Tablets Part 3

I consider it the best part of an education to have been born and brought up in the country; the arts of handicraft and husbandry coming by mother wit, like the best use of books, the language one speaks.

There is virtue in country houses, in gardens and orchards, in fields, streams and groves, in rustic recreations and plain manners, that neither cities nor universities enjoy. Nor is it creditable to the teaching that so few college graduates take to husbandry and rural pursuits. Held subordinate to thought, as every calling should be, these promote intellectual freshness and moral vigor. They have been made cla.s.sic by the genius of antiquity; are recreations most becoming to men of every profession and rank in life:--

"Books, wise discourse, garden and fields, And all the joys that unmixed nature yields."

Rural influences seem to be most desirable, if not necessary, for cherishing the home virtues, especially in a community like ours, where, by prejudices of tradition, we seek culture more through books and universities than from that closer contact with men and things to which newer communities owe so much, which agriculture promotes, and for which the cla.s.sic authors chiefly deserve to be studied.

Men follow what they love, and the love of rural enjoyments is almost universal. Every one likes the country whose tastes are cultivated in the least, and who enjoys what is primitive and pure. The citizen tires of city pleasures. He soon finds that there is no freedom comparable to that which the country affords; for though he dwell in the city for advantages of libraries, and social entertainments, he seeks the country for inspiration when these lose their attractions, his spirits as his friendships, crave refreshment and renewal.

"Who in sad cities dwell, Are of the green trees fully sensible."

We see how this appet.i.te declares itself in the general swarming during the summer season from the cities to the suburban towns, if not to the hill countries, for the freedom, the health, found there; and how to gratify and meet the demand for more natural satisfactions, our Guide Books have become, not only the most attractive geographies of the territories therein described, but works of taste, combining some of the choicest ill.u.s.trations of poetry and prose in our literature: sketches of such scenes and parties are sure of an eager reading. The rustic books, too, are beginning to be inquired after; translations of the ancient authors, which bring the sentiment of the originals within the grasp of the plainest minds. And we look forward to the time, when, according to the recommendation of Cowley and Milton,--poets who did so much for the culture of their time,--these authors will be studied in our schools and universities, as Virgil and Horace have been so long, for cultivating the love of nature, of rural pursuits, beauty of sentiment, the graces of style, without an acquaintance with which, the epithet of a liberal and elegant culture were misapplied on any graduate. Nor need the students be restricted to Greek and Roman pastoral poets, when some of our own authors have given charming examples of treating New England life and landscape in their pages. A people's freshest literature springs from free soil, tilled by free men.

Every man owes primary duty to the soil, and shall be held incapable by coming generations if he neglect planting an orchard at least, if not a family, or book, for their benefit.

"Agriculture, for an honorable and high-minded man," says Xenophon, "is the best of all occupations and arts by which men procure the means of living. For it is a pursuit that is most easy to learn and most pleasant to practise; it puts the bodies of men in the fairest and most vigorous condition, and is far from giving such constant occupation to their minds as to prevent them from attending to the interests of their friends or their country. And it affords some incitement to those who pursue it to become courageous, as it produces and sustains what is necessary for human life without the need of walls or fortresses. A man's home and fireside are the sweetest of all human possessions."

I have always admired the good sense and fine ambition of a friend of mine, who, on quitting College, with fair prospects of winning respect in any of the learned professions, chose rather to step aside into the quiet retreat of a cottage, and there give himself to the pleasures and duties of cultivating his family and grounds. And this he did from a sense of its suitableness to promote the best ends and aims; esteeming his gifts and accomplishments due to pursuits which seemed the natural means of securing self-respect and independence. His first outlay was moderate--a sequestered field, on which he erected a comfortable dwelling, planned for convenience and hospitality. His grounds were laid out and planted with shrubbery, the slopes dotted with evergreens and shapely trees. A nursery was set; a conservatory, with suitable outbuildings and ornaments. As he gave himself personally to the work, everything prospered that he touched. A few years' profits paid for his investment, and his thrift soon enabled him to add an adjoining orchard to his first purchase. And so successful was his adventure, that his most sceptical neighbors, the old farmers, confessed him to be the better husbandman; his gold was ruddier than theirs; his fields the neater. Nor did our Evelyn disgrace social engagements. His friendships were kept in as good plight as his grounds. He was none the worse citizen for being the better neighbor and gentleman they found him to be, nor the less worthy of the honors of his college. "'Tis impossible that he who is a true scholar, and has attained besides the felicity of being a good gardener, should give jealousy to the State in which he lives." Civilization has a deeper stake in the tillage of the ground than in the other arts, since its roots are fast planted therein, and it thrives only as this flourishes. Omit the garden, degrade this along with the orchard to mere material uses, treat these as of secondary importance, and the State falls fast into worldliness and decay.

"Oh blessed shades! oh gentle, cool retreat From all the immoderate heat In which the frantic world does burn and sweat!

This does the Lion-star, Ambition's rage; This Avarice, the Dog-star's thirst a.s.suage; Everywhere else their fatal power we see, They make and rule man's wretched destiny; They neither set, nor disappear, But tyrannize o'er all the year,-- Whilst we ne'er feel their heat nor influence here.

The birds that dance from bough to bough, And sing above in every tree, Are not from fears and cares more free, Than we who muse or toil below, And should by right be singers too.

What Prince's quire of music can excel That which within this shade does dwell?

To which we nothing pay or give?

They, like all other poets, live Without reward or thanks for their obliging pains; 'Tis well if they become not prey: The whistling winds add their less ardent strains, And a grave ba.s.s the murmuring fountains play.

Nature does all this harmony bestow; But, to our plants, arts, music, too, The pipe, theorbo, and guitar, we owe, The lute itself, which once was green and mute; When Orpheus struck the inspired lute The trees danced round and understood, By sympathy, the voice of wood."

Methinks I see great Dioclesian walk In the Salonian garden's n.o.ble shade, Which by his own imperial hands was made; I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk With the amba.s.sadors, who come in vain To entice him to a throne again.

"If I, my friends," said he, "should to you show All the delights that in these gardens grow, 'Tis likelier much that you should with me stay, Than 'tis that you should carry me away; And trust me not, my friends, if every day I walk not here with more delight Than ever, after the most happy fight, In triumph to the capitol I ride, To thank the G.o.ds, and to be thought myself almost a G.o.d."

Do we ask, on viewing the rural pictures which the Pastoral Poets afford us,--Whither is our modern civilization tending? What solid profits has it gained on the state of things they describe, seeing the primitive virtues and customs, once enjoyed by our ancestors, are fading,--the generosity, the cheer, the patriotism, the piety, the republican simplicity and heartiness of those times? Machinery is fast displacing the poetry of farm and fireside; the sickle, the distaff, the chimney-piece, the family inst.i.tution, being superseded by prose powers; and, with their sway, have come slavery, pusillanimity, dishonor. I know there are reconciling compensations for all risks of revolution. For while the Demos thus takes his inch, Divinity secures his ell; so the garment of mankind comes the fuller from the loom in this transfer of labors. The fig leaf thus cunningly woven, costs fair honors, nevertheless, and we covet in our hearts the florid simplicity of times of st.u.r.dier virtues and una.s.sailable integrity.[B]

[Footnote B: Evelyn draws a lively picture of those old times, though not without sadness at the contrast with his own. "The style and method of life are quite changed as well as the language, since the days of our ancestors, simple and plain as they were, courting their wives for their modesty, frugality, keeping at home, good housewifery, and other economical virtues then in reputation. And when the young damsels were taught all these at home in the country at their parents' houses; the portion they brought being more in virtue than money, she being a richer match than any one who could bring a million and nothing else to commend her.

The presents then made when all was concluded, were a ring, a necklace of pearls, and perhaps the fair jewel, the paraphernalia of her prudent mother, whose nuptial kirtle, gown and petticoat, lasted as many anniversaries as the happy couple lived together, and were at last bequeathed with a purse of old gold, as an heir-loom to her granddaughter. The virgins and young ladies of that golden age, put their hands to the spindle, nor disdained the needle; were obsequious and helpful to their parents, instructed in the management of the family, and gave presage of making excellent wives. Their retirements were devout and religious books, their recreations in the distillery and knowledge of plants, and their virtues for the comfort of their poor neighbors, and use of the family, which wholesome diet and kitchen physic preserved in health. Nor were the young gentlemen, though extremely modest, at all melancholy, or less gay and in good humor. They could touch the lute and virginal, sing

"Like to the damask rose,"

and their breath was as sweet as their voices. Then things were natural, plain and wholesome; nothing was superfluous, nothing necessary wanting. Men of estate studied the public good, and gave examples of true piety, loyalty, justice, sobriety, charity; and the good of the neighborhood composed most differences. Laws were reasons, not craft; men's estates were secure: they served their generation with honor, left patrimonial estates improved to a hopeful heir, who, pa.s.sing from the free school to the college, and thence to Inns of Court, acquainting himself with a competent tincture of the laws of his country, followed the example of his worthy ancestors. And if he travelled abroad, it was not to count steeples, and bring home feather and ribbon and the sins of other nations, but to gain such experience as rendered him useful to his Prince and his countrymen upon occasion, and confirmed him in the love of both of them above any other. Hospitality was kept up in town and country, by which the tenants were enabled to pay their landlords at punctual day. The poor were relieved bountifully, and charity was as warm as the kitchen, where the fire was perpetual."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Small decoration of a flower and leaves]

II.

RECREATION.

"Thou who wouldst know the things that be, Bathe thy heart in the sunrise red, Till its stains of earthly dross are fled."

GOETHE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decorative banner of a beetle among flowers and leaves]

RECREATION.

I.--THE FOUNTAINS.

Nature is wholesome. Without her elixirs daily taken we perish of la.s.situde and inanity. The fountains must be stirred to their depths and their torrents sent bounding along their sluices, else we sink presently into the pool of inertia, victims of indecision and slaves of fate. "Thy body, O well disposed man, is a meadow through which flow three hundred and sixty-five rivulets." Every pulse pushes nature's quaternion along life's currents recreating us afresh; the morn feeding the morn, Memnon's music issuing from every stop, as if the Orient itself had sung.

Nature is virtuous. Imparting sanity and sweetness, it spares from decay, giving life with temperance and a continency that keeps our pleasures chaste and perennial. Nothing short of her flowing atmosphere suffices to refill our urns. Neither books, company, conversation,--not Genius even, the power present in persons, nature's nature pouring her floods through mind,--not this is enough. Nature is the good Baptist plunging us in her Jordan streams to be purified of our stains, and fulfil all righteousness. And wheresoever our lodge, there is but the thin cas.e.m.e.nt between us and immensity. Nature without, mind within, inviting us forth into the solacing air, the blue ether, if we will but shake our sloth and cares aside, and step forth into her great contentments.

As from himself he fled, Possessed, insane, Tormenting demons drove him from the gate: Away he sped, Casting his woes behind, His joys to find, His better mind.

'Tis pa.s.sing strange, The glorious change, The pleasing pain!

Recovered, Himself again Over his threshold led, Peace fills his breast, He finds his rest; Expecting angels his arrival wait.

If we cannot spin our tops briskly as boys do theirs, the wailers may chant their dirges over us. Enthusiasm is existence; earnestness, life's exceeding great reward. How busy then, and above criticism. Our cup runs over. But a parted activity, divorcing us from ourselves, degrades our n.o.blest parts to the sway of the lowest and renders our task a drudgery and shame. For what avails, if while one's mind hovers about Olympus, his members flounder in Styx, and he is drawn asunder in the conflict?

Let the days deify the days, the work the workman, giving the joyous task that leaves pleasant memories behind, and enn.o.bles in the performance:

Tasked days Above delays; Hours that borrow Speed of the morrow, Light from sorrow: Business bate not, Want nor wait not, Doubt nor date not; Life from limb forbid to sever, Recreate in rapt endeavor.

We come as a muse to our toil and find amus.e.m.e.nt in it; to a taskmaster whose company never tires. 'Tis life, the partaking of immortality. A day lived so, glorifies all moments afterwards. Long postponed, perhaps, the hours wearisome, till broke this immortal morning with engagements that time can complete never, nor compel, and whose importunity outlasts the hours.

Sleep, too, having the keys of life in its keeping. How we rise from its delectable divinations with eyes sovereign and anointed for the day's occupations. All our powers are touched with flame, all things are possible. But last night, the world had come to an end; the floods ebbed low, as if the fates were reversing the torch. How we blazed all the morning, to be cinders yesternight. Then came the G.o.d to re-kindle our faded embers, the Phoenix wings her way to meet the rising dawn and embrace the young world once more. Sleep took the sleep out of us. From forth the void there rises a roseate morn upon us.

The flattering East her gates impearled, We hunt the morning round the world.

Nor is a day lived if the dawn is left out of it, with the prospects it opens. Who speaks charmingly of nature or of mankind, like him who comes bibulous of sunrise and the fountains of waters?

"Mornings are mysteries, the first world's youth, Man's resurrection, and the future's bud Shown in their birth; they make us happy, Make us rich."

Rise in the morning, rise While yet the streaming tide Flames o'er the blue acclivities, And pours its splendors wide; Kindling its high intent Along the firmament, Silence and sleep to break, Imaginations wake, Ideas insphere And bring them here.

Loiter nor play In soft delay; Speed glad thy course along The orbs and globes among, And as yon toiling sun Attain thy high meridian: Radiant and round thy day;-- Speed, speed thee on thy way.

"Every day is a festival, and that which makes it the more splendid is gladness. For as the world is a s.p.a.cious and beautiful temple, so is life the most perfect inst.i.tution that introduces us into it. And it is but just that it should be full of cheerfulness and tranquillity." Our dispositions are the atmosphere we breathe, and we carry our climate and world in ourselves. Good humor, gay spirits are the liberators, the sure cure for spleen and melancholy. Deeper than tears, these irradiate the tophets with their glad heavens. Go laugh, vent the pits, trans.m.u.ting imps into angels by the alchymy of smiles. The satans flee at the sight of these redeemers. And he who smiles never is beyond redemption. Once clothed in a suit of light we may cast aside forever our sables. Our best economist of this flowing estate is good temper, without whose presidency life is a perplexity and disaster. Luck is bad luck and ourselves a disappointment and vexation. Victims of our humors, we victimize everybody. How the swift repulsions play: our atoms all insular, insulating; demonized, demonizing, from heel to crown; at the mercy of a glance, a gesture, a word, and ourselves overthrown.

Equanimity is the gem in Virtue's chaplet and St. Sweetness the loveliest in her calendar. "On beholding thyself, fear," says the oracle. Only the saints are sane and wholesome.

II.--THE CHEAP PHYSICIAN.

"That which makes us have no need Of physic, that's physic indeed.

Hark, hither, reader, wilt thou see Nature her own physician be?