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' ^ > > > t»''-> ^ .^»t,;:i/5 _:> 'r i^ >3 j365^3:,^>,;> >.? >>^> : j]^^ 9^'" *^ * > -> JH'S? ) '?. > ■> )• >> i>^:' ^.. • ^^^ :> j> iT 1* ■" ^ I3!i£» .■> r;v.-_:> ■, ■' ■».>■*■' :^^ > J. ':: !*> ■>':> 32>-~>" >>-) v,^'^>>),: ;;3^ .y5" "' >> 3!>^ .'> ) "> :> 'j) 2S>''> >-■ '^^l* >'>^ » ■ > y • :5> J> ^ 3 ■)' 3>. ► 3 > 3 ►..,> ■: V 3 . . ►3 >/3 ' > > y> ■ '■ -> » ". >>': ■ ' ■ . -> ^» 3 ' > > ^> 3 >J '■3^^ jt > 2>y--: 3 ^-^ 3; '-^ 3 ->; ^ ■■- TWELVE MILES FUOM A LEMON. By GAIL HAMILTON, , ..-..J^- . AIJTIIOK OK WOMAN'h WOKTll ANIJ WOJCTHLJiH.SNEHH," " LITTLE FOLK LIFE," ETC. ' / (t-t CjLd'V', 397^3^ NEW YORK: / II A III' Eli & lilimilKIiS, PUBLISHERS, V It A N K L I N 8 Q U A U K 1 8 74. By GAIL HAMILTON. Gail Hamilton exhibits a singular intellectual versatility, nimbly bounding from an exuberant and almost rollicking play of humor to the most serious and impressive appeals. Her gayety at times is as frisky and droll as that of the harlequin of the comic drama ; while in the graver, but perhaps not really more earnest passages of the work, the language often rises to a calm eloquence in which reason is too predominant for the display of passion. — iV. Y. Tribune, WOMAN'S WORTH AND WORTHLESSNESS : the Comple- ment to "a New Atmosphere." i2mo, Cloth, ^i 50. LITTLE FOLK LIFE. A Book for Girls. i6mo, Cloth, 90 cents. TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. i2mo, Cloth, $1 50. Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. Harper & Brothers 7uill send either of the alozr Ooiin- ty, oil tho old 8tagc road, right hand side, low green house in a hollow, on tho door-step. Never nund if tho house seems closed. Ijoavc them all the same.'' ^'lUi resume your ]\)urney with a light heart. To- morrow shall take thought lor the things ol' itself. One need never starve with a dozen pounds of crackers on the door-step. Another stage of roar and rush, and dust and cinders, and the traiit leaves you atyour own station. IT^nexpect- ed, you are unawaited. Importunate haekmen know on which side their bread is buttered, and never stroll twelve miles from a lemon ; so you leave your luggage, anil walk, not reluctant, along the lovely path that was never so lovely as now — a deejt, hard, straggling Ibot- l^ath, half hidden in the raidv grass, green and dense nnder the gnarled old apple-trees. Tlie slant sun, the ruddy sky, the bright, still, rich earth, alive with color, abloom with liirht, all the broad fields laughing with ripening harvests, all the birds nunl with joy, and no war nor battle sound in all our borders— oh, the beau- tiful, beloved country ! Hut the pump will not go. Certainly not. A re- fractory and unprincipled pump iVom the beginning; rWKIA'h: MILKS I'llOM A LKMON. {) ;ui(i hcfoic I li.'ivo sli.'ikcri fVfjrri my feet llic (]ukI (jf travel 1 inusl uiiso ;ui(l dcpiul, a;^iiii, lor Iwclvo rnilcH fVfjin a Icrrujti incaiis (ifUicn jnilcs i'i(Hii a j)Iuni}j(;r. JMo moi'u will \\\('. lariipH Ijurii. In oik; tin; wick' lo fuscs to budge a liair-l^icadtli iij) or (hwii. In tin; (oili- er it will go tlowii, ];uL not \\\). C^f" a third the cliini- ri(!y Ih broken. A fourth ha.s lost the c(;rn(;nt bet,we(;n glolje and pedestal, and eants alarmingly. A fiflli dro[)H the wiek, flame and all, down into the oil, as soon as it is lightecJ, and seares us out of oiii- wits, 'J'here is one evening of a stray candle; or two, and a horror of groat darkness, and tiieri another journey for a fresh Kupf)ly. For ten miles from a lemon is twenty miles from a lamp. The crackers come to tinie, the bread rises bravely, but my soul longeth for meat. 'J'liis township swarms witli Ijulehcrs. " Maloru;, we will liavc some chickens. No, a tenderloin sleak. J*ut out the sign." 'J'he sign is a crimson scarf tied around a post. "I put it out this morning," says Malone, "and he did not stop," " Put it out again to-morrow morning, and we will keej) watch besides," I wake early, gnawed )>y many cares, I wonder if the bread lias risen. Will Malone over- sleep, and forget it, past the jjroper point. If that were off my mind I think I eould go to sleep again. I creep softly down stairs and strike a bee-line for tlie bread- pan, and Malone, who has also crejjt softly down Iier stairs for the same; [jurpose, utters a little shiiek. I withdraw, but not to slee[). AVe must liave eggs. There is nothing to be done in the way of housekeeping with- out eggs. PerliajiS Malone; can get some at the milk- man's. 7 will liear her when slie goes out, and tell her. 1* 10 TWKLVK MlLi:s Fi;OM A l.KMOX. No; 1 will toll her now, niul llioii it w\\\ be oil' my mind, nnd I t^liall go to ylocj>. " JMalono," 1 call softly down the stall's, ''try if the milkman has any eggs; and iT he lias, boil them for breakfast, ami make a custard for dinner." It is an hour before butcher-time, and I shall have a, cozy naj). If I had only thought to buy some oat-meal ill the lemon, ^rwelve miles away we get no nearer to it than oats. There is a rumble of wheels. It can not be the butcher. If it should be, and we lose our dinner to-day as we did yesterday ! 1 may as well jump up and look, as thoroughly awake myself by fretting about it. it is not the butcher; but oh ! it is the good-butter man ; and 1 m-ust stop him. at all costs; and ^[alone is gone for the milk; and oh! where is a wrapper? and what has become of my slippers? He is stone-deaf. Would he were also stone-blind ! 1 Icrc is a water-proof cloak. Will he think thoy wear water-proof morning dresses in lemons? Oh, joy ! there is Malone coining. Thank Heaven, she is not deaf. " JSIaloiie !" with a deaf- ening shriek, if any one could hear it; but the advan- tage of being twelve miles from a lemon is that you can do your marketing iVoin the chamber windows and no- body the wiser — "^ralone! stop the butter-man, and engage butter for the season." ^Malone rushes up to him like a freebooter, and 1 am hajipy. Only casting about in my mind whether ^[alone put the eucumbor in wafer — the cucumber which jrrew in O Quincy Market, and which I had just room for in my lamp-journey — to be roused by her voice again. '' What is it, ISfalone?" T\VKLVJo\\y has." "But don't 3'oa occasionally fool ashamed to think you are a man?" He rests on his hand-saw, but with- , out uncrooking the pregnant hinges of his knee, and an- swers with a broad, bright smile : "Well, now, if I'd had any hand in't it might be worth while." "Here you make all the laws — rising up early and making them — and an enterprising cow jumps over them before breakfast." "AYell, there ain't nothin' perfect, you know. You can't make a law so strong but what a stray critter 11 break it now and then." "But now look at me, and remember all the while, with a pang at the heart, that you are a man. Here is Barbara Brooke working like a beaver every day of her TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 19 life. By hard labor, early and late — up in the morning at four, and in bed Heaven knows when — by going without butter on her bread or sugar in her tea, she has managed to get together money enough to buy a tiny house. What then do you do, you men, but pounce upon it? You don't wait for her to move into it; be- fore the door-steps are laid or made you pounce upon it, and demand of her eighty cents taxes. Now, as a man and a gentleman, don't you think that is mean ?" " Lud-a-massy ! Don't come down on me! I didn't do it. I ain't selectman." "Yes, you are selectman. All men are selectmen. They select themselves out to make the laws, and that is the way they do it." " But you must have tax laws, and you can't make no choice about who owns the property. Law is law." "But the law to tax })roperty is no more inexorable than the law to protect propei'ty. You arc under no stronger moral obligation to tax Barbara's house than you arc to protect my garden. But you manage mat- ters so that a whole herd of cows trampling through my grounds arc invisible to you, and I must traverse three towns to be rid of them ; but the moment poor Barbara has a roof over her head you turn all eyes to see, and all hands to grasp. Oh ! aren't you ashamed?" "Well, it don't look generous like, I vum. But 'twon't be no great, one way or the other." Eighty cents, and that is the meanest of all. If it were eighty dollars it would be worth while. The best 20 TWKLVi: MrU:S FJiOM A LKMOy. of it is that Barbara vows slio won't pnv it. lloro is " woman's rights" with a will. "Ami itulood," says Barbara,"! wont up to Kob .lonos's and gavo hiiu snoh a Jawin' an' sooUiin' as ho nivor had in liis lit'o. Tayin' taxos. imlood ! 1 tould liitu whoovor oanio in lor "oni shonld novor goont again! I'd havo tho toa-kottlo on tho stovo. and it's soalding wator ho shonld got in his I'aoo lor tho taxos!" And honost r>arbara ivoks back and ibrth, and makes the heavens ring with merriment at the idea of any pnny man eoming to demand her rightful money; and Bar- bara's heart is strong and her arm is brawny, and 1 think the man who tronbles her is very likely to be in hot water. For if twelve nulos from a lemon is twelve miles from the law. why should not Barbara bo a law unto hoi-self? }k\y IViond tho torostor thinks she will bo, and evi- dently his heart is in the right place. LEMON -I) HOI'S. 21 11. LEMON- DROPH. It must bo confessed tliat the rigors of rustic exile arc immensely mitigated by the friendly incursions of a class of — men, I was about to say, but I remember that women arc not unknown to its ratdcs — a class of persons whose benevolent mission is to furnish us out- side barbarians with the appliances of civilization. In the vulgate they arc termed peddlers. I call them mis- sionaries. Like other missionaries, they arc sometimes harshly entreated. There are those who look upon them as direct emissaries of the Evil One, roaring up and down the earth, seeking whom they may devour. To these, a peddler is but a burglar in disguise. Ife comes with goods by day to s[)y oiit the land and see where he may come/'//- goods by night. Nor is the suspicion en- tirely unfounded. " 'J'here's odds in deacons," the coun- try folk say ; how much moi'c in peddlers. My own es- j)ecial prejudice is against the peddler who carries a lit- tle black glazed carpet-bag, and in favor of him who comes in a large, long, high, red cart, lie give hostages to society. His horse and cart are a pledge of respecta- bility and reliabilit}'. His cart is full of curious and convenient little cMjmpartrnents, and in these compart- ments arc curiously bestowed all manner of treasures in Britannia and tin. The top of his cart is — not crowd- 22 TWL'LVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. ed, but — ornamented witli wooden-ware, rows of brooms, nests of bright blue tubs and bright yellow buckets, and the regular ridges of white wash-boards, every thing fresh and perfect in its kind. It is a New Curiosity- shop, whose salesman is never ill-natured and never in a hurry, but always ready to reveal to you his goods and chattels, whether you buy or whether you forbear. And the charm of it is, that you buy without money. He does not seem to care for money. lie rather prefers " truck." He takes from you what is old and worn-out, and, to you, worthless, and gives you a brand-new cof- fee-pot! Is not that Christianity? The only shabby- looking things about his establishment are the great canvas bag and the tarnished tin-kettle that hang and swing from the rear of his cart. But they, like all the rest of him, are means of grace. "Any tin-ware to-day ?" he asks 3'ou, cheerily ; and when he has turned over his whole stock for your pleas- uring, and has explained to you all the mysteries of his improvements and his patents, and you have selected a freezer for the ice that you can not get, and a new- fangled egg-beater for the eggs that no hen lays, and a lemon-grater for the fruit that is twelve miles off, and begin to fumble around in your mind for the where- abouts of your purse — then, up speaks this angel and minister of grace, this missionary of the new dispensa- tion, and asks: "Any rags or paper to dispose of?"' Of course you have. What else do you take the Boston Daily for, and the Congregaiionalist, and the New York Nation^ and the WeeUy Post, and the Womaiis LEMON- DIWPS. 23 Journal? All the picture-papers we save alive; and from the ladies' magazines we cut the gay-colored prints, and pile them in great piles in the garret, for the amuse- ment of the little ones, who love nothing better than foraging in these unfrequented places. All the rest — newspapers, magazines, pamphlets, learned reports, sta- tistics, catalogues. Fourth of July orations, and — oh, tell it not in Gath ! — sermons; all the torn letters and used- up envelopes of the waste-basket we bring forth from their hiding-places in barrel and box, and cast into that huge tin-kettle, and sell it for three, five — yes, and when for so long a time all was quiet on the Potomac, it went as high as seven and eight cents a pound. And here is the bag of white rags, all sorted — the bag is a little gnawed by mice, so you may take it bag and all, and if the mouse be within, let him stay and weigh ; and the bag of colored rags — little worth, but worth that little. "No old iron?" Certainly ; a box of rusty nails, and the Franklin stove, and a stove door that is well wedged into the barn floor — you will have to wrench it hard to get it out, my peddler — and a cracked tea-kettle, and an iron tray, and — I suppose this old bit of lead is not good for any thing? " Oh yes ; we pay five cents a pound for lead !" Bless me, we shall make our fortunes! There is nothing in the shape of metal which a tin-peddler will not buy, except hoop-skirts, and a hoop-skirt seems to be the one thing on earth for which there is no second- ary use, no future life, except in ]\[r. Edward Everett Hale's "Skeleton in the Closet," where sundry superan- 24 TWELVE 3fILES FliOM A LEMON. nuatcd hoop-skirts prove the ruin of the Confederate navj, army, ordnance, and treasury, and, ultimately, the capture of JelVersou Pavis; but, I must say, I strongly suspect, nothwithstanding Mr. Ilale's well-known char- acter for veracity, that those hoop-skirts were manu- factured out of the whole cloth ! But all else is fish that comes to the tin-pcddler's net. And it gives you such a comfortable feeling. It is not only that you have made a general clearance of rubbish, but you arc in the line of Divine Providence. You are working in the Divine way. Nature wastes nothing, cither in material or process. Lfan can not de- stroy material, but he may waste work. Your rusty nails are not only useless, but unsightly, and black with impending lock-jaw. In the tin-peddler's hands they are on the road to a new life of usefulness. The paper which you cram into 3'our fire and fancy out of the way ■is out of the wa}'. It will, indeed, presently become paper again, but it is by the roundabout road of smoke and ashes, and corn and cotton. Whereas, in the tin- peddler's hands it is next door to pulp, and comes back to paper by a short cut. You are Providence in so far as you have saved Providence several intermediate stages, which is the same thing as having accomplished them yourself. To all of which the tin-peddler assents, though in a dazed way, and I am not sure, after all, that the connection between himself and Providence is quite clear in his own mind. But he is a cheerful man, dis- posed to chat, and to amiable views of life ; and, when I half deprecate the trash which I have piled up beneath his steelvards, and am afraid he will think I am not a LEMON -DROPS. 25 good housekeeper, he replies, comfortably, that people always have a heap of things to pick up when it comes spring — (thou good, consoling creature, it is midsum- mer!) — and his wife always finds odds and ends accu- mulate in winter, especially as she is not well. She, last winter, only went from kitchen to bedroom, I hope that he takes good care of her. lie does, indeed. She wanted him to give her a sleigh-ride, but he told her he would give her a sleigh-ridc when it came wheeling. He should certainly take good care of her, for it is too much expense to get another. Here it is my turn to open my eyes and meditate on Divine Providence. "Yes," he adds, "there is not only the expense of bury- ing one wife, but there is always a good deal of expense in getting another. Then, the second wife never quite makes good the first." I am somewhat appeased, and put my head out of the shell again, and ask if he has any children. Yes, he has five. If they were all living there would be a dozen of them. What do I think of that? Unutterable things, but I hope they are all good. "Well, there's worse children than mine. There's children that gives their parents more trouble than mine. My oldest boy, he's twenty. He's loafing to- day. The boss wanted him to stay yesterday (Sunday), so he's loafing to-day. Do you know — you must excuse me for taking such a liberty — but you remind me very strongly of my wedding-day." "Do I? Why?" "You're just about the build of my wife, and she wore a dress exactly that color. I could almost swear o 2 6 TWEL YE MILES FR OM A LEMOX. it was tlie same. A little way off I should tbink it was she. You must excuse me." Excuse you! Oh cunning peddler! Why, it is a compliment. I suppose your wife never looked hand- somer to you than she did then. " Well, I don't know about that. I think she looks handsomer to me to-day than she ever did." That is better still. Have I unwittingly struck my pick into a placer? "I can say this — the longer I live with her the better I like her." "And how long is that?" "Twenty-two years. I saw her first in November, at church. That was in the Old Countr3^ I went to hear what we called a reformed fox-hunter. He was a drinking, gambling fellow; but he was a gentleman's son. His father said it would ruin him to have him turn Methodist; but he saved him twenty thousand dol- lars a 3' ear by it." So I have not only rid myself of my rags, and en- riched myself with coffee-pots and egg-beaters and for- ty-four cents hard money — that is, currenc}^, the hardest money going — but I have also found in this gay red cart a fine old English church, iv^^-hung and fair to look upon ; and within a fresh young English girl, ruddy and winsome, and a stalwart English lad, with honest ej^es and manly face, who seeks heaven under the gypsy hat rather than on the fox-hunting lips; and finds it the sooner, perhaps. For over the hills and far awa}'", across the sea, and into the wide, foreign land, the fresh .young Enfrlish c^irl follows her English lad-lover and husband LEMoy-Diiors. 27 in one now these twenty years. Little ones come — and go, alas! — for wisdom lingers; but happiness lingers, too ; and the English lad, now a sturdy, handsome man, in middle life, wears a face of content and repose ; and I know the little lass, albeit taking somewhat less kindly to our alien climate, and grown, perhaps, a thought too pale and thin, is yet a gentle and happy woman, wearing her matronly charms with no less winning a grace than she woi'e her maiden freshness in the ivied church of Merrie England, See, now, what comes from putting yourself in the line of Providence, and selling your old rags ! Of another sort, Lemonians! are those represent- atives whom you send us with the little black glazed carpet-bags; and we spew them out of our mouths. Non tali auxilio! Better bereft of lemon-drops forever than moisten thirsty lips with bitter draughts. For what is in those uncanny carpet-bags? Needles and thread and sewing- silk and pins and brooches, they say; but we know it is burglars' tools — -jimmies and false keys, and all things which do not make for peace. We will none of them. If your shops overflow with wares, and your streets are grass-grown for lack of buy- ers, go West and fell trees and make wildernesses blos- som ; but do not send your emissaries twelve miles into our wilderness to profane it with cotton lace and dollar jewelry, and possible picking of postern locks. Such evil-minded folk march boldly up to the door, do not wait to be bidden in, scarcely even to ring or knock, but entering unwelcome, with impudent eyes roving around your room, ask if you want a new kind of glass- 2 8 TWSL VE MILES Fit 021 A LEMON. es, concavo-convex, double lens, Heaven knows what, that will enable you to see around a corner with the back of your head. And though you assure the in- quirer that your eyes are perfect, and that you would not look around a corner if you could, the creature is hardly persuaded, but continues to unfold his brazen glasses with brazen fingers, till the unwearying monot- ony of your No makes an impression even upon his brazen brain. Does he then depart in peace? Do not flatter yourself He steps quickly enough down the gravel walk ; but if you do not hear the gate click dul}'-, go around through the dining-room, and you will find his wicked nose flattened against the cast parlor win- dow. There rage supplies you with courage, and you fling the front-door wide open and order him off the premises, which order he obeys with much gibbering and gesticulating, that may be deprecation or defiance — you can not tell. Thus he goes through the village, stirring up sedition, and reporting at each house that he has sold a pair of glasses to each resident in all the preceding houses. And when you tell your thrilling tale to Hassan the Turk, with intent to rouse him to re- prisals, at least to the extent of having this budding vil- lain well watched out of town, he only says, with stolid indifference, "A cat may look upon a king. Is there any thing in your parlor too good to be seen ?" Infinitely better than these, though inferior to Hones- tus of the red cart, is he who comes with a pack on his back. These have diminished in numbers of late years, but they used to be frequent callers, and their coming was a pleasant exhilaration. Almost always Germans, LEMON-DROPS. 29 small of stature, wiry, strong, and pleasant- voiced, shrewd and careful, they deposit their packs on the kitchen floor, and unfold rich parcels of silk and linen that might tempt even a connoisseur. IIow they can travel under such a weight is astonishing; and how they can recompense themselves among us plain coun- try folk, who call a family council and make a pilgrim- age to Mecca whenever we buy a silk gown, is inex- plicable; but travel they do, or did, revolving in their orbits as regularly as the planets, till we came to have a friendly familiarity with their friendly faces. So, no doubt, they found their account in it; and many of them, I dare say, have by this time invested the money they made in our village, thrown down the pack, opened shop, become merchant princes, and been murdered in New York — an encouragement to all poor and industri- ous boys not to despise the day of small things. Next to the glazed carpet-bags do we hate and abhor the tall clerical-looking inen who accost us with a jaun- ty air, and ask us to accept a box of soap as a present ! We suspect these Greeks in any case, but, bearing gifts, we know there is a cat under the meal. And when they ape the clergy. Heavens ! how we ache to choke them with their white chokers! O Lemonians, keep such trash in your own borders ! To us it is rank, and smells to heaven. And look well, Lemonia, we country folk pray you, io the ways of the agents whom you send down upon us like frogs and lice and locusts for multitude. Send us women, if you like, or send us men, but let them be ignorant. A little learning is such a dano-erous thinor. 80 T]Y£L VE J[IJLi:S FROM A LEMOX. The ]HV}^lo uho oiMno around \viiU nj^plc-paivrs and poncil-sharponors, dross-making systonis and now-lasli- ioned lainp-olunuiovs. are woll enough. AVe do not ob- ject to being reminded by sueh tokens that we are within twelve miles of the Lemon; but when the re- ligious newspaper-agents bore into your house like worms of the dust as they are, and ask your house- keeper about your way of life and your personal his- tory, why, you ^YOuld like to grill them over a slow lire. They have just intelligence enough to be curious, but not enough to be decent; and decency should be well burned into them. The apple-corcrs are modest and professional ; but these literary frogs and toads evident- ly believe, with Job's sorry set of friends, that they are the people, and wisdom shall die with them. You are not helped by instructing your door-tender to give to all a bland but blank refusal, for that only keeps out the good ones. The paehydermata, the artieulata, the vermes, will still worm themselves through to their own destruction. "We know that we are outside barbarians, far oiYfrom ice and lemons and green pease ; but we are often moved. C^ Lomonia ! to exclaim with Sidney, thy ne- cessity is greater than ours. When I see a poor man traveling up hill and down across our country-side, ex- pecting to earn his bread-and-butter by the commission lie is to receive on the sale of his books, and think of the sparse farm-houses where he is to sell them, the farmei's mowing the mai-shes knee-deep in salt-water, and the ^Yomen rising at midnight to cook their sup- pers. T am just not moved to teai-s. Surely the lines LEMON- nnopH. 31 have fallen to you in stony places. Is there no corn in Egypt that you must come up to Canaan to gather these scanty gleanings? The minister may generally be counted on as secure prey, and sometimes a freak will take a farmer or two of us, to the peddler's advan- tage. "These Bibles are cheap and well got up," says the Bible-vender, who understands how to mingle religion and trade in a shrewd composite. Yes, you answer; but you have Bibles enough al- ready. "But so has your neighbor over yonder," says the Bible-man. "lie said he had Bibles enough, but he had just as lief leave part of his property in Bibles as any thing else; and he bought three." If the agents who have somewhat to give in return for our well-fingered currency find us a hard row to hoe, how rocky must be the field to those gentlemen who come intent on begging, " pure and simple !" They seldom go from house to house, but take to the pulpit, Eapidly and statistically they unfold the origin and operation of their plans, and cheerfully we listen, quite well knowing we are masters of the situation, and shall present a firm front to the foe, but perfectly willing to hear what he has to say, and glad our own minister has a breathing-place thrown in. The American Board and the Uome Missionaries we look after regularly, under the lead of our own shepherd ; the few " town poor " we maintain in a style that dazzles the neighboring nabobs; but when it comes to Sailors' Aid Societies, we query how many of our greenbacks would get into the 32 TWSLVJS MILES FROM A LEMOX. sailors' pockets. As for the converted Jews, we rather tliink we like them best the natural way. And really it is a pretty joke, you Western colleges stretching out your hands from your waving wheat-fields, your inland seas white with commerce, your cities running riot with riches, and claiming tribute from our stern and rock- bound coast! Still, if it pleases you to come to us in appeal, come. You little know the invincibility and the invisibility of our defenses ; but come. We will feast you as long as you stay, for we have a saving faith in bread-and-butter, pies, and preserves. We will listen to you with decorum ; and if a ten-cent scrip or a ragged quarter will serve your purpose, we will drop it in, rather than the contribution-box should go by us without stopping. "But if them fellers want more larnin," says Uncle 'Miah, having placidly sat the sermon out, and speaking now the wisdom of his eighty toiling years — "if them fellers want more larnin, let 'em come down here and go a term to Esther, and carry on my farm to halves." And all the people shall say. Amen ! So, Messieurs mes frtires, come down and present your "cause" to us as often as vou like. HEMLOCK POISON. 83 III. HEML CK POISOK No one can suspect how much trouble it would have been to make the world, until he has tried his own hand at world-making. Once we wanted a hill where nature had spread a plain. We undertook to raise one. A hill looks easy enough. For days, for weeks, men and horses and carts were digging, hauling, loading, and tipping, and it was not much of a hill after all. We came to the conclusion that it is easier to make a very large hole tban a very small hill. When you have floundered in the dirt many days, when drags have crisscrossed your grounds in all directions, and harrows have scratched, and rollers have smoothed, and yet you need a magnifying glass to see where your hill is, you are prepared to read with new admiration, "He spake, and it was done; he command- ed, and it stood fast." Nevertheless, the spring-world ever calls you afresh. When the snow melts, when the brooks are unbound, and the skies grow tender, and the brown buds swell, the still small voice of the coming summer woos you into lovino; alliance with Nature fashionino; the Earth to beauty. I suppose we are the proprietors of the poorest tract of land on the North American Continent; and the ox- 84 TWKIYK MILKH tJfOM A hKMOX WvM-st oultivnli\l. Soniothiiig is suiv to Iv planu\l ihnt wo ilo not Nvant, and 8v>nunhing to Iv loll vuu. thai wo do want. Wluil with oabbngos anvl oows. and wliito boans hanging Ibrgv^tlou, brown and shrivolod. to tho shuddoving vinos lor a tnildow and a blight, till tho snows drilt ovor thoni, llas^ati tho Turk s;us thoiv aro thivo oivps in whioh wo oxool : thoso whioh aro plantod and do not oonio up. thoso whioh oomo np and aro not gathotvd, atul thvv^o wo do tiot plant at all. l^ut wo liko tanning so muoh that wo oan not with- draw our hand. \Vo would rather Tail u\ that than sue- oood in anv thing olso. So wo go on ovorv spring, dig- ging a littlo wildly, porhaps, but digging, harrowing our lields and our tViendly lannors' fooling^, no doubt, at one foil swoop, atul trving to sjivo nionoy enough in other ways to keep our agrioultural oxtravaganoo tVoni pivsently bringing «s upon iho town. But it did not seem extravagant to aitoiupt to raise a tow pines and hondooks. Having tried every thing olso in vain, wo turned with humility to thoso hai\ly plants, and ronuMubeivd that the dostruotion ot' tivos is suppv.'vsod to bo tho eauso ot'ourlong and soveivdivughts, and hoped to vlesorvo well of tho ivpublio, besides sit- ting under our own shadows with great delight, Ilas- &;\n the Turk said our soil was so nuioh liko the soil to whioh pities aiv native that ho did not believe they would dotoot a ehangv. AVe nnght steal a niaivli on them, as it weiv, and they would begin growitig bofoi\3 they diseoveiwl it was our land, and then it would bo too late to stv'>p. Oh! tho ploasujv of tho Nvork I The smell of tho (iarnp, uplJiriicd ciirth, the lovclinoHH of the fragrunt, dark, dewy woodn where you go to 8cc how the Lord God HetH hirt [;ineH becauHe you winh yourn U^ look junt like thern I Ah'in! how Koori you find that you follow Nature as little JuIuh did his father, with unequal HtcpH, 1'hc treen of the Lord fairing up untrained, in carele.HH placcH, in graeeful and exuberant wnfuHion, while your groveH are bent on aHHurning fitiff geornetrieal figureH. JJowning — is it, who recornrnendH you t^j fling a handful of [)otatoe8 into the air and Bet your trees where they eorne down ? We darkened the air with flyirig and fall- ing potat<';eH, and they alighted in one heap. Having spent a whole morning in a strenuous, and we hoped, not unsuccesHful endeavor to reproduf;^; the eliarrniuL' irrecr- nh'irity of nature, our withdrawing footst^^ps arc arrested by the anxious voiec of a c<;nscientious workman, "I doti't know as you care — but— seems U) me— them trees ain't in a straight line!" And HO your forests are set a-waving, and the beauty of it is that you have no weary waiting, for tliey are a joy f'lY^m ijir; first moriicnt of their arrival. A hemlock grows larger, but it is never more symrnetrieal or inter- esting than when it is first set. A pine is as tall at its transplanting as a rose-bush in its old ago. Yesterday a waste of pebbly hill-side, a level stretch of green — to-day the morning breeze on tree-tops, flickering shad- ows on the grass, the poise of robins on the branches, blue-birds flashing in and out, and the whir of hum- ming-birds on their way U) honeysuckles. IJut sweet Nature is cruel. No sooner is rny little venture made than the stars in their courses fight 80 TWm.VK MIl.KS FhHhV A I.KMOX. ;iv;;;iinsl inv\ Mv nvos t'airly rooU\l. ami siu-li a ilroui^hl. ooiuos ;\s l>as not boon kiunvi\ in Israol ihoso yoais. 'PI\o tivos iliat NYoro to bo transj^lantoil with so nnu-h i^lthoir ntothor oarih avvnind thorn that thoy wofo oxpootod nov- or to tiuvl it out. bogan to show sii;ns ot" honiosioknoss. Wo waior thorn, but \Yhat aiv a ilv\,on watovingpots ntnvMig so t\)any ? Wo build our hoj^os on annivoi'sat'v- wook, but iho lioavons havo tbiv,\nton tho 'Traot SvH'uiv. and thoir oloigv jiivo but drv disquisitions. My givon- orv tnakos a bi'avo t\v;hi. It has nothing but a little muloh to onoourago it^ yot it snulos on mo and oling>! to lito. Hut a saint could not hold out ioivvor against tho raging. }ntiloss sun, this dry, pavohing. dust-tVanght wind, atid tho tassols of tho pinos n\nst vliv^op, and tho stooky,- stunly hontlooks put on an oiuinv>us yoUow. "Oh, Hassan!" orios tho voioo ofdistnay, " what shall 1 do ifniY homUvks dio?" '" Vou havo sotnothij»g still lolY to livo tor." answot^, ohoorfuUy, llas^san tho Turk. l>ut tho iron has not on- torod his soul. *'1\> YOU think tlioy Nvill dio?" '*(*uoj^ so. 1 sot out a liodg'i'* of homlooks onoo. raid sixty dolhu-s lor it. T/iti/ all died." *H)h! why did you not toll mo sooner?" '* So you will tall toul ol' i\io ! AVell, homlooks always >YOtx^ a datigeivus plaything. Sooratos gvt tho tirst lick, atid I vshall britig up the roar in good oom}\iny." 1 stivngly objoet to tho word /,v'«\ but that is what ho .said. I only attsworod : " It is roally sad to hoar you spo.ak with suoh levity in tho }>rosonoo ol'so groat a trouble." IIKMIJfCK J '01 HON. UJ " 'i';rM)bh;? You )i;i,v*; /lotJiin;.^ on c'ulJi l,o Uouhlo yoii bul, lour dc.-i'l }i(;r(ilof;l;;i <>\\ ono hide of your f/^uUif and five Jivo oncM <>\t l.lio oUicr. I)o you want, tin; (,o put on a wood for that?" " Hut t';ll mc wliut to do. I'crliaj).', !;orn';thirij'^ nii;.'liL Htill Hav; thcrn." " Woll, my advice in, that yoii irnrncdiately t;i,ko a frcah cry over your Iicrnh^ckH, then f^ull ttiern ail lij), and write an aeeonnt of it for 7'//^- N'-m h'//;/ia'n'i /'armcr, and mala; Iiirn [, or they will live yet. and you will he too late." A man of ability who in willinp^ to ^dve iiin mind to a Huljject Ih u very UH<;ful pcrHon ; hut when he ap- proachr;H a topic; with uriKcernly fiivolity, he in a p^reat deal worHo than no)jo(Jy. Yet, in npiUi of 'i'urkH and 'iVact SocieticH, the lrinos. Their givon .^pikos iv- assuniod thai bah'ful vollow, only, unlike the past, their ti{)s staid groeii. I soornoil to ask questions that might seem to be begging lor reassurance, but said to my (Viend the forester, in an indilVerent sort of ^vay, "1 am afraid I am going lo lose my tiw^s. 'They secMu to be turning." 1 eherished a faint hoj^e he would say they always did so. " Yes," said he, promptly, " 1 thinks likely yi>u won't have moi-e'n three or four left by sju'ing!" iVfler the liist s{)asm of disgust, 1 excused him by re- lleeting that he made no }iretense to seienee, but con- tented himself with doing with his might whatever his Land found to do. Hut my iViend the i'resident is a man who ean sjieak of trees, from the eedar-trec that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of tlio wall. So 1 said to him, with the same nonehalant air, '' By-the-way, my trees are going to die. They arc all turned yelK>w." "Are they? Oh! pity, J^ity !" he exelaimed. with a sympathy almost belter than pines. Llark now. A few days afterward T was driving in tlic woods, and, behold ! the trees o[' the good God were all turning yellow, just like mine! It was no dying at all. It was just as 1 had vague- ly hoped — the way oi' a pine-tree in the autumn ; and neither the {U'aetieal man of the axe nor the theoretical man of science knew any thing about it. O TiUcifer, Son of the ^rorning, how much of thy reputation is founded in the iLrnoranee of thy followers! y IIKMI.OCK I'OISON. .'59 TIk; f;ol(l (luyH cuiiic, ;in(| w<; Icfl our [/iiich aixl licrii- locks to tlicir winU;r work ;iii(] \\\c'\v wiiil(;r r(;Ht, flour- isliin^ ]ik(; a ^yva'M huy-tf(;<;. VV<; tlioii^^lit tli'^y liud stood tlio cruciul tcHt, and rrii;.dit " Keiir nf) more tlic hciit o' tlio Hiiri, Nor the fiiriouH wintci'H rnnut JiCu was full of warrnth and briglitnoHH and color, and 1 foarod no evil. \n common with all the world, wf! pitied Pcslitigo and bewailed (Jhioa^^o, though 1 may whisper in an aside that the largest and loveli- est (liamondH I ever saw were lianging uj>on largo and lovely Chicago sufferers I Wo watched with anxious eagerness the perils and j)rivatioris of snow -blocked travelers journeying "from the land of the .Sunrise to- ward the Sunrising," or fleeing the ice-fields of Maine for the mild rigors of I^ake W(;nham, and never dream- ed that we had any tiling at stake in the thermometer. But, alas! as soon as the country was thawed out, omi- nous messages began to trickle through. .John I'aj>ti;-:t cried first in the wilderness: " I am afraid winter has slain ma,ny of your ever- greens. My own hemlocks have half tlieir tops win- ter-killed, and many of my |')inos are dead. 'Vha little shelter afforded by the old fence and those venerable apple-trees which you were prevailed on to spare for my sake (f had resisted his passionate entreaties to cut -10 TWEl.Vt: JJll.KS FJi'OM A J.KMOX. ihom downl Never while ;i bluebird lives, or n, llinisli sings, or an oriole llanies, never while a home-born po- tato is probleniatieal and no amount oChortieidlure will let. us have pease, w'\\\ 1 lay the axe at the root of any tree. Shall 1, who can not raise so mueh as a bush, presume to ra/-e a tree?) may probably have saved your hedge. The time between lil'e and death is very ihin. The lieavy wind at /.ero seemed to eut the poor trees to the heart. Your hill would also help yours." In a woild like this it does seem useless to antieijKito trouble, and 1 only answered tartly, "Bo you mean that all your hendoeks are hall' dead, or lialf your hendoeks ftro all dead?"' It was a mere quibble, and lli{>pant enough, but it turned aside the j^oisoned dart for a time. Tivsently eame another mes.^enger nialign. " Your Junes are turning yellow. ^\sk your seientitic President if that is a good sign.'" I did not heed the covert sneer, but my heart mis- gave me tor yellow pines in sju'ing. Botany is silent, and analogy ci\n not bear false witness against its neigh- bor. IS or am I ealled to Tight a foreboding, but a faet. Traetieal Common Sense anon took up the }tarable, and [ujkhI. "More than half your hendoeks in the incijnent hedge are dead — at least look dead, but may yet sju'ing u}> from the roots." Thanks for the intended eonsolation; but as we sel- dom expect a large crop of apples from hemlocks, and the look is all there is of them, I woidd rather they IIKMLQCK rOIHON. ' 41 .should ])C (lead .itid loolc alive, lliaii bo alive and look dead. ArLloss Iiiuoccnco, in Ictlor iiuiuhcr four, f)i'attlcd simply, but stiii^iii^Iy, "About all your lil.l.lo ti'ccs lliaL you |)lant,('(l ar(3 d(;ad." TIkmi Job arose and said, "()(" course tliey are dead. What inducement had they to live? Hear what the iiewsj)aj)er saith : 'The destruction of cvei'greens was general over New l<]n^l;ind. Mr. M., the nurseryman, lost over five thousand dijllars by (lam;i^(i to his nui's- ei'y-bed ol' evergreens.' And again: "IMie ))ine.s and cedars everywhere, even in the parks abcnit New York, and the rhododendrons and the strawberiies, arc; badly hurt.' And yet again: 'AH the young evergreens in New York and Massachusetts are dead. The warm weather of February started the saj), and the cold weath- er of March froze them. It is a severe blow to thou- sands of nurserymen who gained a livelihood by raising evergreens for market. It will take years to replace them. In Central I'ark, New York, one would be led to think fire had run through it, as not a green tree is spared.' " Of course I never undertook to stem such a tide as this. I planted my pines in good faith, trusting to tlio promise of the rainbow. Nothing tliat money or mulch could do was spared, but I never took a contract to thaw out the North Pole. WIkiu lovely Nature stooj)S to folly of this stupendous sort, the only thing left for any respectable hemlock is to wring his bosom, and to die. Surely Wisdom is justified of her children. ■V2 llVh'l.VN Mll.h'S I'UOM .1 IJ.'MOX. But wliy should ISatuiv 1h> so oluirlisli? Wlun 1 am Irvinjr \n u\y smnll way to Ixwutily the worUl, why does slu> liiiuK-r'i' I lia\i" no 'rilaiiu' niubiliou to gnUi- ly. 1 do not aim to rival hcv (.'alil'orniau l>i>:,' 'I'roi^s, or to outshine and oulslnule her Ama/,oniau lorests. 1 only seek to tfanster the unappropriated beauty oilier wildernesses to my mvn iloor yard. I will not. rob her of a tithe ol" her eharm. I will but gather a little of it to my heail. ll' she will not help, eau she not at least let me alone? She sees \\\c seratehin>;- the earth wiili leeble tini;"ers lor a lew forlorn bushes. l''ron\ her mul- titudinous and mai<;uitudiiunis tri'e-tops, frou\ her wild, wide, traekless forests, she mii;ht well lan;>h me to seorn. lUit is it noble, is it maguaniuums in her to rise \ip and send down upon us the ei>ldest winter we lia\e iuul for twenty-live years just to free:'.e me out? A\'ould 1 have treated C'aius Oassius so? jMeanwdjile, what j>leasure can be derivinl froni three bundred feet of hendoek skeletons tiling past the front iloor. that pleasure 1 enjoy. *■ Far or f»rj:;ot to ino is near; SlmiUnv iiiitl siiulij>;ht i\ro tho snuio; 'ri\o vaiiisliod jA'oils ti> nio apjuMir ; Ami i>iK> lo im< iiio slmmo i\\\d t'siiuo." And Hassan the 'Turk immediati'iy added with ilis^ linguishing emphasis, " 'riio stri>i)i; gotls rino (ov \\\\ nboilo, Aiul riiio in vain tho saoroil Sommi." A romantic visitor, fresh from our eharniing neigh- bor's r>rier Hill, tried to eontinue the sjvll by naming" us •' Pino Lodge." AVo smiled and sim]HMvd, but did IIKMLDHK I'OISON. /\:>, iioL be burned, and that Hwiftly. ThuM |);iHHeH .'iw.'iy the glory of our narn(;. VVc can nof, by ;ui ;i))|>ell;i,l,iv'', eoriHtantly renew our unHjjoakablc griefis. JbiHHan the ^I'urk HUggcHtH that wo ro-cliriHt^ni ourselves 'J'lio I'inery. 'I'luit, he Htiyn, with grim jocu- larity, will never b(; a mi.-;nonier! nVKir£ MILKS FJiOM A LKMOX, IV. 77//; ir(>.\7)/7;> .i.v/> wisihkm (>/' (M/:- This is an ititorosting world, whoihorvou luivo helped ix"*-make it, or whetlior you take it as it is. You livo and live and live — so long that you ean not renunnber a time that you weiv not alive. You learn the Kvk of thing's, and the name ot' thing's, and you t'aney you know the things themselves. lUit one day, some er- ratid, perhaps some eapriee, ealls yon. You open a gate whieh has stood in its plaee ever siiiee the I'oundation of the world. It was a eommonplaee enough gate. It never elieited your euri^'vsity — seaively even your atten- tion. It' you thonght of it at all, you thought only that it led into a pastuiv-givund beyond. }>ut you ojhmi it, you pass through, and behold you are in a new worUl ! Then you pereeive that hitherto the gate-way was no entrance, but a barrieade. You saw only the outside and weiv eontent with a name. From generation to generation, men have built, and ivpaiivd, and destroyed houses, but until yon have done it youi-selt", earpentry is but a lost art, a voiee, and noth- ing more. '* Knowledge by sntVering entereth," says the poet. Yes, and knowledge by doing, entcivth alsa I snppose it will not be denied tliat ehange itself is pleasuiv. AVhen a tit of weariness overtakes you, real 77/ A' WONDEUH AND WISDOM OF (JAItPJUNTUY. 4o rest ai)d refreshment arc to be found in pushing the bureau back into tlic corner, wheeling the sofa up to the fire-place, and bearing the what-not over to the south-west. You bring the satisfaction of foreign trav- el into your own room. When you can change not only the furnishing of your apartment, but the apart- ment itself, when the spirit of diversion enters into your partitions, when your doors begin to slip around cor- ners, and your stair-ways dance across the entry, and the entry strikes out into the world ; when blank walls sud- denly open fair outlooks upon field and sky, and pine- trees breathe welcome, and birds sing in the pines, and humming-birds hover over the honeysuckle where be- fore the silence and stupidity of room-paper were wont to reign; life becomes new every morning, and fresh every evening. You have a mind to " introduce water into the house." Our ancestors must have had a sort of hydrophobia. A house without water, is like a body without blood ; but twelve miles from a lemon most houses are thus blood- less. People think themselves fortunate who have a well in the door-yard, and must bring their water pain- fully in hand-buckets. There is a notion that bath- rooms and water-pipes pertain only to cities, and must be sustained by corporations, and supplied by lakes, and appear in hose and hydrants, and quarterly bills. But we, in a moment of inspiration, became convinced that a house may have water-works even if you have no river to turn on. We meditated a bath-room. It should be in the middle of the house for warmth in win- ter. But we had no middle-house to spare. There nev- or is any room to spaiv. The only available spot is tlio back entry. Of ooui-se. then, there is but one thing to do — build on more house. There you have the pivbleni solved -eentral b:\th- iX3oni, and no spaee saerilieed. It may be eonsideivd a eumbrous and eostlv solution, and in some eases it might be. But our land is good lor nothing. The only erop you can raise on it is house. Kature is stubborn, and will not yield to all our coax- ings. Let \is see if arehiteeture is equally strong to prevail against us. AVe thought it over and talked it over in twilight horn's, and 1 fear we did not keep it wholly out of our minds on Sunday. In dreams our plans rounded out staunch and stately, but it did not seem possible that they would ever be any thing but plans — not even ^Yhen a bevy of ioivign workmen, rough and ragged, Ikx'ked across our grouitds and thrust their spades into the givensward ; scarcely more so when the trim and shivwd American workmen came in like a tlood and bestrewed our hill with bricks and boards. But time went on, beams detined the cellar, raftei-s divpped into place, planks spantied abysses, chimneys sprang aloit, rooms and windows and door-ways began to develop then\- selves, and lo! our thought, our remote, shadowy, in- tangible, and then our exact and elaborate thought, stood out in wood and plaster, and brick and marble, befoiv our very eyes I I must admit that I felt a hearty enthusiasm for my- self. "Is not this great Babylon which /have built?" This is not necess^irilv arix^oance. It may be akin to 77/ A' WON I) Kits AND WISDOM OF (JAJU'l'JNTIiY. 47 worsliip. 'Vo be sure, I had not lift'.''! a riM;.^or. So rnucli the more in our small human way had we follow- ed lli.s method whose " Eternal tliought niovcH on FliH undiHturbed iiflaii's." We had spoken, and it was done. Wc commanded, and it stands fast. And yet the best part of the wliole is that, thanks to the limitations of human nature, it was not done at our simple speaking. The doing was a process, and the process was a constant joy. But people arc awry. They have fallen into confu- sion as to what constitutes good and evil. " Well, I am sure it is a great job," they would say with a heavy sigh. And so it would have been had wc lifted the beams, and sawed the boards, and driven the nails our- selves; but it is no job at all to sit in the sunshine and sec other people hammering. And that is really all that building a bouse amounts to. The fact is that wc arc scared by imagination, lieal things do not so much trouble us. It is phantoms of things evoked from our brains. It is no trouble at all to make a bath-room. The trouble is in the fancy of what Vjath-room building may be. But the disorder of liouse-repairing! ''J'herc it is again. 'J'ho mischievous error that order is Heaven's first law, is the lieresy of many otherwi.se excellent women. Order is not Heaven's fii'st law. It is di.sor- der. Order comes second. I have Pope against me, but Moses and the Prophets are on my side. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." IS TWL'LVJi MILL'S KUOM A Lh'MOX. ''And the earth was without form mid void." Can disorder be more deftly exj^ressed? "We speak of the turtle as if his tribe were the onlv one that carries its house on its head. But in fact wo arc but the turtle's elder brethren, and carry our houses on our heads and in our hearts as well. It is impossi- ble to tell or even to know what a care a house is till you throw it olV. The delight of having no "fall clean- ing!'' The happiness of seeing every thing at six's and seven's, and knowing that is just where it ought to be! All the closets are bestrewn upon tables, and noth- ing need be touched for six weeks! It is camping out in your own house. Away with tidiiu\^s, and punctual- ity, and regularity, and civilization ! C\nne chaos, and freedom, living fron\ hand to mouth, tleetness of foot, and no responsibility for any thing! And by the time you are beginning to grow tired of it, and thinking of quiet and comfort — it is all over. Tranquillity returns of itself The doors and windows have become stable, and you resume your routine with a heartiness and appreciation to which you had hitherto been a stranger. Nothing in our houses becomes us like the leaving them sometimes to themselves. Order is no spontane- ous generation, but is the fair daughter of a fairer moth- er, disorder. Thus we learn the in-o{H>rtions and rela- tions of things. Carpentry is next door to high art, if indeed it be not itself high art. Of mechanical work we often think lightly; anv thing done mechanically seems to be done by rule and routine, without spirit or love. But the THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 49 mechanics of the carpenter implies a steadfast soul, a quick imagination, a keen eye, a fine, firm hand. The higher grade of carpentry we recognize as art, and call it architecture; and its designer an architect. The ca- thedrals and palaces of the Old World are pictures and poems in stones. Not only were inexhaustible patience and boundless wealth built into them, but it was genius that conceived them, and in the brain of the artist they had their first life. The carpenter who builds your house is no Michael Angelo for a pope's patronage, and his name may never be heard beyond his own country. But he is also no dullard, blank of design as the wood on which he works. Somebody, or perhaps many bodies — many minds — have brought this modest household service to such a pass, that the skillful carpenter must be a man of mind. I suppose any dunce can drive a nail and saw a board, and if a man is content to be a hewer of wood all his life, and to live under authority, he can be a clumsy carpenter. But the master of his trade lays hold of mathematics, understands the science of proportion, foresees the statue in the marble. Your new house, let us say, is to be built in the coun- try, and fastened trig and firm to the old one. It is also not to look as if it were an after - thought, and patched on, but as if it grew there in the beginning. This is the problem. Thus it is solved : The carpenter comes down from the city, browses around for an hour or two, up stairs, down stairs, and in my lady's chamber, with a two-foot rule, takes the next train home, and builds your house in New York! All 50 V 11 /-.v. I A' Mll./:s i-h'O.M A l.h'MiKV. lie iloos Ml'lorwnnl is to brinuj it, down ami juil it up. Tliiit is iiuTiHlililo, onh- liiat I \\:wc sroii it iK>iu\ ^"our lii>iiso appears umlor llio guiso o[' loads of wood cut iulo luimorous sliai>cs aiul sii'.os, aboundiiii:; in little i;roovos and nielies lor ton!;iu\s to slip in, and lillle ti>n;j,ues Iv) slip in llioin, ami llu\v all slip in ! Tiial is iho marvel. .Mvery tiling tils into its jdaee. 'There is no taking in ol'seanis lor the doors, or letting down of tueks for iho windows. Mveiv frame sits in the hole nuulo for it, and every thing slavs where if is j)ul. ^V hatever was fore- «.>rdained eoines to pass. Oh! Inn thev take it all so easily. It, is no work at all. ll is a la.:y lile. 1 ha\e sat in the sunshine and watelied them for hours, and 1 know what 1 am talking about. 'IMiev swing on a staging with an apronful of nails, and hanuner leisurely through the bright Oetobor nu>rning. They lift a beam on one end, and it lalls ol' its i>wn weight. They set a board upright, ami then walk oil" and look a! it. They never seem to be doing any thing in }KUtieular, only things somehow get done. 1 look at my neighbor r>arbara, hurrying with might and main from wash-tub to well -curb, from well-curb to cooking-stove, from cooking-stove to ironing-board — all day long — all week, and month, and year long, and think how^ nuicli harder ;i woman works than a man. r>arbara. seems always to be s{>ringing at the top of her strength. These carpenters seem scarcely to bring their strength into }day, and .1 suppose for their happy -go- easy life they are }>aid \cn times as much as poor Bar- bara, for her eager and lavish mitlay. A blind man might sec that the moral is that woman TIIH WONDNItH ANI> WISDOM Oh' CAUI'KNTItY. r>j ()ii;.^lit nol to W(;ik'. IL i,s tlio rni.ssion of in;u), und for liiiii il, JH easy ainl lncnitivc It is ror(;i;.ai to wonuin, aiinon\ios, ox- oivisiiig prudonoo, and it, is aotually ivtVoshing to soo a boing so niado that, ho intrinsioally doos wliat ho choosos, withont, stopping; to oonsidor whothor it is (ho best thing to (\o. Mon also aro so jnnoh more accus- tomod than wiMnon to hiigo outlay, large inoonie, largo dealing, that thoy aro impatient ot" minor considerations, and novor think i^f permitting any penny-wise prudonoo to stand in the way of their eonvonieneo or gratitioation, 'IMio Divine mind is the only one that ean oipially Avell grapple with outline and detail, b'inito minds, it" thev NYOuld oompass generals, must ol'ten eonsont to saeritloo }\irtioulars. There are some things in this life whioh we ean dispense with, and some whioh aro indispensa- ble. 'IMiey are wise who wisely disoriminate, and do not lose the best in trying to hold all. There aro women who novor got on, booauso they do not know where to let go. They ean do the sowing, the house -oloaning, tlie eooking. better than any woman thev can hire; so they yield to the temptation and do it all, till thev aro broken in health, and spirits, and temper. Thoy do not see that, though the hired help is a oaroless seamstress, an extravagant cook, and an untidy washor woman, she would be a still worse home-maker; that, little as sho contributes to the family comfort, sho would contribute to the family happiness still less. It is not absolutely essential that the silver be polished every week, that all the carpets be beaten every fall. It. is essential that health should be tine, and heart ohoorful, and temper tranquil. Constituted as society is, women, to etVoot 77/A' WONDEliH AND WISDOM 01<' VAliPENTRY. 53 tills, must learn what tliinf^s it will do to let go, and what must bo held fast. JC wo could have all the; house- work done in its j)roj)er time and manner, it would })e viivy charming; but what we must have is a bright, warm, wooing atmosphere in the; home. Thus I muse<], sittitig on the new garret stairs and observing that an antiquated but stocky beaver hat, IVom whieii J had mentally constructed a pair of moc- casins, had been pressed into service by my biigands as a chisel, screw, and hammer-holder. It is a serious objection to most useful occupations that they conflict with personal neatness. You can not sweep without becoming dusty, or cook without con- tracting grease spots. The farmer mud grow dirty in •his potato-field, and the engineer smutty on his engine. It may not be unwholesome, but it is certainly not at- tractive. It does not affect character, and is therefore not injurious; and what we should do if some persons were not willing to surmount their repugnance and till the soil and drive the engines for us, it is not easy to conjecture. Certainly, speaking after the manner of Sunday-schools, we ought to be very grateful to them ; but I, for one, can blame nobody for not liking or choos- ing employments which soil clothes and faces and hands. Carpentry is fi'ce from all this. The artificer in wood may be as immaculate at the day's close as he was at its commencement. Ife works in a clean, sweet, fra- grant substance, fresh and pure as the sunshine which gave it life. All the debris of his work are odorous chips, lithe and graceful sliavings, sawdust — which is dust only l^y courtesy. As a result, it is not surpris- M nVKf.VK Mlf.KS riiOM A LKMOX. iiiij,' th;\t tho varponlor is a niau of i;vutlonosi5, graoo, aiul roln\omont liis voioo is nioloilious, his lanuuago cor- root, his inaimors o|uiot, liis ilisposiiion obliging. My oarpontors kopt houso tor ino, as you may say. throo tuonths; yot sv> ooiisi^lorato, dolioaio. and intolligoiit \voi\> thoy, that thoir prosonoo sooiwod not so inuoh in- trusivo as protoolivo anil bonotloont, auil wo loh quito lorsakou whv^i ihoy [>aokoil thoir ehosts anil lodo olV. It is rathor j^loasaut and sociable to l\oan\ littlo tapping on tho wall, liko n wooiljHX'kor pooking his hollow oak- tivo, anil whon yon look up. lo! a iViomlly laoo knock- ing throngli tho pariiiioi\. li is exhilarating to lot in water on your now tank just to soo it" yon can, anil hall- ilrown a man ourloil up in tho bottom oi' it soKloring something. Novor diil I \\v any ohanoo ho;ir or over- hear a single j>rolano, iuilooorous. or ooarse word only once, when tho oarpenters and p]un\boi"s, iVom their dis- tant, homes, wore all ready to join loroos. and a part ot" tho important maohinery had tailed to come, and thus, ot" course, set thoir plans at naught. Then did I, through tho elosed blind and the ojhmi window, hear l'»\>m tho swoot- voiced, brown -haired, deep eyed oar- pouter on tho barn-stops the impatient ejaeulation, ••Parnit. all!" l>ut, under the ciivumstanoes, that was ium very bad. Sutvly tho accu.sing angel who Hew up to Heaven's chatK'ory with tho oath blushed as lie gave it in, and tho ivcording angvl, at\d so forth. " Oarn it all." No doubt thoiv arc vutlled states of mind which this simple, sonunvhat inoonsei\uont and inexi>lioablo, yet vohomont exclamation mav serve to soothe; jmd it", hurting no TIIJ'J WONhKllH AND WISDOM 01'' (JAltl'KNTItY. 55 one, iL dooH culm jricntul or Mcrvou.s porlurbulion, iL i.s not one of tlioso idlo words of wliioli we rriunt give ac- coiiiiL in tli(j d;iy of jiuigtncnt, l;ul a most useful and Kalulji'ioijs woid, wlii<:li .sliidl .smell sweet and blosKom in the dust. And eujpentera are like Toodles's coftin, so handy to have in the house. They not ordy do wliat you bid tlicni, but scores of things that you did not think of yourself. They see all tluj available little nooks for hooks and spaces for shelves, which, once up, you won- der iiow you ever got on without. They fasten litth; wheels to all y(;iir wells, till children cry for the piivi- Icge of di'awing water. You go away in the morning leaving your C(;llar an uproar of rubbish. You return at night to find a j)lac(; for (;veiy thing and <;very thing in its plae(;. Shall 1 ever forget the gloom of a descent into that Avernus aftf.-r a week's absence, when chill November's surly blasts made a furnace i'wa necessary, and there were ordy Anglo-Saxon hands to build it? No heavier lay vlOtna on tortured Knceladus than lay the clinkei'S and aslies of that cold, uncompromising furnace on my soul. Shivering hands hold the feeble lamp, desperate hands grasp the huge iron wrench, atid down comes — not the expected horrid fluff of ashes, but a cheerful, tiny curl of shaving! Ila! what is this? We gaze into each othei's ey(;s! It can not be! "We tear ojx.n tlu; furnace door. It is! It is! Those an- gels have shaken out every relic of the late departed fire, have put in paper and shavings, and wood and coal, so that all we have to do is to touch a tajjcr underneath, and immcrliately warmth and light, and heait and hope, 50 TWELVE 311 LES FROM A LEMON. love and gratitude, human brotherhood, the unity of the race, and the soHdarity of the peoples, are roaring through every pipe and funnel and chimney, till the whole house is aglow. But you pay them for it. Of course you ])ay them for it, after a fashion. You hire them to do your work at so much a day or so much "a job." But they do not contract to give you beauty for ashes. Bartering the oil of joy for mourning is no part of the carpenter's trade. Your garment of praise will not be set down in the bill. And even before you reach their work of supererogation, the money you pay them is no equiva- lent for the service they render you. What you furnish them is a few soiled and flimsy nigs, neither pleasant to the eye, nor good for food, nor to be desired to make one warm. What they furnish you is shelter, conven- ience, comfort, beauty, grace. Your bank-bills might lie in your purse till the world's end and you be none the better for them ; but what the carpenters have done for you rests before your eyes new every morning, fresh every evening — a thing of beauty and a joy forever. I hear it said sometimes that such a man is a great benefactor. lie gives work to so many pco])le. Not a bit of it — they give work to him. What he gives them is money. What they give him is woven cloths for raw cotton and wool — stately houses for unsightly heaps of brick and stone — winding ways, graveled paths, solid fences, fertile fields — form to substance, or- der out of chaos. What keeps me in heart toward my carpenters is that my money, after all, represents to them precisely what THE WONDEJiH AND WLWOM OF CAJU'ENT/iY. 57 their work represents to mc. The reason why the iiias- ter-manufacturer, the large land holder, is not the hope- less beneficiary of his hired hands, is because the money which he pays does them the same good turn that their skill and industry do him. There is, strictly speaking, no call and no place for gratitude on either side. When my carpenter goes out of his line to build my fire, I am immeasurably thankful, but 1 am not thankful that he finishes my roofs and walls according to contract. At least I try hard not to be. That is his business. Jf 1 lend him an umbrella to go home in the I'ain, he may thank me — if he can — when it is blue cotton, and broken in the ribs, and torn at the top, and turns wrong side out on the slightest pi'ovocation ; but he owes me no thanks for cmi)loying him. I did that for my own gratification, and he accepted the employment for his. All this seems very sim[)le, yet there is much misappre- hension. "I thank Mr. Smith for the work he has given me," I hear a laboring man say, "but I don't thank him for his money, for I have earned that." AVhy, tlieii, you are not to thank him for the work. If you have really earned the money, you arc quits. If he chose you because you were the best workman, or the most accessible, that is no occasion for gratitude. If he did it because you were poor, unable to get work, or to live without it, you may be thankful ; but that is very sel- dom the case. Men usually employ the best workmen they can get, without making any draft upon benevo- lence. On the other hand, says another, "I have worked for Mr. Smith all my life. I have been faithful, industri- f)8 TWKl.y/-: MILKS F/;OM A I.KMOy. ous, and prompt;" as if that established some claim on Mr. Smith's gratitude. Hut has he not \Kud you whh equal promptness and eonstancy ? Did you work lor him beeause you h>ved him? IT somebody else would have scoured you twice the j^ay for the same work, would you not have gone [o somebody else? If you could have been sure that by setting up in business yourself you could have earned nuirc money with no more labor, trouble, or risk, would you not have done it, quite regardless of ^Ir, Smith ? Jt is true that ]\[r. Smith has used your muscle freely, and would liavc done very ill without it; and when he sets up to be your beneiactor, 1 withstand him to the face, and tell him that he is no more your benefactor than he is your benelieiarv. Hut vou also have tVecly used his cajMtal, sagacity, and credit, and have, in a commercial sense, no claim on him beyond what is mentioned in the bond. " 'i'cn years ago," says my tViend the gas-}>ipe-maker, ''a young man worked lor me who never could have made a mechanic! but he found he could buy and sell, and he went into the business of selling leather, ]\e- })ort has it that he made ten thousand dollars last year. I don't believe that a single man that worked at makinsr that leather made a thousand dollars. Durinsr the ten years T have worked steadily, adding to the wealth of the world, and haven't been able to accumulate a thou- sand dollars in all that time Skill iu tradiui?, in taking advantage of others, is the road to success.'' This is undoubtedly a fair statement, except, perhaps, the implied identity of "trading and taking advantage of others;" but what then? 77/ A' WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CAUl'KSTUY. 59 "Wliy, then," says my rriciul, intonsifying liis liard- slii[)S by i'ep(3lili()ii, "I tliiiilc I am ns iiiLellig'cnt a man as he. 1 know tliat I liavc got as much education, and I know I am a first-ratc workman at my trade; yet he makes ten thousand a year, and 1 with dilliculty g(;t a res];)ectable living." That may be, but whose fault is it? llcnv shall we induce liim to assume your difficulty and relinquish to you his income? "There is no remedy," sa3's my friend, with the en- ergy of despair. "The Creator of the world when he made it established this law. The strong shall consume the weak, and the strong have been robbers and thieves from that time to this. The poor and weak don't like it, and I can see but one way of escape: that is, become strong tliernselvcs, become robbers and thieves, for that is what it amounts to." Now here, under a rough shell, lies a kernel of truth, and of ultimate truth. Not by complaint, petition, or declamation can the weak csca[)e the j)enaltics of weak- ness, but by becoming strong. Strength is not plunder, but it is power. IMie weak arc not necessarily victims, but they often arc sufferers. Who is the robber when the trader gets ten thousand a year and the workman barely one? The young man confessedly could not be a mechanic, and could buy and sell. Was he wrong, or did he wrong any one, when he ceased trying to do what he could not do, and began doing what he could do? One man is as good a workman as another is a trader; but which demands the most or the highest skill? 'JMic workman works on dead matter, however 60 TWULVU MILES FMOM A LEJilOK skillful he is — works by routine. The laws of wood and water, and metal and fire, are well known and un- chan2:eable. The work to be done to-morrow is the same that was done yesterday. But the trader deals with what are to human vision uncertainties. He must look the world over. He makes ten thousand this year, but he may lose twenty thousand next year. The am- bition of a foreign emperor, nay, the advent of a little caterpillar, may overthrow his plans and baffle his cal- culations. His mental faculties must be perpetually on the alert. A single error of judgment may precipitate fiital disaster. The workman may go on if he choose thinking of nothing, noting nothing, but the material that lies before him. Is it robbery, is it unjust, that the strain and stress of all the powers should receive a larger remuneration than the partial employment of a few ? that the absorption of mental faculties should be counted a thing of far greater value than the occupation of phys- ical faculties? When the trader loses ten thousand a year, does the workman complain that he loses nothing, or that his loss is as small as his j^rofit in proportion to his employer's ? And, again, if the young trader makes ten thousand to the workman's one, why does not the workman turn trader? The trading thief or robber can not prevent him. If he choose to leave his bench and set up a counting-room, the world is all before him where to choose. . The successful trader began on as small a cap- ital as the unsuccessful workman. He has no power to force men to buy or sell. He may, of course, lie ; doubt- less he often does lie ; but it is not an inherent part of THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 61 the business. Trading is not necessarily taking advan- tage of others, any more than it is taking advantage of yourself, unless it means that every thing ought to stay where it is forever. The trader may be just as much a benefactor as the workman. If a poor widow kills her cow, or loses it by accident, she is far better off to have the leather-dealer's money than she is to retain the cow's hide. He does not rob her by buying it. He does not even take advantage of her any more than he gives advantage to her. He may, owing to her igno- rance, put her off with half price ; but that is cheating, not trading. So the shoe-maker puts cheap leather in one shoe and good leather in the other ; but that is not a part of shoe-making, it is cheating. When the leather- dealer sells his leather, he is not the benefactor or the beneficiary of his purchaser. In fact, I can not see why the leather-dealer is not adding as much to the wealth of the world as the leather-maker. Leather laid up on the shelf is not wealth; it is leather in circulation that is wealth. Take away leather-selling, and leather-mak- ing would quickly follow. Take away leather-sellers, and leather-makers would have a far harder time than they have now. It is because long trial has established the fact that, on the whole, it is better for producers to appoint some person to carry their produce to market than it is for each producer to leave his work and go to market himself, that these middle-men exist. It is be- cause, on the whole, good middle-men are more rare than good workmen, that middle-men are paid so much more than workmen. That workmen do not ostensibly appoint traders, does not affect the case. The supply 62 TWELVB MILES FROM A LEMOX. of trade comes at the iloniand of ^York. One workman is just as free to leave his bench and turn trader as another. If he can not do it — if he docs not like it, or docs not feel able to succeed in it — it is no fault of the trader. It is a matter that lies between him and his Maker. A man may just as well complain of being- robbed of his iust rights because he has not the strength of a horse, the buoyancy of a bird, the swiftness of the wind, as because he has not the breadth of vision, the keenness of perception, the rapidity and correctness of judgment, necessary to constitute a successful trader. If these are to be compassed by his own ctlbrts, it is his own fault that he has them not. If they depend upon the Creative Will, who is to blame for the deficiency? In our country loose thinking upon matters of polit- ical economy has not yet been largely disastrous ; but over the sea the battle is fought with blood and lire and vapor of smoke. My friend who talks of traders as rob- bers and thieves is apparently not f:ir from the position of those Eed Eepublicans of London who avowed to the world, one Easter Sunday, "that the accumulation of property was robbery, and that those who accumulated it were not only thieves, but murderers." ^Mv friend's reason is that himself, a good workman, makes but hard- ly a respectable living, while the trader — a man of no more intelligence or education than himself — makes a fortune. To this it may, indeed, be said, "You, if you could do what the trader does, would receive the same returns;" but there are so many points which ought to enter into the comparison that one must be chary in ac- ceptip.g his conclusions. The money Avhich a man ac- THE WONDERS AND WIHD03I OF CARPENTRY. 63 cumulates depends not only upon what be earns, but upon what he spends, and upon how he spends it. 1'wo men will work side by side in the same shop upon equal wages. One buys cigars and wine, frequents balls and billiards, hires horses and carriages, procures fine clothes for himself and his family, takes frequent holidays, and finds himself at the end of ten years no richer than at the beginning. Another abstains from all sensual in- dulgence, finds amusement in the society of his fam- ily, carefully invests his small surplusage every month, and at the end of ten years, without speculation, or any means except industry and prudent investment, is the owner of ten thousand dollars, and has besides lived a life as happy, and reared a family as comfortable, as re- spectable, as well educated, as his neighbor who bas spent bis all. Of course sickness or inevitable disaster may make a man's effort unsuccessful, but that is not robbery or thieving; and I know — for I have seen it again and again — that a good workman, by steady ad- herence to his trade, by forethought, economy, and a wise disposition of bis money, may not only earn a com- fortable living, but may lay up resources for bis old age, and leave a sufficient legacy to bis children. Let me see how a man and his wife manage tbeir earnings be- fore I pronounce robbery and plunder to be the cause of their impecuniosity. The self-denial, the rigid economy, the wise fore- thought, which many ricb men practiced before they be- came rich, and which was a part of the system whereby they became rich, is more than many poor people prac- tice all their lives. To walk when vou can not ride is (U TWKLVK .1///.A"N FKOM .1 /.A'.l/O.V. not soll\loni;il. Sv^ltMonial is to walk whoa yon onn vidi\ ;nul tlirifi is to tako tho nionov tor invosunont. Kxponditiuv is not o\travni;an*.v. Tho poor aiv olion nu>iv oxtnivagani than tho vioh. lnipn>vivlonoo doos woi^o for tho Ibnuor tlian ostontation tor tho kittor. It iv^ truo tltat tho intoUigonoo ot' tho worknian may bo givator than that of tho Irador. A man ignorant and ahnost stupid in litorarv, soionlitio, or jvsthotio mattors may bo suooovssful a^^ a Irador; but ho is always skillt'nl. Ho is koonly intolligont as to tho stato of tho markot. as to what will bo a gvHH\ objoot to tako hold oT. as to tho oomparativo valuo of stooks; and it is this koonnoss, this spooial intolliiivnoo, whioh is so handsomoly iv- wardod. It' tho workman will booomo similarly and equally intolligoi\t> ho, tvH\ will bo equally rowai\lod. .Hut to stand with lowoiMiig bivw and arms akimbo, atul muttor "thiol"' at\vl *Mvbbor/" is i\oithor hero nor there. Ho tnay, like his brother ol' Franoe, beeome a Kod l^e- yniblioan. without tho exouso whioh his brother of Kranoo onu plead ; but when he has aeeomplishod his end. and pix^porty is rodistributovl and trader and work- man nveivo by law tho same wage, it is a question whether ho will, on the whole, tind lite easier. "rultivated people," eonlinuos my tViend, "live on the industry of others. Oultivaiod people, you s;\y. ai\> what the country needvS. We don't need them in this }^;lrt of it„ at any rate, for and vieinity aiv ovei^ tlowing with them, atul a n\ore sellish or meaner elass ot' people don't exist," rmotioing on this sound and Sivlutary principle, it is to bo ho}>od. good friend, you aiv doing all you can to 77//'; WONUF.ItH AND WISIXtM to churcfi, for tlic clcrp^y arc noto- rioN;-;Iy mean, Kcl(i:-',}i, an^l ciiltiv-'itcl, la/ily loiiti;/in;.^ ir; wealth which thf;y have extorted from the jjainn oC their pcojde, riotounly living on th(; induHtry of otficrn. You rnuHt never attend concortH, for the concert in mad*; by perKoriH wlio liave cultivated their voices to tlic laKt de- gree by uninterrriitting indoI*;nec. You munt hear no lecturcH, for the lecturer, urdcHS ho i.s a m^-a-j poor one, nf;ver added ho rnucli as a gas- pipe to the world's wealth. You rnuHt not buy books or magazines or ncwHj>apers, illustrated or otherwise, for you are thereby countenancing the droning swarm of writers and artists who have drifted through college, and sauntered through a[)prenticeslii[), and iiave now fastened upon the hard- working mechanic, the pure and virtuous gas-piper, wlio hfis been really doing something for the world, and force him to the book-stall to buy u J/arpn'rH /iazar for ten Cf;nts, wliilc they themselves do nothing but scratch a wof)dcn block or make black marks on white paper, whicli noljody can eat, drink, or wear. You must not scrifl y'inv children to school, for you are therel^y not only fjam[)ering those bloated aristocratH who live on the irifluHtry of others, the mean, eiiltivated, and Kelfi.sh school-teachers, but you are directly rc-enforcing their ranks by turning your own eliildren into "cultivated pcoj)le;" nor must you have them taught at home, for in so doing you will only change the place and keep the jKiiri. You must denude your house of carpets and (U) TWKLVE MILES FEO.V A LKMOX. curtains, and pictures and looking-glasses, and paint and paper, lor they are all means of grace and "cultiva- tion." Nay, I do not know on what princi})le you can retain your gas-pipes, for we can be just as liealth}'^, and some say healthier, without them. People lived con- tented and died in peace before gas-pipes were thought of. They do not add to the world's wealth, exccj^t that mineral wrought into gas-pipes brings more money than mineral in the rough. But, just so, words wrought by those cultivated villains, the newspaper writers, into editorials, or by selfish, idle, cultivated novelists into stories, bring more money than words lying around loose in the dictionary ; and it is what cultivated peo- ple have done that makes your gas-pipes worth while. "When you have sent out of your house every thing which cultivated people have sent into it, you will have very little use for gas. "Whether, then, we look at the amount of vital force you put in your work, at the act- ual necessity of your work to the world, or at the hap- piness which your work brings to tlie world, we see no reason wdiy you, as well as the writer, the preacher, the orator, the singer, the trader, should not be reckoned in the ranks of those who live upon the industry of others. It is only when you have stcadilistly set your face and your children's laces toward the huts, nuts, and naked- ness of the noble savages from whom you descended, that you are living up to your principles, and advan- cing your country in the path of true glory. AVhen the relation between cmplo3'er and cmploved is further complicated by a relation between man and woman, our confusion becomes worse confounded. It is THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARrENTRY. G7 difficult to keep the mercantile and the sentimental sep- arate. One of our stock stories, to illustrate the wickedness of the existing relations between man and woman, tells of a young woman who sought employment in a store. The owner offered her a certain sum per week. " That," said she, "will just pay my board, but what shall I do for clothes?" He made an insulting reply. Such is the total depravity of male employers. But why did the young woman lay herself open to insult? The man was a villain, but as long as she kept on proper ground he staid there too. When he had named his terms, it was for her to accept or decline, not to argue. It was no affair of his what she did with her money, or how she got her clothes. All that concerned him was the value to him of her services. When she began to consult him about her wardrobe, she at once abandoned commercial and assumed confidential rela- tions with him, and, as he was a bad man, he answered her according to his badness. There is nothing to show that the cloven-foot revealed itself till she furnished the opportunity. Men are worse than women. There can be little doubt of that; but sometimes I think their badness would be more smothered out of sight if women were more discreet — shall we say, more high-minded and iuia[)proachable? It is sincerely to be wished that the relations between employer and employed were more friendly; that each should see that their interests are not antagonistic. As men are not mere machines, but reasoning and emo- (IS rwtci.iF .\ni rs /••/.•ci/ .1 /.r.i/o.v. lioual nnmials, il. is a |mI\ that tln^ I'art .sliouKl nol l>o takni ail\anla.'\o o{\ and tlial thost' who aio hoiiml l>>- }-\("thrr by tios ol' Inisiiu'ss .shoiiKl not, also ho luuuul by hrarly muMl-l'oMowshii . I>ul {\\ow is no basin \'ov f>:oo(b folhnvship without a tlioiou;',h uiuh'istamhti;'; on bvMli siilos of I ho Jnstii'o ol" I ho oaso. So Ion,";, Itowovor, as ihofo is n\isap|n"ohonsion, iiaitatuni, anti i^':noranot\ iho ntosi, l, vn\ly Chiistianity, but national t>\istonot\ soonis lo riM|niro this. Thoio aio tnnos whon \\\o oast, soonis roihlonin;'; with tho dawn o[' iho poi'loot. day. Its ooniing snnshii\o slirs onr hoailH. 'IMio air is soil with its warmth, swoot with Us bahns, slimnlalin)>: with its bi\H':*.os. It is ploasant to \\\c, it is oasy to b** tolorant ; {\\c whoK^ oarih is ;';ralo lid. \\\\\ >',ray i;i\nvs tho anrvnal sky j^athor ai^ain tho K-advMi I'londs; and tho sharp winds tt^ll ns, and thi> baro hills ropoat. thai tho porl'ov'i ilay is yot far olV; and no man ran ti'll its oomin!,v. llit. wori> ovor lawful or possiblo to bo dishoartiaioil, (>no mio.ht bo ilishoailonod b\ a oiMtain balol'ul ('\ulla- lion ovor tho rhioago tiro. Nothing t^vor moro trnly showod till* brvMliorluuHl oi'man. tho oiumioss of human- ity, than \\\c spontanoous npiisin;\ ol" tho winld to holp llio smitton oity. Hut. aK>ns;' with it all thon* was an ovil porliMit. It was tlu> nndis«';uisovl rojoioini;' ol' Si^no of tin* pov>r i>viM- [\\c iK'struiMion aiwl ruin. Tho In-st. Iiro, tlioy said, was tho pov>r man's tb'o. This is tho rioh man's tiro. Now wo shall all bo poor togtMlior. \,cl thorn .soo how j^vhhI it is. It IS \\o\ tho i^noranoi* of poliliv'al v'OvMiomy ilisplayinl 77//'/ WDNDI'llin ANh W/.'I/JDA/ ill iJiii! rcjoicm;' ii(»l, IJk; ciiIik; iiiiconi'.cioiiiiiK'i'.H l.lijil, tlio loHii '<(' l.lif, iicli i:i (|(jul>ly l.lio loHH o(* iJio ju^or, vvliicli rniik(!H il, liunciilitldc. ; l>ut, lJi<5 cIuhh (iitcliiig ic-vculcd, ll, mIiowh uh tliul, lJi<5 poor uro urniycd jif/iiitml, tlio ricJi, 'I'licy f''% no alfair of his. "Whether they live com- fortably, respectably, virtuously — whether they slave or starve — he has no responsibilit3\ The employed has no right to look to the employer for an}^ thing but the money which he agreed to pay. The reason why a strict adherence to the letter of this law does not always work well in practice is that you never can count on men as machines. Calculations al- ways fail unless men are reckoned as human, sensitive. THE WONDEltS AND WISDOM OF CAIiFENTRY. 73 intellectual beings. Whether they be rich or poor, learned or ignorant, they are all tuned to the same key. The girl in the kitchen is very unlike her mis- tress in the parlor, but also very like her. Upon her presses the same hunger for society, for mental activity, for moral sympathy — the same love of beauty, the same affection for kindred, the same religious sentiment. As in water face answcrcth to face, so the heart of man to man, and woman to woman. It is ignorance of this fact, or misapprehension of its bearings, which goes far to prevent the kindly relations which should exist between employer and employed — between persons of a common nature and common in- terests. If the untutored Irishwoman who exults over the destruction of her mistress's house and property should see herself, in consequence, at once turned out of house and home, and reduced to beggary, she would exult no more. She would sec that her mistress's loss was her own. Society has become so compact and com- plicated that the loss is too minutely subdivided to at- tract Bridget's notice ; but it is none the less there, and is just as truly hers as if she bore the whole brunt of it on her broad shoulders. When the workman earns his two, three, and four dollars a day, and sees his proprie- tor gathering in his tens and perhaps thousands a year, it seems to him an unequal and impartial distribution of awards. If the workman could suddenly be set in the proprietor's place ; if he could see by what painful steps the latter had toiled to his present elevation ; if he could see what wide horizons had to be scanned, what multitudinous features comprehended, remembered, re- 4 74 TWFLVi: JUILES FROM A IFMOX. producod; if bo could I'ool the tumult of anxieties, the magnitude of issues, the perplexity of agencies, the bit- terness of mistakes, the responsibility of losses, he would see that the carriages and carpets of the proprietor are but a very small part of his establishment. There is a revei"se side. It is impossible for the subordinate to see thiiig-s as the principal sees them. If he could do so, he would be tlie principal. But he can cert^iinly be made to feel that he is to his proprietor, as well as to himself, some- thing more than a machine. There are factory masters who are not only the emplo3'ei'S, but the personal friends of their operatives. Without trenching upon their in- dependence or their personal dignity, the proprietor does occupy toward them something of the attitude of a patriarch, a sovereign. He provides commodious and tasteful dwelling-houses, lie beautities his grounds, and even his factories, lie opens a reading-room and libra- ry, procures lecturei"s, visits schools, encourages con- certs, tableaux, and dramas. His lamily live in no re- mote sphere, apart and unapproachable, but they, as well as he, dwell among their own people. They cast in their lot with the dailv toilers. His wife and dauoh- ters know the community, their circumstances, their character, their children. Not with condescension, but with sympathy, they are always ready for advice, for aid, for the right word in the right place. There is on the other side no malice, no envy of superior position, for it is seen to be onh' a source and centre of grace. And of all that proprietor s investments in stocks and lands, in i-oads and ships, none, I venture to s;iy. bring THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 75 him in larger returns of happiness than the money and time and thought he expends in enlarging and illustra- ting the lives of his workmen, over and above the wages he has contracted to pay them. It is not a hard duty. I might almost say it is no duty at all. It is a pleasure. It makes life agreeable and interesting every day. And all the while it is doing this for the individuals immediately concerned, it is helping to solve the great problem of capital and labor ; it is helping to heal the old feud between rich and poor. It is not only patri- otic, but cosmopolitan work ; for no nation is alone con- cerned, but the whole world. So the unambitious and humble woman who makes of her maid-of-all-work a friend is not only securing good service, but is fighting her country's battles with weapons of peace. We hear in all directions the clash of the conflict. Workmen and workwomen are strik- ing everywhere for higher wages and less work, with what success it is impossible to say. Because a class of mechanics wrest from their employers ten hours' wages for eight hours' work, they are by no means successful. Because an employer secures for two dollars work which is worth three, he has not necessarily come off conqueror. The laws of trade are as uncontrollable as the laws of the sea. If either employer or employed make an unnatural advantage in one direction, trade will restore the balance by a corresponding disadvan- tage in another place. Only the philosopher may dis- cern the relation of cause and effect ; but every shoe- maker on his bench feels the effect, though he may call it by another name. 76 TWELVE MILES FJROM A LEMOX But he who lias planted his fortune on the good-will of his people has built his house npon a rock. Fire and flood may rage around him, but he has property which neither fire nor flood can sweep away. It is not always an easy thing to overcome prejudice, to disarm hostility, even to convince of friendliness ; but the work is good work, missionary work, whatever event attend it. It is a Christian service to be the benefactor of your rough, ignorant servant, even if she remain to her life's end unthankful and nnholy. It is a good thing to pro- vide opportunities for reading to a community of young men, even though they attribute it to nothing but self- interest on 3'our part. I know no precept of the Bi- ble that says, Do good to them that appreciate it, and benefit those who will thank you for it. But, as a general thing, such services are in a degree appreciated. Among our own American-born people they are intel- ligently and gratefully appreciated. A wise and gen- erous man at the head of a manufacturing people holds a position which a prince might envy. More- over, I suppose that to God is a man responsible not only for what he docs, but for all that he nn'ght do. Not only for his achievements, but his opportunities, shall a man give account in the Day of Judgment. "We are answerable for all those with whom we are brought in contact, and exactly in proportion to the closeness of the contact. Of this each must be his own judge. No rule can be laid down. It is onl}- to feel human broth- erhood. I remember, in a gay company, an amusing story was told of a man, unftimiliar with the usages of society, THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 77 who mistook the finger-bowls for goblets. It was no violent or stupid error. There is nothing in the ap- pearance of either to reveal its mission to the unin- spired mind. But one gentleman, the gayest of the gay, exclaimed quickly and sincerely, " Oh ! that was too bad ; because some time he will find it out, and be extremely mortified." The quickness of apprehension and generosity of feel- ing which enable you on the instant to " put yourself in his place " are the surest guides to wise and kindly action toward others. It is for the rich, the learned, the great, not to isolate themselves in their wealth, their enjoyment, even their cares; but to live an open and bountiful life ; to hold themselves in harmony and sym- pathy with their kind; to soothe sensitiveness, and al- lay suspicion, and disarm hostility, even though all may be unreasonable; to disseminate light to the darkened and rest to the heavy-laden ; to use their superiority, of whatever sort, for the emolument of the less favored, and not simply for their own upbuilding; to bring with their money and their power peace on earth, good- will to men. Nobody has a right to forbid the proprietor of real estate to erect a fence as high as Haman's gallows. He earned his money, or he inherited it; he, at least, owns it, and he shall appropriate it as he chooses. If he will to seclude himself from his kind, there is none to say him nay. This is logical ; but, behind the logic, how came he by the qualities that accumulate fortune? He is thrifty, but whence came his thrift? He practiced wise and wide self-denial when his now poverty-stricken 78 TWELVE MILES FEOM A LEMOX neighbor was indulging in riotous and ruinous prodi- gality. But how came he by that lofty power of self- denial ? Where did he get those eves, whieh saw the end from the beginning? Whence those high traits — independence, self-reliance, moderation in all things, quick perception, ready judgment — which have made him a master among men, while his neighbor walks wavering and feeble, a servant of servants unto his brethren ? These are questions which no man can an- swer, lie inherited his characteristics from his ances- tors, but did he choose his ancestors? A man carves his own fortunes, as he proudly asserts, but the fine eye for form and the clever hand for skill — these he did not make. At most, these he only trained. I do not say that, legally, he owes aught to his weaker brethren ; but will he not gladly, as an instinctive thank-olYering, bestow upon them as much as possible of all that his powers have brought him? He had somewhat — call it talent, genius, perseverance, self-control, sagacity — which enabled him to watch and work and wait, which has brought him at length ftime and fortune. To bid him now divide his goods among the people is to lay the axe at the root of all healthy trees. But if he, thank- ful for his great endowments, and filled with love to his kind, shall long to have all men rejoice in his light ; if he seek that his prosperity shall be the good luck of all ; if he fervently desire that they shall share in his rewards who could not share in his toil ; if his love shall wisely dispense what his wisdom concentrated ; if his great question be, not how shall he segregate, but how communicate himself — why, then, I say, happy is THE WONDEIiS AND WISDOM OF VARPENTRY. 79 that man. He is a radiating centre of life and joy, lie is rich, but lie binds to himself tlae poor by indissoluble bonds. So far as he is known and comprehended, he is beloved. All his character and influence are given, unconsciously jKjrhaps, but effectively, to the healing of the great feud between high and low. He does not waste time in sickly patronage, in sentimental charity, in namby-pamby attitudinizing; but is bis hearty, hon- est, cheery self, and desires every man to be the same. He strengthens like the sun by his own free and natural shining. He strengthens not so much by supplying outward prop as inward power. It is not what he be- stows in charity, but what he stimulates by sympathy and sustains by inspiration. It is not hard for this rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven. He is there al- ready, for the kingdom of God is within him. And of such is that kingdom. 80 TWELVE MILES FIWM A LEMON, V. SCIENCE, PUBE AND PRA CTICAL. There is one class of men to whom every one seems inclined to give whatever they ask, and that is the men of pure science. Every one is aware that Professor Pierce stands at the head of all living mathcmatici. It is not necessary to know what he is up to. Probably not a dozen people in the world do know. But no one has any doubt that mathematics is a thoroughly inno- cent calling. You open his book which represents the last results that his science lias yet reached, and you see a manuscript volume that looks very much like the ci- phering-books which the boys and girls used to make in the village schools. You learn to your astonishment that the product of two factorially liomogeneous ex- pressions which does not vanish, is itself factorially homogeneous, and its faciend name is the same with that of its facient, while its facient name is the sa,inc with that of its faciend. You are, of course, startled by this assertion, but you are somewhat soothed at seeing it followed up only by common-looking "sums" in sim- ple addition, agreeably diversified by the childish game of " tit-tat-tay," or an occasional inoilcnsive equation. As you turn leaf after leaf, and reflect that the Presi- dent and all his Cabinet, that the General Court of Afas- sachusetts, that not even Caleb Cashing knows enough SCIENCE, PURE AND PliACTKJAL. gl — I do not s;iy lo write such a book, bi.it ho iruicli as to read it after it is written — you can only exclaim, Allah il Allah! The glory of a nation which can pro- duce a man who can produce a book that nobody can read I Now, when such a man says to Congress, "I wish to ascertain what the results will be if K''=:0. Give mc an appropriation for that purpose," all that Congress need reply is, " Uow large an appropriation?" "Fifty thousand dollars," says my mathematician, for instance; and is he not worthy of it? When Professor Agassiz says, "In the centre of the South American wilderness, far up the Amazon, I suspect there is a fish an eighth of a millionth of an inch long, which I have never seen, and which, if he is the beast I take him to be, will fill the gap that yawns in my ichthyological chain ; will you please send me thither in a squadron ?" we would have him sent instantly, horse, foot, and dra- goons. To be sure, most of us would not know that fish-bone from any plebeian trout's anatomy, and can not see in the least of what consequence it is whether K" equals O or not; but that is the beauty of it. In a country so bent as ours on matei-ial, tangible products, it is a wholesome corrective to have here and there a man who loves a fish for the fish's own sake, and not for its weight at the fish-fiakes or its profits at the pro- vision stoi'cs. We shall never pre-empt the North J'ole if we find it, but it is pleasant to know that there is a North Pole. Commerce can serve itself very little of the North-west Passage, but much is gained when we have learned that we can not use it. And, after all, the uselessness of scientific research is 4-x- 82 JirAV-IA' MILKS FKOM A LhMOX. but a pleasing dream. In fact, the results of science seem to be the basis of art. You may scorn Professor Agassiz's fishes, but they will be sure to rise up in judg- ment against you. You may give the cold shoulder to Professor Pierce's K* and O's, but it is an algebraical romance. Stars rise and set, suns fire and fade, accord- ing to those inllexible little letters. Of no consequence whether K" does or does not equal O! AVhy, if K" were greater than O. yonder madcap of a comet, that is content now to give us a frisky tlirt with his tail. \YOuld let drive at us head lii-st. and shoot through us like a bullet, sending the wounded earth staggering up against ^fars, which, in it3 turn, would fall into Jupiter, which would at once break up the rings of Saturn, like any honest Internal Eevenue Commissioner; or perhaps the earth would shatter into ten thousand little pocket earths, scampering around among the dignilied planets like snow-llakes in a whirlwind; and then what be- comes of your appropriation bills? No, my country- men, unless you want the whole solar svstem to go to pieces, you will do well to give Professor Pierce, and all other wise men, ample room and verge enough to cipher out their O K's in peace and quietness. They say that men of science have their little tills like men of nescience. It is difiicult to believe it. Im- agine the provocation that could cause hot blood over a faetorially homogeneous idemfaciend, vanishing at that ! Fancy a tailing out between the jaw of an ichthyosaurus and the thigh-bone of a megatherium ! And how un- wise to let your angry passions rise over the proprietor- ship of any discovery, when your Great Falls hiero- HCIENfJE, PURE AND PR A (JTWAL. 83 glyphs were photograplied off a shingle in Philadelphia, and your Cardiff Giant was buried between two days! Surely science docs not tend to petty disputations. She goes off on a false scent sometimes, but her search is al- ways for truth. She deals with realities. She explores the eternal records. All things of to-day arc flitting compared with the ages whose trace she seeks with un- tiring eye. Nothing is unimportant, for the little as well as the great has left its foot-prints in the rocks. The vestiges of creation are the patter of the rain-drops as well as the tread of leviathan. Selfishness and small- ness are lost in this noble pursuit of the great, the van- ished, the silent unknown. And yet when Paul so heartily counsels Timothy to avoid profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of science falsely so called, the unregcnerate heart within us thrills responsive in spite of our loyalty to Professor Pierce. Ilernembering how much we have painfully learned, only to be required painfully to unlearn, what would be left, we dubiously ask, if out of our science should be taken all that which is falsely so called. "Why does the bill hit upon ninety-five millions?" asked one Representative of his neighbor, when Con- gress was discussing a bill for the Extension of the Cur- rency. "I don't know," was the reply, "unless because the earth is ninety -five millions of miles from the sun — dol- lar a mile." Is not a great deal of our scientific lore similarly val- uable ? The ocean, say the wise men, grows denser and denser the deeper you dive, till it upbears Qwary burden, 8-i TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. and the lost ships aiul the dead men siidc no more, but lie unresting on its luupiiet bosom. And when you have assimihited and survived the horror ol' this awful sepulehre, another prophet arises, and proclaims and proves that as the ocean grows more dense, compressed are all things cast into its dejiths. So the ships go down to the bottom of the sea, and the dead men lie tranquil- ly in coral caverns and grottoes more beautiful tlian art can sculpture, and there lie givetli his beloved sleep. Under the lead of the wise men, we have peopled all' the whirling worlds. We have aimed at the moon with our telescopes — we have even measured out to the moon-men the size of the smallest tower we would con- descend to look at, and have told them where to place it if they wish us to see it. And now, lo! the moon- men have the laugh on us, for, say the astronomers, they struck their tents ages ago as silently as AVashington stole away from Long Island, and left only a scarred, sullen, deserted, irreparable ruin, which we have all this time been staring at as the happy home of our nearest neighbors ! But }ierhnps the astronomers of the next age will bring them back again ! In the warm and ]ileasant weather, lingering under the apple-trees, that have busily and cheerfully repaired the ravages of the canker-worm ; lounging on the thick and verdant turf, which in mid-August is green with the greenness of June; w'atching between the leaves, scarce astir, the deep blue sky from which the swift, incessant lightning has burned every speck of vapor, every trace of impurity, we arc easily won over to a fierce and sav- SCIENCE, rUUE AND J'JiACTICAL. 85 age summer. But fierce and savage some summers arc, though on this sunny nooiuhiy it roars us so gently that we foi'gct how angrily storms may thunder along tlie months, rumbling, rattling, ci'ashing, day and night. Who can unfold the trouble in the skies? If a change is accomplishing in the surface of the sun, do the sun- dwellers know it? How much alteration can the spheres stand without suH'ci'ing? We have been all our lifetime subject to bondage, through fear of the comets that were careering through the heavens; and now, it seems, we liave been hit a thousand times, and never knew it! A saucy comet whisks its tail in our faces, and we do not so much as wince. It dashes head foremost against the steady-going earth, and we only say, "What a lovely haze of Ilelvellyn veils the hills to-day I" N:iy, the poor comet, the wild water-sprite, the unsouled Undine of the skies, fails and falters and falls to pieces, and we feel no shudder. The comet that was expected does not ap- pear, a few little meteors flash, a red-hot stone or two drops upon our globe — that is all we know. Have a thousand such comets fallen into the fiery envelope of the sun ? Have any wandering worlds finally given up searching for their lost way, and dropped exhausted into tho photosphere, adding to the flame that warms our world? Certainly something has stirred the solar fire. We know it, if the sun-folk are not aware. If that cen- tral orb be indeed the heaven of heavens, its happy denizens feel no disturbance. But even if it be, like ours, the residence of a race that is as yet in an early stage of development, perhaps they dwell securely on that black inner sun which peeps here and there through S(> TW£Lyi: MILES FROM A LKMOX. the radiance, and Nvliioh ^vo call sun-spots. Docs the photosphere turn to thciu its shady side, or are they so orgaiiized as to bask in the photosphere just as \Ye do, only a little farther oiV? We love their sunshine nine- ty -live millions of miles away. Perhaps they take their sun-baths at arms-length. But we may add in an aside, they must be more easi- ly suited than we. For yeai*s that part of the heavenly system Nvhieh is called New England has sulfered from drought. \Vhen the celestial inliuences interfere with my butter-box, I know it. Long time the cry has been : '•Can't make much butter this year. Pastures so dry, cows all dry up.'' Yesterday, in the drenching rain, came the familiar chant: "Can't make much butter this year" (I pricked up my ears). ''So much wet, can't get no cream on the milk !'' Heave your magniticent and magncsian billows, oh! tumultuous and wiathful sun; lire us up to scorching jMMut, cool us with sheets o( rain, purity us with your lightnings, and deafen us with vour thunders; but do not flatter yourself that you can conciliate a bold yeo- manry, our country's pride. "We have cut our eye- teeth, and are not to be cajoled by a thunder-shower. Kevcrtheless, I observe that, while the earth rcniaineth, whatever becomes of seed-time and harvest, whether the bow bo set in the cloud or whether there's no rain left in heaven, so sure as Aurora scattere the humid shad- ows from the skies, and Saturday rises with the first Kons, so sure comes my butter, yellow and sweet and undiminished. But the thunder-showers arc terrilic. If we were liv- SCIENCE, PURE AND PRACTICAL. 87 ing in Central America, wc should expect lizards, and centipedes, and tornadoes, and all Central Aineiican ways and weathers. In the temperate zone we count on temperance, and have not schooled ourselves for such license of the heavens. A moderate and reasonable tem- pest, coming on a sultry afternoon, sending its compli- ments seasonably, and clearing into a splendid sunset and a starry evening — this we make up our minds to, and encounter with fortitude; but to have a cloud drop down plump on your apple-trees, stay there for hours, go pop, pop, pop, like a Brobdignagian pistol, the whole time, then disentangle itself, make as if it would sail away, and so lure you to sleep, only in an hour to be awakened by a rumble and a grumble, and find that rogue of a cloud back again in your apple-trees, pop, pop, popping his pistol, and setting your room alight with red-and-blue fire for a week at a time — why, that is another thing! It is all very easy to take a spectroscope and tell what the universe is made of, which nobody can deny. You may speak great swelling words of progress, and ex- pound the thunder-storms in sesquipedalian dialect, dis- turb the photosphere, and throw up oceans of magne- sium around the sun, to account for our thermometer gone mad. You may announce as authoritatively as you please that the smallest spot on the sun is fifty bill- ions of miles in diameter, or that Neptune consists chief- ly of hydrocianic acid, and I can only make great eyes at you, and get my living by day's work all the same, while you go up and down in the newspapers for a sa- vant, become an honorary member of all the learned 88 TWKl.VK MilJ^S FKOM A iJiWO.V. si:>cietii\^, and wag a tail to vour luuuo twomy lotioj-j? long. But wlion it comes to practiojvl nvailability, it is Yonr turn to make groat ovojn \Vhon leaving the stai"s and the gases, eentral tires and supren\e oilier, nyo de- s^.vnd into the ivgion ollunnan lite and oK^ervution, wV- ethY sho\YS a tVight ful tendeney to wabble. 1 f she can not invent a lightning ivd strong enough to keep us iVoni l>eing thunderstruek, and it" we are to have our houses burned over our heads in broavl daylight by the unknown ineeuvliarios ot* the spheres, what has she to boast ot"? The main laet we all know. Lightning will follow the path oi' least resisianee. It is a la/.v lellow, for all its wild ways. It is no pioneer, atul never goes otV in a tangx?nt unless obliged to do so. If, then, you will make for it a highway from the watei"s whieh are above the firmament to the watere whieh atv under the tir- mament, you may ivckou on its peaeeful transit. Inii praetioaliy theiv aiv so many toll-gj\tos on this turnpike that it amounts to a closed rc>ad. If the ii"on track stops short of the nether waters, you are but drawing the lightning on your own head. Nay, even a falling leaf, they tell us, lodgvd against the rod, will throw tho electric train from the track, to scatter ruin through tho house. So it stands : 1. A perfect Hghtning-iv>d is a pen'eet sateguanl. 2. A perllvt lightning-ivd is next to an impossibility. o. An imperfect lightning-rod invites the tluid. Oh ! wheiv shall rest be found? In the meeting-house, says the man of science; but he is also a clergyman, and his testimony is without weight, because \inder bias. He says that chuix^hcs are HCIENCJ!!, rUJtJ'J AND J'UACTICAL. 80 never 8truck ; and, when accused of "nljop," expluiriH that the Kpires act an conductf^rH, and that high houKcs in thickly-settled cities arc always exempt. 1 question his premises; but the world is wide, and I can not at this moment disprove his negative. I know there was once a village set on a rock, and the professor of science made allegulion that it never had been, and never couhJ, would, or should be thunderstruck, by reason of its position ; and before the young summer was old, down came a thunder-bolt and shivered his theory to atoms. Let the lightning play its fantastic tricks, says an ig- norant but devout Ijclievcr; we shall yet discover its secret, '^i'he world long suspected itself to be going round. It was left f^r our later days to prove it by the greater wear of the eastern rail on all railroads running north and south. As the earth is constantly whirling from west to east, of course it throws the train more heavily on the eastern rail, and Wisdom is justified of her children. But meanwhile the unwearied lightning gleams on, just as fresh each day as if it were then flashing its first fury. And the violently fearsome betake them- selves to feather-beds, and fall ill with irresistible ter- ror ; and the less affected lie on sofas, and try to read ; and even the drcadnaughts sit quietly and count one, two, three between the flash and the report; and, just as you begin to think the worst is over, and Faint-heart ventures to leave the feather-bed and gaze wistfully from the window for light in the west, flash go the skies again, crack goes the pistol, and back darts the deer to her trusted covert. 90 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. I have a chimney wliicb I would fain convert into a cistern, and I call in vain upon the learned, far and near, to answer me the simple question : How many cisterns of water can there be in a box as big as a brick chimney torn down ? Response is none, for the ques- tion is a practical one. You can measure the sun, hit or miss. A few millions of miles, more or less, will never be detected; but if my water-works run dry, ruin and disgrace impend. You do well not to commit yourself So, as the former said to his boys, I will even try it myself. We boast of our educational facilities in Amer- ica, nor need we fear the bigot's rule while near the church spire stands the school, and all that. I am an American citizen, and surely 1 ought to be able to ci- pher out a cistern witli the bricks before me. I wanted it eight feet long, eight feet wide, and six feet deep. But then came a drought, and I deepened it two feet. Then, as the drought grew sore, I extended my cistern in my mind's eye, Horatio, two feet in all directions, and then the man came and said he made them round after the similitude of a pot. Very well. In our en- lightened age and free country, we ought not to find it impossible to put a round man in a square place, and the problem was to make a round cistern big enough to hold ten feet long, ten feet wide, and ten feet deep. Come up, now, common schools, free institutions, man- hood suffrage, and tell me how big it must be. I take down Greenleaf's arithmetic. Seventeen hundred and twenty-eight inches make one foot. Plain sailing. Is there any thing anywhere that tells how many gallons SCIENCE, PURE AND PRACTICAL. 91 to a foot? Yes, ale gallon, two hundred and eighty- two; ■wine gallon, two hundred and thirty-one. But my cistern is not to hold ale, and I am no Duke of Clarence to drown myself in Malmsey wine. What I want to know is how many gallons of water can I get into my round cistern ten feet square, and Greenleaf does not know; and as for making a globe out of a cube, Greenleaf stares at it precisely as Sam Weller stared at his father in the court-room — that is, he looks the other way. You would think he never heard of a cube or a globe. The ages of hapless infancy that we have all lavished on arithmetic might well draw tears such as angels weep, and the very first time in my life that arithmetic had an opportunity to be of use to me, it all dropped apart. It is an ingenious enough science to torment innocent and helpless children with, but it can not build a cistern. I must toss my mathematics aside, lay off my garland and singing robes, go down meekly to my waiting workmen, and, instead of the scientific formula with which I had intended to awe them, say like a dullard, "Keep digging till you have made a hole big enough to put all the bricks in out of the chimney, which is a hundred and fifty years old, and large in proportion." And I have a beautiful cistern, no thanks to science, but there is nobody in the heavens above, or the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth, not even the men that made it, who can tell how large it is. With Universities, and Smithsonians, and Polytechnic Insti- tutes in full blast, the only way to measure off your cis- «)2 TWELVE MIL I :s Fh'OM A l.h'.UOX. It'i'ii is li)buiUl a cliiiniioy, and tluMi kiuu-k it, down and (.'ounl, []\c. brii'ks. And wo jM'al.o of Scicnco! .Hut l*aul and I add undor our broalli, '' l*\ilsely ho callod." I should liko. 1() know, toi>, if ihevo is any jum'sou williin tlio nioniory t)l' men still living wlio has not supped I'ull of the horrors rcsulling iVoni using load pipes. If wo aro to boliovo the books, Eve's apple was an innoi'ont and harndoss thing compared with a bit of load pipo. l>isoaso dwelt in the outer darkness till slio was oonduolod into our world through a loatl pipe. Science can not build me a cistern, b>it she can poison all the pleasure to be derived from it. Long ago wo heard and received into devout and believing hearts all the scaring stories, and rejoiced in our old-fashioned but wooden pump, and ascribed our vigor and health to iniro, fresh water, till one day the pump was taken uj) to bo mondod, and lo, like Milton's Sin, it was no wood- on pump at all, but only soomoil wooden io the lloor and fair, but ended foul, in a load pi[>o! So tluMi, after ascertaining that in spite o[' years of poisoning we still lived, the old punij) was thrown aside and a new one bought, with galvanized iron pipe, de- vised, coinmonilod, ami roeommonded by wise men of the East as safe and salubrious. !No rust could corrode it nor poison distill from it, and wc drank that our souls might live. Now comes up Science again with a som- ersault, as cheery as if she had never missed the mark, and warns us if there is any one thing more deleteri- ous and deadly than another it is galvanized iron, for whereas orilinjuily the poison is an incident to the pipo. HCIENCE, rURE AND J'lUCTICAL. 93 this j)i])C sets to work with double forces to make poi- son. Go to. AVo be all tl(;:i(I men. "But oh!" mouths Science, with no accession of mod- esty, " wc have discovered something altogether won- derful. Lead is fiital and galvanized iron deadly, but if you will fill lead ])ipes with the warm, concentrated solution of sulphide of s(xlium till it forms an insoluble sulphide of lead, th(;y will be j)erfectly liarmlcss." They will, will they ? l^'or how long? By day after to-moi-row you would set us all digging out the insolu- ble sulphide of lead as the arch-poisoa of the whole solar and human system. Away with your pipes and your poisons, and let us go back to the old oaken bucket that has no nonsense about it. I suppose one can swallow a rope if he likes and nobody hurt. Or will you tell us presently that the combination of the hempenatc of oakum with the hydrogen of water forms a hyper-hcmpehydratc utterly destructive to the cere- bral tissues, the cordic ganglia, and the body politic gen- erally ? AVhcn Science knows her own mind, it will be time enough for her to dogmatize about our bodies. Until then, we of the Ignorami may as well rest assured that men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for lead, and cultivate the cheerful spirit of that incredulous mother in a certain rural Israel, who, when condoled with for a supposed liver complaint, replied heartily, " I don't know but my liver and my lights is both gone ; but if they be I don't know it !" Ill •nYi.'LVM! Mll.KS rUOM A Lh\\HK\. VI. l.1//7;/(M A' /.VI7'.V7.7().VN. 'riii'.uiv livos :i man, swoUon wiih spirilual priiK*. wlio has (ravrKnl along u\\ watiM'-pipos dcc\^ down into tlio vallov o[' lmn\ilialion. l-'rom tho boginniiig ho lookod wilh iho oahii, oxasporalui!.;' t^vo of siipiM'oiHous sooni uj>ou phvns niul aoooiuphshnuMiis. " Wator-works are vanity niul voxation ol' spirit." was tho IuiviKmi o[' his song". "A houso wiih nunlorn inipiovrnuMiis is tho Taiitahis ot" I'iviH/.atioii. ^'oll bought. :i bivad-knoador oi\i'o, auil it took K>n!>or to oK'an iho thing, nrtor vcui had usoil It. than it dul to knoail and bakv^ tho bread." "No, Hassan, I only KH>kod at it. ami wanted to bny it. but dill not, broauso yoii ritbouKHl it .so." '' \'oii will liiid that it will I'ost about as niiu'li, lu oaro and nioiu^v, to korp your hydraulics going as it. will to koo}> a. hor.^o. Thoro will always bo soinotlung bursting, or somothing ologgod. or soniotliing running OV01-. or somothing giving out. \'ou will lia\o to watch it a.«^ olosoly as a two-yoar old baby ; and ymir attompt. to lotch wator out o[' that rook into this liotiso will bo like running two milos to oatoh a horso to rido ono. I am not surprisoil at your dotormination to ruin your- soll'. but 1 am surprised that you show no origiu:ility in tho movlo. ^'ou ari' simply ruining voursolt, prooisely as thousituds havo dono boloio vou.' ,1 ,1/A7.7' M ,V INVIi:N'n(>NS. 1)5 "Wli;il. ;i. I.liioii;', of iii;iliy W')|(|;i, my (VicikI I |;i;',;;;iii, (liiiiil; Willi Ix'cr, li;i,",l, I, lion (;|i<.I;<'ii|" HiiyH I'cow.mH', in IJh! oIiI r';i >;<»ii poem. Hill, wIh'Ii IJm; W')|1; w;i:i , Hlioiildrr ("or HoiiiclJiiii;'; l.o (;it;i,|.c, u div('rnioii? A m;iii docji no liulu to f^ivo ill I And wli<;n Uic kIi.mi)) winl.cr <;!i,ni(i ii[)oii iiH lik'(! u Hl.roii;^ iiinn iiinicd, and I ro:!c. in i.lio moiiiin;' Id (iiid III! irjcjc, piol.i iidiii;'^ IVom cvry liM.lc Hilv(;r I»i|Kr, 1 coiilcMH I had inii-'.j.MViiij-^s inyHcH'; bill, iiH- Hidiioiis niiiMlnj';, wilJi llaiin<:lM and liot, wal.c.r, Hooii r(!- niovd I, he, diniciill.y, ami <;aic. and ,M;i;s'H;il.y |irrvcnl.c.d ilH nKaiircncc. ; and llaKHUii l.lio Turk ii-t ready l.o ^iin,w liiH licarL out with niinornc!, b(!(;aiiH(! nothing haH ocvmywA to jUHtify his /.doomy (brcbodiiigH, or to rnaku iny HyH- t(!iri oC irri^Mition any l.hiiij.'; but, an iiiiiiiitij.';at(!d :iiid, aCtf^r tli(! fii'Kt oiil.l;iy, an inc,xp(!nHi V(! lilrHHin,";. hd, no body bo df'l.c.ircij I'loni bnnyin;', water into hi.'i hoiiiW) by TcaiM of (iiiluK; and pci plcx il y. Von ini;j;lit jiiHt UH well. Hto|) tho circnlatKMi ol" blood in tlio body be- cause) il is subject to derarig(!iri(!iit, us to refiise, tlii! circu- lation of* water in tiio house bcicaiisc inm and l.lirn a \>\\)^^ oveifIf)WH, and your fnjscocjs arc ruined, (iood work- iiK-n will prevfMit siujh a,ceident; but if they can not, {.dv, ii|) yoni- (Vcscoch; do not rove up your lifeblooiJ, Wh'ii I ;;i:le. It is a good thing for a man to do, but it does not bring him up to the level of a woman. Having in- vented all, he is but an unprofitable servant, and has not done half that which it is his duty to do. Still I AMERICAN INVENTIONS. 97 ;irn ^dad he lias done something. And when skill and iijgenuity are united willi modesty, they form a com- bination, and produce a result which the highest need not scorn. "I have got something at home I should like to put up in your kitchen bcibrc your carpenters are through," said my fiiend tiie Churchman. I smiled benignly, not having the smallest j)remo'ntion that I was entertaining an angel unawares. But it was even so. The "some- thing" proved to be an apotheosized clothes-horse, "the Dryad," as it has been christened by Hassan the Turk. Every one knows the old-time clothes-horse that stood by the kitchen stove, cumbrous, and always in the way. The Dryad consists of three long poles, an assortment of wheels and pulleys, a cord and tassels, a porcelain knob, a gold ring, and a bracket or two. The greater part of it is at the ceiling. When it is not in use, it is all at the ceiling, except the knob, and ring, and cord, and tassels, which cheerfully ornament the window. When the clothes are ready to be placed upon it, the ring is slipped from the knob, and the Dryad glides gracefully down within reach. A little pull on the cords, and she glides gracefully back to her native skies, bearing her snowy blossoms. There they bloom on high till they are ready to be plucked for the bu- reau drawers, and in the warm air of those upper re- gions their dampness is won away or ever you are aware, and they can be removed so speedily that tlierc is small chance of spot, or stain, or smoke ; nor can the frisking kitten, by never so great leaps, pull the clear- starched muslins, for playthings, to the flooi'; nor do 5 98 twi:lvi; miles fmom a lemon. your Turks ever run against them in the dark; and moreover, it is always there ready to your band. As its value gradually dawned upon me, I wondered I had never seen one before, and that all the kitchens of the world were not supplied with what no gentleman's library should be without. While I was musing, the fire burned, and I summoned the Churchman, and ask- ed him, " Where did you get that Dryad ?" Why, it was one he had at home. " But where did you get it ? Where did you buy it? Who made it ? Where does the sun arise on such an- other?" Well, the man hesitated, and coughed, and finally owned to having invented it himself! The trouble with my town is its modesty. We are brimful of talent, but we hide it under a bushel. Gov- ernors come down here, and by quietly using their eyes, learn how to govern. The world has hitherto dragged its stones on a drag. We elevate our drag, depending it from a pair of old wheels in front, and resting it on trucks behind, and save great stores of power; but we do not say any thing about it. We simply do it, and men who have been parading their scientific mechanics all their life look at us and are astonished. When our fellow-countrymen entreat us to serve them in public offices, we leave our Happy Yalley, take up the cross and go, but we do not run around electioneering. When a new-comer, unaware of our delicacies and dignities, and eager to secure us for the country, and perhaps, also, to evince his own zeal and friendliness, once AMEBIC AN INVENTIONS. 99 brought down from the great city its city ways, and posted at night, by the moon's pale beams, a score of gigantic handbills, and under the rising sun all the trees blossomed in frantic adjurations — "Vote for Mr. Bbown For Secretary of State ; YoTE FOR Mr. Jones For Secretary of the Treasury," the consternation of Messrs. Brown and Jones was ex- treme. Ask people to vote for us ! Never ! We will be the people's spontaneous choice, or we will not be the people's at all ! and down came the offending hand- bills from the unconscious trees as swiftlyand as stealth- ily as if they had been the proofs of a forgery. We thank you for your friendliness, sweet friends, but do not compromise our dignity. And here comes another genius, cheating the world by his miserable modesty. He has devised a machine which every one admires, but he has no agent, never advertises it, takes no measure whatever to introduce it to a waiting world. If I insist upon having one for a friend, he thinks there is a man in Boston who had one in his shop some years ago, and he may have it on hand yet. The man in Boston blithely brings out various machines, from a clothe;: -line to a hat -rack, and pro- nounces each one, successively, to be the Dryad. He does not even remember how the creature looks, but is ready to take oath to any thing for the sake of selling off his stock. But, happily, I have seen a Dryad, and can not be deceived into accepting a dust-brush. The 100 TW^'iVK .\tnh:s /•/.'(U/ .1 1 iwio.w ('\\n\\'\\\\v.\u, uiiilvM' slroii!',' piH'ssurr. I'mMllv lliiuks ho \\\:\\ \\:\\r .srp;ir;il(> jMCi'rs riioii!',li in his h;ini to oitii- .stnu't ;v wholo luaoluno, sv> I siuwotl in oxnortiiig ono ; :\iul (ho I'aniilv iwv so pU\MS(Hl with it \\\i\l thi'v nw vwv- iiMitly rcportinl to h;m!' tho rat ami kitloi\s on it. whou thi'v h;ivi> horn on\ \\\ tlio rain. lUit an onlinary por- son, with snrh an invtMitiiMi, wouM niako a lortuno, luuKl hons(\s, he clccicd mayor (>t' tho nu-tropoHs, and luroiur a c-antlidato [or Stales' Prison in si\ months. hi luiiKlitii;" a liouso. in loniulin;'; a luMm\ thoro aro two thin!>'s whrroin it is not wcW to (\'onomi/.o — light anil hoat. ll is not. how lilllo \o\i c:\\\ Ih> t'omiortahK^ with, l>ut. lunv nuu'h \o\\ ran siHMiro. ^'on may ars.!,'UO that, you ooonpy luit one ov two roon\s, anil theso nK>no nri'il 1)0 lighti'ii. I>nt immoiliatoly yon want a. book, a. piotnro, a hit. o\' woik that, is in si>mo dark and distant. ap.artn\onl, and tho i^iMiiai I'nnonl of your sou! is iVoi'.oii. lie wlio ri^isons is lost. Thoro is no salolN hnt. in hay in;!, your wholo houso alight, and ai;low. Tho «>yiMunL!; radianoo shall ho as jUM'yadinj^' as tho hroad ami layisli snnshino. It has its own eharni. Tntler its nnld and inoUow s[)oll you loi'l your.soll'a point. o\' light in a. d;irk worKl a tiny, lixod star, soil' luminous and illumina- ting. Till* fai'i's on tho wall j',i'ow nioro honign and sympathotii'. 'V\\o\ aro no long(>r pioluros, hut. souls, jistirwith loyi< and nuMuory. All liuuiliar oolors i^f tho (lay hliMid i.\ccp and rioh in tho uiwv li.",hts and shadows. Myoii hard iMitlinos sol'ton into graoo. JMiiMuUinoss ho oomos inoro suayo and iVoo. 'PhiMV is a hroath of droani- land in tho air, and far oiVaml impo.ssihlo things bccoino uoar anil roal. Is it oidy gas, aftor all 1' AMEICJiJAM ISVICNTIONH. J (U liut in Uio country wc have npcrmaccti and kcroKcno for all our inHpiration; yet we a«k: not your pif,y, ok friend from the city; for while we reeoj/ni/e the oaHO and convenience of your gaweouH InventionH, we recog- nize alno their (liwad vantages — disadvantage of leaky pipes, and noxious Hrnf;llH, and tainted air; of faiiurcH and Kudden (JarkncHH, and flare of gaH-jets most trying to mortal eycH. We look at the bright and steady gleam of our honcKt, if cumbrous lamps, and thank J leaven that the lines have fallen to us in pleasant places. The fame of the German Student Lamp was noised abroad through the rural districts till the unsophisti- cated mind could but infer that it was, on the whole, rather an improvement on the sun, cheaper and more congenial to the eye. Whereupon the unsophisticated mind arose and went to the city on a t^jur of investiga- tion, and discovered that inexhaustible American genius had gilded the refined gold and painted the lily Vjy an invention of its own, called the American Student Lamp, The German was good, but the American was bettfjr. It was lacquer- work, and would never tarnish. It was various other things that would never become apples of Sodom in your grasp, Coiild the unsophisticated mind hesitate? Between German and American, can the patriot's choice be doubtful ? We are not on IVe- mont llow or Dock Square; we are on Winter Street, that rendezvous of respectability and reliaVjility, Ca;sar is above suspicion, and his wife never appears behind the counter. We buy the American lamp; we are fur- nished with a pamphlet library of literature bearing on 102 TWtJl.VK MILES J'HOM A LE-VOX its niechaiiistn nnd manipulation. Wo go borne and prepare to illuminate. We have eome to the eonehision that a complete mastery of the Anieriean Student Lamp is equal to a four years' course of study at the Institute of Technol- ogy. AVe have been diligently investigating it for eighteen months, \\-ith short and infrequent vacations, and have apparently come no nearer the secret place where its soul abideth than we were at the beginning. It is spherical trigonometry carried to the highest pow- er, and then merged in total depravity. It is n com- bination of globes and chimneys and cylinders and cork-screws, appalling to the natural man. It is one of those things that no fellow can lind out. There is a siphon and a tank, and a respirator, and an aqueduct^ and a series of tubes nu^tre incomprehensible than the wlieel in the middle of a wheel which the }u-ophet saw in a vision, and, like that, they turned not when they went, and, unlike that, they went not when they turned. It is a' a muddle. The only way to tell when the lamp is full is to pour till it runs over. The entire Faculty of one of our best colleges have been engaged, from time to time, in putting in the wick, and the clergy have done every thing but pray over it. In vain. AVe took the lamp and the funnily, and went to town. The lamp was set on the counter, the family stationed around it, the proprietor summoned and bidden to '• put that wick into that lamp." His knees smote together, but he said he would. It was just as easy, he said. Just slip the wick on this cylinder and wind a silk thread around it, so; and then slip the silk thread and wick AMKUIdAN INVI'INTIONS. lO.'i and cylinder inU) anoUicr eyiindor, ho; and then; was a liook ill this cylinder and a groove in tbat one, ho; and the hook would catch, and the [)r()j(!Ction would go into the groove, so; and every thing would move H{>irally and smoothly, so — only the wick would not go into the cyl- inder, and the projection would not go into the groove, and the hook would not catch, and things would not move at all, and the man's fingers trembled, and he wound and unwound, and screwed and unscrewed, and Jarnrncid and pulled with nervous haste, while we stood ai-ound gazing in grim silence. Nemesis had her turn, liy-aiid-by th(j wick nially seemed to go where it be- longed. At least it did n(jt go anywhere else, and the unhappy man took' out his bandanna and wiped the beaded agony from his brow; but not even the tor- ture ho had undergone could extort from him the con- fession that there was any other or more Hcientific way of |)Utting on the wick than the one he had just ex- liibited. It was as direct as the Chinese way of roast- ing pig by burning the sty ; but we were forced to be content, and went home rejoicing that life might be pleasant while that wick lasted, which lie said would be six weeks or two months. It is now eighteen months, and the wick has never been changed. There is no reason why it ever should be. Who buys the American Student Lamp may be sure not to waste his substance in wicks, for there is no process known to natural history by which the lamp can be made to burn. You might as well have an American student in the room for all the light you get. AVe called friends and neighbors to rejoice with us in 104 TWELVE ^fILES FIx'OM A LKMOX. this now tlamo, and wliou it ^Yns llnally kindled nyo went into the stroot to see the illumination, and the lamp was out before ^Ye were. We had meant to grat- ify our vanity with the splendor of the speetaele. and it was necessary to fetch a candle to Ihul where the spec- tacle was. ••Ami whilo the lamp huUls out to Imni, The vilest sinner ninv retuiu," gives no hope to us. It is but a delusive way of say- ing that he shall never return. Wo appealed to the seller. He exchanged it, but change of lamp is not change of mind ; and still from those flames no light, but rather darkness, visible. Ue protl'ored still further exohange ; but whore is the use of a stream of lamps going and coming from the shopman's counter to a country house like a chain-pump? We appealed to the manufacturer, Nvhose name purported to be Carleton. But there was no response. I do not believe Mr. Carle- ton made it I do not believe there is any ^[r. Carleton. The Priuee of Darkness iuvented this lamp of his own free-will, to entangle the souls of men, and a respecta- ble T^ew England linn is ready to abet him. Then the lamp began to leak, and the library table was ruined. I'hen we found it was not a fatuitous, but a fore-ordained leak. An aqueduct is diabolically con- trived to lead the oil from the globe where it is sup- posed to burn, but will not, into a tank beneath, where it can not do any thing but drip upon the table. If time be taken by the forelock, this submarine tank can be unscrewed and emptied; but as contemporary history had failed to make mention of this feature of the ma- AMERICAN INVENTIONS. 105 chine, the tank had overflowed, and scattered evil odors, discoloration, and ruin. As, however, even if the lamp does not burn, all the oil will, after a while, leak out, this little peculiarity presently ceases to be trouble- some. We love the American Student Lamp. If any per- son is fired with a desire to let his light shine in adversi- ty, we have an adversity ready to his hand. Whoever wants a lamp of excellent manufacture of the highest price, bright and burnished, and warranted not to burn, may be safely recommended to the American Student Lamp. As a safety-lamp it is unparalleled. Nothing short of nitro-glycerine could make it explode. As a testimonial of affection, it is more economical than the Ball and Black cases which inclose dollar jewelry for wedding presents. At awary Christmas and birthday festival we make somebody a present of that lamp. It has been carried to donation-parties. It has figured at Calico Balls. It has been sent to the Chicago sufferers. It has just not been dropped into the contribution-box. And still, " In that house of miseiy, A Lady with a Lamp I see Pass tlirough the glimmering gloom, And (lit from room to room." Finally, we sent it back to the seller. He notified us that it stood on his counter burning all day. We never tried it in the day-time. As a general thing, the rural districts want lamps that burn at night. For the day and the counter, doubtless the American Student Lamp is invaluable; but for the eveninpr and the home, we KX; T\yi:i.y/u' mill's /■•/,•(>.]/ a i./jmox. liiivc {!;oiu> back lo camllcH and llio jincit'iil, lamp, and llu- broad, bciiij^iiaiit, moon, as "Full slii^ I1mi('(I il, l;iin]iiiijj; Sniiiiiiiilii." Sittinjj; in tJio t.\vili_s!,lit-, wo muse over ihc. sliorU'-om- ings ol' t)iir counliy, and lamont the liurry, the siipcr- iii'ialil.v, tlic lack ol' tlioron,<;linosH, tlio liit^ii-soundiiiii; ])rot.rnsions, lln', .small and mean achii'vcnuMils wliirli disli^iiro our lifo. " Wo pridi^ oiii'solvos upon oui- iuL-H'uuil y," says on(>, ''autl wo tU'viso many things. l>ut, you can d- fcnint'^ Mn^lisli ami l*'i'cncli jiiooils to those of Ameri- can manulacluri*, and call it fashion and snobbery, and tell talcs of foreign labels on American goods, and American womiMi saiislied in ct)nse(]uiMicc. I>nt the truth is, the foi-cigu fabrics arc of better (pialily than our homo }>roducts. I'atiiotic j)coplc will oven pay a higher i>rico for an AmtMican lam}) than a(ilerman lamp, but j)atriotism ilself would not be willing to spend the remainder of its natural life in darkness lbi- ihc sak(> oi' encouraging hoim^ manufacture. The (ii'rmans arc a slow, heavy, ])U)dding race, and pcrhM}>s do not turn out so many lamps a tlay as we. r>ut when tlu'ir lamj)s are turned out, tlu>y buiii.'' "Hut it so hap])ens," says Hassan tlu> Turk, "that many olthc so-called (uM'iuan lamps ;\\v made in Amci-- ica. What then?" " Probably tJiey are tlu> (uM'man lam]is that catch live, and ai'c thrown into tlu> strei>l. 1 \\:i\v known of such. Probably they arc the lamps that explode and kill their owners. I have reail (W such." .1 MKIilCAN IN V/'J.VT/ONS. 1 ( )7 "I'.iii wIi:iL liiivc- you l.o olVcr in ])r()()l" l,li;il, exploding lumps iivi) ol' Aiiuiricuii iiiunnriicUirc, ;i,ml iJn; ii()ii-(!x- jilodiii;^ of Ibrcigii?" " NoUiing cxc(;j)L our AiiMtricjiii sillvs, wlii(;li look ko Htoiiliuid wciir HO Kliubby, uiul spot with wuLt-r." " Hut. wli(!i) you l)uy ;i Ibrcijni silk you luko your lill; in your liamls. Il, iiuiy bo rep ami hjHtroUH uiid stocky, yet bi'cuk and bo nearly AA^orthloHH. It is oidy ol' froo gruco that you got cvuti a goo(i Honnot silk." "And the Chicago l)ig" I bcthiidc tnc; witii ap|)aini carpet, the new Brnssels car- })eL t.lial. had iiad but two days' wt'ar and one {gentle Hwoc{)ing, was (U'vclopinj;' httle groujts oC scars, lilile tufts of wool, little outbursts of rags, as if some one had taken a pair of scissors and pulled uj) the threads, or as if rough hob-nailed boots had trodden and torn it. AVo watched and waitctl in consternation two days, and the little constellation thickened, till tlic lirmament of our floor was studdeil with these baleful stars. " Moths 1" said tlie white lips of disma>^, and we wrote at once to the sellers. 'IMiose car[>etdlayful gambols of lap-dt\i;s or shai'p-clawed kittens. \'ain conjet'turc, when there were neither dogs, eats, nor hob- nailed men about the house. We summoned workmen cunning in carpets. Tlu'y said the little rulHiHl rags and ravekHl yarn-ends were owing to a defect in the man- ufacture; that it was called "sprouting;" that carpets wtM'c sium'tinics thus defective, but that, no manufac- turer o[' repute would ever let such carpets go into the market. "You may depend upon it,'' said a loving but mis- trustful patriot, "that carpet. nc^viM- saw an Tliiglisli AMNHIVAN INVKNTWMS. \{]\) loom. Il, is tli(>. woik ol" sonic shoddy AuKU'iciiii niaiiii- ihclurcr, palmed oil' upon us for l<]ii'//- ijlish. was ;i syiu)uym Ibr //loroiif/Ii. In our eirelc, when we hav(; proe-ui'cd i*jn<^Iisli floods, we account ourselves to liave aecpiired the best of its kind. |{ut if Mn^^dand p;ives out, wlier(! shall patience loolc (bi- perrect work? What is the <];o()d of your not li;^litin;_'; I'russiu if you arc f^oing to send shabby, siioddy cai'j>ets into the lit- tle rural dining- rooms of America? What is the us(; of (-arls and loids sailing nround the world to s(!ttle Alabama eluims, if the great manuraeturers [)ersist in sowing the K(!cds of discord under our feet? Messrs. Merchants offer to exchange our carpet, but how shall wo know that anotluu- carjiet will not also develop vegetarian teiulencies? And what shall eompensat(5 us for the trouble, perplexity, and general disturbance of our household gods, to say nothing of our broken faith in I^lnglish fabric? J^c sure your Sfirouting cai'- 1 1 TWKL rs MILKS FROM A LSMOX pols will grow a nunv taial harvost than tlio Uragon's teeth !" The most easual reader will see that theiv is a high moral tone abont this appeal oaleulateil to strike the woolen mijul with awe. llumphrevs, Kidderminster, wero evidently impres^sed. Tliev replied that they would eon\e over in November and hvk into it. In November they ivported themselves in Boston. Did they expect a five Ameriean eitiz.en to put his carpet in his pocket and go to Boston? Because he did not, they slipped back to Kidderminster. Justice was uv^t to be thus batUed, and again stretched her hand across the briny ileep, eollaivd Humphreys, Kidderminster, and bade them rise and explain! They nuide some lame excuse, and said they would come again in .luly and thoroughh' investigate. Perhaps they will; but meanwhile it ivmains that an old English house ot" es- tablished ivputation sends into the market, and is not caiviul to ivclaim, gv>ods that would do diseivdit to the " smartest " and swil'test and shoddiest firm in Ameriejv Why, then, should we monopolize a reputation tor un- substantial fabrics? We are a country of magnitleent distances, and comparatively small and spai^so popula- tion. Our haste and superlieiality aiv born not of our character, but of our necessities. True, that way danger lies, but the encouraging symptom is that we bear our standaixi high. AVe are gradually learning to do well what at first we felt compelled to do quickly. The Cheneys are never content with a piece of silk, but are ever meditating on the next, and give the mulberry- worm no rest. Poubtlcss, the whole pork-compelling AMERICAN JNVENTIONH. 1 1 1 mirjd of Chicago, since tlie vinit of his Imperial High- ness, lias been directed to facilitating, by a few mo- ments, the transmigrations of the hog. We drive along the white, hard roads between the hedge-rows of En- gland, and think of the rough and rugged cart-tracks, 8limy, muddy, dusty, and dented with treacherous pits, that are sometimes a bond and sometimes a barrier be- tween our own towns ; but our roads are already abreast with our other victories. It is no small thing to estab- lish even an imperfect connection between the shores of a continent. It would be Quixotic and extravagant, it would be frivolous and pottering, to attempt to unite our remote cities, our straggling villages, hy such high- ways as England can not afford to miss. When wealth and leisure and social life have reached a certain point, they overflow in Central Park drives and suburban Boston roads that match the finish of merrie England. But England herself would be but a Central Park set down in the midst of our vast American territory. In small things and great, the same good word can be spoken. The gay-flowering cretonnes which adorn our rooms and disfigure their occupants have an hon- orable tale to tell of American ambition. Some native genius, we were told, was experimenting, but refused to put any goods upon the market until he had wrested the secret of skill, and satisfied himself of their excel- lence. Suddenly cretonnes which had been procurable only at a dollar and twenty-five cents were abundant in graceful figures and soft, agreeable colors for seventy- five and eighty-.seven cents, and we knew our Ameri- can genius had succeeded. Look at California blank- 112 TWin.vh' .i///./;n ruoM a /.i:M()X. cis, heavy yet lii^lu, wm-tli alinost, llu-ir woigliL in gokl, white and ihic niul ilcccy like the elouds, puro ns tho driven snow, ami imprisoning the very sonl of warmth, and know that, though Ameriea has yet much to learn, and though the noble mind counts nothing done while any thing remains undone, still we have a country which, even in its manufactures, needeth not to l)e ashamed. THE FLEAHUliEH OF IWEItTY. 113 VII. THE PLEA 8 UBES OF PO VER TY. One of the most gratifying developments of modern science is the possibilities of poverty. Mind, I say the possibilities, not the possibility of poverty. The world has always known that it might be poor, but it was re- served for our own day to learn how much it could be and do and enjoy in poverty. Science has investigated so loyally, art has showed itself so democratic, that it really seems to make little difference nowadays wheth- er you are rich or poor. It is only a choice of effects where all effects are pleasing. If you arc rich, you fin- ish your room with polished woods, much inlaid work, frescoing, and gilding. You pile heavy carpets on your floors, hang heavy curtains at your windows, lead in the sunshine through wondrous films of gossamer, forget your walls in the pictured pride and beauty and brav- ery of the Old World, and fill your rooms with mem- ories of palaces, with devices of genius, with the luxu- ries of all lands. The efieet is soothing, sensuous, de- lightful. The confusion and clamor of our manifold ac- tivities are hushed into a harmonious lullaby. Life is a dream, a reminiscence, a prophecy, an ecstasy. But you are poor. Yes, and sarcenet and muslin and straw matting have their victories no less renown- ed than plush. Heaviness, solidity, majesty come with 114 T]y£LVE MILES FJWM A LEMOX. money, but lightness, airiness, grace come without it. Sunshine itself will almost furnish a house, and there is a mental exhilaration in the conversion of an old mus- lin gown into a new toilet-table which hired upholstery can never confer. This domestic transmigration of souls gives a sort of creative consciousness which is akin — though perhaps remotely — to the artistic sense. You will never make a picture, but out of four walls and a few rags, boards, and pennies, you have made a home light, cheerful, gay. It does not lure you to re- pose—no; but it tones you to action. It wiles you into no dream of past grandeur, but it rouses ^-ou to per- formance and achievement. It thrills you with the ea- gerness of spring-time and the promise of summer. Nor is poverty hopeless even of pictures. " The first thing to do,'' says my art-critic, "if 3'ou would cultivate a love of true art, is to throw 3"0ur chromos out of the window\" Throw your own chromos out if you like,' but lay a finger on mine at your peril ! The art-critic is a useful and superior person. Let us not despise him from the heights of our ignorance and self-satisfaction. "We will study art assiduously ; and when we have be- come so fine and discriminating that our chromos give us no pleasure, w^e will dispense with them, but we will not do so at any men's dictum, since how can we learn art by staring at a blank wall ? In the city, neighbor to right of me who struck oil, neighbor to left of me wdio had an army contract, neigh- bor in front of me who plumbed the new court-house, have '' Kitclien. pavlor, lUning-rooni, And chamber all complete" THE PLEASURES OF POVEETY. 115 in butternut and oak and satin-wood and walnut, black, French, and American, polished, varied, and admirable, while I have only feathered my country nest with white pine. It is a cheap and common substance, says Midas, who uprooted all his ancestral pines for these richer and costlier woods, and bids me do the same. Never ! What was good enough for my fathers is good enough for me. I will not destroy the moldings and the wain- scots and the cornices which they set with painstaking and fidelity. The same walls shall echo back my voice that echoed theirs. But here comes the painter to the rescue, with his art that is only not high art, and, instead of the cold and somewhat monotonous whiteness, fills my atmosphere with his lovely tints and shades. The soft brown and gold, and the shimmering haze of Octo- ber, make a perpetual Indian summer in my autumn room. I do not wish to say any thing derogatory to nature, but it certainly seems to me that the black wal- nut of man's device is prettier than nature's own handi- work. I look at the two side by side, and my paint- er's is surely finer, deeper, more wavy and graceful. "Graining!" exclaims my neighbor the plumber, and his master the artist, and all is over with me. Grain- ing is to them an abomiiiation, an imitation, a cheat. It is trying to palm off painted pine for a costlier wood. It is nothing of the sort. It is loving nature so truly that you seek to reproduce her traits where you are forbidden to introduce herself. I can not comnjand the fabric of oak, but I so love the stately tree that I will copy as well as I can in pine his exquisite soft tints and clouded shells and billowy lines. What saith the Scrip- 116 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. tures ? "And the Lord said unto Moses, they shall make an ark of shittim-wood, and thou shalt overlay it with pure gold, within and without shalt thou overlay it, and thou shalt make staves of shittim-wood, and overlay them with gold. Thou shalt also make a table of shit- tim-wood, and thou shalt overlay it with pure gold." Graining is only this, and nothing more. Why must we be wise above what is written? When I look at my painters, when I see how skillfully they have de- vised instruments wherewithal to imitate the results, while absolutely shut off from the processes of nature, I think them, indeed, but little lower than the angels. Looking at man with all his limitations, it seems more wonderful that he should imitate black walnut so suc- cessfully, than that his Creator should be able to make it in the first place. That is, it appears to require less creative ingenuity to make fine wood at first-hand than to make a man capable of making something that looks so much like it. Sham indeed ! The whole question of Divine Sovereignty and ]\[an's Free Agency rises before me when I look at my grained and glorified doors. Sham and cant are hard words, and mean hard things ; but there is sometimes as much cant in the denuncia- tion of cant, and as much sham in the avoidance of sham, as in the cultivation of both. My plumber's wainscots are real walnut, and mine are simulated ; but my delight in my shams is more real than his in his truths. I love their beauty, their flowing lines, their soft graduations of color. He loves them for their cost- liness, for the tribute they pay his pride. How do I THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. HJ know ? A little, because he did not select with his own eye, but gave orders for the handsomest and highest — which is not love's way ; a good deal, also, because he walks through his beautiful rooms, not admiring, not kindly and mellow and hospitable, but arrogant and os- tentatious, rude to wife, cold to children, tyrannical to dependents, unjust to tradesmen. His carved mantel is real, but his cheap pine soul is not even grained. My lovely neighbor over the way will hang no pic- ture on her walls because she can not yet afford oil- paintings, and she calls that being thorough-bred. She looks at her rich carpets, her cumbrous chairs, her smooth, bare walls finished to the last degree of art, and joyfully reflects that no engraving, no chromo, no cheap adornment of any kind disfigures her splendid drawing-room. She is quite frank in avowing her lim- itations. So far as it goes, every thing is what it pre- tends to be. But, dear madam, the greatest pretense of all sits at this moment presiding over this room. The pretense is in a pair of eyes dark under their drooping lids, in the broad high forehead and shining hair, and sensitive mouth and gracious smile, and languid, reposeful atti- tude. All sensibility and susceptibility are there, ro- mance and passion, delight in beautiful forms and sweet sounds, if those features speak the truth. But I am chagrined to find that a flaming circus "poster" on the polished walls would be no more incongruous than the sharpness with which those liquid eyes look after the main chance, and the decided twang with which those curved and gracious lips utter their dreary common- 118 TWELVE MILES FJiOM A LEMON. place. Things here are what they seem, but tlie woman is a fine Florentine frame holding a coarse and com- mon wood-cut, out of which no soul speaks, from which no inspiration springs. All in the soft spring morning I stand in my new kitchen, empty, swept, and garnished, and survey the wonders which the hand of man hath wrought. The old kitchen was admirable in its day — equally an ad- vance on its predecessors — but the new embraces all improvements, and I may say inventions, up to date. And how pleasant it is, and how convenient! The wainscots, the soft, gray ceilings, are warm and bright with the morning sun, yet the buff window-shades would make a sunshine in a shady place. The ancestral stove has gone down into Plutonic regions to do extraordi- nary service in emergencies, and a new stove, bright and black, interlaced with water-pipes, and honey- combed with dampers and registers and ash-holes and air-chambers, reigns in its stead. A copper boiler, tall, round, and red, rises in its appropriate niche, stately as a Greek column, and fraught with warmth and comfort and cheer that Grecian column never knew, because its inmost heart was only the cold, dead marble, while my ruddy pillar throbs with the very pulse of the machine. Brazen fiiuccts gleam on its curved surface, and water- pipes branch out from it in all directions. Yonder stands the force-pump, brave with polished brass and shining steel. The closets are broad and ample, with drawers and shelves and nooks and hooks for every device of man's fertile brain. Through the eastern window comes the first dawn, and through the west the THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. 119 last fading of the sun. I open a door on the north, and up and down to my very feet slope the gentle hills ; and all above and around are the blue sky and the arch- ing elms, and the wide expanse of the lovely world. What a wonderful thing it is to be born into the sun- shine and the summer ! One little box of a house niched somehow into the illimitable universe ! Into it we come from the unknown; out of it we go into the unknown. Between, a few heart-beats, a haste, a heat, a passion, a purpose, and then the eternal peace. Shuts down again around us the mystery of the shall Z^e, just as impenetra- ble as that of the has been, and neither greater than that of the actual is. The yesterday -world did not know me, and the to-morrow world will not know me, and myself I know not to-day. The clock strikes — the old clock that has been striking for generations — and its voice rings as brisk and clear and cheery as when it struck its jfirst note. Its hands mark the unerring hours but for them whose hand set all its life astir, and them that looked and listened ; " Tlieir bones are dust, And their good swoi'ds rust ; Their souls are with the saints, I trust." The clock ticks away untiringly, the moats float out their everlasting leisure in the slant sunshine, and I think of one who " Swept a floor as to God's law, And made that and the action fine;" whose kitchen was no mere work-room, desecrated to toil, and to be deserted at the first opportunity, but a centre of household activities, a focus of home life. In 120 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. that room reigned order and system and spotless puri- ty — the very principles that hold the worlds in hand. Here economy was practiced, not as a stern, enforced duty, but from a subtle sense of harmony — the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Waste was abhorred, not so much because it was cost- ly as because it was wrong. Forethought gave worth to industry, and intelligence lifted homely household work up from the level of labor into the dignity of ad- ministration. Such service was like the service of na- ture, whose forces achieve noiselessly for the most part, but always achieve. And shall ignorance and untidiness and clumsy reck- lessness lord it over this peaceful domain ? Must rude hands mar this comely arra}^, dim the lustre, and tarnish the purity, and leave the trail of the serpent over it all ? I suppose eternal vigilance is the price of culinary per- fection, and it is too great a price to pay. So my brass will become dimmed, and my fine copper changed. I shall look after matters somewhat ; but because the rul- ing principle comes from without, and not from with- in, there will always be lapses from kitchen propriety. Coffee will be left standing in the coffee-pot; kettles will be put away not thoroughly cleaned and dried, to gather foulness and rust ; the broom will be left to stand on the broom-end, and spoil for lack of thrift to put on a fresh loop when the old one is worn out; the dish- towels will drop into the wood-box, and be lost both to* sight and memory; the ironing-cloth will be rumpled and jammed into the drawer instead of being nicely folded and laid away ; the window-glass will gather THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. 121 specks, and the clock's mirror-face will become clouded, and the ceiling will be festooned here and there with ^dainty cobwebs, and I mentally shake my fist at the, as yet, purely mental intruder whose far-off coming al- ready makes ' ' Discord on the music fall, And darkness on the glory !'' Oh ! why, when every prospect pleases, should only man be vile, especially woman? For, unquestionably vile as man is, he has not shown his vileness here. In- deed he has shown quite the opposite — skill, ingenuity, not to say benevolence. Every thing here which ex- cites my admiration is the work of man. I wonder if women could not have done it just as well. This fine finger-work of painting and graining and polishing might certainly be wrought even by lady-fingers. A great deal of the work of a carpenter requires skill rather than strength — no more strength, certainly, than many a woman commands. The lifting of heavy beams, the painting of sky-roofs, might be beyond her power, and in that fact I suppose lies her real disability. The master-workman may not call upon his reserved strength by the week together, but he can not carry on his busi- ness unless it is there, to be called on in an emergency. The householder pays his man-servant higher wages for the same work than his maid-servant ; but if he wishes an errand dispatched at midnight, or in the midst of a driving snow-storm, he sends his man-servant at once, where his maid^servant he would not dream of send- ing. In paying- the extra price, in choosing the boy for an apprentice and refusing the girl, these facts no doubt 6 122 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. have their weight. Yet carpenters might teach their wives and daughters and sisters how to handle the plane and chisel and saw, to immense advantage. Some women have a natural turn for mechanics, and a little instruction would give them power to help themselves over many a hard place. If they could not earn their living by mechanical skill, they could often minister greatly to their own ease, comfort, and economy. They could greatly improve the living that is earned for them, and they could greatly serve those whose lines have fallen in less pleasant places. This at least is certain : if girls can not be carpenters, they can marry carpenters. Of course, love, as the prov- erb says, goes where it is sent ; and you can not fall in love with a man because he is handy, but, my blessed damosels, you can at least maintain toward the guild that appreciative attitude which wins from a man his best all unwittingly. You can sufficiently possess your- selves of the principles of architecture and mechanics, to know that he who has mastered them has made no mean acquisition, and can proffer you at least that solid ground whereon love must alight to rest his weary wings. To be a good carpenter, a man must have perception and acuteness, powers of comparison and judgment, steadfastness and a sense of proportion; strength of arm and skill of hand and grip of mind — qualities which no woman dislikes, and which, in con- nection with other traits, make a character thoroughly admirable. The world's type of goodness in greatness was a car- penter's son, Not to a family of the rich and ennobled. THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. 123 fed by hereditary grace, or endowed with exceptional genius, not to the abodes of the thriftless, abject, and hopeless poor came He, but to the home of skill and intelligence, of self-respect, and selfsupport, to confer upon these homely and honorable virtues the dignity of Heaven. 12-i TWL'LVi: MILKS FROM A LEMON. VIH. TO TVDIZ /.')' UMLROAl). Doubtless the coin])lotioii of the racilic iv;uli-o;ul was an event of national interest and continental im- portance ; and donbtloss, second only to his honorable record in the great rebellion, General Dodge congratu- lates hinisell', not unworthil}'-, npon having enrolled his name among those who have won for their country the victories of peace, no less renowned tlian war's. Ami what with the driving of golden S}>ikes midway be- tween Iwo oceans, and the baptizing of babies with the mingled waters of the Atlantic and Pacific seas, our enthusiastic and mercurial countrymen seemed deter- mined that no element o{ the laneiful sliould be want- ing to make the work impressive, it was moi'c like a fairy story than like the actual achievements o{ hard heads and horny hands in this piaetieal nineteenlli cen- tury. Yet for all your golden wedges and baptismal waters, the whole Pacific llailroad docs not touch one so nearly as riding up to Tudiz on a railroad. Geogra}>hieally considered, Tudiz is to most scholars an unexplored re- gion. I might explain its locality by saying that it is })artially bounded by, involved in, and a constituent part of, Pine Swamp ; but even then "It woiilil lio a secret still, 'I'lioush nil look on it at \\\\\\ TO TIJDIZ BY RAlLltOAl). 125 Vu\- 1lj(; (•}■(! sliiill r«!!i(l ill Viiiri VVliiil the lieiiil, ciiii not explain." Etymological ly, Tudiz is full of interest No word analyzed and historized by iJean Trench is more lumi- nous than this, illustrating as it does the loyalty to law, the humor, and the intelligence of our ancestors. Years and years ago, before any person now on the earth had been born, a question came up in " town meeting" con- cerning a large tract of lane] lying on the outskirts of the township. The owner thereof, or some person con- cerned in the transfer, arose before the assembled sov- ereigns, and declared, or meant to declare, that there was some error in the transaction, which he wished to have rectified. Unhappily, the poor fellow was not skilled in words, or was confused by the unwonted prominence of his position ; and, instead of saying " rec- tified," he put it "rectitude." But these grim old Puri- tan Solons had no mercy. Nemesis pounced upon him, and fastened to him the name of "Tudy" for the re- mainder of his natural life, and even handed his shame and its scorn down to a local immortality, since the land he owned and the region round about is called Tudy's to this very da3^ But we can not always go into explanation ; where- fore, when wo wish to be romantic and mellifluous, rather than philological, we spell it Tudiz^ to match the dark-eyed girl of Cadiz! A railroad to Tudiz! '^^I'lic imagination refuses to comprehend it. With the institution in general we are not unfamiliar. The engine's shrill shriek has deafened us so long, that the memory of man scarcely runneth lL>(i TWKLVE JIILES FJiOM A LEMOX. to the contrnrv; but tliat a train of cars shovild delib- cratoly leave the boaton track of trade and travel, and roll oil' toward Tudiz and Tine Swamp, seems to us yet an almost incredible thing. I can more easily be- lieve in tlio sealing of the Sierra Nevada, or in pene- trating the Yosemite, than in modernizing Tudiz. The "West was made to be modernized. Telegraphs and steam-carriages wove invented to this very end ; but Tndiz is sacred to the past. If the Spirit of Conservatism could anywhere say to the Spirit of Progress, ''Thus tar shall thou go. and no farther.'' it would certainly be at the old stone -wall which fences olV Tudiz and the river meadows. But that wall of division is broken down, and all our secret haunts are laid open to the march of in\provement. As you stand on the platform o[^ the staggering car, the wild rushing wind blowing your hat one way, and your hair all ways, you see not the railroad crowd, but the dead generations. You are cutting through the corn-tields, the woodlands, the cranberry-meadows, the blueberry -swamps, that have descended from father to son for ages, unvexed by greed, unassailed by ambition. "What does Master Stephen think of you, seven devils that you are. snorting, screaming, plunging past his backdoor without so much as saying ''by your leave?'' ^faster Stephen, the stately gentleman who dwelt so grandly on his ancestral acres, and, with pardonable ex- cess of pride, wanted no son of his to go out into the coai'se scramble oi^ trade, but thought the best way for a young man to acquire property was to wait and in- herit it! In the caii'erness and mad haste of this dav. TO TUhlZ II Y liMLIi()AI). 127 I love to remember that llierc M'as one man who never gave in to it — who set himself deliberately and hon- orably against it. Teaching the "district school" was not only not derogatory to his dignity, but rather added to it, so great was our reverence for learning in those old times: and truly Master Stephen honored himself, and honored his calling; for he taught with love for teaching, magnifying his oflice, and rejoicing with pater- nal joy in the after-prowess of his pupils. Now, when wc want a teacher, we take young men from the col- leges, who yearn for a hundred dollars to eke out the expenses of sophomore or senior year ; young men with- out experience and without responsibility, who may be mature and trustworthy, but arc quite as likely to be chiefly intent on getting through the three months and receiving their wage. This done, they flit ; and whether they have wrought good or evil, matters little to them. Not so in the brave days of old. Master Steve dwelt among his own people. In the summer he tilled his well-loved farm. Jn the winter he taught the well- loved farmers' children, and faced the fruits of his do- ings all the year round, and called no man master. Proud he was of his abilities and accomplishments; but with a transparent, child-like pride, that gave amuse- ment and won sympathy, but never caused offense. The offices to which his townsmen elected him were to him a solemn trust; and the well-kept pages of many a year's record show how faithfully he held it. All the duties of life bore him honor; and never king went to his coronation with form more erect, with tread more majestic, or dignity more unalloyed, than he to his he- 12S T\yi:i.y/:' .i///./;x //.'o.i/ .1 i.i:mo.\. rcililarv ]h'\v in llu> vill:i;'>' cluirrli. r>r;iV(' ami Mainc- loss giMilKMiiaii ! W'l' \\:i\c I'alUMi on ulliri- davs ami otluM" \vavs, and tlic world \v(\ii's lUiU'o looscU' liitiii!;- gurniiMils than \Yas ils wont ; luit. I (lurslion il" wi' liavo not lost, as well as "'ainrd, sonunvlial l>v llu> olian^m'. Shriek on, you fuM-v-brcatlu'd dragon; what. (\o you ciivo lor Iho Markborrv-|>att'h('s whcrt^ wo slainrd our lin;';iM's and torr v)ur I'jollu-s a hundri'd vi-ars ayu'/ Tro- I'aiio llu> silonoos ol'lho groonwood, biokon i>nlv in win- tiM- bv tho wooilnian's a\i\ Ivush, mad uionslor that. \-on arr, i>ast Non slill housi! hall' hidiK-n luMioalh ils t'hns of iho iHMiluiios, ami givi^ no thought, to the niuto, ingloi'ious MilU>n wlio used to haunt, il. rnhappy \\v\\- nettell, j'^il'lrd lu-yond liie iMUinuMi lol, hiil doomeil by some unUnvaril tale to he ehained In his muek rake loi'i'ver! No im|>iiM isaloi\> (>!' lla.lv etuiKl rlnnie more reaililv than he; luil lu> never went larlhei- than to amuse the \illa!\'e shojiman ne\ei' within niv knowl «Hl_!';e; hut as I was one da\' walkin;>; down a e.rt^en lane, 1 was sutldenlv aware of some one behind me; and, nsinj;' ihe (>V(>s whieh we all havi' in \\\c baek ol' the head, .soiui asei-rtained that il was Kenneltell wheel- ing u Nvheelbai'row. h'or a. Kmi"; s|>aee lu> followed me at a resiu'elfnl tlislanee, till 1 i>rt"S(MilI\ lunietl aside and plueked a buttei'eup, to let. luiu }>a.>^s. 'To my surprise, insteatl oi' ]>assiug, hi> set down his wheelbarrt>w, aiul wailed as jumi'liliousl v lor me to resun\(> m\- walk as if 1 had been a monareh (>f the Middle Ages, and he mv most, humble eourtier. rii'senllv bespoke: " Mav I be permilled to ask it' this is the author who is known bv the name o\' ' \' ilriol \' i\(Mi ?' '' TO TUIHA HY HMI.HOM). 129 .1 was lat.lKT ()V<'ic,()tiic. I liad iicvr li(;iii| oC iiim CXC(!pl' JiH " olil Kfiinctlc.ll " wil.ii or witlionl, l.lic a.1 ; hin inamici' wan cnliicly H(;ir-[>'JHHCHH(;d, liiH words were dclihcratc, IiIh voici;, but for u certain IioIIowmcsm wliieli coiucm (Voiu diH;-;ijtal.ioii, cultivated. Wliat evil liiiry IVcjwncd upon hin cradle, and Hcnt liira Htoof/ui}/, U^tterin/.^, maudlin^.'; tlir(ju/.di tho BtrcctH, in a Holitary and diHli(niorcd (jld ap;*;, in- Htead of Hctting him to grace ami illu.'il.raU; liiw time? lie Hhould liavo )>ecn Kcnncttell, poet and /.gentleman, instead of \\n\\^\u\ oldest inhabitant and 1 know that there ever was a thoroughrare in this beautiful wiKl waste. liCivo it wild and waste and beautiful, 1 pray you, ni(Mi ajul brethren, and do nol crush our phanlonis under your iron wheels. What do they think ol' you at Mingo's?- lh(> nicrry ini])H, the graceless, dare-cK'vil, do-nothing, liap])y-go- easy gnon\es, .'^parks of Southern Yuw borne by a wan- ton wind to this unttMider North, glitt(M'ing a short, gi'o- les(pi(; iile, .and going out foi'evcr? (MiildiHMi of ihe ))alni-ti'ee and tlu^ destu't and the lervid tropical sun, souv(Miii's ol' the Sphinx and the I'yi'amids and the eter- nal i'(']u)se of higvi't, wrenclu'd out of all iheir ])oetrv, their cahuness, their broad, still civili/ation, Hung uj) bare and defenseless against our hai'd, foreign ways, our cold, rugged, unnatuial life — I^'g.ypt and the Sphinx W(Uit quickly out of them, aiul they were nothing but a i'aniily of "niggers," .shiftless, worthless, ne'er-do-well, glad of the eruinbs whieh fell evt'u from ))ooi- mcMi's ta- bles. AVhat could they do but drop out of life oiu-. by one? There are wreaths of blinding snow which shut away the summer sun. I 'nih^r th(> bl(>ak hill tlu>y have whirled \\]^ ;i, cui'ious mound. 'rii(> belated, benumbed, bewildered ti'aveler, stilitai'y and intent, ])it,ehes through the cvcr-aeeumidating di'ifts, but st.umbl(\s upon this .and starts back, all his chilled blood shocked into sud- den h(\it and hori'or. It is the last, of tlu> meriy imj)s of Mingo's, lying in a druidcen death in the jiathway of the stoi'm, till death in sob(>r e.ai'ucst. ovcuMook him. So rn 'If III/. II Y IIMI.UOM). 138 llicy (ln('U!(i onl. oC I.Ik; ;m'c.;iI, unknown inl.o ;i, nriirf>w, nirnlcHH, (Icgradcd lif'f, .'umI, udcr a lit,t,l(! f/rovlm;^ finur olden Hi- lenee; only the gentle arid titnid eowH Hhould liave Ktood knee-deep at noontide in your KJnggiHli Kumrrifir brook, or browned along yf>ur aneient hill-Hide, Keareely more aneient than they. I'ut even to thin Hnorting, Herearnirig devil, let uh give hin due. lb; makeH liavocj among thf; ph.'iritf^mH; true, but it i.M ordy for a week. l)ouble, doubht, t()il and trouble, for Heven reKtIeHH dayH, and then a year of reHt again an atly debarred fivjn it'? ''It is.hell,"says a devont Swedenborgian of our acquaintance: and when you are in a railway-car with a man given to tobacco, and not wcll-bivd. you feel that the SwedenlK»rgiau dialect is not too strong. 77/ A' lllUIIKIt LAWS 0J<' /{A/LKOA/jS. \ ','/.) There in much reprehension of tlie indifference with which fcrnalc truvelerH receive tlic courtefiies of men, and there is doubtlcsH some ground for rcprelieriKion ; but the combined ingratitude of female America is not so great an offense, and does not produce so much dis- comfort, not to suy dinguKt, as does tlie use of toljacco by a part of the male traveling public. 'J'he employ- ment of smoking-cars only partially remedies the evil, for smoking is its least offensive phase; and when tlie Woman's (J(jngress has its first law well rooted and grounded in the habits of the people, it may go on im- mediately to enact and cnforund Jenny's hat is coming unpinned, and the ivll of calico is slipping from its string. She will cer- tainly fall a vietini to irresistible eentritugal law if she can not have a basis of operation to concentrate her scattering forces, and she is immensely ivlieved by your otVer of a seat. Oi' eoui-se it is a thousand pities that rillu II Kill Kit LA WS ()1<' ICAIIJOAIJS. 141 she docs not thank you, Vjut i'h it not weakness rather than wickedness? Jiut there arc plenty of women — young, assured, and self-possessed — who arc equally inconsiderate. Yes, T saw two of them not long ago in an omnibus, handsome, hale, well-dressed, sitting at the head of the omnibus engrossed in conversation. Three men were on the same seat, and two men and three women on the op- posite scat. A gentleman opened the door — one of those good-humored, good-looking creatures who carry sun- shine with them, large in person and sympathy, at homo everywhere. He surveyed the scene a moment, counted aloud blithely, " one, two, three, four, five," on each side, and with great good sense bestowed himself on the side on which the male element predominated. The two women were so engaged that they did not notice his entrance, and in no wise contracted their amplitude. Of course, the men were rather crowded. But it is of no consequence if men are crowded. They have no ruffles to crush, no lace to tear, and their hats are over- head. These men were as they ought to be — good-na- tured — but they grimaced and contorted, and stretched their heads in mock mute appeal toward the uncon- scious women ; and above the rumbling and rattling one could hear praiseworthy snatches of sentiment, " it's their privilege," " our rulers." Such sweetness deserved recognition, and a passenger suggested that the ladies were unaware of theirposition, and would move at a word. "Just as comfortable as in my own house," ga.sped the hero; but at that moment the ladies became con- scious of the situation, and immediately made room. 142 TWELVE jMTLES FROM A LEMON. I admit that perfect politeness is never unaware of situations; but imperfect politeness is of a wholly dif- ferent nature — is it not? — from positive rudeness. "You're another!" is the argument as well as the phrase of savages. Wherefore let us be savages for a little while. On certain, ])erhai)s on all, ferry-boats, one side is placarded as the "Ladies' Cabin," and one side as the " Gents' Cabin." Besides this, additional notices with- in tell you that "ladies have the first right to seats in this cabin." Yet have I, time and again, seen a row of men sitting in this cabin, reading their newspapers, while women were standing by in groups, unable to find a scat. Worse than this: I have seen women standing with babies in their arms while men occupied the seats! Now, as against a woman M'ith a baby, men have no rights which heaven or earth is bound to re- spect. What name, then, shall we give to that mass of organic life which })lnnders for itself the scat that of right belongs to such a woman ? "But women want to vote," you say, great-hearted gentlemen. "They want to go into the trades and fill the ofliccs, and do as men do. Let them, then, try it in all its length and breadth. They must take the chances just as men take them. They must not expect to act like men and be treated like women." Infatuated men ! lierc is where the \ni opens its mouth and swallows you down, and you have not a foot left to stand on, and no place to plant one if you had as many as a centipede. Women want to vote, you say, and therefore they shall rough it. V>\.\i they TUN UKIUKR LAWS OF UMLROADS. 143 do not vote. You luivo not yet gi'antcd tlioni tlio vote, whether they want it or not. You ai'o (hnible and twisted lyi'ants; when women com])hiin of the U\\c of bricks, you do notdiniinisli the tak^, but you take away tlic straw, and say, "'Phis is what you want, is it? Sec how you like it I" Do you tliink that is calcuhited to inspire a woman with a respect I'or your sense of justice? We have heard of liangin<^ a man lirst, and trying liini afterwanl ; but these women you hang first, and try not at alk When women actually vote, they may suller the penalty of voting; but when you thus anticipate dis- ease with your brimstone and treacle, O generation of Squccrses! you add to your despotism hy[)ocris3\ Do you complain that women do not thatdc you for your relinquished scats? You have no claim upon their thanks. You have no right to the scats. Not a man in any public conveyance has a right to a scat so long as a woman stands. Chivalry? Not at all! It is naked justice. You arrogate to yourselves the man- agement of all modes of travel. You permit women no voice therein. You charter all the companies. You have the right and the power to compel these com])a- nies to furnish seats to all their passengers. You do nothing of the sort. You arc dogs in the manger. You will neither provide seats for female passengers, nor will you suffer them to provide scats for themselves. You force a woman into the attitude of the recipient of a fa- vor where she has really paid full market price. Ask her to thank you for giving you her seat? You might better thank her for not ejecting you from the car. It is asking her to kiss the rod which ought to be laid about 144 TWELVU MILES FROM A LEMON. your own shoulders. The man who docs not give up his seat to a woman is simply dead in trespasses and sins. The man who does give up his seat is only so far alive as to proclaim himself an unprofitable servant: he has done only a fractional part of that which it ^Yas his duty to do. I would, indeed, that a woman should always accept these duties with the voice, the smile, the gesture of thanks; but I would that men should always under- stand that she does not mean any thing by it! I would have her do it because it is graceful, and grace is in- stinctive, and not reasoning. The polite hangman did not apologize to the culprit whom he was about to drop off because there was any thing to apologize for. I would have women so innately, so organicall}'', so help- lessly high-bred, that they should smile and smile even upon the villains who, by their own action, aid and abet the crowding of railroad trains. Moreover, if reason be admissible where impulse is the only saving grace, so great is the power of courtesy that I dare say men will sooner be brought to a sense of guilt by receiving undeserved mercy than severe justice. People in the country arc often annoyed by peddlers, frequent in vis- its and voluble in proffers. As these peddlers are hu- man beings, whom we must assume to be engaged in an honest calling, it is difficult to see why they should not be courteously met. But apart from the fact that it is pleasanter to be pleasant, I have ever observed that your peddler is more easily gotten rid of hy smiles than frowns. To the froward he is very apt to show himself froward ; but he is speedily smothered with sweetness. THE HIGHER LAWS OF MAILROADS. 145 So let women be always and everywhere gracious, because God hath made them so ; but let that gracious- ncss be to men a means of grace, and not an engine of destruction. When women are allowed to vote it will be time to talk about letting them stand in public car- riages; but until then the least a man can do is to lie with his hand on his mouth, and his mouth in the dust, till every woman is comfortably seated. The tradition that men always do resign to women their seats in pubHc carriages may as well yield to the established fact that they do not. Voting or no voting, it is very common to see men sitting and women stand- ing in the horse-cars, and it is a sight not unseen in steam-cars. In and about Boston the rule seems to be, "first come first served." The cars are daily filled to their utmost capacity — seats, aisles, and platforms; and a woman takes her chance with the rest. In New York, I think, she fares better; in Philadelphia, better still; while in Washington the traveling mind has been train- ed to a politeness which leaves nothing to be desired. The excuse of recreant knights, those Bayards suffer- ing fear and deprecating reproach — their excuse until they bethought themselves of the suffrage — is, that they are tired. They have been on duty all day, and their fatigue is such that they do not feel bound to yield their rest in favor of women who, for aught they know, are simply amusing themselves with shopping or jaunting. And this is a comparatively valid excuse. At least, it is not depravity so total as is involved in what one is tempted to call the voting dodge. Only say it out boldly, and stand by it. To be sure, dear sirs, you 7 I-IC) TWELVE MILES FUOM A LKMCLV. conlbss yourselves shambling and incflectivc. It im- plies tbcat you give in to niilroad corporations, and visit upon women the consequences of your cowardice and your weakness. But, with all your faults — and their name is legion — women love you still, sitting still even, and pity you infinitely ; and if you will frankly say, and confine yourself to saying, that you arc tired, although you arc not half so tired as they — will throw your- self on their compassion, even when you ought to launch out for reform instead, they will not only pity you, but — such is the unreasoning and unspeakable forbearance of female human nature — ten to one they will urge you to retain or resume your scat, and count you a hero and martyr into the bargain. But do not bo hy})ocritical and Pharisaical, and call it even-handed justice. Do not lay to woman sullVngo what springs only froni man- sufiering. But ncitlu'r chivalry nor justice requires that a wom- an shall occupy two seats in a I'ailway-carriagc when she has jiaid for only one, says her male censor. Y(>t a woman will coolly bestow herself and hcv belongings upon the whole sofa, while gentlemen walk up and down the aisle searching vainly for a seat. If I were not obstinately bent on being reasonable, moderate, and far within bounds, on making no asser- tion which any right-minded man would refuse to ad- mit at first sight, I would say that such an arrangement is no more than fair. Look at the flounces, the over- skirts, the paniers, the ribbons, wherewithal men over- load women, or — to change the name but keep the pain — wherewith social exigency ovei'loads women, and then THE HIGHER LA WS OF RAILROADS. 147 say if twice the space allotted to men is not a very modest estim.ate of what women need. I am quite con- fident that if men should devise for themselves a similar garb, they would be quite as blind as women to super- fluous passengers wandering about in search of a seat. But we will lay no stress on that. "We will admit that women, like men, have a right only to the scat they have bought; and then I ask, how many times since the existence of railroads in this country has it happened that a woman has refused or has churlishly consented to relinquish the space which did not belong to her? One would suppose sometimes that it was the common rule. It is not necessarily uncivil or ill-bred for a woman not to offer her sofa, uncalled for, to an able-bodied man. If there is no seat in this car, per- haps there is in the next; and it is far less trouble for him to go to it than for her to shrink into the compass of half a sofa. If the other places are all occupied, and the gentleman, by a word or even a look, signifies bis desire for the one she holds, she seldom, dreams of doing any thing but resign it at once, without a protest, with- out even a thought. If there are women otherwise minded, I have nothing to say for them. Let them be given up immediately to fire and sword. But it is not a deadly sin for a woman to be staring out of a win- dow, with calm, eternal eyes, while a few superfluous men are walking up and down seeking whom they may devour. It is not half so atrocious as what I have frequently seen — a man enter a car where a dozen men were oc- cupying the sofas alone, and deliberately place himself 148 TWELVE MILES FMOM A LEMOX. beside a woman! That is pure malice. The golden rale requires that never a woman shall be disturbed in the possession of her sofli till every man has been dis- turbed in his. This is not chivalry. It is simply folds and flounces. If any man finds this unreasonable, let him take it on trust. One hour of the folds and flounces himself would establish him in the truth for- ever. So have I seen on the ferry-boats, to •which I have before referred, men occupying women's seats when their own empty ones were distinctly visible on the op- posite side. What infatuation possesses you, men and brethren, thus to rush out of your sphere? Why not stay with your kind, and leave women to themselves? A woman can neither refresh nor revenge herself by going over to your side of the boat. You poach on her manor without fear of reprisals ; and if she does not gush forth gratitude when you ofi'er late and scant jus- tice, you send a paragraph to the newspapers bemoan- ing the deterioration of female manners! "Fleet foot on the covrei, 8age counsel in cumber, Ked hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber," when thine own small sins pass before thee ! Alas! one woman among a thousand have I seen. She was well dressed, and to the casual glance looked like a lady. She had pre-empted four seats in the crowded car. I had followed a brilliant friend into the train for the pleasure of half an hour's chat. My friend was standing by the empty seats, running up a flag of THE niGlIER LA^y^ OF EAILROADS. 149 distress. " There are no seats to be had but these, and these arc not to be had. .Engaged." " I don't know," said an incredulous gentleman near. "I have been waiting half an hour, and nobody has been in during that time." I remembered the precepts and example of an elder in Israel, for such case made and provided, and said blandly: "We will occupy the seats till your friends come, with your permission." The lady made no reply. She gave no sign of assent. Not a smile flitted across her face. On the contrary, she assumed a severity of aspect that would strike a chill to the warmest heart. Her silence became sonorous with disapprobation. The very corn-sheaves of her bonnet bristled with displeas- ure. Seeing that we were about to be annihilated, we took our lives in our hands, and turned the back of the seat so that we should not be forced to confront that awful visage, adding, apologetically, "When your friends come, the seat shall be turned back again." But no re- lenting softened the outlines of the stern countenance. Then we began our longed-for talk, and the minutes flew, and the engine snorted, and the train gave its in- itiative jerk, and we rolled out of the grumbling and smoky station ; and then came up a young man, one young man, to the lady behind us — only one young man, and no more. Thereupon I turned to the disap- pointed lady, and said, meekly, " Your friends have not come?" Tiien and there broke out the irrepressible conflict. Forth from the irate lips, with a deliberation of utter- ance, with an asperity of tone, and an acerbity of ges- 150 TWKLVF MILA'S FJWM A Lh'MOX. ture, of which mortal pen can give little notion, and un- der which a terriliod soul still shivers, came the deci- sive answer, "They— /anr— not!" Nothing but conscious iiniocenee could sustain one in this trying ordeal. Now that I have told the story, I hardly believe it, for the woman herself, with her causeless pugnacit}^, her harsh tones, and her theatric head-tossings, seemed like a character just stepped out of Dickens's novels, I'ather than like a flesh-and-blood woman going home to husband and children, and sitting-room and supper. Oh, my soul ! come thou into her secret, if such a thing may be. What are the views of life held by such a one? More particularly, what are her views of car- soHis, and the rights of the road? AVhen one bu3-s a ticket, he is strictly entitled to one seat — no more. Is any person legally entitled to a seat he does not occu- jiy ? Suppose we go into the smoking-car, or the bag- gage-car, or take a ride on the engine; does our right to the seat in the ordinary car not lapse? If not, then one ticket entitles the holder to two places : one in the smoking-car, and one in the ordinary car, while his un- lucky neighbor is perhaps obliged to stand. On the contrary, one ticket entitles the holder to one scat, which is his only while he occupies it. llis coat, his liat, his newspaper, constitute his valid claim when he returns, but do not forbid his weary neighbor to occupy it without discourtesy while he is gone. Wherefore, let us hope that time and reflection will soften the judg- ment of our aggrieved country-woman, and that she will TIII'J Jit a II EH LAWS OF HAJIJiOADS. 151 not go down to her grave accounting us banditti and interlopers, Gotlis and Vandals, preying upon the un- protected, and reckless of all law but might. I do not mind confessing that any fall from grace on the part of a woman is more grievous than a similar fall in a man. Not that women are under stronger bonds tlian men to keep the peace. Not one jot or tittle of a man's duty shall be remitted ! Yet it remains, that though a man's discourtesy may be repulsive, it docs not becloud the sun in the heavens. But where a woman is uncivil, the very inward light is turned to darkness. There are certain points of good manners in which women fail, which yet seem to have been greatly over- looked by their censors. Pei'haps we ought not to say women, for the class is undoubtedly small ; but the one woman who behaves badly attracts more attention than llie nine hundi'cd and ninety-nine well disposed; and when even one woman falls below the proper standard, all women seem, somehow, to be humiliated thereby. In connection with our public schools there is spring- ing up a school of ungracefulness and indelicacy which, to my thinking, goes far to neutralize the good wrought by the former. Groups of girls travel daily from the country villages, three, five, ten miles over tlie steam and hor.se railroads, to the normal and high schools of the city, and return at night. What is cause and what is effect I do not know; but these girls sometimes con- duct themselves so rudely as to force upon one the con- viction that it would be better for women not to know the alphabet, if they must take on so much roughness 152 'J^VKLVK MILKS FJi\KM A l.KMOX. along with it. Tvpioal American girls, pretty, gentle- faced, intelligent-looking, well-ilressed, will till a ear with idle, vulgar, boisterous chatter. Out of rosy, deli- cate lips come the voices — of draymen, I was about to say, but that is not true ; for the voices of these girls are like nothing in the heavens above or the earth beneath. The only quality of womanliness they possess is weakness. AVithout depth, richness, or force, they are thin, harsh, inevitable. They do not so much till the space as they penetrate it. Three or i'our such girls will gather face to face, and from beginning to end of their joui-ncv }Hnir I'orth a ceaseless torrent oi' giddy gabble, utterly regardless oi' any other presence than their own. They will talk of their teachers and school- mates by name, of their parties and plans, of their stud- ies, their dresses, their most pei-sonal and private mat- tei-s, with an extravagance, with an incoherency. with an inelegance and coarseness of }>hraseology, which is disgracel'ul alike to their schools and to their homes. They will compel without scruple and bear without llinching the eyes oi^ a whole carriage-load of passen- e'crs. Indeed, the notice of strangers seems sometimes to be the inspiration of their noisy, unmelodious clatter. They apparently think that this is to be sprightly, arch, high-spirited, and winning, not perceiving that a really high-toned and high-bred girl would as soon jump over a stick in a circus as turn hei"self into such a spectacle. There is nothing winning about it. The absolute ex- travagance and nonsense of it will sometimes excite a smile from thoughtlessness, but it is a smile less com- plimentary than a frown. No amount oi' acquisition, TJJJ'J JIIGJIKH l.A \VS OF JiMJJi(JAJjS. J o^j no mental training, can atone for such demeanor. If the two arc incompatible, it is better for a woman not to know the multiplication tabic than not to be gentle- mannered. If a woman is vulgarly ///-ononce, the more she knows the worse. I could sometimes wish that our far-famed schools would stop their algebra, stop their Latin, stop their philosophies, and give their undivided attention to teaching their pupils how to talk. It may not be po.ssible to make them talk sense, but surely, they can be made to talk nonsense gracefully. Not all can have musical voices; but, upon pain of death, I would have girls taught to speak low. Training can do much in the way of melody and sweetness, but a voice that is softly modulated can not be violently dis- agreeable. And if a girl's tongue is incorrigible, let her be dispossessed of it altogether. The pronunciation and the rhetoric of these girls are a disgrace to their ciders. Words and syllables are clipped, twisted, run together, mingled, mangled, and • muddled into a dialect fit for savages. Girls who can read Virgil and calculate an eclipse will employ in con- versation a jargon that would stamp them with the stamp of intolerable vulgarity at any well-bred dinner- table. What cruelty, what waste is this! It is so easy not to offend, it is so hard not to be stupid. It is so unimportant to be learned, it is so indispensable to be well-mannered. Why give time and pains unmeasured to mental acquisition, and then neutralise it all by a ruffianly exterior? AVhy cast an odium upon education by associating it with uneouthness? There are disadvantages worse than these, if any 7* lo-t 7'irA7.rA' MiLi:^ Fh'OM A lj-:mox. thing can be worse, in sending girls to school over the railroads. They somehow become common. They cheapen themselves. They lose, if they ever possessed, they destroy before they are old enough to feel, the di- vinity that should hedge a woman. They fall into — I can hardly dignify it with the name of flirtation — but into a sort of bantering communication with unknown men, employes of the railroad, and season travelers — a •traffic which is liUal to dignity in woman, and inspires no reverence in man. And this passes for liveliness and attractiveness, or at most, perhaps, it is being a lit- tle wild. But it is a wildness which girls can not aftbrd. ]'>elicacy is not a thing which can be lost and found. No art can restore to the grape its bloom ; and the su- preme charm of the grape is its bloom. Familiarity without love, without confidence, without regard, is de- structive to all that makes woman exalting and enno- bling. There are other displays of ill manners which are al- most incredible. Girls will sit with their faces toward the passengers, and eat oranges in the most sloven- ly, but the most unconcerned, manner, and then pelt each other with bits of peel across the aisle. They will scatter the crumbs and paper of their lunch over the floor and softis. I have seen the clean, tidy waiting- room of the railroad station strewn with pea-nut shells — not always, I fear, by women young enough to be called girls. Such things are simply disgusting. Clean- liness, order, propriety, are not local or incidental qual- ities. They are inherent, inbred. A lady will no sooner be untidy in one place than in another. She will no THE IlIGUER LAWS OF liAILROALS. loo more throw nut-shells on the bare floor of a station- room than on her own parlor carpet. She will no sooner thrust a penknife into the leather lining of the station sofa than she would into the velvet u2:)holstery of her own. " The world is wide, these things are small ; They may be nothing, but they are all." Nothing? It is the first duty of woman to be a lady. The woman who says that this is making much ado about nothing is the woman who will accost you by name, when you enter a car, in a tone that introduces you to every person in it, and makes you wish that the part she occupies had run off the track at the last bridge. She is the woman who, under the pretext of conversing with one or two friends, informs the whole car company of her views on woman's rights and her relations with her husband. She is the woman who, in a public assembly, when we are all momentarily expect- ing the lecturer or the singer to enter, rises in her place, fronts the audience, and stands two minutes waiting for or beckoning to some Sarah Jane to join her. Good- breeding is good sense. Bad manners in woman is im- morality. Awkwardness may be ineradicable. Bash- fulness is constitutional. Ignorance of etiquette is the result of circumstances. All can be condoned, and do not banish man or woman from the amenities of his kind. But self-possessed, unshrinking, and aggressive coarseness of demeanor may be reckoned a State prison offense, and certainly merits that mild form of restraint called imprisonment for life. \M\ r\vt:i.rK juiij:s moM a kkmo.\\ Wo h:vYO not torgv^tton tho iv\r;\jiTaphs wriuow ;\t tlio tinio of tho vij^it ofiho r papors nun- say to wvmuvmi. in i\^ugh or tlno phraso, "Stay at homo, and do not tln\nv youi^olvos into tho arms of primvs: bo quiot anil dig- jiiliod on your journoys," but that is not onough. ^Vo do not wish womon to bo suoh that tho papors vshall so '////',' II Id II 1.11. l..\Wh <)l'' llMLIlDMHi. UjI Kp<;uk. U(j not be n-Htmincd, l)(f not have impulwjx that ucA'A r ar^count her a being f/; be trained int<^i [>rof)riety. A rnan'H ideal in not wounded when a woman faiJH in worldly wiHdom; but if in gnvy;, in taet, in H(:td\uu:ut, in deliea<'!y, in kindlineKH, xhe be found wanting, he re- (Ui'wdH an inward hurt. Therefore, oh I women greatly beloved and greatly preached at — if not for (^)\irU'.Hy^H owrj Hweet Hake, Ktill for love'H Make, for humanity'n Hake, for the nake of the jK^or, /trong, untutored man who will die in their roughne«H uhU-.hh you polish them, who will go mourning all their dayH for an ideal unlexH you Hhc Htat^sly and w^mmandlng hoA'ora tliem; wIjo, for (torn your li[/H in idle rnomenfj* will con- Ktruet a whole men/igerie of unclean beantn, t// their own u/idoing - we pray you be m (UjurU-/mH\y uWccAutucA one toward another, in honor preferring one another, be KO fauItlcHH and ho ry^mpelling t/^;ward the helplcHH w;x, which lookn f/j you for guidanry;, that a rnati nhall no more think of prcHcribing rulcH or throwing out JiintH for your V^ehavior tlian of regiilating the Htar« in their <'/)\umiH\ but ruihnr uh the Hhipv/recked mar- iner findH hiH hope and nafety in the HtarH, ho man — whom it Ih alway« H,'jfe Ut connider an more or low a 158 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. shipwreck — while employing all his energy in steer- ing his crazy craft through the wild waves, shall only need to keep his eyes fixed on you to know that he is going by a straight course to the haven where he would be ! HOLIDA YH. 159 HOLIDA YS. Once there was a little girl wbo would Lave been very bappy with her two doll children, Emilins Alvah and Mary Maria, but for the sad thought which under- lay all her enjoyment that a time was coming when she could no longer play with dolls. Grown people had no dolls. What there could be to enliven the dreariness of existence when dolls should have gone by, the little lady could not imagine; and she found but cold com- fort in the determination that she would set herself res- olutely to drawing, and find in making pictures such satisfaction as might be left when the real piquancy of life should have passed away. But the years came and went. Mary Maria disap- peared wholly from the eyes of mortals, and no man knoweth her sepulchre to this day. Emilius Alvah, with a badly battered face, and a sadly shattered ankle, and a shocking bad hat, lay on a high shelf in a dark closet; and, strange to say, no one mourned him. His little mother grew to womanhood ; and, for the waste she looked to endure, she found life so exceedingly bright and sweet and full that she never had a regret, but only a pleasant rnemory, for Emilius Alvah and Mary Maria. Just as it is with individuals so it is with nations. 100 TWELVE MILES FliOM A LEMOX Just as it would be for a woman to go back to her dolls for amusement, is it for a mature and intellectual nation to go back to the antics of a crude and rollicking pe- riod, or to attempt to adopt the antics of a crude and rollicking nation. There was a time when English- men entertained themselves and their wives by climbing greased poles and running sack-races. Men and women in Italy may still entertain themselves by putting on grotesque garments, and pelting each other with sugar- plums. But surely the American populace never pre- sented a more melancholy spectacle than in a certain at- tempt to adopt the Carnival as an American institution. Yet the attempt was not, necessarily, childish or un- worthy. There is a vague idea that Americans are too sedate, that they have not sufficient relaxation, that they ought to appoint more holidays. But what does the idea spring from? Amusement is for health, happi- ness, effectiveness. Do not the Americans live as long as other people? Are they not the happiest peo})le in the world? Are they really less effective than other people? What do we want of holidays? Probably we have come nearer than any other nation to equalizing work. A greater proportion of persons are actively engaged in business; a smaller proportion are suffering from intense and prolonged overwork, or from idleness. Just in the ratio of the equalization diminishes our need of holidays. The American workman is not a child with a set task, not a slave with an oppressive burden, but a free, intelligent, self-respecting, and self- guiding man. He lays out liis own life. lie reaps the reward of his labors. His work does not mean simply HOLIDAYS. 161 bread-and-butter, and a dance under the Maj-polc, but solid beef and pudding, a deaconsbip in the cburcb, two weeks' summer board in the country, a piano for his daughter, and high-school, and perhaps college, for his son. Set him running a sack-race, indeed ! He literal- ly is the populace, at least of New England, The quiet country village, with its one meeting-house and four school-houses, may have a few exceptional tatterde- malions, recognized and tolerated, living from hand to mouth — a little Bohemia, half butt, half burden. But the mass of the people are such as the deacon aforesaid. They do not thank you for holidays. What they want more than the State prescribes they can take for them- selves without prcsci'iptions. Sometimes, when they come home from shop or market, they will buy a mask, with which their children will delight and affright them- selves for a week ; but a wagon-load of men and women going about the streets in sober-earnest masks, bow- ing to right and left, seems to them simply silly. A man striding along the sidewalk in a j'cllow flannel sur- plice merely makes himself ridiculous, and they gaze upon him with profound soberness. If they have mon- ey to spend in sugar- plums, the sugar-plums are safely wrapped in brown paper bags, and bestowed in their overcoat pockets for the delectation of their own little folks, not for grown-up strangers. Tournament trow- sers trimmed with tinsel lace look wonderfully incon- gruous over stout Yankee leather boots; and our famil- iarity with circus-viders and outriders makes the haber- dashery of knighthood show marvelously mean under the broad dajdight of the nineteenth century. 162 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. Whatever amendment is made for our relief from work must be made in accordance with our constitu- tion, national and social. Americans must go forward, and not backward. They can never become children again. They are not to be raised by greased poles. They are to find entertainment in society, not in sports. Relaxation is to work itself more and more thoroughly and benclicently into every day, not concentrate itself into senseless revels on set days. AVith increase of wisdom, occupation will more nicely adjust itself to capacity and taste, so that a man's business will be fruitful of pleasure. Every day will settle its own bills, and leave no overplus of weariness to be offset by to- morrow's enforced rest or prescribed merry-making. Our holidays will then be still more than tlRy now arc holy days — days of great memories and great sugges- tions, of family reunion, of national congratulation, of profound and manly thanksgiving. Meanwhile our merry-making, our pleasure-taking, is neither unfrcquent nor lugubrious. Life is varied, the hours go swiftly, and work is warm with interest. In the country, where every sound must give an account of itself, the early stillness of summer morn- ings is sometimes broken by a protracted clatter. The noise assaults your ears long before it makes any im- pression on your soul, buried in sleep. You become slowly aware that it is not a steady, level ado, but a rattling that swells and sinks and swells again in a series of disturbing culminations; and presently you comprehend that a jn-ocession of some sort is going by, and vou are wide awake in an instant. Processions are HOLIDAYS. 103 not so common in the country that tlicy can bo sufTcred to bide their light under a bushel. The household is suddenly set astir — every -window -blind opened Air enough for curious eyes to peer out, and for the bright, fresh, dewy morning to peer in. The barefoot milk-boy is slowly sauntering by, his newly scoured tin pail re- splendent in the sunshine, and his wide eyes fixed on the clatter, just rounding the knoll beneath the elms: one, two, three, four pairs of horses, as different from the sober steeds in yonder pasture as silk from stuff — gay, high -stepping horses, that look as if the map of the world had been wrapped around them for skin, the con- tinents tinted roan, the seas in white; and behind them long two -story wagons, like boxes on wheels, gayly painted, fast closed. But we know it is the circus, and that those gorgeously colored boxes inclose a howling chaos of bears and tigers, and that somewhere along the road, at some auspicious hour, some happy person will sec the elephant; but we must content ourselves for the present with the pretty little pony, and the grand chariot which contains such members of the "troupe" as are not driving the horses or stretched prone, dead asleep, on the tops of the howling boxes. A very sleepy circus it always is at this time of the morning; but it sets the whole village wild with enthusiasm. Then the handbills come and add fuel to the flame. The county paper takes up the parable, and flares out with chariots and horsemen — and horsewomen too — in every attitude of danger and daring, and the odds are you go. If you have children, you say it is to please the children. If you have none, you say it is to see the IGl; TWKLVh' M//.J:s F/i'OM A Lh'MOX. ci'owil. lUit it is not. It is to see the circus. You feci ;i little sbamefiiccd to inavch up on the village green and buy a ticket of the man who has made an ollice of the rear of his watron, but you do it. Jlosts of minor tents Iku'c colonized in the vicinity of the mammoth tent, and on theii- canvas sides picture to you in vivid colors and Haunting capitals the attractions of the Two Interesting Idiots from Australia, Kemarkable ])ouble- lleaded (firl — Js She One, or Is She Two? The (Cal- culating rig, or The Giantess of the Jlebrides. ]>ut you shun side issues and plunge at once into the lions' den and take heart. Vov no loud advertisement nor monstrosity of di'awing can conceal the lieree magnifi- cence of a lion, the treacherous softness of a })anthcr, the graceful beauty of the leopard. They circle their impatient ]'ound — the iVee, wikl, fettered souls — anil bring into this mean arena the granileur of Numidiau wildernes.'^es. l>el'ore lliem the keepei's ^valk back anil forth in dingy scarlet coats, reciting to their ever-shift- ing audiences choice bits of natural history with an im- passive face and a monoliMions \o\cc. that make the growling and roaring of the other beasts seem orator- ical and intelligent. Here is the huge white polar bear, draggling his long hair on the tlooi-, and jointing with heat, in spite of the four hundred })ounds of ice where- with he is daily blockaded, and the hogsheads of water that keep him constantly wet. Alas! the ice-chest and the shower-bath {u-c but a sorry tepid substitute for the arctic floe that his hot blood leaps and longs for. Here is the prowling hyena — that ghoul among beasts, that horror of ingenuous youth, till the same tender hand JIOLIDA YS. 165 which turned Henry VIII. into a fond liusband, and Judas Iscariot into a too zealous loyalist, touched the hyena too, and whitewashed hini into a roving sanitary commission prosecuting its good work by moonlight. Here in the middle of the tent lie the camels, mild and ugly; and immediately the white sands of the desert stretch around us, and the damsel Eebekah, lithe and blithe and very fair to look upon, stands once more by the well of Nahor at the even-tide, and down from Gilcad comes a cavalcade of Midian merchants, bear- ing spicery and balm and myrrh. "Slow coaching," young America would say; but when Ahasuerus sent out all swiftly a decree to revoke the bloody edict of llaman, "hastened and pressed" by the love and the terror of his young Jewish queen— Esther the beautiful, and brave as beautiful, and wise as brave — the camels and young dromedaries held their heads high among his post-horses. Was it three thousand of such sturdy cattle as these that Job's stables held? Kound such tawny, homely necks did Zebah and Zalmunna hang their golden ornaments? And if, as my lord keeper affirms, it takes one hundred and fifty pounds of meat every day to feed a baker's dozen of lions and tigers, on what enemy's country could Job have foraged to keep his stalls from famine, even if his mews were as pious- ly inclined as our nineteenth century beasts, who have unanimously agreed to keep the Sabbath-day by an unbroken fast? No feeding in this circus on Sunday! Let the compilers of our Sabbath manuals take notice. Whether it is for the health of their bodies or the sub- jugation of their souls doth not appear; but it would 166 TWELVB MILES FROM A LEMON. seem as if Sunday must be a rather long day to them, with not even the solace of a curious stick to stir up their sides and their solitude. And here is that mountain of animated nature, the elephant. Is he an elephant? Is he not a mass of baked mud that lived once among the megatheriums and ichthyosauruses, when life was big and slow and pokey, and has come down to us by mistake, as one born out of due time? Certainly he seems here very much out of time and place. He is so utterly unbeauti- ful ! and he appears to know it, poor fellow, and looks meek and deprecating out of those small, sidewise, mod- est eyes of his. What straight, ungraceful legs! what a short, useless neck! what an unwieldy head! And why will they make him dance, when dignity is his only role? And what does an elephant think of being made to climb up and stand on a tub just large enough to give room to his four feet — if an elephant can be said to have feet — where the appearance is that his legs have simply come to an end? Before you have had time enough to see the baby elephant, who is but half as homely as the other, be- cause only half as big ; or the baby lion, who is as fierce at heart as his jungle-born papa; or the ostrich, who "can carry a full-sized man on his back, and run nine miles an hour," says the exhibitor in his measured monotone; or the quills upon the fretful porcupine; or the always funny monkey ; you must go in to see the " performance," which does not, perhaps, rank among the high arts, but which is often a good deal higher than is quite comfortable to look at. It is harder to defy law HOLIDAYS. 167 than to organize law. Nature established gravitation ; but she must establish something. If a stone does not go down when it is dropped, it must go somewhere. But having made a point of putting people down, Na- ture must feel astonished to see those circus-riders stay up. The broad-saddle riding is not so incomprehensi- ble. Any body could ride standing on a soft saddle as big and flat as a "table, and perhaps make shift to jump through a hoop in the air, since the horse, though gal- loping, gallops slowly withal. But when it comes to riding without any saddle at all, and riding two horses at a time, and standing straight up on them both, and a woman standing straight up on you, and all sweeping around together in a dizzy whirligig — why, you can not do it. And here they live and grow together for years and years — little lions and leopards, and little men and women — in a world of their own ; and you know, per- haps, as much about the one as about the other. As for the ocean, there is a great deal to be said on both sides, in the way of merry-making. It is sultry and oppressive at home, and in your ears is a low roar which common folks call the sound of the sea, but which you, better instructed in sea-lore by a sea-faring ancestry, know to be the moaning of the wicked one doomed to construct a rope of sand. Sand enough he can easily gather, and fashion for his rope, but when he fain would twist it, the treacherous sand falls perpetually apart, and bis labors have no end. Who wonders the unhappy wretch mourns over his hopeless task? From our fair hill-top the long, level 168 TWEL VE MILES FJiOJI A LEMOX. line of the sea stretches blue and far, wbite-specked with sails, white-bordered with the shining beach. The long line of blue, the low roar, the brisk breeze blow- ing already through imagination — all lure lis seaward, and with us "As the rules require Two towels and a spoon," and a hamper or two of hard bread, and a few dozen eggs, and sweet-corn, and sugar-gingerbread, and other such provender, which is supposed to be salt-water- proof, for we will camp out. Let Newport have its thousands, and Long Branch its tens of thousands, mine be a cot beside the sea, and a Byronic mingling with the universe, and a tasting of the sweets of soli- tude. Oh! solitude, we no longer ask where are the charms that sages have seen in thy face. We only ask piteous- "[y where is thy face ? This beach, once so lovely-lonely, swarms with people. Far off the white sea-sand is alive with little black bugs creeping to and fro, amphibious, for they float in the fringe of the sea near at hand. Our romantic cot is overflowed with ephemeral picnickers, and every black crag is crested with humanity. You raiust boil your corn with a dozen pairs of eyes fastened upon you, and there is no such thing as drowning your- self, though you should wish it as much as Johnn}' Sands wished to save his wife, for a dozen round balls bobbing up and down on the waves about you, are the heads of strong swimmers who would be sure to dive and wrench you out by the hair of your head, if it would stay on. And what a disheveled, dripping, forlorn set are the HOLIDAYS. 169 batliers coming up out of the sea. Oh ! my lovely la- dies, you will be stylish or nothing, and you talk dain- tily of scallops and trimmings, and you fashion bath- ing-suits as featly as ball-dresses; but the saucy sea mocks all our finery, and tosses up against our scarlet splendor as undevoutly as over the old tow-gown and horse-blanket frock of our uncaring neighbor. But in we go, with a leap and a bound to begin with, and come near tumbling head first into Madrid, from not count- ing on the resistance of the water. Ugh ! how cold it is ! and how indefatigable ! and irresistible ! In the twinkling of an eye all the conceit is thwacked out of you. The sea will stand no nonsense. It beats you about, it knocks you down. It takes your breath away. It streams into your ears. It pours into your mouth. It rushes up your nose. You are drowned and dead. Who would have thought it was so savage and so salt? You try to swim, and down you go plump to the coral grove and the mermaidens, and up you scramble again — and strong arms pull you one way, and the strong sea thrashes you another way, and every body is scream- ing all the while at the top of his voice for pure excite- ment. You leap, and it buoys you up — you walk, and it flings you down. You yield to it, and it hurls you shoreward with a wild spray-tossing. You rush against it, and it smites you merrily and cheerily, but with the force of a sledge-hammer. So you come out all dripping, and drowned, and for- lorn. Not a bit of it. Every nerve tingles with ex- hilaration. Every drop of blood is warm and alert. If any body wants a serpent strangled, or a world carried, 170 TWELVE MILES FEOM A LEMON. here is an arm of Hercules, and here is a shoulder of Atlas. But oh! the salt in your hair! And oh! the amount of water that flannel will absorb! And that is why you do not mind how many rows of trimming your bathing-dress has, or whether it is made of linsey- woolsey or moire antique. Yon ocean is a great wild beast, that rends you and tosses you without a particle of respect for your coat of many colors, and in its re- morseless clutch you think no more of your wardrobe than did Livingstone in the lion's mouth. And when you come out, never Solomon in all his glory was array- ed like one of you, no matter how you went in. You can not get out at all till you are wrung out, and you never can be wrung out so dry that rivulets of water do not trickle down at every step; and all your hair droops round your glowing face like sea-weed round a — boiled lobster — if one may quote poetry with varia- tions — for the truth's sake — and all grace is sopped out of your folds, and all beauty soaked out of your but- tons, and you walk homeward flapping as you go, and firm in the faith that you might as well take the surf in a coffee-bag as in purple and fine linen. Who dare say that women are the slaves of fiishion and show? Go to, now! To Hampton Beach, for in- stance, and see what " objects" they are willing to make of themselves before angels and men for the sake of a little wild fun, a little pure, wholesome, self-forgetful ex- citement. And when 3^ou are once more clothed and in your right mind, and staring like stern Cortes, silent upon a peak in Darien, at the great ocean lying still and ma- HOLIDAYS. 171 jestic below you, can yoa believe it is the same ocean that played such mad pranks yonder? Beautiful and bitter sea, august and solemn sea, I know you ! Eoll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll ; I have rolled with you, and, for all your stately stoppings, you can be as frisky as a colt. Unfold your purple grandeur to the dazed beholder, be the highway of commerce, the divider of nations, the great untamed power of the world. A little cord no bigger than my finger has an- nihilated you, and as a beverage you are more than disagreeable ! One day rises head and shoulders above its brethren, the holiday of the year, one to be remembered and per- petuated. We are loyal citizens in Applethorpe, and we always "celebrate," either at home or abroad. Indeed, our patriotism is of that irrepressible kind which the four- and-twenty hours of Independence Day can not hold, but it bubbles up and boils over into the preceding evening. There is a warning spurt and sputter of Chinese crackers about the stoop of the "cheap cash store," and through the dewy darkness come mingled voices in shout and laughter, and mingled odors of pow- der and brimstone. But we are not in the full tide of our successful career till midnight. When the clock strikes twelve, the Abbot of Misrule enters in and takes possession ; " the boys " begin their work. The stately church-bell starts up astonished, and clangs out strange greeting to the hills; and the hills, astonished, make answer with the one rusty-throated cannon that has been dragged up the highest hill of all. The villagers 172 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. Stir uneasily in their beds, with dim, momentary dreams of fire and danger, fading gradually into a confused con- sciousness of " the Fourth." Ding, ding, ding, goes the bell, heavily and sullenly booms the cannon at irregu- lar intervals, and every body is perforce wide-awake. The din is dolorous to those who live under the drop- pings of the sanctuary — ear-splitting, brain-wearying, rest-destroying ; but to me, far off, it comes no din, but a soft, clear, musical melody, cleaving the silence, the darkness, the heavy fragrance with a sweetness all its own. Ring away, my brave boys ! The minister, the lawyer, the doctor, the captain, the grocer, are mutter- ing harsh things of you, but I only thank you for the tuneful voice. It is so pleasant to be awake, alive, in the boundlessness of night. The solitude is utterly sat- isfying. There is neither near nor far, but the whole universe stretches around you, the one being in infinite space; and the repose is divine. Ding, ding, ding! — a fresh hand is on the bell-rope, and the melody that was faint and feeble rolls out again full and pealing. The vibrlmt voice rings royally through the night; the cloud of sleep that was settling over the tired popula- tion is instantly dispelled; and again the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, have nothing pretty to say ; but I know the little flower-hearts are beating breath- lessly, and all the dew-drops tremble with delight. The prairie-rose leans over in its glory, and whispers to the honeysuckle, and the honeysuckle croons back softly to the rose, pouring forth fragrance as lavishly as if hum- ming-birds and honey-bees had not fed on its sweetness all day long. And, spite of the joy, I can not keep HOLIBAYS. 173 awake. Vain the sweet-toned bell and the delaying perfume. Through the ivory gate my soul wanders, wavers, and is lost. Snap, snap, snap ! the light-infantry approaches, arm- ed and equipped with fire-crackers, as the law of boy- dom directs. They are making a raid through the vil- lage, charging upon the inoffensive inhabitants, and driving away every chance of sleep with their talking and laughing, and the uproar of the pert little crackers. Then there is a lull, a murmur of low talk, and sud- denly an explosion extraordinary — a sudden burst of packs of crackers, torpedoes, squibs, and all things that whiz and fizz and hiss and bang — then a boyish shout and yell, and the talk and laughter dying into silence. So between sleeping and waking the short night speeds on, and before the boys are tired the birds take up the celebration, and trill out from a thousand throats the heroism of our forefathers. The bell gives way to these new re-enforcements; the hot-lipped rheumatic gun is glad to rest its old bones; the sun comes up inquiring- ly from behind the hills, wondering what all the fuss is about; and the Fourth of July is fairly set agoing. The day is clear and hot, such a day as belongs to the Fourth. We are early astir, for our little Celtic handmaid has great expectations to-day. She is a late comer from Green Erin — a healthy, ruddy girl, with a voice like the north wind, and an arm like the oak that defies it. Her honest face is continually breaking into sunshine beneath the great cloud of glossy dark hair above. I am not yet tired of watching her as she goes about the house with strong and sturdy tread, so igno- 17-i TWKLVJ': 2IILKS FliOM A LEMOX. rant of fiitiguc, so unacquainted witli weakness. The greenness and vigor of her native ishind linger still around her. All alone, scarcely sixteen, she came to this strange, vast land, and dropj)ed at once into her ap- j>ointed })lace as featly as a marble into its socket on a, solitaire board. There is something I do not under- stand about these Irish. Hardly able to read, seldom to write, not over-intelligent, they manage somehow to shoot straight to the mark. ^Vhen wo travel, we bring lieaven and earth into recpiisition. Every thing is })rc- aiTanged. Letters lly back and forth, selecting routes and hotels. The telegra})h is brt)ught into j^lay, and relays are set all along the road to keej) us in the way wc should go; and, after all, we miss the early train, we stop at the wrong place, and reach our journey's end with the best trunk missing. But my Irish friend Ilonora takes it into her head to send for "little Margery," and forthwith comes to me. I dispatch the letter, forming the address according to llonora's raj)id tt)nguc, revised and corrected by Col- ton's Afaps. That it will ever strike home, directed in that wild way, seems to me very doubtful ; but IFtuiora harbt)rs no doubt. "I shall get my answer back the fust of March," says Ilonora, in the full assurance of Jaith, though to my certain knowledge she is innocent of mathematics, geograjdiy, and the use of the globes. Yet, sure as the sun in the heavens, the llrst of March brings her letter. "Will yon reail it? I know she will not mind, and to me it is a pleasant insight into another world. HOLIDAYS. 175 "Dear IIonora, — I foci most happy to liuvc nn oc- casion of answering your welcomed letter, wliicli I have just received after your long silence, for I was under the impression that I would never hear from yon ; but it's an old proverb, ' Better late than never.' "IIonora, I am a poor old man, after rearing a long family, and now I have neither son nor daughter to pro- vide for mc in my old ago, but 1 have new life in mc since I have heard from you. "Little Margery is quite a young woman, and is very proud that you are going to fetch her out to the United States; you will make it your business to pay her pas- sage at your earliest convenience from Cork in a steam- boat. I am rather shy to request of you to send a pound or two to her for to buy a little clothes. Dennis went from here on the 1st of January, and, of course, he left my hand empty, which going has caused me great uneasiness and discontent. Your poor mother is very lonely after Dennis, and after ye all. I trust you will not be so slow in the future in writing, for it gives me great pleasure when I receive your letters. We are all very proud to know that Elfreda is married and well; for Klfreda was a good daughter to me, and I trust she will remember me yet. Dennis will go to Boston, and you will make it your business to inquire for him; and if you meet him tell him to write imme- diately, and you also will answer this as quick as ])0S- sible. All the friends around here are well. Your mother and I join in sending you and Elfreda and husband our thousand blessings, and God may pros- per ye all. Patrick has a large family and is well. Be 17G TWELVE MILKS FROM A LEMON. pleased to send Michael a newspaper. Write iinine- diately. " Your })Oor mother is oveijoved to hoar from ye all. Good-bye. 1 remain your alVeetiouate father, " Michael O'Mokuity." ILoiiora ilings out another letter, with the money so shyly asked, and the winds take it, and bear it to the little eottage aeross the sea, and out from the little cot- tage trips little Mai-gery smiling over the ocean, fearing nothing. Safely the trusty ship sets her down in Bos- ton — Boston, where you and I should lose way and heart t\venty times in the tangle of streets and alleys; but Margery somehow thrids them all, and walks into our apple-orchards promptly with the May blossoms, as fresh and blooming as thc3^ As I look into her ig- norant young face, I can only sa)', lie givclh his angels charge concerning thee, to keoj) thee in all thy wa3'S. But 1 can not help regretting that the good angels, while they were about it, could not also find it within their province to take charge of the "little clothes" so painfully gained, but left them to be stolen by some miscreant at Newfoundland, the "little clothes," and the pair of stout liish blankets which the fond old father sent to his good daughter J^jllVcda, and which she mourn- fully and truly aflirms would have lasted her all her life. Cold comfort be found within their foUls by the wretch who stole them, and, like young llan-y (« ill's, evermore may his teeth chatter, " Cliattcr, cliiilter, cliattor still !" But there is no thought of blankets now. Speedily in)i.ii).\ vs. 177 iiiiislics MiirgtM'y lior iiioniiiig work, ni'i-ays lici'scll', well pleased, in her iicw-couiitry outlit., (asliioiis :i i\\\\y Cc;!- tic water-fall (Vein her l)rij:,liL blaek liair, uiul joins llio group ofslalwart cousins and (loiisincsses wlio arc going to Boston to "celebrate." it tires me to tiiink of what she will do and be and suH'er with unfeigned di>light to- day — the tight new dress, the long, hurried walk to the railroad station, the crowdetl ride, the din and dust and furnacedieat of the city — but her face is aliglit with liap{)y anticii)utions, and I at least enjoy her joy. (uxl speed your merry-making, Margaret! Now wo close the south blinds and windows, shutting out the burning, remorseless sun, shutting in the cool, scented morning air, and loiter on the shady stoop, find- ing it of all tilings sweetest Jo do nothing. I hear the clatter of a mowing-machine in the meadow below, and ^M from the sloi)e above comes the rhythm of the swinging J^^| scythe, for so our hay-makers kce]) liorKhiy. ^i'he birds wKr are mostly ({uiet, but occasionally (Vom the orchard comes n (puck "^J\vhitr' and from the swamj) a sono- rous " Caw ! caw !'' ^riie busy, saucy, ovei'gi'own j'ol)ins arc hopping over the new-mown hay, the swallows swoop down almost into our vei'y l;u!es, and the whirr of the humming-bird brings me on tiptoe to catch one glance at the mist of his gossamer wings and his Hash- ing s})lendor among the vines. Now and then the mowers come into view, curving the; shcll-woi'k of th(;ir broad swaths with an easy, graceful sweej) that nndces mowing seem no toil, but a fine art — a pleasurable mu- sical motion. "Going to be a good hay-day, Aleck?" says my 178 t\vi:lv£ miles fiu)m a lijmox neighbor, the Pros'ulont, sauntering over, and loaning his foldeil arms on the fenee. '* Well there 'tis," says Aleck, introducing a rest into tlic music. "The weather's well enough. It's the wind. If the wind gets round to the south, we shall have rain. Kit don't, wc sha'u't." "A handsome piece of grass, if you get it in without rain." "Can't tell much about the weather. George'' (to the boy, whose scythe rattles rather suspiciously), " I wouldn't cut those stones in two, if I'se you." ^^ Quadnipedante putrem soni/d quatit ungula campum.^^ Trots smartly by a procession — three or four gay horses, each horse with a shining covered buggy, each buggy with a shining, tiini young man all alone. l>ut they will not long be aU>ne. 1 know the look of them. It is Frederic, it is John, it is Albert — spruce young farm- ers dressed in their Sunikiy best. They have been skim- ming the cream t>f the teams all the vilhige round, and now they itre going for their "girls;" and a jolly d;iy they will have oi^ it, and a safe liome-eoniing let us pray, for they will never think to do it for themselves: be- sides, there is a tradition hereabouts that if a young man and maiden are upset in their drives their mai'riage is certain ; and 1 half suspect the rogues plot to knock olV a wheel or sidle down a bank with the design of mak- ing their election sure. K(.>w the railroad train roars over the causeway, through the peat-field, now it hushes into silence behind the hill, now it whistles out upon the plain, and makes its noisy hall at the village station. It will do a large business for us tonlay. ^'oung people inn, II) I »,', \i\) will iii;;li (iiiiii llic (iM liniiiM l.n Uki cil.ir;!, ji ikI yi iilii,L'i;(li |ic(i|i|c will Unci. IViiiii iJic <'ilji';i In IIm- i>M liMiiii' liiriiiM. h';ir (iir llii'if (•iiL llui tiny slr;i.i!,\L!,UM's :>.ro [:;;itli(M'iHl in, the <^r()nj)S reform, ilio tiilc; ivchmIcs, bul K>;iv('s us not inipovoi'isli- C(l. b'nij^i'unt ral-sicUnl siniwbcrrios, grciit bold Ama- zons ol' cherries, smothered in j^rcHm leaves, arc its j)al- j)able liiu;h-\vnler marks; and while we are gathering U|) these spoils of time and title, my neighbor, tlu^ Sec- retary, bids mc ;i i)ea-pieking into his garden. Not to- day, tliough pens arc sweet and Juiey anst morsel of a lioi'se possible, but a two-thousand-ck)llar beast, and thenifon? claiming respect, though I must confi'ss my nnsophislit'att! eyi'S fail to del(>ct \]\o jioiuts which make him worth well-nigh his weight in gold. Four long crooked sticks of legs, ami a bit of moust;- colored body — that is all I see for your two thousantl dollars. HOLIDAYS. 181 ^riio Post-office is fur bettor woilli wliiks. The Post- office is u blessed iiistituti(jii in the countiy. It is so- ciety where none iutriules. Letters are the creuia of social iiitereoui'se. Ju them you taste tiie wit and wis- dom, the thought and feeling, of living pei'sons, with- out the cmbarj'assments of personal presence. It is con- versation at arms-length — these letters whose dear, fa- miliar handwriting is like light to my eyes — letters that bless me with their magnetic touch, even while I hold them in my hand unopened. The daily paper brings the world's history down to date, and sometimes antici- pates it. By an electric mystery you hear what has happened long before it liappens, and even when it never happened at all. The continents report prog- ress to me every morning, though I n(iver stir from beneath my own vine and fig-tree. 1 know ])recisely what the Queen wore yesterday. Livingstone is cir- cumstantially and definitively killed on the first page of the morning journal, and brought to life and letters again on the third. The tear forgot as soon as shed was but the slow-coaching eal like thunder, and we start up to lind the heavens overcast. The bright day is utterly gone. The west is lurid and angry. The sky hangs low and sullen. A livid, leaden look is on the frightened earth. The silence is portentous. We hasten to make fast every door and blind and sash, and the tempest bursts upon us — rage of wind and roar of rain, the lightning's incessant Hash and tlu> thunder's awful reverberations. The unmown grass lies prostrate be- fore the fury of the storm. The rounded hay -cocks are torn apart, and tossed over the lield in wiKl confusion, 'i'he tall trees bend and writhe and moan. The house trembles. The water-spouts shriek. There is a snap- jting, a ei'aekling, a crashing; one tree and aiuMlier and another are torn up by the roots, and dragged remorse- lessly through the orchard, or tlroj^ped heavily and helplessly out of the track oi' the tornado. And sud- denly as it came the frenzy of the storm is gone. The cloud still hangs over us, but the wind has died away. The rain falls softly. The lightnings (]o not rive the whole sky, but only 0}ien a portal of heaven in the horizon, and I think more complacently of the dilapi- dated state of our lightning-rods. The great storm last winter twisted olV one at the roof, and after several se- vere thunder-showers this summer, the other was dis- covered to have broken near the ground. The black- smith mended this, but that was not to be so lightly healed. The holder o? {ho \\\[cut CcMild not be fouml, JIOLWA YS. 183 but the owner of a rival patent said he would put up a better set — these were nothing and worse than nothing, for they had never been safe. This was an ahirniing state of things, but a mathematical demonstration speed- ily restored my peace of mind. For, fii'st, the rods had never been safe. Secondly, during the six years tlujy had been up, the house had never been struck. Thiid- ly, one of the rods was gone, consequently they were only half as unsafe as they were before ; therefore the probability of our being struck during the next six years is reduced to one half of nothing. Q. E. D. The patentee did not seem to sec it, but there it is. If any body can find a flaw in the reasoning, let hiiu show it. Yet I am fain to confess tliis demonstration, lucid and satisfactory as it is, to be more comfortable under a clear sky than a clouded one. When the west begins to scowl, I begin to distrust my ciphering, and would give up a mathematical certainty any time for a good set of lightning-rods. Not so my neighbor, " Yom may stick up as many prongs as you like," she says energetically to her husband, who is dallying with tiio agent that peddles them, "but I sliall go over to Aunt Ruth's and sit, every time there is a thunder-storm, if you do!" The rain-drops grow fewer and fainter. The birds twitter out afresh. The flowers shake the big drops off, and begin to look about them. The air is heavy with numberless sweet odors — the newly distilled balm of a thousand flowers. A healthy evening red stains the softening sky. The village girls come loitering down the road; little maids arc chattering like mngpics, and 184 TWKLVK JIlJ.h\S Fh'OM A Lh'MOX. little boys jKuUlling barefoot through the piuUlles. Two dainty clainsels stroll slowly ahead of the others. The sunset glow lights up the brown curls of one to softest gold, and lends a dazzling bloom to the ruddy cheeks of the other. 1 knt)vv them, good, honest, wholesome country-girls; but gliding along under the trees, their white gossamer garments lloating in the evening breeze, they look like angels just alighted — ah! this is what thov are wailing for, tlu-n ! What? Do you think I will ti>H? if to other eyes than mine they look like angels, anil if angels choose to keep ti'vst under our apple-trees, am 1 such a mai'plot that 1 will bhib it lo all the world? Tlie front gate clicks again — a troop of shining ones come lloating \\\) our steps, and more and)rosia, 1 sus- })ect, lies hidden under that napkin's snowy folds. Lift its fringed edges. Civamy chci^se, the clover and vio- lets of our own meadows; golden butliM-, that has hard- ly yet forgotten to bo buttercups; light, white, tooth- some bread; blocks of rich sweetness, that the vulgar call cake; triangles of lemon and sugar and snow-ilakes, which school-boys know as pic — Ah ! these country neighbors are astir again, and thus their ]>aths drop fat- ness. Beloved and beautiful, my Applethorpe ! 1 know not if the stranger's eye linds in you any thing to be de- sired ; but 1 better love the rijijile of your quiet stream than all the mountain-waves of the sea. Pear to me is eveiy shadow of your woods, every swell of your hills, every ilim{>le of your dells. Your green lanes woo me through enchanted jdaees, and on your blue lakes rests the smile of TFeaven. QONFEUENUE WliOJ^U tillJE OUT. 185 xr. CONFERENCE WHO NO SIDE OUT. TiiK iiiinislcr luid f^oiio to New Yc^i'k to marry liia sister, the lawyer was oW m\ eireiiil, the dcaeoii was laid up at horiu; with a sprained ankle, and the (Jcjnl'ereiiee was corning. What sIkjuM wc do? l)c// Why, thei'e was the eliureh to be tidied up, the vestiy to be cleaned, tables to be made and spread, eroekerywarc to bo bought, begged, bori'owed, and bi'oken, (bod to be cooked by the cargo, and collee and tea to be made by the barrel. I could n(;t get an aj)})lc gathered or a log split ioY a fortnight, because "I've got to work up 't the mcctin'-housc. You know Con- ference is comin'." Yes, all the autumn, Conference darkled vaguely in the horizon, and it was when Octo- ber shimmered brown and gold and glorious, and Con- ference bore down upon us under full sail, near and in- evitable, that the minister must needs go off a-marry- ing, the lawyer a-courting, and the deacon a-spraining liis ankle. So we laity were left to prepare the way for a Conference which was used to good eating, and which wc could not let starve on our hands without incurring perpetual disgrace. " Besides," said Confer- ence-goers among our brethren and sisters, "we have been to Conference and got great dinners, and wo will give them as good as they send." 18(i TWIHAh: MILKS FROM A LKMOK It is :i praismvortJiy principle. Scaled be the lips that vvDiihl i^aiiisay it! So, as loreoixlaiiRul IVom the pn]j)it, wc gather to \\\c pivliminary iiieetiiii^' in the vestry, lor we are lulvocates o(" law and older. A\^e will Ikivc oi',i;aiii/ation and a moderator. JSo mob-rule loi- us. In the vestry tlie women are merry and many ; the men arc two, and forlorn. The wonien hold si>ats on the right, as is their wont; they are tired witii ambition, lilled with jilans and (Mithusiasni ; they talk in loud wdiisj)ers, confuse each oilier with cross remarks, ami look daggers over at the two lonesome, uidiap[)y men, who llalt^M- them- selves they are talking together, but really, with heails of lead, are only striving to pass away the time, and wishing that r>liieher or night Were come, and w^onder- ing what they shall i\o if neither l^liieher nor night a})- pears. "Come now," says a woman, energetically, "go and shut those two men up in the small vestry, and let us I)roeeed to business." ]<\)r we iiw all woman's rights here, every mothei-'s pon of us, and knowing, dare maintain — that is, we take our rights without uxovc ado. We have just voted that we will \o[\i in chureh, anil as lor our husbands, wc order them around well when we feel like it, ami sub- mit to nothing but fate. Still, we do our bullying by our own hearthstones, ami sit in prayer-meeting as silent and meek as any subject race, to the annoyance of the free white males, who would like to have us take tho burden off their shoulders by "offering a few remarks" at the Teachers' Meeting or the Sunday-school Concert. aoNFiaiNNi'h: WItONO ,Sll)ly one; sonieliody pi-opos., at the; other. "'IMien you g(!t up and say so," says Mrs. !>., s<'nten- tiously, which is not (;neouraging. After inuch skirmish in whispers, one of the men rises and comes ()V(!r to ns. Oh! wretch(!d reiKigadcH that wc are, disfranchis(;d and degraded the o.\ k'tiow- cth his owii(;r, and the ass his master's ciib. No sooiku' ISS rwh'i.y/': milks n^oM i /./■j.i/o.v. iloi>s lliis mni» \:\ko a soat. on «>ur s^MIco tlinii all tlu> sot- lot's how tlown and do ohrisaiu'i' as sorviK'lv as it* t.lu'v bolii'voJ llu' lioail of llio \vi>inau was tho man. W'l^ |Hnii\(.'o upon liim, wi' Iwisl. luirsolvcs nri>iiiul to l';u'(> Imii, wr siirioix at him in lion hi wliis|H'rs, iioiu' (il'wliu'li call he (listiiM^uish ; but ho inanai;i>s to strike u goiu>ral aviM'ai'.o, aiul I'isos to imn'o that a ooiiiiuitto(> b(> appoiiit- Ci\. Tho luolion is put aiul oanioil, aiul iiniiuHJiaU'lv a lively oauous onsuos o\\ tho sottoos as to tlu> ;ippoiiitoos, "Mrs. C\," says one. "Yes, slu' is hoaulil'iil : \i>u uoiniiiato iior." " No, you !"' with oxprossivi' jKuitouuiuio gosturo. 'V\\o \\{\\c lady i'li>ars hor lhri»at, autl trios Id s:iy in stoutiuiau toMos, " Mrs. (\ ;'' but sho niisoaloulatt'S hor ibrco, and thoi\' is a. dooidoil oaso ol' i'ikc j'ttKri/nis /uvsif. 'VUcu wo all gi-i-io. " Po soniobotlv noniiuato hor,"s:ivs tho bii^j^ost cow- ard ainoii;!; us. "(^ui'l you just, sav Mrs. .1.0.?" — ftS if it woiv as oasy as broathiui;-, sho horsoll" hayinijj noivr- ly sulVoo.atod iu tho attoui]>t, wluM\'at. haJi'a, diK'.ou voioos porpolralo auolhoi" atlaoiv on tho roxnl iiau\o ol'Mrs. (\ l>ul as o.aoh voioo is on a liitVorout ki'y, and as tlioy all bo^'iu with ;v whooy.o and iMid with :i whispor, and as wo iiav*' squattod iu tho larthost baok soals, whili> tlu> ohaii'UKUi is at tho othor cud uuilor iho puljut, tlu> iioui- iiuUious oouio lo his oar «Mily as a «<(M>tlo iuartioulato soughiui;'. Still, ho ovidoutly thinks soiuiMhinu; is going on, and staros stoadlustly and int|uiringly into iMir oiu-- nor, whilo wi> art* suuwhoiiii!'; with lau<>,litiM- ovor our prowi'ss, I'rosoutly owe of us takos hor lilo in lu'r hands, and .>':allioiin<'; up all hor siMd, hurls " Mrs. ,1. M, CdNli'iaU'lNCh] WIlONd ^llih: OUT. IHO (j." ;i,l, iJic iiio(|iT;it,or, in ;i v<>i':<; iiii;Mii;'^ f'loin di'iipcra- tioii, t,wi<-,i; ;iM IoikI ;i:i l,li<;i(; i.', any c.'ill (or, ;inn».';, (^anviiHHing uh we go, and annoiJiK'Jng iJie ichuII, ol'eaeli canvuHH in u con- I'lJHcd and wubljlinj'; eliornn (>[' nqueaky, liunky voiceH, becaiiH(j Mobody v<;nl.iu, the job, "nay;-! the e,ar)»enter, who li;iii joined UM, not proCeHHionally, hr^wever. "To tante the thingn that are brought in, and ;;ee iC they aie f'ood," KM,yK the ehairtnan <>{' the eoinniittee ; hin eyeM dilate with foretaste of the Ceai-it. He.re it in HUggented on the Hlowly darkening "inen'H HJ conuM'. "Oli! \vr have lost our man." "()li ! now oui- luan is j'onr, anil wc can't talk." "Oh! make him como back again," IJut lie siniK's anil smilrs from alar, and is villain onongh to know whon \\c is well oil" and stay thrrr; and another king arises, seeing our bereaved eondition, and deigns to eome over and help ns. " We must ha\e a eonimitlee lo take eare of the food," \vhis})crs Mrs. 1). " \'es,'' says Mrs. K., " il" 1 send a pie, 1 want the Con- lerenee folks to have it. 1 don't want it eaten up by small boys!" "And we ought to have a committeo to lake eare o[' what is lel't, and set the tabic for supper." " ^Vhy, we are not going to give them a supper." "Yes, we are. There will be a good many who won't go till the last train, and will want a supper." " ^'c>u have too manv on eommitlee now," says King ^^tork ; "you don't want any more." "And who is going to do all the work'/'' we demand, tui'niiig- upon him severelv. " JiCt this committee call in as much assistance as they want, but let them be responsible, ll'you have so many committees^ there is no head and no responsibility." We gaze \\\xm him with pity, remen\bcring the long line of conferenees and i>i"dinations aiul tea-]Kirties that have made our village history a. trail of glory, and the innumerable committees under which our liclds were won : but wc remember also that he is but :\ late comer, wd\o, during those eventful days, was wandering in some oulri- daikness, and docs not know that Ibitons never (!()NIi'I':ui<:n(!i: wnoNn hidiii out. I!)l will 1)(; .sI.'ivcm; :im(I I,Ih»ii;'Ji wc :ir<; <|inl,(; williii;'; l.o woilc (l;iy ;iinl iii;';lil., W(; will do it- ;is (•oiniiiilJiM-, :ii)(| not, ;ih tlio inuiiiaLs and miiiioiiH oC a cominiUccI An,si,sUiii(;(!, iiulcctl I TIiiiH <',v(!r JM l,li(! civi<; rniiid ovci'riddiui l)y or- ganizali<;ii, a,iid would ^lacrilic-o tin; nohlt; piidc ol' Uio rural di.sLricLs to tlio .sanu5 Cal.so f^od. " Wi; ()U;di1- to have- a cotriiuilUu; ou cai'i'ia;.jc.M," .su|i;- j^fcists oni; ol' l,ln; clccl ladies. " Wlial- do you want ofcarria^cH?" aHlvH Kiiijjj lio;^. " VVIiy, Lo hiin;'; iJio j)0()[)l(; to aud (Voin tin; .station." " Nonsciist!. If tlniy aru woll tin^y r,;iii wall<, and il' tlicy ar'c, .sick tlicy liad butter Hta.y at lionic" " I'lit iJh; niinist(!r.M, wo inu.stii't make tlicni walk." I^'orcvt-r to tli(! leinalo eye i.s your cl(;r<_';ytna,n baked of pui'cst ])or(;cla.in ; no eonmion cartlM'nwai'e i.s Ik;. "Do 'em good," rejoins M;utli(!n ware, l)rus((uely; "they will enjoy it. When w1 TWKI.VK MILKS FKOM A l.KMOX "\\\vM is that? Mrs. X. V.? No, sho is dc:\[\ and v^ho toKl nio ii was no use to pui \wv on anv thini;\ Why don't von have Mrs. Q. WT "Mi's. Q. P.! Sl\o oan't oon\o. ^'ou nood nol notni- iiiUe her." ''Why oan't sho? Sho is a real good hand." '*l>ut don't von know? She — wliy — v^ho has a little baby." '*Xo, she hasn't, llor baby is two years old, and can stay with it^ gi^andnuMhor." " Hut. she has another." '' 1 don't believe it !'' " It's true." " How old is it, eonie?" ''Born in July." " Well, that's news to nu\" Kvery body is taketi abaek, and the whole Conler- enee eoniiv^ to a dead hall over this probleniatieal baby ; but the definite date seems to silenee doubts. It' you ean assert that a baby was born on a lixed day, it fol- lows as the night that day that he was really born. So presently we return to business. Shall we have tea and eolVee? "Ni\ Tea, but not oolVee. Yes, tea and coiYee. Von ean'i make them both. Mrs. II. says ymi may have her eooking-stove. 1 will give the eolVeo jather than not have it. How mueh tea do we need'? Oh! twenty or thirty pounds. Absurd! Six pounds is enough. Why, how many will bo here? Thirty ehurehes belong to the C\Miferenee. .And they will all eome. .\nd most ot' "em won't have any regular meals tor two days belbrehand. so as to get up an ap[KMite. nosimuKNaK w/toNo HiiJic I)i:t. vy/, Oh ! have wo got a c/nnrniiWi \/> go around and »cc what people will give? If we don't, they will all «end in cake or j^ic-H, and we Hha'n't have any brea^l and meat. La! we haven't halfVy^rnrnittceH enough. We ought V> have sixteen more committee*, two on each. Oh ! »^j^; how Mr.H, M. want« to be in offie^;! She thinlcH if there arc ¥Ax\ji^:\\ nhe will fttand a chance. Why lo^^k I MrH. N. and Mrn. 0. aren't on any thing. They ought \ji} Vx;, they are ho public-Hpiritc^l. Well, make a cornmitt/;^; and put them on. ]iut we've got w^rnmittee» on every thing you can think of Make a general committee, then. But the first wa» a general cr^rnmittec. And thia will 1>J a general-in-ehief. Make it quick. And the perj^lexed King St^^rk puts hia privaUi opinions in his pocket, and moves that Mr. N., Mr. O., Mr. P., and Mr, Q. 1x5 ap[X,»inte^l a general c^^mrnittec. "And their wives!" yell the settees, in their enrage^l whispers. "And their wives," echoes the rnouth-piccc, snbdacd beyond even the semblance of rc-nijitance. And then, having formed fumimhUiOi enough to get ourw;lves all in honorable p^^Jtions, we depart in peace; not fancying that we have rna^le a brilliant stand for woman's rights, but firm in the faith that we shall cornc out strong on the Conference; dinner. And if you win the battle, what ruaWiV whether you do it by \\nri\od dinner lor tho olergy and the laity. And how they did eome ! It rained almost inees- santly, and we all know tho frantio elforts of tho minis- ters and the religious newspapers to make people dis- regard the weather on Sundays, and the blank array of empty pews with which people respond whenever there is a cloud in tho sky no bigger than a man's hand. So we went to church bemoaning our loaded hampers, and resolving to stay and dino oui-selvos rather than our viands should be lost — especially as wo had no dinner at home — and lo! a great multitude had gone up to tho courts oi' the Lord, and our i^ews were full in s}ute of fJONFJCUKNCE WRONG hlDK OUT. 10,"i the rain, and those of uh who came to cat remained l(j serve. "What shall we do with onr loaves and fishes?" communed the villaj^ers on their way to the tabernacle. " What shall we do with the people that have come to eat them?" th(iy asked, in the consternation of hospi- tality, when the tabernacle door flew open to the throng that gathered there. I must confess I attempted to stir up sedition, but met with inglorious failure. Seeing the chaos and care, the tables to be made, the settees to be turned and over- turned, the order to be disordered, and the disorder to be reorganized into order, I said, " It is too much work. It is fatiguing to think of" And every body cried with one voice, "Not in the least!" Indeed, they were as blithe as blackbirds, and as chattering. It was fun, and society, and good cheer. The more the merrier, both of hosts and guests; so then I turned right about face, determined to pick a quarrel with the existing order of things somehow, and said : " This shows how much we need amusements. IMiis Conference is a sort of eccle- siastical ball and supper. They are talking instead of dancing up in the ball-room, Vjut they look not much more solemn than the average American going through a cotillon, and I reckon the average cotillon American does not cheat in trade, does not snub his wife, does not lose his temper much oftener than the average church American. But we churchlings have so discounte- nanced amusements that we arc infinitely amused by 80 small a change in our daily life as doing by the dozen once in seven years what we do singly at home iDt; TWh'l.yh' Mll.i:s /■/.•('.l/ .1 I.L'MOX. «'VtM-v (l;iv. The i>lo!isuro of fi;iM.tin!!; owl of the iKirunv HMitiiu' of lunno, ol" iiicUiiij'; (oi'jiMlu'r willi our IVicnds niul iu'i_!';hlH>rs, Inkcs thr \\c:\r ami tvar oul, ol'lln- work, uml iiisto.'ul v[' \\c:\\\\\\y>; rrlVoshrs aiul hoartiMis us. Wliy do wo nol, tluMi, loaru a lossou ['vo\\\ this, and iu- viM\l. ]>K'asaut. littlo jissoiuhlii^s for and of oursidvrs, with or without baked brans, whoiv yoiiui; aud old can moot and ohat and sini;- and ])lay suoh j'anios us ^\o iu>t ^o against, tho t'onsoiiMioo o\' tho biiMliron'.' "and lotail s^ossip, tittU'-tattlo, soandal, and slandor," say tho pui-ists and wisoaon>s whi> ha\t^ Ihhmi ri>arod in tho. boliol' that suoh is tho blaok oalniojnio and history of villaj'o sow- ing sooiotios. Woll, villagiM's nui';ht. he jMiilly iA' worso t-riuu-s. Soandal, slandor, gossip, tittlo taltK> hard nanios all. .And i\)Ugh usago doalois in suoh waros rocoivo at tho JKUuls of lht> t!u>orists. Wul aio tho littlo inijvs (|uito us blaok as Ihoy aio paintod 7 Humanity, as it lios undor our i>bsorvution, oxisls in ihroo layors. Tho first, is tho suptM'I'ioially polit(> und snulin;-; ono. Tho noighbors oall ou \on, and you ro- turn ihoir oalls. ^'ou in(>ot, thoni in tho st lort. and at ohuroh. All is oivilil v, kimhu-ss, and !';ood-['ollowship. That is lav(M" luunboi- oni>. Thou you tail in bnsinoss, \o\\v lovoi" jilts yi>u, you tpiarrol with \iiur wilo, your sv>n is rusli(,'atod at. ool- logt\ and llu> wholo world turns g;lad anil malignant, and tlu> air is darkiMiod with tlu> i'lo\id ot' bad, lalso, harsh rumiMS. No wondor yi>u I'ailoil in bnsinoss! ^'ou havi^ boon liying oxtravaganlly thoso livo yours, with purplo and \\\\c linon and sumptuous I'ai'o, wino roA'A'A'A'A'AT/.; \\/:{>eti/iing dish lor your (lulled taste, will count no service too severe, no drudgery too me- nial, to tlivcst you of care, and enable you to give your whole tluuight and attention to the recovery of your health. When your house is threatened, they will ex- ert every laculty to save it. They will put forth pre- cisely as much elVort to rescue your furniture from the Ihuncs as if it weri> their own ; and when, alter all, your house is strij^pcd and not burned, they will come hack next day, and re}>lacc your goods as heartily and as thoroughly as they snatched them oil". Nor can you help a certain clutching at the throat, an unsteadiness about the mouth, a mist in the eyes, a }n"essure at the heart, wdien you think ol' this wonderful brotherhood of humanity — this unspi>ke)i, alhhel]>ful sympathy. This is layer nund)er three, and however deep down you go you will lind nothing deeper to ncutrali/,e it. We often freight words ^yith a heavier meaning than they were meant to bear. AVe give to expressed disap- j)robation a disproportionate weight. AVo are always trying to repress gossip, and never to fortify society against it. We write stories showing how lovely wom- an was brought to her grave by careless rumor, but we never show how foolish it was in the lovely woman to aONFJU/iKXCM \yU.<).\(/ SIDK OUT. \\)\) rnrikc .1 {j^ruvii iikiLUt orciarcrlcsM niiiior. Wt; :in; iilvvays Iraiuiiig tlio tongue, biil, vv(^ imvcr tr;iiii \\w vav. " If villi wiiiilil iilwjivH h{.\ (liHcrdcl, V'wi' ihiii^^s ()l)Ki)i'vo willi euro — or ulioni you Hpttiik, to whom you Hi)oivk, Ami how, iukI wlioii, mid wlicic-," HiiyH Sir Meiitoi-, niid rancies Ik; lias sc^MJihI llio wIkjIh iuuLUm'; but, if it is all tin; saiiu! to you, Sir Mentor, w<' "WouUl II great deal rather not bo discreet than pay sueh a price lor discretion. (Jonversation would be a very lively exorcise, piekcjted ai'outid with tlies(! livi; points of Calvinism ! A Ihr betUu' way is to estini;it(! f^';ossip at its I'cal worth. A great deal that passes Ibr scandal is but an inteneetual exercise, pcstty for want of some thing larger, but sudiricntly innoe(-nt. Mahee, willful falsi;h()()d, carelessness ol" truth, d(!sign to injure, arc; tin- mitigatedly bad, and ought to banish tlaui' proprietors from socic^ty ; i)Ut curiixsity — a fondiu^ss Ibr story-telling and story-hearing may be- only one Ibrni of mental activity, and entirely consistent with great good -will. Ij(!t us giv(; in lo it with wdiat grace; we may —when vvaf is so nuu-h bettor than sour bread! Why not have, then, a little neighborhood conference every month, or as often as shall seem agreeable, to which good manners shall be the only entrance fee, and where baked beans or roasted {potatoes shall be the inexpensive but sulhcient entertainment, though each may bi'ing that which seems good in his own eyes? This would make the ehuivh the recognized social as well as religious centre, and might somehow equalize matters. For me, 1 am amazed at the goodness of the worUl, its forgiveness, and foi'bearance, and general vir- tuonsness. Here we chureh-lolk berate the '' woi-Ul's people" every Sunday about their trespasses ami sins, and yet no sooner (\o we get up a Confeivnee, which is exclusively a church matter, and has nothing to do with the world except to bui'nish uji the weapons wherewith we mean to attack it, and immoiliatoly the kindly, hos- pitable, good-natured world forgets all the hard names wc have been calling it; turns to with as hearty a will as if it were in good and regular standing; knocks up tables and chairs, provides horses and carriages, spreads thick slices of bread and butter, and thin slices of ham and tongue, all one as if we had not ruled it out of the Kingdom Come. And we gladly accept. We have no intention of associating with it in the next world, but we arc very glad to avail ourselves of its services in this. We make a distinct mark on the sheep of our fold, and i CONPERENdlS WRONG SIDE OUT. 2(Ji SO class them off from tlic goats; but so far as natural history is concerned you never could tell them apart. There is, I regret to be obliged to say, one droj) of bitterness in our sweet draught. Wc did not have puddings at our Conference. To bo sure, wc did not need them. Need them ! I should think! Why, when Mrs. Betty came in, erect and confident, with bag, pail, and pillow-case, and succinctly inquired, "Meat cut up yet? Want the scraps," were wc not so filled with liiith in our resources that, though the meeting was barely begun in the church triumphant above, and the tables not spread in the church militant below, gener- ous hands laid hold of joints, carved out bones, and cut off gristle, leaving large margins of meat, made odds and ends where none existed, and sent Mrs. Betty away rejoicing, to feed out of her pillow-case till Thanks- giving? No, wc did not need puddings, nor even miss them till the next day, when, as ill luck would have it, they got up an installation in the neighboring village, which we all attended, and the iron entered into our souls, for they installed with puddings! In every other respect we think we held our own; but those frosted, foamy puddings gave a whiteness and delicacy to the tables which ours lacked. We like our minister too well to hope for an installation of our own, and the Conference only comes round once in seven years; but I warrant you whoever lives to sec that day will sec something in the way of puddings that shall make all his previous experiences of frost and foam seem but an idle dream. 9* 202 rwKLvt: milks tiiOM a i.kmox. corxTiiV i'/iAi:ACT/:h\ IxV^vw simplicity is like tho snakes of Ireland. There is no rustic simplicity. At least, I do not know Avhero you will lind it outside of books. AVhat with the telegraph, and railroads, and lyeeuni lectures, and fashion plates, every IhhIv knows every thing. Think no nioiv, oh city-zen, of coniing down into our solitude to astonish and captivate us with your airs and graces. AVe know how broad phylacteries ought to be j\s well :\s you. We know where the ilounccs go, what eoloi's blend, what shades are stylish, which way stripes ought to run. Po not think to overtop us with your Tyivlese peaks, or overpilo us with your pulls and paniers. Go into our church, and learn that we worship just as de- voutly as you, with knots just as bright, heels just as high, and hats just as daintily poised on the tips of our noses or the backs of our heads. Ignorance is igno- rance, and vulgarity is vulgarity, but their existence no longer depends on locality or population. Mr. Justin !N['Carthy thinks that American men are particularly Ihie-looking, and some one, commenting on ^Ir. M'Car- thy, says these fine-looking men are generally city-bred. Very likely. "We talk prettily about many thing-s, and, among othei"S, of the healthiness and desirableness of farming; but it seems to me that no man sooner mai^s (JO UNTIL Y (JHA IL \ CTFJt. 2 O-'J the cornclincHs wljicli his Maker gave hirri tlian the con- firmed farmer, tlie actual, hard-working farmer. ^J'ho man who depends upon his farm for liis Bub.si.stence is very ix\A to be early wrinkled, bent, bald, rheumatic; ho comcH to have a hard, shrunk, shriveled look. 1V;o often he bequeaths to his children diminished Ktaturc and enfeebled frames. City folk arc constantly urging young men to remain in the country, and warning them of the certain struggle and possible failure that await them in the city ; but the country lads see sights which impress them more than a thousand newspapers. They sec the country lad who went up to the city years ago grown now into a stout, healthy, handsome man. lie KlamJs erect, he walks elastic, and his clothes fit ! Every thing betokens self confidence, a man at peace with him- self and the world, a life that has had in it satisfaction and enjoyment. His brothers, who staid at home on the farm, or in its attendant shop, present a contrast al- most [Kithetie. 'i'hey are round-shouldered, and gaunt from constant t(jil and exposure. ^J'hey have not the air of command and possession. They arc men whom the world has f)ressed hard, not men who have con- quered the world. Their fate is not enticing, yet they see many things, "Yes," says my friend, the forester, "I got up and went off to work at seven in the morning about every day last winter." "It was you, then, whom I used to see going across the fields so regularly ?" " With a tin j)ail? Yes, that was me." " Vou carried your dinner, and staid all day?" 20-1 TWKLVK MILKS rh'iKM A l.KMO.W " Vos, Sam ami mo, nvo out twontv-fivo cord of wood, one job. That's prolty hard work — a oord of wood a day. Wust oi' il was haviii" your tool soj^piu" wot. AVo had to staud in tho water and slosh I'loarn uj> to horo." "Ishoidd think you wouKl havo tVvv-.on." '*Pld. 1 iVozo ono sido ol' my loot a httK\" '*J)id it u'ivo you any troubk^?'" *'Lor' no! I'so owl thoro all wintor, woiking in tho cold, and novor got cold. Thon I oomo homo and lay round a ooal stovo, an' goin" out an' in, an' got an awful oold."' "l>ut did not your dinnor froozo?" "Yos. The' want no other way. Hut thoro, you couldn't do it if you hadn't got a oonstilution to lay out on." ''lint isn't it a }nty to lay your oonstitution out on suoh a hard undortaking"/'' " Woll, you must do what comes to hand. dom. now, M'ill make live hundred dollars out of that lot. That's my cal'lation ; and 1 got a good job, tluMigh it was a jMvt- t.y tough one. There's a few men in this town that's in- dependent, and I'm glad of it ; but I ain't one of them.'' "Wiio are they, tor instance "/" for I sooni to see a mischioviMis twinkle in his dvMuuro eye. '' Wall, there's .Kd Stanley koe[is a horse and carriage, and riilos nnuul, and lives on the interest of his nuHioy.'' The sly-boots! lie knows every ono is concerned only to sec how severe will be tho jerk when Va\ Stanley comes to tho end ol' his very short rope, lun* ropes havo an end, and, if thev are lorovor unrolled, tho owner couNruY <:iiAiiAi:TKn. 200 will find it, whether he be Marquis of Ilafitings or a village tailor; fortunate if he do not find it around his neck." "How long do you 8uppo8C the interest will last?" "Oh! J do' know that, 'Twould last a good while if it did not take so much to live on. Now in my line, you see, it takes a good deal just to live on. Work up to your knees in slosh, and you don't want much plum- cake or frosted cake, but somethin' that's got some hold onto it." " That makes work to do at home." " That's so. But then, when I was out there, I used, mo.stly, to get breakfast myself, and let the woman lay abed." ''You did r "Yes. I'd rather. Bread was all made, an' I'd just make the coffee and broil a steak." " How came you to know how?" "Oh! I can cook. I don't like to, but I can do it, and it's a great deal better than to have her up before daylight and then round alone all day." "That is a thousand times true and thoughtful and considerate; but I don't see how your unregenerate mind ever came to think of it." "Oh, I've thought of a good many things V^rowsing along, like, and, between you and me and the post, I think the women have the hardest time. I've done w^oman's work a good many times at a pinch, fii.st and last, and I vow I'd rather do my own. It's the easiest in the long run. But la! settin' round at home, I'd ju.st as lieves clap a piece of pork on the fire as not." 206 TWELVE 3IILES FROM A LE3I0N. "You are like all the rest of us; that is, work that is not work you like, and for the rest you will do what you must, without whining." "That's so; but then, some work with their heads, and some with their hands. Some heads are better than others — different from others, at least. Now, if I had had all the advantages — I did have a good many — I went to school ; but, if I had gone to school till I was as old as Noah, I never should have been a Eufus Choate or a Daniel Webster. You see, the mind acts in that line, and ambition goes along with it," " Yet in hand labor one needs brains," "That's so. You want brains in farming — need to use a great deal of judgment. If it's only going into the woods to cut a cord of wood, there's an advantage to be taken. One will do more work in less time than another, just from the way he takes hold. One comes in, all of a breeze, and goes right into it, and don't do so much as a man who looks round and gets the ad- vantage." I am sure I have heard that said before in more pompous phrase. Here is a book, printed in London just a hundred years ago, called " The Rural Socrates : being Memories of a Country Philosopher. Translated from the French." The French, I fancy, had very little to do with it. My copy says it was written by Hon. Benjamin Vaughan, of Hallowell, Maine, a follower of Priestley to this coun- try, once a Member of Parliament, and a practical farm- er of skill and good sense. The traditions of his adopt- ed home report him as a white-haired, fine-looking gen- COUNTRY CHARACTER. 207 tleman of the old school, without fear and without re- proach. Thus statelily discourseth my gentleman of the old school : " I have studied with uncommon assiduity the char- acters of men of every profession, who have been distin- guished for prudence and understanding. I observed, with astonishment, that, among those engaged in the same occupations, some were riveted in penury and want, while others enjoyed affluence and ease. The cause of this inequality seemed worthy of the exactest and most accurate examination ; and the pains I took to investigate it at length succeeded : I perceived that those persons who formed no regular plan of life, strangers to reflection and foresight, thoughtless of to- morrow, were, by the negligence of their conduct, the sole authors of their own distresses and disappointments. Those, on the contrary, whose steady and enlarged prin- ciples govern and guide their sagacious and determined views ; who unite, in their several professions, diligence and attention, order and punctuality, qualities which smooth the rugged paths of life, will find the journey more easy, more speedy, and infinitely more lucrative. These are maxims which whoever attends to must gain his point, in defiance of opposition, and amass wealth, should the malignity of men or demons endeavor to wrest it from him." This Rural Socrates speaks from the gathered wisdom of the centuries and the amenities of a scholarly and courtly life. My Rural Socrates has behind him only the courtesies of the corn-field and the wisdom of the wood lot ; yet it seems to me he goes by a shorter cut 208 TWULVE MILES FROM A LEMON. to tbe same core of truth around wliicli our majestic philosopher circumambulates with so much dignity. "That's so," says my Socrates, who listens to my reading of the extract with grave and critical attention. " It's all cal'lation. You may work, but it's cal'lation that makes you rich. Jest so in the house." — Oh ! true man! always taking refuge from his own sins in "the woman whom Thou gavest to be with me !" — " One woman will make a good meal out of nothin', you may say; it's wholesome, and palatable, and — good. And another woman will take the same, and you — jest pass it outdoors. The difference is — now you won't write a book about me?" "Yes, I will — report every word. Go on." "It all depends on the woman. A woman can throw out of the window, with a tea-spoon, more than a man can bring in at the front door with a shovel." " Of course she can, my Socrates, woman being the superior person ; and never is her superiority more brilliantly proven than in this very fact : that with her delicate, dainty, silver tea-spoon she not only purifies her house of all the dirt and rubbish which her hus- band brings in with his huge, unsightly shovel where shovels do not belong, but she leaves a margin of clean- liness, as your own self admits. Besides divesting the house of his impurity, she invests it with her own beau- ty, eh?" Possibly my Eural Socrates did not mean precisely this, but he shoulders his shovel and walks off with an indescribable, twinkling, appreciative, yet sober smile. But now comes up a greater than Socrates, who is not COUNTRY CHARACTER. 209 to be so easily dislodged. Says Horace Greeley :* " My father was of this [the farming] class, as my only broth- er is; so were both my grandfathers, and their ances- tors, so far as I can trace them. My paternal grand- father raised nine sons and four daughters, and never was worth $2000 in any one of his ninety-four years. My father was an unusually hard worker, always a farmer, never worth $2000, generally worth from up to $500; he died eighty-six years old, and five of his ■ seven children survive, from sixty to forty-nine years old. (The two earliest died in infancy.) My uncle John, born two years after my fother, has been a farmer all his life ; he is now eighty-seven years old, but erect and vigorous ; his eye bright, and his voice as full and ringing as most men's at fifty. lie is the last of the thirteen children of my grandfather; one only died of consumption at thirty-three years of age, leaving six children, of whom five are still with us; the rest of my fiither's brothers and sisters lived to be from seventy to eighty years old, except one who died at fifty, and he was not a habitual worker. All the rest were farmers or farmers' wives — none of them ever rich ; most of them quite poor; yet not one of them all was prema- turely ' wrinkled, bent, or bald ;' not one of them be- queathed to his children (and all of them had children) 'diminished stature' or 'enfeebled frames.' Here is a large family of poor, and generally hard-working farmers, the descendants of a race of just such, who have lived by tilling the hard, rocky soil of New Hampshire * It is, perhaps, needless to say thai this was written before Mr. Greeley's death. 210 TWFLVU MILES FROM A LEMON. since the year 16-iO I happen to be the only one of the crowd who might be called 'bald.' I was more 'bent' at forty than my father or his father at seventy; and I am the only one who earned his livelihood other- wise than by farming I have been here [in the city] forty years, neither thoughtless nor unobservant; and, in my judgment, more country-born men have died here in prisons, hospitals and the alms-house, in those forty years, than have achieved even a modest competence. And day after day my soul sickens at the never-ending procession of the multitude who crawl on the knees of their spirits to those who have achieved position and means, with the beggar's petition: 'Please give me something to do.' " Alas! I am in an evil case. I have made an asser- tion which I can not prove. I spoke of the attractions of city life to country folk, and contrasted the erect figure and elastic step of the lad who went to the city and made his fortune, with his prematurely bald, bent, rheumatic comrades who fought it out on the farm; and down comes Mr. Greeley upon me with a regiment of uncles, aunts, and grandfathers, all farmers, all straight, smooth, hairy, and hundreds of years old, and marshals them "in opposition to my naked assertion." And I can not answer back. It is all very well to. bring on your bright-eyed, heavy-haired ancestry to confute and confound your foes; but think of the she- bears that w^ould come out of the woods to tear me in pieces should I go around among my kinsfolk and ac- quaintance, and say to one and another, "Go up, thou bald-head. Go up, thou bald-head, and show thyself to COUNTRY CHARACTER. 211 Horace Greeley in proof of my veracity." No, my "naked assertion" must still stand unclothed upon, for I can not afford to pay the price of a wardrobe. Yet I did draw from life, not upon imagination. My painting was a portrait, and no fancy sketch. My generaliza- tion may have been wrong, but my observation was right — unless, indeed, I am called on to prove it in a court of law, in which case I shall not only deny its cor- rectness, but shall stoutly maintain that I never made it! And no more than I can prove my own statements, can I disprove Mr. Greeley's; but I can do the next best thing, and show that they do not amount to any thing. I admit that his family are all as tall, and hale, and old as he represents, though I have seen none of them. But I have seen lum. Now, he says he is the most " bald " and " bent " of the whole crowd ; thinks he works harder at sixty than his farming friends did at thirty ; and, with all his hard city work and city care, he has a face like the full moon for roundness, and fair- ness, and placidity, and his voice is the voice of tran- quillity, and Ifis step is the step of abstraction, undis- turbed by hurry. When, therefore, he arrays his form- ing friends against my farming facts, I simply set his cit}'- face against his city fjicts, and, if that is not a vic- tory, it is at least a dead-lock ! "We are just where we were when we started, for the Greeleys are all hand- some together, and ruled out of court. What / know about farming is that, as it exists be- fore my eyes, it is hard work, and wearing work, and uncertain work — or rather uncertain wage. In the Ions: 212 TWELVE MILES FHOJI A LEMOX. run, I suppose, a man is as sure of getting a living off a farm as anywhere else, but he is tolerably sure of not getting much more than a living. In that sense, indeed, farming is certain work, Mr. Greeley's own figures show this. Jf farmers are healthy, happy, and wise, of course it is immaterial whether they are worth two thousand or two millions of dollars ; but as things go, the prospect of working hard for ninety-four years, and never having more than two thousand dollars to show for it, is any thing but an enchanting one. Mr. Greeley may sing idyls all his life, but his good, calm face, his exalted position, and the rumors of the fortunes he has gained, and saved, and lost, will overpower his idyls, and lure young life to the city with a stronger attraction than all the bi'ight eyes, and ringing voices, and slender purses of his highland-clan can counteract. It is no matter how many foil. "We do not see the failures, and we walk by sight. We hear nothing of the journals that die in their infanc3^ We know only how victoriously the Tribune has lived. We do not see the country-born paupers perishing in the city alms-house. We only see Horace Greeley calling no man master. We do not go lip from the country farms to be the ninety-nine foilures, but the one success. Of the fortunes of farming, compared with those of other occupations, I am not competent to speak. In- deed, the only way in which I see how a person can ever become rich is by writing. There, you do what you like, what you would rather do than not, what you would do any wa}^, and are paid ten times what it is worth, even when 3'ou are cheated. You please your- COUNTRY CHARACTEB. 213 self on high wages. But to accumulate a fortune by making a half-cent profit on a pound of sugar, or a yard of cloth, or a bushel of potatoes, is rolling the stone of Sisyphus. And farming seems to have the steadiest run of unsteadiness. Wheat is up, and your crop is down with a tornado. Next year you have a magnificent harvest, but so have your neighbors, and the price is nowhere. This year your whole farm raises three ap- ples. Last year the trees were loaded, and the mar- ket would not pay for transportation. The cranberries flourished like a green bay-tree, but an early frost nip- ped them in the green. The peaches and grapes prom- ised well, and a hailstorm destroys the whole year's growth. Hay is fifty dollars a ton, but the drought has starved your fields. The marshes at last were fruitful, but a sudden north-easter carried your hay-stacks out to sea. But when Mr. Greeley asks "whether our loving Father and Friend has so ordered his creation that obedience to his commands makes us 'early wrinkled,' " and so forth, I say at once, No. But he has so ordered it that, if we do not know how to obey them wisely, we suffer just as much as if we refused to obey them will- ingly. I will not say that he has ordered us to till the ground, but he has so arranged matters that the one thing indispensable is to till the ground. Therefore I firmly believe that farming must one day be profitable, both for the life that now is and for that which is to come. It is, indeed, becoming so. But in multitudes of cases it is not so. I do not deny that ignorance or thriftlessness may be the cause. I only say that farm- 214 t]V/:lvj-: Mrr.i:s from a lkmox. iiig is a work wliioh ivquiros so mncli more brains, scionco, skill, than many otlior occupations, that igno- rance is more ilital. It requires more shrewdness and sa^^aeity to be ;i successl'ul larmer than it does to be a successful shoe-maker or tailor. The reason why farm- ers work harder than their jkhm's in trailes is not be- eauso they arc less intelligent, but because their work is more exacting. The boy who is not bright enough to make new discoveries or inventions in larming may bo bright enough to tend a corner grocery, and too bright to be a mere routine farmer. l>ut if the corner grocery will tiro of him, and he is too proud or too lazy to come back to tlio farm, let him not go begging to Mr. Greeley and say I sent him. 1 scorn him! Any one is to be scorned who will whine rather than work. 1 never saw farming made easy or jKirticularly lucra- tive either to man or woman; and neither stake nor scalVold shall force me to say that 1 would not rather be sitting in my own library, writing at a hundred dol- lars a word, than digging jH>tatoes at a dollar a bushel, or churning butter at iifty cents a pound. .l>ut if pub- lisluMs reject my papers, And I refuse to dig or to churn, but join "the never-ending procession of the multitude who crawl on the knees of their spirits," begging Mr. Greeley to give them something to do — why, then, let me bo given over to uncovenantcd mercies! Another man, " mountain born," says : "1 have always been an admirer of the beautiful in nature and art, yet it seems to mo that there is an inner life — a wealth of character which is far more lovely than polished speech, fine clothes, and costly mansions, and which is the only €0 UNTR Y en A /,'. ( ( ' '/'AY,'. 2 1 ;') standiird by wliicli to csiiiiKitc a man's true worth. Vrct 1 liavc been (breed, under the most a<^'gravating eireum- stances, to believe that city {)eoj)le, as a chiss, entertain a feeling bordei'in<^' on contempt for their rui'al cousins, whose mannei's ai'e not so ])olished, whose hands are not so small and soft, and who do not always dress in the height ol' lashion. 1 have been rre(|uently scorneil and sneered at by misses who to-day ai'e my social inlei'ioi's, and would ix'ceive my advances with [)leasure. What makes the diilerence? JMy pui'pose to lead an upright and ust'fid lile was as strong then as now. "I know ol' a woman who has been I'rom her child- liood one of tho most heroic persons that ever lived. At homo she had scarcely any advantage's. She was nurse, servant, and housekeeper of a large family. She was never allowed to attend a quarter's school, and was really required to do the work of three persons until her marriage. She lias been a slave to work, ti'oid)le, and anxiety nearly all hci- life, and yet, although she is one of the best Christian women in the world, lier rustic manners and language woidd excite the scorn of col- Icgc-bred men and city ladi(\s so that lu^r own children would feel it. Such is the shamefid j)ower of city asso- ciations, that they tempt the young to neglect aiul al- most t(.) scorn those to whom they are bound by the strongest and most sacred ties." I think my friend is violently wrong and ileeply right. Now, then, let us draw the lino exactly on the boundaries. He believes there is a wealth of charaetc;!", an inngr life more lovely than j)olished speech, and by which alone a man is to be judge(l. Vcs and no. Yes, 216 TWTLVJ-J MILL'S FL'OM A LEMOX. because the life is more than meat, and the body than raiment. No, because we 9?? (/.sV judge of the inner life largely by speech, and divss, and manner of outward life. For instance, i know nothing whatever of ^[r. A. T. Stewart's inner hfe. lie may be a noble and heroic soul, or an ignoble and cowardly one. lUu, if he buiKls for himself a statolv dwelling, lilling it with the treas- ures of art, 1 infer that he loves beauty. If he gives to Chicago fifty thousand dollars lor her sulfering children, I infer that he is ins[)ired b}^ the enthusiasm of human- ity. Po you say it ma}- have been mere ostentation — that the widow who bestowed lu>r ten-cent scrip may have been more really benevolent ? ^'ou have no i-ight to say it. If you tliink so, keep it to yourself. It is bad cnougii to ascribe bad motives \o bad deeds, but ho who ascribes bad motives to good deeds is a churl in- deed. \Ve have no more right to aspen^e the motives of a millionaire than of n poor widow. When we find that a man may be confidently counted on to do good acts, then we attribute to him, perforce, a noble inner life, whether he is poor and only shares his crust with a poorer brother, or whether he be rich and gives of his abundance. Too much can not be said to emphasize the superiority of soul to circumstance, but do not let us be too haid o\\ circumstance. It is better to be lovely in heart than in hand, but it is charming to bo both! The sweetest temper, the grandest soul in the world, aj)- pears to better advantage through grannnatical language and correct pronunciation than their opposites. No- body will deny that, but it must I'ollow, as the night the day, that uncouthness of word and manner is a dis- CO irsTii Y ciiA /.'. I ( -n<:ii. 2 1 7 advantage; and the .sun under a eloiid can noL niake so doci) an impression, can nol Ix; so (!asily wsen ;in(l recognized, as lIh; sun in a cXvax sky. My I'liend, I :iiii sure, agrees to this lieaitily, so we will j/o on tcj the next liead. I)o lh(! city [xjopli', indeed, h)()I< down npon theii' coiuitry consins? 1 can tell them that wt;, the eoinitry {)copl(!, return their look with cf)mpound interest. I'nt it S(!{;ms to m(! tin; eont<;nipt on l)()th sides is very inno- cent. Cultivated and well-br(;d people reeogni/e and resf)eet ea(;h oth(!r wherev(U" (bund; and to the; con- t(;nij)l or admiralioii oC the ilhhred w(; are alik'e indifl'ei'« ent. 'l'h(! chjscM' association ol' cities is perli;ij)S favor- able to the; growth of that consid(;ration Ibr othei's' I'iglits and (eelin'js which we call good bi'(!(;ding ; but the vulgarity of the city is infinitely more ollensive than that oC the country. ^I'Iku'c is an nppishiKsss, a jxu'tness, a (limsiness about it that ;i,niioys you. 'I^he untutored I'ustie is slow and (;liunsy, [)eihaps, Ijut, Il(;av(;n be j)raised ! he is not da|)p(U-. lie may b(; nncomrortabhr, uncertain as to tin; pioper disposition (jl'his hands and feet, but he never commits the damning cockii(;y sin of thinking that lie is "astonishing the nativ(;s." 7\wk- wardness and ignorance are never really vulgar except when ih(!y arc pretentions; and thos(i persons, whether in city or country, who make an awkward person feel uncomfortable are thcmsclveH as deficient in manners as is he whom they ridicule. 'I'Ik; best-br(;d ])eo[)lc are the most sim|)lt\ors. That which aK)nr con- t>tilutcsthc nobility olMoniooraoy is lairly, proudly, ami victoriously sot against that which alone makes aristoc- racy ignoble. 1 like to think that a woman - little known — has been listening in her ''saintly sv^lilude'' to the world's voices sounding near and far, loud or low ; that in her soul, si- lently, without aim, thoughts have been r(Wolving, eon- elusions maturing, eonvietions deepening, imjHilsetpiiek- ening, till all this mental slir (bund overllow and elian- nel to the world. A book nuiy be an aeeivlent. Cir- cumstances, change, a thousand slight modilieations of life may previMit- the still, small voiee iVom speaking be- yond the sphere of home listeners; but it is pleasant to feel that over all the country, unknown to fame or even to society, mav be such listeners, such observers, such possible talkers- Curls of the Period, who will keep the Period sweet and bear it wi41 aloft; women who discern and discriminate, and eahnly, despite all clanuu" and heat, deal just judgment, and show us how divine a thing a woman nuiy be made. At the beu'inning of our last ami greatest revolution- ary war, among the thousands oflS'orthern families that rose up, filled and fired with the inspiration oi' loyalty, was one consisting of father, nuWher, ami three promis- ing sons. The father was smitten with an incurable disease. No strength of his ebbing life could be Hung into the breach to stay that destruction which threatened the nation; but not his mortal weakness nor his death- coll NT UY aUAUAdTEU. 225 hjii^-Miig lor (](;:ir f;u;cs should IioM hiick liiM sons. Tlio youngCHl w;iH too yoiiiif.^; but. tin; oldest was oi'lit age, II Ktrorig, beaiitif'id young man, in tlio first (lush <;(' (toii- KcioiiH ))ow(!i', I'lill of (;iitliusiasin, full of liopc, high-prin- cipled, liiglidi(;arl<;d, rcsoliiti;. Swill a,nd terrible was his Koldi(;r'H niareii to the grave, lie onnst(;d in .June, 18(>1, rnshed iiiUj th(; foremost of the fight, was taken prisoner by tlie, |{,ebels, and for (;iir' country's and our countryrnon'H sake, for our own lion(jr's Hak(;, would we could Ibrget tliat such thiiigH ever liupj)cned ; but ti-iitli is greater than all,a,nd wo must remember that he was fitarved to death in a ilelKd [)rison. 'I'o liis lainily — and this was only one among thousands of su<;h I'amilleH, this f'earf'ul event seemed but to call Ibr anolh(;r soldier. They Jiever dreamed of lj(;ing daunted, Ijut rose up to a still greater sacrifice, 'J'he dead scju'h place must be made goo(]. 'JMic second boy must go, "^^riiat was the thing to be done, not to be talked about. ^JMic boy was . ready. '^JMie father and mother were not unready. lie enlisted, did valiant service till his health entirely failed, was j)laced on the siek-list till it became evid(;nt that lie never would be abh; to d(; S(;ldier's duty again, when he was finally and honorably discharged. His health and his tinu; he had gladly giv<;n to his country, and regretted that he had no niore to give; nor did Ik) (;vt-'r seek reward or recogniti<;n. r>ut now the third and last, th(; young IJcnjamin, had grown to be (iightee-n, stalwart, and brave, and loyal, like liis l)rothers, and the family must be represented in the Aririy (jf the Itcpublie, They had so)'(; need (,; yuAv. 17; Mii.Ks ruoM .1 ij\io.\. aUlod son, tho boivavod mothor oIoiwihI longingly and lovingly to this last strong staiV of thoir woaknoss, but the country's n^H\l was soro. and thoy gavo him nj\ 1 onn not say gladly, but oalndy. without ooiuplaiut or avio, liko An\orii'ans. Whilo in camp i\o t'rll ill with tvphvMd t'ovor. 'riioso ol" us who hnvo over boon in tho oamp hospitals know how droadlul was tho situation to a homo-anvlinolhordoving boy, ovon with all tho al- loviations whioh soionoo and lovo oould bring. In tho story-books, proud ladios llnd thoir disoardod lovors lying woundod and siok. :\\\d tho situation bo- eonios inunodiatv^ly dramatio and sontimontal ; but, whon 1 thiid; ofthoso hospitals, I think always of long, droary rooms lull of light, and llios. at\d smoU. and hoavy-oyod, sutVoriug mon, and tho droad aiul lu^judossnoss of it brood ovor mo al'tor all thoso yoars with soarooly a lilV ing o( tho shadvnv. To suoh a plaoo oan\o tho young Honjamin ; but thoro a lady tbund him, a iViond of his mother's, and took him tVom tho hospital to her own liouse, sent lor his mother, and employed her own }>hy- sieian to attend him. This was not exaotly liold serv- ioe. but surely no goi\oral ovor aeconiplished a desi- rable end by wiser and nivuv eiVteiont moans than this loyal lady. His mother remained with him till he was convalosoent, j^aid all his bills. at\d as .>^oon as ho was able carried him Iumuo. There the most skilll\il phy- sician of tho vioinity was engaged ; and tho mon\ent that gentleman prouiMinood him well enough to make tho journey with safety, his nnolo, a member ol" the llouso o[' Ixcprcsentatives. and subsei|uently an olVioer in -tho army, oarriovl him to the ('ouii-al Hospital at tho State fOIINTUy HIIAKAHThUl. 227 (y';i.f)it.ol. 'i'lion; iJify Irai/ici, to tficir (iiHinriy, Uiut r<';/.- ////v o/ //.«« phyHldariJi Imd, rcporl,'.'/, hii/i,^ n.\A cofiHoquontly Ji(; wuH n;conJ<;'l a dcjicrkrl 'Vo Um; Ht-ill f'cfiblc youn^^ man UiiH wan u torriblo blow. 'I'o t,li(; lii;'li, HtuirilcHH Houl, the very l^rcalJi, Uk; Hfiufiow, Uio l,}ioii;.'lil/ orKliarnc wjih inlol';ral;lo. 1 1 in a;,^- ony wuM aciiU; and intoiiHr;, but \\(; aii'i liin un(;l<; w<;n; aKHun;'i in til'; vXvdW'/j-.'.'X V-iJiiH tliat liin record hIionM l^'; rnado ri;.'lit, and tho latter ujilia.f»pily 'Jefjarted wittiout Hcoirig in [>crHon that tfic vital tliin;;^ wan (Jone. UnuHHunid, but iiridaunUjd, with only one pnrpoHC and one aHjmation, U) Hervc and Have \i\h country, the young man l/;ok liin place in the rankn, fought a good figlit, wofj tlie name at all tirncH and in all phiC<;H of a good H<;KJior, and laid down hin grand young life at lant, in the high tide of battle ori the deciwive field ofCiettyw- hurg. And never in all thcHC yearn lirxH tlie cloud been lifuid from that noble family. Never did the now widowed mother, never did the heroio Hon receive aught of pen- «ion or j^ay, for never — oli, crowning grief I wan the falHC record correctr;d, and lie, patriot, fjcro, martyr, wm written flown a de'H(;rt^;r of tlie caune to which lie had given all ! At laHt Home friendly j^erHon took up the rnatt^;r in behalf of the Ktrieken mother, and afV;r careful iriven- iigation learned that tlie trouble fuol^ably had arJHcn from a rniHtake in reading for the name of hin native village another village foiir timcH hh far off from head- quarterH, and at a diHtanee t^j which it waH Haid lie Jia^l no right U) go, and to wliich lie never did go, ''{'hin 228 'HVKLVJ-J MILA'S FA'OM A J.KMOX. gentleman \vi-ote to an onicer of the Govcrnniont in Washington, stating tUc facts, and saying, with a simple trnst in the right which Heaven grant our Government may never shame: "I'lease get the record righted, and communicate the fact to me, and 1 will at once inform Mrs. , who will be much more gratilied that her son's name stands right than she will to receive the money due him." By a little gentle pressure in the right spot, the mighty wheel ceased rolling, the great Government paused, repaired the wrong wrought so long ago, cor- rected the lying record, lifted the dead soldiers name into the light that should encircle it, and gave to the mourning mother the desire of her heart, the sole solace that remains to her for her beloved and honored dead. AUTUMN VOW EH. 229 XI ir. AUTUMN VOICES. The melancholy days arc come, the saddest of the year, when the Old Coal Man starts on his periodical round of travel through the newspapers. Patient and provident housekeepers, whose lives are already a bur- den to thern by reason of the wastefulness of servants, are now, through the precession of the equinoxes, ap- proaching the phico where they will be told for the scv- cnty-times-seventieth time that America is the land of extravagance; that our forests are disappearing before the woodman's axe, and our coal-mines hollowing into emptiness beneath the miner's spade; that European families buy v^^ood by the pound, and old coal burns amaist as weel's the new ; and if you, sweet Cinderella, will but sift and pick and rinse, smother yourself in ashes, and burrow in your cellar with sufficient assidui- ty, you will save your country from a fire famine, and doubtless at last reach a point where fresh coal will be no more requisite, but you may burn on and on from a self-supplying bin, forever spent, renewed forever. Dear and long-suffering Cinderella, be not deceived. Shake the ashes from your hair, scrub off the crock from your poor hands, turn a deaf ear to the wretched man, and while the sun is not yet cold in the heavens, and these birds of ill omen have only piped the first 230 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. feeble note of their harsh discord, h'sten to one who knows more about it than a regiment of newspaper the- orists. Marry come up, now. Old Coal Man, and be yourself sifted! Let us see what is grain and what is chaff in your profuse advice. You give minute, specific, and long-drawn-out directions for the management of range and stove and furnace, by following which the heat shall be regulated, waste prevented, and expenses re- duced. In the first place. Old Coal Man, permit me to say, with what "sweetness and light" may be, but at any rate with explicitness, that I, for one, do not half believe you. I speak from the point of sight of a prac- tical experimenter who has spent a large part of his life in coal cellars, who has tried most of the furnaces in this country, and has reflected deeply on the rest. " Leave this little door open," says Father M'Gee, " as soon as your fire is well started, and the coal will last all day." " Put your coal into this cylinder," says the base-burner, " and it feeds itself down as it is wanted, and only as it is wanted, and you need hardly look at your fire from morning to morning." "Spread your old coal on the top of your new coal," says Penny "Wise, "and the moderated heat will be all-sufficient." "Slide in this little damper," saj's Pound Foolish, "and the heat which the world has hitherto dissipated to the skies will be diffused through j^our house." And with servile fidelity have I shut all the doors, and opened all the registers, and slid all the slides of the furnaces and the funnels thereunto appertaining, and the conclusion of the whole matter is that vou can not have fire with- AurmiN VOICES. 231 out fuel. The price of comfort is an eternal supply of coal. If your object is simply to keep a fire alive, you can do so at a very small outlay ; but if it is to keep yourself alive through our rigorous Northern winters, I know no way of doing it but to burn out your bins. Granting, however, that you have found a royal road to warmth, does it certainly follow that it would be worth our while to travel it? Even supposing 3^our directions, if complied with, would reduce the consump- tion of coal, is it at all certain that they would not re- quire the consumption of something more valuable than coal ? For in this world, at least in this part of it, one can live rationally only by a comparison of values. Our servants mostly know how to make coal fires. Very likely they do it after a clumsy and costly fash- ion, and keep up their fires by an unwise and unneces- sary method. The good housekeeper instructs them in the more excellent way, but, unless she constantly min- isters at the altar herself, the probability is that the flame will immediately return to its costliest sacrifice, and lap up far more than its legitimate food. The good housekeeper knows this — has a constant, aching sense of it ; but her husband, her children, her house, her books, her friends, make incessant demands upon her time, and, after a few strenuous efforts on her part, Providence mercifully vouchsafes to her a life-preserv- ing apathy, broken only by an occasional pang when she catches a glimpse of the rapidly lowering coal bin and the rapidly heightening coal bills. And just at this moment of all moments, when we might have peace, you, miserable, must needs come clattering in /•|)A7. IT'.' .l///./:.S' /V.N).!/ .1 i.hwtoy. Willi vour cKwriMiiii;', iliii t)l" oKl coal and i-riMioinv, ami rolognlo I'vory thin"; 1^* uiu>asiiu>ss. not lo say itMiiorso. AwMV wilh you! W'lial boo is this in your honnot, niakiii!!, all iho wvmKI unooiul"oi'tablo? Po yt>u moan to loll riiulorolla, that il wouKl ho moro iH-onomioal lor hor lo toml lior liios juul sa\H> \\cv ooal than lo toml lior ohiKlron nml savo lior soul? What, shall il {ifolil. u woman if sho i;ain all iho minos ol" lii^hij-h, aiul loso lior own tr;uu|uillity o[' toin|HM'? Whollior is it. bott.or lo ]^;\v :v I'ow aiKlitional ih>llars oaoh yoar. or to pay out, N'lMir tinu^ anil palionoo oaoh day in |>awin_!M>\ or a hoap of ashes? For this is what, it. ainouiils to. It is not, in most oasos, a. o[iu>slioii botwoiMi oaroloss ami I'aroful suiHM'vision, botwoiMi wanloii nn-kK'ssiioss and wiso jmmi- iloiK'o, botwoon a i'onsoionlions and an unpriiioiplod woman. It is wholhor a soru|Milous Christian, an al- ready v>vorbui'vlonod wil'o and moihoi-. shall m\>\loot still moro than slu' now is foi^'od to do iho woi",hlior mathM's ol' iho law. and !.!,ivo Ium- at tout ion to pavin;', wilh aoiMira ey and prompt noss, th(> liilu^s (ifminl. anis(>, and oiimmiu. I>ovond iho obli;';alioii whioh wi' aro all uiuKu' to re- tpiiro, sv) tar as j)raotioabli\ thorough worU iVom our workmen, and to give faithrul stM'viee lo our (Mujiloyers, that it. is a. i!;r(>at deal wiser and moro «\'onomi('al to lot the tiro oonsumo a little extra oivil than il is to tiirow our invii j>oaoo o[' mind into il for the saki- o[' keeping' it dinvn. Waste is hat("l'ul to {\o<.\ and man; but if waste tluMo must be, let it be ol" the ehoaper ami not the eostliiM' material. 'Plie worst waste is the waslo ol' tlu* luMlor ill pursiiil, of the moaner. Life is moi\^ than anthraoilo, .and llu^ body than seasoned oak. AUTUMN VOK'HS. 2,"„'> ^I'o lioM lip [\)\'v'\^^'\\ w.'iys ;i,L^;iiiisl, oiM's is iilicrly I'liiih!. 1^'jllfOpC li;i.S lilllc v\)\\\ ;ili(l Iiiiicli pcojilc. \\ {'. li;iv(l ■wiclcvstrctchiiig coal-f'uililH ;iii[' li;dit,ed elia,rcoal or warm ashos, over whi(;li they hold their tingling fingc.T-end.s. 'rhrf)Ugh the open door-ways — no need to shut them wluiu the W(!ather within was bleaker tliati with- out — fi glirn[)SO into tlio intciior of lli('ir dwellings showed the uncar[)eted brick' floors, as dismal as the 28-4 v'nv.v-r/v mii.ks rh'OM a i.kmon. pavciiiont of :i tomb In Now l*]iii;l:uul, or in llus- sia, or scarcely in a, \\\\l of llu^ l*ls(|niinaux, thci'c is no such tliscoinl'oil to be borne as by .Romans iu winUy weallier Wherever we jiass our summers, may all our inclement months, Irom November to April, hence- forth bo spent in some country that recognizes winter as an integral portion of its year!" Is lliis a j)leasing })ieture to eonUMuplate? Would the Old Coal Man like to exchange tnir extravagant liearth-stones and I'urnaees lor the snug, saving ilre-pot on a ]{oman sidewalk? Or shall the lire continue to roar, somewhat su]H>rlliiously lUMliaps, yet with a heart- some and hospitable glow withal? ^'our dissolving views of our forests and our mines are not in the least- appalling. (\o(\ will not lt\ive his worlil out in the cold until its ap}>t)inted time is come, and that day will not be }H\stponetl though we spend our lives in ]iiling wc>od. C\>al eauie into use long be- fore wood gave out; and by the time we get lo the end of our coal-mines, (X'.ean, aii", and sunshine will be ready to give up the heat whieh is in them for o\w eheer. Oil-wells sjiouted long before whales had ceased lo S})out. We had been bemoaning our droughts, lo I tliese many years, and wise men of the East said it was because we had so ruthlessly felled our forests, and, un- less we )>lanled trees again, seed-time and harvest would fail for want of I'ain. Then came a most beautiful and bountiful sunnniM', lUled our tanks and cisterns, fed our fountains. Hooded our meadows, drowned our cranber- ries, washed out our salt hay, and soaked our rowen into muleh, and how can our sava)\(s keep their lieadd AUTCMN VOICKS. '2.^5 jibovo water? Vox some reason, wo were lold, the cli- mate ol' the earth was ehaii<^iii<:^ — ghieial cold was coin- in,!^ ui)()n us, and the earth was .tiM'adually ("rccziiig down iVoin the north pole. Now if any there bo who have not felt this tlieoiy thoroughly thawed out of tluim by the fervent iieat ol'oui- all too swiftly (lown midsummer months, let him hear what Daniel Di'aper saith from his (lyi'io in the Central I'ai'k of the Univ(M'se. After a careful eompai'ison of the most reliable records for the j)ast sev(!nty-six years, he eom(\s to the conclusion that, "both as regartls rain-fall and winter climate, thei'c litis b(>(Mi no chango in tho lapse of many years." Suie(\'ise, Old (/oal Man, your evil speaking and cause- less whining. Oiii- mines of coal shall not waste nor our wells of oil fail till the da,y that tlu; Ijofd revcalotli something olso in tho earth to burn. Meanwhile, come down into our ash-hcap, if you will, and cjuw among tho clinkers to your heart's content,. There ai'e ])l(!nty of thorn, and slato to bo liad for tho asking, and doubtless soot as the sands of tho sea ; or descend betimes to your own furnace shrine, and win your own household down by your merry moi-ning song: "(!oino into tlio ('C!lliir, Miiud, I'^or tlic black but, iiiK'it, biiH down ; (!omo into the cellar, Maud — It'H jjoky down licic nloiic, And tlio fuinoH of tho coal gas arc wiiflcd iiinoiiii, And liic (ii'o in almost ^one." But for Maud herself, and for all busy and virtuous women. Heaven grant them grace never to believe that any necromaney or inachinations whatever can make in 236 T\yi:iA'hJ mii.ks fuom a lemon. our aslies glow their wonted fires, and firmness to stay above-ground and keep the woi'ld sane anil sweet! Sometimes it seems as disastrous to be a good house- keeper as a poor one. It is just as bad to be a better housekeeper than there is any eall foi-, as it is to be a poorer liousekeeper than there is any justilleation for. There arc ]>lenty to exact perfection in all household machinery. If i could induce women to be willing to be poor housekeejieivs when, through their jioverty, life could be made rich, I should feel that I had not lived in vain. There are, no doubt, reckless, brainless, wasteful, un- principled women who bring ruin into a man's heart and home. Such women need no exhortation to a wise negligence, nor, indeed, can they profit by exhortation to wise thrift. It is of no use to admonish them one way or the other. Tliey may extract, even from mora! words, encouragement for their folly ; but they would be foolish just the same, whether they had encourage- ment or not. There is nothing to be done with them but to make the most you can of this life, notwithstand- ing the wounds they deal, and to look forward with liopc to a fresh start in another and a better MH)rld. ]5ut these women ai'c a small minoi'ity. Female Amer- ica is, in the main, conscientious, disjiosed to be frugal, and to do its full jiart in building \\\^ the family for- tunes. To my observation, women err through being too careful and troubled about many things, rather than in not being cai'cful and "particular " enough. They look too well to the ways of their household, and do not eat so much of the bread of idleness as would be AUTUMN VOKJKS. 237 good for tlicm, 'Way need to bo cncourngcd to " let things go," nitlier than be exhorted to "look after things." When some troubled teacher tells us that a French family will live luxuriously and keep boarders off what an American family throws away, patient Griselda feels admonished to renewed and still more scrutinizing pursuit of every morsel of meat from the moment when it leaves the butcher's stall till it is set on her overflowing table; nor even thence shall the iUn- jecLa membra be permitted to depart in peace, but must be followed to their final classification and de})Osit in the frying-pan or soap jar, lest some atom be [)i'emature- ly dcdected to pig-[)en or poultiy-yard, and so the har- mony of the universe disturbed. Ikit the overwhelming probability is that Gi'iselda already gives quite its due share of time and thought to the salvage of scraps. She may or may not make as much out of a shin-bone as a Frenchwoman would ; but in our happy country shin-bones arc many and sirloin steaks not few, and it is a question whether energy and ingenuity may not be better expended than in wrest- ing the last fibre of nutriment fi'om a dismantled bone. Must is a word from which there is no appeal ; but where there is freedom of choice, let us remember the great army of dogs and cats wiiich is glad to feed upon the crumbs that fall from our tables; and if the ma- nipulation of fragments into viands seems likely to cost more than it would come to, let us not be deterred from comforting our dumb brethren therewith by any fears of foreign comparisons. Economy is a divine law. No amount of wealth jus- 288 T\yi:i.yi-: .miij:s fuom a /./m/o.v. tilios \v;is!o. A luiui (.'im iu>vor br si> vwh :\s to jilVord WMiitou iwpoiuliluro. Tlu' " man o{' nutans" is uinlcr just, jis stnnig boiuls \o ,s]hmh1 his iuoiu>y \Yisol_y as the man of "limited iiieome." All the toachini;" that u woman can j'.ive lu-r sciAanIs she out;lit to give them, tor lluMT sake ami her own. They totioh her sj)here, ami she is responsible lor all the va^ood she ean do them. JMit it is m>|. liei- i\\\\\ to saerillee to tlieir teai'hini;" a higher ^x^okhI. She has duties more strenuous than in- euleating oeonomv, far more strenuous, in most eases, than the saving of moiu>\'. To eeonomi;:e at the cost of making \\ov family uneomfortable, or of destroying tlu' I'lastieitv »>!" hiu- mind and the buoyauey of her spir- its with tlu^ burden tM" details, is not thrifty. Mature is siMuetimes jiroiligiously wasteful, lo all ap- pea ranee, yet, she is strielly ei'onomii-al, since not ouly IS no force and no sid>stance really lost, but. the seein- inj'ly (^\lrava_;',ant expiMulilure is really the smalli\st. that would certainly .secure the desired cud. Myi'iads o[' blc»ssoms bear no fruit, but they gladden the eye, and, on the whoK>, makin;;- all jirovision foi' failures, there are, iloubtless, no more than .are necessary lo keep up the siipply. Nature surely believes that a largo margin is tlu^ truest economv. I'lics are not a desirable adjunct to luMisekeeping, and the ideal lunisekeeper will .set iier face like a llii\t against them, re!\ardK>ss (W" my innocent remarks. Nor have I the smallest symjiathy with that misplaced mas- culine tender heartedni\ss which lorbids the use of the sticky tly traps because they make the tly unconUbrta- ble. v>r the ]>oisonpaper because it disagrees with llu> AtrniMN VOICE'S. 289 (ly's coiisliUiUoii. Wlit'ii :i lly cdiiics iiiLo liiiiii:i.ii li.-ihi- tiitioii, ho tiik't'H liin lilis in lii.s IiuiuIh, and if liilc Kwill- ly tiikcH il, oiil iigaiu, thai, is his own all'air. I'nt, why !sh(;ill(l we. niako Ilioi'f! ado l-o |»iit, Uk; lly oiil iJian he, rnukcH by comin;?; in? Wliy ;;lionld LIh; .sweep of his wingH in parlor or (linin;';-rooni ix; Uio .si/.Mial lor u mid- den paiiHo in talk, a rn.sli (or towels, a vigonjUH on- Hhmght, and a vindie.iive .slanyJiterV Mxtrcnio iiiHtid- iouHncHH is u greater nuisance than Hies. 'J'horo aro women who oiigiit to be bonnd over to \\k\v.\) the j)(!ae(!. ])otneHtio haj)pincSH, social ord(!r, and the whoh; lahrif; ol'civili/ed life ought not to be at the ni(;rey of a lly; jind Kince you ean not always eateh the lly, th(!re in notJiin;-; loi- it but to eateh the women. When 1 K(;o )K!oj)le devoting tlieir minds to, and disturbing the uni- V(!rs(! foi', th(! ex[)ulsion of a harndess wandering way- larei-, 1 am nioveil to say that I like (lies, 'i'hey are a busy and a ehe(;ry Iblk, wctll worthy oC study, and eapa blcj (jC rewa,r(ling an inl,elligent euriosity. I remember onee sj)ending a, whoh; Sunday a('t flics with a certain a'M'eeablc and refined (am- 240 TWK'l.Vh' Mll.KS /•7,'(>.\/ .1 /.A1/().V. ily o[' u\\ ;u'4Uaiiit;uu'o. Tlio wimlows wrro tliro\vi\ wide opon, aiul with tlio sotMit oi' lioiiovsiu'klo niul llio song ol" binls i-niuo in, too, tlic busy, oontontod, {M'i>- O0C11}Mi.h1 tribe, aiUliii^;' tinMi- blillio bii;-.;-. to tljo suin- luor's inlinito Imrmoiiy. It brspoko a laruo ami lavish hospitality, a goiuM\nis sympathy, a iiiiisoii Nvith na- ture, a tVoodom iVoin potty ami ilotofioi'ating anxiotii's whioh promises well tor the future an*! the human- ities. 'I'he worKl is I'uU ot" wasps. There are lour erawl- ing over the winilow shade, halt" a do/.en more sunning thotnselves on the glass, two or three ereejnng out o{' the curtain foUls. In I'aet, you ean not stir any thing without ilislurbing a wasp, (hitiloors their bu;-.;-. is in- eessant. The sunny south angle is alive with their fuss- ing aiul fuming. ^Vhere they Knlge no t>ne ean liml out. This morning', behind a elosed south blind, a eol- ony o[' them was tbund hanging to the window-sash outside. They were gathered in a elo.se t'luster, as if they had elubbed together to keep warm; and perhaps they had, lor they .seem to be a slow, cold-blooded race. A Ily is swil'i, active, continually busy. He moves as if he had an object in life, as it' he had taken out a. contract, and were paid by the Job; but a wasp crawls around sluggishly, as it' he were not going anywhere ii> particular, and did not much care whether he got there or not. So he stops midway, and tries to start up his torpid liver by a sun-bath; but miilway is far from being the safe way for him. It is Just there, r^>llectivo and iunmnable, that the newspaper or the wet tinvel comes slap down on him like a thousand avalanches; AUTUMN VOICI'JS. 241 and it is only when the newKpai)er and wot towel have missed fire, have startled without Htunning him, that he sliowsany agility in walking. With sueh incentiveH to exertion, 1 have seen a wasp in a hurry, ti[)toeing frantically along, witli wings upstretched, like lilondin on his tight ro[je; but ordinarily he comes as Lady Geraldine went to Mr. Hertrurn after ho liad h;i,ir recov- ered from his dead fUint, " lOvcr, (;vi;r iiiorrj tin; while in a tUiw Hiiencc." Wasps have the credit or discredit of beirig an irri- table race, stinging on the slightest [)rovocation. That may be, but our wa;-;pH arc f;vidcutly a bcttcr-bred tt\)Q- cies, as they have slung no one yet, though they have bad every excuse for doing so. Wet cloths have Ijccn slung at them, death has menaced them at the }>rusli end of the broom, scalding water lias been the slightest of their provocations, the duster has restricted them to the dust-pan till the burning fif;ry (urnaec ingulfed them to a swift and, we trust, an almost painless departure from a terrified world, yet through it all they have nev- er pushed one sting. But as the poor invalid, who was woefully disturbcfl by the cock crowing, remarked to chanticleer's owner, who afiirrned that he never crowed more than half'a dozen times of a morning, "You think of what I sufier when he crows; you do not count what 1 suffer from the feeling that*he is going to crow!" — as Prcscott, the historian, says of the reign of terror in the Netherlands under the Inquisition and i'hilip 11., "The amount of suff(jring from suc?i a persecution is not to be estimated merely by the number of those who have It 242 TWJSLVH MILES FBOM A LEMON. actually suffered death, when the fear of death hung like a naked sword over every man's head ;" so the reason why wasps are a nuisance is not the amount of physical pain but mental discomfort that they cause you. As in monetary circles, they create a panic by destroying confidence. So while the busy, friendly flies we poison with sugared water, tenderly, as if we loved them, at the wasps, equally harmless, but with harmful possibilities, we go out as against a foe, with deadly weapons and fierce, relentless hostility. The gravel-walk before the front door has been hon- ey-combed with holes, some of which on investigation proved to be three or four inches deep — as deep as the point of your sun-umbrella, A little winged beast, black and vermilion, with two curved sickles on his head, made the holes by vigorous digging. What was the name of the little horned beast, or what he was up to, I do not know, not being sufficiently well-read in natural history ; but he spent a good deal of time in the hole, and seemed to be very busy when he was out of it. I watched several days. Had there been but a single pair, I should have perhaps eclipsed Thoreau for waiting, and Pliny for discovering, but they came in hordes; they seemed determined to monopolize the walk. Every time you stepped out-of-doors the air was alive and angry with a swarm of spiteful, vicious, ver- milion little vixens buzzing about your ears. So one sunny morning I sat on the door-step, and as soon as a fiery imp went down into his gallery I poked the gravel on him with my parasol, till every house within reach had caved in. The others somehow got wind of AUTUMN VOICES. 243 it, and they all went away. If they are an absolutely harmless tribe, I am sorry I did it, but no doubt there are plenty more, and they must learn to colonize on land that has not already been pre-empted. Eesting on a rock by the road-side one afternoon, we noticed a little fellow something like a beetle, but ap- parently not a beetle, digging away for dear life. He was making a hole, and he worked at it with a very comical energy. His slender little claws — antennas, or whatever you call them — made the dirt fly, and when the heap was so large as to obstruct the entrance to his gallery, he leveled it with admirable swiftness and skill. Sometimes he went in head first and pawed, and some- times he went in tail first and shoved. The size of the pebbles which he lugged out was surprising — one you could not get into a number seven thimble — and the persistence with which he tugged and toiled over his load was amazing. When the gallery was apparently finished he flew awa3^ Soon a wriggling was observed in the grass two or three yards off, and there appeared our bonnie bug riding a big brown locust three or four times as long as himself. This locust proved, however, to be dead or very much demoralized. The bug was striding his neck, and dragging him along by main force. When within a foot and a half of the cavern the bug left the locust, ran forward and examined the hole, trotted back and forth several times between the two, evidently taking measurements with his eye, made the excavation a little deeper, dragged up the locust to his grave, tilted him over the edge, and shot him in head-foremost! As he did not at once wholly disap- 2-1:1 TWh'LVh' MILKS Fh'O.U A l.l.'MO.y. |H>nr, the bui;' Irnpcil in liiiiist'lf, (lr;iu,'p;tMl him down, tlion clinibiHl i)nl, shovi'lml in the tliiL npon liini, k';ip(Hl in nhcv it, ;uul Ivod it all liown snug unil oloso jiround v\- cry i>:irt, till, hy a laborious process, tlu^ hole was coin- plcLely aiul ooniiiat'tly HIKhI, the heap of gravel leveled, and no sign Jell ol' the bui'ial but a })atcli ol'lVesh earth. 11" 1 (\)uld have stayed a little longer, 1 suppose 1 should liavo seen him })ut up a head-stone with an e})ita})h, but I was obliged to go. It was as interesting a dis])lay of skill, persistence, and activity as one often witnesses; un(i I should very much like to know whether it was a foe that lu> was burying, or footl that he w'as salting down for winter. Some pestilent fellows lately |M'ostiluted our agricul- tural lairs to the promotion of patches by promising premiums to the best memler. And there were not wanting foolish virgins to come forward and compete isome. AVomen will sometimes darn stockings which, as stockings, h:id no right to further t\\istencc. 'l^rue economy woulil have put the feet into the rag-bag and sewcil up the K\gs into dishcloths; and to see a hu- man being, capable oi' \o\c and hope and memoi'y and Judgment, turn away iVom this great, beautiful world, and all the stir and thrill of multiform life, and give it- self to ilriving a stujiid little steel crow-bar back and lorth through a yawning heel and a dilapidaleil toe when whole stockings can bo bought at forty cents a AUTUMN V()I(!I<:S. 2'±6 ]);iir, in incliiiiclioly, iiol, lo s:iy cxnspcraliii'^. \V(5 uro iiol, l)U<^^S. " A lilll(! (iMiiiiii;^ now anil lli(?ii Is rclislicd liy llm l>csl, (if iiicii ;" nnd tlicro is a nervous iiTiLaLioii which is alhiyeil Ly a short and solitary turn at the needle, ;ind thciix; arc; aeci- pcr who accurately dis- criminat(!S and intelligently chooses the good part which shall not be taken away from her. 246 TWULVH MILES FROM A LEMON. XIV. ON' SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCIAL FREEDOM. Why should we be creatures of formula, and not of philosophy ? There is a reason under every rule, if we would only take the trouble to think it out; and we should thereby save ourselves the trouble of remember- ing the rule, and other people the trouble arising from our forgetting it. Grammar is not an invention. It is only a classification of usages. The nominative case governs the verb in number and person, not because sonie Lindley Murray put on a crown and sceptre and said it should, but because he found that when respect- able people talk it always does. The rules which regu- late parliamentary organization and debate seem to be involved, arbitrary, and technical ; but a close investi- gation, a thoughtful analysis, a redudio ad ahsurdum, shows that they are not woven of red tape, but are laid down each one for a definite purpose, and that purpose is, without exception, a right and righteous one. This rule is to prevent a factious minority from w\asting the time in useless delay. That is to prevent a powerful and successful majority from overriding the rights of the minority. If you study the rules as some students learn geometry, by main force of remembering that the angle A C D is contained by the sides A C, C D, you are in a labyrinth at once. But if you look at the reasons SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCLiL FREEDOM. 247 for the rules, you have a thread to guide you out, even •when you do not quite see the path in which you are to walk. You can be a rule unto yourself. No man — nay, in view of the possibilities of our politics, let us say no woman — can be a good parliamentarian unless she reads between the lines, and sees that laws are nec- essary and effective, as well as that they are. I hope this is a sufficiently learned preamble to my lec- ture, and will strike terror into those culprits for whom it is written — those unthinking, vexatious people who fail to answer your letters because you did not give them your address! They are the people who will never succeed in Congress, because they will be tripped up instead of helped on by the rules. They will ac- complish little as doctors, because, when bleeding and warm water fails, all they can do is draw more blood and administer more warm water. They will be wretch- ed country dwellers, because they must have the regu- lation quantity of straw or they can never make bricks ; whereas the ordinary routine of country life is the steady production of bricks without straw, making without machinery, and mending without tools; " Did not give the address." But may not the Chief- justice of the United States Supreme Court beassumed to know something? If no State is- named in the date of your letter, is it not always understood that you are in the same State with the person addressed? If no town or city is named, is it not also because you are in the same with your correspondent ? By a parity of rea- soning, does not the date of a ietter always involve the address of the person writing it, unless some other ad- 248 T)YKLyK MILEIS FROM A LEMON. dress be given? Or must :i muu nppeiul to bis date ibc statement, " This is where 1 am ?" .No. Jfyou date your letter at Vonkers, New ^'ork, and desire au imme- diate answer, the whole duly ol" the man to whom you write is to send you an answer to Yonkers, New York. If, in the mean wliile, you have gone to Omaha, or iT your letters need to be sent to Washington Street, No. 1872, and you have failed to give direetions to that end, your blood be on your own head ; but let the answer go to Yonkers. There is another epistolary sin, of sad import to coun- try-folk. My dinner is s})oiled, my beefsteak with stuirmg, my snow-pudding, and all my tid-bits must waste their sweetness because my expected guest did not give me her full address, and has jn-obably not re- ceived my summons. She had given it in her previous lottei-, whieli loiter, being answered, Nvas immediately ilej)osited in the waste-basket; and tlie last letter gave only the name of tlie great city in which she, a pilgrim and a stranger, was to tariy lor a few nights. AVhere- upon T, the philosopher and j>arliamontarian, lay down in addition to EuLE 1. I'W the person addressed. — The date of a let- ter involves the address of its writer. KULE 2. J'or the }krso)i irriting. — Let the date oi^ cirri/ letter involve the address of the reply. Otherwise we must carry npon our backs a burden of old letters, or in our brains a heavier burden of streets and numbers. And why should you make my rustic brain remember No. 879,503 East Ninety-ninth Street, between Chester Square and Madison Avenue, SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCLiL FREEDOM. 249 when I am already overwhelmed with the effort to re- member to direct my workmen to put a transom win- dow over the bath-room door, and two funnel holes in the chimney, and a scroll on the portico pillar, and make the cistern ten feet deep, and shut up the chick- ens every night? Just date your letter, and save to a wretched life one item. Eevolving these views in my mind, as used ^neas and Dido in our school-days, the dinner is eaten and re- moved, Malone is departed to the society of her swains, and I sit with "Thackeray" in the twilight, when, sud- den and shame-faced, in comes my guest ! I am divided between welcome and consternation. Here, after all, is the fair, sweet face I longed for ; but there, alas ! is the empty table; and where is the absent maid? where is the savory steak ? where the extraordinary pudding and the coagulated gravy — where? " So you did get my letter in spite of the lack of street and number?" " Yes, it came duly ; but I misunderstood the direc- tions. You said the four o'clock train, and I thought you meant our four o'clock train, which I took ; and it dropped me on the way, not being a through train." "Oh," I moan, "I meant the train that reaches us at four o'clock," and foresee the tables turned on myself, and disgrace impending, for Hassan the Turk ever avows that the four o'clock train is the train that leaves the Hub of the Universe at four o'clock, entirely irrespect- ive of the time it whistles along to any station on the spokes or rim. But I maintain that the centre of the universe for me is where I am. Why must I leave my 250 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. shepherd's crook, humble though it be, and travel to the great cities to assume a railway train ? I know not when it leaves Boston or New York, or whether it leaves them at all. I do know when it reaches me, and of that I testify, yea, and will testify. " Yes," says Hassan the Turk. " You would no long- er have longitude reckoned from Greenwich and lat- itude from the equator, but every man should reckon from the centre of bis own dining-room, which would simplify navigation. Learn to look at the principles of things, and not simply at the incident which lies next to your hand." But I am the philosopher, not the philosophee, and shall I be tamely hoist with my own petard ? I am not confident about that four o'clock train. But I know I bear a grudge against it for giving my guest a cold dinner. I am next day smitten with a desire to see you, my intimate friend — a desire so irresistible that I take the train and an hour's journey for the purpose, and must take the return train home in another hour. You are equally desirous to see me, and for fifteen minutes we un- fold our budget unmolested ; but by the time our intel- lectual wares are unpacked and well scattered, the door- bell rings, and up come the cards of Mrs. A and Miss B. " Oh !" say you, trying to smother an inhospitable ex- clamation of disappointment into an innocent exclama- tion of surprise. "Oh!" say I, in outspoken disappointment, for it is no house of mine, and I am not under bonds to be hos- pitable. "Can't you do something?" SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCIAL FREEDOM. 251 A sensible and practical suggestion ; but what you do is to go down and see the excellent Mrs. A and Miss B, and I sit alone and reflect that there is no freedom in our social life. And there never will be any. And there never can be any. And we get on very comfortably without it. Only it is pleasant to rattle our chains once in a while, and hold up the links to look through them, and let it be understood that we know we wear them, and are not living in a mistaken belief that we are free. Mr. Henrj'- Rogers, in his charming " Greyson Letters," shows a very lively sense of the existing state of things. He sees there is no possibility of any different social status in this world, and is very careful to locate his re- form in the next. Even in heaven he considers that the angels will sometimes bore each other ; but it is only in heaven that the angel who sings you the 119th Psalm without stopping, and then begins again, may be act- ually hushed up at the hundredth stanza without his taking offense at it! In another and a better world, but never in this, may we accomplish such a feat. For, look you, Mrs. A and Miss B are your town folk, who can visit you at any time on the supposition that they really want to see you. But they do not want to see you. If they had come to the door and been told that you were out, not a pang would have rent their hearts ; not a shade of sorrow would have saddened their faces. They would have communed with each other on departing, "Well, we have made our call, and have gained time enough to call on Mrs. C. Really, we are in luck to-day." Does this argue false friendship on the part of those 252 TW£L VE 311LES FJiOJI A LEMON. estimable women? Not the least in the world. Un- doubtedly they esteem you very highly in love for your work's sake. They are quite devoid of any hos- tility toward you, or any want of faith in your integri- ty. If you are sick, they will inquire for you with real and warm interest, will send you flowers and oranges and exquisite tid-bits, which your soul loathes and your children devour; but as for seeing you at any special time or at any special interval, their hearts are in no wise bent on it. And you equally were not particularly desirous of seeing them, and you were desirous of seeing me, let us assume. If, now, you were in another and a better world, you would say to them, " My friend is here for a short time, and we wish much to have a little talk together. You can come any time ; so just you go away now." And the lovely ladies being, under the circumstances, all sorts of angels, would stretch their white wings and soar away to some other of the many mansions as sweetly as if they had been let in to yours. But try that heavenly etiquette in this world, and you would soon have very few callers to try it on. Your friends would smile suavely, and say, "Oh, cer- tainly ; I would not interrupt you on any account." And as soon as the front gate clicked behind them, one would say to the other, " ^YasnH that cool ?" and the other would reply, " I should rather think so." And, without entering into any formal pact, they would mutually agree that you would not have the opportunity to refuse them again for one while ! And the beauty of it is, that you would feci and do SOCIAL FORMULA AM) SOCIAL FREKDOM. 253 precisely tlie same were you in their place, and so would I. Nobody will often visit at houses where they tell him, in so many words, that they would rather see some one else. That is what it amounts to. No matter how delicately the preference may be decorated, it is still a preference, and we do not wish to go where we arc not wanted, not we ! It is because you well know this that you leave me, and descend into the parlor to your neighbors, and be- tween you you dig out a half of the hour that in the nature of things belongs to me, and fill up the whole with unnecessary chat about the society, and the picnic, and the sick people; all of which means only that you still continue to be fi-iendly, and not hostile, which is much, I grant. But the ladies are no more assured of it, and no more satisfied in the consciousness of dimin- ishing their list of calls by one, than they would be if you had been absent. You arc inwardly impatient to see me, whose time is sliort, and you fret a double quan- tity because you know I am impatient. As for me, I walk up and down the room, and look at the clock, and grow wroth without reason, for nobody is to blame. We arc all good citizens, doing our social duty, and do- ing it in the only way it can be done, or will bo done, until our wings are grown. In communities where these things arc reduced to a system, "not at home" comes into play to great advan- tage. Some persons have constitutional obj(;ctions to this formula when it is used to express what the words by themselves do not imply. But that view is merely superficial. You are not telling the truth, they say. 254 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. Well, you do not want to tell it. But you arc tell- ing a llilseliood. Not at all. The phrase has a tech- nical and perfectly understood sense. You send out cards, saying that you will be "at home" on such a day. According to this theory, the cards are an imper- tinence. What do the card-receivers care whether you are at home or not? The significance of the announce- ment is that you wish them to be at your home with you. And the signilicance of the other statement is that you do not wish them to be at home with you. Why not say so, then? Because human nature is so sensitive a thing that it can not bear much, and we have to guard it at all points. The "not at home" leaves every thing in a delightful dubiety. You may be actually away ; we can, at least, always flatter our self-love that you are away, and we fool better in con- sequence. And you, my friend, who are such a stickler for the truth, would be the first to take oifense if we told you the truth. Blessings on the man or woman who in- vented this nice lilllo slun't-cut to our convenience with- out crossing our self-love! But in oountry communities where this formula is not adopted, anil where the words, therefore, would be false, there is nothing for it but to "face the music" at any inconvenience, or ".IJmi and iK'in^sit Yomsoir in a I'losof," and listen to ^Nfalone slamming and calling through the house in a vain show, and enact the following dialogue when you present yourself at dinner: HOVIAh FORMULA AND HOCIAL FUKEDOM. 255 Malone. "An' iiuhulo, iiiuin, I did iioL know you was out." YouJiSIOliK (L adopL llio lucLliotl of the old IrncL di;i- logiics butwcoii " Yourscli'" find "A Sinner"). " I litivo not been out, Mulone." Malone. " Why, sure, muin, Mrs, A and MIhs I> w;ih here, au' I tould them you was in, an' I'etehed 'em in, and couldn't lind you at all." YouiWKi.F {l)('ni(julii). "Never mind, Malone, 1 .shall have Oj)portunity to sec them again soon." ]*]ither mode, as Macaulay said of torture, has its ad- vantages. But perhajw neither is wholly free from dis- advantages. In the country, however, where callers arc few and distances long, it is a very great inconvenience indeed which can Justify us in turning away a visitor from the door, or, still more, in tuiiiing uway a visitor after she is within doors. ^riiere are visits which remain in our memories as bright s])ots in lil'e, a,iid there are visits whose only pleas- ure is that they are over. But visiting ought always to bo ])leasant — pl(>asant to both giver and receiver. One of th(! best jJiiiigs connected with kcGj)ing house is the freedom to receive one's fri(>nds. Many a n(;wly married cou[)Ie, many a small family without children, could board with far less care and expense than house- keeping costs them, atid with almost erpial eomfoit. Nor need housekee])ing be confined to mariied peo|)le, or to those whom God hath set in families. Why do not the solitary set themselves in families? Few women ever think of keeping house and making a home for 256 TW£LVi: MIL£S FJiOM A LLWOX. tliemselvcs ami a centre of social life for their circle un- less tbej are married. Of coui-se it is a great deal easier to set up and keep up an establisliment ^Yith a man at the fore — if he is the right sort of man. Tlie right sort of man is one who knows instinctively when to be an active partner and when to be a silent partner; who goes to the front when there is money to be earned for the home, and to the rear when it is to be spent; who provides and enjoys a bountiful table, but is sweet-tem- pered, cheerful, and consoling in an emergency ; who is main-stay and head centre of the family, but who shows it only in constant providence and tendei' watchfulness — a man of whose comfort and taste every one else thinks fii-st, but who thinks of it himself least and last. .Such a man is a real help in housekeeping. But suppose a man is ignorant or incapable, has small knack in getting on, never is suited with his situation, but leaves a good one in search of a better, and finds none; refuses a sal- ary of a thousand a year because his "family can't live on a thousand dollars."' and so they live on nothing; docs not know what to do with money when he gets it, but fritters it away in trilling expenditures and foolish investments, while his family lack comfort in the pres- ent and security for the future; or suppose he is thrifty but fretful, exacting, imperious, capricious, selfish — w Le a help over the hard places in housekeeping? If a man can, in case of distress, put on a door-knob, mend a broken pane of glass, hang a picture, tack down a car- pet, entertain a guest, eat stale bread and like it when the stove would not draw and the biscuit w'ill not bake, he is pleasant to have about, and far better than no- SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCIAL FREEDOM. 207 body ; but the chances are large that he can not mend the knob, and will forget to call a carpenter, and may lower over the "slim breakfast;" so that his failure to put in an appearance need not be fatal to an establish- ment. But if a girl is left, the one ungathered rose upon the family tree, she goes to live with her married sister or brother, and, ten to one, becomes merged in the family, and presently loses all distinct individuality of position or influence. So the teachers in a city, and the clci'ks and the shop- girls, and all unmarried and self-supporting or inde- pendent women, live in boarding-houses or in families, often finding it difficult to secure an agreeable home, and often dwelling in a place and a manner that pre- clude every idea of home, and really deprive them of a large part of the social power to which their character and ability entitle them. .Suppose, now, four young gentlewomen who have been left each with a slender income, quite insufficient for gentle housekeeping, but sufficient for a respectable maintenance in the proffered home of a brother or brother-in-law, without further help from him than such proffer affords. Suppose that, instead of accepting these offers and becoming superfluous members of other fam- ilies — assistants possibly, but not indispensable, and al- ways subordinate — these four should. unite their forces. Four insufficient incomes may combine into one suffi- cient not only for comfort, but for elegance. The cost of housekeeping for four women is very far from be- ing four times the cost of housekeeping for one. In many respects it would not be perceptibly increased. 258 TWELVE MILE'S FROM A Ih'MOX. One woman, lor instniioo, \YOuld nooil one servant ; and by distributing tho light and agivcablo bnt tnnc-and- oaro-nooding parts ol' the houso-work ami^ng lluMnsclvos, ibur Avonion oould do }HMloolly well with ono servants Even their assoeialion oan bo so guarded that there shall be no ueeessity I'or undue or undesired intimacy, and liking shall be its only niojisuro. b^aoh one's share of superintendence and service can be rigidly prescribed and observed. 'V\\c dining-room and parlor are the only common ground. Tn their own rooms they are as secluded and supren\e as if their souls were like stars, and dwelt apart. .In the drawing-room they are har- monious and hospitable. To the outside world they are householders, a I'anuly, a unit. They may receive and entertain ; they have standing, a local habitation, and a name. To themselves they are themselves — free, self-possessed, self-acting. It needs only a certain pow- er of adaptation — a certain similarity, or rather harmo- ny, of taste and purpose — to begin with, and then a mod- erate amount of Christian forbearance, of intelligent al- lowance, and, above all, scrupulous and invariable good- breeding. But there is no situation in life in which good-breeding is not indispensable to happiness and character; while in j^oint oi' t'orbearanee and adaptation thev would not need to exercise half as much as if they were married. The strain upon }>atience and temper would be far less than in marriage; and though, justly enough, the hapjnness arising from the alliance might be less intense and }ierfect, it would be far greater than from a tame and sjnritless life of perpetual subordina- tion or perpetual self-denial. HOVIAL FORMULA AMJ SO(JIAL FREEDOM. 2o9 Or suppose the four gentlewomen supplement or sup- ply their income by teaching or by some form of remu- nerative work. Each earns five hundred dollars a year, J''ivc hundred dollars a year would keep no house, but four five hundreds would keep one respectably and comlbrtubly. ]>y systematic arrangement, four friends, one would think, might live together in a eoziness and even a luxury unattainable at any boarding-house which their means could command, with a pride of self- direction and independence which would be impossible for tliem in any other family, and at a cost really less than their uriited expenses in a separate life. They would purchase comfort and supervision at a less price than discomfort and subordination. They would spend their money for exactly what they wanted, and of what- ever economy they chose to exercise themselves would reap the fruits. ViWi the boarder is dependent upon the will and con- venience of othens. He can not invite his friends to come and spend a week with him without consulting the capabilities, or depending for welcome upon the dis- position, of some other host than himself. This puts him in an attitude not wholly dignified — not that which a mature person, man or woman, would naturally choose to maintain. The householder is monarch of all he sur- veys, and invites at his own sweet will. If he meets an old friend suddenly in the street, if she learns by chance that a former school-mate is in the neighborhood, there are no outside authorities to consult, no whims or moods of a landlady to consider. Forth from the warm welcoming heart goes the invitation, and the fatted calf 2(50 ruri.}/-: Mii.fs /v.'o.i/ .t /a'i/(»,v. walks [o llu> bKn'k at. once, kiu>\vii)v; that, liis hour is coino. 'IMiis thooivtioallv ; yvi praiMioally Iho hospilalilv of hi>us(>hi^KKM-s soinctimrs sihmus as n^allv hiHlj^t'il in as if llii'v wrro but. iiuuatrs ol' a. stianj'.cr's hi>usr. rt-opK^ who aro liospilabh' at heart, l.hoi\>U!'lil_v iVioiullv and \\'v]\ (lisjiostHk ilo vt'l niak(> such a, Imu'iKmi o\' hi^spilalit v thai one woiuKms how ihry c:\\\ liiul anv pleasure in it. This is u i>ival. [)itv, lor the e\ehani;;t> t>r visits oui^iit. to bo what, it is ea]>ablo ol" bemv;, one ol' tlie !';n>at pU>asiu\\s ol Iile, a rest, a relVt'shnienI, an iiu'enli\i>, not. a. burden. r>ut lo vendor it so we nei-d not Ibllow the rules laiil down in iho KH)ks, to divest, roco)>tions of their tiMror by boini^- ahvays ready to roooivo. Is it K'uskni, or Mast- lake, oi- liauneelol, tu- anolhei-, who eondemns e\len- sion-tables on the <.;round that your I.Mblo should bo o(]ually larj'.o at all times, to indie.ale lh;it you aro al- ways I'eady foi' ytuir iViends'i' (i(> |(>, Masllakci .and .Launi'olol ! Smeeiily i.s tln> wali-li word iA' the uvw dispen.^ation. We niusi have (he sup]>orlM of our brjU'kets visibl(>, an^l the i'hairdi\i,>'s as palpabh' as they aro really and as re.ally as th(>y a,ro p;dpal)ly lii'in; but if (lu> tabl^^ is to indii-ato that wo aro always ri>adv I'or our iViend, the table beeouies at oiu-i^ a piece ol' hou.siv hold ai'tluluess and not of housi>holil art, Cor we aro not at all linu\s (Mpially ri>ady. Honest y in life must preiH>dt> honesty in I'urnilui'e. We need not direct oni' (iVorts to beinsj; always r(>ady to S(>o I'rii'nds, but wo could do tnnch in lht> way of tryiu!'; not. lo b(> disturbed by thcii- cominj'; wluai wi» ai'o not I'cadv. if Seicaia ciMdd ha\e lu-i' own way, she would i^refer ('elcsliji's HDi'iM, ii'on.Miii.A AN It ,h(k:i.\l I'liiaaioM. 2ol- o;/i/,e and mentally re^o'et tljat hlie ia alwayn "<;an;/lit in the Kiid.H?" Not the lea^t in the world, ifuhe in a HenHihle and fViiindly woinaii. IC it ia the pro()er tinie for her to he eleanin;.^ lamj^M, and nhe ia in a p'ai h proper to a larnprjjcaner, ahe han no e.all to he (Jintnrhed thou;.'h th<; (^necii of I'in^'land, in erown and ;;e,(:ptre, ahould pay \\i'.v a rnornin;.^ viait. She Hhonld not eonaiiJer hei'Keli' as "eanpdit in the, Kudu," or jih eanj/ht at all. She in in the auda of her own fVfte-will and hy the lore, ordina- tion of lleaverj, and if "Heaven itHeH'Hhould Htoof) to her," it oij;-dit to lind h<;r nowhere elwe at that lionr. it would he very unheeomin;/ that Hhe Hhonld he trirn- rfiinj-^ her lanifjH in a hIIIc ^^own in the front parlor. Why not he entirely frank and at caHe, and if her work be preHMing, bid OeleHtia to a Hafe Hcat l^y the kitehen /ire, or if ahe can convenirmtly f/o f^ffdnty for a while, take her pleaHant ehat to the [^leaaant fjarlor? So far frora it8 being nece alwayH ready for cornitany, it in one of the pleanureH of Iiounekeeping to prepare for eomininy. Sweejiing and duKting are but dull drudgery when eleaidineHH JH the only object; but liow pleaHant it iw V) " tidy " the roornw when a houHe- ful of gueKtH are comirig at the end of it! 'i'here iw an 2(>2 rnT/j'i; ^tILKs FJfo.u a i.kmox incentive Nvorihy of toil -that ti':insn\ntos toil into ilo- ligbt. Hut suppose vou have been ill. or the eluKlreu have had scarlet, iever, or ^iorali is gone, aiui there is a ehaneo tor s\ visit tVom a friend. Must you send her a\vay? Yes, il'vou absolutely ean not undertake the slight addition to your work whieh her visit necessi- tates. Uut renuMuber her visit does not necessitate that you should go through house-cleaning previous to her appearance. Suppose the doors are lingcr-niarkcd, and the windows not iauUlessly clean, and the guest-cluun- ber has not been swept tor a nuMUli, the doors will open, and the windows will let in i'resh air, and you and your friend can get immense draughts of satisfaction out of the visit, though things are not as you would so glad- ly have them, if you will only not fret about them, but consign them to the insignificance they merit. We are ;UVaid of each other, forgetting that our friends havo the same kind of experiences that we have. The most thorough of housekeepers is tjometimes lorced to "let things go," ludess she sacritices something of more im- port.!ineo than ''things.'' Serena is distressed because the afternoon sun reveals to her responsible eyes a little dust under the sofa. But Celestia is equally distressed because her student lamp suddenly goes out during Serenas evening call. \Vhy should not both coml'ort themselves with the reflection that nothing has hap- pened unto them but such as is conunon unto women, and disnnss their apjnehensions? i know a man who came near bleeding to death because there was not a cobweb to be found in house or barn to stanch the blood. l>e advised, dear house n\other, and do not lose SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCIAL FREEDOM. 263 all the freshness and impulse to be found in your friend's visit because you liavo no time to go through the house with your broom upside down. Hero is where comes in that much belabored institu- tion, tlie Best lloom. What vials of sarcasm have been poured out u[)on it! Its closed shutters have cast a gloom over the pathways of literature. Its musty smells have penetrated the corners of remote novels. Its covered chairs have stiflcned in smart essays. Men easily influenced by public opinion have sought to avert the shafts of satire by building themselves ceiled houses without any "spare room" — houses whose every apart- ment should be occupied. But women, with a stronger instinct of the fitness of things, cling to the " best room," the "spare room," the parlor, and have hitherto made a good fight. And the women are right. The best room is often absurd, but a best room is not an absurdity. It is ap- palling to be shown into a square apartment, with heavy, chill air, with a horse-hair sofa, a horse-hair arm-chair, and six horse-hair plain chairs — only this and nothing more. But because a black silk gown is ill fitting you do not therefore discard black silk gowns. The spare room may have a straw matting, if you please, and cane chairs, and blinds open or closed, according to the light and heat, but every housekeeper knows that, after all the essays arc written and all the arrows shot, a spare room is a great convenience, a great resource, a great peace of rnind. But it is inhospitable, says the visitor. You do not wish to be turned off by yourself into a room outside 264 twi:lve miles fjwm a lemon. of Uic latnily life, destitute of associations, priin, orderly, decorous, but silent and inexpressive. You want to go in where the sewing and reading and talking are, and see your friend in her cvery-day garb. That may be; but suppose your friend prefers not to be thus seen? You will admit that the family is sacred. Not every one who is welcome in the })arlor could be welcome in the family room. Nor is the welcome to the family room at all times one and the same. Absolute freedom to repel is the only guarantee of warmth in welcome. If a house have no room set olV for visitors, there is no special gratihcation in being admitted to its family room. Nor is that home sentiment very desirable which does not instinctively make a distinction between its own and the outside world, however amiable and friendly may be its relations therewith. That family is, indeed, doing its work best — all other things corresponding — which jealously guards itself from an indiscriminate open communion. There are scenes of leisure, chitchat, light reading, upon which the entrance of a friend would be no intru- sion. But when you arc in eager consultation over the gray cashmere — will it turn for Anne? will it dye with- out cockling? is there enough for a whole suit, or shall the brown go with it, and make a suit of two shades for Anne, and perhaps a polonaise for Ella? — and the ruf- fles arc on one chair and the over-skirt on another, and there is a universal ripping and rippling, it is then a solid satisfaction to rcilect that there is a room across the ball which tells no tales. It is not a false shame, a foolish pride in keeping up appearances, that makes SOCIAL FOA'MI/LA A NO SOCIAL FREEDOM. 205 you (li.slikc liaviiig Mrs. A and Mrs. J> and Mrs. (J walk ill upon your turnings and inatuhing.s and contiivings. It is a spontaneous modesty, a natural reticenec, which prornj)ts always to the suppression of processes and tho exhibition only of results. AVlion, afterward, Mrs. A praises Anne's new suit, you tell her, not only without shame, but with rejoicing, how ingeniously it was fash- ioned out of the several birds in last year's nest; i)iit during the fashioning Mrs. A's presence would have dis- turbed and hitulered yon. A gi'cat deal of house-work is helped on by tli(; knowledge that there is a room in the house where that work docs not go, and to which the mistress may r(!j)air, leaving all iier state secrets behind li(;r. So far i'rom the ])arlor being an incum- brance, an excresceneo, it is a relief, a saf(;ty- valve. Let us bow down to J*]astlakc in sincei'ity and trulh ; but to arrange our houses on the; f)ret('.nse lliut our frif-nds ar(5 at all times and in all i)arts of them ecjually welcome is, or ought to b(^, a grcatcir sham than all the veneering we can put into tin; j)urlor. J5ecause I tic;at my friend to-day to roast turkey and plum-pudding, do I mean to insinuate to him that this is my every-day fare, or blush to own that yesterday I dine\l .1 I r.Mox. !ilsi> lh;it \w ;';r;\i'i's Mtul jmMs my laiiiily lousl. 'Tlio Imki^y may 1h> in his liouoi-, luit il is \\c tlmt gives tlio luilvoy its oliiot\'liann lor us. Ill tlisi'ussiii!-'" lunischoKl aii \Vi' iwc loo apl lo lorgot llu" lioiisohitKl nrlist. Many lu-aulilul ami dosirablo tliin!.';s tlio l>usy wil'o ainl molluM- miisl I'oro^o. Slio lovi's hor tnmsliUTiil, \ i\ iil rlima, hiil brilcr lovrs llio tlimpKHl rm!-';tM's thai do not know l\o\v lo hoKl ii ; ami rather than banish Muau iVom thr labK- sho oxilos \\\o ohiuH lo its dark i-Ktsrl and romU'sconds to phiinor waro. Hut the Uno\Ylod;';o that hor rlosiM holds that Irrasuri^ is n joy nt>t, lo ho (h'sjMsi'd, and when slio spirads it, upon hor tahK* at a. tVirnd's i'omm;v, anvl thi> rhiMrcn p'iV/.c upon it wilh S(>KMnn admii'ation, will you ichuko hiM' lor *lispla\ msU-ad of honcsh- 7 'To man\ a woman luM' parlor is lirr poom. The livin;\ room must, hi* plain and unadoniod, both out. o[' ro";artl ti> Ium- purso and to iho cavolosa ilsta and \'cc\, {\\c innunuMablr balls and tops a.nd jai'kknivi's, that, koi'p up a oonstant i^iiiurilla \variart> upiMi polish and (Va",ilily. Iwit. this parlor, o\! whii'li llu- ohildron ^.lo ni>l \\:\\c i\\c run, is Iho hiinrmg" ground of Ium- laniMi>s. IbMo hor tKdijdit. in oolor and lorm may lako sliaixv W'halovor cW drlirato, of bran til'ul, ol" harmonious, o\' aniitpu", iA' j'rtMostpio. or faiiLMs i\c pK-asos luM' taslt> sho may galhor i>r t.ishion lu>ro, salo I'rom llu' iiimrsions of Ium" youii", barbarians, all at, ]ilay t'lsowluMo. I'lviMi il'shoonly opt-ns hor grand room oil high days, tlu^ sun and air can s]MU'ddy idonlily it. with l\\{\ uuivorso; and hoi' rhildii>n aro not harmed by having ono spot, barred lo Iheir lieiMi.se. ,\nd wdiile it is the outlet lor her oth(M'wise neeessarily re|U'i'.ssi'd in HO','/ A/, li'OliMIILA ANH I.OHIAI. FIlKKhOM '/J','/ clifialioriH, it in tin; ur';n.'i of li';i' fVicn'lj-.liij);; a lifjk whereby hJio keopn pIcuHunt lioM of t,li<; oui'.iil'; worM, Wliy, O purblind jnan I will you iiiHii-X on lindin^^ only OHtontatir^fi and convention and Mr«, Or(jndy wlion; a wixer arifl der^per ^ft/,e ituyjii reveal nytripatliiew urid m- piniion;', and ;JI j^raeiouM MeriHibilltieH? 268 TWELr£ MILES FliOM A LEMOX XV. TITB FASHION'S. Has any great philosopher, any original thinker, ever said that no man is so wise as all men ? If not, I will say it myself rather than it should go unsaid. The fools may be, as Lady Mary Wortley Montague affirm- ed, three out of four in every person's acquaintance; the multitude seems sometimes to go blindly and per- sistently in the wrong track ; nevertheless the average common sense of the world is immense. The course of the people is wildly zigzag, yet a line following their general direction probably comes nearer the right line of advance than any line which the wisest philosopher could mark out. Loud and deep are the maledictions uttered upon the fashions. Virtuous women denounce them by the fire- side. Virtuous men rail at them from pulpit and print- ing-press. The extravagance, the bankruptcy, the do- mestic dissensions, a great part of the misery that mars the beauty and disturbs the peace of society, are laid at the door of fashion. But what is fashion ? It is simply the common way of doing things. Things must be done. "We all agree to that. The human animal was not sent furred or hairy into the world. It must dress itself. In this climate it must dress itself a good deal. The bear and the beaver have no opportunity of setting or follow- ing the fashions. They go in a fore-ordained groove. THE FASHIONS. 269 The duck's neck and the peacock's tail are wonderful specimens of splendor in attire, but neither duck nor peacock has any hand in the matter. To man alone is given the high art of using taste, judgment, genius, in his clothes. And high art it is, in spite of all our denunciations. • Man and his Maker are the formers of all the fiishions of the world. Man devises his own dress. The Creator devises the dress of all the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, the fish of the sea. If we are to be taught by example, there need be inherently no limit to variety and splendor of costume. So far as usefulness is con- cerned, all the birds might just as well be gray. Does a fish taste any better because his scales shimmer like opal in the sunshine? Man may wreak himself on in- vention, but he can never hope to surpass the splendor of the beetle and the butterfly. Why is the cut of a coat, the tint of a gown, unworthy of the human mind, when the Creator has so clothed the grass of the field which to-day is and to-morrow is cast into the oven ? A woman trims her hat, but God made the feather. If the Almighty and All-knowing could find His good pleasure in spreading the blue of the heavens and the green of the meadows — if He enjoyed strewing the earth with blossoms, and filling these autumn woods with ev- ery fantasy of color and brilliance, shall we disdain to follow Ilim with unequal steps, and weave Ilis textures and mingle Ilis hues for the adornment of what He has chosen. to be the perfect flower of His world, the crown of His creation — man, little lower than the angels? Dressing is not a mere whim, arbitrary, superficial, 270 nvELrE miles mo.u a j.kmox. frivolous. Frivolous uumi aud woinon will liovolop and display tlioir iVivolity in dross as in all other niattors; but the I'ashiou of dross is founded on doop princi}ilos, shaded by delicate distinctions, fruitful of great results. It is not simply that the sorrow of France drapes all the world in dun ; but climate, vigor, natioiuility, progress, droop the folds or tighten the wraps, blend or blazon the colors. Dress is, indeed, so important, so vital n matter, that it has been thought dangerous for one na- tionality, though never so superior, to tamper with the costume of another, however inferior, Mr. Charles NordhofV, an outgrowth of the highest civilization of New York, thinks that ^^ (he dch'ten'otis hahit of icmt'i'n(/ ch^thvs has done much to kill olF the Hawaiian people." Our missionaries, good and great men as they were, had not sufliciently studied fashion. They }uobably thought, as most of us think, that "fashion'' is the device of some "scarlet woman"' — some emanation from the l\vil One that lies in wait to devour — and never considered that in their own black coats and white chokers they were as rigidly following the fashions as the most gayly dressed lady at the midnight ball. They did not con- sider that ''fashion," proscribing its scantiness and sim- plicit}' to the Hawaiian, had its Ibundation in the require- ments of soil and climate, or was any thing but barba- rian, and to be supplanted at the earliest possible mo- ment by the hat and coat and trowsers, the shoes and bonnet and gown, of New England's rigorous skies. There is something almost awful in the revolutions of the ftishions. Periodicity is of itself mysterious. Wh}'' docs one winter's }Mioumonia repeat itself the Tllh' l'\\SIII()NH. 271 next winter? Why do the cliilLs ari'l fever Hhakc you and burn you every twenty-one days? Why do the canker-worms bury themselves on the tenth of June, and the cattle go to pasture on the twentieth of May ? Why should the hoops that moved Addison's ridicule rise and round and vanish in our own day? What wonderful working of the inner world Vjrings up again the Josephine waist, the Pompadour hair, the Grecian skirt? It is not the whim or the caprice of one man or woman any more than is the birth and death of a language, the creation and adoption of a word or a song. Eug(jnie in Paris could friz the forehead of Christen- dom, but EugM \ i.kmox. iiarrcnv uiuK'r-skiit \\'\\\\ llio .short tli;i]HHl DVi-r-skirL is prettier than llu> plain rnllskiit; but il' next yi'ar tlie over-skirt sliouKl disappcai', and \voiueii go back lo sin- gk^ blessedness, no doubt the lovely I'ornis of wearers juul the nimble lingers of seamstresses would give it the graet> and bi>aulv Nvliieh seem to inhere in the ])rescnt stvU>. It is not whether vou shall oi' shall not follow the I'ashion ; it is what lashioii ami whose lashion shall you follow. It is whetiier you shall Jbllow uninU>lligentlv or iiitrlligenlly, moderatoly ov (>\travagantl v. J\lr. Nordholf's party eamo across :i man at work in very scanty attiiv. Out of respect lo his visitors, the man, after rt'iH-iviiig iIkmu, sli]iiH'd into the bush, and re-ap- peared ckul in hat and shirt, conllileutly believing, no (k)nbt, that he hail thus apjtroviul himsidf a cosmoj)oli- tan. l^ut in rejecting Hawaiian atlire he lunl not be- come wholly American, and wdiilc the first may have been somewhat staiMling, the second was ridiculous into the bai'gain. And when lo this you :uU\ that the gXMi- tU^ and gracious llawaiians ai\> ilying out at the rate of sixty jicr cent, in forty years, and partly, at least, under tlu' weight of their clothing and in the heavy shade of their close houses, it is surely tin\e \o pausi> ami eonsiil- er whether fashion, in Ha\vaii ami elsmvliere, may not have its own suHlcient reasons for being. "If life anil death art> the same, why (\o you not kill yourself?" asked a rash man of a Stoii'. " IV^eause th(\y arc the same," rcjilied the Stoic. l*'ashion is of no ai'connt; why should we follow it? r>ut if it is of no account we may just as wi-ll follow THE FASHIONS. 27 'S it as frown on it. A woman — and a man too — must be dressed. Why not, then, dress like otlier people? Why not dress like the people who are alive and will make remarks, rather than like the people who are dead and tell no tales? It is certainly pleasanter to be in- conspieuous than conspicuous. We do not begrudge the toga to the Romans, but Cicero himself would not like to dine in it where every one else wore his dress- coat. Truth and loyalty are due to the absent; polite- ness should be paid to the present. A girl should stand up for her grandmother against all comei's, but no in- terpretation of the fifth commandment makes it incum- bent upon her to wear the "calash" which sheltered that good lady fi'om the sun during her earthly pil- grimage. When we see Nilsson and Kellogg acting Margaret in simplest, finest muslin or crape, whose white folds full and sweep with statuesque grace, we are charmed with the garb, and would fain dispense with paniers and rufflings and doublings. But presently a lady appears in the drawing-room splendid with sheen of satin, the fairy frost-work of lace, tlie white repose of pearls, or the dazzle of diamonds; the little country girl flits among her flowers, fresh as they, with the morning red upon her cheeks, the heaven's blue in her eyes, and ev- ery seam of her cambric gown and every puff of her fluttering ribbons modeled upon the last fashion plate, and at once the ancients go down before the moderns. The flowing lines of crape and muslin, you say, may answer for the stage — may have answered well for Hel- en, with a maiden to every fold, for Aspasia entrancing 12* 27-1 TWh'LVN MILL'S Fh'OM A LI:M0\. the youths ami the ]>liilosop]iors of vVlhcus; but llioy ^vollld Ihrc but hardly in tho scriininagc of inodoni lifo, in the daylight of gardens, or the glitter of evening splendors. Wo can hardly find words strong enough to cxjiress our disa})probatiou of the ei'ani})ing bodies of modern dress. Our hidies would bo disgusted, says the fashion denouncer, to see their Wmius, their J\syche, their Clytie, tricked out in iiineteentii-centuiy corsage. ]kit no more, 1 imagine, tlian would the critics to sec tho iiinc- tocnth-ccntury ladies dressed in Venus's array. Clytic's inantua- making is perfectly hygienic, but her looso robe, "Slii)])ing down, leaves bare Her Itriglit hreusi, slu)iteniiig into siglis." Yet Clytie followed tho fashions of her day and sinned not, and Anna Maria follows the fashions of her day, "close-buttoned to tho chin," with equal innocence. If the close waist fits well, it is a healthful waist. It may be clumsy and uncomfortable, pinching here and bagging there, and then it is a trial to health and tem- per. But the master of arts among dress-makers knows that a dress too tight is a misfit; that to be perfect it onust be comfortable. The really elegant dress admits full play of all the muscles that a woman has any oc- casion to use wdiile she is wearing it. And surely the American woman of our age would be no better equip- ped for her work by adopting the costume of Helen. It is to be said, moreover, that in our day fashion is to tho last degree accommodating. If one has consti- tutional objections to the plain waist, the }iolonaise is 77/ A' FASHIONS. 27 T) ready, willi every (](;grec oC fiillness. If eorscts arc re- pugnant, they ean be dinpcnHcd willi, and ri(; one Ije tli(5 wiser but the (Jisj)en.ser, If Hkirts are too long, what doth lii rider that th(;y be shortened? W i\u'.y ought to hang from the shoulders, go liung them. JSIone of these things move the world from its equipoise. One ean ae- com])li,sh them all, and yet live and move and h.'ive her being without rehulo^ — nay, ev(;n without noticf; fiom fashifjii. Some oi'our {iiojilietn |)i<;(iiet ;i r(;turn to the Himflul of antiquity; and if fashi'jn w(;re a matter of will, we might ];)erhaj)S advocate the change;. If sandals could be so arranged as to k(;e[) the feet warm and dry in winter, they would be cool and charming in summer, and neat and pleasant all the year round to the foot, which they would protect without confining. But our various little side issues of foot-drawings and broad Boles avail but little. In shoes as in gowns neither the largo nor the small has any advantage; but the shoe that fits you is the right shoe. You make much ado with models and measurements, and after weeks of waiting are put to pedal torture. You step into the next shoe shop, and in ten minutes arc shod with sup- pleness and strength. It is a most wise and benign arrangement of Provi- dence that we can follow the fashions, and are not forced to lead them — even our own. Here and there rises a sovereign of style who by some inward genius sei^^es, combines, produces, creates — the artist of costuming. The rest of us, the common herd, copy with what clo.sc- ncss we may, in such fabrics as we ean command. Of 270 TWKLV/-: JIILKS rUOM A LKMOX. ourselves \vc have no originating power. Left to our- selves, we should be in sorry plight. Yet wc recognize beauty when it is presented to us. AVe detect harmo- ny; wc shun discord and glare and violence. To de- sign our own eostiinie would exhaust our ingenuity without satisfaction. To follow our leaders is half a jxistinio. We have the jilcasurc of selection with the niininnun of fatigue, and the great bulk of time loft for other and more strenuous occupations. After a day's shopping or an hour under the dress-maker's hand, a woman bemoans herself for her Paradise Lost; yet it is really surprising to see how short is the time which she is foyccil to spend on clothes in order to be very well dressed. Could Charles Sumner deliver orations in a sash, or Mr. Longfellow write poetry in paniers? Certainly not. Nor would !Mrs. Stowe have better moulded LTncle Tom in coat tails, or !Mrs. Browning sung in trowsei's. Saian cuique. A woman spends hours in embroidering a gown, when she might have learned a language or saved a soul. True ; but there are times when she does not feel like cither learning a language or saving a soul. Tiien the growth of silken leaves and buds under the busy fnigers is no task, but a solace. 1 know a woman who " Can speak Ciicok As naturally ns jiigs s(|iicak ; To whom Latin is no more ditlioilo 'i'han to a hhu'kliiril 'tis to wliistlo;" who dreams in German and thinks in French, and when it comes to soul-saving is a savor of life unto life— who 77/ A' l<'ASllI()i\S. 277 yet embroiders licr own capes and gowns and those of her friends. There arc follies and whimsies in fasliion. There is opportunity for individual taste and choice. Neverthe- less, the wisest thing for people in general to do is to follow the fashion that prevails. It is only in excep- tional cases that they will obtain a larger result of sat- isfaction at a l(;ss outlay of trouble by setting up their own standard. Dress is too important to be denounc(;d, too significant to be neglected, but too pliable to found a fight on ! What we want is strong-minded and large-natured women who will not be the slave of dress, or of reform, or of any one idea; who will understand the philoso- f)hy and recognize the beauty and adopt the necessi- ties of dress without straining its possibilities; who will neither dwarf nor magnify its importance, but will know liow to follow fashion with moderation and discrimina- tion, to lead it with beneficence, and make it in all things a minister of grace. If the woman is subordi- nate to the dress, it is not the fault of the dress, but of the woman. Alas! that not only a servile but a dignified follow- ing of the fashion imposes the disagreeable duty of fol- lowing them into the shops! It is not simply for their exemption from toiling and spinning that wc envy the lilies of the field, but that they should be arrayed more magnificently than Solomon in all his glory, and not even have to go up to town to buy material ! Shopping would be divested of half its horrors if dry- goods clerks would be kind. Is it too much to ask? 278 TWKLV/-: .Mif.f-:s rh'OM a ij-.'mox. They havo all iho a^lvantago o( situation. They arc familiar with the locality. They know exactly where the black silks are lo be lonnd, what is the Inrking- plaec of the sheetings, what corner is haunted by the hosiery. The quality, the [iricc, the style of goods — they have it all at their lingers" ends. They are barri- caded by the counters and supported bv ranks of ac- quaintances. Vou, constitutionally timid, full of mis- giving concerning your own skill and taste, with but a vague idea oi' Nvhat you ought to want, enter a palace of splendor and contusion, to encounter, single-handed, these veterans of the yard-stick. It' they are civil, friendly, re-assuring, it is as much as you can do to kcc}) your wits well in hand, and choose from the distracting variety the one little supply that you demand. If they are insolent, curt, indilVerent, what remains but retreat? There are dilVcrent species of objectionable clerks. One is voluble, familiar, and altogelher abominable. You never willingly approach him, but, accosting him unawares, you feel as if you were instinctively and con- stantly holding him by a tight rein to keep hint from open impertinence, and not always successfully. To the severest simplicity of address he will sometimes re- spond rudel}'. In novels, ladies are majestic, impress- ive, all-powerful. Q^hey repress manitestations of ill- breeding in others by the overpowering grandeur o\! their own ladyhood. But in real lite real ladies are quite as likely to be -modest, shrinking, easily subdued by brutality, and capable of olVcring to aggression no resistance but flight. Such swil'tly succumb to the bold and blatant clerk — succumb by flying, not buying. '/'//A' FASHIONS. 27'.) 'JMicrc in the icaHin;^ clcil:, who loavoH you no f|ui(;i for reflection and no Hpace lor eornpariHon, but irnagincH the way to weciirc your (MJHtorn in to urj-^c you without iritermiKHiori. There iH tlie indin'ereiit clerk, who Kayw he has not the ^oods you want before you know your- self what you do want; who throwH tho j)areel down on the counter as if it were to take or U} leave, };ut manifests not thr; .sli^-diteBt interest in ascertaining your wish or aeeornrnodating or assisting you. There is the snap}>ing- turtle clerk, who brings you to th(; point, re-adjusts your somewhat incoherent question, and an- swers you with a quick, irrif^atient directness that quite liuniiliates yr^u. II im, thougli some condemn unmf;as- urcdly, I can tolerate. Honest human petulance, born of fatigue, is the least urjpardonable of mcrcaritih; ill manners, Ccnisider that the man has been the target for all sorts of questions, wise and foolish, tlirough long hours. If we had been in his placf;, doubtless by this time we shf>uld greet an ang(!l with a growl, IJut re- member this, O long-suffering dry-goods man! you have made your bed, and you must lie in it. You are tied by the tape-measure of your own free-will. It is your business to answer questions. You arc paid to display goods. Doubtless there may often be before the counter stujjidity, selfishness, unreasonableness, lack of prinei[)le; but these do not justify or excu.sc the disj^lay of such traits behind the counter. Still less do they excuse their outlay upon the modest, the mod- erate, tho upright. When clerks have been teased by women who do not examine goods with frank intent, but simply to idle away a superfluous hour, to gratify 2i^0 rWKLVK MIIJCS mOM A LKMOW i\ morbivl :\i\vl tVivolvMis tnsio. tv^ boar otV sunvpllliously iiv>tno importovi ido;v tor ^^v^^^u^^uo n\;\»uUaoimv, it is not ;\K^olutolv uuwatuml or in\jHv<8iblo that thov v^houKl bo Ivtrnvod into irriiatiow ; but it iv^ \»nbusino5*}*-liko and unwise. Tliov will novor thus ivpivss tho idlo or tho curious, but t)\ov will otton olVond tho unotVondinj?, Lot thon\ ivn\onibor ihat tho v^hopping as woll as tho soiling world is a muob-triod i\nd long-sutVoriuii' world. l\vs tho woman, undor pivtonso of buying a gxnvn, motvlv tnko nolo ol' its sivlo that sho tnav niako hor own tlounoos altor tho s;\tno pattorn? Ro not tov^ harsh upon hor, outragod drv-gwds olork, who will havo t)o }H>ivontaiiV t'lvtu your salos to hor. Ooubtlo.ss sho W'vHild bo oidy too glavl tv^ buy vour u^bos outright, but hor husband oa)i not or will not t'urnish tho moans, and sho is loivovl to \i!t' vour lay tigmv. li would \h\ iudood, lar bottor that sho should bo honost and Irank, a\ul oxp»\\^>< hor intoniion. tu^t atton\pt to oarry it out by doooit. PrvA^ably iu> vmjo ovor askod porn\is- sion to oxatnino gwils without roooiving a oourtoous and ptvinpt assont. Hut tho }Hvr thing is not nnusod to brutality, and has unhappily loarnod too n\uoh indi- ivction. \'ou. dry-gvvds olork, atv young ai»vl sti\M\g, atul a tinin. Ho you. \\v kiiubioss and holpfulno.^^s, t"ui^ thor hor aims, ai\\l so w in hor vnor [o ovM\lulonov\ oaso, and outiMghtno.s.s not vopol, iVighton. and woujul hor bv your domoanor. r^v tar tho groat majvnily ot" wvmuou slu^p honostly. Thoy g\> to many plaoo.s thoy vn'orturn many g\)ods, thov postpone and hositato; b\tt thoy havo a serious 'Ill If! I''AHIII(>SH. *ZHV (tMyx'X m Vifiw. Om ViiiUi ingrain cAqtfd thxiH u mnaU, In a gr^;at war<;hoa^/; [AUA with ilte whuhU ()f iUa \<)<)xu it nf'Mum r'id'u'MUmkly maiM, txxA i\m (iUifk naturally wi)ihm\x\U'A. War \tnrm in of fismt-iron. \Utr chihlr^rm arlor and c/mUmr, Will it harrnoni//; with th^j [/ap;r and th tM?ncc from you. And even if *b« fnakrt her not U; f'/}fithmue« not buy the ear[K;l; now, Fi^; you sympathetic, obliging^ f/atient with all o :^ and oV;ije^;tion>«, and very likely in three or : . .- . --.c/i Khe will come W;k to you and buy one twice a>} goo^i ! There in a prevailing faith in tlie country district* that the urban dry'g«^^>j a Ixiing of predtemat- ural lifinUinmi, that he can ^ktojct character at a glance, and discern in^.tantane<^>u>.ly VMween tfie righteous and the wicked, if thi» is a corre^.'t opinion, it must be 282 ■nrj':L\K Mi^ riiOM A lk.vox. admittod that thoiv niv oxooptional cases ol' outrai;vons stupidity, and that these exeoptions aiv liable to make a greater ado and deeper impres^sion than the shrewd and keen majority, li would seem, sonietinies, as if clerks understood dry-uoods, and nothing else. Silk and velvet, tlowers and llonnces, they appreciate, but words, modulations, manners, they count lor iiotliing. U" a woman's culture shows itself in elegant, elaborate, expensive dress, that they comprehend, to that they deter. But culture that has of choice or by force oi' circumstances boon expended in other diroctioits they know nothing about. They can uot see it. They do not miss it. Long companionship with dry-goods seems to have given thorn a sense oi' dv\-iX*-^(\U, and \o have stripped them oi' every other. A plainly but perfectly dressed lady, with the best blood of the worUl in her veins, and - -what is more imposing to the haberdashing heart — with plenty of money in her pocket, \Yent not long since into a shop to buy napkins. The potentate of the counter showed her such napery as he thought suited to her social pL-)sition. "These are rather co.irse,'' she suggested. "Have you none tiner?'' "Oh ves,"'said the gentleman, "but thcv are more expensive. It is ever to be regretted that the lady turned in silence and lefi the shop, because that clerk will never know that it was his own idiotic ef- frontery, and not the expense of the naj^kins, which lost him the customer. A lady who never made any great figure in tho world, and certainly not in a water-jiroof cloak on a rainy ilay, was socking a parasol. The cloj-k showed her some TllK FASHIONS. 28'j very common, not to say shabby, specimens, wbicli she declined. A little further down the counter she bought a whole piece of fine and costly linen, observing which, the knight of the parasols came down and begged her to re-examine his assortment, of which he had contrived to unearth an altogether different and haiUiv collection. She, too, fell below the requirements of the occasion, and bought her parasol without enlightening him upon her discovery of his stupid mistake. A lady, large and lovely, a serene Quaker goddess, made some benevolent casual remark to the clerk with whom she was trafficking, just as she would have patted the head of a strange dog who might have run up and sniffed at her gown, and the little whipper-snapper clerk followed her to the door, and — winked at her! And while she stood staring at him in her first amazed con- sciousness of his individual existence, he winked again! Thus vacuous do the gods make a human skull, yet furnish it with all the ganglia of life. Happy those merchants who can secure the right sort of clerks ! for a right sort there is. I bought a table- cloth of him yesterday. I had forgotten to take the size of the table, or a pattern of the color to be matched. Patiently he evolved my probable needs from my frag- mentary facts, discussed pleasantly the presumptive ev- idence, and seemed as much interested in the harmonies of my dining-room as if he had expected to eat there thrice a day for the remainder of his natural life. Did he deceive me? Not a bit. I know of a surety that my dining-room was no more to him than the peanut- stand on the common opposite. Me and it has he al- 284 TWJELVE MILES FliOM A LEMON. ready alike forgotten. None tbc less was liis moment- ary and friendly, but not familiar, assumption of inter- est in me and mine altogether winning and encouraging; and doubtless also was it, for that moment, altogether sincere. Ilis sympathetic and refined nature does un- questionably and spontaneously ally itself for succor and good cheer to all who appeal to him. May his kind heart, his welcoming face, and his engaging manners be a mine of wealth to himself and all his employers and dependents! Not to all men arc given that grace and graciousness, serviceable, not servile, which distinguish a seller of sacques in a warehouse I wot of. A sacque, rich and fine, but not overloaded with trimming, nor grotesque in cut, requires the quest of a Sir Galahad, and Sir Ga- lahad was there to make it. With indescribable deftness and swiftness he overturned pile after pile of garments, making running comments as he went: "This is good materia], but too low on the shoulder ; this has too deep a collar ; this too loud a trimming. If this were a quieter shade! Ah! here it is! and here! Or you may like this." And out they came, shapely and sober. And if they had been gorgeous, I suspect the lady would liardly have known it, so won over was she by his read}- helpfulness. And when he brought a brush, and assist- ed her in disengaging her folds from the dust of our long drought with a dexterity wholly free from officious- ness, he needed but to speak the word, and she would have bought every sacque in the shop. Dry-goods clerking is bad business. There needs no ghost to tell us that. It is petty and show3^ It takes THE FASHIONS. 285 women at their weakest — when they arc self-centred and eager. It would seem to give men scarce any play of mind or muscle. They have only to stand, white and waiting, busy "to irritation, or frenzied with idleness — forever babbling the price of a ninepenny calico or a spool of cotton. But it is not a business made any bet- ter by brazenness and bullying. Modesty, courtesy, gen- tleness, patience toward the good, and also toward the froward, serve as excellent a purpose here as elsewhere. Among his mantles and his wimples and his crisping- pins, as truly as among shattering trumpets and splin- tered spear-shafts, will Sir Galahad keep fair, through faith and prayer, his manly and upright heart. After all, this matter is not so wholly one-sided as it seems. True, the Country goes up to the City to shop, but the City goes down to the Country for the substance of shopping. The City knows only its shop-windows. The Country drinks at the fountain-head whence the shop-windows derive their splendor. Is it new colors that inventors are bending all their ingenuity to create? A late essayist suggested that there are colors which the eye can not yet perceive, and which it never will perceive without more exquisite powers — the result of fine and elaborate training. I wish the writer would look down into my swamp, and see if we have not al- ready as many colors as there is any call for. It may not be generally known that the world was never so beautiful as it is in this year of our Lord, eighteen seventy-three. Nature is infinite, not simply in colors but in shades. We speak of "grass green," as if every blade of grass had been plunged into one 286 TWULVU MILES FR03I A LEMON. dye-pot. But in a single pasture stretching before my eyes, close-croiDped by browsing cows, the ground is mottled and many-hued as a Persian carpet, yet never other than green. There are little dimples of deep ver- dure, and one hollow, bent above by an old apple-tree nearly blown down, but recovering itself at the last moment, and transfixed at an acute angle. Into that hollow all the summer rains settle and all the spring snows drift. On it the ice sparkles and shelters, and now its soft slope is a velvet sward, thick and line and vivid, and wholly unlike the yellow-green of the up- land and the bare, bronzed, faded verdancy of the bumps that one can hardly call hillocks. Close by is a field of cabbages, or turnips, or some such homely es- culent ; but there is no homeliness in its level sweep of pallid green, which is far removed from the hues of my pasture land. Then the brown lines of the railroad dart across the landscape, adding force and law to beau- ty, their unerring precision a pleasant foil to nature's wildness. Beyond, the fields, too, are turning brown, and the river lounges lazily by, and the long low woods skirt its banks; and my swamp — ah, the splendor of those trees ! Every clump is a bouquet, selected and ar- ranged as if with the view of bringing out the strength and glow of each : bright flaming scarlet and cypress green, wine-hued and perfect amber, warm crimsons, and yellows of the brightest and the softest — gradations and blendings of a marvelous delicacy and an endless variety. Yet sometimes, for all the gold and scarlet, I think nothing is quite so lovely as brown. The swamp is THE FASHIONS. 287 bordered with ferns. The old stone walls, rough and tumbling, that mark the road are overcrept and over- swept with blackberry vines and tansy and golden-rod, with sunflower and the purple endive, wild brake, and gowan, the dandelion of the fall — a tawny tangle ; but the rich ferns prevail, lending their deep, soft russet, all mellow, yellow tints, to the afternoon sun, to be shot through and through with his golden fire. Then does Nature's true worshiper long for a brown silk gown to wear in these autumn days, and be in harmony with the earth — a brown silk, russet and lustrous and shimmer- ing, gold in the sun, grave in the shade, pliant to Na- ture's moods, like the fern and the blackberry vine, that scorn to glow and glitter when their lord, the sun, goes down. I saw a bird yesterday in an elegant steel-colored polonaise of two shades, with black trimmings. It was perfect in cut and combination ; and if he would but have stayed twittering on my apple-tree long enough for an artist to catch his style, I would have sent to the city a fall fashion which should have bewildered even the belles of Broadway. There is nothing to be com- pared to the quiet elegance of birds. The fields and the trees are inexhaustibly ingenious, but their taste is hardly chastened enough for minute and accurate imi- tation. A maple-tree walking down street would be in danger of being followed by gamins; and even the so- berer elm and the presently-to-be-crimsoned oak would run the risk of being called garish and ga}''. But the little birds hop up, dainty and delicate. Is it mode color your suits shall be? No gray is so soft, no nap 288 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. SO smooth, as theirs, and the briglitness comes in little dashes — dots and tips and fringes, in sheen and quiver and evanescence — an effect rather than a vision. But when I saw near Calisto2;a the flower which the old Spaniards named mariposa — butterfly — with its broad, apricot-tinted, wing-like petals, dashed with a maroon velvet as soft in tissue as the purple of the heart's-ease, I saw at once where Monsieur Worth found the great first cause of Madame Nightingale's gown. No wonder he has made his name illustrious, if he has gone to the birds and the butterflies and the blossoms for his patterns! Why not follow him, though with unequal steps? Why puzzle over color complications, when a pansy in your garden will tell you what goes with what? Why pay to a foreigner untold heaps of money for his dictum, when a bird of the air shall carry thQ voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the mat- ter? We cry out against the ugliness of the rough earthen jars in which our plants are potted. Rough and ugly they are, but have wc mended the matter when we store our slips in glazed vases, painted a bright and shining green, which kills all the color out of the plants? Nature puts all her brightness into leaf and blossom, and makes the boles of her trees as rough and brown as possible, dowered only with their rugged strength, which bears all the beauty aloft. Let us also be rough and rugged as to the bases of our flower-pots, for 'tis our nature too. I will go down into my swamp and stud3^ It is rain- ing delightful showers, but I love the drip of the leaves and the saucy slap of wet boughs, and the artists say THE FASHIONS. 289 that gray days are the da3^s for color. We have had a surfeit of sunshine for three weeks of hazy delight. Let us go out to welcome this delicious rain, and come home laden with leaves more ruddy than the rose petals of our last lost June, with golden boughs more lovely than that whose variegated gleam shone through the Sibyl- line grove into the eyes of pious .^neas. " Oh, you can't get leaves !" cries Faintheart. " They are so high up. You must have a man and a ladder." A man and a ladder! Bring hither a water-proof and a pair of rubber boots, and leave your ladders and men to their own destruction. Is not my swamp amply sup- plied with hassocks on purpose to step (?n ? Are there no branches to cling to, that one must bring men and ladders? Nay, has not Nature herself leveled a tree for our climbing? There lies he, a prostrate monarch, but so strong that from the uptorn earth still clinging to his roots he extracts the juices of life, and still nur- tures all his tender le.aves, and still drinks for his au- tumn glory the mystic blood-red wine. Safe seated on his fallen trunk, safe housed among his supporting branches, what need of men or ladders ? Here is the musical tinkle of the rain on the leaves, the soft rustle of the leaves in the wind. Here is a carpet which the Shah might strangle his ministers for, and a canopy which might task the fairies' wand. Ilere life gathers its forces for a final stand against wintry death, and here shall victory prevail, for in these hidden nooks green grow the rashes O through all the furious winter's rages. 13 290 TWELVE MILEU FIWM A LEMON. XVI. SLEEP AND SICKKESS. The one requisite to good heallb, good looks, sweet temper, prosperity in business, and general success in life, is sleep, I do not know whether we shall be able, as Matthew Arnold says, to " hit it off happily " with Solomon. It is, perhaps, not quite easy to tell exact- ly what he had in his mind ; but if he meant that people should try to (?lit down their slecj) to the smallest pos- sible allowance, it may be supcrlluous, but it is certain- ly irresistible, to remark that I do not agree with him. But he probably did not mean that, lie certainly would not be likely to dilVer from me. The necessity of sleep, it may be admitted, is a dis- agreeable neccssit}'-. To turn aside from all the pleas- ures of life, from the sweet consciousness of existence, to give over thought and love and memory and hope — all plans and pursuits — and go down into forgetfulness or unconsciousness, is, or seems to be, an unspeakable loss. It is a death, temporar}^ but imjicrious and ever- recurring. Yet it is so universal, so gradual, so natu- ral, that we yield to it not only without dread, but with delight. In the silent splendor of star-lit nights, which seem to put us on a brotherly footing with the whole universe, in the blackness of nights that know no star, when w^e seem to be standing alone in the solitude of eternity, life is too fascinating, ajid we begrudge a mo- hLEEP AND SICKNESS. 291 merit lost; but even then, without will, against will, the heavy eyelids droop, and, all unhindered, the sly soul slips away into some remote recess of the brain to lie in ambush for the rising dawn and the strong new world. If we could have been made to get along without sleep, I should like it better, but since sleep we must, why should we quarrel with fate? Our ancestors, stanch men in many regards, have yet done the world harm by their indiscriminate abuse of sleep. One would think, to read some books, that slumber was an inven- tion of the Evil One, to be repressed and snubbed con- tinually. On the contrary, sleep comes nearer being a panacea than any pill or potion ever concocted. In the country, people sometimes become so demoral- ized on the subject that early rising takes on the pro- portions of a vice. I have an inward conviction that the farmers from the outskirts snap their whips with fresh unction as they go by our village houses in the early morning, exulting in tljc thought that they are up and about while we sluggards have scarcely rubbed our eyes open. I have heard a family admiringly spoken of because it rose, breakfasted, and had prayers before the dawn had fairly reddened the east. Can such prayers be acceptable ? Our people do, indeed, yield to the truth of history so far as to tell children of beauty-sleep, and bid them go to bed early; but they forget all about it in the morning, and stimulate them to early rising. Indeed, ignorance and folly sometimes go so far as to awaken children for the purpose of get- ting them up, which is just not murder in the first de- 21)2 TWh'Uh' MII.HS Fi;oM ,1 l./.'MO.X. gnn>. IjMV it' tlowii ;is llic iiilc t»r fninily lil'f tli;it. no- body is lo 1)(< wnkcd liv (wIitii.mI imcmiis. TliriM iniiy 1)0 oxtriiordinury cii^Miiiislaiicrs wliirli Juslify u viohi- iioii of ilin rul(\ If tlui lioiiso is on fin", !uul liaiul and Ktcuni cnjMncs liiil lo cxtin.'Miisli llic llnnics, sIccpcrH mnsl. 1)0 ai'ou.sml; bul, ovumi tlion ho^in with tlioso nour- csL tlio (ii'o, ami hostir oUiors only as \\\v (laiisfor advan- ces. I suppose^ il. is altsoliitrl V cciliiin llial wlirn a, man lias slopt loni^ onon^ii lio will wakti of his own aooord. Tho timo a,l. wliio>h sl(>op is laJ lako (^'odil, to tluunsolvos for nocoinplisliin;^ miieh belbi-o bre.'dJ'asI, but after breakfast ar(> oonstantly J'ound nappini; on tho sofa or noddin;.'; in the lounging ohair. What superior virtue is tJier(> in sIo(>ping by instaJlment to sleeping in tho luni])'/ Some people are called Ia/,y booauso tJiey tako a na|) after a noonday dinner; but tho odioionoy of tlioir waking hours is a, sndioiont justHii'.ation for thoir iniib day roposo. Sleep nnvwlier<^ and ("verywhei'o is j'Ood. Ministers ooniplain if horo and there a mendier ol'lJioir c.ongrt^gation grows drowsy ; but as I look mound and soo the hard \vorkin<>; men and women, all clean ami \\vs\\ and smooth in thoir Sunday suits, shell(M-ed from sun, released from toil, and soothed by tho ])Ioasaiit voioo of a well beloved j);istor into a, slii^htly unsteady but riohly oarned rojjoso, 1 bless them unawai'o. Ni)t tho least of th(! in;iny bonofils wrought us by tho olorgy is the sweot somnolence which so fvutly and benii'idy broods over a, weary and hnpjiv con"Tee;:ition on a sul- ,'-ii,i':i':i' A Nit sK'KNicsM. '^O;; try Siiml.'iy nlldniooii. Vovc oi(lin;il,io(i :iri(| ricc-wiU riKiy 1m; Ii.'U'I I.o iccoiicih; ; iiiofjiJ ;tiii| n.-iUiral ((■.■•iponHl- hiliiy inuy be didiculL (jT (liMcriiniiKiUoii ; l,lj(i bcaiiti^^ of clcclioii oM (lijl,y in riol- ciisy l.o h<:(:; hul, jk) jiijui r,u.\\ i/o into an niry, |)li:a;;;inL (■.\ntii:\\^ !-;it, down in j)cac,c, ainon^i; liis IVifind;-! and n<;i;.dil>orH, and I'all Hollly uhIcc)) t,o IJm; Hound of holy wordn IVoin holy lij)H, wiUiont j.M"<;iit, f^'lin l,o l,h<; hfi; iJiat, now in, and, I bciicv*; and IrUHt, with no JoKH U) iJial, whi(;h in to couk;. Ah for Na))ol(!l,h<:rH who aic brandi;-,hcd ov':c iiM an ha.vin;'; vvfon;-'lil ihcii' I'vcul dct'dn on lour hourw' hI(;e well to warn him w/ji'wihI Helf-glorificatior), Neitlier rihing early availeth any thin;/, iioi" riHJng late. The wiHe man who uned to ri.se with the Huri or beforo it in oureopy bookH tnuy have, b'cn fooli:-,li in ;-;o diid han been eatehing the worm for many ;'eu<-rati(MiK, but I never heard that the late- bii ■ f ••':^': (. c C «. > cc < '■■:'< ;:,CC <^ JaCC •JW. ^^ 'r-x< C <: ■.; cc C <^^ ;,c vc c % ;;.C'Cc '5^ ^. ,.c:cc e; cr . , c' C '.:i.Ti»nx.6»> ,„ „^..,^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ i^'r^'rmv'^jiftW/i