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diff --git a/39497-h/39497-h.htm b/39497-h/39497-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3fdb863 --- /dev/null +++ b/39497-h/39497-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4836 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Breeze from the Woods, by W. C. Bartlett. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + +p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + +hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + +table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + +a {text-decoration: none;} + +.giant {font-size: 200%;} +.huge {font-size: 150%;} +.big {font-size: 125%;} + +.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} + +.blockquot {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +.bqright {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 12%; text-align: right;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breeze from the Woods, 2nd Ed., by +William Chauncey Bartlett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: A Breeze from the Woods, 2nd Ed. + +Author: William Chauncey Bartlett + +Release Date: April 21, 2012 [EBook #39497] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BREEZE FROM THE WOODS, 2ND ED. *** + + + + +Produced by David E. Brown, Bryan Ness and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">A BREEZE</span><br/> +<br/> +<span class="big">FROM</span><br/> +<br/> +<span class="giant">THE WOODS</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">BY</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">W. C. BARTLETT</span></p> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/t_page.png" alt="" /></div> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">SECOND EDITION.</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE CALIFORNIA PUBLISHING COMPANY.<br/> +1883</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><i>OAKLAND TRIBUNE PRINT.</i></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center">TO<br /> +<br /> +<span class="big">A. K. P. HARMON, <span class="smcap">Esq.</span>,</span><br /> +<br /> +THE LIBERAL CITIZEN, GENIAL NEIGHBOR, AND<br /> +<br /> +STEADFAST FRIEND.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">NOTE TO THE SECOND EDITION.</span></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>The greater number of the papers comprised in this volume were +originally contributed to the <i>Overland Monthly</i>, and nearly in the +order in which they now appear. Two essays, written at later dates, were +printed in the <i>Californian</i>. The final paper of the series only, has +been slightly abridged. It was originally prepared as a platform +address, and still retains that distinctive character.</p> + +<p>If these pages disclose more of the freedom of outdoor life than the +philosophy born of private meditation, it is because the author loves +the woods better than the town; the garden better than the low diet and +high thinking of any philosopher (who goes above the clouds); and the +friendships which have ripened under genial skies, better than all.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">The House on the Hill.</span></p> + +<p><i>January, 1883.</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">CONTENTS.</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table"> + + +<tr><td> </td><td> </td><td align="right">Page.</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>I.</i></td><td> <i>A BREEZE FROM THE WOODS,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_9"><i>9</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>II.</i></td><td> <i>LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_37"><i>37</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>III.</i></td><td> <i>A WEEK IN MENDOCINO,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_53"><i>53</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>IV.</i></td><td> <i>UNDER A MADROÑO,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_77"><i>77</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>V.</i></td><td> <i>A DAY ON THE LOS GATOS,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_95"><i>95</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>VI.</i></td><td> <i>SHADOWS OF ST. HELENA,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_113"><i>113</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>VII.</i></td><td> <i>THE HOUSE ON THE HILL,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_137"><i>137</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>VIII.</i></td><td> <i>THE GARDEN ON THE HILL,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_161"><i>161</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>IX.</i></td><td> <i>THE HOMESTEAD BY THE SEA,</i> </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_187"><i>187</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>X.</i></td><td> <i>SUBURBAN ETCHINGS,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_213"><i>213</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><i>XI.</i></td><td> <i>LITERATURE AND ART,</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_229"><i>229</i></a></td></tr></table> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">A BREEZE FROM THE WOODS.</span></p> +<p> </p> + +<p><span class="smcap">"Shall</span> we go to the Springs this year?" asked a demure woman as she +handed the tea and toast across the table.</p> + +<p>Now there are more than five thousand springs in the Coast Range which +have never been defiled. It isn't necessary for the preservation of +one's mortal system that it should be daily saturated with a strong +solution of potash or sulphur. As a pickle, I much prefer a few gallons +dipped up from the ocean, or a spring bath from a little mountain +stream. Do you think it is evidence of insanity in a hungry man to +expect a wholesome dinner in a country hotel kept expressly for city +boarders? We will have a vacation nevertheless. If our homes were in +Paradise, I think we should need it. One might get tired even of looking +at sapphire walls and golden pavements. Did you observe how promptly +that artisan dropped his tools when he heard the mid-day warning? Many +a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> man gets more than one significant warning to drop his tools—all his +instruments of handicraft and brain work—at midsummer and be off. If he +does not heed this protest of nature, there will come a day when the +right hand will lose its cunning and the brain its best fibre. It is +better to sit down wearily under the shadow of a great rock and take a +new baptism from the ooze and drip, than to trudge on as a money-making +pilgrim up the bald mountain, because forsooth some men have reached it +at mid-day—and found nothing. What we need is not so much to seek +something better in the long run than we have found. There may be a +sweet, even throb to all the pulsations of domestic life, and no small +comfort in gown and slippers, and the unfolding of the damp evening +newspaper. But the heaven, of what sort it is, may seem a little fresher +by leaving it for a month's airing. It is a point gained to break away +from these old conditions and to go forth somewhat from one's self. The +lobster breaks his shell and next time takes on a larger one. He is a +better lobster for that one habit of his. The trouble with many men is +that they never have but one shell, and have never expanded enough to +fill that. They do not need a vacation, when the beginning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> and end of +them is vacuity. It is possible that the horizon may shut down too +closely about one and be too brazen withal; and that as we go the weary +round the cycle of our own thoughts will be finished with every +revolution of the earth. There is no great difference after all in a +desert of sand and a desert of houses, when both by a law of association +suggest eternal sameness and barrenness. There is a wearisome sameness +in this human current which is shot through the narrow grooves of the +great city. What inspiration does one get from this human concussion? +Are there any sparks of divine fire struck off, or struck into a man by +it? In all this jostling crowd is there any prophet who knows certainly +what his dinner shall be on the morrow? The struggle is mainly one for +beef and pudding, with some show of fine raiment, and possibly a +clapboard house in which there is no end to stucco. The smallest +fraction may yet be used to express the value of that element of +civilization which teaches society how much it needs rather than how +little will suffice.</p> + +<p>Argenti, the banker, fared sumptuously every day. But you notice that he +had the gout cruelly. You didn't find him at any fashionable +watering-place last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> summer. His pavilion was under an oak tree, with +the padding of a pair of blankets. His meat and drink for six weeks were +broiled venison and spring water. What his rifle did not procure and the +spring supply, he utterly refused to swallow. He went up the +mountain-side with muffled feet and a vexed spirit. He came down <i>per +saltem</i> singing something about the soul of one Brown, which he said was +marching on. It is not necessary that our modern pulpiteers should go +back to the diet of locusts and wild honey. But there is comfortable +assurance that there is no gout in that fare. And if more of naturalness +and fiery earnestness would come of that way of living, it might be +worth the trial. There is fullness of meat and drink, and much leanness +of soul. It only needs some manifestation of individuality, with an +honest simplicity, to suggest a commission of lunacy.</p> + +<p>"This," said the divinity who served the toast and tea, "is your +vacation philosophy. How much of it are you going to reduce to +practice?"</p> + +<p>As much as we can crowd into three weeks, or more of rational living. +There might be a charm in savage life if it were not for the fearfully +white teeth of the wolf and the cannibal. There is nothing in Blot's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +book which teaches how a missionary should be cooked; and a roast pig, +that pleasant adjunct, is only well done by the Fiji Islanders. And so, +after some further discussion, oracular and otherwise, it was agreed +that precedents should go for nothing; and that the vacation of three +weeks should be spent with a rational regard for health, economy and +pleasure. Ourselves, including a half-grown boy, would count three, and +our neighbors—husband and wife—would make up the convenient number of +five. It was agreed, moreover, that we should not enter a hotel, nor +accept any private hospitality which included indoor lodging. No journey +for the benefit of baggage smashers. No more notable incident will +happen on this part of the planet, for some time to come, than the fact +that two females, not averse to a fresh ribbon in spring-time, consented +to a journey of three weeks without taking along a trunk of the size of +a Swiss cottage, or so much as a single bandbox. Railroads, steamboats +and stages were to be given over, as things wholly reprobate. There +happened to be on the farm of one of the party three half-breed horses, +well broken to harness and saddle. These, with a light, covered spring +wagon, should suffice for all purposes of locomotion—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> single span +before the wagon, and the third horse with a saddle, to admit of an +occasional change. The half-breed horses, which would not sell in the +market for fifty dollars each, are the best in the world for such a +campaign. They never stumble, are not frightened at a bit of bad road; +under the saddle they will pick their own way, jumping over a log or a +small stream with the nimbleness of a deer. A tether on the grass at +night keeps them in good trim. Bred in the country, they are the proper +equine companions with which to plunge into the forest and to go over +unfrequented roads. They have an instinct which is marvelously acute. +They will take the scent of a grizzly in the night sooner than the best +trained dog, and are quite as courageous; for both dog and horse will +break for camp at the first sniff of one of these monsters. When stage +horses start on a tearing run over a mountain road at midnight, look for +bear tracks in the morning. It is but fair to say that Bruin does not +generally meddle with people who are not of a meddlesome turn of mind. +When put upon his mettle, he goes in for a square fight; and as far as +my scanty data may be relied upon, he whips in a majority of instances. +A Henry rifle, two shot-guns, a small<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> military tent, some heavy +blankets, and a good supply of fishing-tackle, with two or three cooking +utensils and some small stores, made up the equipment. No +wonder-mongering was to be done. It was not in order, therefore, to go +to the Big Trees, Yosemite or the Geysers. There are more wonders on a +square mile of the Coast Range than most of us know anything about.</p> + +<p>No vacation is worth having which does not, abruptly if need be, turn +one away from all familiar sights and sounds—all the jarring, creaking +and abrasion of city life. The opening vista in the redwood forest, +where the path is flecked with tremulous shadows and gleams of sunlight, +will lead near enough to Paradise, provided one does not take a book or +a newspaper along, and never blasphemes against nature by inquiring the +price of stocks. The young lady who undertook to read Byron at the +Geysers last summer, was greeted with an angry hiss of steam which made +her sitting place very uncomfortable. There was but one snatch of Norma +sung during this excursion. Something was said about its being sung +"divinely;" but the fact that every gray squirrel barked, and every +magpie chattered within the space of forty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> furlongs, left a lingering +doubt about the heavenliness of that particular strain of music. It is +useless to mock at nature, for in the end she will make all true souls +ashamed. An excursion into the woods calls for some faith in Providence, +and some also in rifles and fishing gear; and when dinner depends upon +some sort of game which is flying over head, or running in the bushes, +one must walk circumspectly withal, and remember to keep the eye of +faith wide open. It is of no use to cite the instance of the prophet who +was fed by ravens. He had a fit of the blues, and could not have drawn a +bead upon a rifle. Besides, if he knew that game was coming to him, what +was the use of going after it?</p> + +<p>Here and there a pair of doves were flitting about, and now and then a +cotton-tail rabbit made an awkward jump from one clump of bushes to +another. It was a handsome beginning for the youngster, who sent a stone +into the hazel-bush and took bunny on the keen jump as he came out. It +was a sign that there would be no famine in the wilderness. Another +brace of rabbits and half a dozen wild doves settled the dinner +question. Wild game needs to be hung up for a season to mellow; the +quail does not improve in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> way, but pigeons and wild ducks and +venison are vastly better for it. A trout affords an excellent mountain +lunch, and the sooner he is eaten after coming out of the water the +better. And so of all the best game fish.</p> + +<p>Did it ever occur to you that while women may be skillful fishers of +men, and will even make them bite at the bare hook, they make the +poorest trout fishers in the world? There is an awkward fling of the +line, as if the first purpose was to scare every fish out of the water. +There is a great doubt if any trout of the old school ever takes a bait +thrown in by feminine hands; if indeed he is tempted into taking it, he +makes off with it, and that is the last sign of him for that day. That +last remark is uttered at some peril, if the most vehement feminine +protest means anything serious. Two speckled fellows were taken from a +little pool under a bridge, the most unlikely place in the world, +according to common observation, and yet chosen by the trout because +some sort of food is shaken down through the bridge at every crossing of +a vehicle. Two more from a pool above, and there were enough for lunch. +There may be sport in taking life thus. But who ever puts the smallest +life out in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> mere wantonness, and for the sport of slaying, without +reference to a human want, is a barbarian. These carnivorous teeth show +that we are creatures of prey. But conscience ought to be the Lord's +game-keeper, and give an unmistakable warning when we have slain enough. +Had there been a mission to shed innocent blood for the love of it, a +couple of wild cats which were traveling along a narrow trail, with the +ugliest faces ever put upon any of the feline tribe, would have come to +grief. Their short, stumpy tails and bad countenances came near drawing +the fire of one of the pieces. But although wild game is better than +tame meat, there is no evidence on record that a wild cat is any better +than a tame one. They only needed handsome tails to have been taken for +half-grown tigers. If every creature with an unlovely countenance is to +be put to death on that account, what would become of some men and women +who are not particularly angelic? The pussies are out for their dinner, +and so are we. We cannot eat them, and they must not eat us. Each of +them may feast on a brace of song-birds before night. But it may be +assumed that each of the females who make up the party are competent to +make way with a brace of innocent doves for dinner.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>If it were not for the fox, the wild-cat and the hawk, the quail is so +wonderfully prolific here that it would overrun the country, destroying +vineyards and grain fields without limit. I suspect, also, that the +great hooded owl drops down from his perch at night, and regales himself +on young quails, whose nightly covert he knows as well as any bird in +the woods. It is easy enough to find out what the owl eats, but does +anybody know who eats the owl? You may criticise him as a singing bird, +and he is rather monotonous along in the small hours of the morning. But +worse music than that may be heard in-doors, and not half so impressive, +withal. There is no harm in noting that the two or three attempts to +sing "Sweet Home" by the camp-fire on the first night were failures. At +the time when the tears should have started, there was a break and a +laugh which echoed far up in the ravine. Nobody had lost a home, but +five happy mortals had found one, the roof of which was of emerald, +supported by great pillars of redwood, which cast their shadow far out +in the wilderness, as the flames shot up from the camp-fire. The game +supper was no failure. One only needs to throw overboard two-thirds of +the modern appliances of the kitchen, including the cast-iron<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +stove—that diabolical invention of modern times—to insure perfect +success in the simple business of cooking a dinner. Do not, good +friends, forget the currant jelly, or you may weary of doves and +cotton-tails, as the Israelites did of quails and manna. And if you want +the elixir of life, make the tea of soft spring water, which you will +never find issuing out of any limestone or chalk rock, or where flints +much abound.</p> + +<p>The little white tent had a weird aspect, as though it might have been a +ghost in the forest. It was absurdly intrusive, and harmonized with +nothing in the woods or foreground save the white wall of mist that +every night trended landward from the ocean, but never touched the +shore. After a little time the novelty of the camp wears off, and a +blessed peace comes down on weary eyes and souls. There is no use in +keeping one eye open because a dry stick cracks now and then, or the +night-hawk sputters as he goes by. Daylight comes at four o'clock, and +the woods are thronged with animal life. The song-sparrow begins to +twitter, finches and linnets hop about; and down in the oaks the robins +sing, and the woodpeckers are tapping the dry limbs overhead. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> gray +squirrel arches his handsome tail and runs along in merry glee; and +there is such a wealth and joy of abounding life—such a sweet concord +of sounds and brimming over of gladness—that Heaven seems a little +nearer for the morning anthem. But a heavenly state is not inconsistent +with a reasonable appetite.</p> + +<p>Never did trout bite more ravenously than at sunrise that morning. The +shadows were on the pools, and the gamey fellows more than once jumped +clear out of the water for an early breakfast. In losing theirs, we got +our own. In the long run, the losses and gains may be nicely balanced. +<i>Mem.</i>: It is far better that the trout should be losers at present. The +philosophy may be fishy, but it points towards a good humanizing +breakfast. And it cannot have escaped notice, that the greater part of +that philosophy which the world is in no hurry to crucify points towards +the dinner-table.</p> + +<p>Did it ever strike you that the asceticism of the middle ages, which +retreated to the cloister content with water-cresses as a bill of fare, +was never very fruitful of high and profound discourse? The philosopher +who goes up into the clouds to talk, and prefers gruel to trout before +going, makes an epigastric mistake. He has taken in the wrong ballast; +and has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> omitted some good phosphorescent material, which might have +created a nimbus around his head as he entered the clouds. A mistake in +the gastric region leads to errors of the head and heart. I do not know +whether there is any ground of hope for a people who have not only +invented cast-iron stoves, but have invented "help" in the form of the +she-Titans who have made a wholesome dinner well-nigh impossible. Death +on a pale horse is poetical enough. But death in the black stove of many +a kitchen is terribly realistic. If these trout were to be cooked by +"hireling hands," the very woods would be desecrated, and the smoke of +the sacrifice would be an abomination.</p> + +<p>Does a brook trout ever become a salmon trout? But the former goes down +to the sea, and comes back the next year a larger fish. He ascends the +same stream, and may be a foot or more in length, according to the size +of the stream. I refer, of course, to those Coast Range streams which +communicate with the ocean. If a bar or lagoon is formed at the mouth of +a stream, so that it is closed for a few months, and nearly all the fish +are taken out by the hook, on the opening of the lagoon or creek a fresh +supply of trout will come in from the ocean, differing in no +conceivable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> way from brook trout, except that they are larger. They +take the grasshopper and the worm like honest fish bred up to a country +diet. Some ichthyologist may show a distinction without a difference. +The camp-fire reveals none.</p> + +<p>The ocean slope of the Coast Range is much the best for a summer +excursion. The woods and the waters are full of life. There is a stretch +of sixty miles or more from the San Gregorio Creek in San Mateo County, +to the Aptos Creek on Monterey Bay, in Santa Cruz County, where there is +an average of one good trout stream for every five miles of coast line. +There are wooded slopes, dense redwood forests, and mountains in the +background where the lion still has a weakness for sucking colts, and +the grizzly will sometimes make a breakfast on a cow, in default of +tender pigs. But neither lion nor bear is lord of the forest. Both are +sneaking cowards, the lion not even fighting for her whelps. It is +better, however, on meeting either, not to prolong the scrutiny, until +you have surveyed a tree every way suitable for climbing. The "shinning" +having been done, you can make up faces and fling back defiance with +some show of coolness. Then all along there is a fore-ground of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> yellow +harvest fields, farm-houses and orchards; the cattle cluster under the +evergreen oaks at mid-day. Wide off is the great sounding sea with its +fretting shore line and its eternal reach of waters—so near and yet so +remote. Low down on the horizon are the white specks of ships drawing +near from the other side of the globe—coming perhaps from the dear old +home to lay treasures at your feet in the new one—linking the new and +the old together by this swift and silent journey, begun as of +yesterday, and ended to-day. There is no place afar off. The palms lift +up their "fronded" heads just over there; and the cocoanut drops down as +from an opening heaven—more is the shame that those frowsy, low-browed +cannibals are not content therewith, but so affect the rib roast of a +white man, and that too in a tropical climate! If men would always look +up for their food they might become angels. But looking down, they may +yet become tadpoles or demons. It needs but a little Buddhism grafted on +to the development theory to turn some of the human species back into +devil-fish. For when one is wholly given up to seek his prey by virtue +of suction and tentacula, he might as well live under water as out of +it. It might be hard to go back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> and begin as a crocodile; but if some +of our species have once been there and show no improvement worthy of +mention since, why the sooner these voracious, jaw-snapping creatures +are turned back perhaps the better. Ketchum has made a hundred thousand +dollars this year in buying up doubtful titles and turning widows and +orphans out of their homes. Tell me, oh Brahmin, if this man was not a +crocodile a thousand years ago? And if he slips any where a link in his +chain of development, where will he be a thousand years hence?</p> + +<p>It is a good thing to pitch the tent hard by the seashore once in a +while. Salt is preservative; and there is a tonic in the smell of sea +weed. Your best preserved men and women have been duly salted. The deer +sometimes come down to get a sip of saline water, and are partial to +mineral springs, which one can find every few miles along the mountain +slopes. The sea weeds, or mosses, are in their glory. Such hues of +carnation and purple, and such delicate tracery as you shall never see +in any royal garden. A hook was thrown in for the fish, perchance, with +the dyes of Tyrian purple. But there came out a great wide-mouthed, +slimy eel, which was kicked down the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> beach into the water, with a hint +never to reveal so much ugliness again on any shore of the round world. +Your sea-lion has no beauty to speak of; but he is an expert fisher and +knows how to dry himself upon the rocks. When a hundred of them take to +the water, with their black heads bobbing about, they might be taken for +so many shipwrecked contrabands. How many ages were required for the +ocean to quarry these grains of sand, which under a glass, become cubes +and pentagons as goodly as the stones of Venice? No more under this +head, for "quahaugs" and mussels are terribly anti-suggestive.</p> + +<p>The young quails are only half-grown; but they run about in very +wantonness in all directions. How keen is the instinct of danger in +every tenant of the woods; and yet birds hop about in all directions +with a consciousness that no evil will befall them. A couple of +wood-peckers on a trunk of a tree just overhead, have curiously ribbed +and beaded it up with acorns fitted into holes for winter use. So nicely +is the work done, and so exact the fit, that the squirrels cannot get +them out. And yet the wild doves which we want for our breakfast, flit +away upon the first sign of approach. The era of shot-guns is not a +millennium era, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> screech of a bursting shell is not exactly a +psalm of life. The tenderness of the Hindoo in the matter of taking +life, for food, I suspect, is because of his philosophy. Soul +transmigration holds him in check, otherwise he might be found eating +his grandmother. But a school-girl riots on tender lambs, and is not a +whit afraid of eating her ancestors. There is a curious linking of +innocence with blood-shedding in our times, enough to suggest an +unconscious cannibalism, one remove from that of the happy islanders.</p> + +<p>An old farmer came up to see us, attracted by the white tent, and having +a lurking suspicion that we might be squatters. He confirmed the theory +that the flow of water from springs in this region was permanently +increased by the great earthquake. "You see," said he, "it gave natur' a +powerful jog." After the shock, a column of dust arose from the chalk +cliffs and falling banks on the shore line, which could have been seen +for twenty miles. There was a noise as of the rumbling of chariots in +the mountain tops, and the smoke went up as from the shock of armies in +battle. The great sea was silent for a moment, and then broke along the +shore with a deep sigh as though some mighty relief had come at last. +All the trees of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> the mountain sides bowed their heads, as if adoring +that Omnipotence which made the mountains tremble at its touch. If one +could have been just here, he might have seen the grandest sight of +ages; for this was the very focus of the earthquake. As it was, we got +no impression of that event above a suspicion that a mad bull was +butting away at the northwest corner of a little country church, with +some alarming signs that he was getting the best of the encounter.</p> + +<p>One learns to distinguish the sounds of this multitudinous life in the +woods, after a few days, with great facility. The bark of the coyote +becomes as familiar as that of a house dog. But there is the solitary +chirp of a bird at midnight, never heard after daylight, of which beyond +this we know nothing. We know better from whence come the cries, as of a +lost child at night, far up the mountain. The magpies and the jays hop +round the tent for crumbs; and a coon helped himself from the sugar box +one day in our absence. He was welcome, though a question more nice than +wise was raised as to whether, on that occasion, his hands and nose were +clean. There is danger of knowing too much. It is better not to know a +multitude of small things which are like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> nettles to the soul. What +strangely morbid people are those who can suggest more unpleasant things +in half an hour than one ought to hear in a life-time! Did I care before +the question was raised, whether the coon's nose were clean or +otherwise? Now there is a lurking suspicion that it was not. If you +offer your friend wine, is it necessary to tell him that barefooted +peasants trampled out the grapes? Is honeycomb any the sweeter for a +confession that a bee was also ground to pulp between the teeth? We +covet retentive memories. But more trash is laid up than most people +know what to do with. There is great peace and blessedness in the art of +forgetfulness. The memory of one sweet, patient soul is better than a +record of a thousand selfish lives.</p> + +<p>It was a fine conceit, and womanly withal, which wove a basket out of +plantain rods and clover, and brought it into camp filled with wild +strawberries. Thanks, too, that the faintest tints of carnation are +beginning to touch cheeks that were so pallid a fortnight ago. Every +spring bursting from the hill-side is a fountain of youth, although none +have yet smoothed out certain crow tracks. The madrono, the most +brilliant of the forest trees, sheds its outer bark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> every season; when +the outer rind curls up and falls off, the renewed tree has a shaft +polished like jasper or emerald. When humanity begins to wilt, what a +pity that the cuticle does not peel as a sign of rejuvenation! There is +also a hint of a sanitary law requiring people averse to bathing to peel +every spring.</p> + +<p>There is a sense of relief in getting lost now and then in the +impenetrable fastnesses of the woods; and a shade of novelty in the +thought that no foot-fall has been heard in some of these dells and +jungles for a thousand years. It is not so easy a matter to get lost +after all. The bark of every forest tree will show which is the north +side, and a bright cambric needle dropped gently upon a dipper of water +is a compass of unerring accuracy. A scrap of old newspaper serves as a +connecting link with the world beyond. The pyramids were probably the +first newspapers—a clumsy but rather permanent edition. Stereotyping in +granite was the pioneer process. Then came the pictured rocks—the +illustrated newspaper of the aborigines, free, so far as I know, from +the diabolism which pollutes the pictorial papers of our time. There are +some heights of civilization which are the fruitful subject of gabble +and mild contemplation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> But who fathoms the slums so deep and +bottomless, out of whose depths springs the inspiration of some of the +illustrated prints of our time? Photography is the herald of pictorial +illustrations which are yet to flood the world. The mentotype has not +yet been discovered—a little machine to take the impression of the +secret thoughts of a friend, as now his features are transfixed in the +twinkling of an eye. The world is not yet sober and circumspect enough +for this last invention. And these interior lives might lose something +of imaginary symmetry by turning inside out.</p> + +<p>But let us hope that the musician is born who will yet come to the woods +and take down all the bird songs. What a splendid baritone the horned +owl has! Who has written the music of the orioles and thrushes? Who goes +to these bird operas at four o'clock in the morning? There is room for +one fresh, original music book, the whole of which can be written at a +few sittings upon a log just where the forests are shaded off into +copses and islands of verdure beyond.</p> + +<p>It is something to have lived three weeks without a sight of the +sheriff, the doctor or the undertaker. Something of a victory to have +passed out from under the burden of intense anxiety into a condition of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +serene indifference as to how this boisterous old world was getting on. +If so much as a fugitive letter had reached us, it would have been +construed into a mild case of assault and battery. The business of +rejuvenation commences with lying down on the ground at night with the +head due north, that the polar current may strike the weary brain first +and gently charge the whole mortal system. The days of renewal may end +by circumventing a two-pound trout, or with a long range rifle shooting +at a running deer. But as no pilgrim ever reached the gates of Paradise +with a pack on his back, so it is reasonably certain that heaven never +came down to one who carried his burden into the wilderness in vacation.</p> + +<p>What a great repose there is in these mountains draped in purple and +camping like giants hard by the sea! And yet what an infinite shifting +of light and shadow there is on sea and shore! Is the artist yet to be +born on this soil who will paint the mountains in the glory of an +evening transfiguration; or who will catch the inspiration of these +grand defiles, opening vistas, and landscapes ripened and subdued under +the harvest sun? We will leave him our bill of fare, that he may take +heart on finding that while fame follows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> translation, a good dinner may +safely precede that event. And as for you, oh friend, with the sallow +face and sunken eyes—you had better get to the woods and read it for +very life.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/deco_001.png" alt="" /></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY.</span><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> matters little how one betakes himself to the wilderness, so that he +gets there in some fitting mood to enjoy its great hospitality. If a +bruised and battered guest, so much the more need of the profound peace +and restfulness of the woods. There is a fine contrast in the autumn +tints of yellow stubble fields set with the unfading green of oaks, like +emeralds in settings of gold. The mysteries of the uplifted mountains +are veiled in with a dreamy haze, as if all harsh and jerky outlines +were the unfinished places yet to be rounded into fullness and beauty +before the day of unveiling comes. These mighty throes of nature may be +in accordance with some law of adjustment working towards an eternal +perfection of finish, of which we have not yet attained so much as a dim +conception. If our playhouses are toppled over, so much the better for +some of the shams which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> now and then need the wholesome revision of +fires and earthquakes. You see that ambitious wooden palace down the +valley. What does it symbolize more than pretence, weakness and +barrenness of all ęsthetic culture? Some day nature will feel the +affront, and this blot in the foreground of a noble picture will be +gone. Is it because this type of civilization is but for a day, that the +habitations of men are built for a day also? Where do our architects get +their inspiration, that they cut such fantastic capers in wood? It might +be well to put a new padlock on the tomb of Cicero before any further +imitations of the villa at Tusculum are perpetrated. The savage leaves +behind some show of broken pottery, or at least, here and there, an +arrowhead of flint. We do not build well enough to secure any +respectable ruins. What other antiquities, besides debts, are we likely +to bequeath to posterity?</p> + +<p>The trailing dust of the beaten thoroughfare comes to an end at last. +The ox-teams have crawled down into the valley, more patient than the +driver, who causes a perpetual series of undulations to run along their +backs by an inhuman prodding. There are some vocations which seem to +develop all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> hatefulness and cruelty of human nature, and this is +evidently one of them. In five minutes more there will be no visible +sign of civilization in all the horizon. If one is piqued at the silence +of a reception in the wilderness, let him consider how gracious it is, +withal. It will grow upon him from day to day, until he may come to +think that these very solitudes have been waiting for his coming a +thousand years. It is not to go apart from ourselves, but to recover a +more intense self-consciousness, that we need this seclusion. The +ceaseless jar and uproar of life set in a hard materialism at last, +because there has been an absence of all softening influences and all +seasons of communion. It is a small thing that the dead are sometimes +turned to stone by some chemistry of nature. But what of the living who +are every day turning to stone by an increasing deadness to all human +sympathies?</p> + +<p>The host is at home in the wilderness, but you may not see his face for +many a day. In the meantime there is the guest chamber; enter and make +no ado about it. The trees overarch you gently, and bend with graceful +salutations; the rocks are most generous hearth-stones, and the pools +under the cliffs are large enough for a morning splash. You have only +to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> climb the precipice yonder to count more towns and villages than you +have fingers. But the sight is not worth the effort, since one needs to +pray earnestly for deliverance from both. If most country villages on +this coast are not so many blots upon otherwise fine landscapes, how +much do they fall short of them? The authorities of the most favored +town in the State, so far as climate and physical characteristics go, +could think of nothing better than to destroy a line of Mission willows, +extending through the main street for nearly a mile—every tree a +monument of historic interest—and then, with innocent boorishness, +looked up to the faces of men who were ashamed of them, for some token +of approval. Tree-murder has culminated, let us hope, since Time has +been busy swinging his scythe close upon the heels of the culprits. +There may be hope for the next generation. The children born upon the +soil may get a better inspiration, and draw a more generous life from +the earth which nourishes them. How, otherwise, shall these dreary +highways and barren villages be translated from ugliness to beauty? What +a divine challenge do these encompassing mountains and grandest of +forests send out to men to cease defiling the earth!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>It is not so much a question whether the "coming man" will be a +wine-bibber, as whether the wilderness and the solitary place shall be +glad for him. Will he plant trees? Will he train rivulets adown the +mountains into stone fountains by dusty roadsides? Will he refuse to cut +down trees because they are old, with as sturdy a decision as he would +refrain from cutting a man's legs off because he chanced to be old and +venerable? Will he recognize the great truth that the earth is the +garden of the Lord, and that he is sent forth to dress it, and make it, +if possible, still more beautiful? If he will not, by all that is good, +let a message be sent to the "coming man" not to come.</p> + +<p>What a large freedom there is in the wilderness! You come and go with a +consciousness that you will be fed and lodged in a manner both befitting +you and your host. There are no pressing attentions, and no snobbery to +offend. Mr. Bullion said at his feast that he had made more than a +quarter of a million of dollars by some lucky ventures this year; and +that he is interested in several horses of a remarkably fast gait. Did +he propose to make some grateful return for so much good fortune? Would +he found a library? endow a school? encourage some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> scientific +expedition? become a generous patron of the struggling literature of the +new commonwealth? He had thought of none of these things. Nor did it +occur to him how much emptiness there was at the feast. It is saddest of +all that so many of our rich men neither recognize times nor +opportunities. They have not yet learned to make a feast an occasion of +noble deeds. Of grosser hospitality there is no lack; but the lame, the +halt, and the blind, are none the better for it.</p> + +<p>There is something ignoble in reducing the problem of life to a mere +game of "keeps." The world is probably mortgaged or put in pawn for more +than it is worth, considering how much rubbish goes with it. The +wrappers of Egyptian mummies of high lineage, which were wound up four +thousand years ago, have been sold in our times for paper-stock. But +will the men of these times, who boast that they have got the world in +pawn, contribute so much as one nether garment to posterity four +thousand years hence? The world changes hands every thirty years, and a +new set of pawn-keepers appears; but it is the same old grip. There will +be confusion yet, when the secret is found out that the world is worth +only a moiety of the sum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> for which it is pledged, and there is a +general call for collaterals.</p> + +<p>It is not safe to despise this tonic of the wilderness. Most men do not +know how small they are until they go forth into some larger place. It +is good to have illusions dispelled in a healthy way. A man is great in +the counting-room, pulpit or forum, because no one has thought it worth +the while to dispute the assumption. The position held at first by +sufferance may ripen into a possessory title, provided he sticks to his +claim.</p> + +<p>The <i>pholas</i> wears a round hole by much scouring and attrition in the +rock, and is stronger and greater in that hole than any other occupant +can be. The "sphere is filled," and what more would you have? There is +an excess of little great men, who have managed by much grinding and +abrasion to wear a hole in the rock, into which they fit with surprising +accuracy. They are great within their own dominion; but how small the +moment they are pushed beyond it! No violence can be too harsh which +breaks off the petty limitations of one's life. The valley through which +men are called to walk ought to widen every day, until some grand +outlook is gained. It is not the gentle south-wind, but the blast of the +hurricane, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> makes them move on. And when one is violently wrenched +out of his place, let him accept it as a Divine interposition to save +him from eternal littleness.</p> + +<p>There is that spring yonder under the shelving rock, having a trace of +sulphur and iron, and possibly, some other qualities for physical +regeneration. For two hours at mid-day there has been a succession of +birds and beasts to its waters. Curiously enough, there has been no +collision; but every kind in its own order. The roe, with a half-grown +fawn, comes down early in the morning; and as the heat of mid-day +increases, coveys of quails, led by the parent-birds, emerge from the +thickets, and trail along to the spring. Later still, orioles, thrushes, +robins, linnets, and a wild mockingbird without any name, go down not +only to drink, but to lave in the waters. You may watch for days and +months, but you will never see the hawk or the crow, or any unclean bird +do this thing. But birds of song, which have neither hooked beaks nor +talons, sprinkle themselves with purifying waters, and are innocent of +all violence and blood. The spring is not only a tonic, but it serves to +take the conceit out of a ponderous man who has been putting on the airs +of Wisdom in the woods. He, too, went down on "all-fours"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> to drink; and +such an ungraceful figure did this counting-house prince make, and blew +so like a hippopotamus backing out of the ooze and mire, that all the +woods rang with wildest mirth. But a lad, bending the visor of his cap, +lifted the water to his mouth, and drank erect like one to the manor +born. For the space of half an hour the great man was as humble as a +child, and there was no more wisdom in him. But the spirit of divination +overtook him at last; with a tape line he set about measuring the girth +of the noblest redwood tree of the forest; and with pencil in hand was +calculating the number of thousand feet of inch-boards it would make, if +cut up at the mills! If the gentle hamadryad which, for aught I know, +still dwelleth in every living tree, saw this gross affront, there were +utterances which were nigh unto cursing. Were the forests made for no +better ends than this sordid wood-craft which hews down and saws them +into deals for dry-good boxes and the counters of shop-keepers? There is +not one tree too many on this round globe; and the whole herd of wood +craftsmen ought to be served with notices to set out a new tree for +every one destroyed, or quit at once.</p> + +<p>It is worth the inquiry, at what point that tendency<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> in modern +civilization is to be arrested, which is hastening the world on to +barrenness and desolation. The sites of ruined cities are deserts often; +but rarely is one overgrown with forest trees; as though nature were +still in revolt, and had no heart for renewal, where for ages she has +been ravaged and impoverished by multitudinous populations. Observe, +too, how nature shifts her burdens. The sand drifts to-day over the +foundations of the vastest cities of antiquity. But when the great cycle +of rest is filled out, if so be that the old verdure is restored, what +wastes may there not be, and what drifting sands over buried cities in +the heart of this continent? What ravages, too, are these new demons yet +to commit upon the forests, as they go up and down the mountain sides +with wheels of thunder and eyes of flame? Are all the trees of the woods +to be offered up to these new idols of civilization?</p> + +<p>All sounds are musical in the woods, and the far-off tinkling of a +cow-bell is wondrously grateful to the ear. There is nothing marvelous +in the sharpened senses of an Indian. This half-grown lad is already a +match for the best of them. There is not a sound in the woods, however +obscure, that he does not rightly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> interpret; and I have more than once +been misled by his counterfeit imitations of game birds and wild +animals. No Indian can reason from observation so accurately as he whose +intellect has had the schooling of nature grafted upon the discipline of +books. The sharpest insight into nature is never given to the savage, +but to him whose grosser senses have been purged, and whose vision is +clarified by some wisdom which is let down from above.</p> + +<p>All healthy souls love the society of trees; and the mold which feeds +them is a better fertilizer of thought than the mold of many books. You +see the marks of fires which have swept along these mountain sides; here +and there the trunk of a redwood has been streaked by a tongue of flame. +But the tree wears its crown of eternal green. It is only the dry sticks +and rubbish which are burned up to make more room for the giants; while +many noxious reptiles have been driven back to their holes. Possibly, +the wood-ticks number some millions less. But very little that is worth +saving is consumed.</p> + +<p>We shall need a regenerating fire some day, to do for books what is done +for the forests. May it be a hot one when it comes. Let no dry sticks +nor vermin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> escape. Ninety in every hundred books which have got into +our libraries within the last half century, will fail to enlighten the +world until there is one good, honest conflagration. Something might be +gained from the ashes of these barren books; therefore, pile on the +rubbish, and use the poker freely. Let not the fire go out until some +cords of pious doggerel, concocted in the name of poetry, have been +added thereto. The giants will survive the flames; but punk-wood, moths, +and wood-ticks will all be gone.</p> + +<p>By a noteworthy coincidence, when the smell of autumn fruits comes up +from the valley, and the grapes hang in clusters on the hillsides, and +wine-presses overflow, the last sign of dearth is obliterated by the +swelling of all hidden fountains. The earth is not jubilant without +water. The springs which had been lost, gurgle in the crevices of the +rocks, and streaks of dampness are seen along the trails, where, in the +early morning, little rivulets ran and interlaced and retired before the +sun. There will be no rain for weeks. There has been none for months. +The trees by the wayside faint and droop under the burden of heat and +dust. But they know this signal of the coming rain. The fountains below +seem to know,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> also, at what time the fountains above are to be +unsealed; and these pulsing streams are the answering signal. Shorter +days and diminished solar evaporation will answer as a partial clearing +up of the mystery. But if the profoundest truth has not yet been +touched, suppose, oh philosopher of many books and many doubts, that you +let your grapnel into the depths for it? Only be sure that your line is +long enough, and that you bring no more rubbish to the surface. There is +more truth above ground than most of us will master. And we stumble over +it in field and forest, like luckless treasure-hunters; when a ringing +blow upon the dull rock would reveal filaments of gold, or the glancing +light of crystals. There are some truths, also, whose insufferable light +we cannot bear. They must be shaded off, like half tints at set of sun. +And if any prophet coming out of the wilderness shall dare to tell more, +let him eat his locusts and wild honey first, for he cannot tell whether +he will be crowned or stoned.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">A WEEK IN MENDOCINO.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">A WEEK IN MENDOCINO.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">If</span> one is in robust health and a vigorous trencher-man, who is there on +the earth, in these degenerate times, to congratulate him on such good +fortune? But no sooner is there a gastric revolt at the diabolical +inventions of some high-priestess of the kitchen, with a growing +cadaverousness, than every friend is ready with an ominous warning. When +we publish a list of the patent medicines recommended, the world will +know how many disinterested friends we have. Just now, the earth cure is +all-potent. Try it in any shape you like—as a mud bath, a powder, a +poultice, or an honest bed at mid-day—and this chemistry of earth and +sun will work wonders. Are we not getting back to first principles? You +talk of the shaking up which religious dogmas have suffered within the +last half century: what is there of all the medical theories of the last +fifteen hundred years which now goes unchallenged?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>Yosemite has been a little overdone of late. The seashore and the +springs are dreadfully haunted by the young lady in rustic hat, +garnished with pea-green ribbon, and who either writes poetry, or reads +the latest love story. There is comfort in the fact that the territory +of this State is not more than half explored, and is not likely to be +for some time to come. There are reaches equal to a degree of latitude +untrodden, as yet, by the foot of the tourist, and where the clanking of +the surveyor's chain and rods has never been heard; and some of these +you may find within two hundred miles of San Francisco. Going still +farther, there are vales where a white man was, till recently, something +of a curiosity. It is interesting to find a country where morganatic +marriages are in high repute. The red-headed lumberman's cross-cut saw +would not, by this arrangement, descend to his children; nor would an +old hunter's powder-horn and ancient rifle, by the same prudential +forethought, be handed down to some little vagabond half-breeds.</p> + +<p>In twenty-four hours one may be set down in the wildest part of +Mendocino County. We selected Anderson Valley, on the headwaters of the +Novarro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> River, not so much for its wildness as because it was the most +accessible spot unfrequented by the tourist. It will be hard to miss the +Russian River Valley in getting there, and harder still not to linger +for a day or two to look at such pictures as no artist has quite +succeeded in putting on to his canvas.</p> + +<p>There was the mid-day repose of St. Helena, taking on a royal purple as +the day advanced; the droning sound of the reapers in the valley, as the +rippling wheat bowed to a sort of rural song of Old Hundred! and the +very cattle, which, for aught I know, have figured in a dozen pictures, +standing under the trees, with their identical tails over their backs. +Even the great fields of corn, which rustled and snapped under a +midsummer sun, were toned a little by the long column of mellow dust +which spun from the stage-wheels and trailed for a mile in the rear. The +artists caution against too much green in a picture, and so this brown +pigment was needed to give the best effect; and there was no lack of +material to "lay it on" liberally, anywhere in that region. With the +dropping down of the sun behind the low hills on the west, the shadows +fell aslant the valley, and light and shade melted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> together into the +soft twilight. It might have been a favorable time for sentiment. But +just then the stage-coach rounded a low hillock, and a farm-house was +brought suddenly into the foreground. A cosset, a flock of geese, a +windmill moving its fans indolently to the breath of the west wind, a +dozen ruminating cows—what more of pastoral simplicity would you have +for the fringe of such a landscape? But you see it was slightly +overdone. The stout young woman milking the roan cow rather heightened +the effect, to be sure; she really ought to have been there. But did any +feminine mortal ever administer such a kick to the broad sides of a cow +before? There was a dull thud, a quadrupedal humping, an undulation +along the spine of that cow—and the stage-coach was out of sight. O, +for the brawn and muscle to administer such a kick! It was more +gymnastic than esthetic, more realistic than poetical. You will never +find Arcadia where such a powerful feminine battery is set in motion on +so slight a provocation. A cow might survive; but you need not describe +the fate of any man on whom such a force were expended. And seeing that +so large a part of this world needs a healthy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> kicking, more is the pity +that there should have been such a needless expenditure of force. By +what mental law are grand and ridiculous scenes associated together? I +cannot summon the towering majesty of St. Helena, the golden ripple of +the harvest fields, the receding valley, softened by the twilight, but +ever in the foreground is this kicking milkmaid and that unfortunate +cow. If a house-painter had dabbed his brush of green paint on your Van +Dyke, you might be stunned by this very audacity, and turn your pet +picture to the wall. But the house-painter and Van Dyke would from that +time forth be associated together. So I turn this picture to the wall, +only wishing that the kicking milkmaid and St. Helena had been a +thousand miles apart.</p> + +<p>The Russian River Valley "pinches out" at Cloverdale, a pretty little +town, set down in a bowl with a very large rim—so large, that unless +new life should be infused into the town, it will not be likely to slop +over. Thence, you reach the head of Anderson Valley, by a jaunt of +thirty-two miles, in a northwesterly direction, over a series of low +mountain ridges, and through canyons, sometimes widening out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> into +"potreros" large enough for a cattle ranch, and handsome enough for a +gentlemen's country-seat. Here the affluents of the Novarro River are +drawn together like threads of lace; and the first trout stream leaps +and eddies in the deep defiles on its way to the ocean. There is no use +of fumbling in an outside pocket for fish-hooks. The stream has a fishy +look; but that band of rancheria Indians, who have gone into summer camp +on a sand-bar, will settle the trout question for the next ten miles. +They pop their heads out of a round hole in one of the wigwams like +prairie dogs, and seem to stand on their hind legs, with the others +pendent, as if just going to bark. These are the aboriginal Gypsies, +fortunate rascals, who pay no house-rent, who want nothing but what they +can steal, or what can be got from the brawling stream, or the wooded +slopes of the adjacent hills.</p> + +<p>These funnel-shaped willow baskets, lodged here and there along the +banks, are the salmon traps of the Indians, which have done duty until +the spring run was over. When the salmon has once set his head up +stream, he never turns it down again until he has reached the extreme +limits of his journey and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> accomplished his destiny. The Indians +understand this; and these long willow funnels, with a bell-shaped +mouth, are laid down in the spring—a clumsy contrivance to be sure; but +the salmon enters and pushes his way on, while this willow cylinder +contracts until it closes to a small nozzle. There is daylight ahead; +the stubborn fish will not back down, and he cannot "move on." When an +Indian gets hungry, he pulls up this willow trap, runs a spit through +his fish, holds him over the fire a little while, and his dinner is +ready.</p> + +<p>There is no fish story which one may not believe when in a gentle mood. +And thus, when farther down the stream, a settler showed us a wooden +fork such as is used to load gavels of grain, with which, in less than +an hour, he pitched out of this same stream a wagon-load of salmon—why +should we doubt his veracity? No lover of the gentle art is ever +skeptical about the truth of a fish story. Faith and good luck go +together. How was our faith rewarded soon afterward, when, taking a +"cut-off," at the first cast under a shelving rock, a half-pound trout +was landed! It was a grasshopper bait, and another grasshopper had to be +run down before another cast. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> wonderful what jumps this insect +will make when he is wanted for bait, and the run is up the hill. +Another trout snapped illusively, and we had him—larger by a quarter of +a pound than the first. It was getting interesting! No doubt the settler +pitched out a load of salmon with a wooden fork. A kingdom for a +grasshopper! There they go in all directions—and the rascals have +wings! The clumsy stage-wagon is creeping far up the hill. A beetle is +tried; it won't do—no decent trout ever swallowed a beetle. A dozen +splendid game fish were left in that swirl under the rock. Was there too +much faith in that wooden fork story, or not enough? There was a hitch +somewhere. But it was all right when the passengers dined that day on +fried bacon, and we on mountain trout. If the grasshoppers had not been +too lively, there would have been trout for all.</p> + +<p>Anderson Valley is about eighteen miles long, and half to three-fourths +of a mile wide. The hills on the left are belted with a heavy growth of +redwood, in fine contrast with the treeless hills on the right, covered +with a heavy crop of wild oats, all golden-hued in the August sun. The +farms extend across the valley, taking a portion of the hills on either +side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> There has not been a Government survey made in the valley, but +every man was in possession of his own, and did not covet his +neighbor's. Land-stealing requires a degree of energetic rascality and +enterprise wholly wanting here. So near, and yet so remote! It is as if +one had gone a two-days' journey, and had somehow managed to get three +thousand miles away. I heard of a man in the valley who took a +newspaper, and was disposed to sympathize with him in his misfortune. +Why should the spray of one of the dirty surges of the outside world +break over into Arcadia? Everybody had enough, and nobody had anything +in particular to do. The dwellings had mud-and-stick chimneys on the +outside, and an occasional bake-oven garnished the back yard. At the +little tavern, such vegetables as strangers "hankered for" were procured +at the coast—a distance of twenty-six miles. An old man—he might have +been seventy, with a margin of twenty years—had heard of the rebellion, +and lamented the abolition of slavery—a mischief which he attributed to +a few fanatics. The world would never get on smoothly until the +institution of the patriarchs had been restored.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>Oh, venerable friend, dwelling in Arcadia! there is much broken pottery +in this world which is past all mending; and more which is awaiting its +turn to go into the rubbish heap. All that was discovered in the +interior of a Western mound was a few fragments of earthenware; for the +rest, Time had beaten it all back to the dust. The images, whether of +brass, wood, or stone, could not be put together by any of the cohesive +arts of our time. It is appointed for some men to go through the world, +club in hand, and to break much of the world's crockery as they go. We +may not altogether like them. But observe that the men who are stoned by +one generation are canonized by the next. There was the great ebony +image set up and so long worshipped by the people of this country. How +many sleek, fat doctors climbed into their pulpits of a Sunday, to +expatiate on the scriptural beauties of this image, and the duty of +reverencing it as something set up and continued by Divine authority! It +took some whacking blows to bring that ebony idol down; but what a world +of hypocrisy, cruelty and lies went into the dust with it! Was there +ever a reformer—a genuine image-breaker—who did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> not, at one time or +another, make the world howl with rage and pain? Now, truth is on +eternal foundations, and does not suffer, in the long run, by the +world's questionings or buffetings. But a consecrated falsehood—whether +sacerdotal, political, or social—is some day smitten, as the giant of +old, in the forehead, and falls headlong. After all, it is by +revolution, that the world makes most of its progress. It is a violent +and often disorderly going out of an old and dead condition by the +regenerating power, not of a new truth, but of an old one dug out of the +rubbish, and freshly applied to the conscience of the world. How many +truths to-day lie buried, which, if dug up, would set the world in an +uproar! The image-breaker often heralds a revolution. He overturns the +idol, of whatever sort it is, letting the light into some consecrated +falsehood—not gently, but very rudely, and with a shocking disregard of +good manners, as many affirm. This rough-shod evangel, with the rasping +voice, and angular features, and pungent words—we neither like him nor +his new gospel at first. But he improves on acquaintance, and some day +we begin to doubt whether he really does deserve eternal burning.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>The world is full of cant; it infects our common speech. The odor of +sanctity and the form of sound words are no nearer the living spirit +than are those petrifactions which present an outline of men, but never +again pulsate with life. Once in every half a century it is needful that +the image-breaker should come along and knock on the head the brainless +images of cant. The sturdy man of truthful and resolute speech! How +irreverent and impious he is! He makes the timid hold their breath, lest +he should break something that he ought not to touch. What has he done, +after all, but to teach men and women to be more truthful, more +courageous, and less in love with shams.</p> + +<p>At the close of a little "exhortation," something like this, the old man +said—rather dogmatically, I thought—"Stranger, them sentiments of +yourn won't do for this settlement." No doubt he was right. They won't +do for any settlement where they build mud-and-stick chimneys on the +outside of houses, and fry meat within.</p> + +<p>It is good to get into a forest where there is not a mark of the +woodman's axe. The redwood is, after all, one of the handsomest +coniferous trees in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> the world. It grows only in a good soil and a moist +climate. There may be larger trees of the <i>sequoia</i> family in the +Calaveras group, but that presumption will bear questioning. A guide +offered to take us to a group of trees, distant about a day's ride, the +largest of which he affirmed was seventy-five feet in circumference, and +not less than two hundred and sixty feet high. Larger trees than this +are reported in the Coast Range; but we have never yet <i>seen</i> a redwood +which measured over fifty feet in circumference, nor can any +considerable tree of this species be found beyond the region of +sandstone and the belt of coast fogs.</p> + +<p>It is curious to note tree and tribal limitations. The oak and the +redwood do not associate together, but the madrono is the friend of +both. The line of redwood limits the habitation of the ground squirrel, +and within that line his half-brother, the wood squirrel, arches his +tail in the overhanging boughs, and barks just when the charge is out of +your gun, with surprising impudence. There is the dominion of trees and +animals older and better defined than any law of boundaries which has +yet got into our statute-books. Who knows but races<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> of men have +overleaped boundaries of Divine ordination, and so must struggle with +adverse fate towards nothing more hopeful than extinction. The black man +of the tropics, planted near the North Pole, has all the grin taken out +of him, and there is nothing but a frigid chatter left. There is the +Indian of the great central plains. Have we got into his country, or has +he got into ours? There is some confusion of boundaries; and the +locomotive, that demon of modern civilization, is tracing new boundaries +with a trail of fire. It is possible to put one's finger upon the weak +link in the logic that what is bad for the Indian is good for the white +man.</p> + +<p>That gopher snake just passed on the trail, with a young rabbit half +swallowed, illustrates near enough how one-half of the world is trying +to swallow the other. Observe, too, that provision of nature, by which +game is swallowed larger than the throat. It is the smallest half of the +world, it seems, that is trying to swallow the largest half, with good +prospect of success. Half a dozen men have located all the redwood +timber upon the accessible streams of this county. Looking coastward +along<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> the Novarro, there is a chain of townships spanning this stream +for fifteen miles in length, owned by two men. You may write down the +names of twenty men who are at this moment planning to swallow all the +leading business interests of this State. They will elect Governors and +Legislators. It don't matter that the game is larger than the throat. In +fact, deglutition is already pretty well advanced—as far, at least, as +with the rabbit; but with this difference, that our victims will be made +to grease themselves.</p> + +<p>If the day is preceded by three or four hours of moonlight, you will not +often find a deer browsing after the sun is up. His work is done, and he +has lain down in a thicket for a morning nap. It was kind of the +log-driver to take us to the hills at the faintest streak of dawn. But +once there, he slipped away by himself, and in hardly more than half an +hour there were three cracks of a rifle. He came round with no game. We +had seen none. It was not so very interesting to stand as a sentinel on +the hill-tops in the chill of a gray morning, yearning for one's +breakfast, and wishing all the deer were locked up in some canyon with a +bottomless abyss. A new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> stand was taken, when presently our friend +pointed out the line of a deer's back, standing half hidden by a clump +of rocks of nearly the same color. We must both fire together, and make +a sure thing of the game. There was a sharp report, and the deer jumped +clear of the rocks and disappeared. He fell in his tracks. There was a +single bullet-mark. But our friend insisted that both shots had taken +effect in the same spot. It was a fawn, not more than two-thirds grown, +and the glaze was just coming over its mild, beseeching eyes. We were +sorry for a moment that both rifles had not missed. The log-driver +shouldered the game, but disclaimed all ownership. A little farther on a +dead buck was skewered over a limb, and still farther a buck and a doe +were suspended in the same way. It was a good morning's work. Every shot +of the log-driver had told. A slight pang of remorse was succeeded by a +little glow of exultation. Venison is good, and a hungry man is +carnivorous. It is a clear case that the taking of this one deer is +right. The log-driver must satisfy his conscience for taking three, as +best he can. His left eye had a merry twinkle, however, when, on handing +over our gun, he observed that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> cap only had exploded, and that the +load placed there on setting out was still in the rifle chamber. Well, +we got the venison, and the log-driver told his sly story with a keen +relish, and some addenda.</p> + +<p>This Arcadia is a wondrously human place, after all. Borrowing a pony to +ride up the valley three or four miles, night and the hospitality of a +neighbor overtook us. A mist settled down over the valley, and under the +great overhanging trees not a trace of the road could be seen. "Only +give him the rein," said the settler, "and the horse will go straight +home." We gave him the rein. An hour, by guess, had gone by, and still +that pony was ambling along, snorting occasionally as the dry sticks +broke suspiciously in the edge of the woods. If a grizzly was there, his +company was not wanted. Another hour had gone by. Pray, how long does it +take a pony to amble over three miles in a pitch-dark night? Half an +hour later, he turned off to the left, crossed the valley, and brought +up at a fence. "Give him the rein," was the injunction. He had that, and +a vigorous dig besides. In half an hour more he was on the other side of +the valley, drawn up at another fence. It was too dark to discover any +house. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> true destination was a small white tavern by the roadside, +and the light of the wood fire in the great fire-place would certainly +shine through the window. The vagabond pony took the spur viciously, and +went off under the trees. We were lost; that was certain. It was getting +toward midnight. It was clear that this equine rascal was not going +home. He had traveled at least four hours, and was now, probably, +several miles outside the settlement, unless he had been going around in +a circle. A night in a wilderness, enveloped in a chilling fog, the +moisture of which was now dripping from the trees, with the darkness too +great to discover when the horse laid his ears back as a sign of danger, +was the best thing in prospect. Some time afterward he had evidently +turned into a field, and a few minutes later was in front of a settler's +house. A ferocious dog made it useless to dismount; the bars were +jumped—the diminutive cob coming down on his knees, and a moment +afterward bringing up under the window of a small house. The window went +up slowly, in answer to a strong midnight salutation; and to this day it +is not quite clear whether a rifle barrel, a pitchfork, or a hoe-handle +was protruded from that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> window, or whether all this was an illusion +born of the darkness of the night.</p> + +<p>"Well, stranger, how did you get in here, and what do you want?" asked +the keeper of this rural castle.</p> + +<p>"I am lost; you must either let me in, or come out and show me the way."</p> + +<p>"Likely story you're lost! Reckon that don't go down in this settlement. +You ain't lost if you're here, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Look here! I borrowed Jimson's pony to go up to Dolman's, and started +back after nightfall. Dolman said, 'Give him the reign, and he would go +straight back to the tavern.' I gave him the rein, and he has been going +for the last four or five hours, except when he stopped two or three +times at fences, until he brought up here."</p> + +<p>I think the hoe-handle, or whatever it might have been, was slowly drawn +in. A match was touched off on the casement, making about as much light +as a fire-fly. The settler, shading his eyes, threw a glimmer of light +on to the neck of the iron-gray pony.</p> + +<p>"Yes; that's Jimson's pony—that are a fact."</p> + +<p>A moment after, a tall figure glided out, as from a hole in the wall, +and stood by the horse.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>"Now, tell me, my good friend, where I am, what is the hour, and how to +get back to the tavern."</p> + +<p>"Well, it mought be nigh onto twelve o'clock, and you're not more'n two +miles from Jimson's."</p> + +<p>"I left at seven o'clock to go down to Jimson's, about three miles. +Where have I been all this time? If I have been nearly five hours going +half of three miles, how shall I ever get back to the tavern?"</p> + +<p>"Stranger, you don't understand all the ways of this settlement. You see +that's the pony that the Jimson boys take when they go 'round courting +the gals in this valley. He thought you wanted to go 'round kind o' on a +lark; and that pony, for mere devilment, had just as lief go-a-courting +as not. Stopped out yonder at a fence, did he, and then went across the +valley, and then over to the foot-hills? Well, he went up to Tanwood's +first, and being as that didn't suit, expect he went across to +Weatherman's—he's got a fine gal—then he came on down to +Jennings'—mighty fine gal there. He's been there with the boys lots o' +times."</p> + +<p>"Well, why did the pony come over here?"</p> + +<p>"You see, stranger, I've got a darter, too."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>"How far has that wandering rascal carried me since seven o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"Nigh upon fifteen miles, maybe twenty; and he'd a gone all night, if +you'd let him. He ain't half done the settlement yet."</p> + +<p>"Then I, a middle-aged man of family, have been carried 'round this +settlement in this fog, which goes to the marrow-bones, and under trees, +to get a broken head, and on blind cross-trails, for twenty miles or so, +and have got just half-way back; and all because this pony is used by +the boys for larking?"</p> + +<p>"I reckon you've struck it, stranger. Mustn't blame that hoss too much. +He thought you was on it. Now, it's a straight road down to Jimson's; +but don't let him turn to the left below. Runnel lives down there, and +he's got a darter, too. She's a smart 'un."</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, as if the evil one was in that iron-gray, he took +the left-hand road. But he sprang to the right, when the rowel went into +his flank, carrying with it the assurance that the game was up.</p> + +<p>It was past midnight when that larking pony came steaming up to the +little white tavern. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> smoldering wood fire threw a flickering light +into the porch, enough to see that the ears of the gamy little horse +were set forward in a frolicking way, saying clearly enough: "If you had +only given me the rein, as advised, we would have made a night of it."</p> + +<p>This new Arcadia is not so dull, when once the ways are learned. The +Jimson boys affirmed that the pony was just mean enough to play such a +trick on a stranger. But the old tavern loft rang with merriment until +the small hours of the night. It was moderated by a motherly voice which +came from the foot of the stairs: "You had better hush up. The stranger +knows all the places where you've been gallivanting 'round this +settlement."</p> + +<p>When the sun had just touched the hills with a morning glory, we were +well on the way out of the valley. Coveys of quails with half-grown +chicks were coming out from cover. The grouse were already at work in +the wild berry patches on the side of the mountain; one or two larks +went before with an opening benediction, while the glistening madrono +shed its shower of crystals. Looking back, there was a thin, blue vapor +curling up from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> cabins. We were reconciled to the mud-and-stick +chimneys on the outside, with a reservation about the fried meat within. +Peace be with the old man who said our speech would not do for that +settlement. And long life to the pony that mistook our sober mission for +one of wooing and frolic on a dark and foggy night.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/deco_002.png" alt="" /></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">UNDER A MADROÑO.</span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">UNDER A MADROÑO.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Jeeheeboy</span>, the Parsee, says that the highest conception of heaven is a +place where there is nothing to do. We had found that place under an +oak, yesterday, and had conquered a great peace. All the world was going +right, for once, no matter which way it went. But opening one eye, the +filagree of sunlight, sifting through the leaves, disclosed hundreds of +worms letting themselves down by gossamer cables toward the earth. Now +and then a swallow darted under the tree, and left a cable fluttering +without ballast in the breeze. If a worm is ambitious to plumb some part +of the universe, there is no philosophy in this world which will insure +perfect composure, when it is clear that one's nose or mouth is to be +made the "objective point." The madrono harbors no vagabonds—not a leaf +is punctured, and no larva is deposited under its bark, probably for the +reason that the outer rind is thrown off every year. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> is not kingly, +but it is the one undefiled tree of the forest. When its red berries are +ripe, the robins have a thanksgiving-day; and the shy wild pigeons dart +among its branches, unconsciously making themselves savory for the spit.</p> + +<p>Little creepers of <i>yerba buena</i>—the sweetest and most consoling of all +herbs—interlace underneath the tree; and within sight the dandelion +blooms, and perfects its juices for some torpid liver; while under the +fence the wild sage puts forth its gray leaves, gathering subtile +influences from earth and air to give increase of wisdom and longevity. +If the motherly old prophetess of other days—she who had such faith in +God and simples—would come this way, she might gather herbs enough to +cure no small part of this disordered world.</p> + +<p>Take it all in all, one might go a long way and not find another more +perfect landscape. The dim, encircling mountains—one with the ragged +edges of an extinct volcano still visible; the warm hill-sides, where +vine, and fig, and olive blend; the natural park in the foreground, +begirt with clear waters which break through a canyon above—the home of +trout, grown too cunning for the hook,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> except on cloudy days; the line +of perpetual green which the rivulet carries a mile farther down, and +loses it at the fretting shore line; the village, with its smart +obtrusiveness toned by distance; and the infinite reach of the ocean +beyond—these all enter into the composition. Well, if one has a "stake +in the soil" just here, what is the harm in coming to drive it a little +once a year, and to enjoy the luxury of wiping out such scores as are +run up on the debit side of the account? Farming for dividends is a +prosy business; but farming with a discount may have a world of +sentiment in it.</p> + +<p>Have you quite answered the question yet, whether the instinct of +certain animals is not reason? Here are a dozen quadrupedal friends that +can demonstrate the fact that they have something more than instinct. +There is that honest old roan horse coming from the side-hill for his +lump of sugar. He knows well enough that he is not entitled to it now. +He is only coming to try his chances. But give him an hour under the +saddle, then turn him out and see if he will not get it. Forgetting once +to give him his parting lump, he came back again at midnight from the +field, and, thrusting his head into an open<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> window, whinnied such a +blast that every inmate of the farm-house bolted from bed. He got his +sugar, but with a look of injured innocence; and ever since has been +dealt with in good faith. Charley is something of a sportsman, in his +way. In the autumn you have only to get on his back with a gun, and he +trudges off to places where the quails come out from covert by hundreds +into the little openings in the chaparral. The horse will edge up very +near to them; when he drops his head, that is his signal to fire. If +lithe enough, you will pick them up without leaving the saddle. If you +get down to gather up the game he will wait. He will go on in his own +way, and discover the birds long before you can, dropping his head as a +signal at just the right moment. You may call this horse sense, but it +is horse reason—so near akin to human reason that there might be some +trouble in tracing the dividing line. So much for this old cob, who +smuggles his honest head under your coat for sugar, knowing well enough +that he has not earned it.</p> + +<p>Another horse, now dead and happy, I hope, in the other world, stopped +one dark night, when half-way down a steep and dangerous hill. There was +a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> neighbor, with wife and babies, in the carriage. The horse would not +budge an inch (not under the whip), but turned his head around, +declaring, as plainly as a horse could, that there was danger. The +hold-back straps had broken, and the pressure of the carriage against +his haunches, which sustained the entire load from the top of the hill, +had started the blood cruelly; yet there he stood, resolutely holding +back wife and babies from destruction, choosing even to suffer the +indignities of the lash, rather than that injury should come to one of +his precious charge. Did that horse have reason? I rather think so; and +that he only needed articulation to have made a remonstrance quite as +much to the point as that memorable one made by Balaam's ass.</p> + +<p>There is that great mastiff, yawning so lazily, with power to hold an ox +at his will, or to throttle a man. But no man could abuse him as that +little child does every day. He understands well enough that that lump +of animated dough has not arrived at years of discretion, and so he +submits to all manner of cruelties with perfect patience. How, with mere +instinct, does he find out that this child is not yet a "moral agent," +and that all these pinchings, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> pluckings, and brandings with a hot +poker are the irresponsible freaks of the young rascal, who can get off +harmless by pleading the Baby Act? This honest dog would die for that +little child who abuses him every day. But let a "Greaser" come to take +so much as one Brahma pullet from the roost, and he has him by the +throat. Does instinct account for this clear perception of right and +wrong?</p> + +<p>Some clever ways he has, also, of winning favor. He has got it into his +head that a certain black cat, that sleeps in any little patch of +sunlight on the kitchen floor, is a nuisance, and he has taken a +contract to abate it. But, at the same time, he is on such friendly +terms with pussy that he would not hurt her for the world. Now a cat +knows, by instinct, how to carry her kittens and not hurt them. But how +did this dog find out that a cat can be carried safely and comfortably +by the nape of her neck? Very gently he takes up pussy thus by her neck, +carries her off a quarter of a mile or so from the farm-house, sets her +down, and then comes back and balances the account with a crust of +bread, or any odd fragment of meat, by way of lunch. On one occasion +puss got back to the house before him. It bothered him that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> the case +amounted so nearly to a "breach of contract." Taking puss once more by +the neck, he carried her across a creek, and, setting her down on the +other side, returned with an air of profound satisfaction. He got an +extra lunch that day. But how did the dog know that a cat has a mortal +aversion to crossing a stream of water? If that dog had no more than +mere instinct, pray, what is reason?</p> + +<p>His "predecessor" was a foolish dog, not more than "half-witted." But +even his canine idiocy gave way to gleams of reason. He became an expert +at driving cattle which trespassed on the farm. If the herd scattered, +he singled out the leader, laid hold of his tail, and steered him as +well as a yachtman could steer his craft through an intricate channel. +After two or three steers had been piloted in this way, the rest would +follow the leaders. The dog had hit upon the most economical plan with +respect to time and the distance to be traversed. But, one day, in +managing a vicious mustang-ox, his patience was sorely tried. Jerking +him suddenly into the right path, his tail parted! The whole bovine +steering-apparatus had given way, as completely as a ship's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> rudder in a +storm. The dog never could quite comprehend the case. He took himself to +his kennel, and would never drive cattle afterward. In fact, he was +never the same dog after that catastrophe. Only instinct, you say? But +then, if there had been an asylum for canine idiots, that dog would have +been entitled to a ticket of admission. His exceptional foolishness +confirms our theory.</p> + +<p>Years ago, a seven-year-old brought home an insignificant little +mongrel—a mere puppy—and pleaded so earnestly for its toleration that +the maternal judgment was quite overcome. "Chip" was always a nuisance, +but understood more of human speech than any dog "on record." If the +plans of the day were discussed in his hearing, he comprehended the +principal movements to be made. If the plan excluded his company he knew +it, and stole away a half-hour in advance, always selecting the right +road, and putting in his mute plea for forbearance in just the nick of +time to make it available. Half a dozen times was that dog given away. +Yet he always knew the day on which the transfer was to be made, and on +that particular day he could never be found. Now, does a dog<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> that +understands the significance of human speech, without a motion or +gesture—not only interpreting but connecting a series of ideas, so as +to comprehend, in advance, plans and movements—find out all these +things by mere instinct? You may limit and qualify the term, but it is +reason, after all.</p> + +<p>Train a fox ever so much, and you cannot develop anything in him but the +meanest instincts. He will never be grateful, and never honest, nor can +any terms of friendship be established with him. His traditional cunning +is a hateful dishonesty. After nearly a year of tuition on a young gray +fox, he was never advanced to any respectable degree of intelligence. He +would lie at the mouth of his kennel for hours to confiscate any old hen +who happened to pass with a brood of chickens, disdaining, the while, to +seize any plump young rooster that passed within reach, because his +diabolical instinct was to work the greatest possible amount of +mischief. After making a hundred young chickens orphans, he broke his +chain one night and left for the forest. The thief came back a few +nights afterward to make more orphans. That gray pelt tacked up on the +rear of the barn is his obituary.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>A series of brilliant experiments that were to have been made on a young +rattlesnake turned out not a whit more satisfactory. The reptile was not +"raised" just here, but was presented by a friend. His teeth were to +have been drawn, after which various observations were to have been made +concerning his tastes and habits, and particularly his disposition when +not provoked. There was a prospect of making an honest reptile of him. +He was put in an empty barrel for the night; but next morning two +half-breed Shanghaes had him, one by the tail and the other by the head. +He parted about midway, each miserable rooster swallowing his half, and +that without even the excuse of a morbid appetite. Since that time I +have never been able to hate a young rattlesnake half as much as that +detestable breed of Shanghaes.</p> + +<p>If one is not sick unto death, what more effectual medication can be +found than the sun, and the south wind, and the all-embracing earth? The +children of the poor are healthy, because they sprout out of the very +dirt. The sun dispels humors, enriches the blood; and the winds execute +a sanitary commission for these neglected ones. They live because they +are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> of the earth—earthy. The experiment of training a race of +attenuated cherubs in the shade, and making them martyrs to clean aprons +and clean dickeys, is a failure. There is a vast amount of <i>post mortem</i> +doggerel that never would have been written if the cherubs had only made +dirt-pies, and had eaten freely of them. Observe the strong tendency in +men, even of culture, to court the wildness and rude energy of savage +life. Let one sleep on the ground, in a mild climate, for three months, +and even the man who reads Homer is content, often, to sleep there the +rest of his lifetime. It is better to tame the savage rather cautiously, +and with some reserve, for if he be eliminated wholly, the best +relations with Nature are broken off. Evermore we are seeking for +something among books and pictures, and in the babblings of polite +society, that we do not find. When the blood is thin, and the body has +become spiritualized, then it is easy to ascend to the clouds, as +balloons go up, and hold high discourse; while the world, under our +feet, teeming with its myriad lives, pulsating even to the smallest +dust, and all glorified, if we will behold it, is not taken into +fellowship, its speech interpreted nor its remedial forces marshaled as +friends, to back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> our halting and troubled humanity. It has taken almost +six thousand years to find out that a handful of dry earth will heal the +most cruel wound. In the day of our mortal hurt we do but go back to the +earth, believing that in the ages to come we shall go forth again, +eternally renewed.</p> + +<p>There are islands in the Pacific where birds and beasts, and every +living thing, are free from fear of, or even a suspicion of wrong, from +man. But where civilization is introduced, there is a bridgeless gulf +between us and all orders of existence beneath. There is a +half-articulate protest coming up, that this thing called modern +civilization is treacherous, cruel, and dishonest. For a century its +evangels have proclaimed its mission of love. But humanity has wrestled +with its own kind more fiercely than ever before. It is decent enough to +kill each other, if done according to some conventional code. But it is +vulgar to eat our enemies; and so the custom, in polite society, has +fallen into disuse.</p> + +<p>Is it a wonder that all animate nature is accusatory and suspicious? +Little by little we win it back to our confidence. The birds that were +silent and moody, because of our intrusion, give, after a while, little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +fragments of song, and hop down on the lower branches, holding +inquisitory councils. A lizard runs along upon a fallen tree, each time +getting a little nearer; he has the handsomest of eyes, but not a good +facial expression; yet so lithe and nimble, and improves so on +acquaintance that we shall soon be friends. Darting his tongue through +an insect, he comes a little nearer, as though he would ask, "Do you +take your prey in that way?" Two orioles have swung up their hammock to +the swaying branch of a chestnut oak. They do not swing from the +madrono, because its branches are too stiff and unyielding. They have +been in trouble for half an hour. The robins were in trouble earlier in +the day; a dozen of them went after a butcher-bird, and whipped him +honestly and handsomely. There is a little brown owl, sitting on a dry +limb, not a hundred yards off. He came into the world with a sort of +antediluvian gravity that never bodes any good. If the solemn bird could +only sing, he would allay suspicion at once. Never has a song-bird a +bloody beak. Your solemn-visaged men of frigid propriety, out of whose +joyless natures a song or a laugh never breaks, can thrust their talons +into human prey, if but occasion only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> serve, as this owl will into some +poor bird just at the going down of the sun.</p> + +<p>The bees come and go sluggishly, either because there is an opiate in +the sweets of the wild poppy, which flames on the hill-side, or because +there is no winter season here demanding great reserves of honey. Nearly +all of them turn vagabonds and robbers in this country. The line of +departure is toward a redwood, which is dry at the top, a knot-hole +evidently serving for ingress and egress. If their own stores fail, they +will go to some tame hive and fight their more honest neighbors and +plunder all their reserves. Even a bee-hive is no longer a symbol of +lawful industry, since the bees have become knaves, and do not even rob +in a chivalrous way. But they, in turn, will be despoiled by some +vagabond who has carved his initials on every "suspected" tree +hereabout. It is a world of reprisals after all. The strong prey upon +the weak; and they, in turn, after passing virtuous resolutions of +indignant dissent, spoil those who are weaker still. It is a hard +necessity. But how can the fox do without the hare, the hawk without a +thrush, or he without a beetle, or the beetle without his fly? Strong +nations capture the weak;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> and there are weak and pitiful races of men, +with no force or vitality to found nations and dynasties. These only +wait to be plucked up by the stronger, as so much human rubbish waiting +for flood and flame. High-breeding may degenerate races. Your +thoroughbred cattle, however, take the premiums at the great fairs of +the world. It is not necessary that the ancestral pedigree should be a +long one. But so far as men and women are thoroughbred with respect to +muscle and brain, will they, consciously or otherwise, carry with them +the sceptre of dominion and conquest. They will crowd out inferior +races, either by sheer force or by some trick of diplomacy. An Indian +exchanging territory for blankets, or sending his arrow against an +iron-clad, finds it a losing business always. We write him up handsomely +in romances, but extinguish him cruelly with rifle and sabre.</p> + +<p>There was a halo lingering about the dome of the old Mission Church, in +the distance; its cross was glorified just before the sun rested its +disk upon the ocean. The hard outlines of the mountains softened, and +took on a purple hue; the white doves came down out of the clouds, and +clustered about the gables; a light flickered like a fire-fly in the +light-house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> half a league beyond the church, and another from a window +of the farm-house near by. That skipper, wide off, may take his bearings +from the light on the shore. But at night-fall, the wide-spreading roof +is more hospitable that even this branching madrono. And there is no +philosophy that could not be improved by June butter, redolent of white +clover, with a supplement of cream half an inch thick.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/deco_002.png" alt="" /></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">A DAY ON THE LOS GATOS.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">A DAY ON THE LOS GATOS.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> brightest stream which bubbles out of the mountains in the Coast +Range, and loses itself on the plains of Santa Clara, ought to have had +a more poetical name. Its feline etymology is probably owing to the fact +that as many wild cats rendezvous about its headwaters as are +congregated within the same limits in any place on these +mountain-slopes. This superabundance of savage life, which so +incontinently runs to white teeth and claws, is an indication that there +is much game in this region. Pussy likes a good bill of fare, and makes +it up of hares, cotton-tail rabbits, ground-squirrels, quails, doves, +and a great number of singing birds, not omitting an occasional +rattlesnake, which is killed so deftly that there is no chance for a +venomous bite. If the unlovely creatures had been more industrious in +this line, the thrushes would have had a better chance, and that dry, +reedy sound in the brush—the one drawback to the pleasure of crawling +on all-fours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> through the chaparral—would not have started a cold chill +along the spine quite so often.</p> + +<p>That little square-looking dog, loaned by a settler at the foot of the +mountain, with his ears split in a dozen places in his encounters with +these animals, goes along for the fun and excitement of another clinch +with his old enemy. The warfare is, after all, conducted on scientific +principles. The wild cat is as strong as a young tiger, and you see by +the depth of the shoulders and the size of the head, that he will fight +terribly. He does not run well, and cannot catch a hare in any other way +than by stealth. The dog runs him to a tree; the cat ascends to the +highest strong limb, goes out on that, and gets an adjustment by which +the smallest possible mark will be presented for a rifle or pistol-shot. +If you want to do the handsome thing, let the head alone; for that is +well defended by the limb on which it is resting. The wind blowing +strong at an oblique angle to your line, will make a difference of at +least an inch in sending that light ball 180 feet; it will also drop +from a right ascending line nearly two inches. Remember, a shrewd +woodsman never forgets these things. Getting your margin adjusted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +plant the ball into the shoulder, just under the spine. He will drop +from the tree with only one foreleg in fighting condition. The dog is on +his back in a second, and there will be the liveliest rough-and-tumble +fight you have seen in many a day. Never mind the wild screams that echo +from the canyon. That fellow's time has come. He will not steal your +best game-chicken out of the top of the tree again.</p> + +<p>The dog has won the battle; but he has got some ugly scars along his +sides and flank. Observe that, overheated as he is, he does not rush +into that clear stream. He takes his bath in that shallow spring with a +soft mud bottom. Note how he plasters himself, laying the wounded side +underneath, and then, setting down on his haunches, buries all the +wounded parts in the ooze. The mud has medicinal properties. The dog +knows it. No physician could make so good a poultice for the wounds of a +cat's claws as this dog has made for himself. Pray, if you had been +clawed in that way by either feline or feminine, would you have found +anything at the bottom of your book philosophy so remedial as this dog +has found.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>Now that this striped rascal has had his light put out, it is hard to +justify the act after all. He was a thief, stealthy, cowardly, +blood-loving, and cruel. But then his education had been neglected. And +while his moral sentiments had been lapsing for generations, note what a +gain there has been in his animal development; for he is next of kin to +the common house-cat. You cannot upset this theory by pointing to his +abbreviated tail. How long do you suppose it is since every one of your +hair-splitting casuists had a tail more than twice as long as this +fellow, whose descendants, in two generations more, may have none at +all? Taking him up by his enormous jowls, rounding off a head suggesting +diabolical acquisitiveness, it is only necessary to carry a Darwinian +rush-light in the other hand to go straight to the right man and say: +Here is a link in your chain of development, only three removes from the +point you have reached. What a pity that this diminution of tail and +claws does not signify a corresponding decrease of cruel and stealthy +circumvention! You wag your tail approvingly to this proposition, +Samson. But this business of exterminating pests had better cease. +Because, if carried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> out honestly, it would be inconvenient to some +thousands of men and women who are just now cumbering the world to no +purpose. It goes against the grain mightily to admit that a wild cat +might ever become an angel; but if there is any obscure law tending to +such a result, it is better to interfere with it as little as possible. +If both moral and physical perfectibility are only a question of time, +the fellow who sells his fiery potations close by that sweet mountain +spring, and is never conscious of its perpetual rebuke, ought to have a +margin, at least, of five million years.</p> + +<p>There is a cleft in the mountain, about ten miles to the southwest of +Santa Clara. That engineering was done by the Los Gatos. Entering this +defile, the stage road winds along the mountain side for six or seven +miles, and then turns to the right and goes down the mountain slope to +Santa Cruz. But as long as there are any stage roads in sight, or signs +of abrading wheels, you will find no trout. Turning to the left and +following the ridge, at the height of about two thousand feet, a walk of +three or four miles brings one to a point where civilization runs out +with the disappearance of the last trail. That mountain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> lifting its +dark crest so kingly into the clouds, is Loma Prieta, the highest crest +of the Coast Range. On the north side of that intervening slope, and +nearly a thousand feet higher, you will find the source of the Los +Gatos. It is six miles away. There a great fountain bubbles out of the +mountain side, and the stream, clear and strong, and singing for very +joy, goes bounding on to the gorges below. The upper stream has never +been defiled by sawdust; and no lout in shining boots ever went up to +its head. It is best to go into camp here and take a fresh start the +next morning. In the early dawn—before the sun glares on the land and +sea—town and hamlet, valley and mountain, have a morning glory, which +it were better not to miss. Looking oceanward, the fir and the redwood +send up their spires of eternal green from all the valleys. At midnight, +the full moon was flooding all the mountain top with light, and was +apparently shining upon the still ocean, which had come quite to the +base of the mountain. The fog had come in during the night, but hugged +the earth so closely that every hillock appeared like an island resting +on the calm, white sea. All night long the moon shone on this upper +stratum, revealing with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> wonderful distinctness the tops of the tallest +redwoods, while the trunks appeared to be submerged. It was not easy to +dispel the illusion that one with a skiff might have paddled from wooded +islet to another, treading a thousand intricate channels, drifting past +the homes of strange peoples, whose lives were symbolized by this serene +and silent sea. But the illusion would not hold water, when, at early +dawn, a clumsy two-horse wagon went lumbering down the mountain and +disappeared under this white stratum. When the sun came up, all the +ragged and fleecy edges rolled in upon the center, and there was a +silent seaward march, until at mid-day the fog banked up with +perpendicular walls, about a dozen miles from the land. A little farther +down the valley the trees were dripping with the moisture of this +migratory ocean. But not a drop was collected on the glistening leaves +of the madrono which gave us friendly shelter that night. It was a good +place enough to sleep; but if one is to take an observation every +half-hour during the night, he will have no difficulty in getting up at +the call of the birds.</p> + +<p>The first sound heard in the morning was the yelp of a miserable coyote. +The intrusive rascal had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> pitched his key in advance of thrush, or lark, +or robin. It was easy enough to silence him with a shotgun; but as the +birds, also, would have been frightened into silence, this ill-favored +vagabond was moderated by pitching two stones at him, with no other +result than securing a lame shoulder for a week. The thing was entirely +overdone; and if the fellow had any perception of the ridiculous, he +went into his hole and laughed for the space of half an hour.</p> + +<p>The altitude was too great for the home of robin and linnet. But the +woodpeckers went screaming by, and the shy yellow-hammers flitted +noiselessly from tree to tree; while, in the thicket, the cock quails +were calling out the coveys for an early breakfast. Two deer had come +down the mountain slope, and finally halted at half rifle-shot, looking +stupidly at the camp-fire. If they understood the statute made in their +behalf, they were perfectly safe. But Samson, who had stood for three +minutes with one fore-leg raised in an intensely dramatic way, made a +spring at last, and, without warrant of law, ran them down the canyon; +and ten minutes later they were seen going up the opposite slope, but +with many redundant antics, indicating contempt for the cur which had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +sought to worry them. Later in the day three or four more were seen, and +one half-grown fawn was following the roe, the latter finally taking the +wind and bounding off handsomely, while the fawn, less keen of scent, +turned about and looked inquiringly, without any clear perception of +danger. It was evident that so long as the fawn depends upon the mother +for protection, it has not a very keen scent nor a quick apprehension of +approaching danger. These are only perfected later, when the fawn is +left to care for itself. The cub is very foolish; the young fox has no +more of cunning than a common puppy; and a young ground-squirrel, in +time of danger, rashly bobs his head out of the hole long before his +venerable parents venture to take an observation. We might have had a +smoking haunch of venison that morning, but it would have lacked that +fine moral quality which the game law withheld. If you want to know the +terrible power of temptation, breakfast on bacon when two deer are +within rifle-shot.</p> + +<p>It took not less than three hours to work through the interminable +thickets, and to climb over the rocks, and gain a place for the first +cast of a line.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> These mountain trout strike quick or not at all. There +is a delicious, tingling sensation when the fellows jump from the eddies +and swirls more than a foot out of water. You need not spit on your bait +for luck, when the fish are breaking water for the hook, and the dark +pools are alive with them; not very large, but with keen mountain +appetites, having the brightest colors, hard of flesh, and gamy. Well, +yes, here is where the fun comes in, after crawling for more than two +miles through the brush, and over jagged rocks. Not the least of it is +to observe that H—— has gone daft from over-excitement, and is +throwing his fish into the tree-tops. What with the moon shining on his +face last night, the deer coming down to tantalize him, and these +mountain trout jumping wild for the hook, there is just as much lunacy +as it is safe to encounter at this altitude.</p> + +<p>The stream holds out well, and has not perceptibly diminished in a +linear ascent of the mountain-side of nearly three miles. A +never-failing reservoir, at an altitude of perhaps twenty-three hundred +feet, creates the main branch; while lower down there is a constant +augmentation from runnels, up some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> of which the trout find their way. +It is best not to slight these little branches; for occasionally the +water sinks, running underground for awhile, and then reappearing, so +that a succession of pools is formed, which arrest the fish; and, having +nothing to eat, they prey upon each other, until rarely more than two or +three remain, and sometimes a solitary fish is left—he having ate up +all his poor relations, and thus supplied their wants and his own. There +is nothing very strange in this piscatory economy, after all. That +bald-headed man, who lost his balance, and slid down a shelving rock +nearly twenty feet into the pool, and went out on the other side, with a +solitary fish dangling at his hook, and a most unearthly yell, is +playing the same game in a business pool. There are more in it than can +possibly succeed. One by one, he will eat up the others and become a +millionaire. If a bigger fish in the pool eats him, it is only a slight +variation of chances, which the commercial ethics of the times will just +as heartily approve. You have made that pool desolate; but it is not +necessary to yell so as to disturb the universe over a half-pound trout. +If ever, O friend, you should have the luck to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> drawn out of a pool +thus, will there be no yelling in the subterranean caverns?</p> + +<p>There is no heroism in jerking every fish out of the stream, just +because they have keen mountain appetites. Moreover, as the rays of the +sun become vertical, light is thrown into the pools and eddies, and the +bites are languid and less frequent. An hour before sunset they will be +as brisk as ever. But a hundred trout are enough for one morning, and +too many, since no one is willing to carry them down the mountain. A +year ago, an enthusiastic friend found the headwaters of the Butano, +just over the ridge, toward the coast. Having cut his way out of the San +Lorenzo Valley, making his own trail for seven miles or more, he cast in +his hook where, he stoutly affirmed, no fisherman had ever preceded him. +The falls in several places have formed deep basins in the soft, white +sandstone. There this enthusiastic fisherman found his heaven for two +hours, until night began to close in upon him. Did he go into a tree-top +for the night, and pull his two hundred trout up after him? No; but he +left them in a heap, and crept down the mountain at dusk, his pace +quickened a little by the sight of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> fresh bear-track. I do not think +an honest bear, made fully acquainted with such sacrilegious conduct, +would eat a man, or so much as smell of him.</p> + +<p>All day long the perspective has been growing broader and richer, until +these diminutive little fish, destined to be swallowed with a single +snap of the jaws—even as they sought to snap the wriggling worm—have +become a minor incident in the crowding events of the day. For an hour +after dawn the only outlook was into the Santa Clara Valley. But the +morning was cold; the thin gray smoke went up silently into the heavens +from here and there a farm-house; across the valley a low column of mist +clung to the foothills and rolled sullenly away. The rank vegetation of +early spring, broken occasionally by the plowed fields, had all the +abruptness of contrast seen in the patchwork of a bedquilt; and in the +chill of the dawn was not a whit more pleasing to the eyes. But an hour +later the sunlight filled all the valley; the harsher tints of the +morning were melted into the more subdued glory of the spring, and one +could fancy that the scent of almond blossoms came up the mountain, +mingled with the grosser incense of the mold and tilth of many fields. +Even the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> solitary stunted pine far up the mountain was dropping down +its leafy <i>spicula</i>, like javelins cast aslant, and the last year's +cones fell with a rattle, like hand grenades cast from some overhanging +battlement. Life was crowding death even here, and the pine was +freshening its foliage, as certain of spring time as the alder just +shaking out its tassels by the river bank. Away to the southwest the Bay +of Monterey, with its breadth of twenty miles, was reduced to a little +patch of blue water; and wide off there was a faint trail of smoke along +the horizon—the sign that a steamer was going down the coast for +puncheons of wine and fleeces of wool.</p> + +<p>The glass reveals the dome of a church at Santa Cruz, looking a little +larger than a bird cage set down by the ocean. The famous picture on the +ceiling of the old adobe church disappeared when the storms melted down +the mud walls. If the perspective was faulty, the picture had a lively +moral for bad Indians. But something better was found, not many years +ago (so the village tradition runs), in one of the lofts in an old +store-room near by. The <i>Padre</i> going up there with the village sign +painter, to hunt for some half-forgotten thing, drew out of the lumber +a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> lot of blurred and musty canvas, giving it to his friend. The latter +hastened home and, unrolling his canvas, saw that upon one side there +had once been a picture. But the pigment was now only powdered atoms, +which a feather would sweep away. Oiling a new canvas, he laid it upon +the back of the picture, and the oil striking through, the first process +of restoration was safely accomplished. Then the surface of the picture +was carefully cleaned. The sign painter quietly hung up his picture, +satisfied that there was an infinite distance between it and a common +daub. The <i>Padre</i> wanted the picture back after this sudden revelation +of its wonderful beauty. But it never was transferred again to the old +lumber room.</p> + +<p>"What became of the <i>Padre</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I think he went to heaven, where he found better pictures than were +ever fished out of that old lumber room."</p> + +<p>"And the sign painter?"</p> + +<p>"Did you ever know a man who had a Murillo, or even thought he had one, +who was in a hurry to leave this world?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SHADOWS OF ST. HELENA.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">SHADOWS OF ST. HELENA.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Whether</span> in the Russian River Valley, Napa, or the smaller valleys of the +Clear Lake country, St. Helena is in such friendly proximity that all +sense of isolation is destroyed. Looking toward the south from its +shoulder, there was an endless succession of stubblefields and +vineyards; the faint clatter of threshing machines could be heard; sacks +of wheat stood bolt upright in the fields, like millers in convention. A +train of cars, diminished by the long perspective, was creeping with +serpentine undulations up the valley, and trailing a thin vapor against +the sky. Farther south was the bay; white sails of little schooners, +outlined by the glass, appeared to split the salt meadows open, as they +crept toward the little town of Napa. St. Helena was grandly lifted up +on that autumnal morning, and all the little mountains seemed to be +rendering homage to the king.</p> + +<p>There is no country under the sun where a vineyard is more picturesque +than here. If there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> were an interminable perspective of green clothing +and coloring all the hillsides, there would be no fitting border for the +picture. But when there is not a fresh blade of grass by the wayside, +and the tawny hills touch the yellow stubble-fields, we have a broad +golden frame for some picture which ought to be worthy of it. And what +more so than a sixty-acre vineyard, set within this mitred framework of +mountains? The border is a very generous one, certainly—five or six +miles of slope on either side, and this square of emerald in the centre. +It is all worked in with true artistic effect, except those straight +lines of vines, crossing at right angles. A poet or a painter, setting +this vineyard, would have curved the lines, or secured an orderly +disorder—enough, at least, to have destroyed the association with a +schoolboy's rule and plummet.</p> + +<p>Observe that the vines are not tied to clumsy, stiff stakes; nor are the +leaves plucked off in part, to prevent mildew. The runners reach out and +interlace, resting gently on the ground. The leaves droop a little in +the hot sun, making a complete canopy for the clusters, the largest of +which rest on the ground. How much more fitting this growing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +revelation—this discovery, step by step, of hidden clusters—than to +see all this wealth at once, as one might do if the vines were trained +bolt upright, and held in bondage by stakes!</p> + +<p>Another notable effect is produced by the twenty or more varieties, +differing in the shape of the leaf and in the color and flavor of the +grape. The Tokay blushes by the side of the blackest Malvoisie. The +Muscatel is pale where the Victoria has as much color as a ruddy English +girl. The Muscats have a tinge of gold, in fine contrast with the Rose +of Peru, whose regal purple deepens with every midday sun.</p> + +<p>Three months hence, this border of gold will all be changed to the rank +and riotous green of pastures quickened by the vernal rains—this square +setting, as of emerald, stripped of every leaf and every cluster, but +the bronzed vines still interlacing and toning the landscape into a +mellow ripeness. A month later, the merciless pruning-knife has left +only the black stub, a foot above the ground, and two or three "eyes" +for the new wood. This amputated vineyard, with its limbs burning by the +wayside, suggests enough of prosy realism to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> neutralize all the +sentiment which it can inspire on a hot September day.</p> + +<p>Will the juice of these grapes enrich the blood, and add any essential +quality to the tone and fibre of a race which is giving so many signs of +physical decadence? This conglomerate which you call society is hanging +out a great many flags of distress. It babbles incoherently of +perfectibility, and goes straightway to the bad. Are these reformers +going to save the world, who, either through intemperance of speech or +drink, must needs be moderated by a padlock put upon their mouths? Nor +is it safe, just now, to calculate the results of this feminine gospel +of vituperation. The back of the body politic may be the better for +having a political fly blister laid on; and it might, perhaps, as well +be done by feminine hands as any other. But there are some evils too +deep for surface remedies. If, for instance, vineyards are going to +curse the people, as my moralizing friend insists, then humanity +hereabout is in a bad way. Why, a little generous wine ought to enrich +the blood and inspire nobility of thought. If it does more than this—if +it becomes a demon to drive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> men and hogs into the sea—then it is +evident that both were on too low a plane of existence for any safe +exaltation. But shall the vineyards be rooted up, for all this? It is +better to drown the swine, and let the grapes still grow purple upon the +hillsides.</p> + +<p>Some day these mountains will be wreathed and festooned with vines. One +may see this culture now climbing to their tops. Oh, my friend, with +thin and impoverished blood! do not pinch this question up in the vise +of your morality. No doubt there was a vineyard in Eden, and there were +ripe clusters close by the fig-leaves. You cannot prove to me that +sinless hands have not plucked the grapes, and that millions will not do +it again. What we need is not a greater company of wailing prophets, but +men who will reveal to us the higher and nobler use of things. If one +could not live comfortably in this Vale of Paradise and ripen from year +to year, opening his soul to all enriching influences, without an +everlasting protest, there would be small chance for his comfort in any +more etherealized place.</p> + +<p>Looking northward, or from the back side of St. Helena, is Lake County, +the centre of which can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> be reached by the daylight of a summer day from +San Francisco. It is a wild, isolated and mountainous region, containing +a harmless population, who are much addicted to salt pork, and needing +all the more, perhaps, the medicinal and renovating qualities of the +various thermal springs which abound. A Pike, with the wilderness at his +back, and civilization advancing in front, is sometimes a ridiculous, +and oftener a pitiable, specimen of humanity. When the schoolhouse +overtakes him, there is a crisis in his affairs. He must elect to hustle +half a score of frowzy-headed children into his covered wagon, hang a +few pots and kettles at the rear, and plunge farther into the +wilderness, or let civilization go past him, closing in upon all sides, +and, in spite of impotent protests, narrowing perhaps his own horizon, +but making it broader and brighter for his children. If the horizon is +too bright, this blinking Pike will turn his back to the light, and make +a break for Egypt. So long as there is bacon and hominy, and free +territory, with a modicum of whisky within easy reach, you cannot summon +this stolid, retreating animal to a better condition. Nature has made a +botch of him, else he would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> now be running on four feet, instead of +two. A border man, running away from civilization, who cannot bark and +burrow like a coyote, nor climb a tree like a gorilla, is wrestling with +his fate at a terrible disadvantage.</p> + +<p>If you have never seen Clear Lake, do not babble about Como and Geneva. +Here are eighty square miles of water, lifted fifteen hundred feet above +the sea, and encompassed by mountains whose flaming forges were put out +but yesterday—if a thousand years may be taken as one day. One may see +Clear Lake from the top of St. Helena, twenty miles distant, on a bright +day. We saw it first from Lukonoma—an intervening mountain, about +fifteen hundred feet high—a ribbon of blue water, stretching away +between the hills, with a solitary white sail, recognized only by +bringing a tree in the range. There was the droning of the pines in the +mountain-tops in the afternoon trade-wind; a broad valley opening to the +south, which swallowed up two or three mountain streams, and then opened +its ugly adobe lips for more; smaller valleys toward the north, +encircled with tall firs, and the slumberous dome of Uncle Sam, lifting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +itself up grandly three or four thousand feet hard by the lake.</p> + +<p>Along this Lukonoma ridge there is a well-defined Indian trail for +miles. The Clear Lake Indians were accustomed to exchange visits with a +tribe in the Lukonoma Valley, ten miles below. The tops of the highest +mountain ridges were selected for trails, rather than the valley. The +Indian does not like to be surprised, even by his friends. Along these +ridges he could look off on either side, and a long way ahead. If not +molested, he might drop down to the hot springs just at the base of the +mountain, take a mud bath to make his joints a little more supple, and +if he found an ant's nest to add to his dietary stores, so much the +better. You need not overhaul the Indian's cookbook. He ate the ants +alive. No shrimp-eater ought to quarrel with him on that score.</p> + +<p>We shall have a nearer view of Lower Lake another day. It is better to +have the first view of some old and famous city from the hill-tops. That +revelation ripens into a picture which ever afterward we hasten to set +over against the squalor and ugliness disclosed by a nearer view. One +need<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> not be wholly disgusted if in place of a trout, he has caught a +mud-turtle from the lake which opened its sheen of waters to him first +from the mountain summit.</p> + +<p>The shadows had stretched nearly across the narrow valleys, when it +occurred to us that, in climbing to the highest and baldest peak, the +Indian trail had run out, and that the hot springs—the point of +departure—were eight miles distant, and were shut out of view by an +intervening spur. Either a short cut was to be made, trusting to luck to +find a trail, or there was to be a night on the mountain. There were two +intervening canyons to be crossed before there was any prospect of +striking a trail. It is not pleasant to slide a horse on his haunches +down into one of these chasms without knowing where one is to bring up. +If the most obscure cattle trail can be found leading in, one may trust +to the instincts of horse sense to find it, and also the one which will +most certainly lead out on the other side. The tinkling of a cow-bell on +the table-lands beyond was a welcome sound. The horses wound into the +first canyon, and went out without much hesitation. The trail for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +next, by good luck, had been found. But it was a suspicious circumstance +that these ponies—accustomed to such defiles, and now heading for +home—hesitated, snuffed, snorted and turned about. The rein was given +to them, but, hungry as they were, they seemed disposed to turn back. +The little Cayuse pony trembled, threw his ears forward, advanced and +retreated, and blew out a column of vapor from each nostril as he kept +up his aboriginal snort. Either two tired and hungry excursionists must +make a night of it, shut in by a canyon in front and in the rear, or the +second one must be crossed without delay.</p> + +<p>A horse is generally willing to plant his feet where he sees a man do it +in advance. But these horses were dragged into the chasm, sometimes +dropping on their haunches, and at other times plowing along with the +fore feet braced well ahead. Once at the bottom, a fresh cinch was taken +with the greatest difficulty, as neither horse could be kept still for a +second. A moment afterward the click of the pony's feet was heard, and +the sparks thrown off by his shoes were distinct enough as he shot up +the trail as though projected from a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> mortar. The old horse—stiff in +the shoulders, and his legs like crowbars—was not a rod behind him.</p> + +<p>"Did you see anything in that canyon?"</p> + +<p>"No—yes. I saw the outline of a steer going down to drink."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Do you think these tired horses, refusing first to come into +the canyon, would have gone out on the other side as if Satan were after +them, if they did not know that that particular steer had claws. If you +had seen twenty mules break out of a yard and stampede when the foot of +a cinnamon bear was thrown over, you would not blame these horses for +blazing the trail with fire as they thundered up the rocks with the +fresh scent of a live grizzly in their nostrils.</p> + +<p>"Then, if you are willing to take the affidavits of these two horses as +to the facts—and the jurat of eight steel-clad hoofs, striking fire on +the rocks, was a very solemn one—you can settle the question in favor +of the grizzly much more comfortably than he would have settled it for +you. It is not necessary that one's scalp should be pulled over his eyes +and his face set awry for life, in order to obtain a more convincing +demonstration. I can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> refer you to a settler who has had these things +done for him, whereat his satisfaction has in no whit increased."</p> + +<p>An hour afterward two horses with drooping heads went into their stalls, +and two jaded excursionists had each dropped into hot baths at Harbin's +Springs. Nothing externally will neutralize the chill of a night ride +among the mountains better than water which spouts from this hillside +heated to 110 degrees. It is a notable caprice of Nature that, of three +springs within the space of twenty feet, one is cold and has no mineral +qualities; the other two are of about the same temperature, the waters +of one strongly impregnated with iron and the other with sulphur. The +waters of the two mineral springs combined are not only as hot as a +strong man can bear, but they dissolve zinc bath-tubs, which was a +satisfactory reason for the substitution of ugly wooden bathing-boxes. +It is a pleasant nook, grandly encircled with mountains, with the +wonderfully blue heavens by day, and lustrous stars by night.</p> + +<p>Fifty or sixty moping invalids made up the assortment at the hotel. +These taciturn and moody<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> people did not wait for the angel to go down +and trouble the waters, but each went in his own way and time, and +troubled the waters mightily on his personal account. The fact may be +assumed that the angel had been there in advance. For a thousand years, +a great subterranean caldron had been heated, tempered and medicated, +and its vapors had ascended as incense toward heaven.</p> + +<p>This little sanitarium among the mountains, crowded with curious +people—angular, petulant and capricious—was invested with a great +peace and restfulness for brain-weary folk. When the sun went down, +invalids, like children, went off to bed. There was nothing to do but to +sleep through the long cool nights. All the conventionalities of a more +artificial social life were reversed. The people who had fought Nature +and common sense for years, and had been worsted in the conflict, came +here to make their peace with her. They were up with the opening of the +day. They drank medicated waters heroically; dropped into hot baths with +a sensation akin to have fallen on the points of a million needles; +plunged into pools, or were immersed with the vapors collected in close +rooms.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> There were early breakfasts, when the boards were swept by +invalids with ravenous appetites; dinners at midday, attended by the +same hungry, silent, introspective people; supper, before sundown, when +the same famishing people were eating away for dear life. A four-horse +passenger wagon arrived just at nightfall, bringing the mail and an +occasional guest. There was a glance at the newspapers, now and then a +letter was read, and then night and a sweet stillness settled over this +mountain dell. Time was of little consequence; people searched an old +almanac for the day of the week or month; the sun rose above the crest +of one mountain and went down behind another; there were the morning and +evening shadows, the same flood of light in the valley at midday, the +monotonous drone of the little rivulet in the canyon, and at long +intervals the twitter of a solitary bird. Some sauntered along trails, +counting the steps with a sort of mental vacuity; others tilted their +chairs under porches, and slept with hats over their eyes. If a +bustling, loud-voiced guest arrived, in a day or two he fell into the +same peaceful and subdued ways. The repose of sky and mountain came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +down gently upon him, and a dreamy indolence shortened his steps and +prolonged his afternoon naps.</p> + +<p>There would have been an utter stagnation of life but for the advent of +one of those characters who had been everywhere, seen everybody, and had +become a sort of itinerating museum of odd conceits and grotesque +incidents. There were many invalids who had separated themselves from +business cares, only to brood over their infirmities. They wanted +nothing so much as, in some way, to be led apart from their own morbid +natures. The eccentric little man told his stories. They were not always +fresh, nor always extremely witty. But, as the assortment never ran out, +and the quality improved from day to day, the fact was alike creditable +to his inventive powers and his benevolence. At first, the worst +specimens of morbid anatomy listened from a distance, and muttered, +"Foolish;" "Don't believe a word of it." The next day they hitched their +chairs along a few feet nearer to this story-telling evangel. One could +occasionally see that a crisis was coming; either these people must +laugh, or be put on the list of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> hopeless incurables. Observing, on one +occasion, a man on crutches who, after listening for a time with +apparent contempt, suddenly withdrew and hobbled off around a turn of +the narrow road, I ventured to ask him if stories were disagreeable to +him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, that is not it. You see I had not laughed in years. I was +determined that old Hooker should not make me laugh, if I did not choose +to. The fact is, I had either to holler or die. I wouldn't make a fool +of myself, and so I went around the bend in the road, and turned off +into the chaparral."</p> + +<p>As this man dropped one crutch in a week from that time, and in ten days +thereafter was walking with a cane, I have never doubted that he +"hollered."</p> + +<p>At nightfall generous wood fires glowed upon the hearth of the sitting +room, and there was a more hopeful light in many faces. People lingered +in the doorway, on the stairs, and leaned over the balustrade for one +more story from the genial and eccentric man. A ripple of +half-suppressed laughter went around the room, ran up the stair-way, +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> ended in gentle gurgles in the rooms with open doors at the end of +the corridor. The man of anecdote and story had touched, with healing +influences, maladies which no medicated waters could reach. He exorcised +the demons so gently, that these brooding invalids hardly knew how they +were rescued. New and marvelous virtues were thereafter found in the +spring water; there was a softer sunlight in the dell; the man with the +liver complaint became less sallow, and no longer talked spitefully +about "Old Hooker"; and the woman who did not expect to live a week, no +longer sent down petulant requests that the house might be still, but +only wanted that last story repeated to her "just as he told it."</p> + +<p>Once, as the twilight drew on, the face of Hooker seemed to glow with +unwonted radiance, as he unfolded his plans for a sanitary retreat. His +theory was, that civilization had culminated in mental disorders, and +the world was running mad with excitements, which half-demented people +were busy in fomenting. Of the sixty guests at the Springs, he estimated +that, at one time, not more than seven per cent. were free from some +sort of a delusion—the evidence of lunacy in its milder forms. If put +into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> strait-jackets, or shut up in the wards of an hospital, or treated +otherwise as if insane, they would become as mad as Bedlam. One delusion +must be matched against another. Every man and woman must be treated as +sane, and all that they did, or thought, or said, as the perfection of +reason. The nonsense of clowns had cured more people than the wisdom of +philosophers. The chemistry of Nature, the sunshine, the pure mountain +air, and all the subtle combinations of thaumaturgic springs must be +supplemented by every art which could beguile and lead people away from +a miserable self-consciousness. A half-hour of sound sleep is sometimes +the bridge over the gulf from death to life. He would not only make +people sleep, but even laugh in their sleep. He would practice the +highest arts of a sanitary magician. His patients should laugh by night +and by day. They should forget themselves. The time would come when the +best story-teller would be accounted the best physician.</p> + +<p>On the evening before leaving the Springs, two hunters, in clay-colored +clothes, deposited upon the porch each a deer and a string of mountain +trout. Hooker, of blessed memory, after whispering confidentially<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> the +bill of fare for an early breakfast, went aside and talked in an +undertone with the hunters, who soon afterward disappeared in the +direction of the canyon we had crossed a few evenings before. The moon +being nearly at full, there would be a good prospect for deer during the +latter part of the night; but there was a possible hint of larger game, +in the chuckling undertone of one of the hunters as he shouldered his +rifle: "Fellers as wear them kind o' clothes don't know a bar when they +see him."</p> + +<p>In the early morning, the same hunters were warming their fingers by the +wood fire in the sitting-room. Hooker was already up, and flitted +about—now conferring with the hunters, and then with the steward. A +game breakfast was already assured. Hooker whispered that the hunters +had found the bear which sent the ponies flying out of the canyon. He +had been taken alive, and we should have a parting look at him in +advance of the other guests as we drove down the road. A Pike, astride +of the corral fence, saluted Hooker as we were climbing to the top rail: +"Glad you 'uns found old corn-cracker up the gulch. He was powerful weak +when I turned him out. He's a good 'un."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>One glance at his long, yellow tusks and bristling back was enough. +There was a sudden snap of the whip, and the dust spun from the wheels +as two horses shot down the road on a bright October morning. The little +dell, with its thermal springs, its colony of invalids, Hooker, the +incorrigible, and the "bear" in the corral, disappeared with a gentle +benediction.</p> + +<p>One may traverse a thousand miles of the Coast Range, and not find +another mountain road which reveals, at every turn, so many striking +views as the one of twenty miles from Harbin's to Calistoga. The road, +for a considerable distance, follows the windings of a noisy and riotous +little rivulet, which, heading on the easterly side of St. Helena, runs +obstinately due north for several miles. The fringe of oaks and madronos +were wonderfully fresh, as they stood half in sunlight and half in +shadow, still dripping, here and there, with the moisture which had been +condensed during the night. A delegation of robins had come down from +higher latitudes, and were taking an early and cheery breakfast from the +scarlet berries of the madrono. It needed but the flaming maple and +falling chestnuts,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> with some prospect of "shell-barks," to round into +perfect fullness these autumnal glories. But no one living east of the +Hudson could raise such a wild and unearthly yell as broke from the +Judge every time a cotton-tail rabbit darted across the road. The +obstreperous woodpecker was awed into silence, and the more industrious +ones dropped in amazement the acorns which they were tapping into the +trunks of the trees, and flitted silently away.</p> + +<p>"That," said the Judge, "is not half as loud as I heard Hooker yell six +months ago."</p> + +<p>"Then he was demented?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he was as mad as a March hare, and in a strait-jacket at that."</p> + +<p>"That clears up one or two mysteries. But you might have made the +revelation before."</p> + +<p>"When are you going to start that hilarious institution which you and +Hooker called a sanitarium?"</p> + +<p>Just then, the summit of the mountain road had been gained, and the long +perspective of the Napa Valley opened at the base of St. Helena, and +melted away toward the south into the soft, dreamy atmosphere of an +autumnal noonday.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE HOUSE ON THE HILL.</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE HOUSE ON THE HILL.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">A country</span> without grandmothers and old houses needs a great many +balancing compensations. Everywhere one is confronted with staring new +houses, which require an external ripening in the wind and sun for half +a century. If the motherly wisdom of seventy-five years is lodged +therein, it is something of recent importation. I have walked two miles +to see an old lady, who not only bears this transplanting well, but is +as fresh and winsome in thought as a girl of sixteen. If only there had +been an old house, a stone fire-place—wide at the jambs—and a low, +receding roof in the rear, with a bulging second story and oaken beams, +nothing more would have been wanting.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, it was whispered, one day, that there was an old house +in the middle of a large lot on a hill, overlooking the Golden Gate, +there was a strong and unaccountable desire to take possession of it +immediately. But when the fact was stated that the house was ten years +old, that there was moss upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> the shingles, low ceilings within, and a +low roof without, the destiny of that house was well nigh settled. The +owner wanted money much more than old houses. In fact, a Californian who +refuses to sell anything, except his wife, is only found after long +intervals. The transfer of ownership was natural enough. It followed +that one evening there was a dreamy consciousness that we were the owner +of a small, rusty-looking cottage, set down in the middle of an acre +lot, defined by dilapidated fences, and further ornamented by such +stumps of trees as had been left after all the stray cattle of the +neighborhood had browsed them at will. As incidents of the transfer, +there was the Golden Gate, with the sun dropping into the ocean beyond; +the purple hills; the sweep of the bay for fifteen miles, on which a +white sail could be seen, here and there; and, later, the long rows of +flickering street lamps, revealing the cleft avenues of the great city +dipping toward the water on the opposite side of the bay.</p> + +<p>Consider what an investment accompanies these muniments of title. It is +not an acre lot and an old house merely, with several last year's birds' +nests and a vagrant cat, but the ownership extends ninety-five<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> millions +of miles toward the zenith, and indefinitely toward the nadir. No one +can, in miners' parlance, get an extension above or below. It is a +square acre, bounded by heaven and hades.</p> + +<p>If my neighbor builds an ugly house, why should I find fault with it, +since it is the expression of his wants, and not of mine. If these are +honestly expressed, he has compassed the main end of house-building. He +may have produced something that nobody in the wide world will be suited +with, or will ever want but himself. But if it is adapted to <i>his</i> +wants, it is only in some remote and ęsthetic way that his neighbors +have anything to do with the matter. They may wish that he had not made +it externally as ugly as original sin; that he had laid a heavy hand on +the antics of architect and carpenter; that lightning would some day +strike the "pilot-house," or some other excrescence which has been glued +on to the top; and that a certain smart obtrusiveness were toned down a +little to harmonize with a more correct taste. But one could not +formulate these defects and send them to his neighbor without running a +risk quite unwarranted by any good that might be effected.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>Taking possession of an old house, its ugliness is to be redeemed, not +rashly, but considerately, and in the spirit of gentleness. Its +homeliness has been consecrated; its doors may have been the portals +both of life and death. Possibly, some one has gone out whose memory of +it in the ends of the earth will transform it into something of +comeliness and beauty.</p> + +<p>Investing an old house, the first process is to become thoroughly +acquainted with it, and then, if it is to be enlarged, push it out from +the center with such angles as will catch the sun, and will bring the +best view within range from the windows. It will grow by expansions and +accretions. You want a bed-room on the eastern side, because of the +morning sun. By all means, put it there. The morning benediction which +comes in at the window may temper one to better ways all the day.</p> + +<p>No man will build a house to suit his inmost necessities, unless he +proceeds independently of all modern rules of construction. Some of +these are good enough, but they nearly all culminate in an ambitious +externalism. The better class of dwellings erected seventy-five years +ago contained broad staircases,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> spacious sleeping-rooms, and a +living-room, where the whole family and the guests, withal, might gather +at the fire-side. The house was an expression of hospitality. The host +had room for friendships in his heart, and room at his hearthstone. The +modern house, with its stiff angularities, narrow halls, and smart +reception-rooms, expresses no idea of hospitality. It warns the stranger +to deliver his message quickly, and be off. It is well adapted to small +conventional hypocrisies, but you will never count the stars there by +looking up the chimney.</p> + +<p>One may search long to find the man who has not missed his aim in the +matter of house-building. It is generally needful that two houses should +be built as a sacrifice to sentiment, and then the third experiment may +be reasonably successful. The owner will probably wander through the +first two, seeking rest and finding none. His ideal dwelling is more +remote than ever. There may be a wealth of gilt and stucco, and an +excess of marble, which ought to be piled up in the cemetery for future +use. But the house which receives one as into the very heaven—which is, +from the beginning, invested with the ministries of rest, of +hospitality, of peace, of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> indefinable comfort which seems to +converge all the goodness of the life that now is with the converging +sunbeams—such a dwelling does not grow out of the first crude +experiment. It will never be secured until one knows better what he +really wants than an architect or carpenter can tell him.</p> + +<p>"Did you bring the old house up to this ideal standard?" Just about as +near as that pear tree, at the lower end of the garden, has been brought +up to a perfect standard of fruiting. You perceive that where half of +the top was cut away, and new scions inserted, the pears hung in groups +and blushed in the autumnal sun. As you let one of them melt on your +palate, turn to the other side of the tree, and note that, if ever a +premium were offered for puckering, acrid fruit, these pears from the +original stock ought to take it.</p> + +<p>Now, if you graft your ideas on to another's, premising that his views +were crude and primitive, the result will be somewhat mixed. We should +say that the grafts put into that old house were tolerably satisfactory. +But we counsel no friend to build over an old house, unless he owns a +productive gold mine, and the bill of particulars at the end of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +exploit is more interesting and gratifying to him than any modern novel.</p> + +<p>There was, however, a shade of regret when it was announced that nothing +more remained to be done. For three months there had been a series of +gentle transitions, and an undercurrent of pleasurable excitement as a +door appeared in a new place, a window opened here and there, stairways +were cut, and old pieces pushed off and new took their places. It seemed +as if these transitions ought to be always going on, and therefore the +most natural thing in the world that the carpenters should always be +cutting or hammering that house. They might grow old and another set +take their places, but there would always be some room to enlarge, or +some want growing out of the exigencies of a new day. Moreover, the +first part taken in hand would in time decay or become antiquated, and +why not associate builders and house together, since all the jars, +wrenching of timbers, sawing and hammering had become musical, and +seemed to be incorporated as the law of the house? Nothing but financial +considerations prevented a contract for life with the builders, and the +life-long luxury<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> of changing an old house into a new one. There came a +day at last of oppressive silence. Painters came down from their +ladders; the carpenters packed up their tools and walked thoughtfully +around, taking an honest view on all sides of a structure which had +grown under their hands until, outwardly, there was not the slightest +semblance of the old house which they took in hand some months before. +There was a shade akin to sadness on the face of the master workman. +Evidently the idea of ever leaving that house had overtaken him for the +first time that day. He had grown with the house; or, at any rate, his +children had been growing. Why should he not come back on the morrow, +and plumb, hammer and saw; creeping up the ladder with every new day, +and sliding down with every descending sun?</p> + +<p>The loftiest house, and the most perfect, in the matter of architecture, +I have ever seen, was that which a wood-chopper occupied with his family +one winter in the forests of Santa Cruz County. It was the cavity of a +redwood tree two hundred and forty feet in height. Fire had eaten away +the trunk at the base, until a circular room had been formed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> sixteen +feet in diameter. At twenty feet or more from the ground was a +knot-hole, which afforded egress for the smoke. With hammocks hung from +pegs, and a few cooking utensils hung upon other pegs, that house lacked +no essential thing. This woodman was in possession of a house which had +been a thousand years in process of building. Perhaps on the very day it +was finished he came along and entered it. How did all jack-knife and +hand-saw architecture sink into insignificance in contrast with this +house in the solitudes of the great forest! Moreover, the tenant fared +like a prince; within thirty yards of his coniferous house a mountain +stream went rushing past to the sea. In the swirls and eddies under the +shelving rocks, if one could not land half a dozen trout within an hour, +he deserved to go hungry as a penalty for his awkwardness. Now and then +a deer came out into the openings, and, at no great distance, quail, +rabbits and pigeons could be found. What did this man want more than +Nature furnished him? He had a house with a "cupola" two hundred and +forty feet high, and game at the cost of taking it.</p> + +<p>It was a good omen, that the chimneys of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> house on the hill had not +been topped out more than a week, before two white doves alighted on +them, glancing curiously down into the flues, and then toward the +heavens. Nothing but the peace which they brought could have insured the +serenity of that house against an untoward event which occurred a week +afterward. Late one evening the expressman delivered a sack at the rear +door, with a note from a friend in the city, stating that the writer, +well knowing our liking for thoroughbred stock, had sent over one of the +choicest game-chickens in San Francisco. The qualities of that bird were +not overstated. Such a clean and delicately-shaped head! The long +feathers on his neck shaded from black to green and gold. His spurs were +as slender and sharp as lances; and his carriage was that of a prince, +treading daintily the earth, as if it were not quite good enough for +him. There was a world of poetry about that chicken, and he could also +be made to serve some important uses. It is essential that every one +dwelling on a hill, in the suburbs, should be notified of the dawn of a +new day. Three Government fortifications in the bay let off as many +heavy guns at daybreak; and, as the sound comes rolling in from seaward, +the window<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> casements rattle responsively. But these guns do not explode +concurrently; frequently more than ten minutes intervene from the first +report to the last one. There is ever a lingering uncertainty as to +which is making a truthful report, or whether they are not all shooting +wide of the mark. Then, there is a military school close by, which stirs +up the youngsters with a reveille, a gong and a bell, at short +intervals. With so many announcements, and none of them concurrent, +there would still remain a painful uncertainty as to whether the day had +dawned; but when that game bird lifted up his voice, and sounded his +clarion notes high over the hill, the guns of Alcatraz and the roll of +the drums over the way, there could be no doubt that the day was at the +dawn.</p> + +<p>For a week did this mettlesome bird lift up his voice above all the +meaner roosters on the hill; but one morning there was an ominous +silence about the precincts where he was quartered. The Alcatraz gun had +been let off; but the more certain assurance of the new day had failed. +Something had surely happened, for a neighbor was seen hurrying up the +walk in the gray of the morning, red, puffy, and short of wind, at that +unseasonable hour.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>"Come with me, and take a look in my yard.... There, is that your +blasted game chicken?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes—no—he was sent over as a present from a friend."</p> + +<p>Just then the whole mischief was apparent; a great Cochin rooster was +sneaking off toward the hedge, bloody and blind; two Houdans lay on +their backs, jerking their feet convulsively—in short, that hen-yard +had been swept as with the besom of destruction.</p> + +<p>"Do you call that a poetical or sentimental bird, such as a Christian +man ought to worship?"</p> + +<p>"No, not exactly."</p> + +<p>Just then that game chicken arched his beautiful neck and sent his clear +notes high over the hill and into the very heavens. We hinted, in a +mollifying way, that he had escaped over a fence ten feet high, but that +blood would tell.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think it has told this morning. Never mind the damages; but I +think you had better cut his wings," said our neighbor, already +placated.</p> + +<p>That bird was given away before the next sunset. But O! friend; by the +guns of Alcatraz, and the white doves that alighted on the +chimney-tops,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> emblems of war and peace, send us no more game chickens, +to disturb the peace of the hill, or to finish the work of destruction +begun on that unlucky morning.</p> + +<p>From the hill one may look out of the Golden Gate, as through the tube +of a telescope, and see all the watery waste and eternal scene-shifting +beyond. When the dull, undulating hummocks look like a drove of camels +in the desert, you may be sure that the newly-married couple just +embarking on the outward-bound steamer, on a bridal tour to Los Angeles +or the Hawaiian Islands, will cease their caroling and chirping within +an hour. Half an hour after sunset, if the atmosphere is clear, one may +see the wide-off light of the Farallones; the nearer lights of Point +Bonita and Alcatraz, almost in line, dwarfed to mere fire-flies now; but +when the Gate has lost the glow of its burnished gold, these great +sea-lamps, hung over this royal avenue, tell an honest home story for +the battered ships low down on the horizon.</p> + +<p>The little tugs which round under the quarters of the great wheat ships +and rush them out to sea, know how to overcome the inertia of the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +hulks. They tug spitefully, but the ship has to move, and you see the +white sails already beginning to fall down from the yards, for the work +where the blue water begins. It may be a grotesque association, but have +you never seen a small woman, with a wonderful concentration of energy, +tug her great lazy hulk of a husband out into the broad field of earnest +endeavor in much the same way? Once there, his inertia overcome, the +feminine tow-line cast off, he did brave and honest work, making the +race quite abreast of average men. But the woman, who tugged him from +his lazy anchorage out into a good offing, did as much for that man as +he ever did for himself. Nothing more fortunate can happen to a great +many men than that they be towed out to sea early. And in not a few +instances, nothing more unfortunate could happen than that they should +ever return. This last remark would have been softened a little, had it +not been repeated with emphasis by a tender-hearted woman.</p> + +<p>Just after a winter rain, there are occasionally realistic views of the +great city in the foreground, which are so ugly that one never forgets +them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> The hills are brought nigh; all the houses seem to rise out of +the desert, and along the water front the spars of shipping look like a +forest which has been blasted by some devouring flame. It is certain +that these forests will never sprout again; and there is such a dead +look that, were it not for the little tugs going back and forth, one +might imagine that all men had hastened away, and left the city to +silence and the desert. But after nightfall the thousand lamps glorify +the city; the blackened forest along the water front has faded out; and +a mild sort of charity steals over one, suggesting that, after all, it +is a goodly city set upon a hill, and that its peculiar beauty is not +alone in appearing to the best advantage by gaslight. The background of +hills is more angular and jerky than ever before, because all the +softening effect has been taken out of the atmosphere. There is no +distance, no dreamy haze to spread like a gossamer veil over these hard +outlines. Nature is wonderfully honest and self-revealing. Evidently +these hills were never finished. They lack all the rounded beauty, all +the gentle curves and slopes, and all the fine touches of a perfected +work. They look as if, when in a plastic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> state, they had been set by +the jerk of an earthquake. Who knows but another jerk might take these +kinks out and tone down all these stiff angles, and otherwise put on the +finishing touches? If it must be done in this way, let the softening +undulations be as gentle as possible. It is very inconvenient to get up +in the morning and find that the chimney-top is either on the garden +walk, or that it has been turned three-quarters round, in the very +wantonness and devilment of Nature.</p> + +<p>Some day there will be a closer recognized relation between landscape +gardening and landscape painting. If the work is done badly in either +department, it will make little difference whether an acre of canvas is +hung upon the wall, or whether lines have been badly drawn and colors +crudely laid on to an acre of earth. The style of trimming trees so that +they are a libel on Nature, and the geometrical diagrams worked up in a +garden, can hardly be referred to any very high standard of art. But if +my neighbor is delighted with trees representing spindles, ramrods, +paint brushes, cylinders, cones, and what not, I would no more quarrel +with him than with the man who is under the pleasing delusion that he is +an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> artist, because, in a more remote way, he has been traducing Nature +with certain grotesque figures laid on to canvas.</p> + +<p>A hedge will bear cutting into line, because it is to be treated as +nothing more than the frame of the landscape to be worked up. The former +may be as stiff and artificial in its way, as a gilt or mahogany frame, +and do no violence to good taste; if it hides an ugly fence, a point has +been gained. One cannot expect much diversity of surface on a single +acre. A large lawn will give the effect of greater flatness. If you find +the hired gardener, bred in some noted school in Europe, setting out +trees in straight lines, exhort him to penitence at once. If he remain +obdurate, cut the trees down with your little hatchet and pitch them +over the fence, but keep your temper as sweet as a June morning. He will +see by that time that you have ideas to be respected. Grouping the +trees, on the lawn and elsewhere, neutralizes, in part, the effect of a +flat surface; it is better than the poor apology of a little hillock, +which suggests an ant's nest, or that a coyote may be burrowing in that +vicinity. Something may be done in the way of massing colors with +annuals to produce good effects.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> But ribbon gardening, according to the +patterns laid down by florists, has no nearer relation to art in +landscape gardening than crochet work has to landscape painting. It is a +fantastic trick, which may very well please rural clowns, but is in some +sort an offense to good taste.</p> + +<p>Neither is it necessary that all the trees and shrubs which a florist +has for sale should be admitted to the private garden. More than +one-half of them have no merit; they neither set off the grounds, nor +have any peculiarity worth a moment's attention. They figure in the +florist's list under very attractive names, but if taken home they will +probably prove but scrubby little bushes, fit only to be dedicated to +the rubbish-heap and the annual bon-fire in the Spring. A plant or a +shrub which gives no pleasure either in its form or the color of its +flower, and has no suggestive associations, may do well enough for a +botanical garden. Many of us may like occasionally to look at a +hippopotamus or an elephant in the menagerie, or at the zoological +gardens, but we don't want these specimens brought home to our private +grounds. Some of the <i>sequoia gigantea</i> family do very well in the +forest. Once in a lifetime we can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> afford to make a journey to look at +them. But why undertake to bring home one of these vegetable elephants +as a specimen, when we know that it will require a thousand years for +its growth, and that most of us will come a little short of that measure +of time? Some trees may be planted for posterity, and others may be +safely left to take their chances. If any one wishes to contemplate upon +his grounds a shrub of the future dimensions of one of the Calaveras +group, let him plant it at once. Most of the vegetable monsters went out +with the ichthyosaurus, and as for the few that remain, they will yet be +an affront to the pigmies who are swarming on the earth.</p> + +<p>"Why did we plant cherry trees along the rear fence?" To make friends +with the birds and the children. You can get more songs from the birds, +and more of song and glee from the children, on a small investment in +cherry trees than in any other way. Those last year's birds' nests tell +the story. The robin, thrush, oriole and linnet will come early and stay +late. Groups of children will come in the front way, and will never be +so happy as when invited to go down the rear garden walk, unless in the +supremest moments when they step<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> from your shoulders into the trees, +and never come back until they have closed their fingers on the last +cherry. The man who is not satisfied to divide all his cherries with the +birds and the children is a curmudgeon; notably so is he who plants +cherry trees in front of his lot, and gets into a white heat of rage +because boys of average Sunday school antecedents could not resist the +temptation to borrow the fruit. Besides, the eclectic judgment of +children, the sparrow, the yellow-jacket and the honey-bee will always +tell you where the best nectarines and plums may be found.</p> + +<p>It is well to reserve a nook for little experiments in horticulture or +floriculture which one wishes to make. A great many theories may be +brought home and decently buried, or be made to sprout in such a corner. +The larger the spaces, the more one will be tempted to use the spade at +odd hours; and none of us has yet found out all the remedial qualities +of dry earth freshly turned over day after day. A hard day's work, +taxing brain more than hands, brings on a degree of nervous +irritability. There is a dry electrical atmosphere; the attrition of +trade winds and sand half the year; and the rushing to and fro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> of busy +and excited men, charged as full of electricity as they can hold, and +bent upon charging everybody else, so that at nightfall the sparks will +snap at the finger-ends, and the air will crackle like a brush-heap just +set on fire. Now, the earth is a very good conductor. It is better to +let this surplus electricity run down the fingers on to the spade, and +along its shining steel blade into the ground, than to blow up your best +friend. An hour of honest battle with the weeds is better than any +domestic thunder storm. By that time the sun will have dropped down into +the ocean, just beyond the Golden Gate, glorifying garden and hill-top, +and setting, for a moment, its lamp of flame in the western windows. +Every plant and shrub will have some part in a subtile and soothing +ministry; and then, if ever, it will occur to you that this is a mellow +old world after all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE GARDEN ON THE HILL.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE GARDEN ON THE HILL.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a plausible theory, and given out in a demure and confiding way +by a feminine oracle, that honeysuckle cuttings should each be inserted +in a potato, and so planted. As the scion had no root and needed +moisture, it would be supplied by the potato. It seemed the very thing +to do. The wonder was that so simple an expedient had not been suggested +before. That theory was honestly tested, and it has since been laid on +the top shelf with a great many other feminine theories about +floriculture. Twenty honeysuckle scions were each planted with one end +in an enormous red potato. Never did one of those honeysuckles grow; but +there sprang up such a growth of potatoes as never had been seen on the +hill. They were under the doorstep, under the foundation of the house; +they shot up everywhere. Was that the last of the misadventure? By no +manner of means. In the very porch of the church that daughter of Eve +inquired slily, "How are your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> honeysuckles?" And then she glided in as +if she had done nothing for which she needed forgiveness.</p> + +<p>Certain grafting experiments came out a shade better. But every graft +put in on the south side of a tree died, while those on the north side +nearly all lived. These were protected by some degree of shade, while +the hot sun melted the wax on the south side, which ran down in liquid +streams of resin and poisoned the bark around the cleft. All this might +have been known in advance. But a little modicum of knowledge learned by +costly experience will stick to one through life, while that which costs +nothing is rarely laid up as worth having. It ought to be known, also, +that there is no better plan of grafting a tree than that which our +ancestors followed a hundred years ago, when, with a little moist clay +and top-tow, every scion inserted lived. Then the cider mill was an +orthodox institution in every neighborhood. It is not worth your while +to dissent from that proposition, when you have probably played truant +from a summer school to ride around on the sweep of a cider mill, and +suck the new cider through a straw, being stung the meanwhile +occasionally by a "yellow-jacket." Even now a cider mill by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +roadside, with the sour pomace scattered about, is a humanizing +institution. It will send you back to the old orchard, the great +branching elm, and the wide-spreading roof slanting down in the rear, +quicker than any other sign or symbol to be found along the dusty way of +middle life. For one hour's ride on that sweep, and a nibble at the +spice-apples sliding down the hopper, one might still be consoled for +the dreadful frown of the school mistress, and for that feminine +refinement on purgatorial cruelty which compelled the truant to stand +for an hour on one leg, and to hold out a bible at arm's length in his +dexter hand. An acidulated school mistress, who had been losing her +sweetness for forty years, never was a desirable object to meet, after +having tasted the sweets on a summer day at a cider mill. The hornets +were well enough in their way, but the sting of that school mistress was +not.</p> + +<p>Note, too, that this grafting process reaches over beyond your apple +trees. The best races, or sub-divisions of people, come of the best +stocks which are continually grafted on. Your blue blood is mixed with +more not so blue, or the stock runs out. Down at the root of those apple +trees yonder you may find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> traces of the woolly aphis. It is a sign that +the constitution of such trees has been weakened. Digging down you +remove the aphis, put fresh soil around the tree, scrape the rusty +trunk, cut off the top, and put in two or three grafts from a stock that +has vitality; and very soon this rejuvenated tree, bending under its +weight of fruit in early Autumn, is something of which no amateur +horticulturist need be ashamed. A thoroughbred people will impress +language, law, and custom, as none other can upon the world. It is not +isolation which secures this result, but the taking of many stocks upon +the original trunk. If pulmonary New England is to be physically +resuscitated, it will not come of boasting of revolutionary sires, but +rather because Germans, Irish, Danes and Swedes are thronging all the +avenues of her busy life.</p> + +<p>The transition from grafting to budding is natural enough. Those twenty +white stakes stand as so many monuments of another horticultural +disaster. On a September day, twenty buds, so rare that the original +stock could not be bought at any price, had been deftly slipped into as +many "suckers," which had come out from the roots of as many rose +bushes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> The next Spring they were set and staked, and each was about as +precious as the right eye of any amateur horticulturist. The small buds +had developed into branches a foot long; great double peerless roses had +been hanging pendent from the original stocks—roses with regal names +and titles. There would have been twenty glorified specimens of +floriculture to-day, but for that foreign gardener who had been +"educated in the best schools in Europe," who knew everything, and could +not be told anything. Roses must be cut in to make new wood. Before +night he had clipped those twenty standards each below the bud, and had +taken himself off with his diabolical shears, his insufferable conceit, +and his rustic innocence. He never came back to look at the work of his +hands, nor to hear the wish (mildly expressed) that a pair of shears +might be invented which would shorten the stature of that gardener at +least a foot. There was a special aggravation of the case, because we +had been nursing a theory for years, that by splitting two rose-germs of +different kinds, and putting the odd halves together, if growth could +then be induced, there would be a hybrid rose—either the color of the +one would be distinct on one side, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> the other on the opposite side, +or the rose would be mottled, having red and white spots on each leaf. +This Siamese bud had started finely. Bad luck to the gardener's shears +which had abbreviated that experiment and enveloped the vexed question +again in darkness. But here is a bed of mottled pinks, and these could +have all been the result of crosses. It may be that the humming birds, +going from one blossom to another, have mixed the pollen, or some hidden +law may be active which cannot be traced. Note, too, that besides this +promiscuous fleck of red and white, in not a few instances a single +flower will have the red on one-half and the white on the other. The +florists call this sporting. The same class of facts may be observed in +the double petunias, all of which are hybrids, or nearly so—a purple, +white, and red leaf being found in a single flower. There are apples, +too (or there were twenty years ago), one-half of which were sour and +the other half sweet. The qualities were not interblended, and even the +colors were separate.</p> + +<p>It was a pretty conceit, and mollifying withal, that a feminine florist +connected with pansies: "When you go past them they will turn their +heads<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> toward you, greeting you so lovingly." That little myth might be +strung on the same string with the buttercup, which only reflects its +golden hue upon the chins of those who love June butter.</p> + +<p>That alfalfa experiment is only admitted by special grace under the head +of floriculture, although the lucerne has no lack of handsome blossoms. +A little seed was sprinkled on the ground after the spring rains and +forgotten. When the winter rains came again, that alfalfa reached out +for both the zenith and nadir. Three times a year it is cut to keep it +from falling down. The details are suppressed here, with only an +intimation that they are sufficient for several agricultural addresses. +If that man is a benefactor who has made two blades of grass grow in the +place of one, what is he who has made alfalfa shoot up at the rate of +seven tons to the acre, in the place of miserable sorrel-top? But there +was a discount upon that experiment. The alfalfa drew to it all the +gophers in the neighborhood. They mined and countermined, until the +whole area had been honeycombed. They multiplied by scores and hundreds. +These rodents drew together all the vagrant cats in the neighborhood,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +which made this corner of the garden a common hunting ground. Here upon +this small area was a crop of alfalfa, a crop of gophers—which no man +has numbered to this day—and a crop of cats, as fiercely predatory and +as unrelenting in a skirmish as were ever put in battle array. But +somehow this experiment has not been satisfactory. It has branched out +in too many ways. Two empty arnica bottles suggest the muscular strains +which came from moderating those cats with an occasional volley of +rocks. And at this writing, half a dozen felines are on the fence +looking solemnly down at the sapping and mining which is going on below.</p> + +<p>There are no birds in this region which domesticate so readily as the +linnets, and which improve more on an intimate acquaintance. They are +not so obstreperous as the wren, nor so shy as the lark and the robin. +The latter is a migratory bird, coming down to this latitude only in the +Winter, and going north for a nesting in the Spring. A single robin has +lived in the garden all Winter, becoming nearly as tame as a chicken, +following the man with the spading-fork, and snapping up the worms in a +sharp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> competition with his cousin, the brown thrush. The former, in +place of any song, has a lonesome and fugitive call, as though waiting +for his mate. He is probably a bachelor, who has not yet set up an +establishment of his own. A little girl, having gravely considered the +case, suggests that he ought to send a letter inviting a mate to come. +O, my little friend! oral communication is much more interesting; at +least, it was so in our time. Neither was it considered cowardice if the +heart came up into the throat.</p> + +<p>The linnets are model birds in their domestic life. A pair built a nest +last year under the porch, and, having brought up one family of four and +dismissed them, the pair furbished up the nest again and brought up a +family of four more the same season. They have held secret conferences +over the nest recently, and it evidently falls in with their views of +domestic economy to use it again. It is possible that they appreciated a +little device which we had to adopt for their safety. As the nest was at +the extremity of a festoon of vines, there was nothing to hinder the +house-cat from going up and feasting on callow birds. An odd lot of +trout hooks, fastened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> to the lower vines, operated as a powerful +non-conductor.</p> + +<p>Some years ago, a pair of linnets having made their nest in the porch of +another house, everything went well until the young had just appeared; +then the mother disappeared one night, and the displaced vines in the +morning told the whole story. Four orphan birds appealed to the +sympathies of the young folk. The nest was taken into the house, the +birds carefully covered with cotton, and every effort was made to save +them. They would eat nothing, and, as a last resort, the nest was +replaced in the vines. The father came back soon, talked with his +children, brooded them, fed them day after day, brought them up to +maturity, and turned out as prosperous a family of young linnets as +there was in that neighborhood. Mr. Linnet can have the most positive +certificate of rare domestic virtues. There is the slight drawback that +he paints, does all the singing, and is rather vain; while Mrs. Linnet +is a plain, unassuming bird, always clad in gray, and is not up in +music. All through the realm of ornithology the male bird has the +brightest colors and does the singing. But analogy is all at fault when +you come to men and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> women. Who puts on all the bright colors here, +paints, and carols upon the topmost bough of the domestic tree? By what +law has this order been reversed? And yet the sum of your political +economy is, that a woman who can dress more, use pigments more +cunningly, and talk faster, and sing better than a man, shall not vote! +Is that the way to set up your ideal republic?</p> + +<p>One may learn secrets of ornithology in the garden which the books will +not yield up. That boy coming up the rear garden walk, who has swung +himself into a pear tree to look into the nest of a finch, has done the +same thing consecutively on a dozen mornings. He will be able to tell +just how many days are required for incubation, and how many days +intervene before the birds are full-fledged. I should have had more hope +for him as a future ornithologist, had not the young heathen asked for +the eggs to put upon his string. There is not such a great difference, +after all, between an Apache with a string of scalps at his belt, and a +school boy with his string of birds' eggs. If it were not for that +infernal cruelty which has been inbred by false teaching, or no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +teaching, our relations with all the lower forms of life would be +intimate and confidential, instead of suspicious and oftentimes +revolting. One can match the worst specimens of cannibalism by pointing +out strings of larks hung up by their bills any day in the market. I +know of no cannibal who ever became ferocious enough to eat singing +birds, or to find pleasure in killing them.</p> + +<p>There are two or three notes in the song of the lark which are not +surpassed in sweetness by any of the oriole or finch family. If one will +take a dash into the country some bright morning, on horseback, and note +how this joyous bird goes before him, alighting on the fence and calling +down a benediction from the heavens, either he will come back filled +with gladness, or his liver trouble has got the best of him. All the +song birds of much note in this State may be assigned to the three +families of thrushes, orioles and finches. In the first of these we have +the robin; in the second, the lark; and in the third, the linnet. The +sub-families will reach nearly a hundred, and there is not one of them +which will not pay in songs and in the destruction of insects for all +the mischief he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> does. Now, a bird that pays his bills in advance, has a +right to protection. Observe, too, how soon they recognize any attempt +to establish friendly relations with them. Last year a finch had her +feet entangled by a string with which she had lined her nest. A little +help rendered to set her free, made her an intimate friend, and a +shallow pan of water in the grass drew daily dividends of fresh songs. A +box with a few holes in it, set on a post, will not remain empty a year; +either the blue-birds or the martins will take possession of it.</p> + +<p>A garden ought to be planned as much for the birds as for lawns and +flowers. The hedges will afford hiding-places for timid birds, and shade +on hot days. The tall trees will furnish perches when they want to sing; +and a well-fed bird, that has no family trouble on hand, wants to sing +nearly all his leisure time. As for the cherries and small fruits, the +birds are only gentle communists. If we cannot tolerate a division made +with all the inspiration of song, and which leaves us at least one side +of the cherry, how are we to tolerate that division predicted by some of +the labor prophets, if made with the music of paving-stones and much +fragile crockery?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>One cannot go far into the woods in any direction without observing what +a protest all the birds utter at first. There are harsh screams, sharp +notes of warning, and general scolding. Now, every bird has a great deal +of curiosity to take a look at strangers. For a time they flit about in +the tall tree-tops, and afterward begin to hop down to lower limbs, and, +gradually descending, come to the ground, or on to low bushes. By +remaining quiet an hour or two, a dozen or more will circle around +within a few feet, turning their heads on one side occasionally, and +quizzing in a saucy, merry way. In a little while one may be on intimate +terms with the very birds which protested so loudly at his coming. They +will tell him a great many secrets. The leaves of his book on +ornithology may be a quarter of a mile square, but what can not be read +on one day may be read on some other. Even an owl burrowing with a +ground-squirrel, and both agreeing very well as tenants in common with a +rattlesnake, may suggest questions of affinity and community which it +might be inconvenient to answer at once. If you prefer to have some +readings in a book of nature, you can turn down a leaf and go back the +next day with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> certainty that no one has lugged off the volume. And +if your finger-mark is a tree 250 feet high, there will be no great +difficulty in finding the place.</p> + +<p>But a garden of a single acre can only be at most, a diamond edition of +nature. A great deal must be left out. The owl, as a singing-bird, is +not wanted; and, although tadpoles may be raised in the little +fish-pond, it is not expected that the hippopotamus will come there to +wallow. The birds must of necessity be few and select. If the lark +sometimes sings at sunrise on the lower fence, and the thrush and the +linnet bid you good morning out of the nearest tree-tops, you will not +fail to respond, unless on that particular morning when you especially +need an extract of dandelion; and that will generally happen when the +golden blossoms can be found along the way-side. It might be well, also, +to leave a little nook for sage and worm-wood. They are not only +handsome plants in their way, but the average wisdom of any grandmother +will unfold their remedial properties.</p> + +<p>There are seven well-defined species of humming-birds to be found in +this State, and two or three more not described, except in the +unpublished notes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> of Grayson. None of these birds are singers; the best +they can do is to make a noise like the turning of a small +ratchet-wheel. But somehow, this ungenial, obstreperous little bird, +darting in a saucy way close to one's ears, and then, balancing over a +flower, never ceases to excite interest. He might have dropped out of +Paradise, if it were not for his temper, which lacks any heavenly +quality, and for his song, which would soon raise a mutiny above or +below. He is a half unreal bird; and we do not know what soul in a +transition state may be lodged in his little body. There are a great +many souls small enough to occupy it. Now, the house-cat had been +taught, after a long time, to respect birds, and that to look longingly +at a humming-bird was something akin to sacrilege. But original sin, or +instinct, was always ready to break out at the sight of a humming-bird. +One evening she trotted down the garden walk with head up and a +diminutive bird in her mouth. It took a lively turn of three times or +more around that acre lot to overhaul that cat; nor was it done until +the pursuer was thoroughly red in the face and blown, having just +strength enough left to gripe her by the throat and make her let go. It +was the poorest job of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> bird-philanthropy ever done in that garden. +There was nothing to reward a merciful man but a humming miller, of just +the size and finish, from bill to wings, of a humming-bird, but only an +ugly bug as to his posterior half—a creature with his head and wings +over in the realms of ornithology, and the rest of his ugly body still +in the field of entomology. The quality of mercy is strained which +undertakes to protect any such half-formed work of creation. When, +therefore, a few evenings afterward, a <i>shrike</i>, or butcher-bird, came +into the garden, devoured half a dozen of these bogus humming-birds, and +hung up as many more on the thorns of a honey-locust, that circumstance +suggested no doubt about the eternal fitness of things.</p> + +<p>The quail is easily domesticated in any garden, and, if protected, will +become as tame as the chickens. I have more than once seen them run +where a hen was scratching, and pick up whatever could be found. Some +years ago, while mowing the grass around the edges of another garden, a +nest was discovered containing a dozen hen's eggs and <i>seventeen</i> +quail's eggs. The village <i>savants</i> never did fairly settle the +questions raised about that nest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> Did the hen have the prior right, +first choosing the place and making the nest? or did the quail pre-empt, +and was the hen an unlawful squatter? Did they lay on alternate days, or +concurrently as to time? And how did the eggs get that arrangement by +which all the crevices were filled with the smaller ones? And which did +the incubating? The quail could not cover the nest. But nearly all the +eggs of both sorts were ultimately hatched. It had been settled before +that time, by our system of patriarchial jurisprudence, that the issue +followed the condition of the mother. The chicks respected that +principle, since so rudely questioned, and each followed its mother, so +that substantial justice was done, and the heavens did not fall.</p> + +<p>No garden is well stocked without a pair or two of toads. They will +learn to distinguish your foot-steps from those of a stranger, as they +come out at twilight. The toad is a philosopher, and is the most +self-contained of all living things. He meditates all day in the shade, +and takes his dinner promptly at twilight. That dinner may require a +thousand insects. The dart of his tongue is never made amiss. If you +cannot cultivate him for his beauty—and there may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> be a doubt on that +score—you can tolerate him for his honest work. There is some cant +about the ugliness of the toad that you would not respect when you have +taught a pair to come out of their hiding places at your call, have +given them pet names, and have seen them slay the remorseless mosquito. +If you step on one after nightfall, it will be useless to objurgate. You +cannot provoke him to talk back.</p> + +<p>Consider what an advantage the toad has in another respect. He not only +hibernates a part of the year, and thus saves his board-bills, but he +has been known to suspend active life for a quarter of a century or +more; as when, getting into a hollow tree, the orifice has been filled +up, or he has been wedged in the cleft of a rock. But when restored, he +resumes life with no inconvenience to his digestion. What might be +gained if one only had the vitality of this batrachian! You have been +overtaken by a stupidly dull era, or are disgusted with life. What an +advantage to call on some friend to pack you away in ice, and to thaw +you out only when the next quarter-century bell rings! Since we cannot +go safely over this bridge with the batrachian, it is not well to put +such a discount on his ugliness, nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> is it well to be too exclamatory, +if you tread on him in the twilight.</p> + +<p>The garden is the place to test a great many pretty theories. And what +if some of them fail? Is not the sum of our knowledge derived from +failures, greater than all we have ever gained by successes? A feminine +oracle, not content with her honeysuckle theory, had said: "You must not +pull up a plant nor a vine that springs up spontaneously. Let it grow. +There is luck in it." When, therefore, a melon-vine made its appearance +quite in the wrong place, it was spared through the wisdom of that +oracle. It went sprawling over the ground, choking more delicate plants, +and rioting day by day in the warm sun and the rich loam underneath. +Nearly all its blossoms fell off without fruitage. One melon took up all +the life of the vine, and grew wonderfully. There had been tape-line +measurements without number. When it gave out a satisfactory sound by +snapping it with thumb and finger, and the nearest tendril had dried up, +it was held to be fully ripe. It was <i>very</i> ripe. A gopher had mined +under that melon, and, not content with eating out the entire pulp, had, +in the very wantonness of his deviltry, tamped the shell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> full of dirt! +Where was the luck in this spontaneous growth? Nor did the matter end +here. Sometime thereafter the following note, written in a feminine +hand, was found pinned to that shell:</p> + +<p class="bqright">"<span class="smcap">Garden on the Hill</span>, August 20, 187—.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">"<span class="smcap">Mr. B</span>——: <i>Dear Sir</i>—Since you have had the benefit of my +discovery of the new method of planting honeysuckles inserted in +potatoes, and you have also tested my theory of the luck there is in +melon-vines of spontaneous growth, it has occurred to me that you +would fully appreciate my skill and attainments. Now, I expect to be +a candidate for the Chair of Horticulture and Floriculture in the +University. I must have strong recommendations. Will you be kind +enough to furnish me a certificate in which full justice is done to +my attainments? My success may hinge on that certificate. Make it as +strong as you can with a good conscience.</p> + +<p class="bqright"><span class="smcap">Agrapina.</span></p> + +<p class="blockquot">P. S.—I forgot to tell you that if you had pinched out the eyes of +the tubers in that first experiment, while you would have had less +potatoes, you might not have had any more honeysuckles."</p> + +<p class="bqright">A.</p> + +<p>That certificate was fully prepared. If we know anything about our +mother tongue, the qualifications of the applicant were fully set out. +Singularly enough, she has never applied in person for the document.</p> + +<p>The almond tree is worthy of a place in every garden, even if it never +fruits. The pale blush of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> its blossoms is the herald of Spring. In the +warm days of February it puts on a pink dress, and is glorified. The +bees come out, lured evidently by the scent of its flowers; but they +flit about in a fugitive way, as if not satisfied with what they had +found. There are small resources of honey in the almond blossoms; so +much might be learned from the spiteful way in which the humming-birds +darted off after sounding a little with their long bills. Something like +one almond came to maturity for every thousand buds which unfolded in +the early Spring. Two or three hundred "paper shells" clung to the tree +hard by the library door, in the late Autumn. Whatever had been the +fortune of other almond growers, here was a crop by an amateur. It was +of no consequence that there had been a great discrepancy between +flowers and fruit. Precious things are never abundant. No, by no manner +of means, were these almonds to grace any Thanksgiving table. Let thanks +be given for the brown shells clinging to the tree, and for whatever of +internal good this outwardness might suggest. And not least, for the +humming-bird's nest on the end of a pendent limb, so like a warty +excrescence of the tree as not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> be observed by careless eyes—and for +that mutual confidence when curly-headed children were lifted up, and +birds and children communed face to face, chirruped, and were glad.</p> + +<p>"What became of the almonds?" There was a case of misplaced confidence. +It was well enough that the finch, the linnet, the chat and the sparrow, +had plucked the cherries, sampled the plums, and had taken kindly to the +mellow side of the pears. December had come. Only here and there a +fugitive gross-beak flitted about—a bird with a wonderful capacity for +mellow song, but silent, as if never a note had gone out of his +capacious throat and chubby bill. Perhaps they could be induced to sing +in midwinter if confidence could be established. Half a dozen almonds +were laid on the walk, which a pair of gross-beaks "shucked" with +wonderful facility. That stout, short beak is fitted for a nut eater. +Half an hour afterward there were twenty gross-beaks on that almond +tree; and forty minutes later, they had stored every almond in their +crops, cutting away the shells as deftly as one could do with a sharp +knife. So tame and bold were they that one could have nearly reached +them with his hand. Not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> a note was given in return, nothing but a +twitter, as much as to say, "This is a royal dinner; there were just +enough nuts to go round." And then they went off silently into the blue +sky.</p> + +<p>The first man, being historically and traditionally perfect, had a +garden as his noblest allotment. The farther the race drifts away from +the cultivation of the soil, the nearer it gets to barbarism. The Apache +is not a good horticulturist, and therefore there is no gentleness in +his blood. Teach him to love and cultivate a garden, and he is no longer +a savage. The best thought and the best inspiration may come to one when +all the gentler ministries of his garden wait upon him—when the soul of +things is concurrent with his own, and bee and almond blossom, the rose, +and the smallest song-sparrow in the tree-top, are revelators and +instructors.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE HOMESTEAD BY THE SEA.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE HOMESTEAD BY THE SEA.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> sighing and respiration of the great sea to-day was wonderfully +soothing, until there was a series of dull explosions, like the +percussion of far-off gunnery. One may hear these sounds on a still +midsummer day, or at midnight, when the sea is pulsing and breaking +along the shore line. It required two hours to find out the secret. +Along these chalk cliffs there are great caverns, wind and wave worn. +Standing near the mouth of one of them, a "boomer" came surging along, +and placed its watery seal over the mouth, driving and pressing the +atmosphere before it. When the seal was broken there was an explosion +like a gun seaward. The turn of the tide is frequently marked by a +series of these boomers, and then there is a suggestion of a park of +artillery under the cliffs, and the long roll is beaten along the shore. +All discoveries are simple enough when once the secret has been found +out. How many men walk along the edge of a discovery all their lives, +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> never quite enter into the promised land! Some blundering successor +stumbles into the fruition of the great secret. There are men within +bow-shot of prizes as magnificent as ever crowned human research; but +they will go no farther. Columbus rested at the Antilles; the continent +was just beyond. If you have got as far as the islands, it may be well, +before you give up the search, to look at the sea-weeds and drift-wood, +whether they do not come from the mainland. Having gathered and cooked +the mussels, you might as well stay and eat them as to have another eat +them and throw the shells after you. Charles Lamb discourseth about the +mussel wisely: "Traveling is not good for us; we travel so seldom. How +much more dignified leisure hath a mussel, glued to his impassable rocky +limit, two inches square! He hears the tide roll over him backward and +forward twice a day (as the Salisbury coach goes and returns in eight +and forty hours), but knows better than to take an outside place on the +top of it. He is the owl of the sea, Minerva's fish, the fish of +wisdom." And yet the mussel can travel, and if detached will seek out a +new location, and by means of its silken beard, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> byssus threads, +which it can weave in a few minutes, anchor itself anew to the rock. It +has two enemies: The whelk, a sort of univalve mussel wolf, which bores +a hole through the shell about the size of a pin, and sucks the life +out; then there is a species of sea-gull which, when all other resources +fail, plucks off the mussels, and, rising high enough, dashes them on +the rocks; from which circumstance Æsop may, or may not, have invented +his story of an eagle dashing a tortoise on the shining crown of a +bald-headed man.</p> + +<p>Yonder, where the surf frets the shore and pencils a dark line of kelp, +look for the star-fish and the limpet, and for mosses in ultramarine and +carmine such as no florist can match from his garden. And what is the +sea but a treasure-house of palms and ferns, of corals, and of lilies +which no eye hath seen, and royal highways, under whose arches there is +an eternal procession of living things, and glorious mausoleums for the +dead? This maritime discourse was somewhat abbreviated, because the +youngster for whose benefit it had been made suddenly disappeared behind +the rocks. He had begun some experiments on his own account. He had +found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> out that the abalone which cleaves to the rocks has a wonderful +suction, and the pinching of his finger between the shell and the rock, +as in the vice of a blacksmith, extorted a wholesome yell and kept him +in a grave and thoughtful frame of mind for five minutes. Anemones +abound in all the rocky pools, spongy, unfolding at the top and closing +quickly at the touch, the lowest form of sentient life, but knowing what +is what. This youngster takes his second lesson in natural history by +dropping in a mussel, when the anemone closes over it, and in a few +minutes thereafter throws out an empty shell; but when the young rogue +dropped in a stone, it was thrown out in a contemptuous way, as if the +anemone had long ago understood the trick and was not to be deceived by +naughty boys.</p> + +<p>The star-fish comes in with the drift, as if he were altogether +helpless; but, dull and inert as he seems, he watches tides and +opportunities. Like the whelk, he loves the bivalve mollusk, but does +not bore for it. There is a theory that he holds his five fingers +affectionately around the clam or oyster, and then, by the aid of a sort +of marine chloroform, secures an opening, when in goes one of the five +fingers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> and the mollusk is forced to shell out. There is a beautiful +combination of persuasion and force. The sedative is tried first, and +the pressure afterward. It is a pity that some such process could not be +tried on that class of human mollusks whose shells have closed over +their millions with an unrelenting grip. Some day their empty shells may +be cast up on the other shore. It might be better for them that a +star-fish should insert one of his fingers before the drift period +begins.</p> + +<p>In the chalk bluff, more than forty feet from high-water mark, is the +vertebrę of a whale distinctly outlined. This monarch of the seas +selected his tomb with some reference to the fitness of things. The +Egyptian monarchs built for themselves granite tombs; but the whale lay +down on the ooze, and the infusoria of five thousand years or more built +around and above him. He was grandly inurned, and lifted up out of the +sea by such a force as no living or dead Pharaoh could command. In the +matter of royal sepulture, it is certain that the whale had an immense +advantage. But after three or four thousand years, the defunct monarchs +of sea and land are mainly valuable for bone-dust, and are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> rather poor +fertilizers at best. From the hill one may see whales gambol in the Bay +of Monterey, in the early Spring months. What a great laundry +establishment these fellows might set up, if they only knew how to +utilize their power! At present, these columns of spray blown into the +horizon are only picturesque. There is a grave suspicion that the +friend, whose Mongol servant blew the spray from his mouth into the +sponge to be set for bread, would have much preferred that the whale had +performed that office. Years ago, one of these monsters was seen +floundering about in the bay all day long, as though in great distress. +The following night he drifted ashore, dead. The great hulk had no mark +of the sword-fish or the whaleman's lance. The sailors said that he was +worried, teased, and finally hunted to death, by a fish called a +"bummer." How strikingly human-like was the experience of the dead +mammal!</p> + +<p>There was a strange fascination about two wrecked vessels, whose timber +heads could be seen above the sand. Sometimes, in a storm, they would +get adrift. So weird like and mysteriously did they rise and fall on the +surging sea, appearing and disappearing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> thrusting their timbers out +like arms imploring help, that one might fancy they were the spirits of +these lost vessels coming back to protest against this broken rest. How +strangely they accented the storm! When it subsided they would bring up +at the old place, and the sand would bury them again. There was an odd +genius in the town who claimed these wrecks by pre-emption. When his +finances were low, and creditors pressed for small bills, he made his +payments conditioned, as to time, on the coming of the next storm which +would unbury the wrecks. Providence saved him a deal of hard shoveling, +by raising the wind for him. Then he drew out copper bolts enough from +the wreck to liquidate his bills, but gathered no surplus. Hath not many +a mine been exhausted by indiscreet development? As long as that copper +lasted, "Bob" paid his debts periodically. If he has not yet drawn his +last copper bolt, he is still entitled to the financial confidence of +this trading and huckstering world.</p> + +<p>These round holes in the hard rocks are wrought deftly by the <i>Pholas</i>, +a little bivalve, which, by means of its rasping shell and strong, +elastic foot, keeps up the attrition, grinding away day and night until +his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> excavation is perfect. It fits him on all sides, and he is content +to live and die there. How much better is his condition than that of +round men who have been trying all their lives to fit themselves into +square holes, and square men who never could adjust themselves to round +holes. The <i>Pholas</i> has found his place, and therefore may be ahead in +the race. There was a famous theologian of the last century, who, +sitting at his desk year after year, wrestling with problems which +neither he nor any other mortal ever understood, ground the floor of his +little study, by the attrition of his feet, until it was nearly worn +through. His footprints are still preserved as sacred relics. Nor ought +the inquiry to be pressed now whether the hole which the <i>Pholas</i> +wrought with his foot, or the hole which the theologian ground with his +foot, was the better or more permanent one. If the question is at all +pertinent, it may be ripe for an answer a thousand years hence.</p> + +<p>When the tide is out, one may find the razor-fish, so called because the +shell resembles the handle of a razor. If laid hold of suddenly, the +chances are that before he can be drawn out he will slip out of his +shell, leaving that empty in the hand, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> "soul and essence" of +him has gone down half a fathom into the sand. Yet he is not more +slippery than many an individual, who, when pressed to do some +magnanimous deed in behalf of the community, slips out of his shell, +and, losing the grip, you can no more find the soul and essence of him +than you can find the soul of this razor-fish, which has gone deep into +the muck and sand. In either instance, the empty shell is only the sign +of the thing wanted.</p> + +<p>If it were not for this eternal scene-shifting, the monotony of the sea +might be oppressive. But every change of the wind, and every drifting +cloud across the sky, gives a new blending of color and tone. If +to-morrow the south wind shall blow, or a gale come piping down from the +north, the face of the deep will have been created anew, as much so, in +an ęsthetic view, as if it had been poured out for the first time on the +surface of the globe. Is there not a perpetual series of creations on +both sea and land? The waters are taken up in the clouds, and poured out +again. Mountains are disintegrated, and go down to the valleys, but +other mountains are lifted up out of the sea and out of the arid plains. +Climbing a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> hill, more than four hundred feet above the surface of the +water, and five miles inland from the present shore line, one may find +thousands of marine shells, many of mollusks not yet extinct as species, +and read on the face of this conglomerate, as in open volume, the record +of a physical creation, whether by the subsidence of the sea or the +elevation of the land, as fresh, geologically, as if all this had +occurred but a century ago. This world of waters creates no sense of +isolation. Observe, too, that whoever has been born and bred by the +shore will evermore look out on the sea and be glad. A sail is better +than a horse, and the breaking of the waves hath more majesty and a +diviner music than any organ touched by human hands. <i>Mem.</i>: the man who +has gone over the rocks, and is filling his pockets with mussels in a +furtive sort of a way, is from the interior. He wants salting. He is +looking out drift wood, and will strike a match presently. Let him +fancy, if he will, that his feast is fit for the gods. To-night he will +probably dream that one of these wrecks, covered with barnacles and +sea-weed, has rolled over, and is lying athwart his capacious +diaphragm.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>The Patriarch went out into the fields at eventide. Was it any the worse +for him that his meditations were gilded with a touch of romance? What +if he thought less of the lilies of the field, and more of the veiled +lily from Nahor? Was not that human? So we go down to the seashore as +the soft twilight comes on apace, and think it no worse that the voices +of lovers blend with the cadence of waters. If there is no higher +inspiration for them, let Isaac speak to Rebecca. It is little to them +that there is a blush in the horizon, and that a moment ago the sea was +opalescent, and the mountains put on and off their royal vestments of +purple.</p> + +<p>This homestead by the sea was an accident. It was the result of a bit of +facetiousness, that had a solemn termination, as it were. Riding past +the court-house in Santa Cruz, nineteen years ago, when that town had +not as many hundred people, the wag of a sheriff was dividing his time +between crying a ranch at public sale, to close an estate, and whittling +a stick. No bids for the last hour. Would the citizen on horseback halt +a minute and accommodate him with a bid, just to relieve the dullness of +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> occasion? The last bid was raised five dollars. What did that +madcap of a sheriff do but slap his hands together and declare that the +estate was sold. There have been earthquakes which were inconveniently +sudden, and thunder-claps from a clear sky; but such an investiture of +real property had not been known in many a day. The sheriff shut up his +jack-knife; the bystanders closed theirs, and they all went round the +corner, as they said, to consult a barometer—a proceeding which that +official never did fully explain. When one has been overtaken by a +surprise, a climax, or even a joke, which has at the bottom of it such a +flavor of real estate, it is best to sleep on it for one night, and take +a fresh view of the situation on the following day. Does not the ideal +country estate in some way enter into the sleeping or waking dreams of +most sanguine men? There are to be many broad acres, parks, and +fountains, orchards drooping with fruit; vineyards creeping up the +hillsides; a trout stream in which "chubs" greatly abound; a capacious +mansion, with hospitable doors swinging open as if by instinct on the +approach of friends; barns filled with fragrant hay; thoroughbred stock, +from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> horse down to the dog and cat; Alderney cows, coming up at +night with cream in their horns, mild-eyed and gentle, with breath as +sweet as the wild clover they had eaten; gilt-edged butter, not handed +round in pats as large as a shilling, for admiration, but set forth in +solid cubes, like gold which had been honestly assayed and run into +ingots; strawberries perennial, and always smothered in cream; +bellflowers and pippins, ripening in the Autumn sun; scientific farming, +not for profit, but just to demonstrate how it can be done; long, +tranquil days, restful and full of indescribable peace, when bees go +droning by, and the perfume of the orchard comes in at the open windows. +That is pretty nearly an outline of your dream, with some minor +variation of details thrown in; such, for instance, as a great chamber +looking toward the rising sun, where the one epic poem of the nineteenth +century is to be written. Are there some twinges of pain about the heart +that this dream has never been quite realized? Consider for a moment +that heaven, so far as it relates to this world, is for the most part an +ideal conception. It is not what one has reduced to possession, but what +he hopes to have. Now, one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> can put a great deal of heaven into the +ideal country home, and not realize largely on the investment. If the +strawberries cost a dollar apiece, and the favorite horse has a trick of +putting his heels up toward the stars, the chickens stagger about with +the gapes, and the phylloxera browns the vineyard as if a subterranean +fire had been burning at the roots, these touches of realism may chasten +the expectations somewhat, and at the same time serve to plant the +amateur farmer more firmly on his feet. It is a pity that the world +could not be enriched by the experience of the gilt-edged farmer from +the city. What is most wanted is a book of failures—an honest filling +in of the blanks between the ideal and real country life.</p> + +<p>A survey of the new purchase disclosed a number of particulars; and, +among others, that a dead man's pre-emption claim, when sold under the +form of law, passes a rather shadowy title to the buyer. It was needful +to become a constructive pre-emptor, and to exhort a number of +impenitent squatters to early penitence and reformation. The Saxon's +hunger for land is generally matched by his appetite for land stealing. +If two parcels of land of equal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> area and value be shown him, one +already claimed and the other open to settlement, the chances are that +this descendant of ancient land-robbers would much prefer to pounce on +the land already occupied, and fight it out. If he is not reconstructed +in his inmost soul, he will always be wanting his neighbor's vineyard. +The new purchase met all ęsthetic requirements. It was on the edge of +the town, and hardly more than a mile from the sea. It had a grove in +the foreground, a trout stream on either side, with a fringe of tall +redwoods, a backing of mountains, and a water view comprising the whole +of Monterey Bay, and as much of the ocean as the eye could reduce to +constructive possession. Not a fence to mark a boundary; but the +two-room shanty, with its great stone chimney on the outside, loomed up +like a palace. There was a fire-place which yawned like an immense cave. +An old rifle-barrel, planted in the chimney, served well enough as a +crane. The opening at the top was liberally adjusted for astronomical +observations, but had been slightly abridged by the nest of a pair of +gray wood squirrels, which kept up a perpetual racing on the dry roof at +night.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>It is not probable that the primitive man had any such house to await +his coming; and having his constitution adjusted to a tropical climate +at the outset, he had little use for a stone fire-place where the +back-log lasted a week. It would furnish a curious commentary on the +evolution of dwellings if one could establish the fact that the first +house was built of <i>adobes</i>, like those which one now sees along the +bluff of the Branciforte, and which have more than one quality of the +perfect country house. A breastwork of earth might have been raised +first, to break off tempests; afterward, it would have four sides, then +perhaps a thatch of palm leaves—and the primitive <i>adobe</i> dwelling +stood in its glory. In such a habitation the sun could not smite by day, +and only the fleas could smite powerfully at night. If any learned +archęologist finds fault with this theory, let him make a better one out +of <i>adobes</i> if he can.</p> + +<p>It was an odd circumstance that the grove had been the chosen place for +many a camp meeting, the board buildings still remaining; while on the +opposite side an eccentric African had occupied for many years a hut, +and led a sort of mystic life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> He was skillful in compounding simples, +the potency of which was greatly increased by his incantations. It was +even said that he had the gift of hoo-dooing, and always kept the roughs +at bay by threatening to fix his eye on them. There was a trace of +orthodoxy in his methods—since, if the wicked cannot be won by love, +they can sometimes be scared into decency by sending the devil after +them. Here were signs of grace on one side, and diabolism on the other. +But neither effected much in "Squabble Hollow," two miles beyond. It is +a pity that the African had not done a little hoo-dooing up there among +the pioneers, so that the reign of peace might have set in at an earlier +day. It is quiet enough now, because Time, with his scythe, has cut a +clean swath there.</p> + +<p>If one has planted his own orchard, he will eat the fruit with greater +satisfaction. He will have an affection for the trees which he once +carried under his arm, and will trim them tenderly in the spring. +Whoever ate the cherries which he bought in the market with such secret +satisfaction as those which he plucked from his own trees in the early +morning? If your neighbor invites you to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> cherry orchard, he honors +you above kings. It is doubtful if royalty ever poised itself on a +rickety chair, or reached for cherries so deftly as that school girl, +who read her graduating essay, with pendent blue ribbons, last month. +She is not greatly changed now, except that her mouth has increased +about a hundred per cent. Every tree which one sets with his own hands +is better than those which the hireling and stranger have set. He +establishes secret relations with it, communes with it, eats of the +fruit as if the tree itself rejoiced in bestowing such a benediction. +When the apples fall to the ground, in the still autumn day, it is as if +they dropped from the opening heavens. Every one is the symbol of +wisdom, and hath, in its malic acid, a subtile essence, which carries +health to the morbid liver. And no individual is ever wise when that +organ is in trouble, or, at least, he has an unhappy way of expressing +his wisdom. From this sanitary point of view, it will accord with a +healthy conscience if a little cider mill is set up under the +wide-branching oak hard by. If you have any scruples, you need not taste +of the cider, but you can smell of the pomace,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> and note how the bees +and yellow-jackets are drawn to it for honey. The bees go in a straight +line to a knot-hole in the dead top of a redwood tree. The taking up of +a wild swarm, which had stored honey in another tree, was not a happy +experiment. When the tree came down, there was a black, boiling mass of +enraged bees. No lack of honey. But if one wishes to know what is meant +by the "iron entering into the soul," let a dozen bees go under his +necktie, and prod him along his back—the last one, by way of a tiger, +prodding the tip of his nose, because at that very instant one must +sneeze or die. How can one tell what is sweet except there be some +bitterness in contrast? It was evident that old dog "Samson," who +dropped his tail and yelled when the bees lit on him, was not given to +much philosophical reflection; but the speed of that disconsolate cur +was mightily helped on his way back to the kennel. If an invitation were +now extended to him to take up another hive, he would do nothing more +than wave his tail and send regrets.</p> + +<p>That platform in the grove is maintained for the benefit of free speech, +with reasonable limitations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> Clerical and political orators have had +their day there. In short, it is the platform of all nations, newly +consecrated every summer by the rhythmic feet and gleesome voices of +childhood. Then, if ever, the oak and madrono spread their branches of +perpetual green over such more tenderly, as symbols of the immortal +freshness of youth. Is not this succession of life from chaos eternal, +and the race itself only in its infancy? Neither the woodman's axe nor +the fire could take the vitality out of that redwood stump, for the +saplings have sprung out of its clefts, and the old roots are sending +these new spires up toward the heavens. As little does the destruction +of a nation affect the genesis of the race, or its everlasting +succession. The orchard is the symbol of peace, abundance, the +mellowness of life. It is the sign of a gentle civilization grafted on +to the wildness of nature. The wild blackberry and strawberry, which +grow along the fences and hedgerows, have an aboriginal flavor. When +they are domesticated they are a hundredfold better. The wild trees of +the forest take to themselves new qualities when set in the open +grounds. The ship built of "pasture oak"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> is a better craft, because the +toughness of fiber of such trees was gained in the open field, where +they had given shelter to ruminating cows. Was not the yew tree, which +grew about the ancestral homes generations ago, chosen for the cross-bow +because of its toughness and elasticity? This solitary ash by the fence +is more lithe and graceful for its introduction to domestic life; and +this wide-branching oak before the door, casting now its shadows aslant, +made handsome obeisance to the earthquake, sweeping the ground with its +lateral branches. Not a fracture of one of its elastic limbs; but that +ancient stone chimney rumbled fearfully, and stood apart in moody +isolation. When the dog abandons the civilized community and hears no +human speech, he loses his bark. The lowest type of humanity has only a +few guttural sounds. The civilized master follows the condition of his +dog—that is, if he be cast on some solitary island, he gradually loses +his speech. Dog and man have finally gone back to dumb nature. Why is +the fruit of the ancient pear tree, standing by some deserted homestead +of ante-revolutionary days, more acrid and pungent than it was a hundred +years ago? It had lost association<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> with human kind. If one could grasp +the sweeter subtleties of Nature, he might find a gracious accord, a +point of sympathetic contact, where the mellowness of the individual, +the rich and generous juices of his nature, give a finer quality to the +fruits of the trees which he has planted. Something may come back to +him, also, in the aroma of the orchard, helping him by its fragrance to +a gentler and more thoughtful life.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/deco_002.png" alt="" /></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SUBURBAN ETCHINGS.</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">SUBURBAN ETCHINGS.</span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> accords with the folk-lore, or traditions of the "Hill," that one +must not offer violence to a black cat. Now it happened that in the +season of spring chickens—in the very callow time of their existence—a +vagrant cat installed himself in the garden. Charcoal was grey in +contrast with the depth of his blackness; and his yellow eyes were +flanked by jowls indicating that he fared sumptuously. If a cat of this +hue is a symbol of evil, why not induce him to move on at once? +"Bridget" was questioned for a satisfactory answer. "Because you +mustn't. It is bad luck to harm a black cat." And so this superstition +from the heart of the African continent was respected for a time. There +might be some occult influence by which the cat propagated the +superstition; creating it and living, as it were, in its very +atmosphere. Hoodooing possibly is not confined to Africans. It has some +relation to blackness, midnight, weird and mysterious eyes. This +prowling feline may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> have in him the spirit of mischief. A symbol of +evil may sometimes be the thing itself. It is a strange custom to mourn +for lost friends by wearing black. What more natural interpretation than +that the wearer also is dead? Whereas the "heathen" have hit upon a +better symbol, wearing white for the loss of friends, signifying that +they have entered into light, that the world itself is all luminous for +the living.</p> + +<p>Now that cat, the spirit and essence of darkness, the forerunner of +diabolism, was true to the symbol. What did he do but leap over a high +fence every morning and take from the inclosure the tenderest of spring +chickens. Then an hour afterward he would go down the garden walk for a +greeting, as if he were not a knave and a hypocrite, arching his back +and curving his tail beautifully, rubbing his sleek coat against one and +looking up in the face as much as to say, "The only honest trades in the +world are yours and mine." It is true that the business economy of the +world is mainly a system of reprisals. But there ought to be a spiritual +economy which should teach something better. It is evident that this cat +must be converted with other than spiritual weapons. In a millennial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +sense shotguns, no doubt, may become "organ pipes of peace," and even +now they may be used to project a sermon to a considerable distance. One +by one that brood of chickens disappeared, and another was just coming +off. A neighbor was consulted as to the best manner of getting around +the superstition that no harm must be done to a black cat. The case was +plain enough. He had a beautiful breech-loading shotgun, costing, he +suggested, a hundred and twenty dollars. All that was necessary to be +done in the premises was to exhort that marauder with that gun. He would +show us how to use it. Then followed a drill in its use. The cartridges +went in at the breech, an eye was to be squinted along the barrel—and +then came the crisis. What a beautiful implement! And how wonderful the +contrast with the old Queen's arm, the relic of revolutionary days +stored in the garret, with its flint lock, priming wire and muzzle, into +which went five fingers of powder and shot, and one of wads! That gun, +the use of which was always interdicted to small boys, had been let down +from the garret window many a time by a toe-string manufactured for the +occasion, and the first hint which maternal government<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> got of that +sleight of hand was a report in the nearest woods, which all the heavens +echoed to the old homestead. That honest revolutionary piece would not +lie. It spoke the truth even if we had to suffer the consequences. The +draft made on a clump of hazel bushes near by, was the serious part of +the business. But it abides in the memory that no red squirrel running +on a ziz-zag fence was wholly safe when that Queen's arm was pointed at +him.</p> + +<p>The breech-loader was taken down and stored in the library for an +aggravated occasion. It came in a few days. The man of all work came +bowling up the walk red and wrathful. "That old son of perdition has got +another chicken!" Now then, his time had come. He shall be swept with +the besom of destruction. Superstitions go this day for nothing. A +hundred and twenty dollar shotgun, silver mounted, and a patent +cartridge! "Rest it across my back, 'Squire, and take good aim. Aim for +his shoulder, and don't kill the chicken in his mouth."—"Did you fetch +the cat?" Well, not exactly. The old superstition that day had a +powerful effect. That cat dropped the chicken, though, and ran toward +the gunner as if to salute him, and then leaped over a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> ten-feet fence +and disappeared. That was not all. There were four chickens feeding in +the grass beyond, every one of which was laid out cold, and a fifth was +struck in the head and had the blind staggers so that it was counted in +with the dead. There had been a little variance in the "besom of +destruction" which operated in favor of that mysterious cat. Then there +was the salutation of Bridget: "Didn't I tell you that it is bad luck to +kill a black cat!" "Well, I haven't killed him by a long way. But you +might go down in the back lot and gather up an apron full of spring +chickens." That gun was returned with thanks. It was an elegant piece. +But, somehow, it didn't work like the Queen's arm. The next day that cat +returned as if nothing had happened, and took the regular toll of a +chicken a day. For a whole year more these depredations went on at +intervals, regulated by the supply of young chickens. Here was +enterprise. A hundred-dollar chicken yard, constructed and arranged on +"scientific principles," was just adequate for the supply of one black +cat, on which no impression could be made with a breech-loader, while +chickens were bought every week in the market to meet the home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> demand! +In this extremity a new plan was evolved.</p> + +<p>A cash premium—a new dollar from the mint—shall go for the destruction +of this particular cat and all successors. Robert, the utility man, soon +claimed the dollar. He had exhorted the sleek old hypocrite with a +hoe-handle, and brought him to sudden repentance.</p> + +<p>"It is bad luck to kill a black cat," said Bridget the next morning; +"and you didn't kill him, neither." Well, I paid Robert a premium of a +dollar, and he took him off. "Hang all superstitions."</p> + +<p>"But the black cat is down in the garden now."</p> + +<p>There was that thieving rascal, or a duplicate, at the old business. +Robert offered to show the original underground. The premium business +was continued, and went into the monthly statement. No sooner was one +taken off than another appeared, provided always that it was not the +original vagabond. The same predatory habits, the same midnight and +diabolical expression, the same decimation in the chicken yard. What did +it all mean? There was some occult diabolism that could not be +explained. "Didn't I tell you," says Bridget, with an air of triumph, +"that you can't kill a black cat."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>No, I can't, with a breech-loader. But Robert is drawing a regular +premium. The black cat premium fund was exhausted. Now, state your +account, my boy. "Well, I have killed <i>five</i>, upon honor, and have my +eye upon another one." There was a suspicion that the original was still +there. But the superstition vanished in the clear light of day when it +was shown that number six had a little fleck of white between the four +legs. But the depredations still go on, and you cannot convince the +honest old house-servant that a black cat has ever been killed—and +looking out into the garden just now, as that sleek black rascal lies in +the grass, with a waving motion of his tail and his yellow eye fixed +upon a callow brood, it is clearer than ever before that the succession +of black cats is eternal. They do not come in single file, but sun +themselves on the fences by the half dozen, run over the green-house, +breaking panes of glass, climb up on the outside to the gable window of +the barn, flit across the garden walks at twilight, conceal themselves +under the low shrubbery, as if defying all efforts at dislodgement. Then +there is the comment of Patrick, our neighbor's utility man: "They know +the char-<i>ac</i>ter you've made with that gun."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>Nor was it a mitigating circumstance that a sympathizing friend proposed +to regulate the succession of cats by sending over a small half-grown +terrier. If well brought up, he would keep the peace in the interest of +spring chickens. He did occasionally run the black vagrants to the trees +handsomely. But as an incidental diversion, he would lay out half a +dozen chickens on any fine morning. Where was the gain? Cats could be +exhorted with a shotgun, at least there was one experiment of that kind. +But when "Towser" was exhorted with a switch, a wail went up from the +Hill. It was as if the spirits of all the dogs in Christendom had united +to pierce the heavens. So great a noise for so small a catastrophe! But +this elementary education cannot be interrupted on account of noises. +There is a Hindoo proverb that you cannot get the crook out of a dog's +tail by mollifying appliances. But what was needed in that particular +case was to get the crook out of his intellect. It ought to have been +settled long ago, as a principal of moral and mental philosophy, that +you cannot beat honesty and virtue into men or dogs. And so this young +canine rascal will come back to do to-morrow what he has done to-day. +Does the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> boy rob bird's nests or plum trees any the less because he +gets a sprouting now and then? He has in his moral system a thousand +years of inherited aptitude for such predatory excursions.</p> + +<p>The moulting season having come, the "chicken lot" looks as if several +feather beds had been emptied there. There is less crowing and +apparently more time given to meditation and introspection. The old +rooster and his harem are now in undress, and a hint has been given that +domestic eggs will be scarce for the next month. A young chick that +learned to crow hardly more than a month ago, and eats from the hand +with fine audacity, has just begun to balance his accounts. He is in +full dress—his first suit, as it were—and is not subject to the +moulting process at present. But having been under the tyranny of the +patriarch who has now lost his tail, the younger one calls him to +account daily. There is a hint of retributive justice here. All tyrants +ought to have some part of their accounts settled in this world. By way +of example, it might be better if the settlements were very complete. +After all, there are very few tyrants who manage to get out of the world +without a partial accounting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> with humanity. Now and then, it is measure +for measure, the tyrant having his heaped up a little by way of +emphasis. That last reflection is made clearer by the way that young +rooster, in his juvenile dress, persists in settling his grievances. He +knows nothing of the quality of magnanimity, which suggests that when an +adversary has had a sound drubbing he should be let off with a mild +regret that any such chastening had been necessary. There is little +probability that the quality of mercy will be strained at present. +Although, when a tramp called at the kitchen door, unkempt, belated and +besotted, the compassionate Bridget set him out a generous breakfast. +But when he complained that the coffee was not hot, the quality of mercy +was strained which withheld the firing of the poker and coal scuttle at +his head. The asceticism of the modern tramp, and the delicacy and +exacting nature of his tastes, constitute the latest problem in +sociology. It is strange, too, that his moulting season should last the +year round. His laying off season never ends. His gains are in inverse +proportion to his industry. It might be well to inquire whether there is +not a secret profit in cultivating incapacity for work. This Christian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +Bedouin gets all he needs without effort. But daily I see a man who has +acquired ten millions, and wants more. I know not which is the better +off. The one appears to be going forward to an eternity of wants. +Suppose this capacity for wanting things to increase in geometrical +ratio—it may be necessary to mortgage the universe for his convenience. +The other is going back on the track, lightening the dead weight as he +goes, shedding his superfluous clothes by the wayside, getting down to +the level of a ruminating animal, rejoicing in the fragrance of hay +stacks at night and the freedom of hospitable kitchens by day. If there +is nothing better than to delve for clothes and wooden palaces, it were +as well that there should be more moulting. Who knows but the tramp +reposing in the sun, his blood enriched thereby, his person made a +little more fragrant by the redolence of the hay stack, may not gain a +fresh stock of vitality quite needful for this languishing world? The +profoundest philosopher of modern times surprised the world with a +treatise devoted mainly to clothes. It is not given to know the day on +which the profounder philosopher will come and surprise the world by +showing the absurdity of clothes worn in conformity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> to any conventional +requirements. Society is forever moulting, putting off and on, and is +not happy. But the Patagonian covers his epidermis with mud to protect +him from cold, and is happy, at least there is no evidence to the +contrary. After all, there was a savor of health in the cynicism which +inspired the sturdy old Greek to live in his tub when at home, and to +hunt for an honest man with a lantern in the open day. It is nowhere +stated that he found him.</p> + +<p>There is an ancient Spanish custom of planting the seed of fruit which +has been eaten. It is a way of pronouncing a benediction for the good +received—not in empty words, but by a thoughtful and beneficent act. +One has eaten of the fruit that another has planted, and he is glad; he +will also plant that another may eat. Were that custom perpetuated the +world over, evermore there would be fruit by the wayside. The highways +and byways would not be cursed with barrenness and dust, but fringed +with the mulberry and apple, with silent salutations for every weary +traveler who would put forth his hand and eat. What matters it that the +tree planted to-day shall never overarch and protect you from the +smiting sun?—shall never drop its golden fruit by your side?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> Shall we +not read by the light of eternal day that every tree thus planted has +brought its benediction to the world? Is it little that others had +planted for us, that we should forget to plant again? The patriarch +entertained an angel unaware. How many angels might be entertained by +one goodly orchard? Or, at least, such as by grace of speech, of mind, +and manner, have already received the divine stamp. The heavens have no +message for the destroyer; but they have one of peace for those who +plant and build wisely on the earth.</p> + +<p>It is a notable fact that all the deciduous trees, as well as all the +rose bushes which are within the range of suburban observation, have a +dormant season about mid-summer. Neither the sun, the south wind, nor +water at the roots, can wholly prevent this intervening period of rest. +In their own time and way they awake, as it were, to newness of life. In +this dormant season they are storing energy for a new development. It is +drawn from the sun, the atmosphere, and the nursing earth. When they +have accumulated fresh stores there is a new wealth of blossom and +foliage. Something analogous to this divine order reaches over from +matter to mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> There are dormant seasons—periods of infertility—when +the chemistry of heaven and earth is needed to overcome this barrenness. +The artist dreams and touches not the fresh canvas on his easel. The +poet wanders aimlessly in wider pastures, content to see the bees come +and go, and the lupins and wild poppies nod to each other on the +hillside. It is the ruminant season, when it is needful that one should +digest what has been stored up within. Doth not the land lying in summer +fallow gain new fertility? The unclothed land going so near to +barrenness shall surely be clothed upon in the coming spring-time. It is +well now if one may lie down and dream that the heavens were studded for +him alone; and that the west wind of autumn, bearing the perfume of a +hundred orchards, comes to him from a land of eternal fruitage. Even now +the young leaves are starting on the rose bushes; the period of second +growth has already begun. The pear begins to blush under the rays of a +September sun; and a strange lily among the ineffable white of the +callas, has gone all aflame, as if sainthood and bleeding martyrdom were +never far apart.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">LITERATURE AND ART.</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">LITERATURE AND ART.</span><a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">If</span> one may find by the way-side in early springtime so much as a +harebell or dandelion, a springing blade of grass or an unfolding bud, +as much real satisfaction may be drawn from these scant treasures as +from the more abounding fullness of summer, or the mellow ripeness of +autumn. In all that relates to education, literature and art, it is +early springtime here. What would you have more than some wayside +evidences of the serene summer yet to follow, and an intellectual +fruitage, of which the gold and purple of the vintage are but the +faintest symbols? What is a quarter of a century in the life of a +commonwealth, to the rounded centuries which have matured the great +universities of Europe, or even the two centuries which have enriched +Harvard and Yale? The canvas tents of '49,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> pitched on the sandy slopes +of the peninsula, promised no great city, no perfected system of common +schools, no academies and seminaries, and no university planted at +Berkeley, in sight from a city of more than a quarter of a million +inhabitants. The dissolving gravel beds of a placer mine and the arid +plains, were neither symbols of permanence nor of bread. What could you +expect in this stress of humanity, even though the agglomerated +community were not lacking in some of the best and bravest of all lands?</p> + +<p>There can be no beginning of a commonwealth until a Divine Providence +begins to set the solitary in families. Homes, children, the economies +of domestic life, the commonwealth of husband and wife, the law of the +household, and that human providence which grows tender and thoughtful +with each young and dependent life—these are precedent conditions of +the future state.</p> + +<p>It was most fitting that a graduate of one of the oldest colleges in the +country should have opened the first public school in California. Thomas +Douglas, a graduate of Yale College, began a public school in San +Francisco on the 3d day of April,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> 1848. It was a good beginning. But +when a few months later nearly the whole population had, drifted away to +the mines, Douglas was left high and dry on the sand hills.</p> + +<p>All true scholarship has breadth and catholicity. Let not ours be +impeached by ignoring what others have done in the domain of letters and +science. The fact is none the less significant, that the public school, +with its canvas roof, and three scholars, in 1849, is crowned by the +University of California to-day.</p> + +<p>Possibly, the pioneer educators builded better than they knew. Douglas, +the master of arts of Yale, setting the first stakes in the sand +hills—Marvin, the first State Superintendent of Public Schools, who, +having made a campaign against the Indians, turned over his emoluments +to the school fund—Brayton, who conducted for years the most successful +preparatory school in the State, a brave, patient and lovable man, whose +life went out all too soon in the midst of his noble work—Durant, who, +beginning at the foundations, saw the University with the clear vision +of a prophet, and lived to see the fruition of his hopes—the gentle +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> profound scholar, the dignified president, the wise and firm civil +magistrate, who, in the richness of his intellect, the purity of his +soul, and the steadfastness of his friendship, was more than president, +magistrate, or scholar. Tompkins, as a legislator and as regent, worked +with unflagging zeal for the University, and fitly crowned that work by +endowing, out of his moderate fortune, the first professorship. When he +had made his last public speech in behalf of the institution for which +he had wrought so well, it remained for him to enter into the sacred +guild of those pioneers who had gone a little before. Gilman, the second +president, whose organizing mind grasped every detail of the University, +who wrought effectively for it by day, and planned wisely for it by +night—a man of rare executive ability, who seemed half unconscious of +his own power to influence men in behalf of the great interests for +which he wrought. Let it be said of him that he bore himself in his high +office with a patience and dignity befitting the Christian gentleman and +accomplished scholar. Such a man rarely misses his place, because he is +a citizen of the world of letters. It is here for a few years, and on +the other side of the country<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> for more. But here or there, I think he +will never need a better testimonial than that which his work will +offer.</p> + +<p>Some good work has also been done in a scientific way. The geological +survey of this State was arrested by the impatience of the people for +immediate results. The topographical survey alone, than which nothing +better has ever been done in this country, was more than an equivalent +for the entire outlay. There will come a time when the practical value +of such an enterprise will be better understood. The physical problems +in a single State like California could not be solved in half a century. +Was it well to ask a scientific commission to solve them, and publish +the results in a few months?</p> + +<p>The public journal, as a factor in education, is here, as elsewhere, the +outgrowth of our civilization. It embodies the passions, caprices and +enterprises of the community. In its best estate it gives the history of +the world for one day. In its poorest estate it is content with a patent +outside, the puffing of some mountebank, and the abuse of rivals. But at +the close of this quarter century, the only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> complete history of the +rise and progress of this commonwealth is that which the newspapers +contain. I have seen an artist sketch an accurate likeness of his friend +on his thumb-nail. But the modern newspaper every day sketches the +likeness, the pulse, and the throbbing heart of the civilized world.</p> + +<p>Just as the ideal state is something far in advance of the actual, so +the ideal newspaper is something far better than exists on this side of +the continent. Here, as elsewhere, it is largely the product of +steamships, railroads and telegraphs. But the journal of the future +will, after all, be very much what the community makes it. It is the +child of civilization, going forward with the community to a better +condition, or going backward with it to coarseness and barbarism. The +best newspaper a hundred years ago was a poor affair. A hundred years +hence, the journal of to-day will probably be viewed with as much +interest for what it lacks, as for what it contains.</p> + +<p>Our ideal newspaper will pander to no mean prejudices. It will be no +generator of slang phrases. It will not murder honest English. It will +have ripe and well-digested opinions. It will not truckle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> to base men. +It will not sneer at religion. It will keep its editorial columns above +all just suspicion of purchase. It will leave garbage in the gutter. It +will assail no man unjustly, nor fear to defend any man or interest +because he or it may be obscure or unpopular. No good citizen will fear +the honest journal of the future, and no bad man will like it.</p> + +<p>Observe how the outer bark of the madrono and eucalyptus, with the +coming of every Summer, bursts, rolls up, and falls to the ground as so +much rubbish. That is a sign of expanding life. A great deal of +newspaper rubbish to-day is a sign of growth. The outer rind and husk of +things fall to the ground by that vital force which is continually +developing a larger and nobler life in the community. No man will +hereafter go to the head of this profession without fair scholarship, a +wide range of observation, a large capacity, to deal in a general way +with human affairs, and that keen insight which catches the spirit and +essence of this on-going life. Most difficult of all is a certain power +of statement which no school can teach, and without which the highest +plane of the journalist cannot be reached. Your long story<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> will not be +heard. The world is waiting for the man of condensation. Tell it in few +words. If one can master this high eclecticism of thought and statement, +I know of no more promising field for young men to-day than journalism. +If one cannot, the potato field, in a season of blight, is quite as +promising.</p> + +<p>Without this broader culture for the journalist, there will be great +danger that the exigencies of his work will make him a superficial man. +The habit will grow upon him of touching merely the surface of things. +He will come to think that, as his journal is only for the day, his +errors are for the day also. The habit of careful investigation and +exactness of thought and statement, will be discarded for random guesses +and the temporary expedients of the hour. Nothing but the balancing +influence of generous culture will arrest this lapsing tendency. It will +be disclosed in platitudes and commonplaces; in writing against space, +and in that dreadful amplitude which buries a thought under a mountain +of verbiage.</p> + +<p>One cannot fail to note that the newspaper has been gradually +encroaching on the domain of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> literature. It has absorbed monthly +magazines or forced publishers to resort to illustrations—to a sort of +picture-book literature for grown-up children. It has driven the +lumbering quarterlies into smaller fields and diminished their relative +importance. The average citizen craves the news from a journal having +the very dew of the morning and of the evening upon it. It must come to +him damp and limp, bringing whatever is best at the smallest possible +cost. The newspaper is the herald of the new era. Its errand must be +swift, its statements compact, and its thought eclectic and +comprehensive.</p> + +<p>Three thousand years ago, one of the grand old prophets spoke +mysteriously of the "living spirit in the wheels." Was it other than the +modern newspaper thrown off by the pulsing of the great cylinder press? +But observe that through yonder Golden Gate, which the sun and the stars +and the lamps of men glorify day and night, the devil-fish comes sailing +up, and is no whit concerned whether his accursed <i>tentacula</i> close +around saint or sinner. Is it not the fittest symbol of a public journal +conducted by ignorant and unscrupulous men? Rather would you not choose, +as a more fitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> symbol of the ideal journal, one of the small +globules of quicksilver which you shall find on any of these encircling +hills, so powerless to draw to it an atom of filth or rubbish, but ever +attracting the smallest particle of incorruptible silver and gold?</p> + +<p>It can hardly have escaped notice that California, during this +quarter-century, has produced more humorists, and more of that +literature which is essentially humorous, than all the rest of the +country. It may be difficult to trace to any outward sources the +inspiration of so much wit. Does it lie in the odd contrasts and strange +situations which so often confront the observer here? Nor has this +facetiousness depended at all for its development upon any degree of +prosperity. In fact, the boldest and bravest challenge which has ever +been given to adverse fortune here, has been by the gentle humorists who +have suffered from her slings and arrows. It is said: "Cervantes smiled +Spain's chivalry away." But these modern satirists made faces at bad +fortune; they lampooned her and defied her to do her utmost. The more +miserable they ought to have been, the happier they were. They found a +grotesque and comic side to the most sober facts. They were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> facetious +when there was small stock in the larder and smaller credit at the +banker's. They smiled at the very grimness of evil fortune until she +fled, and, in doing this, they half-unconsciously tickled the midriff of +the world. A ripple of laughter ran over the surface of society. It +sometimes made slow progress when it here and there met a mountain of +obtuseness. But wit is wit; and what difference does it make if, failing +to see the point, some people laugh next year instead of this? I will +not be distressed because my friend does not, to this day, see how the +immortal "Squibob" conquered his adversary at San Diego by falling +underneath him and inserting his nose between his teeth. Nor does it +greatly concern me that he does not assent to the proposition that John +Ph[oe]nix, having made a national reputation by editing the San Diego +<i>Herald</i> for one week, was the greatest journalist of modern times. If +reputation is the measure of greatness, Ph[oe]nix is to this day without +a peer. He made the very desert sparkle with his wit. He was a humorous +comet, shooting across the dull horizon of pioneer life. Men looked up +and wondered whence it came and whither it had gone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>Possibly, there is something favorable to the play of humor in a greater +freedom from conventional limitations. If one grows into this larger +liberty, or is translated into it, a flavor of freshness comes to +pervade all the intellectual life. A certain spontaneity of expression, +a spring, a rioting song of gladness, are some of the signs of this more +abounding life. In homely phrase, we say there is a flavor of the soil +about it. It might, therefore, have been necessary that Mark Twain +should sleep on this soil, and should have a wide range of pioneer +experiences, before he could become the prince of grotesque humorists. +He got up suddenly from the very soil which in its secret laboratory +colors the olive and the orange, and began to make the world laugh. With +a keen sense of the symmetry and harmony of things, he had a keener +perception of all the shams and ridiculous aspects of life. His pungent +gospel of humor is as sanitary as a gentle trade-wind. He knew a better +secret than the old alchemists. Every time he made the world laugh he +put a thousand ducats into his pocket. But never until he had slept in +his blankets, had been robbed on the "Divide," and had learned the +delicate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> cookery of a miner's cabin, could he do these things. But now +he cannot even weep at the tomb of his ancestor, Adam, without moving +the risibles of half the world. He has also a finer touch and flavor, +not of the rankest soil, but of that which gives the aroma and delicate +bouquet to the rarest mountain-side vintage. When this man had tried his +wit on a Californian audience and had won an approving nod, he had an +endorsement that was good in any part of the English-speaking world.</p> + +<p>Of a more subtile wit and a finer grain was Harte, who did his best work +as a humorist in California. All his earlier triumphs were won here. His +subsequent indorsement in a wider field was only an affirmation of this +earlier public judgment.</p> + +<p>Sometimes in the thicket one may come upon a wild mocking bird which is +running up the gamut of its riotous burlesque upon the song of every +other bird, and the sound of every living thing in the forest. But when +all this is done, that mocking bird will sometimes give out a song which +none other can match with its melody. As much as this, and more, lay +within the range of this poet-satirist.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> His mocking had, however, a +deep and salient meaning in it. When Truthful James rises to explain in +what respect Ah Sin is peculiar, he has a higher purpose than merely to +show the overreaching cunning of this bronzed heathen,</p> + +<p class="center">"With a smile that was child-like and bland."</p> + +<p>So long as Ah Sin and his race could be plucked and despoiled at will, +he provoked no antagonisms. But when he overmatched the sharpness of his +spoilers, we have this tale, with its moral:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Then I looked up at Nye;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And he gazed upon me;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And he rose with a sigh,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And said, 'Can this be?</span><br /> +We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor!'<br /> +And he went for that heathen Chinee."</td></tr></table> + +<p>Every demagogue in the State, who had rung the changes on the evils of +cheap labor, felt the thrust; and it is doubtful if one of them has +forgiven Harte to this day.</p> + +<p>The dogmatism and intolerant assumption which sometimes become rampant +in scientific societies, is thus punctured by Truthful James, in his +description of "The Society upon the Stanislaus:"</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +"But first I would remark that it is not a proper plan<br /> +For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man,<br /> +And if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span><br /> +To lay for that same member for to 'put a head' on him."</td></tr></table> + +<p>When Jones undertook to prove that certain fossil bones were from one of +his lost mules, then the trouble began:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +"Now I hold it is not decent for any scientific gent<br /> +To say another is an ass—at least to all intent;<br /> +Nor should the individual who happens to be meant,<br /> +Reply by heaving rocks at him, to any great extent.<br /> +<br /> +"Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, when<br /> +A chunck of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen,<br /> +And he smiled a sickly smile, and curled up on the floor,<br /> +And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.<br /> +<br /> +"For in less time than I write it every member did engage<br /> +In a warfare with the remnants of the paleozoic age;<br /> +And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin,<br /> +Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in."</td></tr></table> + +<p>When the supposed pliocene skull, found in Calaveras County, had +developed a good deal of scientific quackery, Harte, in his "Geological +Address," makes the skull declare that it belonged to Joe Bowers, of +Missouri, who had fallen down a shaft. For six months thereafter no +theorist was able to discuss the character of that fossil with a sober +countenance. No Damascus blade ever cut<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> with keener stroke than did the +blade of this satirist, even when it was hidden in a madrigal or +concealed in some polished sentence of prose.</p> + +<p>As a humorist, he appreciated humor in others. When Dickens died, not +another man in all the length and breadth of the land contributed so +tender and beautiful a tribute to his memory as did Harte in his poem of +"Dickens in Camp." The rude miners around the camp-fire drop their cards +as one of them draws forth a book:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +"And then, while round them shadows gathered faster,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And as the fire-light fell,</span><br /> +He read aloud the book wherein the master<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Had writ of 'Little Nell.'</span><br /> +<br /> +"Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy—for the reader<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Was youngest of them all—</span><br /> +But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A silence seemed to fall.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Listened in every spray,</span><br /> +While the whole camp with 'Nell' on English meadows<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wandered and lost their way.</span><br/> +<br/></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="center">* * * * *<br/> +<br/></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And he who wrought that spell—</span><br /> +Ah! towering pine and stately Kentish spire,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ye have one tale to tell!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Lost is that camp, but let its fragrant story<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Blend with the breath that thrills</span><br /> +With hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That fills the Kentish hills.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And on that grave where English oak, and holly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And laurel wreaths entwine,</span><br /> +Deem it not all a too-presumptuous folly—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This spray of western pine?"</span></td></tr></table> + +<p>It was left to this shy man, who came forth from the very wastes of this +far-off wilderness, to lay upon the bier of the dead humorist as +fragrant an offering as any mortal fellowship could suggest. It was a +song in a different key—as if one having entered into the very life of +the great novelist, had also for a moment entered into his death.</p> + +<p>The wit and the poetry which ripen here are under the same sun which +ripens the pomegranate and the citron. The grain and texture have always +been better than that suggested by the coarser materialism without. It +is little to him who is cutting his marble to the divinest form, that +the whole city reeks with grime and smoke, and all its outlines are +misshapen and ugly. It is little to poet or painter that sometimes the +earth has only a single tint of gray, since he may also see in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +contrast, what a transfigured glory there may be on mountain and on sea.</p> + +<p>There are not at any time in this dull world so many genuine humorists +as one may count on his fingers. For lack of some healthy laughter the +world is going to the bad. It welcomes the gentle missionary of humor, +and for lack of him it often accepts those dreary counterfeits who +commit assault and battery upon our mother-tongue. As in olden time the +prophets were sometimes stoned in their own country, so in modern times +one cannot tell whether the poet-prophet who comes up from the +wilderness, will fare better or worse. Woe to him if the people cannot +interpret him, or are piqued at his coming. It is a curious fact that +when Harte had brought forth his first book with the modest title of +<i>Outcroppings</i>, it was pelted from one end of the State to the other. It +did not contain a poem of his own. But it did contain samples of the +best poetry, other than his own, which had been produced in California. +His critics, catching the suggestion of the title, flung at him +porphyry, granite, and barren quartz, but never a rock containing a +grain of gold. He might have put a torpedo into a couple of stanzas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> and +extinguished them all. But he saw the humorous side of the assault, and +enjoyed it with a keener zest than any of his assailants.</p> + +<p>None of us would be comfortable with only some pungent sauce for dinner. +But when a dreadful staleness overtakes the world, it is ready to cry +out, "More sauce!" Whoever comes, therefore, bringing with him salt and +seasoning, and whatever else gives a keener zest to life, never comes +amiss. Sooner or later we shall know him. He will come very near to us +in his books, and by that subtile law of communion which, through the +brightest and noblest utterances, makes all the better world akin.</p> + +<p>After we have seen the trick of the magician, we do not care to know him +any more. But the magician of wit works by an enchantment that we can +never despise. His spell is wrought with such gifts as are only given +from the very heavens to here and there one. It is not the mythical Puck +who is to put a girdle round the world, but the man of genius, whose +thought is luminous with the light of all ages. So Shakspeare clasps the +world, and Dickens belts it, and the men of wit and genius furnish each +a golden thread which girds it about.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> The book of humor is the heart's +ease. In every library it is dog-eared, because it has in it some +surcease for the secret ills of life. If a million souls have been made +happier for an hour through the fictions of Sir Walter Scott, what is +the sum of good thus wrought? What lesser good have they wrought who +have come in later times to lighten the dead weight of our overweighted +lives?</p> + +<p>Do not despise the evangel of humor because he comes unlike one of old, +wearing a girdle of camel's hair, and eating his locusts and wild honey. +Bear with him if he comes in flaming neck-tie and flamingo vestments, +hirsute and robust. You shall know by his wit that he is no charlatan; +but you cannot tell it by his raiment, nor his bill of fare. It cannot +be shown that the wit of Diogenes was any better for his living in a +tub. It is not probable that a dish of water-cress would inspire a +better humor than a flagon of wine and a saddle of venison. I would +rather look for your modern humorist in the top story of the crowded and +garish hostlery; because if he is after game, he will be sure to find it +there.</p> + +<p>The exacting conditions of pioneer life are not favorable to authorship. +If during this quarter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> a century not a book had been written in +California, we might plead in mitigation the overshadowing materialism +which, while coarsely wrestling for the gains of a day, finds no place +for that repose which favors culture and is fruitful of books. But over +the arid plains, in the heat and dust of the long summer, one may trace +the belt of green which the mountain stream carries sheer down to the +sea. So there have been many thoughtful men and women who have freshened +and somewhat redeemed these intellectual wastes. They have written more +books in this quarter of a century than have been written in all the +other States west of the Mississippi River. The publication of some of +these books has cost nearly their weight in gold. During the period of +twenty-five years, more than 90 volumes have been written by persons +living at the time in this State.</p> + +<p>Many of these books have had but a local circulation, and are now almost +forgotten. Some have gained more than a national reputation. I enumerate +among these Halleck's <i>International Law</i>; <i>Mountaineering</i>, by Clarence +King; <i>Marine Mammals of the Northwestern Coast of North America</i>, by +Captain Scammon; <i>The Luck of Roaring Camp</i>, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> Bret Harte; and <i>Native +Races</i>, by Hubert H. Bancroft. Another work just missed a more than +national recognition. Grayson, the self-taught and heroic naturalist, +traversed the forests and swamps of Mexico, stopping neither for morass +nor jungle, until he had drawn and painted to life nearly two hundred of +the rarest birds of that country. His work, which is still in sheets and +manuscript, was probably at the cost of his life. But, besides the works +of Audubon and Wilson, I know of nothing better in its way by any +naturalist, living or dead.</p> + +<p>No one has sought to live here exclusively by authorship. It has only +been the incidental occupation of those persons who have written out of +the fullness of their own lives. If they heard no mysterious voice +saying unto them, "Write!"—the great mountains encamped about like +sleeping dromedaries, the valleys filled with the aroma of a royal +fruitage, the serene sky, and the rhythm of the great sea, all make +audible signs to write. They have written out of a fresh new life.</p> + +<p>In the streets of Herculaneum you may see the ruts made more than two +thousand years ago. The grooves of society are often narrow and rigid +with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> the fixedness of centuries. It may be better, by way of change, to +propel a velocipede on a fresh track than to run four gilded wheels in +the dead grooves which have been cut by the attrition of ages. After one +has known the satiety which comes from the mild gabble of society, there +is a wonderful freshness in a war-whoop uttered in the depths of the +wilderness!</p> + +<p>It is this large acquaintance with nature—this lying down with the +mountains until one is taken into their confidence—a grim fellowship +with untamed savageness—that may give a new vitality, and enlarge the +horizon of intellectual life. Whence comes this man with his new poetry, +which confounds the critics? and that man with his subtile wit borrowed +from no school? I pray you note that for many a day his carpet hath been +the <i>spicula</i> of pine, and his atmosphere hath been perfumed by the +fir-tree. He has seen the mountains clad in beatific raiment of white, +and their "sacristy set round with stars." He will never go so far that +he will not come back to sing and talk of these, his earliest and +divinest loves. So Miller sings of "The Sierra," of "Arizona," of "The +Ship in the Desert." And Harte comes back again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> to his miner's camp, +and to the larger liberty of the mountains. And there fell on Starr King +a grander inspiration after he had seen the white banners of the +snow-storm floating from the battlements of Yosemite.</p> + +<p>We have brought forth nothing out of our poverty, but rather out of an +affluence which could not be wholly restrained. As a gardener clips his +choicest shrubs, casting the tangled riotousness of bud and blossom over +the wall, so there are many here who have only trimmed a little what +they have planted in their own gardens of poetry and fiction.</p> + +<p>The little that has been done here in art is rather a sign of better +things to come. Art must not only have inspiration, but it needs wealth +and the society of a ripe community for its best estate. It is possible +to paint for immortality in a garret. But a great deal of work done +there has gone to the lumber-room. Not only must there be the fostering +spirit of wealth and letters, but art also needs a picturesque world +without—the grand estate of mountains and valleys, atmospheres, tones, +lights, shadows—and if there be a picturesque people, we might look for +a new school of art, and even famous painters. Where a poet can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> be +inspired, there look also for the poetry which is put on canvas.</p> + +<p>In one respect our modern civilization is nearly fatal to art. Philip +Hamerton says that "a noble artist will gladly paint a peasant driving a +yoke of oxen; but not a commercial traveler in his gig.... Men and women +have a fatal liberty which mountains have not. They have the liberty of +spoiling themselves, of making themselves ugly, and mean, and +ridiculous. A mountain cannot dress in bad taste, neither is it capable +of degrading itself by vice. Noble human life in a great and earnest age +is better artistic material than wild nature; but human life is an age +like ours is not."</p> + +<p>If a great artist were asked to paint a fashionable woman in the +prevailing stringent costume, do not blame him if he faints away. There +will never get into a really great painting any of the stiff and +constrained costumes of our time. Observe that the sculptor rarely cuts +the statute of a modern statesman without the accessories of some +flowing and graceful attire. He cannot sculpture a modern dress-suit +without feeling that he has offered an affront to art.</p> + +<p>But in spite of our civilization there is a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> deal that is +picturesque among the people—the Parsee, Mohammedan, Malay, and Mongol, +whom one may sometimes meet on the same street—the red shirt of the +Italian fisherman, and the lateen sail which sends his boat flying over +the water. The very distresses and distraits of men here have made them +picturesque. I have seen a valedictorian of a leading college deep down +in a gravel mine, directing his hydraulic pipe against the bank. Clad in +a gray shirt and slouch-hat, he was a far better subject for a painter +than on the day he took his degree. The native Californian on horseback, +with <i>poncho</i>, <i>sombrero</i>, and leggings, is a good subject for the +canvas, as well as the quaint old church where he worships, so rich in +its very ruins. Moreover, the whole physical aspect of the country is +wonderfully picturesque. The palm tree lifting up its fronded head in +the desert, the great fir tree set against the ineffable azure of the +heavens, the vine-clad hills, the serrated mountains which the frosts +have canonized with their sealed and unsealed fountains, and all the +gold and purple which touch the hills at even-tide—these are the rich +ministries of nature. It may take art a thousand years to ripen even +here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> For how many years had the long procession of painters come and +gone before Raphael and Michael Angelo appeared?</p> + +<p>Our young art school will some day have its treasures; and there will be +hung on these walls the portraits of other men whose culture and +influence will be worth more than all the gold of the mountains. Let the +artist set up his easel and write his silent poem upon the canvas. +Welcome all influences which soften this hard and barren materialism. +Before the mountains were unvexed by the miner's drill the land itself +was a poem and a picture. One day the turbid streams will turn to +crystal again, and the only miner will be the living glacier sitting on +its white throne of judgment and grinding the very mountains to powder. +Fortunate they who can catch this wealth of inspiration. These are the +ministers and prophets whose larger and finer interpretation of nature +are part of the treasures of the new commonwealth.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">FOOTNOTES:</span></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> As the title of this paper was adopted more than <i>eleven</i> +years ago, it has not been deemed expedient to change it because Mr. +John Burroughs has recently chosen it as the title of his book.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Delivered on "Assembly Day," at the University of +California.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:</span></p> + +<p class="blockquot">Incorrect page numbers in the Table of Contents have been corrected.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected without note.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have been retained from the original.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Errors in punctuation have been corrected without note.</p> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breeze from the Woods, 2nd Ed., by +William Chauncey Bartlett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BREEZE FROM THE WOODS, 2ND ED. *** + +***** This file should be named 39497-h.htm or 39497-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/4/9/39497/ + +Produced by David E. 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