M PO I
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND 
 HILLSIDE
 
 MACMILLAN S 
 MINIATURE SERIES. 
 
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 Price 25 cents. - Yearly Subscription $2.75. 
 
 I. SHAKESPEARE S ENGLAND. By 
 
 ~ ."ill- n Winter May. 
 
 II. THE RIENDSHIP OF NATURE. By 
 
 M->bel Osgood Wright . . . June. 
 
 III. A T.<IP TO ENGLAND. By Gold- 
 
 win Smith July. 
 
 IV. FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 By William Potts August. 
 
 V. THE PLEASURES OF LIFE. By 
 
 Sir John Lubbock September, 
 
 VI. OLD SHRINES AND IVY. P.y 
 
 William Winter October. 
 
 VII. THE CHOICE OF BOOKS. By 
 
 Frederic Harrison November. 
 
 VIII. GRAY DAYS AND GOLD. By 
 
 William Winter December. 
 
 IX. THE AIMS OF LITERARY STUDY. 
 
 By Hiram Corson, LL.D. . . January. 
 X. THE NOVEL WHAT IT Is. By 
 
 F. Marion Crawford .... February. 
 XI. AMIEL S JOURNAL, Vol. I. Trans 
 lated by Mrs. Humphry Ward. March. 
 XII. AMIEL S JOURNAL, Vol. II. Trans 
 lated by Mrs. Humphry Ward. April. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND 
 HILLSIDE 
 
 NOTES FROM UNDERLEDGE 
 
 flrfo pork 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND LONDON 
 1895 
 
 All rights reserved
 
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 COPTEIGIIT, 1894, 
 BY MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped, January, 1895. 
 Reprinted August, 1895. 
 
 Norfaooti 
 
 J. S. Gushing & Co. Berwick & Smith 
 Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
 
 Can rules or tutors educate 
 The semi-god whom we await? 
 He must be musical, 
 Tremulous, impressional, 
 Alive to gentle influence 
 Of landscape and of sky, 
 And tender to the spirit-touch 
 Of man s or maiden s eye: 
 But, to his native centre fast, 
 Shall into Future fuse the Past, 
 And the world s flowing fates in his 
 own mould recast. 
 
 EMEKSON.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND 
 HILLSIDE. 
 
 I HAVE not spent October in the country 
 for nearly forty years : 
 
 As one who long in populous city pent, 
 Where houses thick and sewers annoy the 
 air, 
 
 I roam among these hills and look out over 
 the valleys with quite indescribable emo 
 tions. 
 
 Tears, idle tears, I know not what they 
 
 mean, 
 
 Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
 Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes, 
 In looking on the happy autumn fields, 
 And thinking of the days that are no more. 
 
 How fortunate it is that some have been 
 gifted with the power of expression, "that 
 the thoughts of many hearts might be re 
 vealed." My friend objects to Sir John 
 
 1! I
 
 2 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 Lubbock s "Pleasures of Life" for the 
 same reason, though not from the same 
 cause, that the old lady objected to Shake 
 speare that it is made up of quotations. 
 Now I wholly disagree with him. This is 
 a work-a-day world, and blessed be the 
 man with the time and happy taste to 
 gather and put before us the choice bits 
 which reveal us to ourselves. 
 
 The late rains of summer after a long 
 drought made the fields and woods so green 
 that the autumn glory has been long in 
 coming, but is now spreading abroad so 
 rapidly that one can scarcely keep pace 
 with it. The fields are still full of flowers. 
 On Sunday afternoon I noticed the follow 
 ing in one old pasture : Golden-rods and 
 asters of various species, blind gentian, 
 grass of Parnassus, thistles, spearmint, a 
 lobelia, yarrow, wild carrot, brunella, fra 
 grant ladies -tresses (which White of Sel- 
 borne calls ladies -traces), life everlasting, 
 purple polygala, thoroughwort, turtle-head, 
 two kinds of knot-weed, wild strawberry, 
 and a yellow flower which I ought to know 
 but do not. On my way crer that morn 
 ing, I found a spot glorious with the fringed 
 gentians, and during to-day s stroll I found 
 them by the hundreds yes, I think, thou-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 3 
 
 sands. I will not toll you where, for I 
 want to keep that spot to myself. 
 
 I have also found the yellow oxalis, but 
 ter- and-eggs, dandelions, oxeyed daisies, 
 cardinal flowers, water-cresses, looking for 
 all the world like sweet alyssum, evening 
 primroses, and others, and yesterday I was 
 surprised to find the witch hazel in full 
 bloom, the yellow leaves still mostly cling 
 ing to the stems, and last year s seed-ves 
 sels only turning brown. This is one of 
 our most plentiful shrubs, and I am fond 
 of its quaint irregularity. The hop horn 
 beam is another of our favourites among the 
 shrubs or small trees, and these are found 
 in company. A less satisfactory neighbour 
 is the venomous swamp sumach, lovely but 
 treacherous. Like the fringed gentians, 
 and fishing, it is not to be found just 
 here, but is all around us, and those who, 
 like myself, are susceptible to its malignant 
 power, must exercise caution in their inter 
 views with it. 
 
 The golden-rods are past their prime, but 
 this cannot be said of the asters, unless 
 their mellow autumn is richer than their 
 summer. The roadsides in some places 
 are purple and in others white with them. 
 
 The chicken grapes hanging upon hedges
 
 4 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 recall the spring fragrance of the blossom 
 ing vines, which vie with the ground-nut 
 (Apios) of later summer in making scented 
 aisles of our pathways. The berries of 
 the bitter-sweet hang in golden clusters, 
 but have not yet opened their hearts to the 
 breeze, and the red hips of the wild roses 
 promise to be with us all winter. Under 
 the trees the berries of the mitchella are 
 scattered thickly on the carpet formed by 
 the round green leaves on the vines. 
 
 Our sounds are the sounds of the late 
 harvest, and this is nearly over. The ripe 
 corn is stacked in the fields, revealing gold 
 en pumpkins galore, with certainty of un 
 ending pies, while here and there a blossom 
 shows that the vigour has not yet all gone 
 out of the vines. The birds are mostly 
 quiet, a catbird, with its noisy note, doing 
 most to attract my attention during my 
 morning walk. We shall see and hear 
 more of the birds, but the cheery songs 
 will only come to us again with the opening 
 spring. 
 
 From my window I can hear the katy 
 did s iteration all day long, that terrible 
 insistence, with the counter denial, which 
 make you feel so sure that, whatever it 
 was that was done or was not done in the
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 5 
 
 long, long past, we never shall know the 
 truth of the story while the world endures. 
 The morning was bright and sunny, and 
 the hills and fields were all aglow. The 
 humming wires along my way sent my 
 memory back over more than forty years 
 to the time when the telegraph, then a com 
 paratively new contrivance, was built along 
 the high road through my father s little 
 farm in Pennsylvania. We youngsters lis 
 tened to the messages going through, as we 
 thought, and wondered that the birds could 
 rest upon the wires with impunity. Per 
 haps this morning the wires were bringing 
 to" this peaceful spot some message of the 
 desolation which has just been wrought in 
 the distant South. But it is not always so 
 peaceful even here. A month ago a great 
 gale passed through and shattered some of 
 our noble trees, and to-day the barometer 
 has been falling, the afternoon has been 
 overcast, and we expect to take our share 
 in the common lot. 
 
 OCTOBER 6, 1893.
 
 6 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE night brought us only light and re 
 freshing showers, though these were accom 
 panied by the ripening leaves, which fell 
 thick and fast, and strewed the ground this 
 morning with a carpet of red and gold. 
 But the sun came out between the clouds 
 with his face washed clean for the holiday, 
 and brought back with him the warmth of 
 summer. As I passed down the village 
 street I had to dodge the horse-chestnuts, 
 which have become ripe enough to fall, and, 
 bursting their burrs as they reach the path, 
 scatter shell and nut on either side. 
 
 (And apropos, as I was writing this I be 
 came conscious of a bombardment in my 
 room at intervals, the cause of which I 
 found in something of the same nature. 
 Yesterday I placed a flowering branch of 
 witch hazel above my piano. The dry air 
 of the room has rapidly matured the last 
 year s fruit, and the shells opening from 
 time to time with a snap, send the seed 
 scurrying across the room to find an un-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 7 
 
 congenial resting place upon the table or 
 floor.) 
 
 This has been a stirring and eventful week 
 with us. Thursday was the opening day at 
 the school, and the girls have been flocking 
 back by ones and twos and threes and dozens, 
 with trunks and bags and bundles, and the 
 old-time lumbering stage and baggage wag 
 ons have been kept employed to the extent 
 of their capacity. And not only the new 
 girls, and those not new are here, but the 
 ancients, the old timers, the girls of the past, 
 who come only on account of old attractions 
 and to meet each other and to see the new 
 girls, are here in force, and have taken pos 
 session of the pleasant inn, and make its 
 low-studded rooms resound with their busy 
 chatter. 
 
 Beauty may indeed be only skin deep, 
 but it warms the cockles of an old man s 
 heart to see the lovely faces, and witness 
 the fulness of life and boundless enthusi 
 asm of these young maids. It may be con 
 fessed that it has a chastening effect upon 
 him of the more muscular sex to see how 
 absolutely independent of any of his kind 
 are all of this body of Amazons. As he 
 takes his accustomed course along the 
 street he shrinks within himself, and mani-
 
 8 FKOM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 tests, quite involuntarily, a half apologetic 
 air for showing himself unasked in such a 
 goodly company. 
 
 I must add to my list of flowers still in 
 bloom the slender gerardia, which I found 
 this afternoon. My stroll took me up over 
 the ledge and through the rocky sumach- 
 covered pasture, where I kicked over now 
 a yellow boletus, and now an Agaricus cam- 
 pestris, much the worse for wear, and won 
 dered when our people would realize that 
 they must know mushrooms as they know 
 turnips before they eat them, and that then 
 they could add very freely to the delicacies 
 upon their tables. 
 
 My way led past our own reservoir, where 
 the varied coloured trees, climbing the hill 
 on the farther side, in the full glow of the 
 westering sun, were reflected in the water, 
 which, all of a tremor with a passing breeze, 
 mingled their shades in a shimmer as of 
 crinkled Venetian glass. How odd it is, by 
 the way, that we continually go to the arti 
 ficial to find a simile for the natural effect 
 which often so far surpasses it ! 
 
 Leaving the crest of Rattlesnake Moun 
 tain oil my left (how necessary it is for 
 these hill towns to have a Rattlesnake Hill 
 or Mountain in the neighbourhood 1 hope
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 9 
 
 only as a survival in culture, an evidence 
 of a past industry), and wandering along 
 the soft, sandy road, I came to a tree where 
 the boys presumably they were boys 
 had been clubbing chestnuts, the prickly 
 burrs of which are now just opening. Of 
 course I picked up a stick and tried my 
 hand in the old way just for a flyer, as it 
 were. And what a flyer it was indeed ! It 
 reminded me of the way my sisters used to 
 do it, only I fear that the infrequency with 
 which the stick hit the tree would have ex 
 cited the derision of even those well-mean 
 ing maidens. The baseball player who 
 would have been able to "get on to my 
 curves," would have shown a miracle of in 
 genuity. The net result of my industry 
 was two chestnuts, not by any means ripe, 
 I am sorry to say, but chestnuts neverthe 
 less in the making. " While I was musing, 
 the fire burned." While I was chestnutting, 
 the sun sank behind the western hills, and 
 I hastened on, hoping soon to find my road 
 bending to the right and emerging into the 
 valley. But alas ! what had been a well- 
 beaten country road with a stone wall on 
 one side, and a fence on the other, gradually 
 changed into a mere open cart track and 
 strayed away into the woods ; first the
 
 10 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 stone wall left me, and then the fence ; 
 instead of turning toward the valley I was 
 gradually tending around the shoulder of 
 the hill, and burying myself deeper and 
 deeper in the woods. "And all the air a 
 solemn stillness held," a silence which 
 seemed no less a silence though it was full 
 of the hum of crickets and other insects. 
 By the way, have you ever lain awake at 
 night, even in the depth of the winter, and 
 found your ears filled with a humming 
 and a rustling, until you wondered whether 
 it would be possible to distinguish any 
 other sound through it all, and then specu 
 lated whether there was really any sound 
 whether it was all the music of the spheres, 
 whether it was external to you, whether it 
 was the rushing of your own life s tide 
 through your blood-vessels, or whether it 
 was after all pure imagination ? 
 
 The damp air of the evening, like the 
 warm sun of midday, brings out the pleas 
 ant smell of the fallen leaves, and their 
 rustle under the feet is agreeable ; but I 
 feared lest I was being caught in a cul-de- 
 sac, or perhaps should be led out into the 
 highway at too many miles distance from 
 home for so late an hour. 1 therefore 
 retraced my steps, and was astonished to
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. II 
 
 find the brightness of the lemon glow in 
 the west, when I emerged from the shad 
 owy aisles of the wood, while on the other 
 side of me the flame-coloured leaves of the 
 sassafras and the light yellow garments of 
 the hickories and birches, relieved against 
 their darker brethren, seemed the fore 
 runners of another day. 
 
 Passing along the road, here and there 
 a warm breath from across the drier grass 
 clove the cool, damp air of the gathering 
 twilight ; the glow on the sky changed 
 from lemon to deep orange, against which 
 the hills rested in nearly black masses ; the 
 glow narrowed, and above it in surprising 
 brilliancy shone the evening star like a 
 glittering gem, while in front rose our 
 lovely tapering church spire, of which we 
 are proud, that familiar finger post of 
 the Christian world which we all love what 
 ever be the peculiarities of our various 
 theories. 
 
 OCTOBER 7, 1893.
 
 12 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 III. 
 
 THIS has been a typical autumn day ; 
 glittering and cool in the morning with 
 high wind ; thermometer fifty -six degrees ; 
 a clear blue sky gradually flecked with 
 passing clouds ; then heavier and denser 
 masses, becoming more and more numerous 
 until the whole heavens formed a leaden 
 vault in delicately shaded tones, with here 
 and there a break from time to time, 
 through which the bright sun lighted up 
 for a moment the tinted landscape. 
 
 I started to explore the woodland road 
 wherein darkness overtook me last week. 
 Passing through the village street, the fra 
 grance of the late apples carried me back 
 at once to the great show at Chicago. You 
 cannot help remembering, if you were not 
 so unfortunate as to have missed it, that 
 the most refreshing experience at the Fair 
 was a walk through the fruit-lined passages 
 of the Horticultural Building, the delicious 
 odour of the ripe fruit appealing more 
 directly to your sense of bien-etre than
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 13 
 
 their magnificent size or gorgeous colour. 
 It is well known, by the way, that the 
 sense of smell awakens the memory and 
 recalls the past through association of 
 ideas more promptly than any other. 
 
 The road I was travelling passed, you 
 will remember, to the westward of Rattle 
 snake Mountain. As it buried itself deeper 
 in the wood, it likewise climbed higher, 
 curving round and clinging to the side of 
 the hill, here gently sloping. The fallen 
 leaves, which were soft and moist last 
 week, have now become crisp and much 
 more numerous. Who does not delight in 
 scuffling through them, and in the rustling 
 sound, although this is anything but musi 
 cal in the ordinary sense ! 
 
 The foliage upon the trees has been 
 thinned so much that the hillside shows 
 massive rocks hitherto clothed with verd 
 ure, and from the summit protrudes in 
 bold relief the rugged core of the moun 
 tain. Curving more and more to the left, 
 the path emerged at length into an open 
 field on the yonder side, in the midst of a 
 herd of cattle peaceably grazing there ; all 
 around forest-clad hills, a very flower-gar 
 den in colour, with a depression on the 
 northeast, where, in the middle distance,
 
 14 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 the gilded dome of the Capitol shone in a 
 passing gleam of sunlight, against the blue 
 hills on the further side of the great river. 
 Skirting the edge of the wood, which for 
 a time shut off the view of the higher 
 ground, the path at length wholly deserted 
 me as I found myself near the foot of the 
 talus from the cliffs which formed the 
 summit. 
 
 I was left to take my chances among 
 the woodchuck holes, the hypothetical rat 
 tlesnakes, and upon the sliding fragments 
 of rock. But remembering that the latter 
 naturally found for themselves a position 
 of stable equilibrium, I ventured upon 
 them with the care which every one is 
 bound to take in such a place, increased 
 to the nth power by the reflection of the 
 cautious man upon the serious predicament 
 in which he would find himself in case of 
 a mishap occurring in an unfrequented 
 locality. 
 
 Clambering around among great detached 
 masses of rock which stood out boldly midst 
 the trees, and speculating upon the possi 
 bility of in some way scaling the highest 
 of these, I became conscious of the pleas 
 ant odour of burning leaves, but also 
 apprehensive lest disastrous tire might bo
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 15 
 
 running loose in the woods. Approaching 
 a fissure among the rocks, however, I per 
 ceived a thin smoke issuing therefrom and 
 learned the source of the odour, and after 
 a few minutes I came in sight of two little 
 girls, to whom a pleasant " Good-morning " 
 introduced me sufficiently to obtain for me 
 an invitation to go into the "cave," where 
 Grandpa had just built a fire for their 
 delectation. 
 
 Grandpa proved to be a native, succes 
 sor to several generations of such, sturdily 
 loyal to the neighbourhood and intelligently 
 familiar with its localities, characteristics, 
 and traditions. The cave, which with a 
 little labour might be made into a comforta 
 ble enough residence, was formed of heavy 
 masses of basaltic rock leaning against each 
 other, and some hundred years ago it was 
 the occasional home of one of those "her 
 mits " whom tradition has scattered through 
 the land, restless geniuses, who, for one 
 reason or another, found it more to their 
 taste to " go back to nature than to live 
 in houses made with hands. This one bore 
 the distinction of having left a name be 
 hind him, and had been personally known 
 to the grandmother of iny new friend. 
 
 My new acquaintance was quite an acqui-
 
 1 6 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 sition. By him I was led by a circuitous 
 but easy path to the very highest point of 
 the cliff, which had hitherto been quite 
 concealed from me by the wood. Seen 
 from this spot the horizon comes full 
 circle, save as slightly broken here and 
 there by the very tops of the most enter 
 prising trees. It was formerly selected as 
 a post for the observations of the coast and 
 geodetic survey, and from it the eye takes 
 in a thousand square miles of valley and 
 rolling hills. As we stood on the bare 
 summit, it blew a gale which it was diffi 
 cult to withstand. The sun was shrouded 
 with heavy clouds, and the miles on miles 
 of forest-clad hills, and shaded valleys, 
 among which the scattered fields seemed 
 unimportant, showed the rich but soft and 
 subdued colours of a well-chosen oriental 
 rug. (Again that comparison of great 
 things with small.) 
 
 We stood for a little while bracing our 
 selves against the wind, and noting the 
 city a few miles away, and the scattered 
 towns, becoming distinct now that the leaves 
 are falling, with hills and mountains in every 
 direction, none very high, not more than 
 fourteen or fifteen hundred feet, even in the 
 extreme distance ; but the gale freshened,
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. \J 
 
 and making a mental note to come and 
 come again to this point of vantage, I beat 
 a retreat into the more sheltered valley. 
 
 I must add to the flowers still to be 
 found, the red clover, the wild pepper- 
 grass, and herb Robert. I never realized 
 how beautiful the latter was until I found 
 it to-day with its delicately divided leaves 
 and lovely pink blossoms, emerging from 
 between and overlaying the basaltic blocks 
 over which I climbed. I cannot say so 
 much in favour of its fragrance, but this 
 was quite atoned for by the catnip against 
 which I brushed on the hillside, and the 
 sweet fern through which I waded near 
 the summit. 
 
 OCTOBER 15, 1393.
 
 1 8 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Over the river, on the hill, 
 Lieth a village, white and still ; 
 All around it the forest trees 
 Whisper and shiver in the breeze ; 
 Over it sailing shadows go 
 Of soaring hawk and screaming crow, 
 And mountain grasses low and sweet 
 Grow in the middle of every street. 
 
 Over the river, under the hill, 
 Another village lieth still. 
 There I see in the cloudy night 
 Twinkling stars of household light, 
 Fires that gleam from the smithy s door, 
 Mists that curl on the river s shore; 
 And in the roads no grasses grow, 
 For the wheels that hasten to and fro. 
 
 THUS sang Rose Terry in her cottage 
 overlooking the river, and with that vision 
 always before her, I do not wonder that the 
 song came to her. On the steep hillside the 
 streets of white marble climb toward heaven 
 from the busy manufacturing village, and 
 their quietness in the broad glare of day
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 19 
 
 contrasts as strongly with the bustle below, 
 if not so impressively, as under the cold light 
 of the moon. My companion reminded me 
 of the poem as our horses climbed the steep 
 road, and told how the singer herself now 
 reposes (as to the physical part) in that 
 village on the hill where there s 
 
 Never a clock to toll the hours. 
 
 These people are as hospitable as one 
 could ask to find. Here comes a good lady 
 day after day and picks me up and carries 
 me in the smoothest rolling of carriages far 
 away among the hills, from which we can 
 look back at our village at long range, or 
 down into new valleys or over distant ridges. 
 This time it was past Mrs. Rose Terry 
 Cooke s former home, and by a winding 
 river which tumbled and brawled over the 
 rocks in pleasant fashion, and then upon a 
 broad summit whence we could look over 
 toward a region which, perhaps, from its 
 contorted mass of hills and ridges, or per 
 haps from the unconventional habits or man 
 ners of its denizens has earned from the 
 inhabitants of the neighbourhood the not 
 too complimentary name of " Satan s king 
 dom." 
 
 Here and there still glows a brilliant
 
 20 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 oak or maple, and now and then we see 
 the whole gamut of colour on a sunlighted 
 hillside, where the green leaves of the 
 silver pines form a soft background for the 
 brighter foliage. But many trees are bare, 
 and show the full grace of their lines, and 
 hi numerous places we see as through a 
 thin veil the secrets which the summer had 
 concealed from our eyes. 
 
 I have repeatedly found myself after 
 nightfall plodding along some unwonted 
 wood path iu the gathering darkness until 
 I have begun to be apprehensive lest I 
 might be compelled to pass the night in the 
 damp, cool autumn air without shelter. On 
 the last occasion I more than once nearly 
 gave up extricating myself before morning. 
 For these roads often start bravely with 
 well-beaten tracks, but gradually show less 
 and less evidence of use, and branch and 
 branch until you are quite sure you do not 
 know where you are. And the clouds cover 
 the moon, and the darkness grows apace, 
 and the shadows deepen about you ; and 
 you hear no sound save the katydids and 
 crickets. 
 
 We have miles of woodland, broken here 
 and there by open fields, and none of it 
 primeval forest. Unhappily the primeval
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 21 
 
 forest in this region is a thing of the past. 
 Once in a while we see a fine old tree, 
 usually in the village streets; an elm or a 
 plane tree, a pine, a maple or an oak. But 
 most of the wood is " second growth," or 
 more frequently a third or fourth growth, 
 and yet much cutting is going on, and some 
 of it is very, very evil. These steep, rocky 
 hillsides can never be made productive, 
 and the removal of the forest covering will 
 merely destroy their beauty and lead to the 
 washing away of the slowly accumulated 
 soil, and the consequent demoralization of 
 the springs. In some places there are indi 
 cations that former clearings are again grow 
 ing up into wood but more frequently the 
 young timber is being removed while of 
 little value in itself. Occasionally the soil 
 uncovered in the swales may be readily 
 worked and made productive, but usually it 
 is closely strewn with big and little masses 
 of trap-rock which will forever render 
 profitable cultivation practically impossible. 
 And all the time you are conscious that the 
 ground already cleared is inadequately tilled, 
 and that a wise economy would turn all this 
 labour into another channel. 
 
 As I walked through aisle after aisle of 
 the Agricultural Building in Jackson Park,
 
 22 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 and examined the products of the great 
 western farms, and the means by which 
 these products were obtained, I wished 
 over and over again that the farmers of 
 New England could be with me, and see 
 for themselves why it is that they do not 
 meet with success in the old style of gen 
 eral farming, and why the competition in 
 which they are engaged is necessarily a 
 losing one, and New England shows so 
 many "abandoned farms." I am sure 
 there is a future for them, and a pros 
 perous one, but it must be under other 
 conditions, with a consideration of their 
 situation and the character of the market. 
 I thought a few weeks ago that I had 
 gathered my last fringed gentians, but I 
 found a few to-day in my special preserve, 
 opened wide to receive the comforting rays 
 of the sun after last night s rain. I have 
 left many to scatter their seed for next 
 year, and I hope that the lovers of this 
 beautiful flower will learn to keep their de 
 mands within moderate limits, for like the 
 mayflower it threatens to leave frequented 
 neighbourhoods. It is, I believe, a biennial, 
 and not like the mayflower an evergreen 
 perennial, and is therefore not so great a 
 sufferer as that because of the ruthless
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 23 
 
 dragging up by the roots to which it is ex 
 posed ; but I have found a pair of pocket 
 scissors not inappropriate in gathering it, 
 and would modestly suggest to others the 
 use of such, both for the fringed gentian 
 and the mayflower. 
 
 To my list of plants in blossom must 
 be added the charlock, the common and 
 the French mullein, all found during the 
 past week. But the flowers are rapidly 
 becoming fewer. The asters are scarce and 
 even the wild carrot, which continues so 
 long to adorn the fields and roadsides with 
 its beautiful lace-like blossoms, seems likely 
 ere long to fail us. As the leaves fall, the 
 orange berries of the bitter-sweet, of which 
 we have a profusion, make more and more 
 of a show, especially now that they have 
 opened and exhibit the deeper orange of 
 the ripe seeds within, while the red berries 
 of the black alder gleam in the lowlands 
 with their wonted brilliancy. 
 
 OCTOBER 28, 1893.
 
 24 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 V. 
 
 I HAVE been re-reading Ruskin s "Ele 
 ments of Drawing." He may be as bad an 
 instructor as the art critics say, I think 
 perhaps he is, but we cannot possibly do 
 without him. Who has eyes if he has not ? 
 What a love for the facts of Nature ! What 
 a sense of the poetry of form and colour 
 and motion ! And what a vigorous pen and 
 what strong muscular English ! Yes, and 
 what magnificent prejudices and splendid 
 egotism ! Reject all his instructions, if you 
 like, and take some other course of study, 
 but do not fail to read and ponder all that 
 he has to say to you. And make sure that 
 if you do not look at Nature as lovingly as 
 he does, you will never do your best at 
 finding out her secrets and revealing them 
 (in confidence) to others. 
 
 By the way, I do not know anything else 
 so preposterous as the claim made by some 
 who assume a special love for the spec 
 tacle of Nature, of her glorious clouds and 
 sparkling skies and sturdy trees and beau-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 25 
 
 tiful flowers, that you must bury your 
 self in ignorance concerning them, in order 
 to estimate them at their true value. With 
 great superiority they tell you that they 
 want to look upon the flowers and in 
 hale their perfume, not to pull them to 
 pieces and find out how they are made ; 
 to watch the clouds rolling through the 
 heavens, not to know that they are masses 
 of sun-lighted vapour, and that the barome 
 ter is rising or falling. Is it so easy to un 
 ravel the mystery of life ? Do you have 
 but to turn your hand, to discover that the 
 great earth as well as your small globe is 
 hollow, and that all dolls, big and little, 
 are stuffed with sawdust ? How petty the 
 awful universe must seem to such people ! 
 Have they ever thought, after the ancient 
 poet, " When I consider the heavens, the 
 work of thy hands, the moon and the stars 
 which thou hast ordained, what is man that 
 thou art mindful of him, or the son of man 
 that thou regardest him ? " 
 
 I have sometimes watched those who 
 have expressed themselves as I have above 
 indicated, but I have failed to discover in 
 them any peculiar intensity of passion for 
 grace of form, glory of colour, smoothness 
 of melody, or richness of harmony. I have
 
 26 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 failed to find that they bared their heads 
 in more reverent awe before the majesty of 
 the night, or thrilled with a greater tremu- 
 lousness at loveliness of hue or delicacy of 
 structure or fineness of tone, at the rich 
 life of the opening blossom, or the infinite 
 expressiveness of the receding hills and 
 valleys, fading away into the vast unknown 
 of the distant horizon. 
 
 I do not mean that there are not some 
 minds in which interest in a system or in 
 a method of classification, takes the place of 
 interest in the things classified. There un 
 doubtedly are such dry-as-dusts in all de 
 partments of science in all departments 
 of life. A member of an important gov 
 ernmental commission has sometimes de 
 scribed a colleague as " always seeming 
 more interested in the papers in a case 
 than in the case itself." But this is noth 
 ing to the point. It takes all sorts of peo 
 ple to make up a world. You cannot know 
 how much more enjoyment you could find 
 in flowers and trees until you have looked 
 into their history and studied their faces, 
 learned their characters, their habits and 
 their dispositions. You must lie down 
 upon the same hillside, look up at the 
 same sky, drink in the same air. You
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAN-D HILLSIDE. 27 
 
 must learn to feel your oneness with them, 
 and the strong family tie which makes 
 everything that concerns them a matter of 
 interest to you. 
 
 Novalis called Spinoza " a God-intoxi 
 cated man." Intoxication is not a pleas 
 ant word, enthusiasm is better, en-the- 
 osiasm, and it is this enthusiasm, the gift 
 of Nature and the imagination combined, 
 the offspring of poetry and fact, that is 
 the greatest, the richest, blessing of life. " I 
 do not see in Nature the colours that you 
 find there," said the lady to Turner. " Don t 
 you wish you could r madam ?" was the 
 reply. 
 
 Suppose you try to look a little deeper, 
 see a little further, turn the microscope upon 
 your blossom, and discover a thousand beau 
 ties, the existence of which you had never 
 suspected ; turn your telescope upon the 
 heavens, and find them bursting into bloom, 
 world beyond world receding into the 
 vast, unfathomable depths of space ; be 
 lieve me, you will not become blase 1 with 
 the extent of your knowledge, will not feel 
 that the bloom is wholly gone from the 
 peach, the perfume from the rose, the foam 
 from the bounding wave. 
 
 It seems to me that I have frequently
 
 28 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 heard talk about" the law of contradicto 
 ries." I haven t the least idea what "the 
 law of contradictories" means, but I think 
 that, without serious trouble, I could de 
 fine such a law. Kuskin says in this vol 
 ume : " No touch or form is ever added to 
 another by a good painter, without a men 
 tal determination and affirmation." The 
 same day that I read this, I read in the 
 introduction to "The Rosenthal Method of 
 Practical Linguistry " : "No action can be 
 done well which is not done unconsciously." 
 Both are true statements; this is an illustra 
 tion of the many-sidedness of life. If you 
 have read the late William M. Hunt s 
 "Conversations upon Art," you will re 
 member that he asserts at one moment the 
 diametric opposite of that which he strenu 
 ously insists upon at another. He is right : 
 we must view both sides of the shield, if 
 we would know it for what it is. 
 
 But how can I contend that that which 
 is the result of a mental determination can 
 be unconscious ? Easily. The time was, 
 when the act could only be done con 
 sciously and painfully. But llu-ii, as llos- 
 enthal says, it could not be well done. It 
 must be "word upon word, line upon line, 
 here a little and there a little," until both
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 2g 
 
 mind and hand are trained, not to do the 
 thing in a perfunctory way, but to do it in 
 the right way ; to do one thing after an 
 other because such is the necessary order 
 and relation, as the player upon a musical 
 instrument often does perfectly, without 
 looking, that which he would stumble over 
 horribly if he should try to follow, note by 
 note, as he did in the times which are past. 
 That which he has learned has become 
 embodied in his mental structure ; it is 
 now a part of his endowment, like the 
 faculty of breathing or walking without 
 thought of the process. 
 
 OCTOBER 30, 1893.
 
 30 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE frost this morning was not by any 
 means the lirst of the season, but it was by 
 much the most severe. The fields were al 
 most as white as if a light snow had fallen, 
 and each leaf and blade of grass was bor 
 dered with a delicate fringe of spicular crys 
 tals and encrusted with a coat of gems. The 
 pools were frozen over, and here and there 
 on the roadsides the ice took curious curly 
 forms that seemed to defy explanation. 
 
 My morning stroll took me over the ledge 
 and the hilltop, among the sumachs, cedars 
 and young oak trees. My object was to 
 ascertain whether the conical mountain 
 upon our most distant horizon is actually 
 that well-known peak which popular belief 
 asserts it to be. But alas ! it was the old 
 story of the sun and the wind over again. 
 Only here it was the delicate haze pervad 
 ing the Indian summer air, which had effect 
 ually effaced the pile of rugged trap-rock 
 of which I was in search, leaving for me 
 alone but how large an alouu ! the glo-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 3! 
 
 rious dissolving view of valley and distant 
 hills under the warm November sun. 
 
 From the pastures I heard the cawing of 
 the crows ; upon a tree trunk near me ham 
 mered a woodpecker ; afar through the 
 wood resounded the regular stroke of an 
 axe ; and the pleasant odour of burning 
 leaves tickled my nostril. But alas ! we 
 must sometimes pay dearly for our pleas 
 ures. Yesterday in driving along a pictu 
 resque wood road among wild and rocky 
 hills, I crossed a line of fire, fully a third 
 of a mile long, steadily marching through 
 the fallen leaves, and eating up in its path 
 shrubs and herbs, and the surface of the 
 soil itself, with the upper roots and the 
 innumerable seeds which had been shed 
 upon it and buried within it. Merely from 
 the wad from a sportsman s gun probably, 
 but it was wiping out acre after acre of 
 sylvan beauty, damaging to some extent 
 the trees themselves, and leaving an ashy 
 waste beneath them and all to make an 
 American holiday. 
 
 Then along comes the brave woodchopper, 
 and down go the saplings and seedlings, 
 chestnut and oak, maple and beach, pine 
 and hickory, and for what? Firewood, 
 simply. Cord wood takes the place of the
 
 32 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 promising timber, which a little judgment 
 would have left to attain respectable size, 
 when by judicious selection and care it 
 might be made to furnish a profitable an 
 nual crop, while the woodland should re 
 main a beauty and a joy forever. 
 
 The wild flowers are now very scarce. 
 This morning I found none but the witch 
 hazel, the golden-rod, an aster, the wild 
 carrot, chamomile, and pepper grass. A 
 more extended and careful search would 
 probably have been rewarded by buttercups 
 and daisies (or white-weeds), among the 
 first to come and last to go, by yarrow, 
 chickweed and the mulleins, all of which I 
 have found within two or three days. Even 
 the fringed gentian showed a few of its 
 lovely blue blossoms in a protected meadow 
 only the day before yesterday, their third 
 " last appearance " for the season. Dande 
 lions I have heard of, but have not seen for 
 several weeks. Doubtless we shall have 
 them from time to time throughout the year. 
 I have found them in the Brooklyn park in 
 January and February. 
 
 We have now one of the greatest pleas 
 ures of which the leafy summer deprives 
 us, the sight of the graceful stems and 
 branches of the trees, with all their won-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 33 
 
 derful variety of angle and curve, of nigged 
 strength and graceful flexibility ; the deeply 
 scored trunks of the strong and massive 
 oaks, the smooth bark of the beeches, with 
 their pendulous branches, the sharp spines 
 of the honey locust a veritable "monkey 
 puzzle " or natural cat-teazer, and the cork- 
 wiuged twigs of the liquidamber. 
 
 And over the hillsides is that delicate 
 warm glow of the young branches of this 
 year s growth, which will become richer as 
 the spring draws on, and life comes nearer 
 and nearer to the surface, until a tender juicy 
 green spray overspreads them all, gradually 
 shrouding their delicate limbs from honest 
 as well as vulgar eyes. This beauty of the 
 trees comes to me as a revelation each day, 
 " new every morning and fresh every even 
 ing," and I am sure that we ought to be 
 of finer stuff than others, who have the 
 privilege of seeing it, and seeing it against 
 the limpid sky, not cut into squares and 
 triangles and trapezes and dodecagons and 
 whatnots formed by street lines and house 
 roofs, but the very vault of heaven, resting 
 with the softest, gentlest touch upon the 
 distant hills, and throwing over us its wide 
 protecting arch. 
 
 NOVEMBER 11, 1893.
 
 34 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 VII. 
 
 WHEN I reached the station last evening 
 on my return after a week s absence, I 
 found the ground covered with snow, and 
 the stage awaiting me on runners. The 
 heavens were shrouded in cloud, a few 
 flakes were falling, and the wind blew 
 fiercely. But inside the closed conveyance 
 we were snug enough eight of us; and 
 there was an unwonted pleasure in the glid 
 ing of the craft over the roads which had 
 recently been rather rough and jolting. 
 
 This morning the scene was changed. 
 Cowper s lines very nearly describe the 
 situation : 
 
 The night was winter in his roughest mood ; 
 The morning, sharp and clear. 
 
 Indeed, a more perfect day for the season I 
 do not believe ever blessed this goodly land. 
 About five inches of snow covers the ground, 
 in some places crusted over firmly enough 
 to sustain one s weight by the freezing 
 after Sunday 1 s rain. " White as the driven
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 35 
 
 snow " is the received expression to describe 
 that which is perfectly spotless, and noth 
 ing is conceivable which in its kind could 
 be more perfect. Yet there is whiteness and 
 whiteness, as there are deacons and deacons. 
 As the angle varies at which you see it, so 
 varies the light reflected from it, and in this 
 gorgeous sunshine my shadow as it precedes 
 me over the fields is as deep and pure a blue 
 as the artists would make it. 
 
 What a friendly companion is this same 
 shadow ! The experiences of Peter Schle- 
 mihl appear perhaps a trifle extravagant, 
 and I am not willing to be responsible for 
 the statement that he actually did at one 
 time possess Fortunatus s purse, and con 
 secutively le nid invisible, and the seven- 
 league boots ; but I am sure that he must 
 have had one or other or all these to console 
 him effectually for the loss of his friendly 
 shadow. How "closer than a brother" it 
 sticks to us, modestly walking behind when 
 we advance toward the sun, and throwing 
 itself boldly in our path as we turn our 
 back upon the light ! And how ridiculously 
 it imitates our slightest motion, a veritable 
 monkey as a mimic, and with the monkey s 
 delicacy of feature ! 
 
 It is only upon the smooth lawois and
 
 36 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 paths that the snow spreads a spotless, 
 unbroken sheet. On the open fields and 
 pastures it is broken by the stems of the 
 wild roses, bearing their brilliant red hips, 
 the hardhack, the wild carrot which lills 
 its cup with it, the fluffy seed-plumes of 
 the golden-rods. The branches of the trees 
 soon shake off its downy flakes, and, look 
 ing athwart the landscape, the pure white 
 spaces form but a minor part of the whole- 
 scene, broken by house and fence and 
 woodland, which are clearly outlined against 
 its whiteness. 
 
 Clear as the air is, the sun shining from 
 a cloudless sky, the valley stretching away 
 at my feet in the afternoon becomes suffused 
 with mystic light as of Indian summer, and 
 as the day advances, the distant hills seem 
 to float in a warm haze in which they fade 
 away, carrying the eye to the limit of vision, 
 and leaving it fixed upon the glow which 
 shrouds but glorifies the far horizon. 
 
 Near by, the village spire is bathed in 
 the fading light ; no I should not say fad 
 ing light, for the sun is still above the 
 horizon, and the spire stands out clearly 
 against the sky. But it is the reverse of 
 Wordsworth s fading " into the light of 
 common day," it is rather, as it were.-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 37 
 
 "trailing clouds of glory " that, lighted by 
 the sinking sun, it lifts itself into the air 
 above the tree-tops. 
 
 And the tree-tops themselves, those deli 
 cate sprays which now we see prodigally 
 scattered around us, as if they were not 
 of beauty all compact, partake of the 
 illumination, and to the very tips of their 
 bud-crowned twigs thrill with the flooding 
 light of the parting day. 
 
 DECEMBER 6, 1893.
 
 38 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A NUMBER of my friends appear to be in 
 a complete maze as to what inducement 
 can be strong enough to lead me, in the 
 dead of winter, to desert the pavements, 
 the trolley cars, and the throng of the city 
 for the hilly dirt-roads, the snow-covered 
 wood-paths, and the rocky hillsides of the 
 country. A great portion of our reading 
 and thinking people, or those whom we 
 deem such, seem to have become cockney 
 to the core. In nothing perhaps is the 
 modern tendency toward urban life more 
 strikingly shown than in this change of 
 mental attitude wrought by habit and asso 
 ciation, this loss of appreciation of the de 
 lights of rural life. I sincerely trust that 
 the wave has reached its highest point, and 
 that ere long we shall begin to see a reac 
 tion toward a more healthy ideal. 
 
 After the warm sun and rapid thaw of 
 yesterday, I woke this morning to find the 
 air full of the soft falling snow, and the 
 discoloured track in the middle of the road
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 39 
 
 again decently covered with a veil of white. 
 The snow continued to fall throughout the 
 morning, not heavily, but steadily, and 
 toward noon, covering myself with a long 
 mackintosh, I sallied forth to get the benefit 
 of it at first hand. I took the mountain 
 road : on the left the ground fell away rather 
 gently to the broad intervale, while on the 
 right, beyond a narrow valley, at a few 
 hundred yards distance, the hillside rose 
 steeply to the height of several hundred feet, 
 here covered with dense wood, and there 
 by scattered trees and rocks, now and then 
 accented by a bold cliff ; the ground all 
 robed in white, and the trees, especially the 
 numerous evergreens, singly or in groups, 
 all heavily weighted with their downy gar 
 ments. 
 
 "Fast fell the fleecy shower." There 
 were as yet only two or three inches of new 
 fallen snow, and walking, though warm 
 work, was not very difficult, as it would 
 have been had the snow been deeper. Trav 
 elling on foot in heavy snow, though excit 
 ing and exhilarating, is hard enough for a 
 man ; for a woman, with skirts, it must be 
 something appalling. One of my neighbours 
 told me last night how in her girlhood she 
 had suddenly been seized one day with a
 
 40 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 desire to see how the wood looked in win 
 ter. She started alone, and had travelled 
 some distance from the house before she 
 realized what she had undertaken. The 
 weather was mild, and the snow was up 
 to her knees ; but she struggled on, becom 
 ing hotter and hotter, but fearing to stop 
 for a moment to rest. The work became 
 heavier and heavier as her strength dimin 
 ished ; she was a mile from shelter, and 
 discomfort gradually gave place to alarm 
 and something approaching terror. There 
 was nothing to be done but to struggle on 
 through that unending lonely waste, which 
 yet ended at last, when, completely ex 
 hausted, she found herself again under a 
 friendly roof. And how did the wood look 
 in winter ? Alas ! she had to confess to 
 her sisters that she not seen the wood 
 through which she had made her way ; the 
 burden of the walk had been much too 
 great. 
 
 We see what our minds are fixed upon, 
 and we consciously see little else. Occa 
 sionally, I think, visions come back to us 
 of scenes which we luive not noticed at the 
 time, which have yet in some way recorded 
 themselves upon the tablets of the mind. 
 But ordinarily we see and hear that with
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 41 
 
 which our thought is concerned. Have you 
 not ever been in a great factory, where the 
 whirr of the machinery and the din of the 
 hammers filled the air as though all bedlam 
 had broken loose, until it seemed, as the 
 common saying is, that you could not hear 
 yourself think, and yet, after a little time, 
 found that you could, when you would, dis 
 criminate a particular sound, now one, and 
 now another, apparently a solo with an 
 accompaniment ? Or in a well-balanced 
 chorus, have you not sought a certain voice 
 and followed it through the labyrinthine 
 harmony ? So with sight, but to a much 
 greater degree, and with much more impor 
 tant and very potent results. 
 
 Tramping over the hills south of the vil 
 lage a few weeks ago, on a very sunny 
 morning, my attention was drawn to a 
 sloping pasture, over which, as is the case 
 with numerous others in the neighbourhood, 
 there were scattered many tiny cedars. As 
 I have said, the morning was sunny, and 
 these dense cedar bushes cast dark shadows 
 on the hillside. These shadows first caught 
 my eye, and 1 was suddenly conscious of a 
 field covered with dark spots, without any 
 immediate conception of the cause. My 
 reason being excited to activity, I at once
 
 42 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 realized the objects casting the shadows, 
 and as I did so, the shadows themselves lost 
 their prominence and almost passed from 
 notice. And so for a few moments I stood, 
 amusing myself with seeing first shadow, 
 then object, then shadow, as my mind 
 turned from one to the other, and it was 
 only with a certain effort of the will that I 
 could attain what might be called a com 
 prehensive view of the scene, bringing its 
 various elements into due relation. 
 
 In this, it seems to me, there is a not 
 unimportant lesson touching the art of the 
 day. Art in painting is Nature seen through 
 trained human eyes, and interpreted by 
 skilled human hands. The human and in 
 dividual element in it is the essential ele 
 ment, and true art must be as varied as 
 are the individuals through whom it comes 
 to us. Just what I see, my friend does 
 not see ; and just the impression that it 
 produces upon me is not the impression 
 that it produces upon him. But we are the 
 servants or interpreters, and not the mas 
 ters of Nature, and we must try to see 
 truly, in our own way, and not falsely. Is 
 this what all our artists do ? Is it not 
 rather with many of them, that they seek 
 for the bizarre, for a reductiu ad absiir-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 43 
 
 dum? Receiving a certain impression from 
 Nature which they have not noticed before, 
 do they not straightway fal down and 
 worship it, and, forsaking all others, cleave 
 only unto that, to the destruction of their 
 art and their own usefulness ? 
 
 Monet looks at a haycock in the broad 
 sunlight of a summer s day, and sees that 
 on the edges of the grass blades the rays 
 of light are broken into the prismatic 
 colours ! Presto ! the harvest field goes off 
 in a blaze of theatrical glory. The ninety- 
 nine per cent of the neutral tints are swept 
 into the limbo of nothingness, giving place 
 to a dust heap of broken rainbows, on a 
 crumpled field of crude pigments ; and all 
 the mysterious soft intricacy of Nature, 
 with its delicacy of suggestion, its harmony 
 and repose, are gone forever. 
 
 I do not mean that these men (I only 
 use Monet s name as an instance) have 
 nothing to tell us, but merely that what 
 they have to say they tell in such a way as 
 to convey a false message ; they sacrifice 
 themselves, their art, and the interests en 
 trusted to them, by a false perspective. 
 They fail to see truly through their own 
 eyes, or else fail to report truly what they 
 see, which latter is the proper function of
 
 44 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 the artist, qualified only by the proviso, 
 that he must always see something fine, 
 beautiful, ennobling, or helpful. 
 
 But I was climbing the hillside through 
 the fast-falling flakes. Crossing the crest 
 of the ridge between the files of hooded 
 cedars, standing 
 
 Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, 
 
 the road wanders down across a lateral 
 valley through which runs the "Great 
 Brook," then climbs the hill beyond, 
 sinks into another valley, and toils up 
 through the closer wood towards the top 
 of the ridge. At the crossroads I stop and 
 hearken. There is no wind, and not a sound 
 breaks the silence excepting the soft alight 
 ing of the snow, and the dull rumble of a 
 train of cars upon a railroad five or six 
 miles away. As I listen, the latter fades 
 in the distance beyond the hills to a scarcely 
 perceptible murmur, and nothing is left but 
 the sound of the falling flakes, now grad 
 ually changing to sleet, and beginning to 
 make a Liliputian rattling upon the crisp 
 leaves of the oaks and beeches. Between 
 the trunks and branches of the trees my 
 eye wanders down into the valley ; the 
 woodlands, the fields, and the lines of wall
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 45 
 
 and fence become more and more blurred 
 and vague, and before reaching the hills 
 which mount beyond, sink into the bosom 
 of the thick atmosphere which shuts us in 
 from the noise and bustle of the outer 
 world. 
 
 FEBRUARY 9, 1894.
 
 46 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 I AM a thorough believer in temperance. 
 Perhaps temperance is a more or less elas 
 tic term. It is universally understood that 
 this climate of ours is a temperate climate. 
 Yesterday morning the thermometer stood 
 at five degrees below zero ; this morning it 
 stood at forty-five degrees above. It is in 
 averaging these that you find the temper 
 ance. Temperance seems to require an 
 accent, and the accent yesterday morning 
 was quite sharp. 
 
 "Give me neither poverty nor riches," 
 was the prayer of Agur. And we all say 
 Amen, but sometimes we find the accent 
 too low, and sometimes too high though, 
 to tell the truth, we rarely notice the latter. 
 Each of us, at least, is sure that Agur was 
 quite sound when he continued, "Feed me 
 with food convenient for me." About this 
 there is no mistake, and we know what is 
 convenient. 
 
 And, after all, I am convinced that when 
 we have gone the round of a goodly assort-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 47 
 
 mont of viands, there are certain stand-bys 
 which are pretty sure to be acceptable day 
 in and day out ; and roast beef is very 
 good as a steady diet, if only now and then 
 we can have just a soup<jon of horseradish 
 to make the accent. In media tutissimus 
 ibis, but we hardly know how much we 
 are enjoying ourselves there unless now and 
 then we have an opportunity to knock our 
 shins against the curbstone on one side or 
 other of the path. 
 
 Homekeeping youth have ever homely wits, 
 
 and in the endeavour to avoid this reproach 
 in my own case, I once upon a time made 
 a voyage to the Bermudas. And such a 
 voyage ! Was it ever your fortune to cross 
 the Gulf Stream in January or in February 
 on board the Trinidad or the Orinoco? If it 
 was, nothing more needs to be said. Since 
 that time, when I have made the stormy 
 passage in the frail ferry-boats between 
 New York and Brooklyn, or risked the 
 waves of the wild Atlantic on the way to 
 Staten Island, I have thought of the revolu 
 tionary efforts of that other craft in the 
 Sargasso Sea, and have contented myself 
 with the spice of memory as a sufficient 
 flavour for the mild joys of the present.
 
 48 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 And, if need be, I am sure that it will 
 last me for my time. Have I not been in 
 foreign parts ? Have I not lived under 
 strange skies and looked upon strange 
 waters ? And what waters ! Ah ! when I 
 remember that first hour in Castle Harbour, 
 after the terrible voyage, it seems to me 
 that I then attained the impossible. If 
 that actually was, there was nothing which 
 might not be. The common, every-day 
 world was no more, for I was in Shake 
 speare s "still vex d Bermoothes." 
 
 By the way, is it not odd that we are in 
 the habit of placing the scene of " The Tem 
 pest " in the Bermudas, when that is almost 
 the one sole spot of all the globe which 
 Shakespeare excludes ? Ariel says : 
 
 Safely in harbour 
 Is the king s ship; in the deep nook, where 
 
 once 
 
 Thou call dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 From the still-vex d Bermootlies, there she s 
 
 hid: 
 
 The mariners all under hatches stow d ; 
 Whom, with a charm join d to their suffer d 
 
 labour, 
 I have left asleep; and for the rest o the 
 
 fleet, 
 
 Which I dispers d, they all have met again, 
 And are upon the Mediterranean llote, 
 Bound sadly home for Naples.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 49 
 
 But it doesn t mako any difference ; we 
 know that we are on the island of the wise 
 Prospero and the gentle Miranda ; we hear 
 Ariel, that tricksy spirit, in the tamarisk 
 trees among the ragged rocks by the beach, 
 singing : 
 
 Come unto those yellow sands, 
 
 And then take hands : 
 
 Court sied when you have, and kiss d 
 
 (The wild waves whist,) 
 
 Foot it featly here and there ; 
 
 And, swuot sprites, the burden bear. 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies ; 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes ; 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell ; 
 Hark ! now I hear them, ding-dong bell ! 
 
 And we are just as sure that Caliban 
 made his home in the Devil s Hole as we 
 are that his dam s god Setebos once ruled 
 the island. It is simply impossible to real 
 ize that you are on a part of the common 
 work-a-day world. The shell roses and 
 freesias bloom at your feet ; the rich bou- 
 E
 
 50 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 gainvillea drapes your doorway ; royal 
 palms wave over your path ; the loveliest 
 maiden-hair ferns hangs a curtain at the 
 roadside ; under the pearly waves the corals 
 blossom, and around you stretches a waste 
 of waters a million square miles with 
 out solid land so much that a fly could rest 
 his foot upon it. And as you listen to the 
 wind blowing against your upper window at 
 the Hamilton, you momentarily expect the 
 whole mysterious structure to sink beneath 
 you : 
 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind. 
 
 But this, you will think, is not that tem 
 perance of which I spoke. Ah ! but it is 
 the spice, the nectar, the little touch of 
 pure colour among the neutral tints which 
 brings the whole together and makes every 
 most insignificant part as essential as every 
 other. Do 1 want Burgundy every day ? 
 Must I go from birds of paradise to night 
 ingales tongues ; seek for turbot in the 
 pools in the intervale, and gather manna 
 from the top of Rattlesnake Mountain ? 
 Nay. Tartarin may go hunt his lions in the 
 desert or creep upward upon the arete of 
 the Weisshorn or the Matterhorn, but I I
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 5! 
 
 have seen the world. Henceforth I may 
 rest at Underledge, looking out upon the 
 valley. I know that the river runs fast 
 between its banks, though the elms and 
 maples quietly stand guard by its side and 
 conceal it from iny view ; the snow lies 
 white over the fields, and beyond, the hills 
 climb skyward to meet the brave cloud 
 fleets sailing the ocean blue. Softly the* 
 retreating lines sink into each other in the 
 gray distance ; no musical note reaches my 
 ear. I only catch the distant bark of a dog 
 or the crowing of a cock ; but I close my 
 eyes, and lo ! the angel fish sparkle in the 
 pools at Westover ; the roses bloom again 
 by my side, and the air is rich with their 
 perfume ; the waters, emerald and gold and 
 turquoise, lap the sands at my feet, and I 
 hear Ariel singing : 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
 
 In a cowslip s bell I lie ; 
 
 There I couch when owls do cry. 
 
 On the bat s back I do fly 
 
 After summer, merrily: 
 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
 
 FEBRUARY 18, 1894.
 
 52 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 X. 
 
 BY the force of circumstances I was 
 obliged to spend in the great city the day 
 dedicated to the memory of the Father of 
 his country, and having much writing to 
 do, I spent the greater part of the day at 
 the club. 
 
 And what, of its kind, could be pleas- 
 anter ? I may take mine ease in mine inn, 
 but where, excepting by his own fireside, 
 can one so thoroughly take his ease, and 
 feel so completely how good life is, as he 
 can in the library of his club, provided his 
 club is our club ? Around him are ranged 
 tier above tier the goodly volumes to which 
 he may refer if necessity require ; upon the 
 desk before him are all the conveniences 
 for his labour ; the temperature is just right ; 
 the light falls over him broadly and softly ; 
 the admonition to "silence" faces all as 
 they enter the room ; the heavy carpet and 
 rugs deaden the footfalls ; and as the stu 
 dent from time to time raises his eyes, they 
 rest here and there upon the poet, the
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 53 
 
 painter, the musician, the divino, the man 
 of affairs, each at home and each an equal 
 citizen of this true republic, following the 
 bent of his own inclination quietly and un 
 disturbed. 
 
 When my stint had been accomplished, 
 and the time for relaxation had arrived, 
 soothed by the sense of leaving a completed 
 task, what reward could possibly be more 
 inviting than a soft easy-chair beside an 
 incandescent lamp, and the latest instal 
 ment of the serial story for which we all 
 impatiently wait from month to month ? 
 
 In these latter days we have heard much 
 of naturalism, and especially of naturalism 
 in fiction, and there seems to have been a 
 very strong assumption upon the part of 
 many that naturalism is necessarily nasty. 
 I repudiate the thought with all the vigour 
 of my being. Nature is pure, and nothing 
 can compare for naturalism with purity. 
 Give us the blue skies, the fresh winds, the 
 sturdy trees, the dainty flowers, the bright 
 clean souls and loving hearts. 
 
 "f is as oasy now for the heart to be true 
 As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, 
 "Tis the natural way of living. 
 
 Let us drink deep draughts of this natu-
 
 54 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 ralism, we can ask nothing hotter. But 
 do not forget to flood it with the glow of 
 imagination ; that also is natural, and the 
 highest thing in Nature, anil Zola himself, 
 deep as lie may burrow, dare not venture 
 to despise it. 
 
 We often complain of the unsatisfactori- 
 ness of reading serial stories, but there is 
 something to be said on the other side. It 
 is somewhat in these as in the romances of 
 our own lives, and the lives of those whom 
 we see around us ; we are present and ob 
 servant while character and fate are making, 
 and from month to month we await the 
 unfolding of the drama, as we wait in sus 
 pense for the thing that shall be. The 
 members of the cast have taken their places 
 upon the stage ; the curtain is up, the 
 action proceeds. What is to be the fate of 
 these new friends of ours ? Let us not an 
 ticipate ; let us wait and see. 
 
 In the evening I looked upon quite a 
 different scene. The Neighbourhood Guild 
 in the sister city had a little entertainment 
 in honour of the day at its modest home 
 down near where they build the big ships 
 which carry the nation s flag over the 
 broad seas. When the time for refresh 
 ments came, there were seated at the tables
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 55 
 
 perhaps a hundred, of all ages and both 
 sexes, gathered from homes where comfort 
 abounds, where friends and books and pict 
 ures and meat and drink can be had when 
 they are wanted, and from homes, some of 
 which can perhaps be identified as such 
 only by remembering the saying that 
 " home is where the heart is." And per 
 haps in some of these places who knows ? 
 even that redeeming feature may be 
 wanting. But here all were on common 
 ground, and good fellowship, contentment 
 and happiness shone on every face. 
 
 The presiding officer at the simple feast 
 was one still young, from a neighbouring 
 home, who a few years ago, when the en 
 terprise took form, was among the first to 
 accept, rather distrustfully, the invitation 
 of those who had ventured to invade the 
 region. Now, thoroughly imbued with its 
 spirit, he is one of the strongest of the con 
 necting links in this social chain. 
 
 " But," says my good friend Blondin at 
 the club, " you have convicted yourself with 
 your own pen. You have been lauding the 
 Arcadian life at Underledge and inviting 
 us to leave our comfortable clubs and our 
 municipal experiments and follow you out 
 among the hypothetical shepherds oil your
 
 56 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 dreary hills ; but now you have been com 
 pelled to flee to the city, and under the in 
 evitable revulsion of your feelings you are 
 obliged to paint in glowing colours the very 
 advantages which we are constantly holding 
 up to your view. What have you to say to 
 this?" 
 
 Just this, Blondin, I reply. Though I 
 have sought the fields, the woods and the 
 hills, I have not therefore deserted your club, 
 and my club, have I ? Nor have I ceased 
 to be one of those who are at home at the 
 Guild, one whose co-operation is as wel 
 come there as in the Current Topics Club 
 at Underledge. But this is not the whole. 
 There is a time for all things under the sun. 
 And there is social life, culture and enjoy 
 ment even at Underledge. 
 
 Yesterday the wind came out of the north, 
 and it waxed high, and the mercury fell, and 
 it fell, and it fell. But the stars were in the 
 .sky, and we all gathered at the town hall, for 
 there the Troubadour was to recite stories to 
 us, and to sing to us the Creole songs. And 
 he told us about the charming Nareisse and 
 his wonderful skill in Chi-og-aphy, and phy 
 siognomy, and how he ever abstained from 
 borrowing (a gaudiK), and how fond he was 
 of gay clothing ; but also how he weut
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 57 
 
 bravely to his death at last, one of the innu 
 merable offerings upon the altar of the lost 
 cause. And he told us how the coy Widow 
 Kiley was won at last. And we heard the 
 drum beat once more, and we that were old 
 enough remembered anew those long and 
 weary days and nights which seemed as 
 though they would last forever, but which 
 are now so far away in the past that the 
 young folks around us can look upon them 
 as they can upon the times of Cambyses and 
 Alexander. 
 
 And then he ended with the story how 
 Mary made her way through the lines in the 
 darkness of the night, whereat Phillis and 
 1 hollis honestly bubbled over. And then 
 we four went out under the stars, and the 
 heavens were all covered from the zenith 
 to the horizon with mystic lambent flames, 
 which pulsed and flashed and throbbed and 
 glowed, while we stood and watched them 
 with wonder and awe. To Phollis it was, 
 moreover, a revelation ; for the first time 
 she gazed upon this splendour. 
 
 Then we passed on to the temple of learn 
 ing, but, behold ! the door was shut both 
 to the foolish virgins and the foolish men. 
 And so we wandered along the slippery 
 way, in the face of the icy blast, which was
 
 58 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 not so very cold after all, though the ther 
 mometer was at five degrees above zero (it 
 was at six degrees below, this morning), 
 until we reached the hospitable portal of 
 Madame Liquidambar, which Mademoiselle 
 quickly opened to us. 
 
 And there we found a fire of logs blaz 
 ing upon the hearth, around which we all 
 gathered, and the Troubadour discovered a 
 guitar, which he strung, and upon which he 
 played while he sang the song of Suzette, 
 and then another and another and another, 
 until it was quite time for us to start if we 
 were to get home with the girls before the 
 morning. 
 
 And Phollis asked why it was that the 
 Scribe always seemed so happy, and the 
 Scribe could not tell for the life of him, 
 unless it was because he enjoyed so many 
 things, and enjoyed them so much. 
 
 FEBRUARY 24, 181)4.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 59 
 
 XI. 
 
 EIJKEKA ! Shall I say it ? Nothing less 
 would seem appropriate after the mile upon 
 mile that I have rambled and scrambled and 
 tangled this afternoon in search of the trail 
 ing arbutus. I have been in the most proba 
 ble places, and I think that I may frankly 
 say in the most uncomfortable. The climax 
 was capped when I found myself upon a 
 hillside in the midst of a wood of shrubs 
 and saplings, over which fire had evidently 
 passed within a few years, so weakening 
 the young trees that they had subsequently 
 fallen under the stress of storms, and lay 
 crossed in all directions, with frequent briars 
 among them, as always happens after a fire 
 in the wood. Once caught in such a tangle, 
 progress seems almost hopeless, and no in 
 ducement is offered to return. In that di 
 rection you know it is bad ; there is always 
 something to be hoped for in the unknown. 
 And so I struggled onward, tripping and 
 slipping, the twigs springing back and strik 
 ing my glasses, the thorns clinging to me
 
 60 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 closer than a brother. But even such un 
 comfortable places as these have a boun 
 dary, and that boundary I reached at last, 
 and I breathed freely and would have felt 
 wholly repaid had I but found what I 
 sought. 
 
 But courage ! Just over there, upon that 
 southward facing wooded slope, is the spot 
 of spots for the vine that I seek. And 
 again a climb and a scramble, and while 
 clinging to the rocky and precipitous hill 
 side I find a bit of saxifrage with its whorl 
 of green leaves, crowned with a little but 
 ton of white flowers, just coming into bloom, 
 and nestling snugly close to the ground, not 
 proudly standing erect upon a six-inch stem, 
 as it would have been a littde later, if I had 
 not plucked it out of the crevice in the rock 
 and carried it off home. And here is our 
 sole cactus, the prickly pear, not in bloom, 
 but almost looking as if it were, sonic of 
 the fleshy lobes having a bright pink tinge. 
 I pulled up two or three specimens to bring 
 with me, to the decided detriment of my 
 lingers, and had to spend most of the re 
 mainder of the afternoon in pulling out the 
 prickles, which engaging occupation I trans 
 ferred to Cara mea when I intrusted one of 
 the Tartars to her at the tea table.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 6 1 
 
 But this was not the mayflower, and there 
 below me wound the river, and yonder was 
 the bridge which should bear me over the 
 first limb of the horseshoe (if horseshoes 
 have limbs. What is it that horseshoes 
 have, arms or limbs ?). I took my way 
 homeward, mourning, for I had not found 
 it, and the day was overcast, and the sun 
 was shrouded in gloomy clouds, and gener 
 ally speaking my cake was dough. 
 
 Up in my own wood this morning I 
 gathered a little cluster of hepaticas, 
 squirrel cups, I like to call them, blue and 
 white, and as dainty as you could possibly 
 think. They made their appearance a 
 fortnight ago, while the snow still lingered 
 in shady places on the northern slopes, so 
 early that Phollis said they could not vent 
 ure out without their furs on, the dear little 
 things. The columbines are showing their 
 leaves, and the dogstooth violets and a few 
 others, but excepting the symplocarpus 
 (the euphemistic name of the skunk-cab 
 bage) and the chickweed, I have seen no 
 other wild herbs in blossom. Of trees and 
 shrubs there are a number, the maples, the 
 elms, etc., but most of the vegetable family 
 are biding their time well. They were not 
 beguiled by the lovely days of early March,
 
 62 FROM A NK\V ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 and here, at least, the bitter winds of a week 
 ago found few victims. 
 
 As I tramped across the fields this after 
 noon and looked at the evidences of the 
 patient toil that had been spent in prepar 
 ing them for the production of the scanty 
 crops which can now be wrung from them, 
 I wished that some of our closet philan 
 thropists who are very wise upon the sub 
 ject of taxes in books and speeches and 
 who talk glibly on the relation of land and 
 improvements and the unearned increment, 
 would just once in awhile take to the coun 
 try and look at the thing itself. (I am sure 
 that I am talking quite correctly, and in the 
 true orthodox philosophical fashion, when 
 I say "das ding an sich.") Here island 
 which, with the buildings upon it, might 
 bring in the market perhaps fifteen dollars 
 per acre. To say that labour to the extent 
 of fifty dollars per acre had been expended 
 upon it to fit it for the pasturage or other ser 
 vice that is now obtained from it, in clear 
 ing it of trees and shrubs, in removing and 
 piling up the stones in long walls and heaps, 
 or in digging great holes and trenches in 
 which to bury them which is, I find, a 
 favourite way here of getting rid of them 
 would be to make a very modest statement.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 63 
 
 And this is what the groat leader of this 
 school considers an immaterial item ; the 
 improvements upon land are the buildings. 
 Well, what these buildings cost, I do not 
 know. People live in some of them and 
 house their cattle in others. I am quite sure 
 that upon some farms the cattle have the 
 better time. I have been in three or four of 
 the houses. When I started out last summer 
 I thought that I wanted an "abandoned 
 farm." I did not take one. 
 
 But this is a side issue. Did you hear 
 the frogs to-day ? Not the great croakers 
 with their hoarse voices calling out strange 
 threats to frighten small children, but the 
 musical little fellows, singing in all the 
 swampy places that Spring has come ! 
 " Spring has come ! " " Spring has come ! " 
 I heard them first less than two weeks ago, 
 and their cheery note was as inspiring as 
 that of the birds. 
 
 And the birds are here too, the blue 
 bird and the song sparrow, the robin and the 
 red-winged blackbird, and a host of others, 
 making merry early in the morning and 
 late in the day, and I dare say going a-court- 
 ing as young folks will. About the house, 
 Chanticleer and Mrs. Chanticleer, or the 
 Mesdames Chanticleer, have changed their
 
 64 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 note, and the lady vociferously tells the 
 whole town what she has been about, "so 
 early in the morning." 
 
 Ah, well one generation passeth away 
 and another conieth, and if the future is 
 not for us, but for those that are to follow, 
 is there anything sweeter in life than to try 
 to make the world wholesome and lovely to 
 live in, and to give the newcomers a fair 
 start upon their journey onward and up 
 ward ? 
 
 APRIL 1, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 65 
 
 XII. 
 
 OUR old village cherishes its comparative 
 seclusion, and it has been with somewhat . 
 jealous, though withal kindly feelings, that 
 it has listened for the past year to the more 
 or less audible murmurs of a proposed in 
 vasion by the all-conquering "trolley." 
 Should we lose our rather distinctive char 
 acter as a place apart, an old-fashioned New 
 England village of farmer-folk, where once 
 in the days of stage coaches and post-roads, 
 merchandizing was active, but which in the 
 new railroad era had been left as an aside, 
 dedicated to studious repose, and freedom 
 from the world s annoy ? This was not an 
 unimportant question to many, both of such 
 as were to the manor born and had grown 
 up with the place, and such as had been 
 beguiled hither by the characteristics by 
 which it is marked. Our school, which has 
 been for many years under one successful 
 management, insomuch that it is famed 
 throughout the land, is our joy and our 
 pride, even if we do not all quite realize it,
 
 66 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 and we view all changes as they may affect 
 that centre of our activities. 
 
 But the day of debate seems to be over 
 past, and that of experiment is rapidly ap 
 proaching. The posts and ties lie along 
 our northern street, and we hear that the 
 unfruitful trunks, which are nevertheless 
 hereafter to bear the lightning, have been 
 planted close up to our borders. The neigh 
 bouring city is to be admitted to a glimpse 
 into our Eden, and expectantly, though a 
 little coyly, we await the approach of its 
 citizens. Do not, we pray them, bring with 
 you your city habits and city ways to mar 
 the fair tablets of our rural simplicity. 
 Come but as men and brothers (and sisters), 
 and we will receive you with open arms. 
 But remember that we are unsophisticated 
 folk ; that we do not know the wiles of the 
 great world, and that we rely upon you to 
 cherish as your motto, noblesse oblige, and 
 not abuse our ignorance and (comparative) 
 innocence. 
 
 It has been one of my fancies that per 
 haps the extension of the electric railway 
 lines throughout our rural districts, in which 
 they seem to be forming, as it- were, vast 
 spider webs, might turn out to be one of 
 our greatest blessings, in serving to scatter
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 67 
 
 the population which year after year has 
 tended more and more to gather into the 
 cities and great towns. If this may indeed 
 be so, and thereby the congestion may be 
 relieved, which has forced the municipal 
 problem upon us as one of the most serious 
 of the dangers which we have been com 
 pelled to face, we cannot be too grateful, 
 even though there be drawbacks which 
 somewhat temper our joy. The age of elec 
 tricity, succeeding the age of steam, and 
 suddenly developing with an almost blind 
 ing flash, finds us in an attitude of wonder, 
 anticipation, and awe. Is there any limit 
 to the direction and extent of the channels 
 which this delicate and powerful agency 
 will open ? We are whirled from one de 
 velopment to another so rapidly that we 
 have no opportunity to assimilate them in 
 our consciousness, and a new application 
 of this multiform power is old and hack 
 neyed before it has a chance to be even a 
 nine-days wonder. 
 
 And what possibilities of disaster are we 
 laying up for ourselves with all this men 
 agerie of partly tamed denizens of the wild 
 which we are trying to hold in leash ? 
 Chained in great storage houses, sent flash 
 ing through the air or through the ground
 
 68 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 or under the water in every direction, on 
 what mad errand may they sometime go, 
 if once the native instinct get the bettor of 
 our imperfect control ! Perhaps it may grow 
 to be an everyday matter, and safe experi 
 ence may remove all apprehensions ; but 
 the old-fashioned among us, while accepting 
 gladly all the aid which this new servant 
 is bringing us, cannot quite feel sure that 
 lie is not merely biding his time for a day 
 of reckoning when all scores shall be paid 
 off. 
 
 I have actually found it, the mayflower, 
 I mean. This morning I made another 
 expedition, not so long as that of a few 
 days ago, but more successful than that. It 
 is true that the clusters of blossoms were 
 small, and that there were more buds than 
 blossoms, and more vines than buds, but 
 nevertheless there were the delicate fragrant 
 pink blossoms in f t act, and one blossom con 
 tains the promise and potency of a world of 
 delight. The most trying experience of the 
 morning was the finding of a mile of wood 
 land freshly burned over, in the very heart 
 of what should have been my best foraging 
 ground. I saw the fire across the valley 
 two days ago, and I thought it was merely 
 that the fanners were engaged in burning
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 69 
 
 brush. But it was probably a railroad fire, 
 one of the thousands upon thousands that 
 occur every year all over the land, destroy 
 ing millions of dollars worth of valuable 
 property, and impoverishing the soil over 
 which they run. Is it not about time that 
 the railroad corporations were compelled to 
 take care that such disasters should not 
 occur ? It is not as if they could not be 
 prevented. They can be, and that without 
 serious difficulty. It is merely because we 
 are only partly civilized that we permit 
 them. 
 
 To-day the Easter holidays are ending, 
 and the girls are trooping back to us, 
 rejoicing, as I am sure they always do, at 
 regaining their freedom among these hills, 
 though perchance with hearts aching a little 
 from the home partings. Then a few more 
 busy weeks at the books while all sorts of 
 distractions are calling upon them from 
 without, the whole world waking up again 
 to a new life, the white and fleecy clouds 
 floating in the blue sky, tree and shrub and 
 herb rushing exuberantly into blossom, the 
 birds singing, and the bees humming ; while 
 the steady old earth, which has already seen 
 so many, many summers, revolves upon its 
 axis shall I say, like a turkey on a spit ?
 
 70 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 no, that would be quite too material; 
 like nothing but its dear own self, bringing 
 every part in time under the flood of sun 
 shine pouring joy into the veins, as it were 
 liquid lire, like unto the ichor of the gods. 
 
 APRIL 5, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I WAS absent from home at the time of 
 the great storm on the eleventh, and on my 
 return yesterday found the snow only scat 
 tered in patches instead of completely cov 
 ering the country as it had done two or 
 three days before. Yet even this morning 
 there were some drifts remaining of a foot 
 or two in depth. With the temperature 
 above sixty degrees, however, these cannot 
 last long. 
 
 My morning walk was rewarded by a 
 good handful of hepaticas, together with 
 two or three yellow stars of the cinque-foil, 
 which I found on a sunny slope, its first 
 appearance. This afternoon I found many 
 buds of the dog s-tooth violet just ready to 
 open, though none quite expanded. At 
 sunset the air was full of the ringing musi 
 cal notes of the frogs. I suppose one should 
 rather call it a chirping than singing, but 
 by whatever name it be called, it is very 
 pleasant to those that are fond of it. I 
 heard them first as I neared the bed of the
 
 72 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 old canal, which the rapid thawing of the 
 snow had refilled. They were all talking 
 at once in the merriest humour possible ; 
 but though I approached quietly, and then 
 stood still, they gradually became conscious 
 of my presence, and, fearful lest I should 
 betray their secrets, one by one fell into 
 silence, until at length all had become as 
 still as mice. Shortly after I had passed 
 on, I heard them take up the tale again, 
 narrating, I suppose, each after his own 
 fashion, how "The frog he would a-woo- 
 ing go." 
 
 The smaller river is out again over its 
 banks, but the water has run off with sur 
 prising rapidity, and no damage will be done. 
 The frost being all out of the ground, much 
 water has soaked in, to our relief, and we 
 shall begin the season with the springs well 
 filled. 
 
 I brought with me from the city the ar 
 chitect s plans, specifications, etc., for the 
 cottage that is to be, and the business now 
 begins to take on a serious aspect. I have 
 often amused myself as I have looked be 
 tween the uncovered ribs of a skeleton 
 house, with imagining the life that should 
 be lived therein, its joys and sorrows and 
 various incidents, and birth and death.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 73 
 
 And now I look through the vacant space 
 on the terrace upon the hillside, within the 
 boundaries which I have roughly marked 
 by four fragments of trap-rock, and all the 
 multitudinous interests and queries of 
 human life rise before my imagination. 
 
 Can we see the ghosts of what is to be, 
 as well as of what has already been ? So 
 far no very terrible ghosts have appeared 
 to me. It seems easy to think of the cot 
 tage as growing naturally out of the ground, 
 the moss-covered masses from the ledge 
 and the old stone fences taking their places 
 in the walls, and offering a welcome to the 
 vines that may come to cling to them. And 
 the sunlight will stream easily through the 
 broad windows, and glow upon book and 
 picture, where now the free winds play 
 and leave no track. And music of dulcimer 
 and of sackbut and psaltery and harp in 
 their modern concentrated form will take 
 the place of the winds that whistle free, 
 and mayhap the wind itself, moulded upon 
 delicate vocal cords, may sing the finer 
 airs of the great human composers. 
 
 And where now there are only flashes of 
 light and pulses of free air, there may per 
 chance be flashes of thought, gleams of 
 imagination, heroic impulses. For who
 
 74 FKOM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 knows but some of the great ones may stray 
 thitherward ? And even if they do not, 
 there may be at least brave hopefulness 
 and honest endeavour and a helpful spirit. 
 And if there should hap to be at times un 
 satisfied longings, and even a weary cry, 
 that is but the common lot, and without 
 these the life would hardly seem human. 
 
 But I am a poor prophet if in that dwell 
 ing which is yet unborn the sunny days 
 shall not be more numerous than the sad 
 days. Whence we come we know not ; 
 whither we go we know not. And it is 
 said that "man is born unto trouble as the 
 sparks rly upward." Yet in this little 
 space between the silences, is there a great 
 flood of life with which the whole universe 
 pulses ; over us is the blue vault of heaven 
 with its spinning worlds, world beyond 
 world, to the outer reaches of the imagina 
 tion ; the soil and the surface of the rock 
 and the depth of the waters are budding 
 and blossoming and seeding from hour to 
 hour ; the light waxes and wanes in infi 
 nite gradations of loveliness ; the waters 
 roar and the tempests wail, but anon deli 
 cious music fills the air and soothes the 
 heart ; it is given to us to feed our minds 
 with all that is and was and shall be, and
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 75 
 
 human heart touches heart, even though 
 tongue be mute, and there may seem to be 
 between one and another a great gulf fixed. 
 And so though we stand in the awful 
 presence of the unknown, and looking 
 backward see nought but an impenetrable 
 shade, and looking forward, behold only 
 a golden haze ; though there be days of 
 pain and doubt and sorrow ; though the 
 grasshopper may sometimes seem a bur 
 den ; yet shall the warm blood of the life 
 that is fill the veins, and health and peace 
 will come in the frank acceptance of the 
 experiences that are sent, while the torrent 
 is tamed, the winds are tempered, and the 
 rough places are smoothed before those 
 that are to come after. 
 
 APRIL 15, 1894.
 
 76 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE wild flowers have been slow in show 
 ing themselves, having doubtless learned 
 caution from past experience, but the week 
 just gone, with its many hours of warm 
 sunshine, followed by soft April showers, 
 has brought great changes. Within two or 
 three days I have found, besides the hepat- 
 ica, the first comer, the cinque-foil, the 
 dandelion, the common duckweed, shep 
 herd s purse (is the size of the seed vessels 
 of this a true indication of the small wants 
 or only of the small attainments of the 
 pastoral part of the community ?) the dog s- 
 tooth violet in quantity, the bloodroot, the 
 lovely, modest little quaker lady or inno 
 cence, and the purple trillium, which has not 
 very often happened in my path in the 
 times that are gone. Nothing could be 
 more dainty than the houstonia the little 
 quaker lady. And it is very trustful and 
 confiding withal, and will bloom just as 
 courageously and perseveringly in a saucer 
 at your window if you take up a clump of
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 77 
 
 it, and keep it properly moistened. It is 
 a thirsty little creature, but then it only 
 drinks the most harmless of beverages. 
 One of iny neighbours found a root of it 
 as late as Thanksgiving Day last year, and 
 put it into a tiny vase, which was lent to 
 me for a few days more than a month 
 ago, crowned with over fifty delicate blos 
 soms, just touched with a tint of the vernal 
 sky. 
 
 A marvellous change has taken place in 
 the appearance of the fields and of the 
 trees and shrubs since the showers began. 
 On the sward Nature has been spreading 
 her green tints with a lavish hand, the 
 willows have hung out their golden plumes, 
 and are now putting on a green mantle, and 
 everywhere the buds have been swelling 
 and unfolding, so that the woods and shrub 
 beries have become more dense and richer in 
 colour. A writer in the " London Spectator" 
 has told very daintily the story of the com 
 ing of the buds and blossoms of trees as 
 they are seen in old England, and says that 
 to know them aright there, one must begin 
 to observe them from the first day of the 
 new year. And I remember that White of 
 Selborne finds some of the spring flowers 
 even in December. In our climate they are
 
 78 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 not so enterprising, and I am inclined to 
 think that we enjoy them the more at their 
 coming, because we have had such a long 
 period when life seemed wholly to have 
 passed from the fields and woods. 
 
 I am tempted to quote here some verses 
 of my own, published a good many years 
 ago in another place ; they were written for 
 children but are we not all children in 
 the spring ? 
 
 Glorious sunshine flooding the earth 
 
 Richly with golden showers, 
 Filling our hearts with gladness and mirth, 
 
 Bringing the birds and flowers; 
 Joy giving sunshine, happy are we 
 In the new life that eomes from thee ! 
 
 Softly the raindrops, falling in showers, 
 
 Each like a tiny ball ! 
 Bring down unstinted life; to the (lowers, 
 
 Manna to feed them all! 
 But see! the sunshine gleaming through, 
 Showeth in heaven a gate of blue! 
 
 Over the fields the grasses are creeping, 
 
 Spreading a velvet screen! 
 Into the light the blossoms are peeping, 
 
 Sparkling amid the green ! 
 Joy-giving sunshine, happy are we 
 In the new life that comes from thee !
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 79 
 
 Hark ! tis the birds that blithely are singing 
 
 Thanks for the sunny hours ! 
 Hark ! tis the busy bees that are clinging 
 
 Round the just op ning flowers! 
 Busy and cheerful workers are ye! 
 What is your secret, bird and bee? 
 
 My neighbours are raking the dry leaves 
 from their lawns, and putting their gar 
 dens in order ; the road-makers are abroad, 
 spreading soft mould over the driveways, 
 to provide deep mudholcs to burrow in 
 when the rain comes ; the farmers are busy 
 in the fields preparing for the early crops. 
 And even upon that portion of my "moun 
 tain meadow " which I design for a garden 
 and orchard, the plough has been turning the 
 rich soil up to the sun to be aired and sweet 
 ened, and what here and there appear to be 
 only arbitrary pitfalls for the unwary are 
 the destined homes of apple and peach and 
 pear and cherry and plum and quince and 
 apricot ; and elsewhere, of the elm tree 
 and the white birch. 
 
 I wonder if the latter, which so gener 
 ously clothes the neglected and forgotten 
 fields, and which mounts the rough edge 
 of the deserted gravel pit and plants its 
 little cohorts upon the scarred hillside, will 
 form as graceful a cluster at my bidding, to
 
 8o FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 shut off too long and straight a line of wall, 
 and mark the border of the " home-place." 
 
 On the two mornings immediately pre 
 ceding the rain it was interesting to observe 
 the casts of the earthworms thickly strewn 
 everywhere alongside the paths, and in the 
 pathways themselves, excepting where they 
 had become most solid. Not a worm itself 
 did I see, but there was scarcely a space of 
 five inches anywhere which did not show 
 its little curlicue of fresh soil from beneath. 
 Not more marvellous are the great oaks that 
 grow from the little acorns than are the 
 stupendous changes that are effected upon 
 the surface of the earth by these soft, limp, 
 almost structureless bodies, as Darwin has 
 shown. If any one has a lingering doubt 
 as to the value of individual effort on the 
 part of the ordinary mortal, albeit uncon 
 scious effort, and without conscious pur 
 pose, let him read the " Earthworms and 
 Vegetable Mould," and be encouraged and 
 consoled. 
 
 Undoubtedly it is the exceptional mor 
 tals, the thinkers, the giant workers, the 
 strong, the great, that mark epochs and 
 lead the race forward. We see them above 
 others as we look back over the past, like 
 vigorous trees in the forest, like mountain
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 8l 
 
 peaks o ertopping lesser hills. Mankind 
 will not forget them. Theirs are 
 
 the few, the immortal names, 
 That were not born to die. 
 
 But, as Walt Whitman says, "I sing" 
 the great unknown, the unnumbered com 
 monplace, who go about their daily tasks 
 with only the ordinary hopes and fears, 
 joys and aspirations, wants and woes, vir 
 tues and faults, which are the common lot 
 of the human race. Perhaps even some of 
 these take themselves quite seriously, and 
 are fully aware that the machine would go 
 to pieces if their peg should not be in its 
 place. But there are numberless others 
 who believe themselves of no account, and 
 untold multitudes who think that if only 
 things were somewhat different, then would 
 they be able to give this great world the 
 boost that it needs to send it spinning free 
 adown the ages, or at least might be able to 
 give that little aid of which they now feel 
 incapable. 
 
 Courage, good friend ! Perhaps " this is 
 the very place God meant for thee," and out 
 of it thou wouldst be lost, and it also. Till 
 thine own acre. A good people is only 
 made out of good individuals, and the strong
 
 82 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 and courageous leader can only make a 
 strong and courageous nation by inspiring 
 others with his strength and courage. A 
 stream will not rise higher than its source, 
 but the fuller the spring, the surer will it 
 " to higher levels rise." 
 
 APKIL 22, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 83 
 
 When Adam dolvo, and Eve span, 
 Who was then the gentleman ? 
 
 Din you ever hear an easier conundrum 
 in your life ? The journeyman gardener 
 who could not guess this at the first attempt, 
 is not worth his salt. 
 
 I have been at it for two days. After 
 many hours labour, I am forced this after 
 noon to confess that it is easier in theory 
 than in practice. How can there be so 
 many stones in so small a piece of ground ? 
 Why will the teeth of the rake catch in 
 the edge of the sod and turn it up, and 
 compel me to pull and push and beat it in 
 order to work out the rich mould, before 
 the grass can be thrown off upon the border 
 or left to wither upon the surface ? And 
 why, O why, is it such a labour to get the 
 kink out of the back, and put some flexi 
 bility into the spine once more ? 
 
 Ah ! but when I raise my eyes ! There, 
 before me are the everlasting hills, "from
 
 4 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 whence cometh my help," in all their glory 
 and mystery. And marshalled in mighty 
 hosts, the great clouds, majestic in form 
 and magnificent in colour, sometimes vast 
 piles of snow, and then deep-toned, sombre 
 masses, march across the heavens, and anon 
 the hills are shrouded as with a veil, a sud 
 den gust of wind passes down the valley, 
 and the rain drops, in serried files, are driven 
 across the fields. And then the sun breaks 
 through in the west and dazzles my eyes, 
 and as my neighbour calls from the adjoining 
 orchard, I turn eastward, and behold a per 
 fect bow, which, resting at both ends upon 
 the earth between me and my own woodland, 
 spans the site of the future home. Shall I, 
 just for this once, be a trifle superstitious, 
 and accept the token as a welcome harbin 
 ger of the better days that are to be ? 
 
 APRIL 24, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 85 
 
 XVI. 
 
 $a Graig--2Bcibltcf)e 
 3icf)t un fyinan. 
 
 AMATI, Stradivarius, Guarnerius, O 
 sons of Cremona, what subtile spirit 
 taught you how to shape and tune that 
 divine instrument which can express as 
 no other all the aspirations and passions 
 of the human heart ? How its tones twist 
 and twine around our nerves, until we vi 
 brate in unison with its quivering strings, 
 and are played upon as though we our 
 selves were the instrument ! And she that 
 handles the bow, how fine her dower, to be 
 able to evoke at will that mystic charm, 
 and rule our ear and heart and soul, with 
 a greater spell than that of the Pied Piper 
 of Hamelin-town, leading us all a-dancing 
 through the charmed aisles of wonderland. 
 We that have not the gift can do no less 
 than render just homage where it is due, 
 not unmingled, perhaps, with a righteous 
 envy of the power to confer upon others 
 so great a draught of pleasure. So Viola
 
 86 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 played this afternoon, and we all rejoiced. 
 And Brunella, from the cold ivory keys, 
 drew a fitting harmony upon which the 
 lingering and sparkling tones of the violin 
 floated and danced, as upon the crest of the 
 waves. And then from the same keys rip 
 pled the tripping melody, and deep and 
 solemn chords responded to an assured and 
 sympathetic touch. 
 
 What can one do or say in return for such 
 a pleasure ? The scribe ventured only to 
 remark that what was so charming to the 
 hearer must be even a greater delight to the 
 performer. Brunella suggested that the per 
 former suffered sometimes from a conscious 
 ness of unsympathetic hearers. But what 
 hearers could fail to be sympathetic under 
 such a spell ? Ah ! doubtless there are dull 
 ears, and nerves so heavy or so weary,, that 
 they fail to respond to the message borne 
 by the pulsing air. And perhaps there may 
 be hearts that are not wholly awake to the 
 finer melodies and harmonies of the uni 
 verse, to which these tones are but as sound 
 and fury, signifying nothing. 
 
 I sometimes wonder why it is that so 
 many people miss the finer shades of mean 
 ing in this harmony that we call life, and in
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 87 
 
 very good faith do their little best to con 
 vert it into unlovely discord. 
 
 The scribe is, as it were, admitted here 
 into the very realm of the Princess Ida, with 
 out even the moral support that he might 
 have, were Cyril and Fjorian with him. The 
 one black sheep amid a flock of ewe lambs 
 this afternoon, he could but shelter himself 
 in a quiet corner, and bless his stars that the 
 lambs were so gentle, and that they were 
 not wolves instead. The man who does not 
 feel abashed in the presence of a pure and 
 noble woman, .must himself be very free 
 from tarnish by the world, or he must be 
 very callous. If she be 
 
 A creature not too bright or good 
 For liumau nature s daily food ; 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 Fraise, blame, love, kisses, tears aiid smiles. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
 A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort, and command: 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright 
 With something of angelic light, 
 
 she is surely the crown of life so far as it 
 has yet appeared upon the work-and-play 
 ground of our mother earth.
 
 88 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 One must, however, encourage one s self 
 with the thought that she cannot dispense 
 with him in the long run, that there 
 
 must be 
 
 Everywhere 
 
 Two heads in council, two beside the hearth, 
 Two in the tangled business of the world, 
 Two in the liberal offices of life, 
 Two plummets dropped for one to sound the 
 
 abyss 
 
 Of science, and the secrets of the mind: 
 Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, more: 
 And everywhere the broad and bounteous 
 
 earth 
 Should bear a double growth of those rare 
 
 souls, 
 Poets, whose thoughts enrich the blood of the 
 
 world. 
 
 Man needs collision of intellect and inter 
 change of thought with his fellow-man, and 
 woman needs to range herself alongside her 
 sister. But more than all else, each needs 
 the inspiration that comes from the other. 
 Their attitude of mind, thought, and feeling 
 is different : 
 
 For woman is not undeveloped man, 
 But diverse : could we make her as the man, 
 Sweet Ix>ve were slain : his dearest bond is 
 this,
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 89 
 
 Not like to like, but like in difference : 
 Yet in the long years liker must they grow ; 
 The man be more of woman, she of man ; 
 He gain in sweetness and in moral height, 
 Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the 
 
 world ; 
 She mental breadth, nor fail in childward 
 
 care, 
 
 Nor lose the child-like in the larger mind ; 
 Till at the last she set herself to man, 
 Like perfect music unto noble words ; 
 And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, 
 Sit side by side, full summ d in all their pow 
 ers, 
 
 Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, 
 Self-reverent each and reverencing each, 
 Distinct in individualities, 
 But like each other ev n as those who love. 
 
 I was struck by Phillis s suggestion in at 
 tempting to account for a certain lack of 
 interest in outward nature and natural 
 science which appeared to be visible in her 
 sisters, that their thought and feeling were 
 by constitution more centred upon the in 
 dividual human being, and personal rela 
 tions. Whether this be so, I cannot say, 
 but certainly there seems to be with them 
 a definite tendency toward measuring by 
 the concrete, and ignoring abstract rela 
 tions and wide affinities and deductions,
 
 go FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 as compared with their brothers. And 
 withal, there appears to be a certain intui 
 tive unreasoning clearness of perception in 
 some directions, where all man s careful 
 study occasionally leads him astray, or 
 befogs his vision. 
 
 A truce to the absurd discussion as to 
 which is the greater power. In a certain 
 volume which used to be widely read, it is 
 written, " So God created man in his own 
 image, in the image of God created he 
 him ; male and female created he them." 
 And I think that I speak as by authority 
 for one-half of the human race, in saying 
 that out of the smoke of the battle, and 
 out of the dust and heat of the conflict of 
 life, we of the rougher, coarser sort look up 
 for needed refreshment to those who may 
 be a little removed from the worst of this 
 soiling contact ; ask for an occasional breath 
 of a higher, purer air, for a touch that will 
 cool and freshen us, a guiding hand to lead 
 us to the serener heights, whence we can 
 gaze into the infinite distances. And we 
 hope that the time may never come when 
 we cannot repeat, as now we fervently 
 say : 
 
 The ever-womanly leadeth us. 
 
 APKIL 23, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 A NOT ungentle touch upon the shoulder 
 brought me to myself, and to a realization 
 of the fact that there was an outside world, 
 and I found the conductor standing quietly 
 by my side in that expectant attitude which 
 demands recognition. 
 
 I was speeding on my way homeward, 
 with a heavy burden lifted from my mind, 
 but with a leaden weight resting upon my 
 weary eyelids, after long night watches. 
 But how great a contrast in these weights ! 
 A glance from the car-window fully awak 
 ened me. The spotless heaven smiled back 
 upon the rollicking fruit trees, bursting 
 everywhere into blossom, as into tumultuous 
 laughter ; the rich green of the pastures, 
 and the softer shades of the various trees 
 of the wood vied with each other in their 
 effort to refresh the eye ; there were the 
 meadows, 
 
 with daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 
 excepting that it was still too early for the 
 daisies, at least for the common white-
 
 92 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 weed which we dignify by that name, and 
 I had to take the buttercups instead ; but 
 there were violets a-plenty, and on the 
 slopes, the tender blue of that of the bird s- 
 foot, the loveliest one of all ; there were the 
 moss pinks, the crowsfoot geranium, the 
 wild azalea, and what-not. How bright it 
 all was, and how happy they looked ! 
 They toiled not, neither did they spin, and 
 yet " Solomon, in all his glory, was not ar 
 rayed, was not arrayed, like one of these, 
 like one of these." It seemed as if 
 work were needless, and that we, too, 
 should vegetate only, in a world so full of 
 life. 
 
 But no such immunity from the com 
 mon lot is needful. What do I say ? no 
 such immunity is desirable or grateful, ex 
 cept for the moment. It is the weight 
 upon the heart that crushes. The knowl 
 edge of personal wrong-doing is the worst, 
 or perhaps the best, in that it brings with 
 it its own antidote, in the healthful im 
 pulse, but next to this, and in a certain 
 sense the worst of all, is the fact of being 
 cruelly misconceived and misjudged. Ah ! 
 this is the burden which we feel cannot be 
 borne, the wrong for which there appears 
 no remedy, the damned spot which seems
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 93 
 
 as though it will not out. The heavens 
 grow black, and the waters of the river of 
 life run muddy and sullen. How horrible 
 it all is, the taint that spreads as a drop 
 of oil upon the face of the waters, until 
 every point we touch is mastered by it, but 
 in how different a fashion ! 
 
 When, however, the hideous charin is 
 broken, ah ! then comes the light ! As now 
 the sunlight gleaming through the tender 
 gray green leaves, dancing upon the blades 
 of grass, flashing from the ripples upon the 
 water, sparkling in the blue of the sky ; 
 while the brooks murmur and the birds 
 carol as though they were but an embodied 
 joy- 
 
 MAY 10, 1894.
 
 94 FROM A NEW ENGL.l N D HILLSIDE. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 I said that it was a great bore, 
 Phollis remarked in that exasperating way 
 that some young women have of dulling 
 the fine points made by their elders, fur 
 whose gray beards and bald pates they 
 should have more respect, that I "must 
 have got that off before, it came so easy." 
 I was speaking of the big hole which I 
 own upon the hillside. I never owned so 
 long a hole before in all my life, and now I 
 cannot take it away with me and make it 
 of any service. 
 
 The fact is that workmen have set up a 
 steam engine with other appropriate para 
 phernalia upon my building site, and for a 
 week past they have been drilling away 
 with a very blunt chisel in search for water. 
 They tell me they have already gone down 
 about seventy-two feet, and have as yet 
 secured a very inadequate supply of that 
 useful commodity. They tell me also that 
 they are on hard pan, and this makes me 
 feel at home, so many of us have been situ-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 95 
 
 ated in the same way for the past year. 
 And it also has a familiar sound when they 
 add that they do not know how long this 
 condition of affairs may continue. 
 
 I looked into the hole, which they have 
 lined with an iron pipe about six inches in 
 diameter, and a very black hole it is, and 
 far on the road toward Calcutta. We all 
 supposed that we should strike rock within 
 a few feet from the surface, and find a suit 
 able supply of water shortly after. Hut 
 fortune did not favour us, and now I am 
 tied, as it were, to the interior of the earth 
 by a mysterious channel. It is a precious 
 possession. Nobody else in the neighbour 
 hood owns such a hole, and though I some 
 times hear of depredations in the village or 
 on the surrounding farms, fruit taken or po 
 tatoes dug, or, as, alas ! in a recent case, 
 even a horse stolen, I am not afraid of any 
 one pulling this up and carrying it off. It 
 is one thing which I shall be able to keep, 
 and I shall make the most of it. 
 
 And now I am going to let out a little 
 secret, which will betray my own ignorance. 
 When I had written that word "parapher 
 nalia" a little way back, it being a rather 
 formidable word, I did as I often do in such 
 cases, I referred to a small dictionary to
 
 96 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 make sure that my spelling was correct. 
 I used the small dictionary to save time, 
 notwithstanding that Ions experience should 
 have taught me that I always have to refer 
 to the larger work before I get through. 
 
 Well, I referred to a certain " rocket 
 Dictionary of the English Language " which 
 has in times past been the cause of much 
 of this sort of trouble, and read, to my dis 
 may, this definition : " Paraphernalia, goods 
 of a wife beyond her dower." A pretty 
 mess I had made of it. Let us see how the 
 phrase runs with the substitution: "A 
 steam engine with other appropriate goods 
 of a wife beyond her dower." Woe is me ! 
 Would any one have supposed in advance 
 that a steam engine should naturally be 
 classed among the appropriate goods of a 
 wife beyond her dower ? This opens a large 
 iield for speculation, and points to the great 
 extension and importance of the manufac 
 turing era, but also to an extension of the 
 scope of woman s activities. A steam engine 
 would doubtless, in certain emergencies, be 
 a good thing to have in the family, but it 
 lias its disadvantages. Phollis told me this 
 afternoon that my bluff rock had been her 
 favourite place of resort for study and quiet 
 reading, but that during the past week she
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 97 
 
 had been driven from it by the dull and 
 monotonous thud, thud of the engine. And 
 I quite shared in her feeling. We do not 
 desire to shirk labour here, but it is hand 
 labour and head labour and heart labour 
 that is to our liking, and naught that re 
 minds us strongly of the great hives of in 
 dustry which we have left behind us. 
 
 And what of those hives? I do not know 
 whether it is particularly profitable to spec 
 ulate about the effect of inevitable and un 
 avoidable conditions, or relations which 
 must be lived through. I am inclined to 
 think, though, that there are certain advan 
 tages to be derived from sometimes trying 
 to get them into proper perspective, and 
 from picturing to ourselves their causes and 
 consequences, their necessity and value or 
 uselessness, their transitoriness or perma 
 nence. 
 
 When Hero of Alexandria constructed 
 his seolipile or James Watt his workable 
 steam engine, how little either of them 
 thought that he was dealing with an agency 
 which should not only transform the world, 
 but should transform the race also ! Think, 
 if you can, of what the world would be to 
 day had the steam engine never been in 
 vented. No communication between place 
 
 H
 
 Qo FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 and place excepting by row-boat or sailing 
 vessel on the water, or by animal-power 
 or on foot on the land ; no stupendous dis 
 emboweling of the earth for the fuel stored 
 therein by the sun in ages past, or for 
 the metals, lead and iron and zinc, copper 
 and silver and gold ; no spanning of mighty 
 rivers by great bridges ; no vast workshops, 
 swarming with hundreds and thousands of 
 men and women, gathered at the call of im 
 mense machines, whose servants they be 
 come, to make millions of copies of a single 
 pattern, and often of such a pattern as was 
 never seen on any mount of vision ; and 
 to work, mind upon mind, in a narrow 
 circle, on the one side increasing and de 
 veloping mental action, and on the other 
 limiting, deforming, twisting it, and cramp 
 ing the individual into the pattern of the 
 class. 
 
 I have particularly in mind just now the 
 two points to which I have last alluded : 
 The flooding of the world with countless 
 copies of articles exactly similar, for whose 
 form and character their putative makers 
 have practically no thought or responsibil 
 ity ; and the effect upon these makers of 
 their herding together. In both respects 
 the bad and the good are inextricably mill-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 99 
 
 gled. You can indicate them, but you can 
 not disentangle them. In the first instance, 
 possessions have become democratized. The 
 convenience or the ornament, which once 
 was only for the select few, or even not for 
 these, b lt non-existent, is strewn broadcast 
 among the multitude, sold for a song. 
 But alas ! it has lost its soul. No loving, 
 thoughtful care goes into it ; it has no per 
 sonality ; it has descended, as from a man 
 to a manikin. 
 
 And the workers, what of them ? From 
 the free air, under the broad light of heaven, 
 they have been drawn into these immense 
 caravansaries, where their ears buzz with 
 the whirr, their nerves tremble with the jar, 
 their nostrils are rilled with the mixed efflu 
 via of many things which are not nice ; to 
 perform a certain act over and over and 
 over and over again, plodding through a 
 tread-mill life ; meeting hour after hour, 
 anil day after day, and week after week, 
 and month after month, with others strug 
 gling under like limitations ; forced to hear 
 and parry or accept ideas, and therefore 
 forced to think, but shut in one eternal 
 round, with the little of life they see visi 
 ble as through a distorting lens ; how is it 
 possible that the world should be to them
 
 100 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 as it is to those who view it as free individ 
 uals out in God s sunshine ? Is it strange 
 that all sorts of exploded theories, chimeri 
 cal schemes, and absurd conceptions of 
 "natural rights" and millennial possibilities 
 should find in such congregations a congenial 
 soil, and that we are from time to time con 
 fronted with a problem which it seems im 
 possible to solve : how to clarify this vision, 
 to couch the suffering eyes before it is too 
 late, and the incurable disaster falls upon 
 us ? The wonder under these conditions is, 
 I think, that sanity continues to be the rule 
 and has not become the exception, and that 
 somehow there is in the individual a suffi 
 cient repulsive power to enable him or her 
 for the most part to resist what would seem 
 to be the inevitable consequences of the 
 position. 
 
 But these reflections cause one to pray 
 for some loop-hole through which humanity 
 may creep into a freer air, where the soul 
 can be regained. And I sometimes won 
 der whether the relief which we seek may 
 not yet be found in the age of electricity, 
 which is following upon the heels of the age 
 of steam. May it not be that the time is 
 coming, and even not far in the distant 
 future, when through storage battery or in
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. IOI 
 
 some other way the skilled workman may 
 obtain the added power which he now needs, 
 and have it brought to his own dwelling, 
 and thus be enabled to retire " far from the 
 madding crowd," and by personal thought 
 and individual touch impress upon the 
 thing which he creates that character and 
 merit which will conquer for it a place in 
 the affection and in the markets of the 
 world ? Let us hope so. 
 
 But where was I ? As I live, looking out 
 the meaning of the word paraphernalia in 
 the dictionary. Come, come no more tri 
 fling with this little affair ; let us see what 
 the " Century " has to tell us. Ah ! here it 
 is ; number three will save me, but only as 
 by fire ; "miscellaneous possessions," and 
 1 will positively refuse to pay any attention 
 whatever to the rest of the sentence, "as 
 the numerous conveniences of a traveller, 
 small decorative objects, and the like." 
 
 MAY 11, 1891.
 
 102 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 " Look here, upon this picture." 
 
 Is it possible that I have permitted seven 
 months to pass without a second visit to 
 Kattlesnake Mountain ? Even so ; and 
 again a stiff breeze is blowing, but laden 
 now with the odours of spring, and full of 
 the promise of the summer days. As we 
 climb the mountain side, Phollis and I, we 
 are greeted now and again by the fragrance 
 of apple blossoms, by the spicy breath of 
 the cedars, exhaling their rich aroma at the 
 solicitation of the warm sun, by the mint 
 which we crush beneath our feet, by the 
 thousand mingled perfumes of tree and 
 shrub and herb which surround us, and of 
 the earth from which they spring, with its 
 carpet of dried leaves. 
 
 The notes of many birds come to us 
 through the branches, and we see them 
 fluttering from tree to tree, occasionally 
 showing a bright wing sparkling in a slant 
 sunbeam. Song-sparrow, Maryland yellow
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 103 
 
 throat, wood robin, redstart, oriole, gros 
 beak, thrush how I wish I knew them 
 all, and the meaning of their joyous calls ! 
 It scarcely seems as if it would require the 
 intervention of the cruel uncle to induce us 
 to lie upon this warm sun-flecked slope, and 
 be overspread with a leafy counterpane. 
 But I hardly think that our red-breasted 
 thrush, masquerading as robin redbreast, as 
 the white weed in its turn does as the 
 
 Wee, modest, crimsou tipped flow r, 
 is really fully aware how 
 
 Robin redbreast piously 
 Did cover them with leaves, 
 
 and, just possibly, even now we might run 
 the risk of a late frost. But how good it is 
 here ! 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 
 
 Who loves to lie witli me, 
 
 And turn his merry note 
 
 Unto the sweet bird s throat 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
 
 Here shall he see 
 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth ambition shun 
 And loves to live i the sun,
 
 IO4 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 Seeking tho food he eats 
 
 And pleased with what he gets 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
 
 Here shall he see 
 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 We commit ourselves to the uncertainties 
 of an unknown path which opportunely 
 presents itself, and plunge into the intri 
 cacies of the wood. The trees and shrubs 
 are all in leaf, but the leaves like Little 
 Buttercup are young and tender, inviting 
 to reckless experiment with teeth and pal 
 ate, 
 
 Seeking the food he eats 
 And pleased with what he gets, 
 
 that we may be prepared, if peradventure 
 we be lost in the wood, and forced to seek 
 sustenance from sources hitherto untried. 
 I do not advise too free an indulgence in 
 this sort of investigation, however, by those 
 who have not already some knowledge of 
 the organic world in its unsophisticated in 
 digenous forms. But there may be great 
 possibilities here. Did not Lorelei teach us 
 on Cape Cod last summer that the limpets 
 upon the shore were dainties to be prized, 
 and did I not seriously meditate housing
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 105 
 
 myself in a cabin within sight of the surf, 
 and, luxuriating upon this delicious diet, 
 loafing and inviting my soul on the beach 
 throughout the long summer days ? As I 
 think of it, memory brings before me the 
 stretch of yellow grey shore with the rip 
 pling edge of the water gently lapping the 
 sand at my feet as the tide turns, with here 
 and there protruding the gaunt ribs of a 
 wrecked coaster, covered with barnacles, 
 and with waving streamers of seaweed. 
 
 Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair ? 
 A tress o golden hair, 
 O drowned maiden s hair, 
 Above the nets at sea ? 
 
 Behind me is the crumbling bank with its 
 ragged edge of roots and overhanging grass, 
 and with the pitch-pines and scrub-oaks 
 clinging for dear life to the top of the bluff, 
 while away, away in front stretch the shal 
 low waters toward Martha s Vineyard and 
 Nantucket, which perchance are just lifted 
 by the mirage upon the edge of the distant 
 horizon. 
 
 And just here a blundering, crooked 
 branch of witch-hazel stretches across the 
 path, and we are again on Kattlesnake 
 Mountain, in the aisles of the merry green-
 
 106 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 wood, where many of the young leaves are 
 yet so small as to permit the eye to penetrate 
 between them into the heart of the forest. 
 And in return, I cut a good forked branch 
 of the witch-hazel to test its traditional 
 virtues, and trim it to the satisfaction of my 
 companion. Is it to be wondered at, that in 
 the hands of the seeress thus equipped, it 
 shortly pointed toward the centre of the 
 earth, upon a spot beneath which doubtless 
 pulses a restless spring, eager to be released ? 
 Far be it from us to suggest a distrust of 
 such an indication, by trying to pry into 
 the heart of Nature s secrets. Much more 
 proper was it to show our loyalty by erect 
 ing upon the spot a monument consisting of 
 the wand itself. 
 
 The convenient path winds around the 
 side of the hill, here a scarcely marked 
 track, and there deeply gullied by the late 
 winter torrents, but now dry and irregularly 
 strewn with loose stones. At length the 
 bolder rocks come into view upon our right, 
 and leaving the path we climb from head 
 land to headland until we are upon the very 
 summit, with the world of town and city, 
 farm and forest spread at our feet. 
 
 The long-wished-for rain has not come, 
 and the Last year s leaves are dry, and miles
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 107 
 
 away to the northward a vast cloud of grey 
 smoke from fiercely burning woods rises in 
 puffs high into the air, and spreads itself in 
 gradually attenuated sheets until we trace 
 it thinly in delicate wreaths, far toward the 
 southern horizon. And anon comes to us a 
 whiff of its agreeable odour, a faint apology 
 for the cruel wound the fire is making upon 
 the distant mountain -side. 
 
 After viewing the kingdoms of the world 
 and the glory of them, we sit upon the 
 weather-worn rock, which is lined here and 
 there with delicate intersecting ridges of 
 harder material, looking, as Phollis says, 
 like the interlaced markings upon the back 
 of a Brobdignagian hand. And from his 
 capacious pocket, the scribe, playing an an 
 cient and familiar trick, familiar at least 
 to him, produces an old-fashioned blue and 
 gold volume. How dainty this style seemed 
 to us, six lustrums ago, before the begin 
 ning of the flood of handsome and handy 
 books with which the publishers have fa 
 voured us in these latter years ! And we 
 prize them yet, and this among the best, 
 this book of dough s, of our poet immigrant 
 of forty years ago, that earnest but restless 
 spirit, whom some loved so much, both those 
 who knew him personally, and those of us
 
 I08 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 who did not, and whom now so few remem 
 ber. Some things that he wrote they can 
 not escape knowing : the 
 
 Say not, the struggle naught availeth, 
 and 
 
 As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay 
 With canvas drooping, side by side, 
 
 Two towers of sail at dawn of day 
 Are scarce, long leagues apart descried ; 
 
 and 
 
 Come back, come back! behold with strain 
 ing mast 
 
 And swelling sail, behold her steaming 
 fast; 
 
 ending with the fine 
 
 Come back, come back ! 
 
 Back flics the foam ; the hoisted flag streams 
 
 back; 
 The long smoke wavers on the homeward 
 
 track ; 
 Back fly with winds things which the winds 
 
 obey : 
 The strong ship follows its appointed way. 
 
 And some of these things the scribe read 
 aloud to his companion. But there are 
 many more that they ought to know, others 
 of the minor poems, and the " Bothie," and
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. log 
 
 parts of the "Amours de Voyage," and 
 "Dipsychus." There is a resonance, a lilt 
 in his language, as in the accumulation of 
 Scotch names in 
 
 Wherefore in Badenoch then, far away, in 
 
 Lochaber, Lochiel, in 
 Knoydart, Moydart, Morrer, Ardgower, and 
 
 Ardnamurchan, 
 
 but there is more than the resonance and 
 the lilting. And as the scribe reads the 
 familiar words, again the mountain fades 
 away, and he is a boy once more, reading 
 aloud on a long carriage journey "The 
 Bothie of Toper-na-Fuosich," as it was first 
 called, his heart even then filled and swell 
 ing with its music, and its suggestions of 
 another and far different world, and a life 
 covered with the glamour of romance. 
 
 MAY 17, 1891.
 
 IIO FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " and on this." 
 
 LAST evening we gathered in the village 
 hall, and La Signora Alba beguiled our ears 
 with old Volkslieder ; with pure tone and 
 sympathetic touch, interpreting alike the 
 lover s appeal, the exile s regret at parting, 
 and the rich phrases of the chorale. And 
 then we went out into the night, and found 
 the path necked with moonbeams, and each 
 wished to see the other safe at home, and 
 we reached the end of the village street ere 
 it seemed time to turn and retrace our steps. 
 And a tiny nerve fibre somewhere under the 
 scribe s epidermis vibrated pleasantly when 
 Phillis said that certain sketches by an un 
 known writer seemed fated to make her 
 cheerful in spite of herself. 
 
 Left alone in the night, I remembered 
 that I wished to mark the true meridian 
 upon my building site, so that the cottage 
 may be set at the proper angle. It is to 
 face exactly toward the northwest, partly
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. Ill 
 
 because the hill slopes in that direction, 
 and partly that the sun, which dominates 
 our life, may at some time on every bright 
 day send its purifying rays into each of 
 its rooms. If the wild flowers of the field 
 need the caressing touch of the sunlight, 
 how much more do we, of the larger and 
 fuller, if not nobler and more beautiful 
 growth ! 
 
 So I mounted the hill, and climbed the 
 bars into the meadow. (I do not readily 
 become accustomed to this term as applied 
 to elevated grounds and hillsides. In the 
 Middle States I have only heard it used in 
 relation to valley lands.) Notwithstanding 
 the drought, the grass is well grown, but I 
 found it perfectly dry, though the night was 
 not cloudy. I remember that a certain 
 writer whose interesting essays I have re 
 cently read, apparently speaking with au 
 thority, tells us that the dew ascends from 
 the soil, and in part is exuded directly by 
 the grass and other plants. If this be true, 
 and the ninth edition of the Encyclopedia 
 Uritannica does not confirm it, I do not 
 wonder that the grass was not wet. All 
 the soil in holes dug to-day in which to 
 plant some belated fruit and shade trees, 
 was found to be dry and crumbling.
 
 112 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 My scheme contemplated an observation 
 of the pole star, which was visible, but only 
 dimly, because of the moonlight, and be 
 cause the atmosphere was full of what ap 
 peared to be a dry haze, presumably smoke 
 and dust. I chose this plan because the 
 variation of the needle here is considerable 
 and uncertain, and near these trap ledges 
 the compass is apt to be a false and treach 
 erous guide. 
 
 I first drove a slender stake into the 
 ground, and then taking another a few feet 
 to the southward of it, and humbling my 
 self with my eye close to mother earth, 
 took repeated observations until I had sat 
 isfied myself that I had secured a range as 
 accurate as possible. Then I drove in my 
 second stake firmly also, and the thing was 
 done. 
 
 From the woodland along the ledge, 
 sounded the melancholy note of the whip- 
 poor-will ; from a distant kennel came the 
 bark of an uneasy dog ; lamps shone from 
 windows here and there ; and all the valley 
 was suffused with the soft light of the 
 moon, in which every object finally disap 
 peared in a nebulous haze. It was the first 
 time that I had stood at this hour upon the 
 spot with which the future is to make me
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 113 
 
 so familiar in all its phases. At such a 
 place, at such a time, one has a curiously 
 mingled sense of solitude and companion 
 ship. No one was near me ; no one knew 
 where I was, perhaps no one greatly 
 cared : 
 
 I heard the trailing garments of the Night 
 
 Sweep through her marble halls ! 
 I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 
 
 From the celestial walls ! 
 I felt her presence, by its spell of might, 
 
 Stoop o er me from above ; 
 The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 
 
 As of the one I love. 
 
 But before and below me, here and there, 
 twinkled the home stars, around which were 
 gathered father and mother, sister and 
 brother yes and doubtless 
 
 a dearer one 
 Still, and a nearer one 
 Yet than all other. 
 
 Might I not venture to claim a part in all 
 this home-life, and, resting upon my solitary 
 terrace, drop a gentle thought to mingle 
 with, perhaps to fructify and stimulate the 
 lives which it should touch ? 
 
 MAY 17, 1894.
 
 114 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 The bridal of the earth and sky. 
 
 IT has been absolutely superb. The long 
 storm with which the drought closed has 
 finally passed away, and it has left us with 
 the atmosphere washed clean, but with great 
 floating masses of cloud, lagging, not by any 
 means superfluous, upon the stage, but so 
 as to present to us every variety of beauty 
 that we could desire. 
 
 I have spent nearly the whole day, sit 
 ting in the shade of my own ash tree, read 
 ing and receiving sundry callers, and listen 
 ing to the birds of all sorts and sizes, as 
 merry as grigs ; and anon looking across 
 the field of the cloth of gold made by the 
 buttercups, upon the valley and the distant 
 hills, where the shadows of the slowly 
 moving clouds produced an ever- vary ing 
 play of light that was infinitely beautiful. 
 
 And I have been travelling in delightful 
 familiar paths, and steeping myself in the
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 115 
 
 joys of the past, tempered by that regret 
 which must now always endure, as I have 
 read the manuscript pages of the story of 
 the life of our Bayard, our knight without 
 fear and without reproach, Curtis, whom, 
 alas ! we shall see no more on this earth 
 forever. What joy he would have taken in 
 this day and in this spot ! There were no 
 need of Tit bottom s spectacles, and the 
 finest castles in Spain could not rank as real 
 estate at a higher value than the invisible 
 cottage outlined by cords, arid surrounded 
 by rough boarding here at my side, which 
 he would so gladly have seen complete and 
 tenanted. 
 
 How can it be possible that any one who 
 was so fortunate as to be baptized with the 
 holy chrism of the love and confidence of 
 this sweet and tender spirit, should ever 
 thereafter do an unworthy thing or think 
 an unworthy thought ! Alas ! that it should 
 be so ! As I read, and the years of the 
 past are recalled, I again become conscious 
 of the noble presence, I feel once more the 
 touch of the gentle hand, I see the tender, 
 affectionate look in the true eye, and I hear 
 the musical voice which is now silent for- 
 evermore. Ah ! me ! it is worth having 
 lived to have had such a friend ; and how
 
 Il6 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 wide and rich was his capacity for friend 
 ship ! 
 
 Last week it was my fortune to attend 
 a meeting at the club of those who are 
 charged with the duty of preparing some 
 appropriate memorial which shall testify to 
 coming generations of the supreme regard 
 in which he is held by many of the best of 
 this. There was the ex-mayor, who is rap 
 idly building a somnolent college into a 
 great university ; there was the poet-editor 
 who lately sang of the blossoming and the 
 evanishment of the great White City ; there 
 was the genial essayist, my neighbour still 
 going with good cheer on his little journey 
 in the world ; there was the representative 
 of the time-honoured publishing house of the 
 Cheerible brothers ; there was the barrister 
 by whom rogues most dread to be cross- 
 examined, the doctor for whom the profes 
 sion does not afford a field broad enough 
 for his energies, the painter who knows 
 how to catch the very spirit of the New 
 England village, and the general who can 
 hold an audience hanging upon his word, 
 and who can tell, because he saw it with 
 his own eyes, how his great chief received 
 the sword of Lee under the tree at Appo- 
 rnattox. And there were the best of words
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 117 
 
 from the wise and shrewd bishop who can 
 drive in double harness in perfect amicable- 
 ness such curiously mismated clerical 
 steeds, and over the vibrating wire came 
 the voice of our good friend who gives me 
 the privilege that I have enjoyed to-day. 
 It was a noteworthy company, and testified, 
 as it has been testified in many ways, to the 
 strong and vital influence which he of whom 
 I write, whether in the field of political 
 conflict, upon the rostrum, at the desk, in 
 the Easy Chair, or by the fireside, has exer 
 cised upon the best of his generation. 
 
 As I turn over these pages, I strike upon 
 passages which bring up vividly picture 
 after picture. As this, in a letter written 
 on the 20th of April, 1861 : " This day in 
 New York has been beyond description, 
 and remember, if we lose Washington to 
 night or to-morrow, as we probably shall, 
 we have taken New York. 1 1 Do you real 
 ize that in that crisis it really seemed that 
 Washington must go, and that it is most 
 singular that it did not ? It was completely 
 at the mercy of the southern troops. In 
 April, 1892, while a party of us were on 
 our way to Baltimore, our friend the gen 
 eral not the general of whom I spoke a 
 moment ago told us the story of how he
 
 Il8 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 reached Washington by stealth in those 
 days of suspense, bearing dispatches which 
 conveyed to the President and the cabinet 
 from the governor of this state of ours, the 
 first news which they received of the rising 
 in the North, the good news that the boys 
 had begun that great inarch which was to 
 last four weary years. The enemy com 
 manded the city, and must have failed to 
 occupy it simply because they did not know 
 that they had but to march in and take 
 possession. And then a few hours, and the 
 news came that the troops were near by, 
 and our friend was told to watch the flag 
 staff upon the Senate end of the capitol, 
 because the flag would be displayed there 
 from the instant the boys came in sight. 
 And then a few moments more of suspense, 
 and behold the flag was flung to the breeze, 
 and Washington was saved. 
 
 Or this fragment from a letter of April 4, 
 1865 : " I thought of you all the day yester 
 day as the news of the crowning mercy came 
 rolling in. The merchants and brokers in 
 Wall street came out of their dens and sang 
 Old Hundred and John Brown. 1 " Do I 
 not remember it as though it were yester 
 day ? What an inexpressible joy there was 
 in the air, and how we all tried to do what
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 1 19 
 
 we could to express it ! The leaders stood 
 in the great dark colonnade of the custom 
 house, but the day was bright, and our hearts 
 were full ; the street was crowded as far as 
 one could see, and we sang and sang, until 
 we were all hoarse. How dark the cloud 
 had been, and how long and dreary the 
 days ; but now the cloud was lifted, the end 
 had come ! 
 
 And I see another picture. Peace had 
 lasted for almost a generation, and we, a 
 non-combatant body-guard, accompanied 
 the orator on his way to deliver the address 
 on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the battle 
 of Gettysburg, in July, 1888. Of the dozen 
 who formed the party then, alas! already 
 the chief and three others have joined the 
 majority. But then were three perfect 
 days, in which Walter Howe, who was to 
 leave us in his prime, catered for the party 
 as though he had been to the manner born. 
 Pearson told us of the trials which encom 
 pass the man who undertakes to do his 
 simple duty in a great office, and Barlow 
 showed us where he fought, bled, and almost 
 died in the good cause. And the leader hal 
 lowed us all by his presence, and focussed 
 in himself the interests and the aspirations 
 of all. And we explored the wildnesses of
 
 120 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 the Devil s Den, and became appropriately 
 confused between Seminary Hill and Ceme 
 tery Hill, and looked upon the sea of faces 
 from the North and from the South, and 
 listened to the silver tones of the orator of 
 the day at the gathering place in the na 
 tional cemetery, and to the manly words of 
 Longstreet and of Gordon, who had been 
 leaders in the invading army. 
 
 And again : I see the streets of the Monu 
 mental city in April, 1892, and then a great 
 company gathered around a festal board. 
 And as the leader rises to speak, so rise 
 also all the members of the company, with 
 cheer upon cheer, and with eyes moist with 
 the dew that comes to men only when the 
 heart is touched. And before me now lies 
 the pencilled draft which so inadequately 
 recalls that speech as it was delivered, that 
 choicest of after-dinner speeches. And I 
 hear him conclude: "Whatever may be 
 come of us, fellow pioneers, I say to you as 
 Latimer said to Kidley at the stake: Be 
 of good cheer, Brother Ridley, for we shall 
 this day light such a candle in England as 
 shall never be put out. If I were to pro 
 pose a legend for the league, I should turn 
 again to the episcopate, and take the reputed 
 words of the most famous of English church-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 121 
 
 men, the cardinal who was the great master 
 of statecraft in his time, whom Shakespeare 
 re-created for the English-speaking race, 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 
 " It is the spring of the year, and it is the 
 springtime of reform. It is not the har 
 vest, but it is the sowing. The blossoms 
 that open in this soft spring air are flowers 
 only, not yet fruit. But they are promises 
 of the summer, and the fruit is sure. They 
 are voluntary pledges of nature, and in its 
 benign administration in which seed-time 
 and harvest never fail, those pledges will 
 be completely fulfilled. The little twig of 
 Magna Charta has become the wide-spread 
 ing tree of English liberty. Our bud of 
 reform will become a system of honester 
 politics." 
 
 And then as we rumbled through the other 
 wise silent streets, he and I, on the way to 
 our temporary abiding place in the hospi 
 table mansion of our good friend, whose 
 countenance so strongly reminds us of the 
 First Consul as well it may, the stars 
 beaming and the moon flooding our path 
 with its limpid light, softened and touched 
 and exhilarated by the loyalty, the affection, 
 the generous emotion which had been shown 
 him on every hand, and with the knowledge
 
 122 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 that the good cause, the purification of the 
 public service and of methods of adminis 
 tration, was moving steadily forward, 
 though never so full of life, it seemed as 
 though he might have sung his " nunc 
 dimittis." And is it any wonder that we 
 felt it hard, even at that small hour, to seek 
 our couches ? 
 
 the best of all ways 
 To lengthen our days, 
 
 Is to steal a few hours from the night, my 
 dear. 
 
 Tom Moore s lines never came more appro 
 priately than as he quoted them then, look 
 ing out upon the night ; but indeed the 
 night, that night of nights, seemed speeding 
 all too soon. 
 
 MAY 27, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 123 
 
 THE boring of the well was stopped at a 
 depth of seventy-eight feet, a tiny stream 
 from some mysterious source having been 
 intercepted, which promises an ample sup 
 ply for all time to come. And yesterday 
 the spade was put into the ground, and now 
 the gasli then made in the fresh green turf 
 has grown into a long and broad rectangular 
 hole, with certain projections, in which the 
 cottage is to be planted. It is to be set 
 upon the hardpan, and firmly adjusted to 
 the hillside and tied to the soil by the roots 
 of embracing vines, thus becoming by graft 
 a permanent part of the field, as it is to be 
 hoped that the life which it will enshrine 
 may become a permanent part of the life 
 of this village. 
 
 In no respect, perhaps, is our condition 
 at so great a disadvantage when contrasted 
 with that of the old world, as in the lack of 
 ancestral homes. We are continually on 
 the move. We are always new. We never 
 let our roots have time enough to become
 
 124 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 attached to the soil, but are incessantly 
 tearing them up and breaking off all the 
 delicate fibres through which they should 
 drink in the life needed to sustain us for 
 fine social uses. We not only have no 
 continuing city" here, which would not 
 be so bad, since we have no city which as a 
 whole is yet worthy of continuance, but 
 we have no continuing country, either. 
 We are like the people at Mt. Desert ; 
 some of us are cottagers, and some of us 
 are boarders, and some of us are hauled 
 inealers, and some are only mealers. 
 
 Perhaps this is the most inappropriate 
 place in the country in which to indulge 
 such reflections, for in this village there is 
 a certain permanence, and one finds around 
 him owners of one or other of nearly all 
 the names which appear upon the records 
 of two hundred and fifty years ago. This 
 is one of the great attractions of the village, 
 and it is much to be hoped that if it should 
 gradually lose this distinction of permanence 
 it will only be through the increase in that 
 quality on the part of other localities. For 
 I am persuaded, not that immovability is a 
 supreme virtue, but that a vital attachment 
 between a family and its environment is a 
 good thing. And this refers both to the
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 125 
 
 relation between the family and the com 
 munity, and to the relation between the 
 family and its home. It is a good thing to 
 be born, to live, and to die in the same 
 house ; to have associations with every 
 nook and cranny, to be in touch with every 
 turn and corner ; to have associations of 
 childhood and of youth, of manhood or 
 womanhood and of old age. And it is a 
 good thing to have generation follow gener 
 ation, or if fate may not be so kind, to have 
 still a continuous family-life by some sort 
 of incorporation or adoption, which may go 
 on from age to age. 
 
 I care not whether it be objective or 
 simply subjective, the kindred feeling which 
 grows strong between the animate tenant 
 and the inanimate domicile, its stones, its 
 beams, and its projecting roof ; it is just as 
 real and just as true. Even in the great 
 city hive, with its numberless cells, our 
 own particular cell soon seems to receive 
 us with a friendly welcome all its own. 
 But this is merely a proof of the strength 
 of an imperious instinct. It is out under 
 the blue heaven, where there are trees and 
 grassy fields, where a house has four sides, 
 and all open to the winds and the seasons ; 
 where there are individual stepping-stones
 
 126 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 worn by the outgoing and incoming of gen 
 erations ; where there is a fireside at which 
 have been whispered tender vows, where 
 merry peals of laughter have been heard, 
 and jest and roundelay ; where hearts have 
 bled and heads have been bowed in sor 
 row ; it is only here that human life seems to 
 become really and truly a settled and inte 
 gral and organic part of the world life. 
 
 MAY 30, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 127 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 IT set me thinking. What was it ? Why, 
 the other evening in the cloister, we had a 
 little concert by the Kneisel quartet; it 
 was this which set me thinking. 
 
 In the first place, I wondered whether it 
 were possible that those whose ears are 
 trained to all the niceties of musical com 
 position and expression, whose knowledge 
 makes that of tlie mere layman seem as 
 nothingness, could have an enjoyment in 
 this wealth of sound in proportion to their 
 knowledge. I confess that I found myself 
 a little inclined to skepticism. I remem 
 bered the princess who tossed and tossed 
 upon her bed, because of the rose-leaf hid 
 den beneath how many mattresses was 
 it ? Extreme delicacy and sensibility bring 
 with them a certain penalty, and possibly, 
 after all, we of the grosser natures have 
 our compensation, and in the long run 
 drink a deeper draught of life. I will not 
 push the suggestion, for I am not by any 
 means sure that it is true. The s
 
 128 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 moments pay for ages of commonplace and 
 of suffering. Against those who hold that 
 the days of childhood are one s happiest 
 days, I shall always boldly contend. It is 
 not possible. Perhaps it may appear so 
 from the outside, and upon a superficial 
 view. The accumulating years bring sor 
 row in their train, pain and deep distress, 
 and desolation. But they bring also the 
 wider and fuller capacity for enjoyment, 
 and for most can I not say, for all ? 
 moments, at least, of delight compared with 
 which the pleasures of a child are as a 
 glow-worm s tiny spark to the giant search 
 light which threw its beam athwart the 
 sky from the roof of the Hall of the Liberal 
 Arts. 
 
 I can only say that if the enjoyment of 
 these knowing ones is so much greater 
 than ours, it is impossible to understand 
 how they can endure it. It seems as if the 
 nerves must reach such a tension at a cer 
 tain point in their vibration that they must 
 of necessity give way, and the individual 
 must dissolve into his original elements, as 
 the Prince Rupert s drop, when the point is 
 broken, rlies into an impalpable powder. 
 
 And then I thought of the stages by 
 which this sensibility has been reached,
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 129 
 
 of the long journey which our race has 
 travelled, and the races which preceded it, 
 since time began. Modern music and the 
 ear to which it commends itself are but a 
 few hundred years old, but far back of this 
 period, the ear that was not pleased with 
 concord of sweet sounds, was doubtless 
 already fit for treasons, stratagems, and 
 spoils, although the sounds which were 
 sweet then, might not now so seem to us. 
 And farther still in the distance, we should 
 reach the tom-tom and its contemporaries. 
 Hut this is still in modern times. Away, 
 far, far beyond, the thought is carried, 
 back to the dawn of that which we call 
 life, to the point where the inorganic (who 
 shall dare to say that it has not life ?) 
 merges indistinguishably and by slow de 
 grees into the organic. 
 
 We talk of the five senses, but how many 
 senses there may be we do not know. ID 
 this early dawn of which I dream, hearing 
 was not, nor sight, taste was not, nor smell, 
 and feeling was but about to be born. 
 
 Have you ever lived with a microscope 
 of high power, watching those infinitesimal 
 vegetable specks, the diatoms, travelling 
 around in the vast waste of the minutest 
 drop of water that you could lift upon the 
 K
 
 130 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 point of a needle, wandering from place to 
 place, crossing, meeting, and passing on, 
 each delicately and exquisitely marked 
 with a myriad lines and dots, every one 
 according to his kind ? Already you are 
 far from the beginning. You must go back, 
 far back of these until you reach the verge 
 of the amorphous, until you can hardly 
 more than guess that there exists either 
 form or motion or individuality. You find 
 at length that which gives evidence of at 
 traction or repulsion at its lowest term, at 
 a point a thousand ages before anything 
 that you can predicate as consciousness. 
 Between-this point and the point to which 
 I called your attention at the opening of 
 this note, lies the gulf which has been 
 crossed ; this is the journey of life of which 
 I speak. 
 
 Realize it if you can. Try to picture to 
 yourself this great march of the living uni 
 verse ; the life born in the atom, growing 
 and spreading and reaching forward, life 
 added to life, life piled upon life, life ever 
 richer and fuller and deeper and higher ; 
 touch and taste and smell and sight and 
 hearing ; thought and memory and reflec 
 tion ; imagination and speculation ; love 
 and honour and reverence and devotion.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 13! 
 
 And ever as the sight grows stronger and 
 the vision clearer, the horizon widens, and 
 the inscrutable power which includes, em 
 braces, and controls us becomes more in 
 timate, more majestic, more absolutely 
 ^indefinable, more awe-inspiring, 
 
 a sense sublime 
 
 Of something far more deeply interfused, 
 Whose dwelling in the light of setting suns, 
 And the round ocean and the living air, 
 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : 
 A motion and a spirit, that impels 
 All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
 And rolls through all things. 
 
 JUNE 6, 1894.
 
 132 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "DOUBTLESS God could have made a 
 better berry, but doubtless God never 
 did." Thus genial Izaak Walton quotes 
 Dr. Boteler concerning the strawberry. 
 Upon the hill-top and in the meadow, the 
 ripe, wild berries are now sparkling, a vivid 
 red amid the green in the occasional sun 
 shine, staining the dainty fingers of the 
 picker, and telling tales upon the rosy lip 
 even though the toll be light. This after 
 noon I found them so plentiful over a con 
 siderable space, that I could not put my 
 foot down among them without crushing 
 some. These wild berries are small, but 
 they have a pleasant flavour of freedom 
 about them. I wonder whether this would 
 flee as soon as we tried to tame them ? 
 
 I see that it is said that our present cul 
 tivated berries are descended from a Chili 
 strawberry, this having succeeded an ear 
 lier form developed from the Virginia 
 berry. Perhaps it might not be amiss to 
 take a new start. The markets of our
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 133 
 
 great cities call for such enormous supplies 
 of fruit, that they must be brought from 
 vast distances, and as a consequence those 
 varieties are encouraged which will bear 
 preservation and transportation. In soft 
 fruits, therefore, especially strawberries and 
 peaches, there is a tendency to sacrifice 
 flavour and delicacy for these qualities of 
 permanence, until Dr. Boteler, or Butler, 
 might not be able always to recognize the 
 berry that he loved. 
 
 One of my neighbours called upon me yes 
 terday to accompany her over the hill to 
 investigate a shrub or small tree which had 
 aroused her curiosity. It proved to be the 
 prickly ash or toothache tree, of which I 
 have many in my wood, a tree worth cul 
 tivating, especially on account of its bright 
 berries. This particular specimen showed 
 a peculiarity which I have not noticed in 
 others, a tendency in some of the branches 
 to flatten at the joints or intersections, and 
 to form ridges something like acock s-comb. 
 The books do not seem to refer to this. I 
 shall have to examine further to determine 
 whether it is constitutional, simply an 
 idiosyncrasy, or due to insect or fungoid 
 igency. The two latter causes of peculiar 
 egetable growth are so multifarious in
 
 134 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 their forms of working, and withal so mar 
 vellous, that the specialist alone can make 
 much headway in their investigation. 
 
 We saw in the same locality a specimen 
 of the viburnum opulns or bush-cranberry, 
 which I am glad to discover in my neigh 
 bourhood. It was quite new to me when I 
 found it last summer, up in the neighbour 
 hood of "Sky farm" and Mt. Everett, its 
 profusion of richly coloured berries putting 
 to shame the tame prim crudities of the 
 mountain ash. I thought it much more at 
 tractive than its cultivated descendant, the 
 guelder rose or snowball of our gardens. 
 
 The heavy and frequent rains which fol 
 lowed the brief drought have produced a 
 great development in the leafage, and I 
 think that I never saw the forest more 
 dense or luxuriant. The scaffolding of the 
 hills is concealed, and only here and there 
 can we now trace from a distance the 
 lines of crag. Upon the fields we find a 
 succession of colours, pleasant to look upon, 
 though not always gratifying to the fanner. 
 At first I thought that I was to have a beau 
 tifully uniform crop of hay, the turf 
 seemed so green and smooth. Then it be 
 came sprinkled here and there with quaker 
 ladies or bluets, as if some careless body
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 135 
 
 had been trying to cover the sky with a 
 coat of whitewash, with just a tint of blue 
 in it, and had allowed the colour from his 
 brush to spatter all over the carpet. After 
 this came the buttercups, and made a very 
 sea of gold, which* I fear as a circulating 
 medium would prove almost as worthless 
 as the silver which our western friends 
 desire us to accept, though certainly much 
 more beautiful. And now we have the ox- 
 eye daisy, known by those upon whom is 
 imposed the duty of trying to exterminate 
 it as the whiteweed, but christened by Lin- 
 meus with the imposing name of chrys 
 anthemum leucanthemum. Myriads and 
 myriads of the starry disks look up into the 
 sky to see their fellows of the firmament. 
 Phollis says that they are small and degen 
 erate and not worthy representatives of the 
 race, but I know better. And besides, I 
 am glad that they are small ; such are the 
 best kind. 
 
 But as I look over the field I seem to 
 hear the grass saying in the popular slang: 
 "Where do I come in?" My neighbour 
 over the way has purchased my crop of 
 hay in advance, and I hope that he may 
 find it. I know one spot where it is lush 
 and high, and here among the long thick
 
 136 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 green leaves, you may discover the most 
 glorious heads of the red clover that you 
 ever saw, full of honey, too, which I envy 
 the bees. And there comes a great buzzer 
 who lias found the store, and means to con 
 test with us the possessiifn of the Held. And 
 I am sure that he is armed for the fray, and 
 that courtesy requires that I should speed 
 the parting guest, the stranger within my 
 gates, who carries away some of my berries 
 and a bit of my heart as well, and so pluck 
 ing a handful of the showy heads I grace 
 fully retire from the contest without breaking 
 a lance. 
 
 And what if we linger at the bars, while 
 I try in vain to parry, to find fitting defence 
 and reply to the verbal arrows which are 
 shot at me ? One must sometimes to him 
 self only, mind you admit defeat, and 
 learn to find a wholesome enjoyment in the 
 same. 
 
 JUNE 7, 1891
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 137 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " GOD tempers the wind to the shorn 
 lamb." Though it was Laurence Sterne 
 that wrote it, I am sure that no indignity 
 has been done the Bible by its common 
 attribution to that source, and it is no less 
 truly descriptive of the fact than if it were 
 to be found upon the pages of the holiest of 
 books. For though his ways are said not 
 to be as our ways and his thoughts not to 
 be as our thoughts, and though the sun rises 
 upon the evil and upon the good, and the 
 rain falls upon the just and the unjust alike, 
 nevertheless the winds are tempered in a 
 very real fashion. For what matters it 
 how biting the blast, if we do not feel it ? 
 And is it not the universal human experi 
 ence that how sore soever troubles may be, 
 the neck gradually becomes accustomed to 
 the yoke, the new conditions are accepted 
 as a part of the natural order, and we grad 
 ually find ourselves adjusted to them ? Even 
 though at first it seems as if all the sweet 
 ness had gone out of life, as if in future,
 
 138 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 summer and winter, seed-time and harvest, 
 would be for us as it they were not, at 
 length we see the sunlight again, we hear 
 the lark sing, we inhale the fragrance of 
 the rose ; as it was in the beginning, we 
 look upon creation, and behold it is very 
 good. 
 
 The adjustment takes a little time ; we 
 have to become accustomed to the new con 
 ditions ; new channels must be opened ; but 
 the fact that stunned us in the morning 
 by the evening we have always known it. 
 If our fortunes have suddenly changed, and 
 all seems lost, wait but a few hours and we 
 are busy with new devices, seeking out new 
 combinations, finding hope where hope 
 there seemed none. 
 
 I remember that at one time in my boy 
 hood I was engaged in an office in the 
 neighbourhood of a great town clock it 
 was that of Independence Hall in Philadel 
 phia. The peals of the bell striking the 
 hour seemed loud enough to wake the dead. 
 But after a while it became a thing of cus 
 tom. I would say to myself, "I will look 
 at my watch and compare it when the clock 
 strikes twelve," and then I would go on with 
 my writing, and some time later suddenly 
 remember and take out my watch and find
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 139 
 
 that the great bell must have rung out its 
 twelve heavy strokes a half-hour before, yet 
 the accustomed nerve of sense had conveyed 
 no message to the brain. 
 
 Sometimes the friction endures, and the 
 note of pain reaches the bystander after 
 many days, months, or years. I have been 
 sitting in the wood, and as the wind swayed 
 the branches I would hear the appeal of 
 some dryad among them, moaning in her 
 pain. Sometimes it has required quite a 
 long search to discover the sufferer, but at 
 length it would be found, a branch which 
 year after year had borne the burden of 
 another, ever becoming heavier and more 
 insistent as the years rolled on, and grind 
 ing its way into the vital substance. And 
 then again I have found instances where as 
 time had passed the two had become incor 
 porate, and the wood nymph had escaped 
 her torture by appropriating her burden as 
 an integral part of her substance. 
 
 It is well when strength can thus be con 
 quered from calamity. Each time Antseus 
 was thrown to the ground, his vigour was in 
 creased ; contact with mother earth gave 
 strength to her child. So it should be al 
 ways, and so, I fondly hope, it usually is. 
 
 But when I began, I was thinking more
 
 140 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 particularly of the beneficence of the ar 
 rangement by which that which at first is 
 the cause of much perplexity, of great dis 
 tress, of sore grief, soon becomes diluted 
 as it were, mixed with other ingredients, 
 and even before any solution is found, any 
 issue is discovered, ceases to be the terrible 
 thing it was in the beginning. Sometimes 
 this is doubtless simply because the tired 
 brain becomes numbed, and the nerves re 
 fuse any longer to bear so acute a current. 
 But this in itself is a part, and a large part 
 of the "tempering" of which I spoke. The 
 wind bloweth where it listeth, and it still 
 beats about the devoted head ; but the 
 blast is silent, or as on the harp of vEolus, 
 the shriek of agony dies away in a plain 
 tive murmur. 
 
 JUNE 10, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 141 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 PHOLI.IS made a little exclamation and 
 stopped me as I was about to step upon a 
 mottled brown snake, which lay in a slightly 
 waving line across the middle of the sandy 
 wood-road. The compensating curve of its 
 body was really very graceful, but it was 
 difficult to conjure up any emotion of pleas 
 ure as we looked at it. It seemed at first 
 perfectly still, but on examining it narrowly 
 the motion of its breathing apparatus could 
 be discovered. I have an invincible repug 
 nance for all snakes, noxious and innocuous 
 alike, which, nevertheless, I try to conquer, 
 and I touched it with a light branch which 
 I had in my hand, to ascertain whether its 
 sluggishness were only assumed. It imme 
 diately flattened and hollowed its neck for a 
 length of several inches, and darted out its 
 forked tongue in very vicious fashion. I 
 looked about for a loose stone or heavy stick 
 with which to make a demonstration in 
 force, but meantime the reptile softly glided 
 away among the bushes and was lost.
 
 142 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 When I described it to my neighbour 
 afterward, he said that it was probably a red 
 adder, one of the few poisonous serpents of 
 these parts. It was not very red, and may 
 not have been an adder, or a nadder as it 
 seems we should properly say, but it was 
 dangerous enough in appearance to bu any 
 thing of the kind you might name. 1 ossibly 
 it was a copperhead, that unseemly reptile 
 which strikes unexpectedly and without 
 warning, and which a generation ago lent 
 its name to those rebel sympathizers in the 
 North who formed our weakest spot in the 
 war days, and doubtless to many others 
 whom it was cruel injustice to class with 
 these. For when the nation was in dire 
 peril, people did not stop to make nice dis 
 criminations, and sometimes conduct which 
 was simply the result of a more delicate 
 conscientiousness or more philosophical ap 
 prehension upon the part of the individual, 
 was attributed to a much less worthy cause. 
 
 We have not a great many venomous 
 reptiles, and I believe that I never knew 
 a person who had been bitten by one. And 
 yet I have a constant and very lively dread 
 of them, as I have intimated, and I believe 
 that this feeling is largely shared by others. 
 
 The snake is perhaps more graceful in its
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 143 
 
 motions than any other living thing, even 
 than a kitten, and yet instead of enjoying 
 these, similar motions in other beings ex 
 cite in us a certain repulsion, at least poet 
 ically, because of this association. Is not 
 this really, in part, at least, a "survival in 
 culture," a result of the traditional iden 
 tification of the serpent with the supposed 
 embodiment of the principle of evil ? 
 
 We are magazines, full of these remnants 
 of the past, which sometimes wear out, but 
 often long endure to colour our opinions 
 and our reasoning, and control our action. 
 Our whole social structure is based upon 
 them, and the e|fort to effect a sudden rev 
 olution is as senseless as anything of which 
 you can conceive. Why is it good form to 
 sell certain things by the ton, but ignoble 
 to sell them by the pound? Why is ser 
 vice in a store or office respectable, and 
 service in a house menial ? Why is a cer 
 tain kind of service paid for at a certain 
 rate, and another service, just as simple, 
 paid for at four times that rate ? Why, a 
 thousand things that pass before us every 
 day without attracting our observation, sim 
 ply because we have always been accus 
 tomed to them? We do not know anything 
 more, than that under the interaction of the
 
 144 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 various forces which have controlled human 
 development, an infinite variety of forces, 
 they have worked out so. We may not 
 feel wholly satisfied with the result. We 
 may think that the burdens are borne un 
 equally by different classes and individuals. 
 We may try to modify the existing order. 
 But there is no use in " getting mad " about 
 it ; that will not help matters. The pope s 
 bull against the comet was of little service. 
 Canute did not stop the incoming of the 
 tide. The vis inert ice is a mighty power, 
 and you may as well take it into account. 
 Keep your head level. See what is possible, 
 and do that. Do not allo\t yourself to be 
 come a scold, and on the other hand do not 
 permit yourself to be merely as a cork float 
 ing upon the top of the wave. Find out if 
 you can in which way the permanent chan 
 nels lie, whither the current must ultimately 
 run, toward what point the eternal trade 
 winds blow ; head your bark thitherward, 
 and pull with all the might that is in you. 
 
 But I am afraid that we did not think 
 of all these things as we strolled along that 
 afternoon. It was warm, but fortunately 
 a mantle of cloud covered us with a grate 
 ful shade, and when we entered the pine 
 wood we were flooded with the spicy
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 145 
 
 fragrance from the trees. The purple 
 cypripediums long eluded us, but there 
 they were at last, and the lupines, and by 
 the brookside the fleur-de-lis. 
 
 And here on the edge of the sandy road 
 is the inconspicuous and unattractive sheep 
 laurel ; had our tramp carried us farther 
 away among the hills, we should have found 
 its nobler cousin the mountain laurel, now 
 in its prime, with great white and rosy 
 masses of most lovely blossoms. There 
 upon my chiffonier are some splendid clus 
 ters, which have been gradually opening in 
 water during the past six days. Nothing 
 else upon our hillsides is quite so fine as 
 this royal shrub. The native rhododendron 
 is massive but pale. The pink azalea is 
 rich, but not so plentiful or pronounced. 
 The laurel is the prince of the June woods, 
 and holds a royal state. I think that no 
 where else will you find it quite equalling 
 the display that it makes around Lake 
 Mohonk, but it bi avely holds its own over 
 a vast territory. 
 
 Some time ago, when there was consider 
 able talk about a national flower, this was 
 suggested as especially suitable, the leaves, 
 the buds, and the blossoms alike being fine, 
 and peculiarly adapted to effective use in 
 L
 
 146 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 decorative work. Were it possible to select 
 a "national flower" out of hand, perhaps 
 no more happy choice could be made than 
 this. But what an absurd idea it is ! I 
 fear that we are hardly poetic enough as a 
 people to be entitled to a national flower. 
 If we were, we should know that this is a 
 matter to be determined by feeling, by nat 
 ural growth, by common consent, not by 
 popular vote. In the state of New York a 
 ballot for a state flower was taken among 
 the children of the public schools. The 
 majority voted for the golden-rod. But 
 what golden-rod ? I think there are said 
 to be somewhere in the neighbourhood of 
 seventy species, varying in all sorts of ways, 
 and, graceful and beautiful as some of them 
 are, they are not definite and distinctive 
 in flower, but rather attractive masses or 
 sprays. 
 
 Let us have a national flower, if you 
 please, and all other good things, when the 
 time comes and we deserve them, but do 
 not let us reach them by way of the factory 
 system. Perhaps it is one of many indica 
 tions that we are outgrowing our first crude 
 national stage that the question is raised, 
 but we can afford to go slowly until ideas 
 of this kind cease to be novel. Let us reso-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 147 
 
 lutely refuse to bury ourselves in the clutter 
 of material things, and I fancy that we 
 shall find our perceptions opening to a flood 
 of impressions which cannot fail to leave a 
 finer stamp upon our spirits and our hearts. 
 
 JUNE 12, 1894.
 
 148 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 NINETY-TWO in the shade. It was at 
 seventy -eight when I saw it last at night ; 
 this morning it was at seventy -three. The 
 cocks were crowing and the hens cackling 
 as usual, the robins, sparrows, and other 
 birds were singing their accustomed matin 
 song ; far away in the woods the air was 
 filled with a murmur which did not fully 
 reveal itself, but may have been the warn 
 ing note of the coming swarm of " seven 
 teen-year locusts," upon the eastern border 
 of which we should find ourselves. As 
 the day waxed older, the mercury climbed 
 higher, and the parched air brought to us 
 no note of comfort. The church-going, or 
 pleasure-going teams (there must be some 
 thing wrong where the church-going teams 
 are not also in some true sense pleasure- 
 going teams, wrong in the goers or in the 
 churches) filled the air with a dnst so fine 
 from the dry roadways, that much of it 
 floated high into the slightly moving air. 
 
 Some of the little ones must have turn-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 149 
 
 bled out of bed the wrong end foremost. 
 So we used to put it, but I suppose that we 
 shall have to admit that it was only the 
 extra fever in the blood that caused the 
 fractious ways which manifested themselves 
 where all is generally serene. I am sure 
 that the babies God bless them ! do not 
 know how the endless little shrieks and 
 fretting wear upon the nerves, themselves 
 undergoing a sort of disintegration. " Tom 
 won t give me this," and "Hal won t let 
 me have that, mamma," and "I don t 
 want to," and all the negative situations 
 possible, come to the surface. And then a 
 little clear laugh or gurgle of delight tells 
 us that joy has not quite gone out of the 
 world. 
 
 And we all compare notes upon the mo 
 mentous subject. "Isn t it hot!" and 
 " It s going to be hotter than yesterday," 
 and " Were you ever in such a hot place 
 before in your life?" and "Oh, if we 
 could only have a shower ! " and " Proba 
 bilities says that we shall have one this 
 afternoon," and "That s the worst news 
 I ve heard yet ; then we re sure not to have 
 one." All the familiar phrases come along, 
 as new as ever. 
 
 The hammocks are filled and swinging ;
 
 150 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 the enormous and abominable metropolitan 
 Sunday newspapers lie strewn upon the 
 porch and on the grass, filled to overflow 
 ing with things that nobody wants to know, 
 or ought to want to know, with here and 
 there a little pure true thought, a breath of 
 natural life, a lift of imagination, a glimpse 
 into the ideal. 
 
 The scribe had some writing to do, and 
 he has discovered after not one or two, 
 but after many experiences, that as the 
 way in which to resume specie payments 
 was to resume, so the way in which to keep 
 cool, is to keep cool. Don t fret. "Fret 
 not thyself because of evil-doers," the good 
 book says, and they are golden words, 
 worthy of all acceptance, and to be repeated 
 daily in the synagogue. But "fret not 
 thyself at all" is a good saying. Quietly ! 
 Quietly ! Don t fret ! The scribe attended 
 to his writing, and when he came down 
 among the others, where some of the older 
 folk were fuming very much as the babies 
 were, they said: " Why, you don t look 
 hot at all ! " But, nevertheless, he was 
 undeniably warm. 
 
 Arm-chairs and rocking-chairs were car 
 ried out under the trees and pitched here 
 and there, wherever a tremor in the leaves
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 15! 
 
 promised a breath of life-giving air. Around 
 the house the grass was green and fresh, 
 although in spots the ground had been worn 
 bare by passing feet, or left exposed be 
 cause of the denser shade ; beyond, daisies 
 in myriads mottled the fields. Over the 
 porch a tulip tree carried its golden and 
 green cups high into the upper air. For a 
 moment the branches would rustle over 
 us, and a passing breeze would fan our 
 cheeks, then die away into utter stillness. 
 
 Scattered groups of two or three or more 
 appeared under the different trees, lads and 
 lasses here, feeling perhaps the glow of 
 warmth within equalling that without, or 
 perhaps merely skimming along the surface 
 in the irrepressible effervescence of youth ; 
 there pater and mater familias exchanging 
 the weekly Sunday greetings, with the rest 
 less young ones playing around in the grass, 
 or running out into the dusty road. The 
 scribe found an arm-chair shaded by a dense 
 maple and linden, and sank into it, armed 
 with a number of " Good Government," 
 a volume of Thackeray s " Philip," and an 
 other of Moliere. As in duty bound he 
 gave his attention first to the periodical, 
 and having done his duty in that direction, 
 fell back upon "Don Garcie." But as the
 
 152 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 light breeze gently stirred the leaves, the 
 hot sun blinked through between them, and 
 the heavy air weighed upon the eyelids. 
 The book was closed, feet were thrust out, 
 and the head rested on the back of the 
 chair, while in the debatable land between 
 sleep and waking, thought floated aimlessly 
 among things present and absent, fact and 
 fancy. 
 
 Through eyes half-opened, a little toddling 
 figure in white is seen approaching, with 
 blue eyes and rosy cheeks and pouting lips. 
 " Won t you please get me some Marguer 
 ites ? " " Of course I will, my little one," 
 and off we go hand in hand, among the 
 daisies. Again the border of dreamland is 
 reached, and then a red head ending in a 
 black nose is thrust into my hand, and the 
 owner thereof manifests a tendency to be 
 all over me at once. " Down, Hover, lie 
 down ! " and with a push the affectionate 
 brute, for whose attentions I fear his mas 
 ter is not sufficiently grateful, is induced to 
 stretch himself out at my feet, breathing 
 heavily in the nervous fashion which the 
 distemper has bequeathed to him. 
 
 Passing along the village street toward 
 the post-office as the day is waning, the 
 reflection from the dry earth makes hot-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 153 
 
 ter the hot air. Across the green of the 
 valley the distant hills and mountains rise 
 through the dusty haze, tier beyond tier, 
 clearly marked, like giant wave lines on a 
 mighty sea, disappearing gradually toward 
 the horizon. Behind the cloister, stretched 
 upon the fresh green grass under broad 
 spread ing trees on westward sloping ground, 
 clad in white, lie maidens exchanging 
 maidenly confidences. The term is draw 
 ing to an end. The day of parting comes 
 on apace. For many, the school days are 
 ending, and closely knit friendships which 
 years have strengthened must now be sub 
 jected to the test of separation, of new as 
 sociations, of widening occupations, duties, 
 pleasures. The " curtain raiser " has been 
 played out ; the curtain is about to fall ; 
 then comes the prompter s bell, and it is 
 rung up again for the drama: what shall 
 this be ? Ah ! that for all there could be 
 something more of the rural simplicity, the 
 grateful repose of this favoured spot, than 
 our great cities with their feverish life 
 afford for many. May the heart burnings 
 be few, and while the recollections remain 
 always tender, may there not be intense 
 and bitter longing for that which cannot 
 return, for "the days that are no more."
 
 154 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 Ah ! the heart sickness that must sometimes 
 come : 
 
 I have had playmates, I have had compan 
 ions 
 
 lu my days of childhood, iii my joyful school 
 days; 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 Some they have died, and some they have 
 left me, 
 
 And some are taken from me; all are de 
 parted; 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 Bon voyage, Fhillis and Hiollis, one 
 going to meet the rising, one following the 
 setting sun. May the wild Atlantic quiet 
 her grim waves and bear the pilgrim safely 
 to the farther shore ! It is not for all of us 
 to tread historic paths ; to stand where the 
 brave deeds have been done which history 
 records, whatever brave deeds we may be 
 called upon to perform in the privacy of 
 our own lives ; not for us all to look upon 
 the monuments which attest past glory, to 
 see the noble remnants of olden art, the 
 quaint peculiarities of varying civilizations, 
 the finished culture of a riper world. May 
 the old world kindly receive the child of the 
 new, and may all the winds blow fair, 
 and safely guide the wanderer home again !
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 155 
 
 But let her beware of the lotos : 
 
 evermore 
 
 Most weary seem d the sea, weary the oar, 
 Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. 
 Then some one said, " We will return no 
 
 more ; " 
 
 And all at once they sang, " Our island home 
 Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer 
 
 roam/ 
 
 There is sweet music here that softer falls 
 Than petals from blown roses on the grass, 
 Or night dews on still waters between walls 
 Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; 
 Music than gentlier on the spirit lies, 
 Than tir d eyelids upon tir d eyes: 
 Music that brings sweet sleep down from the 
 blissful skies. 
 
 And in that newer world across the 
 prairies, which used to be the far West, 
 and has grown to be almost a part of the 
 East, whither the sun travels to shake off 
 upon the broad fields the drip of the sea, 
 may the welcome be a kindly one also, but 
 not so kindly as to cause Underledge to 
 fade away in the misty distance. There 
 be many paths among these green hills 
 yet untrod, many mysteries yet to be re 
 vealed. 
 
 JUNE 17, 1894.
 
 156 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 DURING the past week the frequent clink 
 of the hammer has been heard upon the 
 hill, and the walls have grown apace, heavy 
 walls, with mighty stones in them, which 
 make the inclosed space of the cottage 
 look curiously small. But no hammer 
 stroke has been heard on the face of the 
 stones, and as they rise above the surface 
 of the ground, the lichens and mosses give 
 them an appearance of ancientness which 
 is good to see. The masons have become 
 interested in carrying out the enterprise as 
 it was planned, and bid fair to produce a 
 work with which they may quite properly 
 be content. 
 
 The well has proved refractory, and it 
 may yet need to be carried further into the 
 bowels of the earth. But the fruit trees 
 and most of the other plantings have taken 
 kindly to their new home, and notwith 
 standing this second dry spell, with its 
 intense heat, I must on the whole be sat 
 isfied with the appearance of the growing
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 157 
 
 things. To-morrow or the next day, the 
 favoured feathered bipeds, Leghorns and 
 Plymouth Rocks, and Light Brahnias 
 and Minorcas, should arrive from the city 
 and take possession of the palatial quarters 
 prepared for them, and if they do not in 
 continently take to laying at once, and lay 
 with energy, they will be most ungrateful 
 creatures. I am sure that any hen with 
 the least aesthetic taste should feel proud 
 to be so raised above the world, and pro 
 vided with all the comforts of a luxurious 
 home. 
 
 JUNE 17, 1894.
 
 158 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 WE stand with bowed heads as the angel 
 with the inverted torch passes swiftly by 
 us. " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath 
 taken away ; blessed be the name of the 
 Lord." 
 
 Let sorrow have her way. "The heart 
 knoweth his own bitterness ; and a stranger 
 doth not intermeddle with his joy," neither 
 with his sorrow. But it is permitted to 
 others to shoulder in part the burdens of 
 those that suffer most, and to go down into 
 the dark valley with them. Do not try to 
 smother the sorrow ; it is the one right of 
 the human being which none can question. 
 We stand upon the brink and look out upon 
 the vast unknown, and to our call no 
 answer comes from the silence. Let us 
 indulge the heartache, and commune with 
 our own. The day was so fair ; the bark 
 kept on an even keel : 
 
 Where lies the land to which the ship would 
 
 go? 
 Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 159 
 
 We look again, and not a speck floats 
 upon the surface of the waters. The call 
 has gone forth, "and the spirit shall return 
 unto God who gave it." We cannot quite 
 realize it at first ; we cannot understand it 
 at all : wait a little ; by and by we shall 
 stand under it. The sad days of the past 
 will grow dim in our memory ; the dear, 
 rich, happy days will come back once more 
 to stay with us forever. 
 
 And as the years go by, and we gradu 
 ally learn that there is only one thing for 
 us to do, to shower richer blessings around 
 us, our own that would have been for 
 him, and his, for whom we have become 
 trustees, and whose trust we must fulfil to 
 others, then is the load adjusted, and we 
 begin to understand. 
 
 And ever before us go the spirits that 
 have left us, those 
 
 we have loved long since, and lost awhile ; 
 
 and when the long day wanes, and we feel 
 aweary, the sounds of the present may at 
 tract us less, and in the future we may seem 
 to see something of the past, and coupled 
 with it that which we so much have longed 
 for, peace. 
 
 JUNE 19, 1894.
 
 l6o FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 As I stand upon the hillside and look 
 across the green valley, where, notwith 
 standing another drought, the crops are mak 
 ing good headway ; when I remember that 
 whereas once great famines were a common 
 occurrence, now, thanks in good part to the 
 practice of forestalling, there is ever food 
 enough for all those that live upon the earth, 
 though here and there there are some who 
 fail to obtain it ; that, thanks to wonderful 
 labour-saving appliances, most articles of 
 necessity have been greatly reduced in cost, 
 and a vast number of things which were 
 once luxuries unattainable by any, are now 
 easily accessible by all but the very poor 
 est ; that spite of "bad business" and 
 " hard times " there is enough and to spare 
 for all, while there are those always ready 
 to come to the assistance of the few whom 
 temporary conditions have thrown out of 
 their ordinary relation to the industries of 
 the community, when I remember these 
 things, and that we are heirs of all the ages,
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. l6l 
 
 with the record of human experience lying 
 as an open page before us, and yet see the 
 wave of barbarism which is sweeping over 
 the earth, I feel weak. 
 
 The immediate prompting to this reflec 
 tion is the dastardly assassination of Car- 
 not, which took place last night. In all 
 ages there have been assassinations of 
 rulers, and we have had previous instances 
 of the untimely taking off of those upon 
 whom in some measure depended the im 
 mediate progress of nations or of the race. 
 But here we have one of a constantly pro 
 gressive series of incidents resulting from 
 deliberately organized barbarism. Society 
 in many countries is undermined in the 
 interest merely of destruction. This is 
 one, but perhaps not the most dangerous 
 aspect of the situation. Ideas and princi 
 ples, as well as society and customs, are 
 undermined, and there is scarcely a truth 
 in business or social relations which history 
 and experience have taught, which is not 
 boldly repudiated and defied. 
 
 What is the cause of this, and what are 
 we to expect ? It is difficult, I am not sure 
 that it is not impossible, to say. It all 
 seems so unnecessary, and yet we are ap 
 parently so impotent to prevent or cure it. 
 M
 
 162 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 That the facts which I stated in opening 
 are facts cannot be truthfully denied. The 
 world is better off in material things than 
 it ever was before. It has more oppor 
 tunity for intellectual improvement than 
 it ever had before. There is more chance 
 for individual progress than there ever was 
 before. Material development is more 
 rapid than it ever was before. And yet 
 all this seems to be accompanied by a con 
 dition of mental and moral collapse on the 
 part of a considerable percentage of the 
 human race. 
 
 If this condition only appeared in those 
 who a hundred years ago would naturally 
 have been classed as social nonentities, but 
 who have now been brought forward as 
 factors in nation and society, in an imper 
 fect state of development, the problem 
 would be an easier one. Unfortunately 
 this does not seem to be the case. Exam 
 ples appear in all ranks and among all 
 classes, even the most favoured. Society s 
 enemies are those of its own household, as 
 well as those who have been forgotten. 
 There seems to be a physical, mental, or 
 moral fever running through the nations. 
 May it prove but a transient epidemic, to be 
 succeeded by a wholesome convalescence.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 163 
 
 I cannot help thinking that it is not im 
 probable that the disease is in some good 
 measure the result of the immensely rapid 
 development of discovery, invention, and 
 manufacture, of the stupendous changes of 
 the past century. These have been too 
 much for us. Animal and vegetable organ 
 isms need time to fit them to new relations ; 
 we are out of key with our surroundings ; 
 we are in a state of ferment and unstable 
 equilibrium, of moral and mental mix. 
 
 We need to get away a little distance 
 Irom the crowd, to bare our foreheads to 
 the breeze and cool our throbbing temples. 
 Here we may lie among the daisies, and rest 
 ourselves until we can draw our breath in 
 steadiness and quite unconsciously. At 
 first the song of the lark or the bobolink 
 may hardly impress our ear. But after a 
 while we see the flashing of a wing, and 
 mayhap begin to realize a refreshing fra 
 grance in the air. And probably it may 
 occur to us that there are such things as 
 false standards, and ignoble contests, and 
 wasted lives. What does the man or 
 woman need, after all ? Food and clothing 
 and shelter, a lift to the imagination, and 
 good companionship, and how little they 
 cost ! A pest upon your gross ambitions !
 
 164 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 Let us have again plain living and high 
 thinking : the high thinking, at all events ; 
 for the plain living, fecund nature will 
 hardly permit us that, unless we are de 
 termined to have it whether or no. 
 
 There is enough for us all and to spare, 
 if we want only the very best things ; and 
 we know at least this much of the secret 
 of the conversion of the world, that each 
 of us is the master of one life which can be 
 turned to a good account. 
 
 I have been interested in the discussion 
 caused by Mr. Godkin s suggestion that edu 
 cated men distrust or regret universal suf 
 frage. My observation leads me to believe 
 that we are all, or most of us, more and 
 more inclined to think forms of govern 
 ment of comparatively small account. All 
 roads lead to Rome. Pretty nearly any 
 form of government will work well in good 
 hands ; and without good citizens the best 
 form which can be devised is valueless. 
 We have said many proud things of our 
 republicanism, and New York has trusted 
 its fortunes to "the people." And what 
 are we having revealed to us to-day ? A 
 closely knit combination of the sworn offi 
 cial conservators of the peace with the 
 dregs of society, to prey upon and plun-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 165 
 
 der the law-abiding members of the com 
 munity. 
 
 Pah ! Let us, at least for a while, get 
 out where we can fill our lungs with God s 
 own fresh air. And then let us put on the 
 helmet and cuirass which may be appro 
 priate, and with new strength in our arm, 
 grasp the good sword Excalibur, or $lo* 
 ttjumi, if you please, and in knightly 
 fashion throw ourselves into the thick of 
 the fray, in defence of truth, justice, and 
 purity. 
 
 JUNE 25, 1894.
 
 1 66 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 As I cross the meadow and climb the 
 hill in the morning to watch the growing 
 walls, the tantalizing fog veiling and soft 
 ening the heights but holding out little 
 promise of rain, Mr. and Mrs. Robert of 
 Lincoln give me their daily greeting. I 
 fear that it is not all a manifestation of 
 affection, but rather of alarm and solici 
 tude for the brood hidden somewhere near 
 by, among the tall grass. Mrs. Lincoln 
 speaks prose in a pleasant chirping tone, 
 but Robert has a very musical voice, and is 
 lavish in its use. According to Wilson, he 
 should now be changing his colour, and 
 growing like unto his mate, but my friend 
 is brilliant, a dSep black on his breast and 
 under side, and bright creamy yellow and 
 white upon much of the upper part of his 
 body and wings, much richer than my 
 copy of Wilson represents him ; while 
 madam, on the contrary, is considerably 
 duller than as represented, having a gen 
 eral brownish tone, tinged with yellow.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 167 
 
 They circle around me, fluttering and soar 
 ing, and alight here and there upon the 
 stalks of timothy, which bend but do not 
 break under their weight, though from the 
 size of the birds one would expect them to 
 be much too heavy for the slender grass. 
 
 When I reach the upper part of the 
 field I find the harvesters at work, the 
 daisies, and such nutritious growth as they 
 have permitted among them, going down 
 crisply before the sharp scythes. I sup 
 pose that in time we may learn to see a 
 like poetry in the action of the mowing 
 machine with the driver riding atop ; but 
 as yet there is something which appeals to 
 me much more strongly in the free swing 
 and graceful swaying motion of the men 
 as they follow one another step by step 
 across the field, the grass falling in swaths 
 at their side ; while the musical ringing of 
 the scythe stones upon the steel at inter 
 vals, I fear, is quite inimitable, and not to 
 be compensated for by any substituted 
 sound. 
 
 My poultry yard has received its con 
 signment of fowls. They have been domes 
 ticated here for less than a week, and were 
 at first disposed to be very timid and flighty. 
 But already they have become accustomed
 
 1 68 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 to Nicholas John and myself, and this morn 
 ing the handsome Minorca rooster came 
 and took grain from my hand, with many 
 encouraging expressions to the members of 
 his harem. His interest in their welfare, 
 however, did not prevent him from devour 
 ing what was before him as rapidly as he 
 could, and disposing of it all, just before 
 the ladies became ready to show the same 
 confidence in my good intentions. 
 
 My Brown Leghorn cock appears very 
 much discouraged. Since Sunday morning 
 he has been dull and moping, supporting 
 himself about as much upon his head as 
 his heels ; and wild as he was before, he is 
 not now disposed to take more than a step 
 or two when I put my hands upon him, 
 and only eats and drinks when assisted. 
 I fear that his belligerent propensities have 
 led him to try conclusions with the huge 
 Plymouth Hock rooster in the next yard, 
 and that he has come to grief in the meshes 
 of the woven wire fence between them. 
 
 I suppose that you do not realize that I 
 am merely beating about the bush. To 
 day the term ends, and the cloisters are 
 closed. The dear old lumbering stage 
 coach with its various tenders have made
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 1 69 
 
 their several trips, laden inside and out 
 with hopes and fears, sorrows and joyful 
 anticipations, as well as with human bodies. 
 Hands and kerchiefs have been waved, and 
 kisses thrown, and the teary eyes tried 
 bravely to seem as though there were no 
 showers within hail. But ah ! there is no 
 drought that long affects the fount which so 
 readily flows at the tap of the affections. 
 
 Go up, thou bald-head ! Has life so 
 worn with thee that all thy papillae have 
 become seared and callous, no longer re 
 sponding to the touch of thy fellows ? 
 Has all sentiment come to seem mere sen 
 timentality, and naught real and true ex 
 cept bonds and stocks, and quotations in 
 the market, line carriages and fast horses, 
 dollars and cents ? If so, I pity thee. 
 Good by, bathos and spectacle, a good 
 riddance to you. Do not try to pump feel 
 ing from wells drilled in the social hard- 
 pan. .But if there be anything truer, 
 richer, more lasting, and more worthy than 
 the strong attachments of human beings, I 
 know not what it is. If we may not testify 
 to the tie which binds heart to heart, until 
 the eyelids are closed, and the cool pit is 
 opened, and the dull clods fall upon the 
 straw, then let us r like the stricken deer,
 
 170 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 quietly creep away, and lie down for the last 
 time in the solitude of the remote forest, for 
 life has no more for us within its gift. 
 
 My brothers in arms, have we not sum- 
 mert d and wintered together, have we not 
 had a common playtime, and have we not 
 fought side by side in social and political 
 frays, as with beasts at Ephesus ? Have we 
 not tested each other s temper, and found 
 what manner of men we are ? Do we not 
 know that so long as life holds out we shall 
 be ready to rally at the call, and present a 
 bold front to the ills that threaten any one 
 of us, or the commonweal ? Then go to ! 
 Let us join hands, and look into each other s 
 eyes, and frankly confess that we are kin 
 dred spirits, and in our feeling a little more 
 than kin and not less than kind. 
 
 And now the footfall is silent on the 
 doorstep. Away in the distance, the rum 
 bling coach takes its course over the val 
 ley, and the dust has fallen upon the track 
 which it made. Close the windows and 
 draw the curtains, and permit the spiders 
 to weave their webs across the sashes. 
 
 Let us go up upon the mountain, and 
 look for the locusts. 
 
 JUNE 26, 1SSM.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 I THINK that it is nearly four weeks since 
 we have had a shower sufficiently heavy 
 to soak through the dust on the roads, and 
 the ground is parched as though it had been 
 baked in an oven. And yet the forests and 
 the meadows remain green, and even where 
 the hay has been harvested, the grass does 
 not seem burned to a crisp. Day after day 
 we watch the storm-clouds forming around 
 us ; we hear the muttering of distant thun 
 der, and, as night approaches, see the elec 
 tric signals flash from cloud to cloud ; it is 
 thunder to right of us, thunder to left of us, 
 thunder in front of us ; occasionally a cool 
 breeze from another valley conies to in 
 form us of the grateful showers that have 
 fallen there. The ladies tell me that the 
 air is laden with moisture, and that conse 
 quently dainty dresses, quietly hanging in 
 the closet, contract their skirts by inches, 
 as if to escape contact with a wet earth ; 
 nevertheless, the would-be welcome rain 
 tarries yet in the offing.
 
 172 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 I have a new Brown Leghorn rooster, 
 master of the clan vice the first incumbent, 
 incapacitated, and since transferred to an 
 other sphere. And he is a true squire of 
 dames, brilliant in his plumage, imposing 
 in his carriage, and withal courtly and 
 generous in his manners. In the latter 
 respect, I confess that he greatly surprised 
 me, after my experience with his cousin 
 from Minorca. He quickly ventured to 
 take grain from my hand, or from the 
 ground close beside me, but instead of im 
 mediately swallowing it, would hold it in 
 his beak, clucking an encouraging invita 
 tion to the ladies of his family, and, as if 
 realizing that their enterprise might not 
 be sufficient to bring them quite so close 
 to the great ogre, man, would move off 
 two or three steps, and lay the grain upon 
 the ground, continuing his cheering calls. 
 Often he has to pick up and lay down the 
 same grain two or three times, before he 
 finds a customer for it, but at length it will 
 be called for, and he will look on most 
 benignly while it is being disposed of. 
 Sometimes it is necessary for him to go 
 through the process of laying down the 
 grain, and scratching about it, before his 
 coy consorts can be encouraged to approach.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 173 
 
 Occasionally he swallows a grain, just to 
 keep up his strength for the work in hand ; 
 but I do not think that he takes more than 
 one out of a dozen, which is much less than 
 his share. 
 
 But he has the defects of his virtues, and 
 is a good deal of a swash-buckler. He is 
 of the time of Louis XIII. and XIV., and 
 reminds me now of the dainty Aramis, and 
 now of Athos, Porthos, and the rough 
 and ready D Artagnan. lie will vary his 
 amusements by periodically facing his 
 neighbour, the Plymouth Rock rooster in 
 the adjoining yard, like his lamented prede 
 cessor ; and this morning he managed to get 
 over the high fence, and to give the latter 
 such a drubbing that he was fain to retire 
 into the privacy of his own apartments, 
 with both eyes closed, and generally such 
 a wreck as was pitiful to behold. I hope 
 that this interview has so far settled their 
 differences that hereafter peace may reign 
 upon the confines of their dominions. 
 
 Strangely enough, the locusts have not 
 invaded the precincts of the village. Two 
 or three days ago, I saw one fluttering 
 through my dining-room that is to be, but 
 it was the only one that I have seen this 
 side of the hills. In the hottest part of
 
 174 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 the day we still hear the distant buzzing of 
 their calls ; but it is not near so loud as it 
 was ten days ago, and it does not attract 
 our attention in the early morning as it did 
 then. Wings are found here and there 
 upon the street, the related bodies having, 
 I imagine, been disposed of by the birds. 
 
 A week ago, I went up on the hills to 
 make a nearer acquaintance with the com 
 pany. When fairly among them, the air 
 rang with their note, as if with the whir 
 ring of a considerable collection of light 
 machinery and gearing, with now and then 
 a curious rising inflection. It is quite 
 unlike the hot, dry rattle of our ordinary 
 locusts. I saw many of the insects them 
 selves, but they were far from being as 
 numerous as I remember them in the 
 Pennsylvania brood of a certain year that 
 shall be nameless. May I not have my 
 reticences ? If there was a pre-diluvian 
 period which I can look back upon, let us 
 assume it to have been vaguely a Saturnian 
 era, a Golden age, without beginning and 
 without end, the glamour of which still 
 lingers upon the hills of to-day. 
 
 On this recent excursion, I did not see 
 any of the insects emerging from their 
 shells, as I frequently did in those early
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 175 
 
 days ; but I saw many of these shells, some 
 times two or three of them left upon a 
 single leaf, having the opening in the back 
 through which the insect escaped. And 
 many of the locusts were busily at work 
 boring the holes in which to deposit their 
 eggs. This they do most industriously, 
 and it is far from being an easy task. I 
 watched one for perhaps nearly ten min 
 utes, effecting a single perforation ; and 
 sometimes these appear at intervals of a 
 half inch or so, for a distance of as much 
 as a foot, or a foot and a half, along a 
 single branch, apparently, though I cannot 
 say certainly, made by a single female. 
 
 The ovipositor is a horny, sting-like ap 
 pendage attached near the middle of the 
 lower side of the body. It is about a third of 
 an inch long and slightly curved backward, 
 and the perforation is effected by gripping 
 the branch or twig tightly with the feet, and 
 contracting the legs so as to force the in 
 strument diagonally through the bark into 
 the wood. The muscular exertion required 
 must be very great, and the ovipositor is 
 nearly withdrawn and again thrust into 
 the wood over and over before the work is 
 completed. 
 
 I suppose that it is well known that little
 
 176 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 or no serious damage is done by the insects 
 through eating in this stage of existence. 
 The devastation produced in the woods and 
 among the scattered trees is caused by the 
 destruction of innumerable twigs and small 
 branches by the boring for the deposit of 
 eggs, this resulting shortly in the death of 
 these twigs. I think it is not improbable 
 that some active poison is inserted at the 
 time the egg is laid. At all events, in most 
 cases the twig quickly dies and becomes 
 brittle, and is broken off by the wind, and 
 then falling to the ground, the new genera 
 tion is permitted, as soon as released from 
 the egg, to sink below the surface and begin 
 the period of seventeen years of subterra 
 nean existence, from which these which I 
 have been observing have just emerged. 
 
 JULY 2, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 177 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 How beautiful is the rain ! 
 
 After the dust and heat, 
 
 In the hroad and fiery street, 
 
 In the narrow lane, 
 
 How beautiful is the rain ! 
 
 THE leaden clouds gather around us and 
 shut off the hot rays of the sun, and the 
 thunder comes nearer than we have had it 
 in many weeks. But we have become in 
 credulous, and I hear the patter of the fall 
 ing drops upon the leaves over my head 
 before I realize that there is any need for 
 me to gather up my books and papers, and 
 seek shelter under the neighbouring roof. 
 For a moment the drops fall merrily, and 
 bury themselves in the finely powdered dust 
 upon the drive outside the window ; but 
 before the surface has been moistened all 
 over, the supply is cut off, a break appears 
 in the curtain which covers the heavens, 
 and the sun gleams through again as though 
 like the clown at the circus, to say, " Here 
 we are again ! "
 
 178 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 But never mind ; there are three or four 
 little puddles upon the floor of the porch, 
 large enough to reflect the branches waving 
 in the freshened breeze, a grumble is heard 
 now from one quarter and now from another 
 where heavy clouds cover most of the sky, 
 and " we may be happy yet." 
 
 Yesterday, when I parted from Blondin 
 after our cosy lunch in one of those quiet 
 little foreign places which you will find here 
 and there in old dwelling-houses upon the 
 cross streets in the metropolis, and took my 
 way to spend an hour at the club before 
 train time, the sunshine came almost as hot 
 from the blistering pavement of the dusty 
 and noisy street as from the heavens above. 
 But on an inner balcony at the club-house, 
 which I had quite to myself at this hour, 
 it was gratefully cool and quiet. My hour 
 passed all too quickly, and I soon found 
 myself amid the throng at the neighbouring 
 station. The bull reigns in the zodiac, and 
 the air is heavy and the pulse high as the 
 holiday crowds, flushed and flurried, gather 
 in the long trams to flee away from the 
 city for a breath of fresh country air. It 
 is not until the Bronx comes in sight, with 
 the appropriate accent of a blanchisscuse 
 upon the bank, with clean white garments
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 179 
 
 scattered upon the grass around her, that 
 the weight lifts a little, and we realize once 
 more that life is worth living. Even here 
 much is sordid and mean, and it is but a 
 touch now and then which lets us out into 
 the infinite. "Hop" Smith, the versatile, 
 tells me that " A Day at Laguerre s" was 
 drawn with absolute truth, and I am sure 
 that he believes it. But then he is of the 
 fortunate ones who evolve their own facts 
 from the nature of their constitution, and 
 carry with them an atmosphere which 
 causes the light to touch with a tender glow 
 the most common things. And who would 
 not rather see Mambrino s helmet than a 
 barber s basin, and find an inspiration to 
 knightly deeds in the Dulcinea del Toboso ? 
 If I may not think my geese all swans, let 
 me never keep a flock to squawk at my 
 coming. 
 
 But the French at Laguerre s are retiring 
 before Guiseppe and Pietro and Giacomo, 
 and the peasants of sunny Italy are, tempo 
 rarily at least, taking the place of the vola 
 tile and genial Gaul ; and they have brought 
 their barbarisms with them. They are not 
 our barbarisms, of the counting-house and 
 the shop and the mine, but the hot blood of 
 the South, the quick word, and the knife.
 
 l8o FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 Whether is better the mean tawdry life of 
 vulgar commonplace, high or low, gilded or 
 unvarnished, or the life that rests on a word, 
 a Hash, a blow, good-night ! Say rather, 
 which is worse ? 
 
 At least this is to be said, while there 
 is life there is hope, and it takes so small 
 an aperture for the soul to creep through ! 
 "Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide 
 as a church door ; but tis enough, twill 
 serve." Our vulgarisms are the meanest of 
 the mean, and we have enough of them, 
 Heaven knows. But if " There is some soul 
 of goodness in things evil," as Shakespeare 
 says, we have a right to hope that in the 
 coining days there may be ever more of the 
 sweet and wholesome growing therefrom, as 
 the richest flowers spring from the soil where 
 we have buried most of that which was 
 noisome and vile. 
 
 While I have been writing, we have had 
 another shower, and again the sunlight lies 
 upon the freshened fields. The contribution 
 has not been large, but perhaps the charm 
 of the evil eye has been broken, and better 
 days are in store for us. 
 
 JULY 4, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. l8l 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 IT is said that every man should be the 
 architect of his own fortunes, and I think 
 that each should be, at least in a degree, 
 the architect of his own house. It is not a 
 bad plan for him to be to some extent its 
 builder also. It should represent his ideas, 
 if he has any, in its arrangement and con 
 struction ; he should watch it grow under 
 his eyes, look after the setting of the roots, 
 follow it up into the air, place a loving hand 
 on its stones and timbers, know intimately 
 what is contained in its walls and partitions 
 as well as what is contained between them, 
 and do something himself toward putting 
 them together. 
 
 I know that it is said that a shoemaker 
 should stick to his last, and that when a 
 man is his own lawyer, he has a fool for a 
 client. And there is much truth in both of 
 these statements. The professional is, or 
 should be, indispensable ; but he cannot 
 replace the client in his knowledge of the 
 thing which is most appropriate to him.
 
 1 82 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 One would not wish to have some one else 
 select all his books and pictures for him, or 
 even his wife and children. 
 
 I have followed with a critical and caress 
 ing eye the growth of the cottage on the 
 hillside, and have experienced a glow of 
 satisfaction in seeing the manner in which 
 the irregular blocks found their places, and 
 I hope the lichens will take kindly to the 
 new angle at which the sun and wind must 
 reach them. When the cellar was covered 
 I went down into the cool shadow, and felt 
 myself in a manner at home, though the 
 outlook was somewhat as through the port 
 holes of a ship, excepting that the deep blue 
 sea was replaced by the green valley and 
 the deep blue hills on the horizon. And I 
 walked the rough floor, as a captain might 
 walk his quarter-deck, and looked through 
 the door-frames, and the irregular apertures 
 where the window-frames ought to be, and 
 began to realize more fully that all this vast 
 outdoors is mine, whatever futile efforts my 
 thousand neighbours may make to retain 
 their proprietorship. 
 
 To-day I went up on the side of the ledge 
 and selected certain special stones which I 
 desired to have worked into the walls. And 
 some of them I brought down myself upon
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 183 
 
 a rickety wheelbarrow. How astonishingly 
 a wheelbarrow wobbles when you have a 
 somewhat heavier load on board than you 
 are quite equal to ! It really is the tipsiest 
 sort of a conveyance, and you feel yourself 
 a kindred spirit. But I succeeded in com 
 pleting the journey with all but the heavi 
 est, and for the raising and transfer of this 
 I was compelled to call for assistance. And 
 then came the placing, in which I became a 
 free and accepted inason, pushing with my 
 little might to swing the boom of the derrick 
 into place, and handling the crowbar in the 
 adjustment upon the corner. It is true that 
 I had the assistance of the professionals, or 
 rather, assisted them, which being inter 
 preted means that they probably wished me 
 in Ballyhack, wherever that may be. How 
 ever, they were very amiable, and let me 
 have my way, and I am sure that the house 
 will be a better house for me because I 
 have had a hand in its construction. 
 
 The trap-rock of which I am building 
 will stand any amount of pressure when 
 well placed, but it is very brittle when 
 struck, and sometimes breaks anywhere 
 but where one desires, and Hies into a 
 dozen pieces. Therefore we have, so far 
 as possible, to secure such masses as will
 
 1 84 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 serve us without alteration, and it being 
 understood that the best face is to be 
 shown to the world, this costs a good deal 
 of time. But the game is amply worth the 
 candle. I verily believe that no such beau 
 tiful wall, considering its location and pur 
 pose, could be erected of any other mate 
 rial. The softer mosses, I suppose, will 
 all disappear under the greater exposure, 
 and perhaps some of the larger and coarser 
 lichens also; but the finer and more delicate 
 ones, I am sure, will remain and continue to 
 grow. And the weather stains are also cer 
 tainly permanent. When the cement in 
 the cracks is thoroughly dried, it is covered 
 with a whitish efflorescence, which is very 
 effective, though perhaps it has rather too 
 much accent. It will doubtless, however, 
 gradually tone down under the action of 
 the dust, little of this though there be, 
 which can wander hitherward across the 
 fields ; certainly none that can be perceived 
 in the air. The vines, I am sure, will take 
 kindly to this rough surface, and I shall 
 only hesitate to let them cover too much 
 of it. 
 
 JULY 9, 18i.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 185 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 LOST ! 
 
 CAN you imagine anything that could 
 cause a more hopeless sinking of your heart 
 than to have it suddenly announced to you 
 in the gloaming that your child had strayed 
 away and was lost ? The light lingers on 
 the edge of the sky above the hills, the steel 
 gray showing that the dust has recently 
 been washed out of it. The stars be-gem 
 the vault overhead, and the crescent moon 
 has just begun to throw down a faint re 
 flected light, a suggestion only of what she 
 may do when she grows older and stronger. 
 There is an uncertain mingling of the day 
 light, which is fast fading, and the lamp 
 light, which hai dly serves to do more than 
 to make the coming darkness visible, and 
 the dew is falling, and there is a suspicion 
 of a chill in the air, and the child is lost. 
 
 Quick ! The darkness grows apace. 
 Whither shall we go ? Down behind the 
 inn to the brook, or by the road to the
 
 186 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 river ? Or may it possibly be along the 
 village street that he strayed? Or you 
 remember Charley Ross? 
 
 Hurry ! He has not been seen for half 
 an hour, an hour. Look everywhere ! 
 Bring the horse and the buckboard. Let 
 us fly ! 
 
 Well, well ! .It was a false alarm. The 
 little fellow had strayed away some hun 
 dreds of yards, and had been hospitably 
 entreated by a thoughtless neighbour ; and 
 here he is by his mother s side again, and 
 all is well. And the full eyes of the mother 
 say, Good friends, pardon me. I am very 
 sorry to have alarmed you so, but but 
 he was lost ! My child was lost ! 
 
 JULY 9. 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 187 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 I SUPPOSE it was fated that Pandora should 
 lift the cover from the box. We may wish 
 that she had sat upon it, or tumbled it into 
 the sea, or disposed of it in some other way, 
 but it is of no use. The box was to be 
 opened. That way lay the path of the race, 
 and take any by-road you might, you were 
 sure to come out upon the same track at last. 
 
 But I think that the Greeks only had a 
 forecast of what might be, and that the box 
 was not really opened until very recently. 
 The ancients thought that they had puzzling 
 questions to deal with, but they were mis 
 taken. They might badger their brains 
 about "Fixed fate, freewill, foreknowledge 
 absolute " ; but these, being insoluble riddles 
 which they might take or leave, were simply 
 personal problems, as were most others with 
 which they had to deal. It was left to the 
 age of the printing press, steam, and electri 
 city, above all to the age of the " walking 
 delegate," to propound puzzles which must 
 be dealt with if human society is to continue
 
 188 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 to exist, but with which we are apparently 
 powerless to deal. 
 
 Up on the slope atUnderledge the ground 
 is not now as moist as we should like it to 
 be, though the weather is absolutely perfect. 
 Some of us are very poor, and none of us 
 feel very rich ; but we get something to eat 
 almost every day, and if we do not have a 
 good thick juicy beefsteak at each meal, we 
 remember having read of persons who had 
 made a fair repast upon shoe leather. We 
 look about us, and we see labouring men of 
 moderate calibre, who have never had more 
 than a labouring man s modest wages, who 
 have married and brought up families, 
 and who, withal, have established and own 
 comfortable homes in which they live under 
 their own vines and cherry trees. They get 
 their dollar and a half a day when they can 
 earn it, and when they cannot earn it they 
 dig in the garden, or tend the baby, and 
 hope for the time when they can. 
 
 Most of us receive a daily newspaper, or if 
 we do not take one ourselves, we borrow our 
 neighbour s, or we hear what the paper con 
 tains when we go down to the post-office. 
 And nowadays the paper contains the most 
 remarkable tales. It appears that millions 
 of dollars worth of property has been burned
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. l8g 
 
 or otherwise destroyed ; that many more 
 millions worth of damage has been effected 
 by the derangement of business ; that num 
 bers of lives have been sacrificed, and incal 
 culable misery has been inflicted over a vast 
 extent of territory by combinations of men 
 banded together to prevent other men, if 
 possible, from doing just what our labouring 
 men have done at Underledge, just what the 
 intelligent and industrious workingman has 
 been doing for several thousand years past, 
 the best that he could do for himself and 
 his family, as an honest, self-respecting 
 member of society. 
 
 This is the situation as it appears to us. 
 We suppose that a man can give up work 
 ing if he chooses, if he thereby breaks no 
 contract, and does not compel others to 
 support him in idleness; but there, so far as 
 we can perceive, his right ends. When he 
 undertakes to prevent others from work 
 ing who desire to do so, he is acting as an 
 enemy of the first principle upon which 
 civilization and society rest ; he is guilty 
 of treason against the race, and there is 
 no punishment which the race can impose 
 which is a fit measure of his guilt. This 
 treason must be put down if it takes every 
 able-bodied man, and the cripples also, and
 
 IQO FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 every dollar s worth of property in exist 
 ence ; it must be put clown at the cost of 
 everything which society possesses ; at the 
 cost, if need be, of wiping off the face of the 
 land all that has been put upon it during 
 the past four hundred years, leaving a clean 
 page, upon which, let us hope, to write a 
 more cheerful history. 
 
 This is the way it looks to us at Under- 
 ledge, and we are ready to do our part, if 
 called upon, to correct the abuse. But it 
 seems to us a not unimportant fact in 
 connection with this time and the future, 
 that there are said to be hundreds of thou 
 sands of persons throughout the country, 
 scattered here and there all over the land, 
 who are associated in this movement, or 
 who sympathize with it, or who, under 
 slightly different conditions, would take 
 similar action, and that it is impossible to 
 show them the utter folly of their beliefs, 
 and of their course ; that governors of 
 states, United States senators and repre 
 sentatives, and lesser officials innumerable, 
 give aid and comfort to them ; that min 
 isters of the gospel and college professors 
 pander to their fallacious fancies and stim 
 ulate their wild hopes, and thus promote 
 their destructive work. Not that all these
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 19 1 
 
 counsel or countenance the illegal and 
 violent acts referred to, but that that which 
 they advocate or approve or suggest will 
 lead to such results, just as surely as night 
 follows the day. And all the while we 
 remember that this is a "popular" govern 
 ment, and that in these times a popular 
 government usually means in practice not 
 a competition for the suffrages and support 
 of the intelligent and thoughtful, but bids 
 by the machinists of both the leading par 
 ties, and often of the outlying factions, 
 for the votes of all the crack-brained, the 
 turbulent, the dissatisfied, and the lazy. 
 
 So we do not look upon the field of the 
 immediate future, either here or abroad, as 
 a bed of roses. It seems much more likely 
 to be the paradise of the demagogue and 
 the visionary, and the inferno of the quiet 
 citizen who wishes to "live in the spirit." 
 
 Nevertheless, we desire to keep our heads 
 level. We remember that somebody wrote 
 recently "Don t fret," and we intend to 
 remember the charge. We recall that dur 
 ing the July riots in New York, in 18(53, 
 there came a heavy shower, and the mob 
 scattered like sheep. And we hope for some 
 cooling baptism that will send people back 
 to their homes where they can collect their
 
 IQ2 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 thoughts, and perhaps recall, or have a rev 
 elation of the fact, that salvation does not 
 come to masses, but to individuals. We are 
 an inventive people, and we have machines 
 performing a great variety of operations ; 
 but, so far as we have heard, none has 
 yet been received at the patent office war 
 ranted to make the world over again as 
 good as new, but upon a different plan ; and 
 we would suggest to the various philoso 
 phers who are busily employed in devising 
 such machines that an honest day s work 
 can be much more easily and effectively 
 performed by strengthening, polishing, and 
 lubricating the machinery already in use, 
 and by doing themselves, and inducing 
 others to do, a little more faithful labour 
 than has been hitherto accomplished. These 
 are homely remedies, but wholesome, like 
 the cooling herbs of our grandmothers, more 
 reliable than any patent medicines, and 
 likely to prove more efficient than the drugs 
 of Debs, Bellamy, Most, et id genus omne. 
 
 JULY 10, 1891.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. K 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 LAST night the heavens came down in 
 grateful showers. They were not all that 
 we desired, but they were more than we 
 had had before in many weeks, and we rec 
 ognize the bounty. And so I am sure do 
 tree and vine and herb, if there is any vir 
 tue in the expressions with which they have 
 greeted the morning. The wilted leaves 
 have become again firm and green, the 
 branches and twigs graceful and elastic, 
 the blossoms bright and clear. 
 
 Upon the unwritten domestic calendar 
 the memorandum appears, "About this 
 time look out for young chickens," and 
 therefore my first visit on my return was 
 to the poultry-yard. And I hope that I 
 was duly thankful when I found one little 
 elliptical fluffy duffer as the net result of 
 two good "clutches" of eggs. And I hope 
 that he or she or "he-sh," should I say ? 
 feels in a proper degree the responsibility 
 thrown upon "himr " as the sole represen 
 tative of so many promising beginnings, 
 o
 
 194 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 Already within the brief period of my ab 
 sence the infant had pecked a way into the 
 world through the crisp limestone wall by 
 which he had been surrounded, and had 
 begun to push "hisr" pin-feathers. Its 
 voice was at least twice as big as its body, 
 and attested as good a pair of lungs as one 
 could wish. Yet a little while, and doubt 
 less the infant prodigy will bridle and strut 
 with all the dignity appropriate to the first 
 born on the new estate. 
 
 The house has made good progress, and 
 the masons are completing their work. 
 Four walls with many and large port-holes 
 form the hull of the vessel, and we shall 
 soon be ready for the top-hamper. 
 
 The persistency with which most of the 
 inhabitants of the garden continued to grow 
 during the drought was a constant marvel. 
 Doubtless last night s rain will help them 
 greatly, although the ground is not soaked 
 for a depth of more than from one to four 
 inches, in reverse degree according to its 
 firmness. But even before this came, the 
 general appearance was good, and some 
 things were doing finely. My sweet peas, 
 my "sweet sixteen," the sole representa 
 tives in the garden of those that neither toil 
 nor spin, gave me a great jar full of blus-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 195 
 
 soms yesterday morning, and there were 
 more in the afternoon, and again to-day. 
 And how lovely they are ! People almost 
 seemed to have forgotten them until ten 
 years ago; they were flowers of the "old 
 gardens." And then Dame Fashion took 
 them up, by a strange inadvertence mak 
 ing a happy choice, and strangely enough 
 she has not yet discarded them. They were 
 too lovely for her favour to spoil them ; but I 
 am not sure that those of us who love flowers 
 for what they are, will not find them sweeter 
 and dearer when she shall have passed 
 them by. 
 
 The season is waxing older. The fragrant 
 odour of the milkweeds here and there fills 
 the air, the wild carrot lifts its jewelled lace 
 over the recently mown fields ; two days 
 ago I saw the golden-rod by the roadside in 
 the old Bay State, and the dark red clusters 
 of the chokecherry bedeck the hedgerows. 
 The days grow perceptibly shorter, ere yet 
 the year has reached its climax. 
 
 Familiar faces are missing at the inn, 
 and familiar voices are silent. Already 
 their owners are doubtless far, far away, 
 speeding over the summer seas, perhaps I 
 hope surely to find balm in the Gilead of 
 another clime and other scenes, among an
 
 196 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 alien people. We shall miss them sorely, 
 but what would you ? "As ships that pass 
 in the night." Yea, verily. Through the 
 years it is " Hail ! " and " Farewell ! " But 
 is it not a pleasant thought that here and 
 there, scattered over the wide, wide world, 
 there are those whom you may never again 
 meet, but with whom you have memories 
 in common, those into whose eyes and hearts 
 you have sometime looked far enough to 
 see truth therein, and to know that there is 
 an unbound freemasonry in which you and 
 they are forever comrades for weal or for 
 woe ? What matters it though seas roll 
 their waves between, though ripening years 
 sink away into the eternal silence ? " Age 
 cannot wither" the unchanging past. 
 
 And so, as through the night watches 
 the stanch vessels pass, and fade away in 
 the darkness, we breathe a loving benison 
 upon the disappearing craft, and bid them 
 godspeed. It may be that the storm clouds 
 lower, the lightning flashes, the thunder 
 reverberates from mass to mass, the surg 
 ing waves plunge angrily before the driving 
 gale. But above it all, the stars are shining 
 silently in the infinite spaces, and beyond 
 the tempest, and sometimes even in the 
 heart of it, there is peace. 
 
 JULY 22, 18!)4.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 197 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 IN times of drought such as this, the foun 
 tains of nature seem to get into the condi 
 tion of a pump which has ceased to " draw," 
 at which you may work and work to heart s 
 content, or discomfort, but nothing conies. 
 Parturiunt mantes, nascitur ridiculus 
 mns. Yesterday the mercury in the ther 
 mometer mounted higher and higher during 
 the day, like the price of gold upon the 
 famous Good Friday, until it hovered on 
 the edge of ninety-eight degrees, and the 
 aerial currents marked an even temperature 
 with the vital ones. Then came the gath 
 ering of a tempest ; thin clouds formed over 
 the sky, becoming from moment to moment 
 more dense ; heavy and threatening cumu 
 lus masses arose in the south, and gradually 
 covered the heavens, south, east, and west ; 
 magnificent thunder-heads climbed toward 
 the zenith ; a deep leaden-blue veil spread 
 over all that portion of the vault, occasion 
 ally rent by sharp flashes of lightning, fol 
 lowed by reverberating thunder, and in a
 
 ig FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 brief time the whole sky was shrouded ; 
 we took our places on the front porch to 
 inhale the freshening breeze and watch the 
 oncoming of the anticipated torrents, some 
 what awed, as most are, by the outburst 
 of heaven s artillery ; but not one solitary 
 moistening drop did the storm vouchsafe 
 us. The clouds gradually thinned and parted 
 in the west ; with the coming night the stars 
 again looked out upon the lower world, and 
 the torrid earth radiated its burning heat 
 into the night air. 
 
 This morning the sun again stares down 
 upon the parched fields, and the mercury 
 again climbs slowly and steadily toward 
 the centennial mark. While walking along 
 the dusty road, and crossing the open fields, 
 the heat seemed almost to burn into the 
 brain and cause it to sizzle. The long sharp 
 rattle of the common locust marks the day 
 with its characteristic note. Hut here, sit 
 ting upon the bank at the border and in the 
 shade of my wood which masks the low 
 cliff, a pleasant breeze soothes my bare 
 brow and revives the spirit of life within 
 me. 
 
 I wonder whether I can picture the scene ? 
 Behind me the wind awakens a soothing 
 murmur among the trees, through which
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 199 
 
 the hot sunlight filters here and there, flick 
 ering pleasantly upon the moving leaves. 
 Before me fall away the gently undulating 
 slopes of the "mountain meadow," with 
 the poultry-yard between me and the high 
 way, close to the edge of the wood, from 
 which from time to time I hear the cackle 
 of the hens or the crowing of the cocks, 
 some of which, with characteristic curiosity, 
 stray down to the corner nearest to me and 
 watch me at my writing. Were I nearer, I 
 should also hear the pleasant chirping of 
 the downy chicks, now numbering a dozen 
 or more, clustered confidingly around their 
 careful foster-mother. The line of shadow 
 from the woods extends a short distance in 
 front of me ; then comes the open sunny 
 field, from which the hay was recently har 
 vested, now speckled over with the branch 
 ing stems and flat white crowns of the wild 
 carrot ; beyond and slightly to the left, the 
 slender village spire lifts itself against the 
 distant hills, overtopping a curtain of deep 
 green trees. It was of this that Elihu Bur- 
 ritt, " the learned blacksmith," said, that as 
 he, then a little urchin, looked down upon it 
 from Sunset Rock, he felt as one should do 
 in looking for the first time upon St. Peter s, 
 and thought that if the big rooster (which in
 
 2OO FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 those days was really a crown) should crow, 
 "the rude forefathers of the hamlet" up in 
 heaven would certainly recognize his voice, 
 and know that he was an Underledge 
 rooster, and that he brought news of the 
 faithfulness of their successors. 
 
 Upon the slope directly in front of me, and 
 fifty or sixty yards away, are the drying 
 walls of the cottage, with their wide-open 
 eyes, and heaped around is the lumber for 
 the superstructure, which during the next 
 sennight will so greatly change the appear 
 ance of the building. The rapid fall of the 
 ground beyond conceals from my view, from 
 this point, the picturesque pasture and the 
 damp, green marsh ; but I see the orchard 
 beyond, then here and there a chimney or 
 bit of roof rising among the trees at the 
 north end of the village, then the line of 
 great elms and maples indicating the course 
 of the river. The farm lands of the, intervale 
 show varying shades of green and brown, 
 spotted here and there with scattered trees, 
 and divided by a few fences scarcely visible 
 from here, and wild hedgerows, with a 
 considerable farmstead in the middle dis 
 tance, two or three isolated houses and 
 barns, an occasional cluster of bits of 
 roof indicating a village, with now and
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 2OI 
 
 then a faint church spire. On a moderate 
 hill nearly to the north, and eight or ten 
 miles away, I see distinctly in the noon- 
 clay light the long walls of the great new 
 house of a New York merchant. To the 
 east of north, and on my right, runs out 
 the line of high hills which abut upon the 
 "second mountain" and form the rim of 
 our basin to the east, with gently sloping 
 cultivated fields between, and still show 
 ing on the hither side a remnant of the 
 old " Pilgrims Path " of the colonial time. 
 Due north, and fifteen miles away, rise 
 from the valley the two singular hills 
 which form its portal. 
 
 Nearly the whole country seems covered 
 with forest, though most of it is young or 
 of moderate age, probably none "prime 
 val," as I have heretofore said, and here 
 and there in the distance I see a space 
 marked by recent severe cutting, or browned 
 by a late forest-lire. Beyond the valley the 
 hills lie in ranges, almost seeming, toward 
 "Satan s kingdom" in the northwest, or 
 thirty miles away in the far north, to float 
 in the hot and hazy air ; and they recede 
 until they become indistinguishable in tint 
 from the sky which falls to meet them. 
 
 Over all this spreads the sky, fading from
 
 202 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 a translucent blue overhead to a warm pale 
 tint above the hills, with detached fleecy 
 clouds which seem as if every drop of 
 moisture had been squeezed out of them, 
 and they were of no more promise to the 
 vegetable or animal world than so much 
 gun-cotton ; while marshalled around the 
 horizon are the faint blue-pink heaps 
 which from hour to hour hold out to us 
 the promise which they never keep. 
 
 This is the scene upon which I look. 
 And as I write I hear the characteristic 
 note of the thistle bird as it plunges along 
 in its diving flight ; in front, flutters a yel 
 low butterfly, and above soar two or three 
 swallows seeking for insects ; the line of 
 shadow draws nearer to my feet, and I 
 notice the leaves of the melon vines wilting 
 in the fervent heat. And still the trees 
 wave and bend before the breeze, and I 
 seem to hear a low rumble as of distant 
 tl mnder. Hush ! Hark ! Yes, it surely is ; 
 but still the eye sinks far away into the 
 blue of the sky, and the hot sunlight beats 
 upon the hillside. 
 
 JULY 29, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 203 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 D Sannenbaum, D Sannenbaum, 
 SSte treu fmb bctne 33tatter. 
 Tu griin f t nid)t nur jur ommerjeit, 
 9letn, and) int SSinter roenn e ftfinett. 
 D aannenbaum, D Sannenbaum, 
 2!3ie treu nnb bcine 23fatter. 
 
 YESTERDAY morning we went up into a 
 neighbouring wood to select some cedar 
 trees whose trunks shall serve as pillars for 
 the porches. They are to be straight and 
 firm, and are to have the branches cut off 
 and to have the bark stripped from them, 
 but otherwise they are to be left in their 
 natural condition. Branches of the same, 
 not too pronounced in their eccentricity, 
 will be used for the balustrade and the 
 trellis beneath. Then honeysuckles and 
 other vines will be invited to lend their 
 graceful tracery in decoration, and their 
 grateful shade from the southern, eastern, 
 and western sun. 
 
 It is almost a pity that the living trees 
 cannot be taken and made to serve our
 
 204 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 turn. They coine into om lives in many 
 ways, and at all times and seasons. How 
 beautiful they were last winter, laden down 
 with the fleecy shower, the dark green of 
 their leaves contrasting with the whiteness 
 of their burden of snow ! And at the 
 Christmastide some of their race bore a 
 wondrous variety of fruit, of which the 
 gem of all was the kindly feeling which in 
 spired the festival. And now as the warm 
 sun upon their branches brings out the 
 spicy odours, we recognize the very essence 
 of the forest in its completeness. Below 
 us, winding about among the roots in the 
 bottom of the little valley, tumble and 
 gurgle the waters of the " Great brook," with 
 trout doubtless lurking here and there, seek 
 ing shelter from the heat under the shadow 
 ing banks of the deeper pools ; while on the 
 other side, above the slope, tall hemlock 
 trees spread their protecting branches until 
 they interlace, leaving open spaces below 
 quite clear of underbrush, carpeted with 
 brown leaves, and forming solemn, shadowy 
 aisles. 
 
 I hardly think that the first and strong 
 est impression that we get of the German 
 people as we see them in this country, is 
 the poetic. And yet how full they are of
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 205 
 
 music, and how their songs and their lit 
 erature are permeated by the impressions 
 derived from nature, and how strong a love 
 for it they manifest ! Some of us prefer to 
 take these things diluted with a smaller 
 amount of beer, and prefer the scent of 
 roses alone, rather than mixed with those 
 of tobacco and other things. But even these 
 are more like the odour of sanctity than some 
 things which are characteristic of our urban 
 life. 
 
 On a festival, the German instinctively 
 seeks the country and the woodlands. 
 The Schwarzwald and the Bohmerwald, 
 and the Tliiiringerwald maintain their 
 hold upon him, whether he comes from 
 their shadowy recesses or not. And it is 
 fair to believe that his homely wholesome 
 family life has some not unnatural connec 
 tion with this life in the open air, and 
 among our brothers who draw their sus 
 tenance directly from the soil. 
 
 The proper study of mankind is man. 
 Yes, doubtless. And the first claimant on 
 our aid and bounty, if we have them to 
 give, is likewise man. But there are many 
 ways in which this study can be made 
 and this aid extended, and it is not unfair 
 to assume that something can be gained
 
 2O6 FROM A NKW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 even yet by " going back to nature." And 
 by this I do not mean throwing away what 
 has been earned in the past, and making 
 shipwreck of civilization, but rather the 
 attempt to assimilate this new food if we 
 have not yet become quite used to it, by 
 taking it in instalments, as we might test a 
 boletus or a coprinus atramentarius, falling 
 back for our mainstay upon good whole 
 some brownbread, potatoes, and roast beef, 
 which by long experience we have proved 
 to be reliable diet. But there, I am not a 
 I aganini, and I think that I have played 
 upon that one string more than once before. 
 It is a good string, however, and susceptible 
 of infinite variations of tone, and I am not 
 sure that a master could not play upon it 
 all the music with which life is full. 
 
 JULY 29, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 207 
 
 XL. 
 
 I SUPPOSE that most people, at some time 
 or other in their careers, " get their come- 
 upance," to use the vernacular of these 
 New England States. This was my reflec 
 tion, as I went up from the inn yesterday 
 and turned into High street, when I beheld 
 upon the descending road an army of 
 dark-hued men from the shores of the Medi 
 terranean, not with banners, but with pick 
 axes and shovels, with great wires and 
 cross-ties and iron rails, digging and pulling 
 and hammering, drawing and quartering, 
 and realized that vengeance was being 
 meted out to the Goths and the Vandals, the 
 Ostrogoths and the Visigoths, for their 
 descent upon the sunny South a millennium 
 ago. And taking refuge from Scylla, I came 
 near unto falling into Charybdis ; for there 
 in front of me, turning into the street at the 
 other end, was a wandering troubadour, pre 
 sumably of the same stock, with an instru 
 ment of torture like unto an upright piano 
 loaded upon a go-cart. I incontinently fled
 
 2O8 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 into the fields, hearing behind me, but sub 
 dued in the distance, the mocking tintinnab 
 ulation of the fiend-like machine. 
 
 The trolley is knocking at our doors ; the 
 uncouth poles already mar the prospect, and 
 we hear the sharp ring of iron upon iron as 
 the spikes are driven home. It is no longer 
 a question of possibilities ; the emergency 
 is upon us, and there is little room left for 
 speculation as to what changes may be im 
 pending. With characteristic subjection of 
 common rights and convenience to individ 
 ual ease and advantage, our main highway 
 outside of the village which at places is 
 but narrow, is sacrificed to the intruder, and 
 wicked pedestrians, and riders upon horse 
 back, and drivers in carriages, must take 
 their chances of disastrous accident or 
 "electrocution." 
 
 So far, thanks to close supervision, no 
 serious damage has been done to our finest 
 trees, and we hope to save these from 
 destruction. If we succeed in this, we shall 
 be more fortunate than many; but we view 
 the possibility of an attack upon our Main 
 street with a shudder of apprehension. If 
 the cars were not so very heavy, we should 
 be disposed to say that they should only 
 pass that way, if at all, over our own
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 209 
 
 bodies. Halting a little short of this de 
 gree of self-devotion, we at least solemnly 
 vow that this outrage shall be endured 
 only when all legal preventives shall have 
 failed. 
 
 What a farce it is to call a country " civ 
 ilized," in which such questions are liable 
 from day to day to be presented, to chal- 
 k nge the firmness and public spirit, and to 
 consume the time and strength of the intel 
 ligent citizen ! Such a proposition should 
 answer itself as promptly and conclusively as 
 a similar proposition is answered in the old 
 nursery rhyme : 
 
 Said Aaron to Moses, 
 
 Let s cut off our noses. 
 
 Said Moses to Aaron, 
 
 It s the fashion to wear em. 
 
 I hope that we are gradually learning, at 
 least some of us, " that a man s life con- 
 sisteth not in the abundance of the things 
 which he possesseth," nor in the viands 
 which appear upon his table, nor in the 
 garments that he wears, though all these 
 things may in subordination contribute to it ; 
 and that the glory and merit of a village 
 no more consist in the number of its inhab 
 itants irrespective of their kind, in the
 
 2IO FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 bustle upon its streets, nor in the gaudiness 
 of its decorations. 
 
 I think that one of the most singular ex 
 hibitions of folly that we have ever seen 
 was the struggle which followed the late 
 census, the emulation between different lo 
 calities, each seeking to establish its supe 
 riority by enumerating the bodies, not the 
 souls, of its inhabitants. As if a hundred 
 underfed, undereducated, undeveloped, and 
 unhappy families were worth one homely, 
 quiet household, full of the joy of life 
 and love and helpfulness ! As if the ideal 
 toward which the world is struggling were 
 a nest of squirming maggots ! 
 
 It seems to me that there has been a 
 little chastening of this spirit within these 
 later years, and that quality is gradually 
 attaining something of its rightful recog 
 nition as compared with quantity. And 
 we, as we think of our pleasant old village, 
 and its quiet, shady street, and consider 
 the desolation that might come to it, turn 
 from the gifts which the interlopers bring 
 to us, and ask instead, " Beauty for ashes, 
 the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of 
 praise for the spirit of heaviness." 
 
 AUGUST 3, 18W.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 211 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Ax last ! at last ! 
 
 The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, 
 And drinks, and gapes for drink again. 
 
 For some days there has been an increas 
 ing thickening in the atmosphere, and a 
 greater frequency in the storms which 
 come to naught. But day by day passed 
 by, and the dry grasses hung their dispir 
 ited blades in the face of high heaven. As 
 from time to time we saw the rain falling 
 upon the distant hills, or heard of the re 
 freshing showers in the neighbouring towns, 
 we began to wonder with them of old (it 
 seems to me that I remember some such 
 passage), " Were they wicked above all 
 others upon whom the tower in Siloam 
 fell ? " and were we wicked above all others 
 upon whom the rain did not fall ? 
 
 Tester evening as I left the hillside, my 
 builder pointed out this and that sign in 
 the lowering sky which augured well for 
 the morrow. But when I sought my downy
 
 212 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 couch, faint stars still glimmered in the 
 quiet night. 
 
 Midnight was not long past, however, 
 before a steady pattering on the maple 
 leaves outside the window recalled me 
 from the land of No-whither into which I 
 had sunk. Had I but learned to "dream 
 true," I think that I should not have re 
 turned so easily, even upon so pleasant a 
 call. But alas ! I have not yet acquired 
 that faculty, though I mean to do so one 
 of these days. As it was, the sound was 
 balm to my spirit, and I lay for a long time 
 listening to the pleasant dropping, and 
 grudging to fall asleep again lest I should 
 waste a pleasant opportunity, and some 
 how, by carelessness, bring the shower to 
 an end. And so I continued waking and 
 sleeping, waking and sleeping, through the 
 night, keeping watch and ward over the 
 elements, and congratulating myself in an 
 incoherent way that the liquid chain did 
 not break. 
 
 The rain continued pretty steadily until 
 the middle of the morning, when occasional 
 flashes of lightning and rumbling of dis 
 tant thunder told us that we had to do 
 with an electric storm, and not with a full- 
 grown north-easter. And then the last
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 213 
 
 drops were wrung out, the expanding cir 
 cles ceased upon the pools, the rivulets ran 
 away from the newly stratified sand upon 
 the roadways, with their wave lines and 
 curves and ripples, and through a rift in 
 the gray clouds the sun poured down its 
 golden rays again upon the grass field, 
 already showing a fresh verdancy after the 
 unwonted refreshment. 
 
 The world goes up, and the world goes down. 
 And the sunshine follows the rain. 
 
 It is the first time in many, many weeks 
 that the ground has been soaked, and I do 
 not mourn over the deep pools in my cellar, 
 or begin to speculate upon the probability 
 of my being able to establish a domestic 
 trout pond in that convenient locality. I 
 merely realize gratefully that there is 
 scarcely a physical possibility that we shall 
 have it so dry again before the frost comes. 
 
 Some others of our home circle are gone, 
 soon to return, we hope, with the shorten 
 ing days and lengthening nights, these to 
 the Narragansett shore, and those to the 
 rocks of the Pine Tree State. And to-mor 
 row Monsieur and Madame Liquidambar 
 tempt the ocean surges in quest of the
 
 214 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 green lanes and ivy-mantled towers of 
 Merrie England, and of the lakes and 
 mountains of misty Scotland. I wonder 
 whether mayhap in some al fresco repast 
 at Melrose or Dryburgh, or on Ellen s 
 Isle, they may taste the 
 
 Herbs, and other country messes, 
 Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses. 
 
 But the Scribe clings to his hillside, and 
 as again in the darkness of the deepen 
 ing night the fountains of the heavens are 
 opened, and empty themselves upon the 
 earth, he gratefully realizes the blessings 
 of the present, and would fain believe 
 that "contentment is better than wealth," 
 and home more kindly than " abroad." 
 
 Not that in imagination he does not see 
 
 The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous pal 
 aces, 
 The solemn temples, 
 
 which he would dearly like to view in 
 visible presence; not that he would not 
 tread with reverent awe the aisles worn 
 by the weary feet of unnumbered genera 
 tions seeking a disentanglement of the 
 insoluble riddle of life. Not that he dues 
 not esteem a certain discontent the main-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 215 
 
 spring of progress, and the hope of the 
 race. 
 
 But to the beatific vision which solicits 
 him with beckoning hand, he points to the 
 unfinished cottage upon the hillside, shows 
 duties to be performed, and obstacles which 
 cannot be surmounted. And accepting the 
 decree of the gods, he looks fondly upon 
 valley, hills, and sky, and to the vision he 
 saith : 
 
 Ask me no more: the moon may draw the 
 
 sea; 
 The cloud may stoop from heaven and take 
 
 the shape, 
 
 With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape ; 
 
 But, O too fond, when have I answered thee? 
 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 AUGUST 4, 1894.
 
 21 6 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 D Sannenbaum, D Sannenbaum, 
 SSte treu fmb Seine flatter. 
 
 A GOOD straight cedar tree stands upon 
 the end of the ridge-pole of the cottage. It 
 was planted there yesterday afternoon in 
 token of the fact that the summit had been 
 reached, the place of the dividing of the 
 waters, not the sweet vale of Avoca. At 
 length the bones are in place, and ready to 
 be clothed upon with the membranes which 
 are to give a seeming of continuity and 
 bodily substance to the structure. 
 
 We can now see the outline, in its general 
 character, and are able to judge as to its fit 
 ness for the location, and are called upon 
 to decide whether the building improves or 
 desecrates the position which it occupies. 
 I fear that this is a consideration all too 
 seldom taken into account. In this instance, 
 so far as expressed, opinions coincide, and 
 for myself I am quite content. Nature takes 
 kindly to her bosom the newcomer, which
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 217 
 
 seems at the beginning in good measure a 
 real part of herself, not a jarring note : prom 
 ising to become rapidly a true flower of the 
 landscape, and not a blot upon it, as I am 
 afraid that the majority of American houses 
 are. 
 
 And speaking of flowers, I wish that you 
 could see the glory in lace and purple and 
 gold of my pasture, which I look down upon 
 between the unclothed ribs of the building. 
 Upon the upper portion, near the woods, a 
 great bed of the richly-hued ironweed ex- 
 ceecjs in beauty, I think, any that I ever 
 saw before, while mingled somewhat with 
 it and spread more fully over the body 
 of the field, the wild carrot lifts its stately 
 jewels, and the golden-rod is beginning to 
 hang out its graceful plumes. In the marsh 
 at the foot the intense green is beginning to 
 be sprinkled with the white flowers of the 
 sagittaria and the grass of Parnassus, while 
 the wild clematis twines gracefully over the 
 heaps of stones, and the rich clusters of the 
 elderberries hang nodding in the hedge 
 rows. The rose-hips are beginning to show 
 an orange tinge, and here and there over 
 the slope dark young cedars lift themselves 
 above the tall " weeds " and grass. 
 
 On the other side of the house, the umlu-
 
 21 8 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 lating mountain meadow is being ploughed 
 up after many years rest, shortly to be 
 seeded down again to grass for firm sod and 
 mowing. If all goes well, I should next June 
 look from the triple window in my living 
 room across a smooth, unbroken sea of wav 
 ing spires to the line of the southern hills, 
 cut only by the elm and locust trees upon 
 the roadside five hundred feet away. 
 
 The katydids are here. Only for two 
 evenings have I noticed them, but during 
 those two, they have filled the air with the 
 iteration of their calls. With the same per 
 sistence as a year ago, they keep up the 
 charge and denial, appearing in fact to have 
 gained force and volume during the year 
 that has passed. 
 
 The days grow shorter, and it seems as if 
 the fall were fast approaching. The sky 
 is overcast, and after the heat of July the 
 air seems chill, and a grateful fire smoulders 
 upon the hearth at the inn. But the burn 
 ing sun will doubtless scorch us yet for 
 many days, ere the woods turn scarlet and 
 brown and gold, and the wanderers return 
 from their journeyings. 
 
 AUGUST 12, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 21 9 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 HAS it ever occurred to you how purely 
 conventional, arbitrary, and false are our 
 ordinary views of business and occupation ? 
 I will not say that the money test is the sole 
 one which is applied, but those which sup 
 plement it are usually much of the same 
 character. Undoubtedly the first consider 
 ation for all, is the maintenance of life, for, 
 as it is held on the border that the only 
 :;nod Indian is a dead Indian, so c converso, 
 it is felt, I suppose, by each of us, that we 
 can lie of precious little service unless we 
 are alive. Of course, in the case of many, 
 this impression could be effectually con 
 tested, and of such it could be proved that 
 nothing in their lives became them so well 
 as would their leaving of them. But speak 
 ing generally, the keeping of the breath in 
 the body is the primary object of each, and 
 the effort to do this accounts in a large 
 measure for the subserviency in a mercan 
 tile world to the test referred to. I was led 
 to reflect upon this subject at the moment
 
 220 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 by recalling what a vast number of persons 
 there are, especially in the cities, who, hav 
 ing already acquired sufficient means for a 
 comfortable livelihood for themselves and 
 their families, and having no great taste for 
 the spectacular in living, or enjoyment in it, 
 yet keep on from year to year in the old 
 tread-mill round, because they or their 
 friends think that they ought not to "re 
 tire from business." Some of them are 
 old, some middle-aged, and some are young. 
 Some have inherited a comfortable compe 
 tency and never have needed to earn money. 
 But they must continue in "business"; 
 they are too young to "retire." It does 
 not seem to make any difference what the 
 business is. It may be useful, it may be in 
 different, it may be positively harmful to the 
 community, still it is business. It may be 
 something which no one else could do so 
 well, or something requiring a capacity pos 
 sessed by those of whom the woods are 
 full," who are only waiting for a break in 
 the line to rush into the place. 
 
 Without entering upon the question of 
 the relative importance of necessaries and 
 luxuries, which in its essence is largely a 
 question of tastes and desires sound in 
 themselves, and of a breadth or narrowness
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 221 
 
 of view as to what a well-developed, well- 
 rounded life requires it may safely be said 
 that a very large percentage of the business 
 of the world is deleterious to its welfare, 
 and detrimental to the progress of the race ; 
 that those engaged in such business, which 
 may be their sole, or only a part of their 
 occupation, are stumbling-blocks in the 
 upward march. It is hardly necessary to 
 particularize ; in some directions each will 
 involuntarily draw a line under certain 
 familiar occupations. But leaving aside 
 the obvious instances, it is sufficient to 
 touch lightly only one or two spots, to show 
 what I mean. I suppose that there are very 
 few thoughtful, intelligent men even in the 
 journalistic fraternity itself, who would not 
 agree that it would be better that a vast 
 proportion of all the work done in connec 
 tion with the newspaper press, by editors, 
 reporters, telegraph operators, compositors, 
 printers devils, distributors, in short, by all 
 hands, should be left undone ; that if such 
 were the case the world would be richer, 
 wiser, and saner than it is to-day. So like 
 wise with the general publishing business, 
 though possibly, probably, not to so large a 
 degree. The same may be said, mutatis 
 mutandis, of many other occupations. Yet
 
 222 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 all these things are business, and so long as 
 a man is engaged in any one of them, he is 
 popularly supposed to be a useful member 
 of society, while if he has "retired," he 
 has ceased to be such, and has become 
 as it were simply as a " fifth wheel to a 
 coach." 
 
 Now, in the last analysis, nothing could 
 be more absurd than this. The only solid 
 basis which the idea rests upon, is just the 
 one which, practically, is wholly left out 
 of the account. That is, that in a social 
 world, each should do a portion of the 
 world s necessary work, and this according 
 to his ability to do it, and not necessarily 
 for pay, or because he needs the pay which 
 may be given for it. If the work which he 
 does is not a part of the work which helps 
 the world along, it is useless work, however 
 much he may be paid for it ; and if the 
 work is something which does help the world 
 along, even in the least degree, it is part of 
 the true world s work, even if it be any 
 thing but what is ordinarily called business, 
 .and even if the suggestion that it had a 
 money value would excite a shout of deris 
 ion from the thoughtless all over the land. 
 Indeed, it might belong in one of these 
 categories and yet be absolutely priceless.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 2?3 
 
 As an unmistakable example of what I 
 mean, to put an extreme case and yet an 
 impregnable one, I should say that he or 
 she who can by spirit and demeanour bring 
 a warm throb to the heart and a tremulous 
 smile to the lips of those sad or crusty ones 
 who are^ met in the course of the day, is 
 one whose price is above rubies. 
 
 Now be it remembered that I am speak 
 ing of those who do not need to toil to 
 earn a subsistence or comforts, but who 
 still remain in the familiar harness, and 
 their name may be said to be legion. It is 
 fair to assume that a large proportion of 
 them are engaged in fairly useful employ 
 ments. In the case of most of these, should 
 they leave their present occupations, their 
 places would be immediately filled by the 
 pressure from below, the world s work 
 would go on as well as ever, and many 
 would be benefited. Are they then to do 
 nothing ? Not so. The world has enough 
 work for all hands to do, and the farthest 
 vision cannot see a state where the same 
 may not truly be said. As society is organ 
 ized, it is impossible to place a money value 
 upon much of this work, which is of the 
 most necessary character, and if it is to be 
 done well, it must be done gratuitously or
 
 224 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 without a material return by those whose 
 hearts are in it. Much time cannot be 
 given it by those who are engaged in busi 
 ness, because in business the rules require 
 the rigour of the game, and inattention to 
 these rules very surely must be followed 
 by its loss. It is therefore peculiarly the 
 work for those from whom the burden of 
 care for their personal future has been 
 removed. 
 
 The most obvious side of the work to 
 which I allude is the work which concerns 
 the public welfare, and this has many 
 branches ; the next is that which concerns 
 those individuals who have in a certain 
 sense been forgotten. In each direction the 
 field is so broad as to leave room for the im 
 agination to expand indefinitely, and I 
 might leave it to each to follow out for him 
 self the thread of thought suggested, in the 
 direction most congenial to him. Perhaps I 
 may feel moved to indicate some special 
 lines of activity and helpfulness which 
 come into my view. 15ut does it not ap 
 pear to you that the world might soon be 
 a very different world from the one we 
 know, if an earnest effort should be made 
 in the direction which I have indicated ? 
 And remember that 1 am not suggesting
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 225 
 
 a distasteful, laborious change of occupa 
 tion, but a choice of activity upon congenial 
 lines. As I said some time ago, find out 
 in which way the eternal stream is flowing, 
 and row with the current. 
 
 AUGUST 12, 1894.
 
 226 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 THE day is warm, and it is a trial to walk 
 along the hot and dusty road ; the distant 
 hills float and fade in the soft haze ; but 
 sitting here at the carpenter s bench in 
 my bay window and looking southward, a 
 refreshing breeze tempers the heat, and 
 though the currents in the fervid air rising 
 from the newly ploughed field cause a 
 flickering in the outlines of objects near the 
 surface, suggestive of a seven-tiines-heated 
 furnace, at a little greater height and dis 
 tance the finger-like motions to and fro of 
 the pendulous branches of slender elms, and 
 the multitudinous ripple on the surface of 
 dense maples and velvety locust trees, give 
 a sense of life and healthfulness. Here and 
 there the tops of chokccherries and other 
 shrubs peering above the curve of the roll 
 ing field, and now and then the upper rail 
 and the posts of a few panels of fence, 
 indicate the line of the highway, but, for 
 tunately, no unsightly telegraph poles
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 227 
 
 break the line of the horizon or otherwise 
 destroy the unity and beauty of the scene. 
 I wonder if Jeremiah was considered a 
 common scold. I think that the avocation 
 of a common scold must be classed among 
 the most praiseworthy. That is, if it be 
 possible by any means to awaken the aes 
 thetic sense in a people given over to a 
 crass barbarism. This morning I walked 
 for a mile or so along the highway, from 
 which almost anywhere, excepting where 
 recent grading had shut it in between high 
 banks, an outlook could be had upon scenes 
 beautiful enough to shame any but the 
 most callous. Along the way, sometimes 
 together and sometimes opposed to each 
 other, ran two lines of telegraph poles, 
 rough, bare, crooked trunks, carrying nu 
 merous wires, and to these has been added 
 another row for the trolley system, carry 
 ing two great cables in addition to the 
 bright copper conducting wire. The incon 
 gruity with the landscape was shocking, 
 the disfigurement atrocious. And the road 
 itself had a bed formed of imperfect or dis 
 integrating red sandstone, a sort of hard- 
 pan, rough and yet dusty, with irregularly 
 gashed banks, and no footway on either 
 side. Is this worthy of a civilized people ?
 
 228 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 I remember reading somewhere an article 
 in which the writer accounted for the small 
 amount of walking done by our people, by 
 the absence of good footpaths along our 
 roads and through our fields. And, inade 
 quate as the reason may appear to some of 
 us, who were born with legs and were taught 
 in childhood how to use them, it is a reason 
 which has weight, and a reason which should 
 not be allowed to exist. The fact is an evi 
 dence of our imperfect development, but it 
 is a fact, that with comparative infrequency 
 do we find a comfortable path along any of 
 our ordinary country roads. lie or she who 
 goes from house to house or from village to 
 village on foot, which most have to do at 
 times, and all ought often to do, is compelled 
 to take to the dusty wagon track, or to 
 scramble up and down rough banks and 
 among the vines and bushes and weeds. 
 The vines and bushes and weeds are not to 
 blame. They often form the chief beauty 
 of the roadside, until some enterprising far 
 mer or road mender comes along and cuts 
 and hacks until he has left nothing but a 
 barren waste, naught but short stumps pro 
 jecting above prostrate saplings and seed 
 lings, upon which the unripe leaves wilt and 
 turn brown and rattle in the hot wind.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 229 
 
 No, we do not need that the rich growth 
 of the roadside should be shorn away, or 
 that the banks should be graded like city 
 sidewalks and planked or paved. What we 
 want is a simple, practicable way among the 
 bushes beside the road ; so located as to 
 avoid unnecessary jumping and climbing, 
 and to be protected from washing by 
 storm currents. And for the path itself, 
 the foot of the passer may be relied upon in 
 most cases to establish that, provided the 
 way be given. The proverb goes, that for 
 him who wears shoes all the world is covered 
 with leather, or words to that effect ; and 
 this leather, or even bare feet, if there be 
 enough of them, will soon make upon a 
 sound sod as good a path as one could wish. 
 
 So much for the highways ; but should 
 we always be confined to these ? A man s 
 house is, and undoubtedly should be, his 
 castle, and undoubtedly each has a right to 
 insist upon his own privacy. But this right 
 has its limitations. I always resent the pla 
 carding of large tracts with "Trespassing 
 forbidden," when merely walking over the 
 fields is assumed to be trespass. At many 
 points along the seashore now, it is almost 
 impossible for the stranger to dip his hand 
 into the salt sea waves, or even to come into
 
 230 FROM A N 7 E\V ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 plain sight of the mighty deep. And in 
 some of our inland regions it is almost as 
 bad, or it would be, could owners accom 
 plish what they frequently attempt. There 
 is something very human in the old-world 
 prescriptive easements, which preserve to 
 the public the right of way over private 
 property by definite paths. How vastly the 
 pleasure of country saunterings is thereby 
 increased, to say nothing of the convenience 
 of the wayfarer ! That property suffers in 
 any way thereby, I do not understand to be 
 the case. I have been interested in some 
 discussion in " Garden and Forest," of the 
 use of paths versus the common use of the 
 meadows in public parks. I am strongly of 
 the opinion that the editor is right in the 
 position that for most people the paths to 
 walk upon, and the sod to look upon, afford 
 the essentials of enjoyment. Doubtless all 
 wish occasionally to feel the turf beneath 
 them. Doubtless also there is something in 
 individual bent, and something in age which 
 must be considered. I note that for myself, 
 I keep more to the beaten paths than I used 
 to do. It is said that with advancing years 
 there is a more and more pronounced lack 
 of the earlier flexibility in the joints. But 
 how should ice know ?
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 23! 
 
 Be that as it may, I am sure that a 
 proper provision of paths through private 
 lands, with turnstiles, gates, or bars where 
 necessary, would contribute vastly to the 
 comfort and enjoyment of the public, and 
 would not be to the detriment of the private 
 owners. I am strongly inclined to believe 
 that we should be better off, if the right to 
 use such paths should inure to the public as 
 an indefeasible right, as in the cases that 
 I have mentioned ; but without insisting 
 upon this, it is quite safe to say, that he 
 who offers to his neighbours the privilege 
 of such enjoyment of his domain, shows 
 that so far forth, at least, he has become a 
 civilized man. 
 
 AUGUST 19, 18<J4.
 
 232 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 A SHORT time ago I had something to say 
 upon the matter of population, and the 
 assumed value of a dense population, a most 
 singular and elaborate piece of self-decep 
 tion. It is, I suppose, a natural, though 
 even in that case, a questionable policy, 
 which animates the West in encouraging 
 immigration, for with native resources 
 greatly in excess of the demands upon 
 them, a greater density in population may 
 aid in promoting prosperity and physical 
 in some cases even mental and spirit 
 ual, well-being. But in the more fully occu 
 pied Eastern states this is much more 
 rarely the case : in many places it is not so 
 in any sense, and in the cities the contrary 
 is so, with great emphasis. The tendency 
 to congregate in the cities is notorious, and 
 this makes our municipal problems the most 
 serious with which we have to deal. 
 
 There has been in the past much contro 
 versy over the contention of Malthus that 
 population tends to increase with greater
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 233 
 
 rapidity than material resources ; yet I can 
 not see but that in its essence it is impreg 
 nable. The tendency is practically more or 
 less held in check, but mainly by misery 
 and disease. And in this connection, this 
 is to be noted : that as a general rule, of 
 course with numerous exceptions, the 
 higher in the grade of civilization, the fewer 
 the offspring, the lower, the more prolific. 
 The consequences of this tendency are most 
 marked. The f requency with which families 
 which have been publicly known for several 
 generations, die out and disappear, is noto 
 rious. The small number of individuals in 
 such of these families as continue, is as 
 familiar. On the other hand, the magni 
 tude of the families of those who have small 
 resources, and whose demands, though con 
 siderable, are within a narrow range, is 
 patent to every one. There is a constant 
 tendency in our society to die at the top 
 a constant tendency toward a dominance of 
 the lower stratum, which tendency, as I have 
 before said, is chiefly checked at present 
 by misery and disease. 
 
 There are several manifest causes for 
 this condition of things, and perhaps other 
 causes which are not so evident, doubt 
 less some which we do not recoiruize. On
 
 234 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 the part of the well-to-do, or those who 
 make similar demands upon life because 
 of the character of their education or for 
 certain social reasons, there is undoubtedly, 
 in the first place, less of the simply animal ; 
 then there are usually much later mar 
 riages ; and, in the third place, there is 
 a very considerable amount of deliberate 
 prudence. On the part of the poor and 
 uneducated on the other hand, there is 
 undoubtedly greater fecundity accompany 
 ing a closer acclimation, as it were, to the 
 conditions in which they are placed ; there 
 are much earlier marriages ; and there is 
 apparently no restraint at all upon their 
 numerous increase : with each one it is 
 " Happy is the man that hath his quiver 
 full," Until he finds that in his case the 
 saying should read, " Unhappy is the 
 man." 
 
 Now the trouble is that as among the 
 thoughtless poor, only necessity restricts 
 the growth of population, as a rule, any 
 sudden development of prosperity unac 
 companied by a significant enlightenment, 
 is pretty sure to be followed by a more 
 rapid increase in population, and therefore 
 in the demands upon the physical resources. 
 The spasm of prosperity dies away ; the
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 235 
 
 increased population is left to struggle for 
 subsistence, with diminished means. 
 
 The most acute investigators, especially 
 in the great cities, and notably in London, 
 have found no question half so difficult to 
 deal with as this. Penniless boys marry 
 before they can earn a livelihood for them 
 selves, and the most unsavoury and un 
 wholesome dens teem like ant-hills. What 
 is to be done about it ? Well, it is hard to 
 say what can be done about it, farther than 
 to use every effort to destroy this wild the 
 ory of which I have been writing, that a 
 numerous population is a good thing in 
 itself, and to instil into the minds of the 
 struggling poor the importance of self- 
 control and later marriages. 
 
 We have heard a good deal of the efforts 
 of the Anti Poverty Society in New York, 
 a crusade as absurd and as futile in the 
 manner in which it was undertaken as any 
 thing ever devised by Don Quixote. I am 
 not sure that in the present prosperous con 
 dition of the world (Ido riot mean prosper 
 ous condition of " business " ; " business " 
 is not prosperous) there is any necessity for 
 poverty. I am sure that, if the age at 
 marriage could be raised by ten years 
 among the very poor and the people of
 
 236 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 moderate means, and the number of chil 
 dren hereafter born decreased by one-half, 
 there would no longer be any necessity for 
 poverty, excepting on the ground of gross 
 incapacity ; but, on the contrary, within a 
 generation the " workingman " would find 
 prosperity at his beck and call. 
 
 AUGUST 19, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 237 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 I SEE that Lord Salisbury, in his address 
 as president before the British Association 
 for the Advancement of Science, takes occa 
 sion to speak at length of the things which 
 we do not know, a very wholesome re 
 minder, and much needed by many people. 
 I fear that the rapid discovery of details in 
 regard to methods of growth and develop 
 ment, during late years, has produced an 
 undue feeling of extensive and comprehen 
 sive and commanding knowledge on the 
 part of the unthinking, not at all allied to a 
 cautious modesty. These things are enor 
 mously interesting and important, and it is a 
 source of great regret to me to find so many 
 people whose eyes have not been opened to 
 them, and whose time occasionally hangs 
 heavy on their hands time which, under 
 other circumstances, would be filled to re 
 pletion with the joy of living and knowing. 
 
 But, after all, the startling, the appalling 
 thing is, not the extent of what we know, 
 but the extent of that which we do not
 
 238 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 know. I find " I don t know" the house 
 hold words most familiar in my mouth. 
 " As our little lite is rounded with a sleep," 
 so our little knowledge is rounded with an 
 illimitable ocean of nescience. Moreover, 
 it is well to remember that much of that 
 which we call knowledge, much of that 
 which is classed as "science" to-day, is 
 here and there founded upon hypotheses, 
 admirable for a working basis, but subject 
 to modification, or rejection, as investiga 
 tion progresses. For many people it is very 
 difficult to remember this, and they are 
 apt to talk and act as if there were con 
 ditions of positiveness about that which 
 is oftentimes merely tentative. So long 
 as a theory will explain all the known 
 facts, it is a good theory ; the moment a 
 discovery is made of something for which 
 it does not account, it falls to pieces like 
 a house of cards. And our knowledge, so 
 far as we have it, is relative : this, that, and 
 the other, stand in a certain proportion and 
 connection with each other ; beyond is the 
 infinite gulf, we are suspended in mid 
 air. For the ancients, the world rested 
 upon the back of an elephant, and the ele 
 phant stood upon a tortoise : the tortoise 
 upon what ?
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 239 
 
 To-day, our notions are clearer, but we 
 are met by precisely the same problem, 
 and I am inclined to think that we shall 
 be so met forever. We no longer think 
 of the elephant and the tortoise, but of the 
 globe swinging in ether, with innumerable 
 other globes, bound together and kept 
 apart by the attraction of gravitation and 
 certain specified motions. But, as Lord 
 Salisbury says, what is the ether ? and 
 also what is gravitation, and what is be 
 yond the limits of the myriad orbs ? 
 
 Did it ever occur to you that the ultimate 
 things, the only things which are impregna 
 ble facts, the things that must be, are for the 
 human mind, unthinkable, or inconceivable, 
 except as a form of words ? It has been 
 customary to criticise severely the attitude 
 of mind of him who says, "I believe, be 
 cause it is impossible," and I wholly agree 
 with the ordinary application of this criti 
 cism. And yet, after all, the greatest things, 
 the outlying and unalterable facts, which are 
 not affected by hypothesis, and which we 
 are bound to accept, are impossible, in our 
 thought. Take, for example, two of the most 
 important, time and space. There are, so 
 far as I can conceive, but two alternatives 
 in regard to each of these. Either there
 
 240 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 was a beginning of time, or there was no 
 beginning ; either there will be an end of 
 time, or there will be no end. So with 
 space : either there is a point beyond which 
 there is nothing not even vacancy or 
 there is no such point. 
 
 Now our rninds refuse to accept either 
 time or space with a limit beyond which it 
 does not extend. They ask forever, What 
 is beyond ? In like manner, they refuse 
 to accept anything which is interminable. 
 Even a future state of existence, which goes 
 on and on, and yet again on, becomes a 
 horror to thought, if dwelt upon, not only 
 because the feeling of change and rest is 
 sweet, but because we are bound to ask, 
 When will the end come ? And what conies 
 after the end ? We look into space and can 
 neither imagine a limit beyond which the line 
 cannot extend, nor can we imagine unlimited 
 extension of the line. Why, then, do we 
 properly feel satisfied that certain things are 
 facts, and chide him who says, " I believe, 
 because it is impossible" ? Because in the 
 field of relative knowledge which we have 
 investigated, we have accumulated a vast 
 hoard of antecedents and consequents, which 
 we have formulated into what we call laws 
 of nature, and it is in this field that we are
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 241 
 
 most apt to find the loose thinking and 
 superstition which we are compelled to crit 
 icise. But here again caution is most com 
 mendable. A law of man is a rule imposed 
 from without. A law of nature is simply 
 our formulation of the order of events as we 
 find them in nature. The evidence at our 
 disposal may be little, or it may be great; 
 the law may be firmly established by an 
 invariable sequence of occurrences through 
 the course of ages, or it may depend upon 
 a few observations within a limited field, and 
 may be subject to modifications upon fuller 
 and more extensive observation. Andrew 
 Lang and Professor Huxley seem to have 
 come into collision in a case of this kind, 
 and we cannot but feel that in this case the 
 literary man lias, in a degree, the better of 
 the scientific man, in that his attitude of 
 mind under the circumstances is more in 
 accordance with the temper of a philosophic 
 investigator, however ignorant he may be as 
 compared with his opponent relative to the 
 matter in hand. 
 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, 
 
 Horatio, 
 Thau are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
 
 Professor Huxley seems to have forgotten
 
 242 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 for the moment what was clear to the poet, 
 and seems to an outsider to exhibit a little 
 too much cocksureness. 
 
 The prevailing philosophy of the time is 
 the evolution philosophy of Herbert Spen 
 cer, brilliantly illustrated, in a part of its 
 field, by the observations and demonstra 
 tions of Charles Darwin upon biological 
 questions in regard to the origin and devel 
 opment of species. Mr. Spencer s theory 
 harmonizes with the great mass of facts 
 which have been accumulated through the 
 ages, and the grasp of his mind is so great, 
 and the extent of his labours has been so 
 enormous, that he has compelled the admi 
 ration and enthusiastic devotion of a large 
 number of our scientific men. You remem 
 ber what Matthew Prior says : 
 
 Be to her virtues very kind ; 
 Be to her faults a little blind. 
 
 This we are bound to do in regard to Mr. 
 Spencer, but, on the other hand, we ought 
 to remember that in the nature of things, a 
 stupendous work such as that which Mr. 
 Spencer is engaged upon is bound to con 
 tain errors, and the ready recognition of 
 this fact would be a safer attitude on the 
 part of those of us who feel ourselves his
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAN 7 D HILLSIDE. 243 
 
 disciples, rather than an unquestioning 
 acceptance of everything that he writes. 
 Moreover, may I not as a Spencerian pupil 
 safely say that it is too early to claim more, 
 for much of Mr. Spencer s philosophy, than 
 that it is a good, an admirable working 
 hypothesis, but still an hypothesis ? For 
 myself, I may say that it is the grandest 
 that ever opened before my vision, and that 
 it tills my mind and heart with an awe and 
 a reverence for the all-comprehending, all- 
 inspiring mystic essence which is at the 
 heart of things, which are unspeakable. 
 But it is this incomprehensible mystery, 
 
 A motion and a spirit, that impels 
 
 All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
 
 And rolls through all things, 
 
 that is the final incontrovertible fact, not 
 anything hitherto formulated regarding it. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 2, 1894,
 
 244 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 Iv one of my earlier notes I referred to 
 
 those who refuse to interest themselves in 
 the details of the structure and life of plants 
 and other objects about them, and quietly 
 scoffed at their apparent fear lest the mys 
 tery of life should be wholly explained, and 
 nothing be left to wonder at or reverence. 
 And I have just enforced this thought at 
 greater length, and tried to show that at the 
 best we are but as bits of floating down, sur 
 rounded by an unfathomable and incompre 
 hensible immensity. 
 
 Yet for the practical man of affairs, and 
 woman of society whose attention has not 
 been drawn to the larger questions, but 
 who have been alive to the surface changes, 
 there is a certain partial excuse for this 
 attitude of mind in the events of the past 
 century, and especially of the past fifty 
 years. 
 
 The material progress of the world since 
 the close of the American and the French 
 revolutions, the development of invention
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 245 
 
 with the resulting changes in methods and 
 manner of living and extent of intercourse, 
 the close observation of occurrences and 
 the analysis of processes, the co-ordination 
 of the results of this observation and analy 
 sis, and the deductions therefrom, have 
 combined to make an era unique in the 
 world s history, and which we cannot im 
 agine as continuing at the same rate of 
 progress for another hundred years, without 
 something akin to vertigo. 
 
 This is the fin de siecle / and I suppose 
 that we are all its children, with all that 
 that implies. The year 1900 is close upon 
 us. It is a pertinent inquiry, therefore, 
 what the twentieth century will bring to 
 us. Will our great cities increase in the 
 next hundred years in the same ratio as in 
 the past ; and will the enemies of private 
 ownership of land have succeeded in what 
 seems to be their darling project, in so 
 controlling public affairs as to induce the 
 building over of all the breathing-places in 
 these cities, so far happily kept out of the 
 market ? If so, we must be prepared for 
 a great cockney population, whose sole 
 knowledge of the country and of plant life, 
 if they be readers, will be drawn from 
 history and current literature, and if they
 
 246 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 be of the class of non-readers, which class 
 such a life must largely increase, must be 
 derived from the clothes poles with pulleys 
 in back yards, surrounded by ragged walls, 
 with purslane and plantains scattered over 
 the ground between, or from the wilted 
 vegetables at the corner grocery. 
 
 Another hundred years of manufactur 
 ing at the present rate of development, 
 according to careful computers, will ex 
 haust the supply of coal available at any 
 reasonable cost, and a much shorter period, 
 the valuable timber. One of three things : 
 either the rate of development must greatly 
 diminish, or second, our manufactories and 
 our railroads must come to a halt, or third, 
 some form of power now unused, or used 
 but to a small extent, must take the place 
 of that now derived from the consumption 
 of coal and wood. 
 
 There are three great storehouses still at 
 our disposal, and largely unused : that of 
 the sun, that of the air, and that of the 
 water. Ericsson experimented with the 
 first with great burning glasses, with inde 
 terminate, though, I think, rather hope 
 ful results. The probability of success in 
 this direction depends largely upon the 
 period of the year, and upon the climate.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 247 
 
 Success is most likely in the tropics, though 
 I think Uuderledge would have afforded an 
 especially promising field during the past 
 summer. 
 
 The wind has, in one way or other, been 
 harnessed to the chariot of progress since 
 the earliest time upon the sea, and through 
 many generations upon the land. It is in 
 the latter direction that we must expect 
 most progress to be made in the future. 
 Let us hope that the coming windmill will 
 not be such a blot upon the landscape as 
 those with which we have been afflicted 
 during the past half-century. I suppose 
 that we cannot expect anything so pictur 
 esque as the old mill of Holland. 
 
 Lastly we come to the water. Probably 
 the waters that come down at Lodore, as 
 well as those of Niagara, the falls of Min- 
 nehaha and of Montmorency, and all the 
 sublime and beautiful torrents that have 
 inspired art or literature, must ultimately 
 turn some one s mill wheel. But all the 
 power of the accessible streams combined, 
 is of small account when compared with 
 that stored up or available in the ocean 
 tides. Everywhere upon our eastern shore 
 bears the mass of the Atlantic. On the 
 west we have the Pacific, and on the south
 
 248 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 the Gulf of Mexico. Four times each day 
 these immense bodies of water are pouring 
 upon us, or away from us, as the sun and 
 the moon tug at the earth in opposition 01 
 together. Here are, let us say, more than 
 three thousand miles of coast-line, to say 
 nothing of the rivers in which the tide rises 
 and falls, upon which the tides move with a 
 height varying from a few inches up to forty 
 feet or more. In how many places this 
 power is now used, I cannot say proba 
 bly but few. I know an old tide mill on 
 Sheepshead Bay, on the south shore of Long 
 Island, a favourite destination for a canter 
 or trot in the old times, which always inter 
 ested me ; but it is the only one I ever saw. 
 Now, that either or all three of these 
 great sources of power can be drawn upon 
 to an enormous extent to stimulate elec 
 trical energy, which seems likely to be the 
 immediate agent of the future for the dis 
 tribution of force, I take it that there can 
 be no reasonable doubt. It is simply a 
 question of gearing and application, a mat 
 ter for inventors to play with, and the 
 American inventor will disappoint just ex 
 pectation if he does not succeed in sur 
 mounting the difficulties which manifest 
 themselves at the outset.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 249 
 
 But reliance upon either of these sources 
 rather than upon fuel, implies great changes 
 in methods, I hope that we may believe 
 changes for the better, at least in some 
 respects. Let us pray that it may produce 
 a tendency toward a decentralization of 
 population, and this we have a right to 
 hope. The human being is a social being, 
 and he not only likes, but he needs society 
 for his proper development. But there are 
 degrees of intimacy, different grades of 
 nearness in social relations, as there are in 
 expressions of disapproval. 
 
 Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, 
 But why did you kick me dowu stairs 1 
 
 You can have all the company that is 
 good for you without continually touching 
 elbows with your neighbours upon either 
 side. 
 
 The question of the extent and character 
 of the mechanical power in use, is one of 
 the greatest questions affecting mankind, 
 as I have heretofore intimated, and, as I 
 have ventured also to assert, its increase 
 is not an unmixed benefit. I can imagine 
 the tone of the race as becoming higher, 
 while the proportionate weight of mechani 
 cal power in use becomes less, although I
 
 250 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 would not say that this is a necessary rela 
 tion. Human development depends for 
 the most part upon mental stimulus, and 
 though probably greater productiveness 
 results from the present tendency to enor 
 mous aggregations of workers under com 
 paratively few " Captains of Industry," T 
 question whether this tendency does not 
 check mental activity with many. And 
 mental breadth is undoubtedly circum 
 scribed by too great a division of labour. 
 The extent to which this is now carried is 
 astonishing, and I was much struck a few 
 days ago by the statement made to me 
 by a friend, upon his return from one of 
 our hill towns, of the manner in which this 
 has even affected farmers of late years, 
 through the introduction of the creamery 
 and other establishments and methods of 
 co-operation. The saving virtue in this 
 particular instance is the enormous relief 
 afforded to the housewife. 
 
 I find that I have been beguiled into a 
 consideration especially of the recent and 
 prospective changes in material conditions. 
 But these are closely connected with revo 
 lutionary changes in theology, philosophy, 
 science, and art, all of which are in a fer 
 ment, in a chaotic condition, which forbids
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 251 
 
 close prophecy. A friend recently said to 
 ine that it would be interesting to know 
 what we, or those that shall follow us, will 
 be thinking, fifty or sixty years hence. It 
 would indeed ; but a thick veil shrouds the 
 future. Probably the most that we can 
 say is, that the past, and many of the ideas 
 of the past, are gone, and forever. The 
 latter were legitimate children of their time, 
 and they doubtless served their purpose, 
 but they are out of key with our larger 
 view, and no power exists by which they 
 can be revivified. We seem to see some 
 stable ground emerging from the troubled 
 waters of the present, but all that we can 
 certainly say, is, that whatever of vesture 
 fades and vanishes, the eternal verities 
 remain the same yesterday, to-day, and 
 forever ; and the time-spirit saitii : 
 
 Here at the whirring loom of time I sit and 
 
 ply, 
 
 And weave for God the garment thou dost 
 see him by. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 2, 1894.
 
 252 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 Water, water, everywhere, 
 Nor any drop to drink. 
 
 IP we could only say so much as that, 
 we should feel fairly well pleased. We 
 remember sympathetically the little girl in 
 the story, who, when she heard that some 
 neighbours had no bread to eat, expressed 
 her wonder that they did not then eat cake, 
 and we should try to get along bravely with 
 some other beverage. But, alas ! it is not 
 " water, water everywhere." A month ago 
 I recorded a refreshing rain, continuing for 
 several hours, and I congratulated myself 
 that there was scarcely a physical possibility 
 that we should have it so dry again before 
 the time of frost. But since then the drought 
 has once more settled down upon us, and we 
 have not had enough of a shower to lay the 
 dust. In the morning a fog covers the val 
 ley, and during the day a canopy of smoke 
 and haze covers the heavens, through which 
 the sun sometimes glows like a ball of red-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 253 
 
 hot iron, at which one can look without 
 flinching. 
 
 Only once has the smoke fallen low 
 enough for me to perceive its odour, and 
 this was at nightfall a few days ago, as I 
 drove over the hills some miles to the west 
 ward of the village. Yesterday in the after 
 noon, I suddenly perceived a flame on the 
 side of the mountain two or three miles to 
 the northeastward, but it lasted but a little 
 while, and I presume was looked after and 
 taken care of by vigilant watchers. This 
 afternoon the atmosphere thickened until 
 the sun wholly disappeared, and with it 
 most of the landscape, and people spoke of 
 the famous "yellow day," although the 
 colour was not so marked as it has been on 
 two or three occasions during the past 
 week ; but the barometer is high, and 
 mounts steadily higher. 
 
 My strawberry plants, which took a good 
 hold on the earth, are dying one by one, 
 and half are gone. But the melons seem 
 to revel in the dry soil and heavy air, from 
 which they have somehow extracted the 
 most delicious juices, while my tomatoes 
 and corn and potatoes defy competitors 
 through all the countryside. It should be 
 said, however, that we have had heavy dews,
 
 254 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 and I suppose that this accounts for the veg 
 etation that has been saved. But since the 
 sower went forth to sow my grass field, I 
 desire something better. 
 
 The search for water leads me to the well, 
 and this, alas ! is still marked with an inter 
 rogation point. The permanent pump has 
 been put in place and finds a continuous 
 supply. But the supply, though gratefully 
 cool and refreshing to the taste, has still 
 the colour of cafe au lait, and seems to 
 promise a richness which is uncalled for. 
 The interesting question which the future 
 is asked to solve is whether we have struck 
 a quicksand, and if so, whether we shall 
 have to pump out a deposit of some thou 
 sands of cubic yards before we attain a clear 
 and wholesome beverage. 
 
 Down in the marsh the water still stands 
 here and there between the tussocks of 
 coarse grass, notwithstanding the long 
 drought, and on the margin of the meadow 
 there is an unmistakable spring, where the 
 frogs make merry. In an experimental way, 
 therefore, I have begun digging, with the 
 hope of forming a series of small pools, in 
 which pond lilies may float, while cardinal 
 flowers and marshmallows and other deni 
 zens of the low lands make gay the border.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 255 
 
 I would that I had a mountain brook, brawl 
 ing over the stones on the ledge, and gliding 
 through the meadow, but for this I fear 
 that I must look to the winter alone. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 2, 1894.
 
 256 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 HIGHER and higher rose the barometer, 
 and denser and denser became the atmos 
 phere, until the valley nearly disappeared 
 and the heavens were covered by a leaden 
 veil. Yesterday we had seen some indica 
 tions of a mackerel sky beyond the smoke, 
 and at last, shortly before noon to-day, 
 first in tiny particles at long intervals, and 
 then more frequently, the moisture made 
 itself felt, until at length a real shower 
 was sweeping over the fields. Now we 
 were sure that the September rains had 
 begun in earnest, and those that were 
 upon the housetop came down, and those 
 who were in the fields sought shelter. But 
 alas ! the shower was but a fleeting show : 
 it had but little more than moistened the 
 surface, when it was gone. 
 
 Slight as it was, however, the effect upon 
 the atmosphere was wonderful. The smoke 
 had disappeared ; the sky was cobalt blue 
 once more, for the first time in weeks, and 
 the sun poured down a hot torrent upon us-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 257 
 
 I noticed a curious effect, such as might 
 easily have given rise to a wholly false im 
 pression. The rain had not been falling 
 more than five minutes, when behold the 
 brown and newly seeded field was sprinkled 
 over with spires of green grass from two to 
 four inches in height. It seemed like the 
 marvellous tricks of the Oriental conjurors, 
 -.vho are said to plant a seed, develop a tree, 
 and produce the fruit while you wait. 
 
 Now I have no doubt that this grass had 
 sprung up from the overturned sod, and 
 that it was all standing in the field ere the 
 rain began, but coated over with a fine 
 powder of dust, which the falling drops 
 washed away, leaving the field, though 
 sparsely, in verdure clad. Thus often the 
 senses deceive us, and false testimony may 
 unwittingly be given by the best-inten- 
 tioned. 
 
 It is pleasant to see the blue once more, 
 pleasant to catch a glimpse of the distant 
 hills, even if here and there we observe that 
 the finger of autumn has already touched 
 the trees and left a blush of crimson or a 
 golden glow upon them ; pleasant also is it 
 this evening to see the friendly moon and 
 stars once more lending their light to cheer 
 the night hours. 
 s
 
 258 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 And through the clearer air comes to 
 me a soft little blossom of the Edelweiss, 
 plucked close to the snow on the Breithorn, 
 a fortnight ago. Yes, perhaps it is pecul 
 iar ; but it is nevertheless a brave survivor 
 of "the slings and arrows of outrageous 
 fortune," and though it may come from the 
 very shadow of the eternal snows, I am sure 
 it brings to me a little warmth of kindly 
 human feeling in its heart. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 6, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 259 
 
 L. 
 
 AT last Polyphemus is here ; the great 
 one-eyed monster that has taken possession 
 of our highway, and bound it with iron 
 bars. An authority tells us that Polyphe 
 mus " fed upon human flesh, and kept his 
 flocks upon the coasts of Sicily." We 
 might have known as much. The other 
 Sicilians were here a month ago, as I re 
 marked at the time, and alas ! we be very 
 much afeared that the monster s appetite is 
 still unsated, and that human flesh will yet 
 have to be sacrificed to him. But Galatea 
 shall be secluded, if it be possible. 
 
 What a terror that glaring eye will be for 
 many a day to man and woman and beast, 
 as the car speeds its way through the night 
 along the common highway. With a rattle 
 and a whizz and a rush ; with the sulphu 
 rous looking sparks flying from overhead 
 as the revolving trolley makes and breaks 
 connections, the heavy vehicle bowls away, 
 bearing its human freight through the dark 
 ness along the dusty road, stirring the damp
 
 2(3o FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 and heavy air, and startling crickets and 
 katydids from their monotonous and unend 
 ing conversations, while the occasional glow 
 worm by the roadside, in proportion to his 
 weight, outdoes the giant in his illumination. 
 Polyphemus is here, for weal or for woe. 
 When man makes a scar on the hillside, 
 a great grey or brown scar, where sand and 
 pebbles and clay drift down in ridges, and 
 the rain water cuts channels between, after 
 a while along come the moss and the cinque- 
 foil, the chatnomile, the asters, and the 
 golden-rod, and then the white birches, and 
 heal the scar and clothe it and bring it back 
 into harmony with nature as a part of the 
 land of the living. Perhaps, somehow, this 
 blot which marks our pristine freshness may 
 be turned to wholesome uses, and the path 
 of the monster may yet be embroidered 
 with flowers of the Spirit. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 6, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 261 
 
 LI. 
 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath. 
 
 COULD any simile produce a more defi 
 nite and wholly satisfying picture upon the 
 mind ? All through the morning the words 
 have been singing themselves to me as I 
 worked under shelter with saw and chisel, 
 hammer and nails, securely placing the new 
 foster mother which is to brood over the 
 coming generation of foundlings in my poul 
 try yard. Now more slowly, and now faster, 
 the light patter sounded upon the roof ; the 
 little fluffy bipeds without shook and 
 stretched themselves, and sought shelter 
 from a dispensation to which they were 
 unused, and the clean white elders gathered 
 about and dabbled in a muddy pool which 
 had quickly formed. Corn blades and grass 
 blades glistened after their bath, and the 
 dry earth of the newly tilled field eagerly 
 drank up the welcome drops, for which the 
 grass seed had been waiting for a week.
 
 262 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 And I hoped that far away in the woods, 
 the rain might overtake the fell destroyer 
 on his fiery path, and quietly smother his 
 rage, even as balm may sometime light 
 upon the hearts of those whose homes and 
 hearths he has already made desolate. 
 
 The showers have come like a cool hand 
 softly laid upon a fevered forehead. The 
 rain has not been a very heavy one, and 
 now there is a halt as though the elements 
 were uncertain whether to continue their 
 bounties. But the darkness cometh on 
 apace ; already with the shortening day I 
 have to draw my chair close to the window 
 to obtain light enough for my writing ; I 
 have faith to believe that the fountains will 
 again be opened during the night watches. 
 
 I look out upon the leaves of the maple 
 tree near my window, washed clean of the 
 fine dust which has been borne upon the 
 wings of the wind for many a day, and 
 wonder what they are thinking all day long, 
 and week after week, now hanging motion 
 less and now swaying to and fro in the 
 passing breeze. For that they have life is 
 certain, and what is life without thought ? 
 I cannot quite rid myself of the feeling that 
 there is a certain consciousness even in the 
 leaves. Darwin has shown such acts of
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 263 
 
 deliberation upon the part of climbing 
 plants, as give us pause, and make us 
 occasionally feel that we must speak softly, 
 and perhaps be a little careful even of our 
 reflections in their presence. And have you 
 not heard how sometimes a great tree, 
 being athirst, will send its roots far around 
 a rock or a building to a well or spring, in 
 order to fetch it water ? 
 
 So when I go up into a high mountain, 
 where great oaks and lordly pines and hem 
 locks wave, or rind my way down through 
 a secluded valley w r here a clear brook 
 tumbles over smooth worn stones, under 
 overhanging grasses and fronds of fern, 
 where the forget-me-not lifts its blue eyes, 
 and the proud cardinal flower sparkles, I 
 cannot quite think that my coming brought 
 thither the first throb of conscious life. 
 And when I see the lily sending its delicate 
 searching filaments deep down among the 
 noisome masses of decay and seemingly 
 useless waste, and drawing thence the ele 
 ments from which it elaborates a glory of 
 green leaf and spotless and fragrant blossom, 
 and then look upon "a lord of creation" 
 who should be " how noble in reason ! how 
 infinite in faculty ! in form and movement 
 how express and admirable ! in action how
 
 264 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 like an angel ! in apprehension how like 
 a god ! " and see him confined to a petty 
 round, or filled with ignoble ambitions ; 
 defacing the lovely front of nature, or 
 cramping the souls about him, and soiling 
 all the fair pages that he touches, with no 
 responsive thrill to all the life impulses with 
 which the universe is ever palpitating, I 
 hardly have room to wonder which has the 
 nobler thoughts, or which is the purer and 
 truer channel for the current of the infinite 
 life. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 8, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 265 
 
 LII. 
 
 A DARK and sombre room, only lighted 
 by a lamp which stands upon a table at one 
 side covered with books, crucibles, alem 
 bics, retorts, and vessels of various kinds. 
 Books arranged in cases along the walls. Sit 
 ting by the table, bowed over the books, a 
 little old man with long grey hair and beard. 
 Music by the orchestra ; it is Gounod s. 
 Then the old man sings, and in the melody 
 and harmony the story of Dr. Faustus is 
 unfolded. 
 
 You can paint in high key or in low, in 
 black and white or in colour; tell your 
 story in prose or in poetry, in a monotone 
 or in melodious phrases ; given the medium 
 and keynote, and all falls into its place. 
 We do not, it is true, usually sing our solil 
 oquies with gesticulations, but this does not 
 make the opera untrue. We have been 
 transported to the kingdom of the muses, 
 where this is the universal custom, that is 
 all. And so it does not disturb us in the 
 least that as memory retraces the days that
 
 266 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 are gone, and imagination calls up pictures 
 of the joys of the past, a great longing takes 
 possession of the soul of the scholar to walk 
 again the pleasant paths of youth, and 
 Mephistopheles emerges from the studious 
 gloom, and in harmonious accents tenders 
 his uncanny services. 
 
 How often, and in how many forms, the 
 story comes to us ! How to hold fast to life 
 and its joys ; how to turn the hour glass, 
 and see again the sands running gently from 
 the full to the empty bulb. In fact and in 
 fiction : Ponce de Leon in search of the 
 fountain of youth ; the alchemists and the 
 Rosicrucians ; Paracelsus ; Claude Frollo 
 in Victor Hugo s " Hunchback of Notre 
 Dame"; the Illuminati in George Sand s 
 " Consuelo " and " Countess de Rudolstadt " 
 and out of them : the famous French physi 
 cian of our own day, Brown-Sequard, with 
 his elixir of life. Life ! Life ! More life 
 and fuller is our cry, and we cling to the 
 receding years as one clings to a rope while 
 feeling himself drifting ever farther and 
 farther from shore upon an ebbing tide. 
 
 But exert ourselves as we may, we are 
 only conscious that like one caught by a 
 devil-fish, whose every writhing tends but 
 to tighten upon him the monster s tentacles,
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 267 
 
 or like one sinking in a quicksand, whose 
 struggles carry him deeper and deeper, our 
 efforts to escape are worse than vain. Ever 
 present with us is the vision of those who 
 long ago slipped beyond the curtain which 
 shrouds the vast unknown. We see them 
 as they were ; they said to us but ff Muf 
 SSkDerjefjen," and now, the river that parts 
 us, once but a tiny thread, has grown so 
 wide, so wide ! How easy for some, is the 
 way which for others is marked "No 
 thoroughfare ! " AVith an assured confi 
 dence, born, shall we say ? of lack of reflec 
 tion, they drop the pulseless hand, believing 
 that next week, next year, a generation 
 hence, they will grasp it again and take up 
 life in unchanged relations. Happy dream 
 ers ! Did it ever occur to you to try to realize 
 how the young mother who leaves her child 
 a prattling babe, and meets him again in 
 some other sphere, a hoary-headed nonage 
 narian, with his sons and his daughters, 
 his grandchildren and great-grandchildren 
 about him, shall orient herself, and take up 
 the old relation ? Ah ! my friends, I fear 
 that in that other land, that " undiscovered 
 country from whose bourne no traveller 
 returns," either idealism reigns, and each 
 will dwell in a fully equipped world of his
 
 268 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 own, or we shall have to begin again where 
 fate may leave us. As the tree falls, so shall 
 it lie ; there is no retracing the steps which 
 have been taken. 
 
 How to grow old gracefully is the problem. 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune 
 may have whizzed for many a year around 
 our devoted heads, and the scars which we 
 could show, may be as numerous as the 
 sands of the sea. But the desires and hopes 
 of our youth still linger with us, as we linger, 
 mayhap, superfluous upon the stage. Have 
 you ever reversed your opera-glass in the 
 midst of the play and watched the tiny 
 actors afar off go through their mimic parts, 
 and seemed to hear their voices likewise 
 fade into the remote distance ? So we must 
 sometimes realize with a shock that while 
 through our glass of custom, which is ever 
 ready, we see the youths about us so near 
 that we can put our hand upon them, they 
 in their turn, with the inexperience of youth, 
 hold their glasses reversed, and view us far, 
 far away, a mere reminiscence of a life 
 which has been, our feeble voices just whis 
 pering on the breeze, a part of the accumu 
 lated burden of the past. We suddenly 
 catch sight of our reflection in the mirror, 
 and wonder what strange spell can have
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 269 
 
 transformed us so. Do you remember the 
 quandary of the little old woman ? 
 
 " But if it be I, as I do hope it be, 
 
 I ve a little dog at home, and he ll know me ; 
 
 If it be I, he ll wag his little tail, 
 
 And if it be not I, he ll loudly bark and 
 
 wail! " 
 
 Home went the little woman all in the dark, 
 Up got the little dog, and he began to bark, 
 He began to bark, so she began to cry, 
 " Lauk-a-mercy on me, this is none of I! " 
 
 But, alas ! I am afraid it must be I, all 
 the same, or what is left of the I that was, 
 out from which may have gone so much 
 virtue, or so much weakness. Is the in 
 dividual but a passive instrument, a medium 
 only, through which power passes to effect 
 its end, as the wire bears the electric cur 
 rent ? Does he not sometimes transmute 
 the force, so that motion, as it were, be 
 comes heat, or electric power or attraction ? 
 Is he not a solvent, and may not his pres 
 ence now and then cause a rearrangement 
 of the atoms, and precipitate the fine gold ? 
 
 Helmholtz is dead, he whose strong 
 hand reconstructed, or constructed ab initio, 
 the theory of the persistence of force. 
 Think of it ; since he published his paper 
 upon the "Conservation of force " in 1847,
 
 270 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 the world, to philosophic eyes, has been 
 a new world, and Hehnholtz is dead. 
 Dead ! What is that ? 
 
 One generation passeth away, and another 
 cometh : 
 
 It is time to be old, 
 To take in sail : 
 
 Ah ! but is it just that ? Let us see that 
 our garments have a fitting modesty of 
 colour and form ; let us withdraw to a quiet 
 corner and release the younger spirits which 
 cannot brook long confinement. 
 
 On with the dance ! let joy be nm-onnned ; 
 No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure 
 
 meet 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. 
 
 But when the passing years have been 
 accepted, and the sceptre has been surren 
 dered into other hands, though we be old, 
 the world is yet young, and it has no re 
 tired list. 
 
 As the bird trims her to the gale, 
 I trim myself to the storm of time, 
 I man the rudder, reef the sail, 
 Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime. 
 
 It is not well to be always analyzing one s 
 sensations and one s character ; seeds will
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 271 
 
 not germinate if they are dug up very often 
 to see whether they have yet sprouted. 
 But a good merchant occasionally takes 
 account of stock, and at all events he knows 
 that he must have a clear idea of the rela 
 tion in which he stands to the market, and 
 to his associates and competitors. The 
 mariner takes an observation when the sun 
 crosses the line. It is worth while for a 
 man to know whether or not he is out of 
 his course ; worth while to know whether 
 the light at his prow is playing the part of 
 a will-of-the-wisp and leading other craft 
 into dangerous waters. And, dropping the 
 simile, it is worth while to avoid being a 
 bore, a grumbler, a marplot, a busybody, 
 a burden or a nuisance of any kind ; worth 
 while to remember that there is much to be 
 done by all who can work, before the human 
 race shall be all that the human race might 
 be, before the inhabited world shall be all 
 compact of grace and loveliness. So though 
 
 you and I are old ; 
 
 Old age hath yet his honour and his toil ; 
 Death closes all : but something ere the end, 
 Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 
 Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 
 The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks : 
 The long clay wanes: the slow moon climbs: 
 the deep
 
 272 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 Moans round with many voices. Come, 
 
 my friends, 
 
 Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
 Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
 The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds 
 To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
 Of all the western stars, until I die. 
 It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: 
 It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
 And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
 Tho much is taken, much abides; and tho 
 We are not now that strength which in old 
 
 days 
 Moved earth and heaven ; that which we are, 
 
 we are ; 
 
 One equal temper of heroic hearts, 
 Made weak by time and fate, but strong in 
 
 will 
 To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 15, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 273 
 
 LIII. 
 
 I HAVE planted a bit of sky in the marshy 
 ground ;it the foot of the pasture. When 
 I put it there I could only see in it gray 
 smoke and haze, with now and then a glint 
 of blue, with coarse grass and golden-rods 
 and asters reversed around the borders. 
 But last night I found the whole moon in 
 it, full and round, with two dainty stars, 
 far, far down in the depths of the earth 
 beneath, and to-day there are towering 
 masses of cumulus cloud with frills and 
 ripples along the edges, luminous above, 
 and deepening below to a tone the real 
 lightness of which you will never know 
 until you undertake to paint it. You do not 
 realize how delicate and graceful and subtile 
 are the lines of tree and herb, until you 
 watch their reflections in a sheet of water. 
 Nature is so lavish of her beauty that it is 
 itsually with us all as it was with Yankee 
 Doodle, who " Couldn t see the town for so 
 many houses." We need to have a tiny 
 morsel set apart and to concentrate our 
 T
 
 274 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 attention upon it in order to see a little of 
 that grace of which the world is full. 
 
 I think if people only knew how much 
 easier it is to transplant the sky than it is 
 to transplant safely anything else, they 
 would always have a bit of it growing 
 within their line of vision. I mean people 
 who live in the country, that is, people who 
 actually live. Even those who survive in 
 the city, if they are so fortunate as to own 
 or rent a parallelepipedon (I believe that is 
 the word) twenty feet by a hundred, begin 
 ning at the centre of the earth and extend 
 ing into infinite space, might plant a bit of 
 the sky in their back yard, and so get into 
 near relations with something that is pure 
 and true, if changeable. But I am wrong as 
 to the shape of these little tuppenny-ha penny 
 city possessions. The sides are not parallel, 
 but instead, each starts from an invisible 
 point at the centre of the earth, and, reach 
 ing the designated size at the surface, con 
 tinues to broaden and broaden out into 
 infinite space forever and ever, amen. And 
 the peculiarity of this little matter, infinity, 
 is that out there there is no need to quarrel 
 about boundaries, but how many soever 
 there may be of these closely packed muni 
 cipal neighbours, though their number be
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 275 
 
 infinite, in the last extremity (which is 
 never reached) each man s territory be 
 comes infinite in length and breadth as well 
 as in thickness. And so he has his escape 
 into the infinite. 
 
 And it is worth something to see the sky, 
 even at second hand. Worth, ah ! how 
 much ! to look out upon great stretches of 
 it, upon untold and untellable millions of 
 miles, with its cloud-capped towers, its gor 
 geous palaces, its solemn temples. 
 
 We are now in the full tide of the early 
 autumn, with its wealth of bloom. All the 
 old favourites are here : the asters and the 
 golden-rods, the cardinal flower, the fringed 
 gentian, the ladies -tresses, the grass of 
 Parnassus, the wild carrot, the autumn 
 buttercup, a wealth of bloom that defies 
 enumeration or computation or description. 
 And the green trees also are putting on 
 their ascension robes, not of white, but of 
 brown and of red and of gold. 
 
 But the summer lingers ; the air is still 
 and sultry ; portentous clouds gather on 
 the hills beyond the valley, and are cloven 
 from time to time by flashes of lightning, and 
 heavy thunder rolls around the welkin. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 16, 1894.
 
 2/6 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " THE rains descended and the floods came 
 and the winds blew and beat upon that 
 house, and it fell not." And it rained, and 
 it rained, and it rained. It was really like 
 old times. The rain came on rather gently 
 and intermittently, but gradually gained 
 force and continuity until after nightfall, 
 and then we had it in earnest, a steady 
 downpour. The fountains of the heavens 
 were opened, and hour after hour the deluge 
 fell, making glad the thirsting fields and the 
 hearts of men. We remembered that in for 
 mer times, under the old dispensation, we 
 had had such rains, and there was a grateful 
 sense of something familiar which had quite 
 passed from our memory, but which had 
 suddenly been again brought to mind. 
 
 The following morning the sun came out 
 bright and clear. I went up the hill, pass 
 ing upon my way the pool in the marsh, 
 which I found full to the brim, and weeping 
 over its low embankment. The cottage was 
 in its place, but it held more water than I
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 277 
 
 hope it may ever hold again. The roof had 
 not been quite completed when the rain 
 began, and the temporary drains upon the 
 ungraded slope proved insufficient for the 
 emergency, so that a more than ample 
 supply was delivered through the cellar win 
 dows. But otherwise the building had not 
 suffered, and it was a small matter to open 
 the permanent drain already planned, and 
 draw off the accumulation, which fur a 
 time formed a mountain torrent in the fore 
 ground. The carpenters were stimulated to 
 renewed exertions by the warning, and set 
 to work iii good earnest to close the gap in 
 the roof (the stable-door, as it were), a 
 labour which they had just completed upon 
 the coming of another heavy shower in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 The new grass has sprung up freely over 
 the field, and its fresh green gives a pleasant 
 overtone to the brown earth, which it does 
 not yet, but soon will, cover. 
 
 The day after the storm I placed in my 
 brooder twelve downy little youngsters that 
 had just been hatched, and sent the mother 
 off to attend to other business. It was my 
 first experiment with the brooder, though 
 I had kept it heated for several days to test 
 its temper. One of the infants had not
 
 278 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSTDE. 
 
 acquired quite strength enough to break 
 the shell, and was assisted in that under 
 taking by Nicholas John. It was then put 
 into the brooder with the others, but seemed 
 so weak and miserable, thus thrown so 
 untimely upon a cold and uncharitable 
 world, that it was placed for a few hours 
 in the incubator. This, by the way, con 
 tains about a hundred eggs, the tenants of 
 which are at present something more than 
 half way between this world and the world 
 to come, or between the other world and 
 this, whichever is the more appropriate 
 expression. (I get very much confused be 
 tween these different worlds. ) The outcome 
 of this experiment will be very interesting. 
 However it may result with the eggs, the 
 effect was quite satisfactory in the case of 
 the immature chick, which, after being put 
 back into the brooder, I found busy with 
 the others, the following morning, all being 
 engaged in earning an honest livelihood on 
 the floor of their wooden foster mother. 
 
 Thinking them now old enough to endure 
 a further experience of life, I removed 
 the slide which closed the approach to the 
 sunny outer world ; but it was an hour or 
 two before any ventured so far as into the 
 open air. At length I encouraged two or
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 279 
 
 three to go into the passageway, and then 
 continued my work outside. After a while 
 one gradually backed out of the passage, 
 but it was some moments before it turned 
 around and seemed to realize the new order 
 of things. With head erect, it gazed upon 
 the great universe, at the green leaves and 
 the blue sky and the great sun, and I am 
 sure it must have felt unutterable things. 
 At all events, it did not utter any, and 
 shortly afterward, with several others, it 
 was busily engaged pecking away at the 
 fresh earth near the mouth of the tunnel 
 leading to its artificial foster mother. And 
 before long, eleven little lumps of down, 
 brown and black and yellow. Brown Leg 
 horn and Minorca and Light Brahma, were 
 scattered around over quite a space of 
 ground, as happily and naturally engaged 
 as if they had not been introduced into this 
 great world of ours a short ten minutes 
 before. 
 
 I counted only eleven, and hearing a 
 plaintive peep-peep-ing within, I examined 
 and discovered that Benjamin, the poor 
 foundling of the incubator, had not had 
 courage to make a sortie, but, lost in the 
 vast solitude of the otherwise empty box, 
 was making his sad plight known in the
 
 280 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 manner most natural to him. Taking him 
 up in my hand, I conveyed him into the 
 yard, and put him down near the others, 
 and after a few minutes of amaze and un 
 certainty he joined them in their busy 
 investigation into the nature and character 
 of the soil. 
 
 I was especially interested to note an 
 exhibition of inherited, or so-called intuitive 
 knowledge. One of the hens in the ad 
 joining yard having given utterance to the 
 familiar note of alarm and warning, the 
 whole flock immediately huddled together 
 at the mouth of the tunnel. And this 
 reminds me of an incident that occurred 
 a day or two since, which both interested 
 and pleased me. A chicken several weeks 
 old, and rather too large to get easily 
 through the meshes of the wire netting, 
 found itself within an inclosure where it 
 was not intended to be, and tried in vain, 
 with much vociferation, to get out. Seeing 
 its difficulty, 1 went to its rescue, which I 
 could only effect by catching it. This I did 
 with some difficulty. While I was attempt 
 ing to do this, its outcries were naturally 
 redoubled, and that which especially pleased 
 me was the fact that the whole flock of 
 Plymouth Hocks on the other side of the
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 28 1 
 
 net flew to its defence, and made a most 
 vigorous, though vain, attack upon me for 
 my supposed brutality. They only desisted 
 when, having caught the chicken, I imme 
 diately released it among them, and I have 
 no doubt that they then congratulated 
 themselves upon having compelled me to 
 suspend my nefarious proceedings. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 24, 1894.
 
 282 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Oh ! Carry me back to ole Virginny. 
 
 THIS note is written really and truly from 
 Underledge far from Underledge. At the 
 foot of the hill upon which stands the hotel, 
 flow the turbid waters of the Koanoke, un 
 der broad-leaved buttonwoods and smaller- 
 leaved persimmon trees. On the walls of the 
 hotel the Allamanda vines make a great 
 show, with their bright yellow blossoms, and 
 on the terrace the crimson hibiscus and the 
 motley lantana, with the broad-leaved ba 
 nana and rich green rubber plant, make 
 believe that they are in Bermuda. Around 
 us the mountains rise in every direction, 
 showing numerous CDnical peaks, the char 
 acteristic mountain forms of the picture 
 books of our childhood. It is a new sensa 
 tion to the eye accustomed to the long lines 
 of the elevated table-lands of New England, 
 to rest upon these forms, so different in 
 their details, so distinctly mountainous. 
 And as the mountains differ, so likewise
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 283 
 
 do all the other elements of the situation. 
 The southern colonel with his broad slouch 
 hat and his long legs and long beard, ap 
 pears in great force. So does the southern 
 negro in all degrees of picturesqueness. 
 From an elevated office window I look 
 down upon the open market-place with its 
 ox-carts and its wagon loads of water- 
 " millions " and vegetables of all sorts ; and 
 in the court-house, where the general quiet 
 ness and decorum in speech surprised me, 
 I have the opportunity to admire the skill 
 with which a learned advocate, in the 
 course of an impassioned address to the 
 jury, manages to "shoot off his mouth" 
 unerringly (I use the popular slang in a 
 literal sense) first in one direction and 
 then in another, at the spittoons stationed 
 many feet away from him, while I observe 
 evidences all around me of a lack of similar 
 skill upon the part of others. 
 
 As the train wound its circuitous way 
 through the Shenandoah valley two nights 
 ago, it seemed to pitch and roll almost like 
 a vessel in a storm at sea, insomuch as to 
 make walking from one end of the car to 
 another without support quite impossible ; 
 and even in one s berth, one was liable to 
 be overcome by qualms of conscience, or
 
 284 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 something else internal. But when morn 
 ing dawned, the beauty of the scenery com 
 pelled attention to that alone. The foliage 
 is yet but little changed by the coming of 
 autumn, but the drought here has been very 
 severe, and still continues. In the morn 
 ing and the evening light, the mountain 
 ranges take on an exquisite beauty of tone 
 and colour. There is, however, in many 
 places a sense of solitude and often of 
 desolation, which is depressing. The latter 
 as caused doubtless, in part at least, 
 by the occurrences of the times when 
 Sheridan was but "twenty miles away," is 
 visible here and there in the ruins of what 
 were probably at one time substantial and 
 prosperous homesteads. At other points 
 there are the even more discouraging mon 
 uments of the widespread real estate boom 
 of a few years ago. 
 
 The characteristic building throughout 
 most of the valley is the old log house, 
 usually more or less dilapidated, but occa 
 sionally carefully plastered between the 
 logs so as to produce the effect of a sec 
 tion of a zebra, set up on end. Often these 
 appear as a collection or line of negro cab 
 ins placed near the bottom upon each side 
 of a narrow valley or ravine, where the old
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 285 
 
 mammies stand in the doorways, or the 
 little pickaninnies lie around basking in the 
 sun. There is seldom any evidence of 
 effort to beautify the home-place by the 
 planting of trees, shrubs, or vines, or other 
 wise. The surroundings are usually bare 
 and unsightly. The house has the appear 
 ance not of a home as we think of it, but of 
 being a mere shelter from the inclemency 
 of the elements. This is doubtless largely 
 because of the great poverty of the people, 
 which everywhere forces itself upon the 
 attention ; but it cannot be only because of 
 this. Certainly in other localities you fre 
 quently find unmistakable evidences of 
 poverty accompanied by like unmistakable 
 evidences of a craving for something more 
 than food, clothing, and the shelter of a roof. 
 The man on horseback is seen every 
 where where people are visible. The sad 
 dle is a natural home for a Virginian. I 
 cannot, however, say much for the grace 
 and comeliness of the ordinary Virginia 
 horse as I have seen him during the past 
 few days. I am inclined to think that he 
 must rather yield the palm to the mule, 
 whose long ears make their appearance 
 upon every side. Not many unfamiliar 
 crops appear in the fields. The tobacco
 
 286 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 that I have seen would make a very poor 
 showing alongside that of Connecticut or 
 Massachusetts, but I cannot think that 
 that which I have seen can fairly repre 
 sent the region. Much of the corn crop 
 has been cut and stacked in shocks. That 
 which has not been cut has had the stalks 
 above the ears removed, and the ears hang 
 ing down, the fields have taken on a de 
 jected appearance. An occasional field of 
 ripening millet is perhaps the most unfa 
 miliar agricultural feature which has at 
 tracted my attention. 
 
 Here, in a great railroad centre, there is 
 a sense of incongruity in the mixture of 
 northern and southern elements, the laissez 
 faire of the natives, and the "get there" 
 of the invading Yankees. I cannot say that 
 either of them in the present stage im 
 presses me very pleasantly ; but then I sup 
 pose that it is characteristic of the born 
 optimist that to him the things of the pres 
 ent are always pretty bad else how could 
 he be ever looking forward to the times 
 when things will be better? "There s a 
 good time coming, boys ; wait a little 
 longer." 
 
 SEPTEMBER 25, 181)4.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 287 
 
 LVI. 
 
 As I write, I am sitting under the mag 
 nificent arch of the Natural Bridge. I 
 have made the ordinary round, following 
 a lateral stream from the hotels, past the 
 great old gnarled arbor vitae trees, to Cedar 
 creek, and thence up along its course 
 through the gorge, under the great arch, 
 to the saltpetre cave, to Hemlock Island, 
 to Lost River, and Lace Water Falls. Then 
 by devious ways among great tulip and 
 hemlock and beech trees and along and 
 over steep hillsides, I gained the ruined 
 summer house or observatory from whence 
 one can see in all directions a multitu 
 dinous host of mountains : Purgatory 
 Mountain and House Mountain, North 
 Mountain and Cave Mountain, and scores 
 of others, with the famed Peaks of Otter 
 away in the southeast. Numerous cones 
 appear from this point, as from almost 
 every other in the valley. The view is 
 superb. 
 
 And then, still following the beaten track,
 
 288 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 I came out at length upon the top of the 
 bridge, whence its imposing height is more 
 clearly discerned. The stream beneath 
 has suffered greatly from the long drought. 
 When it is full, as during the breaking up 
 of the accumulated snows of the winter, 
 the view must be most effective from this 
 point. 
 
 Here I parted from a chance travelling 
 acquaintance, and struck off into a bypath 
 through the woods, trusting that it would 
 ultimately lead me to an easy slope by 
 which I might make my descent again to 
 the bed of the stream, and in this I was 
 not mistaken. And so, following now the 
 conventional path, now stepping or spring 
 ing from rock to rock in the bed of the 
 creek, and now pushing my way among 
 trees and bushes, I at last find myself 
 alone in the fading evening light under 
 the bridge itself, with no sound in my ears 
 but that of the water as it makes its way 
 over its irregular rocky bed. 
 
 It is good to be here, good to look up 
 at that vast arch with the pictures of which 
 we have all been so familiar from child 
 hood, but which so few of us see or think 
 that we much care to see. Let me tell you 
 to go to see it, and also to do what I cannot
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 289 
 
 do, remain long enough to know it in its 
 various aspects, and to steep yourself fully 
 in the beauty of this most beautiful region. 
 
 Having a reverent regard for the mem 
 ory of the father of his- and my country, 
 I have been trying in vain to discover 
 the point where that distinguished citizen 
 carved his name upon t^e bridge, an act 
 in the performance of wMch I sincerely 
 wish that he had been the }s>$t. He seems 
 to have been as ready will* his knife as 
 with his hatchet. And I lif^e also been 
 thinking, reminded thereby of Kobert 
 Lowell s poem, "Fresh Hearts, that Failed 
 Three Thousand Years ago, ; with its 
 motto, "Men that were makers " its story 
 of the long and weary climb, a"d its pa 
 thetic ending, "A boy and yet no 
 name." Here, indeed, carved unon the 
 rock was the name of a man who ^as a 
 maker, the maker of an empire ; wno left 
 behind him, to last as long as records inay 
 endure and after this great bridge sha) 
 have crumbled into the valley, a name to 
 be remembered. 
 
 But what boots it ? What is fame that 
 
 we should greatly desire it ? It is pleasant 
 
 to have the recognition of those whom you 
 
 know, of your countrymen, of your genera- 
 
 u
 
 2QO FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 tion ; but better is it to know or to trust in 
 the secrecy of your own heart, that you are 
 at least one of the men who are makers, 
 that in an evil time, you have laid a stone 
 or carried mortar or borne a message which 
 contributed to the strengthening of the em 
 pire which your forefathers builded. Grate 
 ful is it to the spirit at least grateful it 
 should be to do something toward the con 
 struction of an enduring bridge between 
 the glories of the past and the greater 
 glories of the future. Pontifex Maximus 
 only one can be ; let us make sure that 
 each of us can name himself in his most 
 secret hour pontifex and therewith be 
 content. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 26, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 29! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 THE scene changes. I am again at Un- 
 derledge. And after making allowance for 
 all that is sordid and mean in our life, for 
 the selfishness and self-seeking, for the 
 ignoble ambitions, for the waste of thought 
 and precious hours upon petty things, for 
 the prevalent crude materialism which 
 takes little note of the higher matters of 
 the imagination, for the dull aesthetic sense 
 which leads to the most frightful mon 
 strosities in omission and commission, at 
 which you will bear me witness that I have 
 not hesitated to grumble, I am bound to 
 admit that I approach my home with an 
 assurance that there are degrees in degrada 
 tion, and that we are not at the lowest 
 depth. Industry is a good thing, and we 
 are more industrious. Thrift is a good 
 thing, and we are more thrifty. Extended 
 knowledge is a good thing, and we know 
 more of the world. Neatness is a good 
 thing, and we are more neat. Beauty is a 
 good thing, and we strive in a way for
 
 292 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 beauty, and sometimes achieve it, even if 
 our ways are often mistaken ones. 
 
 And I think that this is true not only of 
 an old village such as this, old in the 
 American sense, I mean, but I think that 
 it is also true of the more retired regions 
 of the Eastern States, whence cities are not 
 readily accessible, where the demands of 
 life are hard, and where intercommunica 
 tion between families and neighbourhoods 
 is difficult. 
 
 I am fain to believe that another genera 
 tion will effect considerable changes, and 
 changes for the better, in the region that I 
 have just left. Therefore I live in hope. 
 I saw there two distinct phases of life, the 
 old life which suffers under the vis inertia:, 
 and which has hardly awakened to the pres 
 ent, and the disagreeable new life of what 
 seems almost like a border town (although 
 in fact one of the oldest in the country), 
 because it has recently been invaded by the 
 speculative immigrant from the North, with 
 all his shrewdness, and all his lack of 
 "sweetness and light." But grace and 
 beauty are sure to blossom in the end. 
 
 At the extreme south end of our village, 
 upon a low mound at the foot of a beautiful
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 293 
 
 green slope, below one of the finest points 
 of the ledge, which is here, as at most other 
 points, masked by forest trees, there stands 
 a large farmhouse built about a hundred 
 years ago. It is painted white, with green 
 blinds, in the ordinary New England fash 
 ion, and is surrounded by trees ; and from 
 the front, and the wide veranda at the 
 side, there is an uninterrupted view across 
 the valley to the western hills, winch, as I 
 looked upon them to-day just after the sun 
 had sunk behind them, lay firmly outlined 
 on the clear evening sky. 
 
 This is what we know as "The Lodge." 
 It is one of the numerous holiday homes 
 established in late years, for the benefit of 
 those whose ordinary life is that of the 
 shop and the tenemen1>house, many of 
 whom, doubtless, had no clear idea of what 
 the world was where there were no paved 
 streets and blocks of houses, until the op 
 portunity offered which these homes afford. 
 This one is supported by the alumnae and 
 others interested in our seminary, who 
 supply it with guests and watch over it with 
 loving care. In it twenty young women 
 and girls can be accommodated at once, 
 and fresh relays are sent from time to time 
 during the summer. They will be received,
 
 294 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 indeed, at any season, but with the coming 
 on of the cooler weather comes the bustle 
 and hurry of business, and few can then 
 escape from their accustomed toils. Indeed, 
 the country in winter is a terra incoynita 
 to most citizens, even those whose occu 
 pations do not tie them to the cities, if I 
 were not constitutionally opposed to puns, 
 I should say a terror incognita. If it were 
 otherwise, and they really knew how beauti 
 ful the winter is, the exodus from the cities 
 would be so great that we should have to 
 go to them to find elbow room, excepting 
 that the country " all out of doors " is 
 so broad and hospitable. As it is, even in 
 summer time and on the border of our 
 village, some find it very lonesome at their 
 first coming. 
 
 The lodge has now been used as such for 
 about ten years. It is under the direct 
 charge of a farmer well on in middle life 
 (who was born in it), and his wife, who 
 are thus enabled to remain in their old 
 home, and at the same time effectively serve 
 the purpose of those responsible for the 
 venture. 
 
 It is pleasant to meet the pale inmates 
 strolling in the sun, and feel that some of 
 the humours of their common life are being
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 295 
 
 exorcised, and a more healthy tone, moral 
 and physical, is being established. And 
 whatever the dangers of ordinary charity 
 in the way of almsgiving or otherwise, I 
 think that none can find solid ground for 
 effective criticism of an enterprise like this. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 29, 1894.
 
 296 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 SIXTY-NINE dear little fuzzy foundlings 
 have graduated from the incubator. There 
 should have been more, but, as fate would 
 have it, some never got out of the every 
 where into the here," and some, like nu 
 merous other promising enterprises of great 
 pith and moment, " died-a-bornin ." 
 
 And after all, the result of this first ex 
 periment is far from being contemptible. 
 As the time approached for it to culminate, 
 my watchfulness increased, and I hovered 
 over the machine and its precious contents 
 with a truly motherly interest and anxiety. 
 On the evening of the twentieth day, .by 
 intently listening, I could just hear the 
 slightest tap-tapping of the prisoners upon 
 the walls of their cells, and it was not until 
 the next morning that the three boldest 
 made their appearance, having accomplished 
 the Monte Cristo trick and emancipated 
 themselves for good or for ill. And awk 
 ward little miserable sinners they were. 
 
 Throughout that day and the next the
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 297 
 
 flock continued to grow, lots being trans 
 ferred to the brooder from time to time as 
 soon as they appeared to have got their sea 
 legs on, until all had been consigned to its 
 shelter. And a quizzical looking company 
 they were, but withal disposed rapidly to 
 put on the air of knowing it all, as if a 
 mother were of no account, and collectivism 
 were the only wear. And lively little ap 
 petites they have, and they know exactly 
 what to do with their bills. Should the 
 weather prove fair to-morrow, the trap door 
 will be opened, and then ho ! for the world, 
 the beautiful world ! 
 
 My dainty Aramis, my Amadis de Gaul, 
 Thaddeus of Warsaw, Baron Trenck, Cas 
 anova, or whatever name he may be most 
 pleased to be called, has fallen from his 
 high estate. It is slanderously said that 
 every man has his price, and if this be 
 so, with some doubtless the price depends 
 upon the aesthetic sense. 
 
 The Leghorns are moulting, the last of 
 the tribes. And a sorry lot they are, all 
 save one. Even the prince himself shows 
 a shabby tail, bereft of its graceful sickles ; 
 but bte threaten are, as the phrase goes, a 
 sight to behold. During their days of pros 
 perity my gentleman maintained his courtly
 
 298 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 demeanour, but the present situation imposes 
 too great a strain upon his nerves. The 
 only lady who still continues to dress well, 
 or who has passed through the day of small 
 things, I am not sure which, is permitted 
 to eat from the same dish with him, and 
 comes forward without hesitation. But 
 woe unto the miserable dowdies that ven 
 ture to pick up a crumb under my lord s 
 eye. They are put to the right about, and 
 sent packing without ceremony. 
 
 Alas ! that it should be so. Certainly in 
 so well regulated a family the motto should 
 be, bear and forbear, but I must record 
 the situation as it is. And let us have 
 charity, and remember that we are neces 
 sarily subject to the defects of our virtues. 
 Here is one of those high-strung cases 
 where culture carries its own penalty. 
 There are many such. I have known mu 
 sical people surfer much from performances 
 from which I was ignorant enough to thrill 
 with pleasure. 
 
 OCTOBER 4, 1894.
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 299 
 
 LIX. 
 
 One-ery, two-ery, hickory Ann, 
 Phillis arid Phollis and Nicholas John, 
 Que-by, Qua-by, Sister Mary, 
 Single em, Sangle em, Buck begone! 
 
 IT was just a year ago yesterday that I 
 wrote the first of these encyclical letters. 
 As then, this morning was bright and 
 sunny, but it was cold, and with frost in 
 the lowlands. The day has continued ab 
 solutely cloudless, save just enough at sun 
 set to let it end in glory, the sky a dome 
 of perfect blue. 
 
 Looking from the terrace, I see that 
 October has been tinting the foliage here 
 and there, now a touch of yellow or orange 
 en a sassafras, and now scarlet and gold on 
 a maple, or crimson upon sumach or wood 
 bine. In the steely atmosphere the lines 
 of the hills come out sharp and clear, and 
 even those upon my farthest horizon, thirty 
 miles away, approach to a friendly nearness. 
 
 I have tried many of the roads and paths 
 which cross the valleys and climb the hills,
 
 300 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 
 
 ever finding new beauties to rejoice in 
 and more simple marvels to wonder at. I 
 trust that I shall continue to wander into 
 new paths this many a day, and I am sure 
 that 1 shall not exhaust them, for their 
 name is legion. But over yonder is a moun 
 tain of which I shall never see the other 
 side. It is my Carcassone. I am sure 
 that this mountain conceals wonderful 
 things. I think that there I should find 
 the happy valley for which weary men so 
 long have sought. But I shall not explore 
 the recesses of this valley. I shall con 
 tinue, I hope, year after year to look up to 
 the summit of the mountain and picture the 
 wonders that the valley contains, and the 
 joys of those that dwell therein, and I shall 
 marvel at those wonders, and luxuriate in 
 those joys so long as I live. The valley 
 shall be to me the valley of dreams. 
 
 October is painting the drop curtain, and 
 upon the JEolian harp at the window the 
 freshening breeze is singing the swan song 
 of the waning year. And thinking of the 
 days that are lately gone, of the new friend 
 ships that have come into being, never, I 
 am sure, to be ended, and of the purer and 
 truer thoughts that have come out of the in 
 most life of Nature; touching with a caress-
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 301 
 
 ing hand the old gray rocks that have so 
 kindly lent themselves to build the cottage 
 walls, and gazing out upon the beautiful 
 world, which is already so old, and yet so 
 new that I look upon it each day with a 
 fresh surprise, it seems to me that I may 
 fairly say, The lines are fallen unto me 
 in pleasant places ; yea I have a goodly 
 heritage." 
 
 A year has slipped away into the silences, 
 gone to lie in that great mausoleum where 
 the vanished years shall rest for aye. 
 
 " Sergeant, call the roll." 
 
 All present, or accounted for. Our high 
 ways and our byways are bright again with 
 Tarn o Shanter and scarf and ribbon ; the 
 light-hearted equestriennes chase each other 
 over the hills ; merry voices break musi 
 cally upon the evening air ; the blinds are 
 thrown back, the cobwebs brushed away, 
 the pleasant halls of learning are reopened. 
 From Holland and the Swiss lakes and 
 mountains, and from the green lanes of 
 Merrie England come these, those from 
 neighbouring city or town, or from the 
 boundless West, where Nature seems to do 
 everything with a lavish hand, and upon a 
 mighty scale in keeping with the magnitude 
 of that great empire.
 
 302 FROM A NEW ENGLAN D HILLSIDE. 
 
 All present, or accounted for. But some 
 are scattered to the four winds about their 
 various missions, and some tarry under the 
 shadow of the eternal snows which lie upon 
 the massive flanks and upon the Aiguilles 
 of the Alps. And here and there, there are 
 fresh graves, and there are some which 
 though distant are often present to our 
 memory which are not fresh, but upon 
 which the grass grows thick and long, and 
 over which the eglantine strews its petals. 
 We look wistfully into the vast unknown, 
 if haply we may catch a glimpse of the 
 presence which we miss, and there remains 
 a touch of the old heartache, but we close 
 up the ranks, and feel more tenderly the ties 
 that bind us to those that are left. 
 
 As through the land at eve we went, 
 
 And pluck d the ripen d ears, 
 We fell out, my wife and I, 
 O, we fell out, I know not why, 
 
 And kiss d again with tears. 
 For when we came where lies the child 
 
 We lost in other years, 
 There above the little grave, 
 O, there ahove the little grave, 
 
 We kiss d again with tears. 
 
 My friend once told me: "Old fellow, 
 you should not wear your heart upon your
 
 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 303 
 
 sleeve. Any one could see from your last 
 note that you had been going through deep 
 waters." 
 
 Ah, but suppose you must ? 
 
 Longfellow says, 
 
 Look then into thine heart, and write ! 
 and Lowell : 
 
 " I consider every poem I write (whether 
 I publish it or not) as a letter to all those 
 whom I personally hold dear. I feel that I 
 have made a truer communication of myself 
 so than in any other way that is, that I 
 have in this way written my friends a let 
 ter from the truer and better J. R. L., who 
 resides within, and often at a great dis 
 tance from, the external man, who has 
 some good qualities, but whose procrasti 
 nation is enough to swamp them all." 
 
 Shall we write the things that we feel, 
 or the things that we do not feel ? I pray 
 you, let us not fear to be honest. Do not 
 be a cry-baby if you can help it, but if you 
 love your friend, tell him so ; if he is in 
 trouble, put your arm about him ; and if 
 you get nipped between the upper and the 
 nether millstones, do not hesitate to let 
 him know the fact.
 
 ME. P. MABION CRAWFORD S WORKS. 
 
 THE RALSTONS. 
 
 A SEQUEL TO " KATHARINE LAUDERDALE." 
 
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 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 
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