furnish the lumber product of this district. Then, 
 if we add 100,000 acres for railroad ties, telegraph posts, 
 hewn timber, shingles, and firewood, as determined by 
 the known amount received from this district in the 
 Chicago market, and 30,000 acres for the amount cut 
 and burned on the ground in the process of clearing the 
 land, we have 330,000 acres stripped every year of their
 
 244 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 growth of wood, or more than 1000 acres for every 
 working-day of the year. 
 
 It may give some a more definite impression of the 
 rapidity with which the consumption of our forests is 
 going on when we say that the clearing of the above- 
 mentioned number of acres is equal to the cutting of 
 the timber on nearly 500 square miles, or more than one 
 third the area of the State of Rhode Island. 
 
 It is difficult to make an accurate estimate of the 
 amount of lumber produced in our entire country, or 
 the total consequent consumption of our forests, because 
 there is no report of the trees cut by farmers and others 
 in a small way, and worked up in the lesser saw-mills 
 which are to be found all over the country and upon all 
 our smaller streams. We have reports only from the 
 great mills in the so-called lumber regions of the coun- 
 try, and from certain chief centres of the lumber trade, 
 such as Chicago and St. Louis in the "West, and Albany, 
 Boston, Saco, etc., in the East ; and even in these places 
 the statistics are incomplete. From such reports as we 
 have, however, it appears that the work of felling our 
 forest trees, and converting them into lumber for vari- 
 ous uses, is one of the principal occupations of our peo- 
 ple. Taking the great lumber region of the Northwest, 
 we find the product for the year 1875 as follows : 
 
 Michigan 2,746,866,184 feet. 
 
 In Wisconsin 1,036,576,900 " 
 
 In Minnesota 342,623,171 " 
 
 On Mississippi River 291.487,000 ' ' 
 
 Total 4,417,553,255 "
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 245 
 
 To these figures may be added for other parts of the 
 country 
 
 Pennsylvania 263,820,000 feet. 
 
 New York 10,680,000 
 
 Maine 45,344,000 
 
 Georgia 17,750,000 
 
 Florida 26,300,000 
 
 Alabama 7,500,000 
 
 The total is thus carried up to 4,788,947,255 feet. 
 These estimates, moreover, are for pine lumber alone, 
 and leave out the hard-wood of various kinds, which is 
 used so largely in the manufacture of tools and imple- 
 ments of many sorts, furniture, and various other arti- 
 cles of use and comfort.* 
 
 If now we add the product of the Pacific coast, from 
 which there is an estimated annual export of more than 
 400,000,000 feet, we shall see that we have an annual 
 product of lumber, mainly pine, exceeding 5,000,000,000 
 feet. It is reasonable to think that if we could have an 
 account of the lumber made at the small mills all over 
 the country, and the timber used for railroad building, 
 
 * There are in our country seventy or more occupations which use 
 wood, in whole or in part, for their raw material, employing 1,000,000 
 hands. There are nearly 70,000 establishments manufacturing articles 
 made entirely of wood, employing 393,387 persons, and using material 
 worth $300,000,000 annually. 
 
 Even so seemingly insignificant a manufacture as that of friction match- 
 es involves, according to Mr. George P. Marsh, the use of not less than 
 230,000 feet of the best pine lumber, or the product of between 60 and 
 70 acres; while the production of shoe-pegs in our country consumes 
 1,000,000 dollars' worth of white birch.
 
 246 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 for bridges, and fences, and for the thousand purposes 
 of the arts, the figures would be at least double those 
 which we have reached. 
 
 It has been estimated that as long ago as the year 
 1869 the consumption of wood for fuel by the railroads 
 necessitated the cutting-off of 350,000 acres of wood- 
 land every year. In 1874 there were 72,623 miles of 
 railroad in operation. The addition of double tracks 
 and sidings will probably increase the mileage to 85,000. 
 Supposing the life of a railroad tie to be seven years, 
 34,000,000 ties would be required annually, or what 
 could be cut from 68,000 acres of woodland. 
 
 Some of these figures are so large that we cannot 
 comprehend them as they stand. Let us try to bring 
 them within our grasp. If we take the lumbermen's 
 estimate that forty acres will ordinarily yield 333,000 
 feet of lumber, then it appears that in order to furnish 
 the amount annually produced in our country, not few- 
 er than 12,012,012 acres of woodland have to be swept 
 clean by the axe, or an area nearly equal to that of the 
 states of New Hampshire and Vermont. By another 
 estimate this amount would load 50,000 vessels, each car- 
 rying 200,000 feet, the average cargo carried by the ves- 
 sels employed in the lumber trade of our Great Lakes, 
 or it would fill 1,428,571 railway cars with 7000 feet 
 each, the ordinary car-load. This would make a train of 
 cars 8500 miles long, or one third the distance around 
 the globe. It is easy to see that at this rate the great 
 lumber-producing regions will soon be exhausted.
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 21T 
 
 But we are beginning to discover that the destruction 
 of our woodlands means also something besides the ex- 
 haustion of a valuable article of commerce and of use 
 in the arts. It means a change in climate and in the 
 productiveness of the soil. It means a change in the 
 water supply of great regions, and consequently affects 
 health as well as the prosecution of many industries 
 which are dependent upon the water-power of streams. 
 The healthfulness of a region is dependent in no small 
 degree upon its being well wooded. Trees are large 
 absorbers of carbonic acid, a poison to human beings ; 
 while they give off from their leaves large quantities of 
 oxygen, the life-sustaining element of the atmosphere. 
 They are also great equalizers of temperature and moist- 
 ure. The presence of trees, therefore, especially in the 
 vicinity of populous towns and villages, is one of our 
 best assurances of a healthful atmosphere. If it were 
 not for the winds, which waft the better air of the 
 wooded regions to the cities and to those districts which 
 are comparatively destitute of forests, they would be 
 far less healthy than they now are.* 
 
 * Mr. Max Von Pettenkofer, of Munich, 1ms lately denied that the ab- 
 sorption of carbonic acid and the exhalation of oxygen by vegetation have 
 any appreciable effect in purifying the air and making it more wholesome, 
 and he adduces many interesting experiments, made by himself and 
 others, as substantiating his opinion. He argues that the mnss of the at- 
 mosphere is so great, and that it is in such constant motion, that any ex- 
 cess in the production of carbonic acid is at once counteracted, and the 
 general average is preserved. At the same time, he admits that trees aud 
 plants have a very great sanitary value, but for other reasons.
 
 248 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 Trees have another important office that of shielding 
 from sweeping winds, which, by their force, their piercing 
 cold, or for any other reason, might be harmful to us or 
 the crops we seek to produce on our lauds. Even a sin- 
 gle row of evergreens planted on the exposed sides of a 
 house is sufficient to make a perceptible change in re- 
 spect to the comfort of living. A belt of such trees 
 consisting of only a few rows is equivalent in effect to 
 a change of several degrees of latitude, and will enable 
 one to grow many kinds of fruits and vegetables which 
 could not otherwise be successfully cultivated. The 
 same effect is produced by the vicinity of a piece of 
 woodland covered with deciduous trees ; for though 
 these have not the dense foliage of the evergreens, and 
 lose their leaves altogether during the colder seasons of 
 the year, yet every one who is at home in the country 
 knows that the most violent winds penetrate but a little 
 way into the forests, even when stripped of their foliage, 
 and that the woodchoppers are able to carry on their 
 work in the coldest weather of winter with comparative 
 comfort, because the interior of the woodland is still. 
 It is the effect of air in motion, rather than its absolute 
 temperature, which we most feel, and which is most felt 
 by vegetable as well as animal organisms. Air itself is a 
 poor that is, slow conductor of heat and cold. This is 
 shown by the familiar effect of double windows on our 
 houses. The confined stratum of air, enclosed by the 
 windows, interposes an effectual barrier between the cold 
 atmosphere without and the warm within, so that the one
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 24:9 
 
 is but little affected by the other. But air in motion, 
 and in proportion to the rapidity of its motion, imparts 
 its own heat to bodies colder than itself, or absorbs the 
 heat of those that are wanner. Hence we can bear, in 
 a still day, the exposure to an atmosphere below zero in 
 its temperature without much inconvenience, whereas 
 we should shrink from a temperature twenty degrees 
 higher if the air were in rapid motion. It is not so 
 much the still cold nor the calm heat that produces dis- 
 comfort, as it is the sweeping blast, whether of winter 
 or summer. Locomotive engineers observe that in cold, 
 windy weather they can keep up the steam in their en- 
 gines more easily when passing through the shelter of 
 woodlands than when in the open country ; and on the 
 prairies of the West it is sometimes a matter of great 
 difficulty to maintain a good head of steam when en- 
 countering the violent winds of that region. 
 
 A committee of the French Government, of which 
 the distinguished Arago was a member, in a report 
 made in the year 1836, said that the cutting of a belt 
 of forest on the coast of Normandy and Brittany would 
 improve the climate of the interior by admitting the 
 warm ocean winds, while the cutting of a similar belt 
 on the German side would admit the glacial winds from 
 the Alps and make the winters more severe. The clear- 
 ing of the Apennines is thought to have materially 
 changed the climate of the valley of the Po. The si- 
 rocco, formerly unknown, now prevails on the right 
 
 bank of that stream. 
 
 R
 
 250 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 The latest researches of naturalists seem to show also 
 that, as in the animal system, so likewise in the vegeta- 
 ble, the vital processes are attended with the production 
 of heat. Living trees have a temperature of 54 to 56 
 when the air near them is from 37 to 47. Nor does 
 the temperature of the trees vary in the same measure as 
 that of the air. So long as the atmosphere is below 67, 
 the tree is always highest in temperature ; when above 
 this, the tree is lowest. Boussingault has also noticed 
 the evolution of heat in flowers at particular times. It 
 is likewise common in the winter to see ice which has 
 formed around trees, melted for a certain distance on 
 every side, so as to leave a clear space, or a space filled 
 more or less with water, which can be accounted for 
 only as the effect of the vital heat of the trees; and 
 Mr. George P. Marsh, one of our most intelligent and 
 careful observers in connection with this whole subject, 
 suggests as a reason why the evergreens resist the cold 
 better than deciduous trees the fact that they have a 
 more persistent vitality, as shown by the retention of 
 their leaves throughout the year. 
 
 By the mechanical obstruction, therefore, which trees 
 in masses make to the sweep of injurious or uncomfort- 
 able winds, as well as by the vital heat which they emit, 
 they tend to modify and equalize the temperature of 
 the region where they are, and thereby to improve it 
 for the uses of man. 
 
 But they exert also a positively healthful influence in 
 another way. There is good reason to believe that trees
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 251 
 
 not only contribute to the purification of the atmosphere, 
 by absorbing, as they do, carbonic acid and exhaling oxy- 
 gen, but that they deprive miasmatic air passing through 
 them of its pestilential germs, and so render it health- 
 ful. Whether this effect is merely mechanical or is 
 also chemical is not ascertained ; but the fact is now 
 very generally admitted. Even small screens of trees 
 have often proved effective in this respect. In Italy 
 poplar-trees have been planted in districts affected by 
 malaria as a remedy, and narrow belts consisting of 
 only three or four rows of trees have been thought to 
 intercept a large portion of the malarious influences. 
 Even rows of sunflowers have seemed to be very ef- 
 ficient to the same end. We are disposed to regard 
 swamps as unfavorable to health. But the great swamps 
 of Virginia and the Carolinas are proved to be healthy 
 even to the whites, until the woods in and about them 
 are cut away ; and there have been cases where swamps 
 from which the trees have been removed have become 
 unfavorable to health, but which have become health- 
 ful again when the trees have been allowed to grow up 
 once more. 
 
 It is well ascertained, also, that the presence or ab- 
 sence of trees in any region has an important connec- 
 tion with the rainfall of that region, thus modifying 
 its climate as well as its agricultural capacity. A tree- 
 less country is a dry and comparatively barren country. 
 We may not be able to say exactly why it should be so. 
 How far it is to be attributed to electrical and how far
 
 252 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 to other causes we may not be able to determine. But 
 the fact is indisputable. We have the observations of 
 Humboldt, Herschel, Boussingault, and others, all at- 
 testing this. On an elevated plain near the city of 
 Caraccas, South America, for instance, the chocolate 
 plant flourished. In the endeavor to extend the profit- 
 able culture of this plant, the whole plain was stripped 
 of the forests which abounded upon it. The result was 
 that rains almost ceased to fall upon the plain, and the 
 cultivation of the plant had to be abandoned. Since 
 then the trees have been allowed to grow again, and the 
 cultivation of chocolate has been successfully resumed. 
 The island of St. Helena at one time had become al- 
 most barren, as the result of the removal of its forests. 
 Latterly the trees have been restored, and the rainfall 
 has nearly doubled and the productiveness of the island 
 increased. Fifty years ago Mehemet Ali planted from 
 forty to fifty millions of trees in Egypt, for the pur- 
 pose of increasing the rain in that country, where 
 sometimes none would fall for a twelvemonth. Now 
 the annual average of rain there is thirty days. 
 
 The common opinion that the presence of trees in 
 large masses increases the fall of rain seems to be sub- 
 stantiated by a large number of facts. But if the total 
 amount of rain from year to year is not increased by 
 trees, they very certainly promote a more uniform de- 
 gree of moisture than prevails in the open areas, and 
 cause the showers to fall more frequently, if not more 
 copiously.
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 253 
 
 The presence of trees in large masses has a still more 
 manifest connection with the subsequent distribution 
 of the rains, and their ultimate and economical uses. 
 When the forests are allowed to remain upon the slopes 
 and hill-sides, the foliage, as it drops and decays from 
 year to year, forms a porous, spongy soil, which is at 
 the same time held in place by the roots of the trees. 
 This soil absorbs the rain as it falls and retains it, so 
 that it does not run off at once and in torrents, but 
 oozes gradually away, moistening the fields and feed- 
 ing the brooks and streams with a steady supply 
 throughout the year. On the contrary, when the 
 woods are cut off, the spongy soil soon becomes dry 
 from exposure to the sun and wind ; and when the tree- 
 roots have decayed, there is nothing to hold it longer in 
 place. The result is that the soil itself is soon washed 
 from the hill-sides, to a considerable extent, making 
 them barren ; and the rains, having nothing to absorb 
 them as formerly, go rushing down at once in torrents 
 into the meadows and lowlands, covering them often with 
 sand and debris, and producing also destructive inunda- 
 tions, attended not unfrequently with great loss of life. 
 For the same reason, the water being no longer held 
 by the spongy soil and distributed gradually, but flow- 
 ing off at once, in the intervals between the rains the 
 streams become low. So there is an alternation of floods 
 and droughts in place of the steady flow which the for- 
 ests formerly insured. Of course, the streams thus vari- 
 able become less valuable for manufacturing and com-
 
 254 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 mercial purposes. As a consequence, mill-owners are 
 obliged to place in their factories auxiliary steam-en- 
 gines, to give them sufficient power in the seasons of 
 scarcity, or to construct artificial reservoirs, at great ex- 
 pense, in which to store up the superfluous water of one 
 season for the needs of another. 
 
 For the same reason, our streams are less valuable for 
 purposes of navigation than formerly. Forty years 
 ago, for instance, large barges, loaded with goods, went 
 up and down the Cuyahoga River, in Ohio, where now 
 a canoe can hardly pass. Steamboats which could once 
 ascend the Mississippi River as far as St. Louis at all 
 seasons of the year can now go no higher than Mem- 
 phis. The same may be said in substance of other 
 streams in all parts of the country. 
 
 The evil effects of the- extensive and indiscriminate 
 destruction of our forests are already so apparent that 
 measures cannot be taken too soon to remedy them. 
 The following, from the Virginia Enterprise, Nevada, 
 shows the need of such measures even in the newest 
 portions of our country : 
 
 " It will be but a very short time before we shall be able to observe 
 the effect that stripping the pine forests from the sides and summit of 
 the Sierras will have on the climate of this state and California. In a 
 few years every accessible tree, even to such as are only of value as fire- 
 wood, will be swept from the mountains. Even now this has been done 
 in some places. It is to be hoped that a new growth of pines or timber 
 trees of some kind may spring up on the ground that has been cleared, 
 but we do not hear that any such growth has yet started. 
 
 "Already one great change lias occurred that is evident to the most 
 ordinary observer, which is the speedy melting-away of the snow on tho
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 255 
 
 mountains. It now goes off at once, in a flood, with the first warm 
 weather of spring ; whereas formerly, being shaded and protected by the 
 pines and evergreen trees, it melted slowly, and all summer sent down to 
 the valleys on both the eastern and western slopes of the Sierras constant 
 and copious streams of water. Instead of a good stage of water in our 
 streams throughout summer, as in former times, there is a flood in the 
 spring, and when this is passed by our rivers speedily run down, and be- 
 ing no longer fed from the mountains, evaporation leaves their beds al- 
 most dry when the hot weather of summer comes on." 
 
 The general interests of the country, its climate, 
 its productiveness, demand that some restriction shall 
 be placed upon the consumption of its forests. Either 
 by legal enactment or by public opinion, the indiscrim- 
 inate removal of our forests should be prevented. We 
 have still an abundance of woodland in most of our 
 states, if it is properly cared for, if its use and con- 
 sumption are duly regulated. 
 
 In Europe the care and preservation of forests has 
 long been a matter which has claimed attention and 
 which has been regulated by law. The effects of the 
 indiscriminate and wholesale cutting of the forests have 
 been felt so disastrously that self-preservation has be- 
 come almost dependent upon this cutting being re- 
 stricted and upon the restoration of the forests where 
 they have been removed. We know as yet compara- 
 tively little of such effects in our country, though they 
 are manifest enough to put us on our guard and lead 
 us to take measures to avoid the sad experience of 
 the countries of the Old World. There these evil ef- 
 fects have been wrought for centuries, and any one who 
 inquires into the facts in regard to this subject cannot
 
 256 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 fail to be surprised at the record of losses and devasta- 
 tions occasioned bj man's wanton interference with the 
 world in which he lives. Mr. George P. Marsh, our 
 Minister to Italy, has given much attention to this mat- 
 ter, and is our great authority in regard to it. His book 
 entitled " Man and Nature ; or, Physical Geography as 
 Modified by Human Action," is a treasury of facts 
 upon this subject and a most interesting work. Mr. 
 Marsh says, " There are parts of Asia Minor, of North- 
 ern Africa, of Greece, and even of Alpine Europe, 
 where causes set in action by man have brought the 
 face of the earth to a desolation as complete as that of 
 the moon, and yet they are known to have been once 
 covered with luxuriant woods, verdant pastures, and 
 fertile meadows ; and a dense population formerly in- 
 habited those now lonely districts. The fairest and 
 fruitfulest provinces of the Roman Empire, once en- 
 dowed with the greatest superiority of soil, climate, 
 and position, are completely exhausted of their fertil- 
 ity, or so diminished in their productiveness as, with 
 the exception of a few favored cases that have escaped 
 the general ruin, to be no longer capable of affording 
 sustenance to civilized man. If to this realm of deso- 
 lation we add the now wasted and solitary soils of 
 Persia and the remoter East, that once fed their mill- 
 ions with milk and honey, we shall see that a territory 
 larger than all Europe, the abundance of which sus- 
 tained in bygone centuries a population scarcely in- 
 ferior to that of the whole Christian world at the
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 257 
 
 present day, lias been entirely withdrawn from human 
 use, or, at best, is inhabited by tribes too few, poor, and 
 uncultivated to contribute anything to the general, 
 moral, or material interests of mankind. The destruc- 
 tive changes occasioned by the agency of man upon the 
 flanks of the Alps, the Apennines, the Pyrenees, and 
 other mountain ranges of Central and Southern Europe, 
 and the progress of physical deterioration, have become 
 so rapid that in some localities a single generation has 
 witnessed the beginning and the end of the melancholy 
 revolution." In France, for example, whole districts 
 have been ruined for agricultural purposes by the mass- 
 es of rocks and gravel which the mountain torrents, re- 
 sulting from the cutting-away of the forests, have car- 
 ried down into the plains below. As a consequence 
 the people have been obliged to migrate to other and 
 less exposed regions. The disastrous floods of the Po, 
 a river about the size of our Connecticut, resulting from 
 the removal of the forests on the Alps and Apennines, 
 which are its sources, are a matter of frequent occur- 
 rence. The European nations have therefore been 
 compelled to give serious attention to the subject of 
 forests in their relation to agriculture and the mainte- 
 nance of population, as well as to health and salubrity 
 of climate. The necessity of preserving and restoring 
 the woodlands has become imperative, and measures 
 have been taken accordingly. Forestry, or the science 
 of restoring and maintaining a proper amount of for- 
 ests, has now in Europe a recognized place as one of
 
 258 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 the most important concerns of the state. It has its 
 schools in which learned professors give instruction in 
 the art of growing and preserving large plantations of 
 trees. Whole libraries of books have been published 
 on the subject. In Germany, 1815 volumes on forestry 
 were published prior to the year 1842, and an average 
 of one hundred volumes are published annually in the 
 German language. One of the Spanish Commissioners 
 to our Centennial Exhibition, himself a forestral en- 
 gineer, has prepared a list of treatises on forestry pub- 
 lished in the Spanish language alone, which amount to 
 more than eleven hundred in number. This shows the 
 interest which this subject has abroad. 
 
 The state has a right to say that for the interests of 
 public health, the highest productiveness of the soil, 
 and the general interests of the people as a whole, a 
 proper proportion between its forests and its cleared 
 lands shall be preserved. Careful and long- extended 
 investigation in Europe has shown that this proportion 
 requires that from one fifth to one fourth of the land 
 shall be kept in the condition of forest. In this coun- 
 try, owing to a difference of climate and other consider- 
 ations, it is probable that not less than one fourth of the 
 land should remain covered with trees. In some of our 
 states, the eastern and southern especially, this propor- 
 tion is preserved, though in portions of these, owing to 
 unequal distribution, there is a deficiency of woodland. 
 But in many other states, particularly those of the Up- 
 per Mississippi Valley, there is a great lack of forests.
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 259 
 
 Happily, the extreme scarcity of timber in those states 
 has stimulated the settlers there in many cases to adopt 
 measures to remedy this evil, and the planting of trees 
 has been taken in hand so vigorously that there is al- 
 ready a manifest improvement, and the traveller is often 
 surprised and pleased to see the belts of quick-growing 
 trees surrounding the houses and portions of the farms 
 on many of the Western prairies, and not unfrequently 
 large groves and incipient forests which promise in a 
 few years to bring great comfort and benefit to the 
 people living there. Nebraska has her " Arbor Day," 
 established by law, a rural holiday, observed on the 
 10th of April every year, on which the people are in- 
 vited to give themselves to the planting of trees, to 
 which they are also stimulated by the offer of premi- 
 ums in the shape of a remission of taxes for a certain 
 number of years, proportioned to the number of trees 
 planted and preserved, and an offer by the State Agri- 
 cultural Society of one hundred dollars to the Farmers' 
 Society of the county which plants the largest number 
 of trees on that day, and twenty-five dollars to the man 
 who individually plants the most. It was estimated 
 that more than a million trees were planted in 1876 
 on Arbor Day. In Missouri, Illinois, Iowa, California, 
 New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and in other 
 states, tree-planting has been encouraged by law or by 
 agricultural societies. It would be a good and pleas- 
 ant thing if we could have an " Arbor Day " in every 
 state. It would be a good thing in many respects if,
 
 260 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 on a given day in the year, designated according to the 
 climates of the different regions of our country, the 
 people, old and young, and of all classes, were to be 
 brought out for the purpose of planting trees both for 
 use and ornament. 
 
 The time will probably soon come, also, if it has not 
 come already, when it will be advisable to have, in con- 
 nection perhaps with the Department of the Interior, 
 a commissioner of forestry, who will do for us what 
 officers of that name have done for European countries. 
 Through such a commissioner, or by some other appro- 
 priate means, we need to have the importance of this 
 subject set before our people in all its bearings. Care 
 for our woodlands and forests is now one of our most 
 pressing duties. We have land enough already cleared, 
 even in rocky New England, to support three times our 
 present population. There is no need of laying bare 
 any more of the soil. If wood is wanted, whether for 
 fuel or for the purposes of building and the arts, let the 
 necessary trees be culled a few at a time from the for- 
 est, rather than sweep off the wood by the acre, as is 
 now so often done. It would be well if our farmers, 
 especially those living near cities and large towns, 
 would make sure that a new tree is planted wherever 
 an old one is cut down. In this way our supply of 
 wood for all purposes would be maintained. Then we 
 might hope also to regain one of our lost treasures 
 the blazing fire upon the hearth. It is enough to make 
 one sad to go into so many of our country dwellings, in
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 261 
 
 regions even where the forests are most abundant, and 
 find the old fireplace that was once the very centre and 
 soul of the house now shut up or destroyed in some 
 way, and the family grouped and simmering around a 
 dull, black stove, which vomits its sulphurous gases, 
 perhaps, from every joint, poisoning the air of the 
 dwelling the very demon of unsociality and the preg- 
 nant mother of half the ills that flesh is heir to. And 
 all for what ? Because, it may be, the farmer can sell 
 his wood and buy coal at a little saving of money at 
 the outset but with the risk of ill-health and large 
 doctor's bills in the end or because the good house- 
 keeper thinks there will be some lessening of dust and 
 sweeping of hearths and watching of fires if coal is 
 used ; and so the sacred fire on the altar of home is put 
 out. Alas that it should be so ! There were healthful 
 influences to the soul as well as to the body coming 
 from the old blazing fireplace. It was a moral power 
 in the household, the loss of which money cannot make 
 good. 
 
 "We are confident, also, that the planting of trees 
 where there is now a scarcity of them, and even in oth- 
 er places, would be one of the most profitable expendi- 
 tures of labor in a pecuniary point of view, as well as 
 on other accounts which we have mentioned. We have 
 already abundant evidence that in those western states 
 where timber is scarce, the efforts which have been 
 made to secure the growth of trees have proved among 
 the most profitable undertakings. An intelligent tree-
 
 262 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 planter in Illinois says that pine and larch trees attain 
 a height of thirty to thirty-five feet, with a diameter of 
 eight to twelve inches at the collar, in twelve years. 
 One square yard to each would admit of 4840 trees on 
 an acre. He proposes to plant in rows, every fourth 
 tree pine, the remainder larches. He w r onld cut out 
 2400 larches at the end of seven years, 1200 more at 
 the end of fourteen years, 600 at the end of twenty-one 
 years, and the remainder at the end of thirty years, 
 leaving 300 pines twelve feet apart each way. He fig- 
 ures the yield as follows : 
 
 2400 trees fit for grape-stakes at 5 cents $120 
 
 1200 " fit for fence-posts (4000 at 25 cents).. 1000 
 
 600 " at $3 1800 
 
 300 " at $20 6000 
 
 Product in thirty years $8920 
 
 Making allowance for any seeming extravagance in 
 estimates here, enough would remain to show a good 
 profit on the value of the land and the labor expended. 
 The whole subject, we repeat, deserves careful con- 
 sideration. It especially deserves the attention of our 
 agricultural societies and of the state and national gov- 
 ernments. There are experiments to be tried which 
 necessarily reach through a long course of years. Few 
 individuals have patience for these. Few have the 
 knowledge to make experiments most successful. There 
 are encouraging evidences that increasing attention is 
 given to this subject. Already there is a forestry as- 
 sociation organized in Minnesota, and another in Ohio.
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 263 
 
 Many of our agricultural societies are also giving spe- 
 cial consideration to the preservation or the establish- 
 ment of forests. The Massachusetts Society for the 
 Promotion of Agriculture has given its attention to the 
 subject of tree-planting. It has offered prizes for the 
 planting and cultivation of forest trees ; and in connec- 
 tion with the offer has published a pamphlet, from the 
 pen of its secretary, Professor C. S. Sargent, Director of 
 the Botanic Garden and Arboretum of Harvard Uni- 
 versity, in which is condensed a great deal of informa- 
 tion as to the value and qualities of different trees and 
 the best method of planting them, as well as many facts 
 in regard to the influence of forests upon the climate 
 and productiveness of a country. The society offers 
 $1000 for the best plantation of the European larch or 
 the Scotch or the Corsican pine of not less than five 
 acres ; $600 for the next best, and $400 for the third 
 best. It also offers $600 for the best plantation of 
 American white ash of not less than five acres, and 
 $400 for the next best. The awards are to be made 
 ten years after the planting of the trees. 
 
 The society recommends very highly the European 
 larch and the Scotch pine. These trees are now plant- 
 ed so extensively in Europe that they are propagated 
 in immense quantities and furnished at low rates. 
 Plants of the Scotch pine, one foot in height, can be 
 imported and delivered in any part of Massachusetts 
 for from fifty to sixty dollars the ten thousand. They 
 can be procured also at about the same rate from Doug-
 
 264 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 las and Sons, of Waukegan, 111., who have been engaged 
 for many years in raising and planting forest trees. 
 This pine is a rapid grower and very hardy, growing 
 where the white pine will not flourish. Its lightness 
 and stiffness render it superior to any other kind of 
 timber for beams, girders, joists, rafters, and indeed for 
 framing in general. It is largely used for railroad ties, 
 and is the most durable of all pine woods. It will grow 
 on poor soils and in exposed situations, and is especially 
 valuable for the production of screens and wind-breaks 
 about fields and buildings. 
 
 The European larch, a tree quite superior to the 
 American larch, or hackmatack, as it is often called, 
 is beginning to be imported and cultivated in this coun- 
 try, and deserves attention. ~No tree, it is said, is capa- 
 ble of producing so large an amount of such valuable 
 timber in so short a time as this. It is one of the 
 strongest and toughest of woods. Hardly any other 
 bears so well exposure to the trying alternations of wet- 
 ness and dryness. It is preferred in Europe to all other 
 woods for railroad ties. For fencing material we have 
 no wood so durable. It grows readily on poor soil, if 
 only properly drained. Eecently it has been a good 
 deal planted, especially in the West ; and we have some 
 plantations of it in our country where the trees have 
 reached the height of fifty feet, and proved that they 
 can be easily grown in our climate and upon our soil. 
 Twenty-five years or more ago, in the endeavor to es- 
 tablish some profitable cultivation upon the sandy and
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 265 
 
 stony waste -lands of Eastern Massachusetts, several 
 plantations of considerable extent were made, and oth- 
 ers have since been made through the encouragement 
 given by those early experiments. In the year 1846, 
 and during two or three following years, Mr. R. S. Fay 
 planted on his estate near Lynn two hundred thousand 
 imported trees, and as many more raised directly from 
 the seed. Two hundred acres were thus covered. The 
 sites were stony hill-sides, fully exposed to the winds 
 and destitute of any good soil. A variety of trees were 
 planted, but the European larch was principally used. 
 No preparation of the ground was undertaken. The 
 trees were inserted with the spade, and no after-care 
 was given them except to protect them from fire and 
 browsing animals. Twenty-nine years after the trees 
 were planted many of them had reached a height of 
 more than fifty feet with a diameter of twelve inches 
 or more. Seven hundred cords of firewood, meantime, 
 had been cut, besides all the fencing needed for the 
 large estate. Firewood, fence-posts, and railroad ties to 
 the value of thousands of dollars could now also be cut 
 with advantage to the remaining trees. The experi- 
 ment has been abundantly satisfactory to Mr. Fay. 
 Apart from the value of the wood grown, he has by 
 means of his planting converted his land at the outset 
 not worth five dollars an acre into a plantation fit for 
 the production of any crop whenever the forest is re- 
 moved. 
 
 Similar experiments have been made on various por- 
 S
 
 266 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 tions of the sterile and exposed soil of Cape Cod, abun- 
 dantly proving that the Scotch pine and the European 
 larch especially may be successfully established on the 
 poorest soils and in the most unfavorable situations to 
 be found in our country. The results are conclusive in 
 regard to the feasibility and profitableness of covering 
 many of our rocky hill-sides and waste or worn-out lands 
 with a growth of timber. It is estimated that eight 
 million dollars might be added annually to the net ag- 
 ricultural product of Massachusetts alone by replanting 
 only a small portion of its poorest lands with trees, for 
 trees will grow where no other crop can be cultivated. 
 Not only may we plant with the larch and the pine, but 
 with other woods also more valuable than these for 
 some purposes. It will be easy to cultivate in this way 
 the butternut, the black walnut, and the ash already 
 so much used not only for the manufacture of cabinet- 
 work, but coming all the while into more extensive use 
 for the interior finish of dwellings. To these may be 
 added the hickories, the beech, the birches, the common 
 wild-cherry, and the tulip or white-wood, all capable of 
 being used for so many purposes. The ailanthus, also, 
 once so fashionable as an ornamental tree, but now gone 
 out of cultivation because of the unpleasant odor of its 
 blossoms, is found to be one of the most valuable tim- 
 ber trees, being exceedingly durable, while it has a 
 beaut} r of grain and texture which fit it eminently for 
 use in cabinet-work and for the finish of houses. 
 
 Nor is there any danger that the supply of these and
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 267 
 
 other woods will outrun the demand for them and 
 make their cultivation less profitable in the future than 
 it is now. The development of the various arts among 
 us is constantly increasing the demand for the different 
 kinds of wood to be made into articles of utility and 
 convenience, as well as those which are merely tasteful 
 and ornamental. The natural increase of population 
 calls continually for an increased amount of wood for 
 the ordinary purposes of life for fuel and for the uses 
 of building. And then there is a constantly increasing 
 demand for our lumber, soft and hard, for export to 
 other countries. Many of our woods are unknown in 
 the forests of Europe, and are much sought for as a de- 
 sirable addition to those which grow there. The hick- 
 ories are not natives there. The white ash is also un- 
 equalled for many purposes by any European tree, and 
 it is likely to be in great demand both at home and 
 abroad. There is a rapidly increasing export trade of 
 ash lumber to Europe, Australia, and the Pacific coast. 
 No other wood equals it in toughness and elasticity. 
 It is therefore specially valuable for the construction 
 of carriages, for the handles of shovels, hoes, spades, 
 rakes, and other hand implements. It is preferred to 
 all other woods for the manufacture of oars. It is also 
 coming into extensive use for furniture and the interior 
 finish of houses. As an ornamental tree for shade and 
 roadside planting, few trees excel the ash. There is 
 abundant reason, therefore, to think that the planting 
 and cultivation of this and many other of our trees will
 
 268 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 for a long time to come prove to be one of our most 
 profitable employments. 
 
 The Massachusetts Society for Promoting Agriculture, in offering 
 prizes for the cultivation of trees on a large scale, gives also- some gen- 
 eral directions in regard to the planting of trees. These directions, com- 
 ing from such a source, may of themselves stimulate some to engage in 
 the work of tree-planting, and so we give them here. For larch and pine 
 trees, it recommends that when the nature of the soil will permit, shallow 
 furrows four feet apart should be run one way across the field to be plant- 
 ed (this is best done during the autumn previous to planting) ; then by 
 planting in the furrows and inserting the plants four feet apart in the rows, 
 the whole land will be covered with plants standing four feet apart each 
 way. Planted at this distance, 2720 plants will be required to the acre. 
 On hilly and rocky land, which is especially recommended for the cultiva- 
 tion of the European larch, and where it is impossible to run furrows, it 
 will be only necessary to open with a spade holes large enough to admit the 
 roots of the plants, care being taken to set them as near four feet apart 
 each way as the nature of the ground will admit. In very exposed situa- 
 tions on the sea-coast, it is recommended to plant as many as 5000 trees 
 to the acre, the plants being inserted more thickly on the outsides of the 
 plantations in order that the young trees may furnish shelter to each other. 
 
 It is imperative to plant the larch as early in the season as the ground 
 can be worked. No other tree begins to grow so early ; and if the opera- 
 tion of transplanting it is delayed until the new shoots have pushed, it is 
 generally followed by the destruction of the plant. 
 
 The Scotch and Corsican pines can be planted up to the 1st of May. 
 
 Land in condition to grow corn or an average hay-crop is suited to 
 produce a profitable crop of white ash. Deep, moist land, rather than 
 that which is light and gravelly, should be selected for this tree. The 
 land should be ploughed, harrowed, and made as mellow as possible dur- 
 ing the autumn previous, that the trees may be planted as soon as the 
 ground can be worked in the spring. 
 
 As soon as the frost is out, mark out the field with furrows four feet 
 apart, and insert the trees two feet apart in the rows. This will give 
 5445 plants to the acre, which, at the end of ten years, must be thinned 
 one half. These thinnings are valuable for barrel-hoops, etc. 
 
 It is recommended to cultivate between the rows for two or three years, 
 to keep down the weeds and prevent the soil from baking.
 
 PRESERVATION OF WOODLANDS. 269 
 
 General Directions for Tree-planting. Be careful not to expose the 
 roots of trees to the wind and sun more than is necessary during the op- 
 eration of transplanting. More failures in tree-planting arise from care- 
 lessness in this particular than from any other cause. 
 
 To prevent this, carry the trees to tlie field to be planted in bundles cov- 
 ered with mats; lay them down and cover the roots with wet loam, and 
 only remove them from the bundles as they are actually required for 
 planting. 
 
 In planting, the roots should be carefully spread out and the soil work- 
 ed among them with the hand. 
 
 When the roots are covered, press the earth firmly about the plant with 
 the foot. 
 
 Insert the plant to the depth at which it stood before being trans- 
 planted. 
 
 Select, if possible, for tree-planting, a cloudy or a rainy day. It is bet- 
 ter to plant after the middle of the day than before it. 
 
 All young plantations must be protected from cattle and other browsing 
 animals the greatest enemies, next to man, to young trees and the spread 
 of forest growth.
 
 270 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SCHOOLS AND SCHOOL-HOUSES. 
 
 " Yet on her rocks, and on her sands, 
 And wintry hills, the school-house stands ; 
 And what her rugged soil denies, 
 The harvest of the mind supplies. 
 
 "The riches of the Commonwealth 
 Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health ; 
 And more to her than gold or grain 
 The cunning hand and cultured brain. 
 
 "For well she keeps her ancient stock, 
 The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Rock ; 
 And still maintains, with milder laws 
 And clearer light, the Good Old Cause! 
 
 "Nor heeds the sceptic's puny hand, 
 While near her school the church-spire stands; 
 Nor fears the blinded bigot's rule, 
 While near her church-spire stands the school." 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 IF there are any outward symbols of village life, par- 
 ticularly in New England, they are the church and the 
 school-house. From the beginning these have been the 
 most conspicuous structures of our villages. Wherever 
 our people have planted themselves, a building for the 
 purposes of worship and a building for the purposes of 
 education have been among the first things thought of
 
 SCHOOLS AND SCHOOL-HOUSES. 271 
 
 and planned for. And as the tide of population has 
 rolled westward, it has carried with it these tokens of 
 New England life, these signs of its peculiar glory and 
 power. Virtue and knowledge have been the corner- 
 stones of our American life. It was a vital faith in a 
 personal God, in distinction from all mere professions 
 and ritualisms, or external shows of religion, which sep- 
 arated our fathers from their homes in the mother coun- 
 try and brought them to what was then a wilderness ; 
 and it was the conviction that knowledge is the basis 
 of true virtue, as ignorance is the mother of superstition 
 and formalism, which led them to cherish from the first 
 the institutions of learning. And so the school-house 
 ever went up by the side of the church, or " meeting- 
 house," as it was called ; and the minister and the school- 
 master were the highest dignitaries of the community. 
 Those structures deserve to be thought of with venera- 
 tion and thankfulness by every Christian and every pa- 
 triot, in view of the work which has been wrought in 
 them and the great benefit which they have been to the 
 country and the world. What influences have gone 
 forth from those, as they seem to us, very humble and 
 inartistic buildings ! What characters have been nurt- 
 ured in them ! What safeguards have they been to the 
 nation against the blandishments of a sensuous and cor- 
 rupted civilization and the seductiveness of religious 
 formalism ! It was needful, doubtless, and altogether 
 best, that our foundations should be laid deep and strong 
 by those who, in their reaction from the corruptions
 
 272 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 which prevailed in the mother -country two centuries 
 and a half ago, became cast in the stiff, stern mould of 
 a puritanism which thought little of external graces, 
 whether in habit or habitation, but made the inward 
 spirit and life everything. We should not have grown 
 to our present stature as a nation, we should not have 
 held the high place we do among the nations, if our 
 beginnings had been shaped by a less rigid spirit. 
 
 The old village church, a square, uncouth structure 
 a " meeting-house," rightly called, or place where the 
 people might meet together and having little in itself 
 that was particularly suggestive of worship or religious 
 use, was commonly perched upon the top of the highest 
 hill, where it could be seen from afar, there to wrestle 
 with all the winds and storms of heaven. Thither the 
 people climbed, with almost equal difficulty, w r hether in 
 winter or summer. But in those tempest-beaten struct- 
 ures on the hill-tops they learned to battle also with the 
 tempests raging in the soul, and, by the struggle, to grow 
 strong; and they carried down into the work of daily 
 life a new sense of the invisible and the spiritual which 
 went with them in all their occupations, and made life 
 noble, if it was somewhat stern in aspect. 
 
 The school -house was another "meeting-house," 
 though for a different purpose. And yet the school 
 was almost a church the children's church ; for the 
 New Testament and the catechism were the chief, if 
 not the only, reading-books of that day. The Sabbath- 
 school had not yet come with its abundant religious in-
 
 SCHOOLS AND SCHOOL-HOUSES. 273 
 
 struction, and it was regarded as one of the well-under- 
 stood duties of the parish minister to be a regular vis- 
 itor at the school -house and, as a superintendent of 
 schools by a divine right almost, there to exercise his 
 function at his will. 
 
 The school-houses were plain structures indeed. They 
 were planted here and there with no regard to beauty 
 in themselves or their surroundings. Equality of rights 
 demanded that they should be as nearly as possible equi- 
 distant from all who were to have the benefit of them. 
 If this carried them into some swamp or upon some 
 bleak hill-side, it mattered not. There was little thought 
 of comfort or pleasure in connection with school, either 
 on the part of parents or children. Duty and drill were 
 the two simple factors in the scheme of education. The 
 softer side of human nature was little touched. The 
 amenities of life were seldom considered. The feelings 
 and tastes were hardly recognized as having existence, 
 and, of course, were rarely appealed to. Surrounded by 
 natural objects full of beauty and interest, the world 
 ready to pour its treasures of knowledge into their 
 minds, the children, nevertheless, hardly knew the word 
 "nature." But the "three R's" taught in those rude 
 school - houses taught, however imperfectly have 
 wrought for us as a nation what is beyond estimate. 
 We may almost say they have made the nation. 
 
 All honor to them for what they have done. But 
 the village school-house and the village school of to-day 
 are not so far in advance of those of the early times as
 
 274 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 they should be. Our dwelling-houses have begun to 
 assume the look of taste and adaptation to family char- 
 acter. The old square structure, with its one huge chim- 
 ney rising from the middle of its roof, its clapboarded 
 sides painted red, or not painted at all, has given place 
 not unfrequently to something more comely and con- 
 venient, and all its surroundings often show the marks 
 of taste and thoughtful consideration. But our school- 
 houses are too often but slight improvements upon 
 those of primitive times. It hardly seems possible, 
 when one thinks seriously of the subject of education, 
 that the people of our villages should be content with 
 the structures which so commonly meet the eye, and in 
 which is wrought a work in comparison with which if 
 it is what it purports to be all the w r ork of farm and 
 store and workshop is as nothing. It is a shame that 
 we should permit the work of education to be carried 
 on in such places as many of our school-houses are. 
 The work of moulding the human mind, of drawing 
 out its subtle powers and developing them to their full 
 stature and wondrous beauty ; the culture of the finer 
 tastes and delicate sensibilities of our nature ; the forma- 
 tion of character this is the noblest work that can be 
 done, can be thought of. What should be the place in 
 which it is wrought? What its fittings -up and sur- 
 roundings? If we are ready to fashion our factories 
 and machine-shops with comeliness of proportion, and 
 even to put upon them often not a little of adornment, 
 if we are willing to expend freely upon these both
 
 SCHOOLS AND SCHOOL-HOUSES. 275 
 
 money and taste, what should be the character of the 
 buildings where the work of education is carried on ? 
 Should they not be very palaces of beauty? Should 
 they not be the architectural gems of our villages, the 
 very crystallizations of our utmost care and taste? 
 Should they not be made attractive and adapted to 
 their purpose by every appropriate comfort and con- 
 venience ? A moment's thought would seem enough to 
 answer these questions in the affirmative. And in our 
 cities and larger towns the school-houses have begun to 
 assume their rightful prominence and character. They 
 take their places among the structures which have some 
 architectural merit. They are arranged within w r ith 
 some sense of fitness and adaptation to the work to be 
 done in them. Here and there also in our villages the 
 same is true. But in too many of them the case is 
 quite different. In how many places, even such as have 
 some pre-eminence on the score of taste and enterprise, 
 may you still find the "old red school-house" of half a 
 century ago ! It is a low, oblong box of a building, 
 which in its plan had no reference to proportion, and 
 very little to comfort. It was designed simply to fur- 
 nish space enough for a certain number of persons, and 
 its dimensions were fixed as would be those of a barn 
 designed to contain so many cattle, only probably com- 
 fort and convenience would be likely to be considered 
 more in the latter case than in the former. Rude seats 
 and desks have insured constant uneasiness and offered 
 irresistible temptations to the jack-knives of the boys.
 
 276 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 Then, moreover, this architectural nondescript has been 
 daubed with a hideous red pigment, out of harmony in 
 color with every object 'near it, having the sole merit 
 of cheapness the cheapness which has been aimed at 
 throughout. And now, to crown all, cheapness has de- 
 cided that this most important structure in the whole 
 town shall be placed on some vacant bit of ground left 
 at the meeting of two or three cross-roads, or, if land 
 has been purchased, it has probably been just enough to 
 be covered by the building itself, leaving no room for 
 playground but the public highway, and no opportunity 
 to make the surroundings of the school-house in any 
 way pleasant or attractive. If now we add that there 
 is no place for the storing of fuel, but that through the 
 long four or six months of winter the pupils are de- 
 pendent upon the comfort which they can get from a 
 pile of green or refuse wood, dumped upon the ground 
 and exposed to storms of rain and snow, so that a large 
 part of the school-hours are lost to study ; and then if 
 we say that there is an almost total absence of black- 
 
 ft 
 
 boards, maps, globes, dictionaries, and other apparatus, 
 we shall have described in a general way the too prev- 
 alent village school-house. 
 
 And the teaching is often as far behind the real de- 
 mands of the time as is the school-house. In the primi- 
 tive and colonial days, the teachers of the schools were 
 the best to be obtained. The position of school-teacher 
 was honorable, and the best which the time afforded 
 were placed in this office. Now, with the many other
 
 SCHOOLS AND SCHOOL-HOUSES. 277 
 
 occupations which are open to the enterprising and the 
 qualified, and the changed condition of society, teachers 
 are often employed on the ground of cheapness or per- 
 sonal favoritism rather than that of competency for the 
 work of instruction. School-teaching is often made a 
 stepping-stone to something else, or is taken up as a 
 convenient and easy way of earning a little money in 
 the cold season of the year, when other kinds of em- 
 ployment are not abundant, or during the years that lie 
 between youth and incipient manhood or womanhood. 
 The teacher's work is seldom regarded on either side as 
 a permanent employment. The people do not look for 
 one who will stay among them for years and carry their 
 children along in a steady and intelligent course of in- 
 struction. The teacher is not encouraged, therefore, to 
 give his whole soul to the one work of teaching, and 
 thereby make himself an accomplished instructor. And 
 so, while there are some schools deserving the name, 
 and some teachers who abundantly honor their calling, 
 too many of both are far from being what they should 
 be. 
 
 It is difficult to decide what to say, and what not to 
 say, when treating a theme like this in a limited com- 
 pass. When one thinks what education properly is the 
 drawing out, e-duco, what is in the young mind, rather 
 than the pouring into it of anything from outside, or 
 the recitation of any number of memorized lessons ; that 
 it is the training and development of the nice percep- 
 tive powers and the cultivation of the finest feelings
 
 278 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 and impulses of the soul ; in short, the culture of the 
 whole man in its germinant state one can hardly keep 
 his patience in view of the work as it is often carried on. 
 All honor to those teachers and superintendents of pub- 
 lic instruction and others, some in almost every com- 
 munity, who are giving themselves with so much ear- 
 nestness, and patience at the same time, to the noble en- 
 deavor to make our schools what they should be. If 
 any deserve our gratitude and thanks, they do. If any 
 are true benefactors of their country and their kind, 
 these are they. In time to come many will think of 
 their work with gratitude, and will bless them for what 
 they have done to make their life happy and useful. 
 Already the fruit of their work is seen. 
 
 But much yet remains to be done for most of our 
 schools, both without and within. The school -house 
 should be a model of taste and architectural beauty, so 
 that it may be itself an instrument for the culture of 
 taste in the children. It should be surrounded with 
 w T ell-arranged and well-kept grounds, and in this respect 
 compare favorably with the best private grounds of the 
 neighborhood. There should be pleasant walks leading 
 up to the school-house and around it, and shady bowers, 
 and borders of beautiful flowers, and climbing vines, and 
 abundant trees, and room enough, besides, for an ample 
 playground in the rear. Can any one say why the 
 whole village or district should not combine to make 
 the place where all their children assemble together to 
 spend a large part of their time, during the most im-
 
 SCHOOLS AND SCHOOL-HOUSES. 279 
 
 pressible period of their lives, more pleasant and beauti- 
 ful than any single dwelling-place among them ? Why 
 should they not lavish upon it their thought and care 
 and money, and adorn it within and without, so that the 
 feet of the children, instead of loitering on the way to 
 school, as is now so often the case, should linger rather 
 as they go from it when the day is ended ? With such 
 surroundings of the place of education as we have sug- 
 gested, how many lessons of the best kind, and touching 
 the most important points of character and culture, 
 might the teacher instil into young minds and hearts 
 when walking with them amid such objects ! Nay, how 
 many such lessons would get into the hearts of the 
 young without any aid of the teacher, infused into them 
 by the silent teachings of the place itself ! The influence 
 would be altogether and unspeakably healthful, shaping 
 the life and character permanently for good. Twenty 
 years or more ago, the proprietors of some of the great 
 factories at Lowell planted the grounds around their 
 mills with shrubs and flowering plants, and trained vines 
 upon the walls. The work-people of the factories were 
 told that these were designed for their gratification, and 
 the only restraint put upon the operatives in regard to 
 them w r as a placard standing up amid the flowers on 
 which were inscribed the words, " Let us grow." And 
 we have it on the testimony of one of the managers 
 that not a flower was plucked except by the one who 
 had the care of the grounds. Shall we do less for our 
 children than for the operatives in our mills ?
 
 280 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 And if children see that such things are designed for 
 their benefit, and thus are made to feel a personal in- 
 terest in them, nothing is more certain than that they 
 will care for them and guard them from injury. How 
 easy, in this way, it would be to bring up our children 
 to cherish and care for all beautiful things, instead of 
 being, as they now too often are, their wanton destroy- 
 ers! 
 
 And then, why should there not be corresponding ed- 
 ucational influences within the school-room also ? Why 
 should not all be beautiful and tasteful there? Why 
 should not pleasant pictures be hung upon the walls as 
 well as the skeleton maps which now are often their only 
 adornment, if adornment they can be called? And 
 now, happily, we have respectable works of art within 
 the reach of the smallest village school. If we cannot 
 command the picture fresh from the painter's easel, we 
 have chromos and engravings and autotypes which may 
 safely be employed in their place, and which are afford- 
 ed very cheaply. Suppose our school committees, or 
 some person, were to offer as a prize for best scholar- 
 ship or best deportment a fine picture, or one of Rogers's 
 admirable groups, only stipulating that the prize, instead 
 of being taken home by the successful competitor, to be 
 hidden away in some spare room, shut up for most of 
 the year, and so its influence lost, should remain in the 
 school-room as the property of the school, to be seen 
 daily, and to be a daily educating force as well as a 
 source of most refined pleasure. If such prizes were to
 
 SCHOOLS AND SCHOOL-HOUSES. 281 
 
 be given from year to year in our schools, how soon 
 would the school-houses become galleries of beauty and 
 taste ! What refining influences would they exert upon 
 our children ! Then, if supplementing these means of 
 culture, the teachers were, once a week perhaps, dur- 
 ing the pleasanter seasons of the year, to shut up the 
 books and the school -room, and take their pupils out 
 into the woods and fields, and cultivate their perceptive 
 powers and their sensibilities by bringing them thus face 
 to face with nature, teaching them to observe and love 
 the living things with which the Creator has stored 
 the world, how much would be gained for the real pur- 
 poses of education ! Is it too much to hope that the day 
 is at hand when we shall see some advancement made 
 in this direction ? 
 
 T
 
 282 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIII. 
 
 THE VILLAGE CHUKCH. 
 
 " The Sabbath-day, the Sabbath-day, 
 
 How softly shines the morn ! 
 How gently from the heathery brae 
 
 The fresh hill-breeze is borne ! 
 Sweetly the village bell doth toll, 
 
 And thus it seems to say, 
 Come rest thee, rest thee, wear}' soul, 
 On God's dear Sabbath-day!" 
 
 BLACKIE. 
 
 IF there is any place which should be peculiarly dear 
 to the people, it would seem to be the village church. 
 It stands as the representative, arid also the instrument, 
 of what is above all other things in value the spiritual 
 welfare of the people. All secular and material inter- 
 ests are of little importance in comparison with this. 
 They are temporary ; this is eternal. The place where 
 the soul and its interests are specially ministered to, 
 the place where the people meet to offer their worship 
 to God and to be instructed in respect to their relations 
 to him, it would seem that they would cherish with ut- 
 most regard, and bestow upon it their most scrupulous 
 care. It would seem that they would be ready and 
 eager to make the place of worship the building which
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 283 
 
 they call " the house of God," and dedicate to him in 
 its structure and position, worthy of its high character 
 and important uses. It might well be supposed that 
 they would bring to it all that their wealth and care 
 could do to make it what it should be, that all the re- 
 sources of the builder's art would be brought into req- 
 uisition, and all the adornments which the best taste 
 and the warmest and most devout feeling could supply 
 would be lavished upon it. It might be expected that 
 the most beautiful and commanding spot would be se- 
 lected for its site, so that the worshipper, as often as he 
 might go up to the place or catch the sight of it from a 
 distance, would be moved to exclaim with the Psalmist, 
 " Beautiful for situation is Mount Zion." 
 
 One would naturally expect, also, that when the doors 
 of such a place were thrown open at the appointed 
 times of worship, it would be thronged by old and 
 young, all classes and conditions, ready to pour forth 
 their grateful offerings of prayer and praise to the 
 Sustainer of their daily life and the Source of their 
 hope of life eternal. It would seem that here they 
 would gather with joy and gladness, and that all the 
 services would be engaged in with manifest heartiness 
 and delight. 
 
 In some instances these expectations are realized in a 
 good measure ; often, however, the case is far otherwise. 
 The ordinary village church is distinguished from the 
 mass of buildings around it chiefly by its larger dimen- 
 sions and a certain conventional structure or appendage
 
 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 rising from its roof and commonly called a steeple. It 
 is usually constructed of wood, and with its clap-board 
 sides, pierced with two or three times as many windows 
 as are at all needful, it has a thin, frail look, as though 
 the whole thing was meant for only temporary use and 
 was expected soon to pass away. It is built with little 
 regard to proportion or any beauty of form, and is fre- 
 quently a positively unsightly object. Then, to make 
 the matter worse, it is very likely to be coated with 
 glaring white paint, out of harmony, of course, with all 
 objects near it, unless it be the neighboring houses, 
 which probably have the same chalky, dazzling hue. 
 
 The building, thus flimsy and disproportioned, and 
 staring in its ugliness, is perhaps erected on some bare 
 and unprotected hill-top, that it " may be seen of men," 
 or is set down at a junction of roads, or in some other 
 equally unattractive place, like a huge boulder lodged 
 there by chance. Not a tree, it may be, is planted near 
 to shield from sun or storm, or help to give pleasant- 
 ness to the spot. ~No well-kept walks or shaven sward 
 indicates any thoughtful care for the surroundings of 
 the house of God, nor does any adequate enclosure 
 guard them from unwelcome intrusion, but the stray- 
 ing cattle quite likely make their pasture up to the 
 very steps of the sanctuary. 
 
 So much for the outward aspect of the place. And 
 now if one goes within, the appearance is equally unat- 
 tractive. A square box of a room presents itself, with 
 ranges of straight-backed and most uncomfortable pews,
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 285 
 
 having seats too narrow for adults to keep their places 
 upon them with any ease, and too high for half the oc- 
 cupants to touch the floor with their feet. The walls, 
 of course, are cold and cheerless with their white plas- 
 tering, unless they have been fouled with sinoke from 
 leaky stove-pipes, or disfigured by some paper fresco 
 or imitation of marble or granite, which is probably 
 peeled off in spots to make the sham perfectly appar- 
 ent. The honest wood-work of pine, which, left to it- 
 self, would have taken on a richer tone of color from 
 year to year, has had the usual misfortune of falling 
 under the hands of the grainer, to be daubed over in 
 imitation of oak or some more valuable wood, and so, 
 but that the imitation is so poor that no one is de- 
 ceived by it, the house of the God of truth is converted 
 into a glaring falsehood. Dingy carpets, or no carpets 
 at all, cover the floor.' Two lines of black stove-pipe 
 extend from end to end of the room, a disfigurement at 
 the best, and dripping their dark creosote stains upon 
 walls and floors. The light pours in from the unshield- 
 ed and too numerous windows in such profusion as to 
 be oppressive, or streams in crosswise through the inter- 
 stices of the half-open shutters like a thousand Lillipu- 
 tian darts, no one of which, by itself, might be of seri- 
 ous effect, but in the combination producing a general 
 uneasiness and discomfort only the worse because so 
 few discern its real cause. And now if we add the fact 
 that there is so seldom any adequate provision for ven- 
 tilation, and, therefore, during the larger portion of the
 
 286 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 year, when the warmth does not induce the opening of 
 the windows, the people are lulled into somnolence or 
 something worse by the vitiated atmosphere breathed 
 over and over, the average house of worship is seen to 
 be as unattractive within as it is without. 
 
 If we turn, now, from the character of the place, and 
 consider the character of what is done in it, what will 
 be the conclusion ? The place is called, of course, a 
 house of worship. But how much of worship is there 
 in the place, or is there really expected to be? What 
 incentives or helps to worship do the attendants find ? 
 There is certainly little in the aspect or furnishing of 
 the place to excite devotional feelings, little to suggest 
 the thought of the Divine Presence, or that the place is 
 designed for any use special and peculiar. The people 
 assembled, they find a rostrum at one end of the build- 
 ing, at which the clergyman officiates in the offering of 
 prayer, acting simply as the mouthpiece of the assem- 
 bly, they being expected to make the prayer each one 
 his own by a mental and hearty adoption of the uttered 
 words. But, as a matter of fact, half the assembly at 
 least will often be found paying no attention to this 
 part of the service. Their heads are not even lowered 
 in outward token of devotion ; their eyes are in the 
 ends of the earth, or studying the fashion of the dress 
 in the next pew ; their thoughts are upon their busi- 
 ness or pleasure. 
 
 Praise is a part of divine worship. It is an eminent- 
 ly fit expression of soul for every human being. But,
 
 THE VILLAGE CHLKCH. 287 
 
 iiistead of being the united and accordant act of the 
 whole assembly, this is usually left to a company as far 
 removed as possible from the minister, perched up in a 
 loft by themselves, behind the congregation, and allow- 
 ed, for the most part, to perform what musical or non- 
 musical pranks and outrages they please in the name 
 of worship. And so we have quartet choirs in our 
 village churches, and solos and operatic airs, and at- 
 tempts at musical effect which result only in musical 
 failure, and too frequently dissipate devotional feeling 
 and give us third-rate Sunday concerts in place of 
 honest aids to worship. One of the worst things 
 about it is also that good, sensible, and pious people 
 are deceived into the belief that this sort of tiling is 
 worship or a part of worship, instead of being only a 
 desecration of the place and name of worship. 
 
 Nearly all that is left, therefore, is the sermon, and 
 whatever there is of worship must be found in the de- 
 vout feeling involved in listening to the exposition of 
 the divine word, or that which is aroused by its ex- 
 hibition. The preaching of the word has been the 
 distinguishing feature of our religious services from 
 the beginning. Our forefathers made it so, in the 
 natural reaction from the faults and defects of the 
 establishment in England ; and it has since held a dis- 
 proportionate place, perhaps, as compared with other 
 acts of worship. The people have gone to hear ser- 
 mons rather than to pour out their hearts to God in de- 
 vout confession, supplication, and thanksgiving. The
 
 288 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 intellect has been fed or gratified at the expense of 
 the heart, and our religion has been made overmuch 
 an intellectual matter. The people have come to the 
 church to be entertained rather than to worship. They 
 have been drawn thither by the intellectual attraction 
 of the preacher rather than by their sense of duty to 
 God or the impulses of devout feeling. This has been 
 demoralizing both to minister and people. The former, 
 feeling that he could keep his place only by his ora- 
 torical attractions, has often been led to convert his pul- 
 pit into a platform for ministerial mountebaukism, and 
 the people have too frequently encouraged this by re- 
 warding it with the largest salaries and the most pro- 
 fuse reports in the daily newspapers. This evil is not 
 confined to our city congregations. It has infected, 
 more or less, many of the country churches. More and 
 more they are seeking for the sensational style in their 
 ministers. They want a metropolitan star in their 
 pulpit, and sobriety, fidelity, and even piety are at a 
 discount. "He don't fill the bill," is the business- 
 like judgment of some country tradesman or little 
 politician who has occasionally spent a Sunday in New 
 York, when the minister does not convert his church 
 into a lyceum or a theatre, and pander to the love of 
 novelty and excitement. And if he " don't fill the 
 bill," the minister must understand that, as they say 
 at Washington, " his resignation will be acceptable," 
 though he were a John or a Paul. Such is the de- 
 moralized condition of our churches at this day, so
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 289 
 
 loose our ideas and practice in regard to the relation 
 of ministers and people, that it is in the power of two 
 or three dissatisfied persons so to disturb the tranquilli- 
 ty of a parish as to effect the dismission of a minister 
 at any time. The relation of a pastor to his flock is 
 of the loosest character. A system of terrorism widely 
 prevails. A minister's peace and continued usefulness, 
 and the quiet and comfort of the parish, are at the 
 mercy of any meddlesome and opinionated tinker or 
 garrulous old woman, whether of one sex or the other. 
 The minority governs rather than the majority. The 
 result of all this is that the clergy of all denominations 
 have become itinerant, like the Methodists. Three 
 years is about the average length of pastorates, whether 
 in one denomination or another, and our parishes are 
 much of the time in an unsettled state. The relation 
 of the pastor to the parisli has been reduced, in many 
 parishes, to one of an almost purely commercial char- 
 acter. The minister has become a hireling, and, what- 
 ever may be the religious considerations avowed or the 
 religious forms made use of, he is really engaged and 
 dismissed on grounds of the same moral quality as 
 those which govern the engagement of Bridget in the 
 kitchen or Patrick on the farm. If he can fill the pews 
 and thereby raise his own salary at the smallest cost 
 to the individual pew-holder, it is well ; otherwise the 
 conclusion is inevitable that " his usefulness is at an 
 end." 
 
 And now, having drawn this picture of what is too
 
 290 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 often seen, let us sketch a different one, whick is some- 
 times realized, and might be more frequently than it is. 
 In the centre of the village, or on some choice spot of 
 ground near by and accessible to all not upon a bleak 
 hill-top, but upon some sheltered slope, nor thrust out 
 upon the dust or noise of the highway, but withdrawn 
 from it upon its own enclosure with the modesty and 
 partial seclusion which befit the religious feeling 
 stands the village church. With a proper sense of 
 the abiding need of the Gospel, and its sufficiency for 
 the wants of any community to the end of time, it 
 is built of enduring stone, which very likely was 
 found upon the spot or near by, and not of perish- 
 able w r ood. ~No attempt has been made to erect a Gre- 
 cian temple in miniature, or a Gothic cathedral in lath 
 and plaster, or a structure modelled after any of the 
 five orders of architecture. No burdensome outlay of 
 expense has been made in the nice hewing or carving 
 of the stone. It is laid up in the rough, as it came 
 from its native bed, except perhaps the jambs of doors 
 and windows, which are smoothly cut. But the work 
 is done with honest and conscientious fidelity. A 
 pleasing effect is sought, not from elaborate ornament 
 and useless appendages, but from a harmonious dispo- 
 sition of parts and a just proportion reigning through- 
 out the structure. The building is not piled high in 
 the air, having a stilted and unstable look ; it is not in 
 the cubical dry-goods-box form, and so ranking with 
 the stores and work-shops around, and having an equal-
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 291 
 
 ly secular look. But the walls are low and the requi- 
 site elevation within is gained by a somewhat sharp 
 pitch of the roof, which, while it secures protection 
 from the beating storms, also forms a proper grada- 
 tion of line for the modest steeple or spire, which ap- 
 pears naturally to spring from it. The whole structure 
 thus seems to rise out of the ground and lift itself up, 
 as spontaneously as the trees around it, towards the 
 heavens. It is the fit symbol of religion, having its 
 foundations upon the earth, man's dwelling-place, amid 
 his sins and wants ; its altar where he may reach it and 
 cling to it while he prays ; its spire ever pointing him 
 towards the source of his hope and help, and the home 
 of his redeemed, regenerated, and glorified life. 
 
 Along the rough walls, which offer a ready holding- 
 place for their fingers, and over the slated roof which 
 suggests no fear of decay on account of their presence, 
 climb the graceful vines, which, in fitting harmony, 
 symbolize the Great Head of the Church, the True 
 Vine, and shed over this simple house of worship a 
 beauty which no chisel of the most cunning workman 
 could ever have given it. And there it stands amid 
 the embowering trees, as lovely as themselves, an at- 
 tractive object to all eyes. 
 
 Going within, all is found in harmony with the ex- 
 ternal appearance. No great expanse of cubical space 
 above makes one feel lost in vacancy. No stretch of 
 cold white wall and ceiling chills the feeling at the out- 
 set; but the low walls and roof give a homelike and
 
 292 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 household feeling at once. Subdued and pleasing tints 
 of color everywhere meet the eye. The windows are 
 modestly colored, and the light comes in, not in dazzling 
 and distressing streams from unprotected openings, but 
 diffused throughout the building with mellow and rest- 
 ful radiance. The pulpit or reading-desk is not perch- 
 ed high above the people, but is only a step removed 
 from them, and the choir and organ have their appro- 
 priate place by the side of the pulpit. Minister and 
 choir being thus near each other and among the people, 
 the latter recognize the fact that they are leaders in the 
 various acts of worship, and not performers come into 
 church to play their part, whether in oratory or music. 
 Hymns of devout feeling are sung, to the accompani- 
 ment of familiar tunes and the subdued and modest 
 notes of the organ, and the hearts and voices of the 
 whole congregation go out together in grateful praise, 
 mindful of the words of the inspired Psalmist, " Let 
 the people praise thee, O God ; let all the people praise 
 thee." When the invitation to pray is given, the heads 
 of all present are bowed with becoming reverence and 
 propriety ; and no one could doubt that this is a pray- 
 ing assembly. The common sins are confessed, the 
 common wants are uttered, the common pardon is 
 sought, and the common adoration is expressed. The 
 people not only listen to the reading of the Scriptures, 
 but they read them together, old and young uniting 
 their voices in repeating the words of life. 
 
 These acts of worship having been engaged in, not in
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 293 
 
 a hurried, perfunctory, and formal manner, but in full 
 measure and with devout feeling, now comes the office of 
 instruction. This gives occasion for the sermon, which 
 is no display of intellectual gymnastics or strange con- 
 ceits, but a sober and affectionate unfolding of the word 
 of God, and an earnest effort to guide the people in the 
 way of true living. There is no parade of learning, 
 though it is full of the best fruits of learning. There 
 is no lack of strength, but it is strength guided by 
 gentleness and love. Over all and through all there is 
 the blending of sincerity and earnestness, of sweet and 
 affectionate interest in the flock, which the minister, 
 true to the name of pastor, is seeking to lead in green 
 pastures and beside the still waters of salvation. Old 
 and young listen with attention and interest, as to one 
 whom they regard as their guide and friend. The ser- 
 mon ended, a blessing upon the word is asked, a hymn 
 is sung, and with the benediction the congregation go 
 home, not to admire or criticise the preacher, but to 
 ponder his words and try to profit by them, and to 
 feel that the gates of Zion are precious. 
 
 Such is the village church as we sometimes see it, as 
 we might see it almost everywhere if our little sectarian- 
 isms were laid aside and religion had its proper place in 
 our regard. Such a church is indeed the centre, and ap- 
 propriate centre, of the place where it is found. It is the 
 people's home. There they meet together as one fami- 
 ly. It is the strongest bond of social life, the strongest 
 bond and instrument of all that is best and most pre-
 
 294: VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 cious. The longer it stands, the more precious it be- 
 comes. As generation after generation worship within 
 its walls, it gathers new value from many associations. 
 It becomes dear to the children because parents and 
 grandparents have worshipped in it, or have been car- 
 ried out to burial from it with Christian triumph and 
 in hope of a glorious resurrection. As a portion of 
 the villagers go out to dwell in other places from time 
 to time, with the precious memories of the old church 
 of their early days go precious influences also to hold 
 them to rectitude and virtue; and as often as they may 
 return to the place of their nativity, there is no spot, 
 save the parental dwelling, to which they turn with 
 such interest and affection as this. And so the village 
 church stands, the sign and monument of all that is 
 sweetest and dearest and best. Individuals and fami- 
 lies and generations may pass away, but the old church 
 remains, growing more and more dear with the lapse of 
 time, as its walls gather a more mellow and a richer 
 tone of color from the storms and sunshine of each 
 passing year. The people take pleasure in the stones 
 thereof. It speaks to the eye continually of all that is 
 most beautiful and best, and from its altar and pulpit 
 within continually go forth the precious teachings of 
 life and immortality. It is the abiding source of ele- 
 vating, purifying, and ennobling influences which give 
 to village and village life their highest charm.
 
 THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 
 
 " Consider what you have in the smallest chosen library. A company 
 of the wisest and wittiest men that could be picked out of all civil coun- 
 tries, in a thousand years, have set in best order the results of their learn- 
 ing and wisdom. The men themselves were hid and inaccessible, soli- 
 tary, impatient of interruption, fenced by etiquette ; but the thought which 
 they did not uncover to their bosom .friend is here written out in trans- 
 parent words to us, the strangers of another age." EMERSON. 
 
 FROM the first our people have been a reading people 
 a people of books. The early settlers of New Eng- 
 land had a firm conviction of the importance of the 
 knowledge and culture which come from books from 
 communion with educated minds. It was the boast of 
 the early churches of New England that they had schol- 
 ars for their ministers, men who were the masters of 
 the one book that stands above all others, and who were 
 also familiar with the best learning of the times. Many 
 of them were graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, and 
 it was not long after the settlement at Plymouth that 
 the foundations of a university were laid in a new Cam- 
 bridge. The story of the founding of Yale College, 
 taking that name only at a later date in honor of one 
 of its principal benefactors, is also familiar : how a com-
 
 296 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 pany of Connecticut clergymen carne together, moved 
 by the true spirit of scholars, and, bringing their contri- 
 butions from their own libraries, laid them down, declar- 
 ing that they gave those books for the founding of a 
 college. We see with constantly increasing admiration 
 what that seed planted in the early times has brought 
 forth. 
 
 The fathers of our country had a wholesome fear of 
 ignorance, as the mother of superstition and crime. 
 From religious and moral considerations, therefore, they 
 favored schools and books, and the learning and culture 
 which come from them. In the early times, there was 
 a library in the parsonage, if nowhere else. But there 
 were also libraries elsewhere ; and, considering the lim- 
 ited resources of the people at that time, and the dif- 
 ficulty of procuring books, they were quite numerous. 
 The books were apt to be largely of a theological 
 and philosophical character. They were of the solid 
 sort, with not much of light literature among them. 
 But many of our foremost men have been ready to 
 attribute their power and their success in life to the 
 knowledge and training which they gained through the 
 reading of those solid, if somewhat, dry, volumes in the 
 ample old chimney-corner perhaps by the light of a 
 pine -knot which took the place of a candle, the ex- 
 pense of which could not be afforded. 
 
 In these days, when we hear the clang of the print- 
 ing-press in every considerable town, and newspapers 
 are flying around us almost as abundantly as the au-
 
 THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 297 
 
 tumn leaves, it is difficult to realize such a state of 
 things. But too many of the leaves that come from 
 our innumerable presses are as ephemeral and unsub- 
 stantial as those of the trees. While we have books 
 and magazines and newspapers which are worthy of 
 any time and any society, a large part of those in cir- 
 culation are so trashy that it is a waste of time to read 
 them ; while many are so immoral that their reading 
 cannot be otherwise than pernicious. There is danger 
 that both time and character will be wasted by these, 
 for the young, in their ignorance and inexperience, are 
 especially liable to be influenced by the weakest and 
 worst kind of reading. They are peculiarly exposed 
 to harm at a time of life when they are most impress- 
 ible, and .when injury received is likely to be perma- 
 nent. Among the most desirable social and moral in- 
 fluences, therefore, especially in our villages, is that of 
 a good public library, a well-selected collection of books 
 constantly accessible. Hardly anything else can be 
 named which will do so much for our children, which 
 will so train them to proper habits of reading, secure a 
 desirable choice of books, furnish them with valuable 
 knowledge for all the purposes, of life, cultivate the 
 taste, and at the same time supply sources of most 
 pleasant and healthful entertainment. 
 
 School libraries are very useful, and many of our 
 states have made a wise and ample provision for them. 
 Their establishment deserves to be encouraged in every 
 school district of the land. But they are only the be- 
 ll
 
 298 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 ginning or foundation of something better. Their very 
 existence and the work which they do, instead of en- 
 abling us to dispense with a town or village library, 
 make the greater occasion for it. The school library 
 can hardly grow beyond certain narrow limits. When 
 these are reached, if not before, there will be a manifest 
 need of something larger and better. How shall that 
 larger and better library be secured? In establishing 
 a village library, it is essential to success that proper 
 provision be made to insure its continued growth by the 
 constant addition to its shelves of the most desirable 
 books which are published from year to year. If such 
 additions are not made, the library will soon become a 
 dead thing, though it may have books which are among 
 the treasures for all time. It will cease to be attractive, 
 and soon its volumes will be shut away from sight or 
 scattered one by one ; and the library as such, and for 
 the proper uses of a library, will become extinct. Many 
 town and village libraries have thus disappeared 
 enough to discourage, oftentimes, the attempts to found 
 new ones. 
 
 The secret of success in founding a library is to give 
 it a good start. The aim, therefore, should be to secure 
 as large a fund as possible before any purchase of books 
 is made. A library, to insure that it will be properly 
 taken care of and its growth secured, needs to be so 
 large at the outset as to make upon the people on whom 
 it is to depend for its support and growth the impres- 
 sion that it is worth caring for and deserving to have
 
 THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 299 
 
 its growth assured. Many libraries have been started 
 with the right feeling and with a sufficiently good selec- 
 tion of books, but the number of volumes has been so 
 small as to be hardly noticed except by a few greedy 
 lovers of books. The number of books being thus 
 small, they have not seemed of sufficient importance 
 to insure a place of keeping by themselves, or a libra- 
 rian to take proper care of them. They have had to 
 go a-begging for a place of deposit. This has been, per- 
 haps, a corner of the post-office or of the village store, 
 or they have been reluctantly taken in at some farm- 
 house. In either place they have been so hidden from 
 sight as to make little impression on the public, and 
 out of sight they are soon likely to be out of mind; 
 the public soon cease to use them ; no contributions are 
 made for the purpose of adding to their number ; the 
 care becomes simply neglect that is, they are left to 
 take care of themselves. And so the experiment of 
 founding a library ends in failure. 
 
 Jt would be much better, if those who feel the impor- 
 tance of a library in any of our villages cannot secure 
 money enough to start upon a liberal and somewhat im- 
 posing scale at once, that they should fund the subscrip- 
 tions for a few years, until they have accumulated suf- 
 ficiently to make a purchase of books in such number 
 as to insure success. The library had better be in the 
 shape of money than books until there can be books 
 enough to give the library assured life. It is hardly 
 safe to start with fewer than a thousand volumes, and
 
 300 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 two thousand would be better. The moment that such 
 a library is thrown open to the people, it will make a 
 strong impression upon them. Most of the villagers 
 have probably never seen a thousand volumes in one 
 place before. And now, to think that all these are for 
 their use gives them the sense of something valuable 
 as well as the sense of something new. They feel that 
 these books are worth protection. They are moved to 
 make additional contributions, if need be, in order to 
 provide the requisite place for their safe-keeping. They 
 feel, too, that some one must be secured to act as libra- 
 rian, to care for the books and promote their circulation. 
 They will be willing to pay for this needed service. 
 The library becomes at once a conspicuous thing in the 
 village; it is the chief thing talked about. Its books 
 are soon found on the tables and shelves of all the vil- 
 lage houses. Young and old are interested, and find 
 something to their taste. A new source of entertain- 
 ment has been brought into the town. There is a new 
 element of interest pervading the community. The 
 evening lamp and the evening fireside have a new 
 charm. Conversation is quickened with new topics of 
 interest, and the whole village life has a new impulse 
 imparted to it. Even those least familar with books, ex- 
 cept, perhaps, those which they have read at school, feel 
 that in the library something noble and dignified has 
 been added to their village possessions, and they point to 
 it with pride. Thus a new educating force is established 
 in the community, supplementing and adding efficiency
 
 THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 301 
 
 to all other educational appliances. The little village 
 is brought into contact with all the best thinking of the 
 world; and the humblest toiler on the roughest farm 
 may be a daily companion of the wisest and most gifted 
 of all ages. Such is the office of books ; such the value 
 of a good library to any community. Its advantages, 
 direct and indirect, are incalculable, and they are within 
 the reach of the smallest of our villages. 
 
 Perhaps a brief sketch of the origin of one of these 
 village libraries, and the mode of managing it, may be 
 a help to the founding of others. In a certain New 
 England town, not many years ago, a few persons, 
 lovers of books, and most of them possessors of re- 
 spectable libraries, became desirous to establish a pub- 
 lic library, that they might enlarge their own range of 
 reading, and have their fellow -townsmen share with 
 them the many benefits of books. While carefully con- 
 sidering the ways and means of starting this important 
 enterprise their own resources being small a liberal- 
 minded person offered to give one thousand dollars for 
 the immediate purchase of books, and another thousand, 
 the interest of which should be appropriated to the an- 
 nual increase of the library, on condition that a thou- 
 sand dollars should be given by others for it, and a 
 suitable building should be provided for its safe-keep- 
 ing. Stimulated by this unexpected aid, the citizens 
 soon subscribed nearly twice the prescribed sum. Con- 
 tributions were welcomed from the poorest, and in the 
 smallest sums; for those who had the matter in hand
 
 302 ' VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 were aiming, from the outset, to get the whole com- 
 munity interested, and they felt that there was no surer 
 way to gain one's interest in the library than by getting 
 a money pledge to it. 
 
 Thus far all went well, and a committee was soon 
 diligently at work in preparing a list of the most de- 
 sirable books for purchase. The only difficulty now in 
 the way was the providing of a suitable building for 
 the library. To secure the money requisite for its pur- 
 chase or erection was not easy after making such liberal 
 subscriptions for books. But, almost before any pledges 
 had been made for this purpose, a lady gave a valuable 
 piece of land for a site, and another generous person 
 offered to erect the building at his own cost. The li- 
 brary was now assured, and there was left for consider- 
 ation only the question of management. How should 
 it be made of widest use and greatest benefit to the vil- 
 lage ? How should be met the expense incident to man- 
 agement, the needful addition of books, and the replace- 
 ment of those which would be all the while wearing 
 out? The interest of the fund of a thousand dollars 
 would not be sufficient. Should a charge be made of a 
 small sum for each book taken ? It was felt that even 
 the charge of a few cents might be enough to pre- 
 vent those not accustomed to books, or who had not a 
 taste for them, from visiting the library and using its 
 books; and it was one of the prime motives for the 
 establishment of the library to reach and benefit just 
 this class of persons. It was resolved, therefore, by the
 
 THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 3Q3 
 
 managers to appeal to the town to recognize the library 
 as an institution for the general benefit, and to make an 
 appropriation from its treasury for its partial support, 
 on condition that the library should be free to all. The 
 appeal was made, and after only a little debate a very 
 liberal appropriation was secured. 
 
 In due time the library building was completed, and 
 thrown open to the public with two thousand well- 
 chosen volumes on its shelves) and a reading-room well 
 supplied with magazines and papers. It was a marked 
 and memorable day in the history of the village. The 
 people felt at once that they had a treasure worth pre- 
 serving. The library became the centre of interest to 
 the community. Its books went by twos and threes to 
 all the village homes, and by favor even over the bor- 
 ders into the adjacent towns. 
 
 It was hardly expected by any, at the outset, that the 
 library would be opened to the public more than once 
 in each week ; but the same spirit which led the found- 
 ers to establish the library with the design of making 
 it useful to the largest extent made them resolve to 
 have it open so constantly, if possible, that there should 
 be no impediment on this score to its fullest and freest 
 use. Accordingly, they determined that it should be 
 opened on every afternoon of the week except Sunday 
 and Monday. It has thus been open, with a lady acting 
 as librarian, at a charge not too great for the funds pro- 
 vided by the town ; and from the beginning it has been 
 cherished by the people with increasing regard. Its
 
 304 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 books have been widely read ; its stores are constantly 
 added to, and its reading-room is the village exchange, 
 where young and old meet daily in the pleasantest and 
 most social way. And so the library has become a bond 
 of union and good feeling to the entire community, and 
 is constantly elevating and improving the tone of so- 
 ciety, and making the place where it is a better place 
 in which to live. 
 
 Such a library may be the adornment and blessing of 
 any of our villages. The secret of success lies, as we 
 have said, in a good start, a vigorous and general effort 
 at the outset, insuring such a number of books as will 
 make the library an object of interest at once and 
 something worth caring for. 
 
 And how many desirable things for the improvement 
 of village life naturally group themselves around such 
 an institution ! how many things to make country life 
 bright and happy ! Such a library will appropriately 
 give origin to reading circles in different portions of the 
 town, where some book will be read aloud and its con- 
 tents be familiarly discussed, thus forming pleasant 
 neighborhood reunions. Debating societies will natu- 
 rally spring up in connection with it. It will fall with- 
 in the province of the managers of such an institution 
 to establish courses of lectures from year to year, and 
 to provide this kind of entertainment and instruction 
 for the people. These may be varied by occasional con- 
 certs, of such a character as will displace the low min- 
 strelsy of travelling troups and noisy vulgar buffoons,
 
 THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 395 
 
 who often find our villages rich harvest-places to them, 
 because nothing better is offered, and the natural yearn- 
 ing for amusement leads the people to such empty 
 performances. A village-library association may very 
 properly establish dramatic entertainments of an unob- 
 jectionable character, and thus minister to one of the 
 strongest instincts of our nature, while affording one of 
 the highest pleasures which man can enjoy. It would 
 not be amiss, either, if, in connection with the library, 
 there were a room where games of skill like chess 
 might be engaged in, and pleasant conversation might 
 be carried on, with accompaniment of coffee, ices, and 
 fruits in their season thus becoming a place of resort 
 which would attract many who otherwise might spend 
 their leisure time in places fraught, more or less, with 
 temptations to evil, or where their companions would 
 not be of a beneficial character. 
 
 The library-room, as was the fact in the case of the 
 library we have mentioned, might also serve as a mu- 
 seum, by gathering along with the books in appropri- 
 ate cases, to preserve them from injury any curiosities, 
 heirlooms, or objects illustrating the history of the vil- 
 lage; portraits of its eminent citizens; specimens of 
 minerals or birds and other animals abounding in the 
 place ; in short, anything of interest, whether to old or 
 young. Every village might thus have its museum. 
 
 In these and other ways, it is easily seen a village 
 library may be the source and centre of many most 
 desirable adjuncts of village life. We must not be
 
 306 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 over-scrupulous about means and methods. A library 
 association in the country may do much that it would 
 shrink from doing in the city. It may fitly do all that 
 a village-improvement society would properly do ; and 
 it can easily do much to remove the dulness which 
 characterizes many of our country places, and to enliven 
 and purify and elevate the tone of life.
 
 WORK AND PLAY. 307 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 WORK AND PLAY. 
 
 " How often have I blest the coming day 
 When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 
 And all the village train, from labor free, 
 Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; 
 While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
 The young contending as the old surveyed ; 
 And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength went round ! 
 And still as each repeated pleasure tired, 
 Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; 
 The dancing pair that simply sought renown 
 By holding out to tire each other down ; 
 The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 
 While secret laughter tittered round the place : 
 The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 
 The matron's glance that would those looks reprove 
 These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, 
 With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please." 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 " Let the world have their May-games, wakes, whitsunals ; their danc- 
 ings and concerts; their puppet-shows, hobby-horses, tabors, bag-|>ipi>~. 
 balls, barley-breaks, and whatever sports and recreations please them be*t, 
 provided they be followed with discretion." BURTON: Anatomy of Mel- 
 ancholy. 
 
 WE are the hardest-worked people in the world. By 
 all our antecedents, by all our history, the people of this 
 country seem to be started in life as under a doom of
 
 308 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 work. Work, with us, takes almost the place of a relig- 
 ion. The alternative, and the only alternative, is com- 
 plete idleness. And so society is broadly divided into 
 two classes those who are all the while toiling and 
 those who are idle. You see everywhere men rush- 
 ing and driving at full speed, ready to run down all 
 opposition and dash over every obstacle to their plans; 
 and, on the other tyand, a class of idlers men with 
 their hands in their pockets or pipes in their mouths, 
 perhaps both, sauntering about with no apparent ob- 
 ject in view, merely living, animated, but as the snails 
 and sloths are animated. 
 
 Those old Puritans, weary of the frivolities of their 
 time and the neglect of all serious and important things, 
 came to think that everything in the nature of sport 
 and play was of the devil. So they denounced it, and 
 for themselves lived lives of austere labor, and left it as 
 a legacy to their posterity. Starting on this side of the 
 Atlantic a new society with this legacy, and having, in 
 addition, the difficulties attendant upon a new settlement 
 in a new world, separated by three thousand miles from 
 all other people, from the first we have been given up 
 to work as the one law of life, as no people before ever 
 were. So ingrained is the feeling with us that life is 
 work, that when we do turn aside from our work, and 
 give ourselves to play, as nature impels us to at times, 
 our play is generally of a laborious sort work again, 
 only under another name. Our sports are not light and 
 graceful, but toilsome. They are not free, but we seem
 
 WORK AND PLAY. 309 
 
 to be under some constraint in them all the while, and 
 as though taking a respite from work under protest. 
 
 Now, this feeling is unnatural. We are, as to this, 
 like insane persons, who think that all the rest of the 
 world are lunatics and they alone are sane. "Work is 
 not the normal condition of life, but rather play. No 
 one likes to work, no one chooses to work, except as he 
 sees this to be the condition or means of a superior end 
 which he seeks. One may, indeed, after long years of 
 toil feel uneasy unless he is engaged in work of some 
 kind. But this is a morbid state of the man. If he had 
 given the play element of his nature proper scope all 
 along the way of life, he would never have come into 
 such a diseased condition. 
 
 If we would see the true state of the case, let us look 
 at children and at all the animal tribes. The child's life 
 is all play, and would continue so but for the necessity 
 which comes to most, after a time, to engage in labor of 
 some sort and to some extent in order to provide for the 
 many needs of civilized life. Work comes to the child, 
 as it does to the cattle, as a necessity. No boy likes to 
 be put to his tasks at school. When he has grown to 
 manhood, his love of knowledge may lead him to find 
 play in an amount of study which was formerly only 
 a drudgery and a task. And- one difficulty with our 
 schemes of education thus far has been that they have 
 not brought the play element into exercise in connection 
 with study as they might have done ; that is, have not 
 made the processes of education such as to interest the
 
 310 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 mind and draw out its impulses and energies in a spon- 
 taneous devotion to knowledge. The Kindergarten sys- 
 tem, on this account, seems the nearest approach we have 
 yet made to a proper educational method. "We want 
 more of education through the senses, as distinguished 
 from that which is merely of the intellect. As says the 
 author of " Rab and his Friends," " the great thing with 
 knowledge and the young is to secure that it shall be 
 their own that it be not merely external to their inner 
 and real self, but shall go in succum et sanguinem and 
 therefore it is that the self-teaching that a baby and a 
 child give themselves remains with them forever it is 
 of their essence ; whereas what is given them ab extra, 
 especially if it be received mechanically, without relish 
 and without any energizing of the entire nature, re- 
 mains pitifully useless and wersh. . . . Now exercise 
 the joy of interest, of origination, of activity, of excite- 
 ment the play of the faculties this is the true life of 
 a boy, not the accumulation of mere words." The nat- 
 ural sciences are full of interest to the young as well as 
 to the old, and the mind finds play as well as work in 
 the study of them. Therefore in our schools, especially 
 those in the countay, there should be taught the ele- 
 ments of botany and of the art of agriculture. If less 
 attention were given to general geography and more to 
 the local geography of the scholar's own town or school 
 district, there would be a great gain upon the system 
 usually pursued. If our teachers had enough of proper 
 knowledge to be able to take their pupils out from time
 
 WORK AND PLAY. 31 1 
 
 to time into the fields and make them conversant first 
 with the geological and mineralogical character of the 
 country immediately around the school-house, and then 
 with the plants and trees, so that the children would 
 feel acquainted with them and be able to recognize them 
 at sight, and be interested in noting their various habits 
 of growth this, as mere mental discipline, would be 
 worth more than to be able to tell all about the capes 
 of Norway or the islands of the Indian Ocean ; while, as 
 the means of engaging the attention and training the 
 observing faculties and making study a pleasure, there 
 would be no room for comparison between the two sys- 
 tems. The study of nature fosters the play element in 
 us, or tends to convert our toil into pleasure, at least to 
 relieve its drudgery and irksomeness. The life of such 
 a man as Agassiz was, in one sense, a life of toil. But 
 how full, also, of happiness ! In what a high, serene at- 
 mosphere he lived ! When invited once to participate 
 in a scheme which promised large pecuniary results, his 
 memorable reply w r as that he had no time to devote to 
 money-making. The pursuit of knowledge for its own 
 sweet sake was his life, and in that pursuit his whole 
 life may be said to have been play. 
 
 The play element will have a larger place in the 
 scheme of country life in proportion as the general in- 
 telligence is increased. In proportion as our villagers 
 refuse to be mere mechanical drudges, to be rated like 
 steam-engines at so many horse-power each, or to plough 
 and plant and reap by the signs of the moon or the tra-
 
 312 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 ditions of their grandfathers, the toil necessary to the 
 pursuit of agriculture will not only be lessened absolute- 
 ly, but the play element will so enter into the most 
 arduous processes as to greatly mitigate their severity. 
 The celebrated John Opie, when asked by some one 
 with what he mixed the colors on his palette, replied, 
 " With brains, sir." So when the farmer mixes more of 
 brains with his work, and does not leave it to be mainly 
 a matter of muscle, the result will not only be larger in 
 a pecuniary point of view, but the whole process by 
 which the result is brought about will itself be more 
 pleasurable. When our farmers take note of the chem- 
 istries involved at every stage of their work, when they 
 are at home in the laws of vegetable growth, when they 
 keep themselves informed of the different constitutions 
 and habits of the plants they cultivate, when they have 
 a cultured eye to watch the thousand curious processes 
 of nature, they can hardly strike a hoe into the ground, 
 or turn a furrow in the field, without finding something 
 that shall so engage attention and touch the feelings as 
 to relieve the drudgery of their work and transform toil 
 into pleasure. 
 
 But, apart from the relief from the irksome pressure 
 of labor afforded by a more intelligent method of labor, 
 and which the more general diffusion of intelligence and 
 culture will everywhere tend to secure, we ought to take 
 care in other ways that we are not brought into bondage 
 to sheer work, and so broken down by it. While we are 
 to work, we ought not to overwork. The greed of gain
 
 WORK AND PLAY. 313 
 
 will push men, and their whole families with them, 
 into a round of slavish toil, under which, if they do not 
 shorten their lives, they dwarf and brutalize them, and 
 sink themselves below their proper nature. " The life 
 is more than meat, and the body than raiment." But 
 how apt we are to lose sight of this ! Man was not de- 
 signed to be forever in bondage to toil for the sake of 
 food and clothing. This is the temporary necessity of 
 what we call h\sfatt. And he ought now to assert his 
 freedom in whatever measure he can. In the midst of 
 his lahors, let him take time for what is highest and best 
 in him. Let him take time for relaxation. The bow, 
 to do its best, must be at times unstrung. Let him not 
 allow his bodily toils to weigh down his manly energies 
 and choke the spontaneity of life, or wear away the 
 freshness of his sensibilities. God has from the first 
 given man his Sabbaths as days of emancipation and 
 types of what all his life is sometime to be days that 
 come week by week to set him free from toil and give 
 him the sweet assurance that he was made for something 
 else than the drudgery of work. But it is his privilege 
 even now to have other days of rest and liberty. And 
 when the demands of labor needful labor even press 
 hardest, let him assert his birthright of freedom, and 
 give his nature times of play. In the busy summer sea- 
 son, when the days are both so busy and so long, let 
 there be care taken against overwork. There is danger 
 at such times that many a boy will have the work of a 
 man put upon him, and so, like a young colt, be broken 
 X
 
 314 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 down before his bones are yet knit into proper firmness. 
 There is danger that work may be put upon or assumed 
 by the man which is beyond the powers of the man ; and 
 the result of a week's overwork may be a hopeless break- 
 down for life. There are a great many more of these 
 early broken-down, crippled, stiff - jointed men on our 
 farms than there ought to be. 
 
 Let there be a fair halt on the farm at mid-day ; and 
 if the sun be unusually hot, let the halt begin earlier 
 and last the longer. Let there be time for the noon 
 meal to be eaten leisurely and after the body has rested 
 a while, as health demands ; and let it be accompanied 
 with the sauce of pleasant conversation, to make it 
 something more than the hasty swallowing of a certain 
 amount of provender by so many greedy animals. Then 
 let the stomachs of men and animals alike have some 
 time to do their work of digestion before going to work 
 again. In the long run this course will be found to pay 
 better, alike in money and comfort and health, than the 
 driving, hurrying course which strews our villages with 
 so many hulks of men worn out before their proper 
 time. 
 
 But guarding against overwork is not enough. Some- 
 thing more is needed and ought to be secured. Once 
 in a while whole days should be taken, if but one at a 
 time, when the harness shall be taken entirely off from 
 man as well as beast, and the time be given up not only 
 to rest, but to play, often the best kind of rest. Let the 
 boys -have their games, in which also the men shall join
 
 WORK AND PLAT. 315 
 
 by looking on, if not themselves active participants. Or 
 let the worker go off upon some excursion to tlie moun- 
 tains or the sea-shore ; or, if that be not practicable, let 
 him go a -fishing, or break up the routine of life by 
 camping out, if for only a single day, by the side of 
 some familiar brook spending the time, if nothing else 
 offers, in catching butterflies. It will do him good. 
 Only let him not be selfish in his play-spell. Let it be 
 a play-spell for the whole family, for all alike need it. 
 The mother and daughters have probably toiled as hard 
 as the father and sons, perhaps harder. And then how 
 good to keep up the family unity and affection by such 
 a commingling in pleasure and recreation ! Re-creation 
 it will be. All will be born, as it were, into a new life. 
 It is a very good thing, also, for whole neighborhoods 
 to go together on these pleasure excursions. We have 
 known such, when perhaps a large tent, with the addi- 
 tion, it may be, of a few lesser ones, has been taken by 
 fifty or sixty of the same village, and pitched by the 
 sea-shore or on some pleasant spot and made their tem- 
 porary house. And they have enjoyed this life all the 
 more because it has allowed them to keep themselves 
 free from the restraining conventionalities which are 
 apt to prevail at places of public resort. We have 
 known, also, companies of old and young, two or three 
 neighboring families, the strong and the feeble together, 
 to go up to some spot op the mountain-side, taking with 
 them blankets and a few simple culinary utensils, and 
 there living in a very simple way for a week or two get-
 
 316 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 ting away thus from the haunts of men, resting, chang- 
 ing the whole current of life, breathing the pure open 
 air highly charged with oxygen, and coming back again 
 after so little time with a new lease of life and memo- 
 ries of delightful scenes, and all the more ready for 
 work again, and for more effective work because of 
 this respite and play-spell. 
 
 There is little danger in our country that we shall 
 play too much. On the contrary, the games which have 
 within a few years been revived among us, or intro- 
 duced for the first time, are to be taken as a promising 
 change in our national habit of life. These and other 
 games and sports are to be encouraged. They may be 
 abused, as every good thing may be and is abused. Let 
 us encourage them, while we guard, as we may, against 
 their misuse. Let us not make our games and sports 
 themselves a labor. There is danger in this direction. 
 It were a good thing and a great gain to us if we had 
 more of the French capacity of mingling work and 
 play, and so of making the most of life. If we would 
 only abate our extravagances of living and cultivate 
 simplicity of taste, half our work would be enough to 
 satisfy our wants, and there would be time enough for 
 enjoyments which now we hardly know. We toil in 
 order to have a time of rest and enjoyment, but we 
 wear ourselves out too often with our toil before the 
 time of rest and enjoyment comes. 
 
 Quite in the line of these suggestions as to the need 
 of more of the play element in our village life, we have
 
 WORK AND PLAY. 31 - 
 
 our agricultural fairs, now so common in the autumnal 
 season. There is nothing in itself more fitting and pleas- 
 ant than this coming together of the dwellers in the 
 country, the old and young, bringing with them speci- 
 mens of their flocks and herds, the fruits of their fields 
 and the products of the housewifely industry within- 
 doors, and then comparing together their methods and 
 experiments, and interchanging pleasant talk and dis- 
 cussion about matters of common interest. It is a most 
 healthful custom, and ought to be encouraged. They 
 might be made pleasanter and better than they are. 
 More of method in their management and a determina- 
 tion to make them interesting to all classes, by making 
 all classes participants in them, would lift them up to 
 a higher position of importance and attractiveness than 
 they now hold. They should not be regarded as occa- 
 sions on which a few competitors meet for the purpose 
 of securing the petty premiums which are offered, but 
 as true festivals for the whole community. All should 
 be invited to contribute something of their work to the 
 attraction of the occasion, and all would find something 
 in it to interest them. The exhibitions connected with 
 these fairs, if any such should be allowed, should be 
 something above fat men or women, or six-legged calves, 
 or monstrous snakes. Nor should horse-races be made 
 the chief attraction. Managed as they might be, these 
 fairs would become true festivals, social and intellectual, 
 and the people of any village be the happier and bet- 
 ter for them.
 
 318 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE 'LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 OUK VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 
 
 "Once more the liberal year laughs out 
 
 O'er richer stores than gems or gold; 
 Once more with harvest-song and shout 
 Is Nature's bloodless triumph told. 
 
 "Our common mother rests and sings, 
 
 Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves ; 
 Her lap is full of goodly things, 
 
 Her brow is bright with autumn leaves. 
 
 *'O favors every year made new! 
 
 O gifts with rain and sunshine sent ! 
 The bounty overruns our due, 
 
 The fulness shames our discontent." 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 IT has been charged that the people of this country, 
 even more than our English relatives across the water, 
 do not favor festivals. A funeral, it is said, is more to 
 their taste, more accordant with their habitual feeling. 
 There is some foundation, perhaps, for such utterances. 
 We are not a festive race. We are certainly not given 
 to hilarity. The springs of our life are not on the sur- 
 face, where they are easily or quickly affected. They 
 lie deep down. We are not emotional, or, if we are, our 
 emotions are rather of the slow and sombre sort. Com-
 
 OUR VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 319 
 
 pared with many other peoples, we do not take readily 
 to festivals or sports. Doubtless it would be better for 
 us if we could vary the heavy tread of life, oftener than 
 we do, with a quickened step. It would be well if we 
 could temper our sobriety and staiduess of feeling with 
 more of what is exhilarating and mirthful cheerful, to 
 say the least. And if we could have something in the 
 nature of festivals ofteuer than we do occasions in 
 which we should be brought together in larger or small- 
 er numbers, and show each other the sunny side of life, 
 give a let-up to plodding care and anxious thought, bring 
 the heart out upon the surface and share a joyous mood 
 together it would be the better for us. Nothing good 
 would suffer from such a course. The wheels of life 
 would run all the more smoothly and pleasantly for it. 
 But, deficient as we may be in festivals and the festive 
 spirit, we have one festival at least which is peculiar to 
 us, and deserves to be cherished with the heartiest zeal 
 and good -will. ''Thanksgiving" is a festival in the 
 truest sense and of the highest type. Peculiar to New 
 England until recently, and born of the deep, devout 
 religious feeling of our Pilgrim fathers, it has been for 
 more than two centuries one of the characteristic feat- 
 ures of New England life. But the tide of emigration, 
 setting so strongly westward in these latter years, has 
 carried this festival into the newer states, though in a 
 somewhat modified spirit ; and some recent experiences 
 in our national history, combined with the sense of its 
 inherent propriety and worth, have finally combined to
 
 320 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 spread it over the land and to make it a national rather 
 than a local festival. 
 
 From the first this has been pre-eminently a family 
 festival, and for this reason it asserts for itself a very 
 high place in our regard ; for the family is the root 
 and central idea both of the State and the Church, of 
 civil and religious, of social and moral life. It is the 
 conservator of all that is good in society. The Anglo- 
 Saxon people hold and cherish the family as hardly any 
 other people do.* This was characteristic of them far 
 back in their German home and on the borders of the 
 ^orth Sea. It was &*& families especially that the first 
 settlers of New England came hither and named their 
 new home after the old one. It was the remembrance 
 of the family homes of old England that led them 
 to do so. And so, likewise, the various settlements 
 made here were settlements by families, and not by in- 
 dividual adventurers. They went out from the original 
 settlements or colonies by families or households. The 
 family was the unit of measurement and valuation in all 
 such movements. They formed new churches when, 
 and only when, they had a sufficient number of families. 
 They established their schools on the same basis. The 
 family or household was the ruling idea throughout. 
 The individual was of little account except as connected 
 with a family. Society was built upon the family, and 
 it was maintained by the family spirit, or with this as 
 
 * Green's "History of the English People."
 
 OUR VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 321 
 
 its chief strength and organ ific power. And so all that 
 is best and dearest to-day we inherit from that family 
 spirit which lay at the very foundation of our civil and 
 religious institutions ; and these institutions will be pre- 
 served, and will be worth preserving, in proportion as 
 the family life is maintained in its purity and proper 
 spirit. 
 
 Our annual Thanksgiving festival has been the ap- 
 propriate symbol of this family spirit from the begin- 
 ning. When our forefathers, as the year came around 
 and the harvest was gathered, were moved by their de- 
 vout feeling to render thanks to the bountiful Giver of 
 all good, they did it by households. They not only 
 went up to the sanctuary to make public recognition of 
 their obligations to God and to give him thanks, but 
 they made it a time of rejoicing by families. It was 
 pre-eminently a family day. Now, if at no other time 
 during the year, the importance of the family was recog- 
 nized ; now, if at no other time, the children were im- 
 pressed with the fact that the little grouping of old and 
 young which was gathered under one roof and had its 
 life around a common fireside was held to be something 
 of special account. Now the father stood as a patriarch 
 at the head of his little realm, and was joyfully recog- 
 nized as such ; now he looked down upon his house- 
 hold with special delight, and as being a special treas- 
 ure. The children who had gone out from home, in 
 the natural arrangement of things, to make new homes 
 for themselves, now, if at no other time in the year,
 
 322 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 came back to the old homestead, and recognized the fact 
 that they and theirs belonged to an older and a higher 
 household. What preparations were made to go and 
 visit the old father and mother at " Thanksgiving time !" 
 What journeyings were undertaken for this purpose ! 
 Fifty, sometimes a hundred, miles, and even more, were 
 traversed on the old roads, and in the old-time wagon, 
 that the expected family reunion might be enjoyed. 
 And what a hearty, blessed time it was ! No expendi- 
 ture, no painstaking for it, was so great but that it was 
 amply repaid. How the old people became young again, 
 as grandfather and grandmother saw the little host of 
 grandchildren filling up their house ! and how rich, too, 
 they felt beyond all the measure of gold and silver ! 
 Those were precious times. How they knit families 
 together and kept alive the family feeling! 
 
 And now, in this "day of roads," when the day's 
 journey is extended, from the fifty miles, at best, of the 
 olden time to fis ? e hundred and even more, the facilities 
 for such reunions are greatly increased, and widely as 
 the children may be scattered, they can come home to 
 the festival more abundantly and more easily than be- 
 fore. Over all the country, but especially in New Eng- 
 land, how the lengthened trains labor for a day or two 
 previous to " Thanksgiving," with their precious freight 
 of sons and daughters hastening to the ancestral homes ! 
 And then, when the festival is over, how the cars are 
 crowded again with the thousands and tens of thousands 
 who have gone to the family feast, and must now go
 
 OUK VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 323 
 
 back to their business again ! Blessed be the railroads 
 that they make such a thing possible ! They are not 
 merely the conveniences of traffic and the highways of 
 trade, but they are also the instruments of civilization 
 and the highways of affection. As the trains dart back 
 and forth over the continent, from city to hamlet, and 
 from hamlet to city again, with their precious freightage, 
 they are so many shuttles of the great loom in which is 
 weaving the fabric of our national unity, stability, and 
 virtue. 
 
 So let the day Thanksgiving-day be cherished and 
 kept as a thing most precious. It is the festival of the 
 heart and the festival of home. Let it take its place 
 with Decoration-day and Independence-day, a day not 
 to be forgotten or left in neglect. No cost of time or 
 money or travel incident to its observance can be too 
 great. Let it be made a pleasant, cheerful day to all. 
 Let it be kept, first of all, as a family day. Let the 
 scattered children hasten home, and let them be called 
 thither, if need be, by a mandate from the gray-haired 
 father and mother in the name and by the authority of 
 home and all which that blessed word implies. Let the 
 reunion be not a matter of convenience or individual in- 
 clination merely, but a thing of principle and duty. Let 
 the children and the children's children come back, and 
 together around the family fireside burnish anew the 
 links in the chain of household affection and interest. 
 Let it be a day of good cheer in every way. Let it be a 
 feast-day in the common understanding of the term. Let
 
 324: VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 the table be spread with the good things which a kind 
 Heavenly Father has provided for his children. But 
 let the occasion be also more than this more than a 
 day of eating and drinking or mere animal pleasure. 
 Let it be a day of delight in one another for one an- 
 other's sake. Let the story of the life of each during 
 another year now gone be told, the varied experiences, 
 the ups and downs, the successes and the disappoint- 
 ments ; and let love be seen to be the heightener of all 
 joys and the balm of every trouble. Let the ties of 
 kindred and family affection be knit afresh ; and, as 
 separation comes again, let each go out stronger for all 
 duties and trials, and with a new anchorage to all virtue. 
 But the festival will not have its proper crown, will 
 not rise to its true and proper character, except as the 
 religious element has its rightful place in it. Our fa- 
 thers were careful on this day to go up to the house 
 of God and give thanks to him for his bountiful gifts 
 and his abundant mercies. They went up by house- 
 holds. They would have been absent from the place 
 of public worship on Sunday as soon as on Thanksgiv- 
 ing-day. And why not ? We have declined from their 
 feeling in this regard at least, from the manifesta- 
 tion of a like feeling. In many cases the thanksgiving 
 seems to be forgotten in the feasting. But if ever peo- 
 ple if ever households as such, old and young togeth- 
 er should be moved to go up to the house of God with 
 joyful and thankful hearts, this would seem to be the 
 time. At this season of ingathering, when barns and
 
 OUR VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 325 
 
 storehouses are filled with the fruits which his dews 
 and rains and sunshine have brought to perfection ; at 
 this season, when households come together, and par- 
 ents and children look into each other's eyes and are 
 reminded that God " hath set men in families," it 
 would seem that the least susceptible and the least de- 
 vout would be ready to go up to the house of God, and 
 gratefully make mention of his loving-kindness. Now, 
 if at no other time, it would seem that the Christian 
 sanctuary would be filled with a throng of grateful wor- 
 shippers. That feast is only half blessed for which 
 thanks have not first been offered to Him whose boun- 
 ty spread the table; and that family union lacks the 
 sweetest savor which has not offered its grateful praise 
 with others in the courts of Him who is the common 
 father of all, and who calls us his children. Let not the 
 careful Marthas allow themselves to be so cumbered with 
 much serving that they cannot sit for an hour at the 
 feet of Christ in the sanctuary, and learn of him a high- 
 er service than that which ministers to material wants. 
 
 And as, at the season of flowers, we are wont to car- 
 ry them into the place of worship, so, at this season of 
 fruits, it is a comely custom in some places, and might 
 be in all, to carry into the house of God the various 
 products of the field and of the husbandman's industry ; 
 and there, in the midst of them all, and with the sight 
 of them to quicken memory and feeling, to lift up the 
 voice in praise to Him who alone giveth the increase, 
 whoever may plant, whoever water. The vision of one
 
 326 VILLAGES AND VILLAGE LIKE. 
 
 such occasion comes back to us now, after the lapse 
 of many years. We see just in front of the pulpit, 
 in the old village church, a large vase heaped to the 
 full with bright-lined apples of various sorts, from the 
 midst of which upspring stalks of grain nodding high 
 their golden heads, while around its base lie heaps of 
 corn and other products of the garden and the field. 
 As the service goes on and the hymns of thanksgiv- 
 ing are sung, we see the eyes of the farmers riveted 
 upon the symbols of their work and the tokens of the 
 divine goodness ; and the sight reacts upon their hearts 
 and gives a stronger and more significant expression to 
 their gratitude as the glistening tear-drops mingle with 
 their praises. 
 
 Thanksgiving-day is pre-eminently the village festi- 
 val. As it had its origin among a rural people, so it 
 seems to belong especially and most appropriately to 
 the open country. The old farm-house, the gentle 
 slope of grass near it, the apple-trees not far off, the 
 spring and the babbling brook so dear to childhood, 
 and the woods, where the sound of dropping nuts in 
 the dreamy October days was so welcome somehow 
 these seem to be the frame in which the Thanksgiving 
 festival has its most appropriate setting. So let it be 
 cherished as the village festival. It should have its 
 place only next to Christmas the great soul-festival 
 of the world". Our village life would lose one of its 
 most impressive scenes, and one of its peculiar charms, 
 if it had not its Thanksgimng-day*
 
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