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diff --git a/44127-0.txt b/44127-0.txt index afbc8f5..3549092 100644 --- a/44127-0.txt +++ b/44127-0.txt @@ -1,38 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Fresh Fields, by John Burroughs - - -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 - - - - - -Title: Fresh Fields - - -Author: John Burroughs - - - -Release Date: November 8, 2013 [eBook #44127] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRESH FIELDS*** - - -E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist, Lisa Reigel, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44127 *** Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. 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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 - - - - - -Title: Fresh Fields - - -Author: John Burroughs - - - -Release Date: November 8, 2013 [eBook #44127] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRESH FIELDS*** - - -E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist, Lisa Reigel, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/freshfieldsburr00burriala - - -Transcriber's note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -FRESH FIELDS - - - +--------------------------------------------------------------+ - | | - | John Burroughs's Books. | - | | - | FRESH FIELDS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | BIRDS AND POETS, WITH OTHER PAPERS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | PEPACTON, AND OTHER SKETCHES. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | WAKE ROBIN. Illustrated. Revised and enlarged edition. 16mo, | - | gilt top, $1.25; _Riverside Aldine Edition_, 16mo, $1.00 | - | | - | WINTER SUNSHINE. New edition, revised and enlarged. With | - | Frontispiece. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25 | - | | - | SIGNS AND SEASONS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | INDOOR STUDIES. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | RIVERBY. 16mo, $1.25. | - | | - | The set, 9 vols., uniform, $11.25. | - | | - | New _Riverside Edition_. 9 vols. limited to 1000 sets. With | - | etched frontispieces and engraved half titles. Sold in sets | - | only. Cloth, gilt top, $13.50; cloth, paper label, untrimmed,| - | $13.50; half calf, gilt top, $27.00. | - | | - | HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., _Publishers_, | - | BOSTON AND NEW YORK. | - +--------------------------------------------------------------+ - - -FRESH FIELDS - -by - -JOHN BURROUGHS - - - - - - - -Boston and New York -Houghton, Mifflin and Company -The Riverside Press, Cambridge -1896 - -Copyright, 1884, 1895, -By John Burroughs. - -All rights reserved. - -The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. -Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - I. NATURE IN ENGLAND 1 - - II. ENGLISH WOODS: A CONTRAST 35 - - III. IN CARLYLE'S COUNTRY 45 - - IV. A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE 77 - - V. ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SONG-BIRDS 113 - - VI. IMPRESSIONS OF SOME ENGLISH BIRDS 131 - - VII. IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY 147 - - VIII. A GLANCE AT BRITISH WILD FLOWERS 159 - - IX. BRITISH FERTILITY 175 - - X. A SUNDAY IN CHEYNE ROW 199 - - XI. AT SEA 267 - - INDEX 277 - - - - -FRESH FIELDS - - - - -I - -NATURE IN ENGLAND - - -I - -The first whiff we got of transatlantic nature was the peaty breath of -the peasant chimneys of Ireland while we were yet many miles at sea. -What a homelike, fireside smell it was! it seemed to make something long -forgotten stir within one. One recognizes it as a characteristic Old -World odor, it savors so of the soil and of a ripe and mellow antiquity. -I know no other fuel that yields so agreeable a perfume as peat. Unless -the Irishman in one has dwindled to a very small fraction, he will be -pretty sure to dilate his nostrils and feel some dim awakening of memory -on catching the scent of this ancestral fuel. The fat, unctuous -peat,--the pith and marrow of ages of vegetable growth,--how typical it -is of much that lies there before us in the elder world; of the slow -ripenings and accumulations, of extinct life and forms, decayed -civilizations, of ten thousand growths and achievements of the hand and -soul of man, now reduced to their last modicum of fertilizing mould! - -With the breath of the chimney there came presently the chimney swallow, -and dropped much fatigued upon the deck of the steamer. It was a still -more welcome and suggestive token,--the bird of Virgil and of -Theocritus, acquainted with every cottage roof and chimney in Europe, -and with the ruined abbeys and castle walls. Except its lighter-colored -breast, it seemed identical with our barn swallow; its little black cap -appeared pulled down over its eyes in the same manner, and its glossy -steel-blue coat, its forked tail, its infantile feet, and its cheerful -twitter were the same. But its habits are different; for in Europe this -swallow builds in chimneys, and the bird that answers to our chimney -swallow, or swift, builds in crevices in barns and houses. - -We did not suspect we had taken aboard our pilot in the little swallow, -yet so it proved: this light navigator always hails from the port of -bright, warm skies; and the next morning we found ourselves sailing -between shores basking in full summer sunshine. Those who, after ten -days of sorrowing and fasting in the desert of the ocean, have sailed up -the Frith of Clyde, and thence up the Clyde to Glasgow, on the morning -of a perfect mid-May day, the sky all sunshine, the earth all verdure, -know what this experience is; and only those can know it. It takes a -good many foul days in Scotland to breed one fair one; but when the -fair day does come, it is worth the price paid for it. The soul and -sentiment of all fair weather is in it; it is the flowering of the -meteorological influences, the rose on this thorn of rain and mist. -These fair days, I was told, may be quite confidently looked for in May; -we were so fortunate as to experience a series of them, and the day we -entered port was such a one as you would select from a hundred. - -The traveler is in a mood to be pleased after clearing the Atlantic -gulf; the eye in its exuberance is full of caresses and flattery, and -the deck of a steamer is a rare vantage-ground on any occasion of -sight-seeing; it affords just the isolation and elevation needed. Yet -fully discounting these favorable conditions, the fact remains that -Scotch sunshine is bewitching, and that the scenery of the Clyde is -unequaled by any other approach to Europe. It is Europe, abridged and -assorted and passed before you in the space of a few hours,--the -highlands and lochs and castle-crowned crags on the one hand; and the -lowlands, with their parks and farms, their manor halls and matchless -verdure, on the other. The eye is conservative, and loves a look of -permanence and order, of peace and contentment; and these Scotch shores, -with their stone houses, compact masonry, clean fields, grazing herds, -ivied walls, massive foliage, perfect roads, verdant mountains, etc., -fill all the conditions. We pause an hour in front of Greenock, and -then, on the crest of the tide, make our way slowly upward. The -landscape closes around us. We can almost hear the cattle ripping off -the lush grass in the fields. One feels as if he could eat grass -himself. It is pastoral paradise. We can see the daisies and buttercups; -and from above a meadow on the right a part of the song of a skylark -reaches my ear. Indeed, not a little of the charm and novelty of this -part of the voyage was the impression it made as of going afield in an -ocean steamer. We had suddenly passed from a wilderness of waters into a -verdurous, sunlit landscape, where scarcely any water was visible. The -Clyde, soon after you leave Greenock, becomes little more than a large, -deep canal, inclosed between meadow banks, and from the deck of the -great steamer only the most charming rural sights and sounds greet you. -You are at sea amid verdant parks and fields of clover and grain. You -behold farm occupations--sowing, planting, plowing--as from the middle -of the Atlantic. Playful heifers and skipping lambs take the place of -the leaping dolphins and the basking swordfish. The ship steers her way -amid turnip-fields and broad acres of newly planted potatoes. You are -not surprised that she needs piloting. A little tug with a rope at her -bow pulls her first this way and then that, while one at her stern -nudges her right flank and then her left. Presently we come to the -ship-building yards of the Clyde, where rural, pastoral scenes are -strangely mingled with those of quite another sort. "First a cow and -then an iron ship," as one of the voyagers observed. Here a pasture or a -meadow, or a field of wheat or oats, and close beside it, without an -inch of waste or neutral ground between, rise the skeletons of -innumerable ships, like a forest of slender growths of iron, with the -workmen hammering amid it like so many noisy woodpeckers. It is doubtful -if such a scene can be witnessed anywhere else in the world,--an -enormous mechanical, commercial, and architectural interest, alternating -with the quiet and simplicity of inland farms and home occupations. You -could leap from the deck of a half-finished ocean steamer into a field -of waving wheat or Winchester beans. These vast shipyards appear to be -set down here upon the banks of the Clyde without any interference with -the natural surroundings of the place. - -Of the factories and foundries that put this iron in shape you get no -hint; here the ships rise as if they sprouted from the soil, without -waste or litter, but with an incessant din. They stand as thickly as a -row of cattle in stanchions, almost touching each other, and in all -stages of development. Now and then a stall will be vacant, the ship -having just been launched, and others will be standing with flags flying -and timbers greased or soaped, ready to take to the water at the word. -Two such, both large ocean steamers, waited for us to pass. We looked -back, saw the last block or wedge knocked away from one of them, and the -monster ship sauntered down to the water and glided out into the current -in the most gentle, nonchalant way imaginable. I wondered at her slow -pace, and at the grace and composure with which she took to the water; -the problem nicely studied and solved,--just power enough, and not an -ounce to spare. The vessels are launched diagonally up or down stream, -on account of the narrowness of the channel. But to see such a brood of -ships, the largest in the world, hatched upon the banks of such a placid -little river, amid such quiet country scenes, is a novel experience. But -this is Britain,--a little island, with little lakes, little rivers, -quiet, bosky fields, but mighty interests and power that reach round the -world. I was conscious that the same scene at home would have been less -pleasing. It would not have been so compact and tidy. There would not -have been a garden of ships and a garden of turnips side by side; -haymakers and shipbuilders in adjoining fields; milch-cows and iron -steamers seeking the water within sight of each other. We leave wide -margins and ragged edges in this country, and both man and nature sprawl -about at greater lengths than in the Old World. - -For the rest I was perhaps least prepared for the utter tranquillity, -and shall I say domesticity, of the mountains. At a distance they appear -to be covered with a tender green mould that one could brush away with -his hand. On nearer approach it is seen to be grass. They look nearly as -rural and pastoral as the fields. Goat Fell is steep and stony, but even -it does not have a wild and barren look. At home, one thinks of a -mountain as either a vast pile of barren, frowning rocks and precipices, -or else a steep acclivity covered with a tangle of primitive forest -timber. But here, the mountains are high, grassy sheep-walks, smooth, -treeless, rounded, and as green as if dipped in a fountain of perpetual -spring. I did not wish my Catskills any different; but I wondered what -would need to be done to them to make them look like these Scotch -highlands. Cut away their forests, rub down all inequalities in their -surfaces, pulverizing their loose bowlders; turf them over, leaving the -rock to show through here and there,--then, with a few large black -patches to represent the heather, and the softening and ameliorating -effect of a mild, humid climate, they might in time come to bear some -resemblance to these shepherd mountains. Then over all the landscape is -that new look,--that mellow, legendary, half-human expression which -nature wears in these ancestral lands, an expression familiar in -pictures and in literature, but which a native of our side of the -Atlantic has never before seen in gross, material objects and open-air -spaces,--the added charm of the sentiment of time and human history, the -ripening and ameliorating influence of long ages of close and loving -occupation of the soil,--naturally a deep, fertile soil under a mild, -very humid climate. - -There is an unexpected, an unexplained lure and attraction in the -landscape,--a pensive, reminiscent feeling in the air itself. Nature has -grown mellow under these humid skies, as in our fiercer climate she -grows harsh and severe. One sees at once why this fragrant Old World -has so dominated the affections and the imaginations of our artists and -poets: it is saturated with human qualities; it is unctuous with the -ripeness of ages, the very marrowfat of time. - - -II - -I had come to Great Britain less to see the noted sights and places than -to observe the general face of nature. I wanted to steep myself long and -well in that mellow, benign landscape, and put to further tests the -impressions I had got of it during a hasty visit one autumn, eleven -years before. Hence I was mainly intent on roaming about the country, it -mattered little where. Like an attic stored with relics and heirlooms, -there is no place in England where you cannot instantly turn from nature -to scenes and places of deep historical or legendary or artistic -interest. - -My journal of travel is a brief one, and keeps to a few of the main -lines. After spending a couple of days in Glasgow, we went down to -Alloway, in Burns's country, and had our first taste of the beauty and -sweetness of rural Britain, and of the privacy and comfort of a little -Scotch inn. The weather was exceptionally fair, and the mellow Ayrshire -landscape, threaded by the Doon, a perpetual delight. Thence we went -north on a short tour through the Highlands,--up Loch Lomond, down Loch -Katrine, and through the Trosachs to Callander, and thence to Stirling -and Edinburgh. After a few days in the Scotch capital we set out for -Carlyle's country, where we passed five delightful days. The next week -found us in Wordsworth's land, and the 10th of June in London. After a -week here I went down into Surrey and Hants, in quest of the -nightingale, for four or five days. Till the middle of July I hovered -about London, making frequent excursions into the country,--east, south, -north, west, and once across the channel into France, where I had a long -walk over the hills about Boulogne. July 15 we began our return journey -northward, stopping a few days at Stratford, where I found the Red Horse -Inn sadly degenerated from excess of travel. Thence again into the Lake -region for a longer stay. From Grasmere we went into north Wales, and -did the usual touring and sight-seeing around and over the mountains. -The last week of July we were again in Glasgow, from which port we -sailed on our homeward voyage July 29. - -With a suitable companion, I should probably have made many long -pedestrian tours. As it was, I took many short but delightful walks both -in England and Scotland, with a half day's walk in the north of Ireland -about Moville. 'Tis an admirable country to walk in,--the roads are so -dry and smooth and of such easy grade, the footpaths so numerous and so -bold, and the climate so cool and tonic. One night, with a friend, I -walked from Rochester to Maidstone, part of the way in a slow rain and -part of the way in the darkness. We had proposed to put up at some one -of the little inns on the road, and get a view of the weald of Kent in -the morning; but the inns refused us entertainment, and we were -compelled to do the eight miles at night, stepping off very lively the -last four in order to reach Maidstone before the hotels were shut up, -which takes place at eleven o'clock. I learned this night how fragrant -the English elder is while in bloom, and that distance lends enchantment -to the smell. When I plucked the flowers, which seemed precisely like -our own, the odor was rank and disagreeable; but at the distance of a -few yards it floated upon the moist air, a spicy and pleasing perfume. -The elder here grows to be a veritable tree; I saw specimens seven or -eight inches in diameter and twenty feet high. In the morning we walked -back by a different route, taking in Boxley Church, where the pilgrims -used to pause on their way to Canterbury, and getting many good views of -Kent grain-fields and hop-yards. Sometimes the road wound through the -landscape like a footpath, with nothing between it and the rank-growing -crops. An occasional newly-plowed field presented a curious appearance. -The soil is upon the chalk formation, and is full of large fragments of -flint. These work out upon the surface, and, being white and full of -articulations and processes, give to the ground the appearance of being -thickly strewn with bones,--with thigh bones greatly foreshortened. Yet -these old bones in skillful hands make a most effective building -material. They appear in all the old churches and ancient buildings in -the south of England. Broken squarely off, the flint shows a fine -semi-transparent surface that, in combination with coarser material, has -a remarkable crystalline effect. One of the most delicious bits of -architectural decoration I saw in England was produced, in the front -wall of one of the old buildings attached to the cathedral at -Canterbury, by little squares of these flints in brick panel-work. The -cool, pellucid, illuminating effect of the flint was just the proper -foil to the warm, glowing, livid brick. - -From Rochester we walked to Gravesend, over Gad's Hill; the day soft and -warm, half sunshine, half shadow; the air full of the songs of skylarks; -a rich, fertile landscape all about us; the waving wheat just in bloom, -dashed with scarlet poppies; and presently, on the right, the Thames in -view dotted with vessels. Seldom any cattle or grazing herds in Kent; -the ground is too valuable; it is all given up to wheat, oats, barley, -hops, fruit, and various garden produce. - -A few days later we walked from Feversham to Canterbury, and from the -top of Harbledown hill saw the magnificent cathedral suddenly break upon -us as it did upon the footsore and worshipful pilgrims centuries ago. At -this point, it is said, they knelt down, which seems quite probable, the -view is so imposing. The cathedral stands out from and above the city, -as if the latter were the foundation upon which it rested. On this walk -we passed several of the famous cherry orchards of Kent, the thriftiest -trees and the finest fruit I ever saw. We invaded one of the orchards, -and proposed to purchase some of the fruit of the men engaged in -gathering it. But they refused to sell it; had no right to do so, they -said; but one of them followed us across the orchard, and said in a -confidential way that he would see that we had some cherries. He filled -my companion's hat, and accepted our shilling with alacrity. In getting -back into the highway, over the wire fence, I got my clothes well tarred -before I was aware of it. The fence proved to be well besmeared with a -mixture of tar and grease,--an ingenious device for marking trespassers. -We sat in the shade of a tree and ate our fruit and scraped our clothes, -while a troop of bicyclists filed by. About the best glimpses I had of -Canterbury cathedral--after the first view from Harbledown hill--were -obtained while lying upon my back on the grass, under the shadow of its -walls, and gazing up at the jackdaws flying about the central tower and -going out and in weather-worn openings three hundred feet above me. -There seemed to be some wild, pinnacled mountain peak or rocky ledge up -there toward the sky, where the fowls of the air had made their nests, -secure from molestation. The way the birds make themselves at home about -these vast architectural piles is very pleasing. Doves, starlings, -jackdaws, swallows, sparrows, take to them as to a wood or to a cliff. -If there were only something to give a corresponding touch of nature or -a throb of life inside! But their interiors are only impressive -sepulchres, tombs within a tomb. Your own footfalls seem like the echo -of past ages. These cathedrals belong to the pleistocene period of man's -religious history, the period of gigantic forms. How vast, how -monstrous, how terrible in beauty and power! but in our day as empty and -dead as the shells upon the shore. The cold, thin ecclesiasticism that -now masquerades in them hardly disturbs the dust in their central -aisles. I saw five worshipers at the choral service in Canterbury, and -about the same number of curious spectators. For my part, I could not -take my eyes off the remnants of some of the old stained windows up -aloft. If I worshiped at all, it was my devout admiration of those -superb relics. There could be no doubt about the faith that inspired -those. Below them were some gorgeous modern memorial windows: stained -glass, indeed! loud, garish, thin, painty; while these were like a -combination of precious stones and gems, full of depth and richness of -tone, and, above all, serious, not courting your attention. My eye was -not much taken with them at first, and not till after it had recoiled -from the hard, thin glare in my immediate front. - -From Canterbury I went to Dover, and spent part of a day walking along -the cliffs to Folkestone. There is a good footpath that skirts the edge -of the cliffs, and it is much frequented. It is characteristic of the -compactness and neatness of this little island, that there is not an -inch of waste land along this sea margin; the fertile rolling landscape, -waving with wheat and barley, and with grass just ready for the scythe, -is cut squarely off by the sea; the plow and the reaper come to the very -brink of the chalky cliffs. As you sit down on Shakespeare's Cliff, with -your feet dangling in the air at a height of three hundred and fifty -feet, you can reach back and pluck the grain heads and the scarlet -poppies. Never have I seen such quiet pastoral beauty take such a sudden -leap into space. Yet the scene is tame in one sense: there is no hint of -the wild and the savage; the rock is soft and friable, a kind of chalky -bread, which the sea devours readily; the hills are like freshly cut -loaves; slice after slice has been eaten away by the hungry elements. -Sitting here, I saw no "crows and choughs" winging "the midway air," but -a species of hawk, "haggards of the rocks," were disturbed in the niches -beneath me, and flew along from point to point. - - "The murmuring surge, - That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, - Cannot be heard so high." - -I had wondered why Shakespeare had made his seashores pebbly instead of -sandy, and now I saw why: they are pebbly, with not a grain of sand to -be found. This chalk formation, as I have already said, is full of flint -nodules; and as the shore is eaten away by the sea, these rounded masses -remain. They soon become worn into smooth pebbles, which beneath the -pounding of the surf give out a strange clinking, rattling sound. Across -the Channel, on the French side, there is more sand, but it is of the -hue of mud and not pleasing to look upon. - -Of other walks I had in England, I recall with pleasure a Sunday up the -Thames toward Windsor: the day perfect, the river alive with row-boats, -the shore swarming with pedestrians and picnickers; young athletic -London, male and female, rushing forth as hungry for the open air and -the water as young mountain herds for salt. I never saw or imagined -anything like it. One shore of the Thames, sometimes the right, -sometimes the left, it seems, belongs to the public. No private grounds, -however lordly, are allowed to monopolize both sides. - -Another walk was about Winchester and Salisbury, with more -cathedral-viewing. One of the most human things to be seen in the great -cathedrals is the carven image of some old knight or warrior prince -resting above his tomb, with his feet upon his faithful dog. I was -touched by this remembrance of the dog. In all cases he looked alert and -watchful, as if guarding his master while he slept. I noticed that -Cromwell's soldiers were less apt to batter off the nose and ears of the -dog than they were those of the knight. - -At Stratford I did more walking. After a row on the river, we strolled -through the low, grassy field in front of the church, redolent of cattle -and clover, and sat for an hour on the margin of the stream and enjoyed -the pastoral beauty and the sunshine. In the afternoon (it was Sunday) -I walked across the fields to Shottery, and then followed the road as -it wound amid the quaint little thatched cottages till it ended at a -stile from which a footpath led across broad, sunny fields to a stately -highway. To give a more minute account of English country scenes and -sounds in midsummer, I will here copy some jottings in my note-book, -made then and there:-- - -"_July 16._ In the fields beyond Shottery. Bright and breezy, with -appearance of slight showers in the distance. Thermometer probably about -seventy; a good working temperature. Clover--white, red, and yellow -(white predominating)--in the fields all about me. The red very ruddy; -the white large. The only noticeable bird voice that of the -yellow-hammer, two or three being within ear-shot. The song is much like -certain sparrow songs, only inferior: _Sip, sip, sip, see-e-e-e_; or, -_If if, if you ple-e-ease_. Honey-bees on the white clover. Turf very -thick and springy, supporting two or three kinds of grass resembling -red-top and bearded rye-grass. Narrow-leaved plantain, a few buttercups, -a small yellow flower unknown to me (probably ladies' fingers), also a -species of dandelion and prunella. The land thrown into marked swells -twenty feet broad. Two Sunday-school girls lying on the grass in the -other end of the field. A number of young men playing some game, perhaps -cards, seated on the ground in an adjoining field. Scarcely any signs of -midsummer to me; no ripeness or maturity in nature yet. The grass very -tender and succulent, the streams full and roily. Yarrow and cinquefoil -also in the grass where I sit. The plantain in bloom and fragrant. Along -the Avon, the meadow-sweet in full bloom, with a fine cinnamon odor. A -wild rose here and there in the hedge-rows. The wild clematis nearly -ready to bloom, in appearance almost identical with our own. The wheat -and oats full-grown, but not yet turning. The clouds soft and fleecy. -Prunella dark purple. A few paces farther on I enter a highway, one of -the broadest I have seen, the roadbed hard and smooth as usual, about -sixteen feet wide, with grassy margins twelve feet wide, redolent with -white and red clover. A rich farming landscape spreads around me, with -blue hills in the far west. Cool and fresh like June. Bumblebees here -and there, more hairy than at home. A plow in a field by the roadside is -so heavy I can barely move it,--at least three times as heavy as an -American plow; beam very long, tails four inches square, the mould-board -a thick plank. The soil like putty; where it dries, crumbling into -small, hard lumps, but sticky and tough when damp,--Shakespeare's soil, -the finest and most versatile wit of the world, the product of a sticky, -stubborn clay-bank. Here is a field where every alternate swell is -small. The large swells heave up in a very molten-like way--real turfy -billows, crested with white clover-blossoms." - -"_July 17._ On the road to Warwick, two miles from Stratford. Morning -bright, with sky full of white, soft, high-piled thunderheads. Plenty -of pink blackberry blossoms along the road; herb Robert in bloom, and a -kind of Solomon's-seal as at home, and what appears to be a species of -goldenrod with a midsummery smell. The note of the yellow-hammer and the -wren here and there. Beech-trees loaded with mast and humming with -bumblebees, probably gathering honey-dew, which seems to be more -abundant here than with us. The landscape like a well-kept park dotted -with great trees, which make islands of shade in a sea of grass. Droves -of sheep grazing, and herds of cattle reposing in the succulent fields. -Now the just felt breeze brings me the rattle of a mowing-machine, a -rare sound here, as most of the grass is cut by hand. The great -motionless arms of a windmill rising here and there above the horizon. A -gentleman's turnout goes by with glittering wheels and spanking team; -the footman in livery behind, the gentleman driving. I hear his brake -scrape as he puts it on down the gentle descent. Now a lark goes off. -Then the mellow horn of a cow or heifer is heard. Then the bleat of -sheep. The crows caw hoarsely. Few houses by the roadside, but here and -there behind the trees in the distance. I hear the greenfinch, stronger -and sharper than our goldfinch, but less pleasing. The matured look of -some fields of grass alone suggests midsummer. Several species of mint -by the roadside, also certain white umbelliferous plants. Everywhere -that royal weed of Britain, the nettle. Shapely piles of road material -and pounded stone at regular distances, every fragment of which will go -through a two-inch ring. The roads are mended only in winter, and are -kept as smooth and hard as a rock. No swells or 'thank-y'-ma'ams' in -them to turn the water; they shed the water like a rounded pavement. On -the hill, three miles from Stratford, where a finger-post points you to -Hampton Lucy, I turn and see the spire of Shakespeare's church between -the trees. It lies in a broad, gentle valley, and rises above much -foliage. 'I hope and praise God it will keep foine,' said the old woman -at whose little cottage I stopped for ginger-beer, attracted by a sign -in the window. 'One penny, sir, if you please. I made it myself, sir. I -do not leave the front door unfastened' (undoing it to let me out) 'when -I am down in the garden.' A weasel runs across the road in front of me, -and is scolded by a little bird. The body of a dead hedgehog festering -beside the hedge. A species of St. John's-wort in bloom, teasels, and a -small convolvulus. Also a species of plantain with a head large as my -finger, purple tinged with white. Road margins wide, grassy, and -fragrant with clover. Privet in bloom in the hedges, panicles of small -white flowers faintly sweet-scented. 'As clean and white as privet when -it flowers,' says Tennyson in 'Walking to the Mail.' The road and avenue -between noble trees, beech, ash, elm, and oak. All the fields are -bounded by lines of stately trees; the distance is black with them. A -large thistle by the roadside, with homeless bumblebees on the heads as -at home, some of them white-faced and stingless. Thistles rare in this -country. Weeds of all kinds rare except the nettle. The place to see the -Scotch thistle is not in Scotland or England, but in America." - - -III - -England is like the margin of a spring-run, near its source,--always -green, always cool, always moist, comparatively free from frost in -winter and from drought in summer. The spring-run to which it owes this -character is the Gulf Stream, which brings out of the pit of the -southern ocean what the fountain brings out of the bowels of the -earth--a uniform temperature, low but constant; a fog in winter, a cloud -in summer. The spirit of gentle, fertilizing summer rain perhaps never -took such tangible and topographical shape before. Cloud-evolved, -cloud-enveloped, cloud-protected, it fills the eye of the American -traveler with a vision of greenness such as he has never before dreamed -of; a greenness born of perpetual May, tender, untarnished, ever -renewed, and as uniform and all-pervading as the rain-drops that fall, -covering mountain, cliff, and vale alike. The softened, rounded, flowing -outlines given to our landscape by a deep fall of snow are given to the -English by this depth of vegetable mould and this all-prevailing verdure -which it supports. Indeed, it is caught upon the shelves and projections -of the rocks as if it fell from the clouds,--a kind of green snow,--and -it clings to their rough or slanting sides like moist flakes. In the -little valleys and chasms it appears to lie deepest. Only the peaks and -broken rocky crests of the highest Scotch and Cumberland mountains are -bare. Adown their treeless sides the moist, fresh greenness fairly -drips. Grass, grass, grass, and evermore grass. Is there another country -under the sun so becushioned, becarpeted, and becurtained with grass? -Even the woods are full of grass, and I have seen them mowing in a -forest. Grass grows upon the rocks, upon the walls, on the tops of the -old castles, on the roofs of the houses, and in winter the hay-seed -sometimes sprouts upon the backs of the sheep. Turf used as capping to a -stone fence thrives and blooms as if upon the ground. There seems to be -a deposit from the atmosphere,--a slow but steady accumulation of a -black, peaty mould upon all exposed surfaces,--that by and by supports -some of the lower or cryptogamous forms of vegetation. These decay and -add to the soil, till thus in time grass and other plants will grow. The -walls of the old castles and cathedrals support a variety of plant life. -On Rochester Castle I saw two or three species of large wild flowers -growing one hundred feet from the ground and tempting the tourist to -perilous reachings and climbings to get them. The very stones seem to -sprout. My companion made a sketch of a striking group of red and white -flowers blooming far up on one of the buttresses of Rochester Cathedral. -The soil will climb to any height. Indeed, there seems to be a kind of -finer soil floating in the air. How else can one account for the general -smut of the human face and hands in this country, and the impossibility -of keeping his own clean? The unwashed hand here quickly leaves its mark -on whatever it touches. A prolonged neglect of soap and water, and I -think one would be presently covered with a fine green mould, like that -upon the boles of the trees in the woods. If the rains were not -occasionally heavy enough to clean them off, I have no doubt that the -roofs of all buildings in England would in a few years be covered with -turf, and that daisies and buttercups would bloom upon them. How quickly -all new buildings take on the prevailing look of age and mellowness! One -needs to have seen the great architectural piles and monuments of -Britain to appreciate Shakespeare's line,-- - - "That unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish Time." - -He must also have seen those Scotch or Cumberland mountains to -appreciate the descriptive force of this other line,-- - - "The turfy mountains where live the nibbling sheep." - -The turfy mountains are the unswept stones that have held and utilized -their ever-increasing capital of dirt. These vast rocky eminences are -stuffed and padded with peat; it is the sooty soil of the housetops and -of the grimy human hand, deepened and accumulated till it nourishes the -finest, sweetest grass. - -It was this turfy and grassy character of these mountains--I am tempted -to say their cushionary character--that no reading or picture viewing of -mine had prepared me for. In the cut or on canvas they appeared like -hard and frowning rocks; and here I beheld them as green and succulent -as any meadow-bank in April or May,--vast, elevated sheep-walks and -rabbit-warrens, treeless, shrubless, generally without loose bowlders, -shelving rocks, or sheer precipices; often rounded, feminine, dimpled, -or impressing one as if the rock had been thrust up beneath an immense -stretch of the finest lawn, and had carried the turf with it heavenward, -rending it here and there, but preserving acres of it intact. - -In Scotland I ascended Ben Venue, not one of the highest or ruggedest of -the Scotch mountains, but a fair sample of them, and my foot was seldom -off the grass or bog, often sinking into them as into a saturated -sponge. Where I expected a dry course, I found a wet one. The thick, -springy turf was oozing with water. Instead of being balked by -precipices, I was hindered by swamps. Where a tangle of brush or a chaos -of bowlders should have detained me, I was picking my way as through a -wet meadow-bottom tilted up at an angle of forty-five degrees. My feet -became soaked when my shins should have been bruised. Occasionally, a -large deposit of peat in some favored place had given way beneath the -strain of much water, and left a black chasm a few yards wide and a yard -or more deep. Cold spring-runs were abundant, wild flowers few, grass -universal. A loping hare started up before me; a pair of ringed ousels -took a hasty glance at me from behind a rock; sheep and lambs, the -latter white and conspicuous beside their dingy and all but invisible -dams, were scattered here and there; the wheat-ear uncovered its white -rump as it flitted from rock to rock, and the mountain pipit displayed -its larklike tail. No sound of wind in the trees; there were no trees, -no seared branches and trunks that so enhance and set off the wildness -of our mountain-tops. On the summit the wind whistled around the -outcropping rocks and hummed among the heather, but the great mountain -did not purr or roar like one covered with forests. - -I lingered for an hour or more, and gazed upon the stretch of mountain -and vale about me. The summit of Ben Lomond, eight or ten miles to the -west, rose a few hundred feet above me. On four peaks I could see snow -or miniature glaciers. Only four or five houses, mostly humble shepherd -dwellings, were visible in that wide circuit. The sun shone out at -intervals; the driving clouds floated low, their keels scraping the -rocks of some of the higher summits. The atmosphere was filled with a -curious white film, like water tinged with milk, an effect only produced -at home by a fine mist. "A certain tameness in the view, after all," I -recorded in my note-book on the spot, "perhaps because of the trim and -grassy character of the mountain; not solemn and impressive; no sense of -age or power. The rock crops out everywhere, but it can hardly look you -in the face; it is crumbling and insignificant; shows no frowning -walls, no tremendous cleavage; nothing overhanging and precipitous; no -wrath and revel of the elder gods." - -Even in rugged Scotland nature is scarcely wilder than a mountain sheep, -certainly a good way short of the ferity of the moose and caribou. There -is everywhere marked repose and moderation in the scenery, a kind of -aboriginal Scotch canniness and propriety that gives one a new -sensation. On and about Ben Nevis there is barrenness, cragginess, and -desolation; but the characteristic feature of wild Scotch scenery is the -moor, lifted up into mountains, covering low, broad hills, or stretching -away in undulating plains, black, silent, melancholy, it may be, but -never savage or especially wild. "The vast and yet not savage solitude," -Carlyle says, referring to these moorlands. The soil is black and peaty, -often boggy; the heather short and uniform as prairie grass; a -shepherd's cottage or a sportsman's "box" stuck here and there amid the -hills. The highland cattle are shaggy and picturesque, but the moors and -mountains are close cropped and uniform. The solitude is not that of a -forest full of still forms and dim vistas, but of wide, open, sombre -spaces. Nature did not look alien or unfriendly to me; there must be -barrenness or some savage threatening feature in the landscape to -produce this impression; but the heather and whin are like a permanent -shadow, and one longs to see the trees stand up and wave their branches. -The torrents leaping down off the mountains are very welcome to both -eye and ear. And the lakes--nothing can be prettier than Loch Lomond and -Loch Katrine, though one wishes for some of the superfluous rocks of the -New World to give their beauty a granite setting. - - -IV - -It is characteristic of nature in England that most of the stone with -which the old bridges, churches, and cathedrals are built is so soft -that people carve their initials in it with their jack-knives, as we do -in the bark of a tree or in a piece of pine timber. At Stratford a card -has been posted upon the outside of the old church, imploring visitors -to refrain from this barbarous practice. One sees names and dates there -more than a century old. Often, in leaning over the parapets of the -bridges along the highways, I would find them covered with letters and -figures. Tourists have made such havoc chipping off fragments from the -old Brig o' Doon in Burns's country, that the parapet has had to be -repaired. One could cut out the key of the arch with his pocket-knife. -And yet these old structures outlast empires. A few miles from Glasgow I -saw the remains of an old Roman bridge, the arch apparently as perfect -as when the first Roman chariot passed over it, probably fifteen -centuries ago. No wheels but those of time pass over it in these later -centuries, and these seem to be driven slowly and gently in this land, -with but little wear and tear to the ancient highways. - -England is not a country of granite and marble, but of chalk, marl, and -clay. The old Plutonic gods do not assert themselves; they are buried -and turned to dust, and the more modern humanistic divinities bear sway. -The land is a green cemetery of extinct rude forces. Where the highway -or the railway gashed the hills deeply, I could seldom tell where the -soil ended and the rock began, as they gradually assimilated, blended, -and became one. - -And this is the key to nature in England: 'tis granite grown ripe and -mellow and issuing in grass and verdure; 'tis aboriginal force and -fecundity become docile and equable and mounting toward higher -forms,--the harsh, bitter rind of the earth grown sweet and edible. -There is such body and substance in the color and presence of things -that one thinks the very roots of the grass must go deeper than usual. -The crude, the raw, the discordant, where are they? It seems a -comparatively short and easy step from nature to the canvas or to the -poem in this cozy land. Nothing need be added; the idealization has -already taken place. The Old World is deeply covered with a kind of -human leaf-mould, while the New is for the most part yet raw, undigested -hard-pan. This is why these scenes haunt one like a memory. One seems to -have youthful associations with every field and hilltop he looks upon. -The complete humanization of nature has taken place. The soil has been -mixed with human thought and substance. These fields have been -alternately Celt, Roman, British, Norman, Saxon; they have moved and -walked and talked and loved and suffered; hence one feels kindred to -them and at home among them. The mother-land, indeed. Every foot of its -soil has given birth to a human being and grown tender and conscious -with time. - -England is like a seat by the chimney-corner, and is as redolent of -human occupancy and domesticity. It has the island coziness and unity, -and the island simplicity as opposed to the continental diversity of -forms. It is all one neighborhood; a friendly and familiar air is over -all. It satisfies to the full one's utmost craving for the home-like and -for the fruits of affectionate occupation of the soil. It does not -satisfy one's craving for the wild, the savage, the aboriginal, what our -poet describes as his - - "Hungering, hungering, hungering for primal energies and Nature's - dauntlessness." - -But probably in the matter of natural scenes we hunger most for that -which we most do feed upon. At any rate, I can conceive that one might -be easily contented with what the English landscape affords him. - -The whole physiognomy of the land bespeaks the action of slow, uniform, -conservative agencies. There is an elemental composure and moderation in -things that leave their mark everywhere,--a sort of elemental sweetness -and docility that are a surprise and a charm. One does not forget that -the evolution of man probably occurred in this hemisphere, and time -would seem to have proved that there is something here more favorable to -his perpetuity and longevity. - -The dominant impression of the English landscape is repose. Never was -such a restful land to the eye, especially to the American eye, sated as -it is very apt to be with the mingled squalor and splendor of its own -landscape, its violent contrasts, and general spirit of unrest. But the -completeness and composure of this outdoor nature is like a dream. It is -like the poise of the tide at its full: every hurt of the world is -healed, every shore covered, every unsightly spot is hidden. The circle -of the horizon is brimming with the green equable flood. (I did not see -the fens of Lincolnshire nor the wolds of York.) This look of repose is -partly the result of the maturity and ripeness brought about by time and -ages of patient and thorough husbandry, and partly the result of the -gentle, continent spirit of Nature herself. She is contented, she is -happily wedded, she is well clothed and fed. Her offspring swarm about -her, her paths have fallen in pleasant places. The foliage of the trees, -how dense and massive! The turf of the fields, how thick and uniform! -The streams and rivers, how placid and full, showing no devastated -margins, no widespread sandy wastes and unsightly heaps of drift -bowlders! To the returned traveler the foliage of the trees and groves -of New England and New York looks thin and disheveled when compared with -the foliage he has just left. This effect is probably owing to our -cruder soil and sharper climate. The aspect of our trees in midsummer is -as if the hair of their heads stood on end; the woods have a wild, -frightened look, or as if they were just recovering from a debauch. In -our intense light and heat, the leaves, instead of spreading themselves -full to the sun and crowding out upon the ends of the branches as they -do in England, retreat, as it were, hide behind each other, stand -edgewise, perpendicular, or at any angle, to avoid the direct rays. In -Britain, from the slow, dripping rains and the excessive moisture, the -leaves of the trees droop more, and the branches are more pendent. The -rays of light are fewer and feebler, and the foliage disposes itself so -as to catch them all, and thus presents a fuller and broader surface to -the eye of the beholder. The leaves are massed upon the outer ends of -the branches, while the interior of the tree is comparatively leafless. -The European plane-tree is like a tent. The foliage is all on the -outside. The bird voices in it reverberate as in a chamber. - - "The pillar'd dusk of sounding sycamores," - -says Tennyson. At a little distance, it has the mass and solidity of a -rock. The same is true of the European maple, and when this tree is -grown on our side of the Atlantic it keeps up its Old World habits. I -have for several years taken note of a few of them growing in a park -near my home. They have less grace and delicacy of outline than our -native maple, but present a darker and more solid mass of foliage. The -leaves are larger and less feathery, and are crowded to the periphery of -the tree. Nearly every summer one of the trees, which is most exposed, -gets the leaves on one side badly scorched. When the foliage begins to -turn in the fall, the trees appear as if they had been lightly and -hastily brushed with gold. The outer edges of the branches become a -light yellow, while, a little deeper, the body of the foliage is still -green. It is this solid and sculpturesque character of the English -foliage that so fills the eye of the artist. The feathery, formless, -indefinite, not to say thin, aspect of our leafage is much less easy to -paint, and much less pleasing when painted. - -The same is true of the turf in the fields and upon the hills. The sward -with us, even in the oldest meadows, will wear more or less a ragged, -uneven aspect. The frost heaves it, the sun parches it; it is thin here -and thick there, crabbed in one spot and fine and soft in another. Only -by the frequent use of a heavy roller, copious waterings, and -top-dressings, can we produce sod that approaches in beauty even that of -the elevated sheep ranges in England and Scotland. - -The greater activity and abundance of the earthworm, as disclosed by -Darwin, probably has much to do with the smoothness and fatness of those -fields when contrasted with our own. This little yet mighty engine is -much less instrumental in leavening and leveling the soil in New England -than in Old. The greater humidity of the mother country, the deep -clayey soil, its fattening for ages by human occupancy, the abundance of -food, the milder climate, etc., are all favorable to the life and -activity of the earthworm. Indeed, according to Darwin, the gardener -that has made England a garden is none other than this little obscure -creature. It plows, drains, airs, pulverizes, fertilizes, and levels. It -cannot transport rocks and stone, but it can bury them; it cannot remove -the ancient walls and pavements, but it can undermine them and deposit -its rich castings above them. On each acre of land, he says, "in many -parts of England, a weight of more than ten tons of dry earth annually -passes through their bodies and is brought to the surface." "When we -behold a wide, turf-covered expanse," he further observes, "we should -remember that its smoothness, on which so much of its beauty depends, is -mainly due to all the inequalities having been slowly leveled by worms." - -The small part which worms play in this direction in our landscape is, I -am convinced, more than neutralized by our violent or disrupting -climate; but England looks like the product of some such gentle, -tireless, and beneficent agent. I have referred to that effect in the -face of the landscape as if the soil had snowed down; it seems the snow -came from the other direction, namely, from below, but was deposited -with equal gentleness and uniformity. - -The repose and equipoise of nature of which I have spoken appears in the -fields of grain no less than in the turf and foliage. One may see vast -stretches of wheat, oats, barley, beans, etc., as uniform as the surface -of a lake, every stalk of grain or bean the size and height of every -other stalk. This, of course, means good husbandry; it means a mild, -even-tempered nature back of it, also. Then the repose of the English -landscape is enhanced, rather than marred, by the part man has played in -it. How those old arched bridges rest above the placid streams; how -easily they conduct the trim, perfect highways over them! Where the foot -finds an easy way, the eye finds the same; where the body finds harmony, -the mind finds harmony. Those ivy-covered walls and ruins, those -finished fields, those rounded hedge-rows, those embowered cottages, and -that gray, massive architecture, all contribute to the harmony and to -the repose of the landscape. Perhaps in no other country are the grazing -herds so much at ease. One's first impression, on seeing British fields -in spring or summer, is that the cattle and sheep have all broken into -the meadow and have not yet been discovered by the farmer; they have -taken their fill, and are now reposing upon the grass or dreaming under -the trees. But you presently perceive that it is all meadow or -meadow-like; that there are no wild, weedy, or barren pastures about -which the herds toil; but that they are in grass up to their eyes -everywhere. Hence their contentment; hence another element of repose in -the landscape. - -The softness and humidity of the English climate act in two ways in -promoting that marvelous greenness of the land, namely, by growth and by -decay. As the grass springs quickly, so its matured stalk or dry leaf -decays quickly. No field growths are desiccated and preserved as with -us; there are no dried stubble and seared leaves remaining over the -winter to mar and obscure the verdancy of spring. Every dead thing is -quickly converted back to vegetable mould. In the woods, in May, it is -difficult to find any of the dry leaves of the previous autumn; in the -fields and copses and along the highways, no stalk of weed or grass -remains; while our wild, uplying pastures and mountain-tops always -present a more or less brown and seared appearance from the dried and -bleached stalks of the growth of the previous year, through which the -fresh springing grass is scarcely visible. Where rain falls on nearly -three hundred days in the year, as in the British islands, the -conversion of the mould into grass, and _vice versa_, takes place very -rapidly. - - - - -II - -ENGLISH WOODS: A CONTRAST - - -One cannot well overpraise the rural and pastoral beauty of England--the -beauty of her fields, parks, downs, holms. In England you shall see at -its full that of which you catch only glimpses in this country, the -broad, beaming, hospitable beauty of a perfectly cultivated landscape. -Indeed, to see England is to take one's fill of the orderly, the -permanent, the well-kept in the works of man, and of the continent, the -beneficent, the uniform, in the works of nature. It is to see the most -perfect bit of garden lawn extended till it covers an empire; it is to -see the history of two thousand years written in grass and verdure, and -in the lines of the landscape; a continent concentrated into a state, -the deserts and waste places left out, every rood of it swarming with -life; the pith and marrow of wide tracts compacted into narrow fields -and recruited and forwarded by the most vigilant husbandry. Those fields -look stall-fed, those cattle beam contentment, those rivers have never -left their banks; those mountains are the paradise of shepherds; those -open forest glades, half sylvan, half pastoral, clean, stately, full of -long vistas and cathedral-like aisles,--where else can one find beauty -like that? The wild and the savage flee away. The rocks pull the green -turf over them like coverlids; the hills are plump with vegetable mould, -and when they bend this way or that, their sides are wrinkled and -dimpled like the forms of fatted sheep. And fatted they are; not merely -by the care of man, but by the elements themselves; the sky rains -fertility upon them; there is no wear and tear as with our alternately -flooded, parched, and frozen hilltops; the soil accumulates, the mould -deepens; the matted turf binds it and yearly adds to it. - -All this is not simply because man is or has been so potent in the -landscape (this is but half the truth), but because the very mood and -humor of Nature herself is domestic and human. She seems to have grown -up with man and taken on his look and ways. Her spirit is that of the -full, placid stream that you may lead through your garden or conduct by -your doorstep without other danger than a wet sill or a soaked -flower-plot, at rare intervals. It is the opulent nature of the southern -seas, brought by the Gulf Stream, and reproduced and perpetuated here -under these cool northern skies, the fangs and the poison taken out; -full, but no longer feverish; lusty, but no longer lewd. - -Yet there is a certain beauty of nature to be had in much fuller measure -in our own country than in England,--the beauty of the wild, the -aboriginal,--the beauty of primitive forests,--the beauty of -lichen-covered rocks and ledges. The lichen is one of the lowest and -humblest forms of vegetable growth, but think how much it adds to the -beauty of all our wild scenery, giving to our mountain walls and drift -bowlders the softest and most pleasing tints. The rocky escarpments of -New York and New England hills are frescoed by Time himself, painted as -with the brush of the eternal elements. But the lichen is much less -conspicuous in England, and plays no such part in her natural scenery. -The climate is too damp. The rocks in Wales and Northumberland and in -Scotland are dark and cold and unattractive. The trees in the woods do -not wear the mottled suit of soft gray ours do. The bark of the British -beech is smooth and close-fitting, and often tinged with a green mould. -The Scotch pine is clad as in a ragged suit of leather. Nature uses -mosses instead of lichens. The old walls and housetops are covered with -moss--a higher form of vegetation than lichens. Its decay soon -accumulates a little soil or vegetable mould, which presently supports -flowering plants. - -Neither are there any rocks in England worth mentioning; no granite -bowlders, no fern-decked or moss-covered fragments scattered through the -woods, as with us. They have all been used up for building purposes, or -for road-making, or else have quite dissolved in the humid climate. I -saw rocks in Wales, quite a profusion of them in the pass of Llanberis, -but they were tame indeed in comparison with such rock scenery as that -say at Lake Mohunk, in the Shawangunk range in New York. There are -passes in the Catskills that for the grandeur of wildness and savageness -far surpass anything the Welsh mountains have to show. Then for -exquisite and thrilling beauty, probably one of our mottled rocky walls -with the dicentra blooming from little niches and shelves in April, and -the columbine thrusting out from seams and crevices clusters of its -orange bells in May, with ferns and mosses clinging here and there, and -the woodbine tracing a delicate green line across its face, cannot be -matched anywhere in the world. - -Then, in our woods, apart from their treasures of rocks, there is a -certain beauty and purity unknown in England, a certain delicacy and -sweetness, and charm of unsophisticated nature, that are native to our -forests. - -The pastoral or field life of nature in England is so rank and full, -that no woods or forests that I was able to find could hold their own -against it for a moment. It flooded them like a tide. The grass grows -luxuriantly in the thick woods, and where the grass fails, the coarse -bracken takes its place. There was no wood spirit, no wild wood air. Our -forests shut their doors against the fields; they shut out the strong -light and the heat. Where the land has been long cleared, the woods put -out a screen of low branches, or else a brushy growth starts up along -their borders that guards and protects their privacy. Lift or part away -these branches, and step inside, and you are in another world; new -plants, new flowers, new birds, new animals, new insects, new sounds, -new odors; in fact, an entirely different atmosphere and presence. Dry -leaves cover the ground, delicate ferns and mosses drape the rocks, shy, -delicate flowers gleam out here and there, the slender brown wood-frog -leaps nimbly away from your feet, the little red newt fills its -infantile pipe, or hides under a leaf, the ruffed grouse bursts up -before you, the gray squirrel leaps from tree to tree, the wood pewee -utters its plaintive cry, the little warblers lisp and dart amid the -branches, and sooner or later the mosquito demands his fee. Our woods -suggest new arts, new pleasures, a new mode of life. English parks and -groves, when the sun shines, suggest a perpetual picnic, or Maying -party; but no one, I imagine, thinks of camping out in English woods. -The constant rains, the darkened skies, the low temperature, make the -interior of a forest as uninviting as an underground passage. I wondered -what became of the dry leaves that are such a feature and give out such -a pleasing odor in our woods. They are probably raked up and carried -away; or, if left upon the ground, are quickly resolved into mould by -the damp climate. - -While in Scotland I explored a large tract of woodland, mainly of Scotch -fir, that covers a hill near Ecclefechan, but it was grassy and -uninviting. In one of the parks of the Duke of Hamilton, I found a deep -wooded gorge through which flowed the river Avon (I saw four rivers of -this name in Great Britain), a branch of the Clyde,--a dark, rock-paved -stream, the color of brown stout. It was the wildest bit of forest -scenery I saw anywhere. I almost imagined myself on the headwaters of -the Hudson or the Penobscot. The stillness, the solitude, the wild -boiling waters, were impressive; but the woods had no charm; there were -no flowers, no birds; the sylvan folk had moved away long ago, and their -house was cold and inhospitable. I sat a half-hour in their dark -nettle-grown halls by the verge of the creek, to see if they were -stirring anywhere, but they were not. I did, indeed, hear part of a -wren's song, and the call of the sandpiper; but that was all. Not one -purely wood voice or sound or odor. But looking into the air a few yards -below me, there leapt one of those matchless stone bridges, clearing the -profound gulf and carrying the road over as securely as if upon the -geological strata. It was the bow of art and civilization set against -nature's wildness. In the woods beyond, I came suddenly upon the ruins -of an old castle, with great trees growing out of it, and rabbits -burrowing beneath it. One learns that it takes more than a collection of -trees to make a forest, as we know it in this country. Unless they house -that spirit of wildness and purity like a temple, they fail to satisfy. -In walking to Selborne, I skirted Wolmer Forest, but it had an -uninviting look. The Hanger on the hill above Selborne, which remains -nearly as it was in White's time,--a thrifty forest of beeches,--I -explored, but found it like the others, without any distinctive woodsy -attraction--only so much soil covered with dripping beeches, too dense -for a park and too tame for a forest. The soil is a greasy, slippery -clay, and down the steepest part of the hill, amid the trees, the boys -have a slide that serves them for summer "coastings." Hardly a leaf, -hardly a twig or branch, to be found. In White's time, the poor people -used to pick up the sticks the crows dropped in building their nests, -and they probably do so yet. When one comes upon the glades beyond the -Hanger, the mingling of groves and grassy common, the eye is fully -content. The beech, which is the prevailing tree here, as it is in many -other parts of England, is a much finer tree than the American beech. -The deep limestone soil seems especially adapted to it. It grows as -large as our elm, with much the same manner of branching. The trunk is -not patched and mottled with gray, like ours, but is often tinged with a -fine deep green mould. The beeches that stand across the road in front -of Wordsworth's house, at Rydal Mount, have boles nearly as green as the -surrounding hills. The bark of this tree is smooth and close-fitting, -and shows that muscular, athletic character of the tree beneath it which -justifies Spenser's phrase, "the warlike beech." These beeches develop -finely in the open, and make superb shade-trees along the highway. All -the great historical forests of England--Shrewsbury Forest, the Forest -of Dean, New Forest, etc.--have practically disappeared. Remnants of -them remain here and there, but the country they once occupied is now -essentially pastoral. - -It is noteworthy that there is little or no love of woods as such in -English poetry; no fond mention of them, and dwelling upon them. The -muse of Britain's rural poetry has none of the wide-eyedness and -furtiveness of the sylvan creatures; she is rather a gentle, wholesome, -slightly stupid divinity of the fields. Milton sings the praises of - - "Arched walks of twilight groves." - -But his wood is a "drear wood," - - "The nodding horror of whose shady brows - Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger." - -Again:-- - - "Very desolation dwells - By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shade." - -Shakespeare refers to the "ruthless, vast, and horrid wood,"--a fit -place for robbery, rapine, and murder. Indeed, English poetry is pretty -well colored with the memory of the time when the woods were the -hiding-places of robbers and outlaws, and were the scenes of all manner -of dark deeds. The only thing I recall in Shakespeare that gives a faint -whiff of our forest life occurs in "All's Well That Ends Well," where -the clown says to Lafeu, "I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved -a great fire." That great fire is American; wood is too scarce in -Europe. Francis Higginson wrote in 1630: "New England may boast of the -element of fire more than all the rest; for all Europe is not able to -afford to make so great fires as New England. A poor servant, that is -to possess but fifty acres, may afford to give more wood for fire, as -good as the world yields, than many noblemen in England." In many parts -of New England, New York, and Pennsylvania, the same royal fires may -still be indulged in. In the chief nature-poet of England, Wordsworth, -there is no line that has the subtle aroma of the deep woods. After -seeing his country, one can recognize its features, its spirit, all -through his poems--its impressive solitudes, its lonely tarns, its -silent fells, its green dales, its voiceful waterfalls; but there are no -woods there to speak of; the mountains appear to have always been -treeless, and the poet's muse has never felt the spell of this phase of -nature--the mystery and attraction of the indoors of aboriginal -wildness. Likewise in Tennyson there is the breath of the wold, but not -of the woods. - -Among our own poets, two at least of the more eminent have listened to -the siren of our primitive woods. I refer to Bryant and Emerson. Though -so different, there is an Indian's love of forests and forest-solitudes -in them both. Neither Bryant's "Forest Hymn" nor Emerson's "Woodnotes" -could have been written by an English poet. The "Woodnotes" savor of our -vast Northern pine forests, amid which one walks with distended pupil, -and a boding, alert sense. - - "In unploughed Maine he sought the lumberers' gang, - Where from a hundred lakes young rivers sprang; - He trode the unplanted forest floor, whereon - The all-seeing sun for ages hath not shone; - Where feeds the moose, and walks the surly bear, - And up the tall mast runs the woodpecker. - He saw beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds, - The slight Linnæa hang its twin-born heads, - And blessed the monument of the man of flowers, - Which breathes his sweet fame through the northern bowers. - He heard, when in the grove, at intervals, - With sudden roar the aged pine-tree falls,-- - One crash, the death-hymn of the perfect tree, - Declares the close of its green century." - -Emerson's muse is urbane, but it is that wise urbanity that is at home -in the woods as well as in the town, and can make a garden of a forest. - - "My garden is a forest ledge, - Which older forests bound; - The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge, - Then plunge to depths profound." - -On the other hand, we have no pastoral poetry in the English sense, -because we have no pastoral nature as overpowering as the English have. -When the muse of our poetry is not imitative, it often has a piny, -woodsy flavor, that is unknown in the older literatures. The gentle muse -of Longfellow, so civil, so cultivated; yet how it delighted in all -legends and echoes and Arcadian dreams, that date from the forest -primeval. Thoreau was a wood-genius--the spirit of some Indian poet or -prophet, graduated at Harvard College, but never losing his taste for -the wild. The shy, mystical genius of Hawthorne was never more at home -than when in the woods. Read the forest-scenes in the "Scarlet Letter." -They are among the most suggestive in the book. - - - - -III - -IN CARLYLE'S COUNTRY - - -In crossing the sea a second time, I was more curious to see Scotland -than England, partly because I had had a good glimpse of the latter -country eleven years before, but largely because I had always preferred -the Scotch people to the English (I had seen and known more of them in -my youth), and especially because just then I was much absorbed with -Carlyle, and wanted to see with my own eyes the land and the race from -which he sprang. - -I suspect anyhow I am more strongly attracted by the Celt than by the -Anglo-Saxon; at least by the individual Celt. Collectively the -Anglo-Saxon is the more impressive; his triumphs are greater; the face -of his country and of his cities is the more pleasing; the gift of -empire is his. Yet there can be no doubt, I think, that the Celts, at -least the Scotch Celts, are a more hearty, cordial, and hospitable -people than the English; they have more curiosity, more raciness, and -quicker and surer sympathies. They fuse and blend readily with another -people, which the English seldom do. In this country John Bull is -usually like a pebble in the clay; grind him and press him and bake him -as you will, he is still a pebble--a hard spot in the brick, but not -essentially a part of it. - -Every close view I got of the Scotch character confirmed my liking for -it. A most pleasant episode happened to me down in Ayr. A young man whom -I stumbled on by chance in a little wood by the Doon, during some -conversation about the birds that were singing around us, quoted my own -name to me. This led to an acquaintance with the family and with the -parish minister, and gave a genuine human coloring to our brief sojourn -in Burns's country. In Glasgow I had an inside view of a household a -little lower in the social scale, but high in the scale of virtues and -excellences. I climbed up many winding stone stairs and found the family -in three or four rooms on the top floor: a father, mother, three sons, -two of them grown, and a daughter, also grown. The father and the sons -worked in an iron foundry near by. I broke bread with them around the -table in the little cluttered kitchen, and was spared apologies as much -as if we had been seated at a banquet in a baronial hall. A Bible -chapter was read after we were seated at table, each member of the -family reading a verse alternately. When the meal was over, we went into -the next room, where all joined in singing some Scotch songs, mainly -from Burns. One of the sons possessed the finest bass voice I had ever -listened to. Its power was simply tremendous, well tempered with the -Scotch raciness and tenderness, too. He had taken the first prize at a -public singing bout, open to competition to all of Scotland. I told his -mother, who also had a voice of wonderful sweetness, that such a gift -would make her son's fortune anywhere, and found that the subject was -the cause of much anxiety to her. She feared lest it should be the -ruination of him--lest he should prostitute it to the service of the -devil, as she put it, rather than use it to the glory of God. She said -she had rather follow him to his grave than see him in the opera or -concert hall, singing for money. She wanted him to stick to his work, -and use his voice only as a pious and sacred gift. When I asked the -young man to come and sing for us at the hotel, the mother was greatly -troubled, as she afterward told me, till she learned we were stopping at -a temperance house. But the young man seemed not at all inclined to -break away from the advice of his mother. The other son had a sweetheart -who had gone to America, and he was looking longingly thitherward. He -showed me her picture, and did not at all attempt to conceal from me, or -from his family, his interest in the original. Indeed, one would have -said there were no secrets or concealments in such a family, and the -thorough unaffected piety of the whole household, mingled with so much -that was human and racy and canny, made an impression upon me I shall -not soon forget. This family was probably an exceptional one, but it -tinges all my recollections of smoky, tall-chimneyed Glasgow. - -A Scotch trait of quite another sort, and more suggestive of Burns than -of Carlyle, was briefly summarized in an item of statistics which I used -to read in one of the Edinburgh papers every Monday morning, namely, -that of the births registered during the previous week, invariably from -ten to twelve per cent. were illegitimate. The Scotch--all classes of -them--love Burns deep down in their hearts, because he has expressed -them, from the roots up, as none other has. - -When I think of Edinburgh the vision that comes before my mind's eye is -of a city presided over, and shone upon as it were, by two green -treeless heights. Arthur's Seat is like a great irregular orb or -half-orb, rising above the near horizon there in the southeast, and -dominating city and country with its unbroken verdancy. Its greenness -seems almost to pervade the air itself--a slight radiance of grass, -there in the eastern skies. No description of Edinburgh I had read had -prepared me for the striking hill features that look down upon it. There -is a series of three hills which culminate in Arthur's Seat, 800 feet -high. Upon the first and smaller hill stands the Castle. This is a -craggy, precipitous rock, on three sides, but sloping down into a broad -gentle expanse toward the east, where the old city of Edinburgh is -mainly built,--as if it had flowed out of the Castle as out of a -fountain, and spread over the adjacent ground. Just beyond the point -where it ceases rise Salisbury Crags to a height of 570 feet, turning to -the city a sheer wall of rocks like the Palisades of the Hudson. From -its brink eastward again, the ground slopes in a broad expanse of -greensward to a valley called Hunter's Bog, where I thought the hunters -were very quiet and very numerous until I saw they were city riflemen -engaged in target practice; thence it rises irregularly to the crest of -Arthur's Seat, forming the pastoral eminence and green-shining disk to -which I have referred. Along the crest of Salisbury Crags the thick turf -comes to the edge of the precipices, as one might stretch a carpet. It -is so firm and compact that the boys cut their initials in it, on a -large scale, with their jack-knives, as in the bark of a tree. Arthur's -Seat was a favorite walk of Carlyle's during those gloomy days in -Edinburgh in 1820-21. It was a mount of vision to him, and he apparently -went there every day when the weather permitted.[Note: See letter to his -brother John, March 9, 1821.] - -There was no road in Scotland or England which I should have been so -glad to have walked over as that from Edinburgh to Ecclefechan,--a -distance covered many times by the feet of him whose birth and burial -place I was about to visit. Carlyle as a young man had walked it with -Edward Irving (the Scotch say "travel" when they mean going afoot), and -he had walked it alone, and as a lad with an elder boy, on his way to -Edinburgh college. He says in his "Reminiscences" he nowhere else had -such affectionate, sad, thoughtful, and, in fact, interesting and -salutary journeys. "No company to you but the rustle of the grass under -foot, the tinkling of the brook, or the voices of innocent, primeval -things." "I have had days as clear as Italy (as in this Irving case); -days moist and dripping, overhung with the infinite of silent gray,--and -perhaps the latter were the preferable, in certain moods. You had the -world and its waste imbroglios of joy and woe, of light and darkness, to -yourself alone. You could strip barefoot, if it suited better; carry -shoes and socks over shoulder, hung on your stick; clean shirt and comb -were in your pocket; _omnia mea mecum porto_. You lodged with shepherds, -who had clean, solid cottages; wholesome eggs, milk, oatmeal porridge, -clean blankets to their beds, and a great deal of human sense and -unadulterated natural politeness." - -But how can one walk a hundred miles in cool blood without a companion, -especially when the trains run every hour, and he has a surplus -sovereign in his pocket? One saves time and consults his ease by riding, -but he thereby misses the real savor of the land. And the roads of this -compact little kingdom are so inviting, like a hard, smooth surface -covered with sand-paper! How easily the foot puts them behind it! And -the summer weather,--what a fresh under-stratum the air has even on the -warmest days! Every breath one draws has a cool, invigorating core to -it, as if there might be some unmelted, or just melted, frost not far -off. - -But as we did not walk, there was satisfaction in knowing that the -engine which took our train down from Edinburgh was named Thomas -Carlyle. The cognomen looked well on the toiling, fiery-hearted, -iron-browed monster. I think its original owner would have contemplated -it with grim pleasure, especially since he confesses to having spent -some time, once, in trying to look up a shipmaster who had named his -vessel for him. Here was a hero after his own sort, a leader by the -divine right of the expansive power of steam. - -The human faculties of observation have not yet adjusted themselves to -the flying train. Steam has clapped wings to our shoulders without the -power to soar; we get bird's-eye views without the bird's eyes or the -bird's elevation, distance without breadth, detail without mass. If such -speed only gave us a proportionate extent of view, if this leisure of -the eye were only mated to an equal leisure in the glance! Indeed, when -one thinks of it, how near railway traveling, as a means of seeing a -country, comes, except in the discomforts of it, to being no traveling -at all! It is like being tied to your chair, and being jolted and shoved -about at home. The landscape is turned topsy-turvy. The eye sustains -unnatural relations to all but the most distant objects. We move in an -arbitrary plane, and seldom is anything seen from the proper point, or -with the proper sympathy of coordinate position. We shall have to wait -for the air ship to give us the triumph over space in which the eye can -share. Of this flight south from Edinburgh on that bright summer day, I -keep only the most general impression. I recall how clean and naked the -country looked, lifted up in broad hill-slopes, naked of forests and -trees and weedy, bushy growths, and of everything that would hide or -obscure its unbroken verdancy,--the one impression that of a universe of -grass, as in the arctic regions it might be one of snow; the mountains, -pastoral solitudes; the vales, emerald vistas. - -Not to be entirely cheated out of my walk, I left the train at -Lockerbie, a small Scotch market town, and accomplished the remainder of -the journey to Ecclefechan on foot, a brief six-mile pull. It was the -first day of June; the afternoon sun was shining brightly. It was still -the honeymoon of travel with me, not yet two weeks in the bonnie land; -the road was smooth and clean as the floor of a sea beach, and firmer, -and my feet devoured the distance with right good will. The first red -clover had just bloomed, as I probably would have found it that day had -I taken a walk at home; but, like the people I met, it had a ruddier -cheek than at home. I observed it on other occasions, and later in the -season, and noted that it had more color than in this country, and held -its bloom longer. All grains and grasses ripen slower there than here, -the season is so much longer and cooler. The pink and ruddy tints are -more common in the flowers also. The bloom of the blackberry is often of -a decided pink, and certain white, umbelliferous plants, like yarrow, -have now and then a rosy tinge. The little white daisy ("gowan," the -Scotch call it) is tipped with crimson, foretelling the scarlet -poppies, with which the grain fields will by and by be splashed. -Prunella (self-heal), also, is of a deeper purple than with us, and a -species of cranesbill, like our wild geranium, is of a much deeper and -stronger color. On the other hand, their ripened fruits and foliage of -autumn pale their ineffectual colors beside our own. - -Among the farm occupations, that which most took my eye, on this and on -other occasions, was the furrowing of the land for turnips and potatoes; -it is done with such absolute precision. It recalled Emerson's statement -that the fields in this island look as if finished with a pencil instead -of a plow,--a pencil and a ruler in this case, the lines were so -straight and so uniform. I asked a farmer at work by the roadside how he -managed it. "Ah," said he, "a Scotchman's head is level." Both here and -in England, plowing is studied like a fine art; they have plowing -matches, and offer prizes for the best furrow. In planting both potatoes -and turnips the ground is treated alike, grubbed, plowed, cross-plowed, -crushed, harrowed, chain-harrowed, and rolled. Every sod and tuft of -uprooted grass is carefully picked up by women and boys, and burned or -carted away; leaving the surface of the ground like a clean sheet of -paper, upon which the plowman is now to inscribe his perfect lines. The -plow is drawn by two horses; it is a long, heavy tool, with double -mould-boards, and throws the earth each way. In opening the first furrow -the plowman is guided by stakes; having got this one perfect, it is -used as the model for every subsequent one, and the land is thrown into -ridges as uniform and faultless as if it had been stamped at one stroke -with a die, or cast in a mould. It is so from one end of the island to -the other; the same expert seems to have done the work in every plowed -and planted field. - -Four miles from Lockerbie I came to Mainhill, the name of a farm where -the Carlyle family lived many years, and where Carlyle first read -Goethe, "in a dry ditch," Froude says, and translated "Wilhelm Meister." -The land drops gently away to the south and east, opening up broad views -in these directions, but it does not seem to be the bleak and windy -place Froude describes it. The crops looked good, and the fields smooth -and fertile. The soil is rather a stubborn clay, nearly the same as one -sees everywhere. A sloping field adjoining the highway was being got -ready for turnips. The ridges had been cast; the farmer, a courteous but -serious and reserved man, was sprinkling some commercial fertilizer in -the furrows from a bag slung across his shoulders, while a boy, with a -horse and cart, was depositing stable manure in the same furrows, which -a lassie, in clogs and short skirts, was evenly distributing with a -fork. Certain work in Scotch fields always seems to be done by women and -girls,--spreading manure, pulling weeds, and picking up sods,--while -they take an equal hand with the men in the hay and harvest fields. - -The Carlyles were living on this farm while their son was teaching -school at Annan, and later at Kirkcaldy with Irving, and they supplied -him with cheese, butter, ham, oatmeal, etc., from their scanty stores. A -new farmhouse has been built since then, though the old one is still -standing; doubtless the same Carlyle's father refers to in a letter to -his son, in 1817, as being under way. The parish minister was expected -at Mainhill. "Your mother was very anxious to have the house done before -he came, or else she said she would run over the hill and hide herself." - -From Mainhill the highway descends slowly to the village of Ecclefechan, -the site of which is marked to the eye, a mile or more away, by the -spire of the church rising up against a background of Scotch firs, which -clothe a hill beyond. I soon entered the main street of the village, -which in Carlyle's youth had an open burn or creek flowing through the -centre of it. This has been covered over by some enterprising citizen, -and instead of a loitering little burn, crossed by numerous bridges, the -eye is now greeted by a broad expanse of small cobble-stone. The -cottages are for the most part very humble, and rise from the outer -edges of the pavement, as if the latter had been turned up and shaped to -make their walls. The church is a handsome brown stone structure, of -recent date, and is more in keeping with the fine fertile country about -than with the little village in its front. In the cemetery back of it, -Carlyle lies buried. As I approached, a girl sat by the roadside, near -the gate, combing her black locks and arranging her toilet; waiting, as -it proved, for her mother and brother, who lingered in the village. A -couple of boys were cutting nettles against the hedge; for the pigs, -they said, after the sting had been taken out of them by boiling. Across -the street from the cemetery the cows of the villagers were grazing. - -I must have thought it would be as easy to distinguish Carlyle's grave -from the others as it was to distinguish the man while living, or his -fame when dead; for it never occurred to me to ask in what part of the -inclosure it was placed. Hence, when I found myself inside the gate, -which opens from the Annan road through a high stone wall, I followed -the most worn path toward a new and imposing-looking monument on the far -side of the cemetery; and the edge of my fine emotion was a good deal -dulled against the marble when I found it bore a strange name. I tried -others, and still others, but was disappointed. I found a long row of -Carlyles, but he whom I sought was not among them. My pilgrim enthusiasm -felt itself needlessly hindered and chilled. How many rebuffs could one -stand? Carlyle dead, then, was the same as Carlyle living; sure to take -you down a peg or two when you came to lay your homage at his feet. - -Presently I saw "Thomas Carlyle" on a big marble slab that stood in a -family inclosure. But this turned out to be the name of a nephew of the -great Thomas. However, I had struck the right plat at last; here were -the Carlyles I was looking for, within a space probably of eight by -sixteen feet, surrounded by a high iron fence. The latest made grave was -higher and fuller than the rest, but it had no stone or mark of any kind -to distinguish it. Since my visit, I believe, a stone or monument of -some kind has been put up. A few daisies and the pretty blue-eyed -speedwell were growing amid the grass upon it. The great man lies with -his head toward the south or southwest, with his mother, sister, and -father to the right of him, and his brother John to the left. I was glad -to learn that the high iron fence was not his own suggestion. His father -had put it around the family plat in his lifetime. Carlyle would have -liked to have it cut down about half way. The whole look of this -cemetery, except in the extraordinary size of the headstones, was quite -American, it being back of the church, and separated from it, a kind of -mortuary garden, instead of surrounding it and running under it, as is -the case with the older churches. I noted here, as I did elsewhere, that -the custom prevails of putting the trade or occupation of the deceased -upon his stone: So-and-So, mason, or tailor, or carpenter, or farmer, -etc. - -A young man and his wife were working in a nursery of young trees, a few -paces from the graves, and I conversed with them through a thin place in -the hedge. They said they had seen Carlyle many times, and seemed to -hold him in proper esteem and reverence. The young man had seen him -come in summer and stand, with uncovered head, beside the graves of his -father and mother. "And long and reverently did he remain there, too," -said the young gardener. I learned this was Carlyle's invariable custom: -every summer did he make a pilgrimage to this spot, and with bared head -linger beside these graves. The last time he came, which was a couple of -years before he died, he was so feeble that two persons sustained him -while he walked into the cemetery. This observance recalls a passage -from his "Past and Present." Speaking of the religious custom of the -Emperor of China, he says, "He and his three hundred millions (it is -their chief punctuality) visit yearly the Tombs of their Fathers; each -man the Tomb of his Father and his Mother; alone there in silence with -what of 'worship' or of other thought there may be, pauses solemnly each -man; the divine Skies all silent over him; the divine Graves, and this -divinest Grave, all silent under him; the pulsings of his own soul, if -he have any soul, alone audible. Truly it may be a kind of worship! -Truly, if a man cannot get some glimpse into the Eternities, looking -through this portal,--through what other need he try it?" - -Carlyle's reverence and affection for his kindred were among his most -beautiful traits, and make up in some measure for the contempt he felt -toward the rest of mankind. The family stamp was never more strongly set -upon a man, and no family ever had a more original, deeply cut pattern -than that of the Carlyles. Generally, in great men who emerge from -obscure peasant homes, the genius of the family takes an enormous leap, -or is completely metamorphosed; but Carlyle keeps all the paternal -lineaments unfaded; he is his father and his mother, touched to finer -issues. That wonderful speech of his sire, which all who knew him -feared, has lost nothing in the son, but is tremendously augmented, and -cuts like a Damascus sword, or crushes like a sledge-hammer. The -strongest and finest paternal traits have survived in him. Indeed, a -little congenital rill seems to have come all the way down from the old -vikings. Carlyle is not merely Scotch; he is Norselandic. There is a -marked Scandinavian flavor in him; a touch, or more than a touch, of the -rude, brawling, bullying, hard-hitting, wrestling viking times. The -hammer of Thor antedates the hammer of his stone-mason sire in him. He -is Scotland, past and present, moral and physical. John Knox and the -Covenanters survive in him: witness his religious zeal, his depth and -solemnity of conviction, his strugglings and agonizings, his -"conversion." Ossian survives in him: behold that melancholy retrospect, -that gloom, that melodious wail. And especially, as I have said, do his -immediate ancestors survive in him,--his sturdy, toiling, fiery-tongued, -clannish yeoman progenitors: all are summed up here; this is the net -result available for literature in the nineteenth century. - -Carlyle's heart was always here in Scotland. A vague, yearning -homesickness seemed ever to possess him. "The Hill I first saw the Sun -rise over," he says in "Past and Present," "when the Sun and I and all -things were yet in their auroral hour, who can divorce me from it? -Mystic, deep as the world's centre, are the roots I have struck into my -Native Soil; no _tree_ that grows is rooted so." How that mournful -retrospective glance haunts his pages! His race, generation upon -generation, had toiled and wrought here amid the lonely moors, had -wrestled with poverty and privation, had wrung the earth for a scanty -subsistence, till they had become identified with the soil, kindred with -it. How strong the family ties had grown in the struggle; how the -sentiment of home was fostered! Then the Carlyles were men who lavished -their heart and conscience upon their work; they builded themselves, -their days, their thoughts and sorrows, into their houses; they leavened -the soil with the sweat of their rugged brows. When James Carlyle, his -father, after a lapse of fifty years, saw Auldgarth bridge, upon which -he had worked as a lad, he was deeply moved. When Carlyle in his turn -saw it, and remembered his father and all he had told him, he also was -deeply moved. "It was as if half a century of past time had fatefully -for moments turned back." Whatever these men touched with their hands in -honest toil became sacred to them, a page out of their own lives. A -silent, inarticulate kind of religion they put into their work. All this -bore fruit in their distinguished descendant. It gave him that -reverted, half mournful gaze; the ground was hallowed behind him; his -dead called to him from their graves. Nothing deepens and intensifies -family traits like poverty and toil and suffering. It is the furnace -heat that brings out the characters, the pressure that makes the strata -perfect. One recalls Carlyle's grandmother getting her children up late -at night, his father one of them, to break their long fast with oaten -cakes from the meal that had but just arrived; making the fire from -straw taken from their beds. Surely, such things reach the springs of -being. - -It seemed eminently fit that Carlyle's dust should rest here in his -native soil, with that of his kindred, he was so thoroughly one of them, -and that his place should be next his mother's, between whom and himself -there existed such strong affection. I recall a little glimpse he gives -of his mother in a letter to his brother John, while the latter was -studying in Germany. His mother had visited him in Edinburgh. "I had -her," he writes, "at the pier of Leith, and showed her where your ship -vanished; and she looked over the blue waters eastward with wettish -eyes, and asked the dumb waves 'when he would be back again.' Good -mother." - -To see more of Ecclefechan and its people, and to browse more at my -leisure about the country, I brought my wife and youngster down from -Lockerbie; and we spent several days there, putting up at the quiet and -cleanly little Bush Inn. I tramped much about the neighborhood, noting -the birds, the wild flowers, the people, the farm occupations, etc.; -going one afternoon to Scotsbrig, where the Carlyles lived after they -left Mainhill, and where both father and mother died; one day to Annan, -another to Repentance Hill, another over the hill toward Kirtlebridge, -tasting the land, and finding it good. It is an evidence of how -permanent and unchanging things are here that the house where Carlyle -was born, eighty-seven years ago, and which his father built, stands -just as it did then, and looks good for several hundred years more. In -going up to the little room where he first saw the light, one ascends -the much-worn but original stone stairs, and treads upon the original -stone floors. I suspect that even the window panes in the little window -remain the same. The village is a very quiet and humble one, paved with -small cobble-stone, over which one hears the clatter of the wooden -clogs, the same as in Carlyle's early days. The pavement comes quite up -to the low, modest, stone-floored houses, and one steps from the street -directly into most of them. When an Englishman or a Scotchman of the -humbler ranks builds a house in the country, he either turns its back -upon the highway, or places it several rods distant from it, with sheds -or stables between; or else he surrounds it with a high, massive fence, -shutting out your view entirely. In the village he crowds it to the -front; continues the street pavement into his hall, if he can; allows no -fence or screen between it and the street, but makes the communication -between the two as easy and open as possible. At least this is the case -with most of the older houses. Hence village houses and cottages in -Britain are far less private and secluded than ours, and country houses -far less public. The only feature of Ecclefechan, besides the church, -that distinguishes it from the humblest peasant village of a hundred -years ago, is the large, fine stone structure used for the public -school. It confers a sort of distinction upon the place, as if it were -in some way connected with the memory of its famous son. I think I was -informed that he had some hand in founding it. The building in which he -first attended school is a low, humble dwelling, that now stands behind -the church, and forms part of the boundary between the cemetery and the -Annan road. - -From our window I used to watch the laborers on their way to their work, -the children going to school, or to the pump for water, and night and -morning the women bringing in their cows from the pasture to be milked. -In the long June gloaming the evening milking was not done till about -nine o'clock. On two occasions, the first in a brisk rain, a bedraggled, -forlorn, deeply-hooded, youngish woman, came slowly through the street, -pausing here and there, and singing in wild, melancholy, and not -unpleasing strains. Her voice had a strange piercing plaintiveness and -wildness. Now and then some passer-by would toss a penny at her feet. -The pretty Edinburgh lass, her hair redder than Scotch gold, that waited -upon us at the inn, went out in the rain and put a penny in her hand. -After a few pennies had been collected the music would stop, and the -singer disappear,--to drink up her gains, I half suspect, but do not -know. I noticed that she was never treated with rudeness or disrespect. -The boys would pause and regard her occasionally, but made no remark, or -gesture, or grimace. One afternoon a traveling show pitched its tent in -the broader part of the street, and by diligent grinding of a hand-organ -summoned all the children of the place to see the wonders. The admission -was one penny, and I went in with the rest, and saw the little man, the -big dog, the happy family, and the gaping, dirty-faced, but orderly -crowd of boys and girls. The Ecclefechan boys, with some of whom I -tried, not very successfully, to scrape an acquaintance, I found a -sober, quiet, modest set, shy of strangers, and, like all country boys, -incipient naturalists. If you want to know where the birds'-nests are, -ask the boys. Hence, one Sunday afternoon, meeting a couple of them on -the Annan road, I put the inquiry. They looked rather blank and -unresponsive at first; but I made them understand I was in earnest, and -wished to be shown some nests. To stimulate their ornithology I offered -a penny for the first nest, twopence for the second, threepence for the -third, etc.,--a reward that, as it turned out, lightened my burden of -British copper considerably; for these boys appeared to know every nest -in the neighborhood, and I suspect had just then been making Sunday -calls upon their feathered friends. They turned about, with a bashful -smile, but without a word, and marched me a few paces along the road, -when they stepped to the hedge, and showed me a hedge-sparrow's nest -with young. The mother bird was near, with food in her beak. This nest -is a great favorite of the cuckoo, and is the one to which Shakespeare -refers:-- - - "The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long - That it's had it head bit off by it young." - -The bird is not a sparrow at all, but is a warbler, closely related to -the nightingale. Then they conducted me along a pretty by-road, and -parted away the branches, and showed me a sparrow's nest with eggs in -it. A group of wild pansies, the first I had seen, made bright the bank -near it. Next, after conferring a moment soberly together, they took me -to a robin's nest,--a warm, mossy structure in the side of the bank. -Then we wheeled up another road, and they disclosed the nest of the -yellow yite, or yellow-hammer, a bird of the sparrow kind, also upon the -ground. It seemed to have a little platform of coarse, dry stalks, like -a door-stone, in front of it. In the mean time they had showed me -several nests of the hedge-sparrow, and one of the shilfa, or chaffinch, -that had been "harried," as the boys said, or robbed. These were -gratuitous and merely by the way. Then they pointed out to me the nest -of a tomtit in a disused pump that stood near the cemetery; after which -they proposed to conduct me to a chaffinch's nest and a blackbird's -nest; but I said I had already seen several of these and my curiosity -was satisfied. Did they know any others? Yes, several of them; beyond -the village, on the Middlebie road, they knew a wren's nest with -eighteen eggs in it. Well, I would see that, and that would be enough; -the coppers were changing pockets too fast. So through the village we -went, and along the Middlebie road for nearly a mile. The boys were as -grave and silent as if they were attending a funeral; not a remark, not -a smile. We walked rapidly. The afternoon was warm, for Scotland, and -the tips of their ears glowed through their locks, as they wiped their -brows. I began to feel as if I had had about enough walking myself. -"Boys, how much farther is it?" I said. "A wee bit farther, sir;" and -presently, by their increasing pace, I knew we were nearing it. It -proved to be the nest of the willow wren, or willow warbler, an -exquisite structure, with a dome or canopy above it, the cavity lined -with feathers and crowded with eggs. But it did not contain eighteen. -The boys said they had been told that the bird would lay as many as -eighteen eggs; but it is the common wren that lays this number,--even -more. What struck me most was the gravity and silent earnestness of the -boys. As we walked back they showed me more nests that had been harried. -The elder boy's name was Thomas. He had heard of Thomas Carlyle; but -when I asked him what he thought of him, he only looked awkwardly upon -the ground. - -I had less trouble to get the opinion of an old road-mender whom I fell -in with one day. I was walking toward Repentance Hill, when he overtook -me with his "machine" (all road vehicles in Scotland are called -machines), and insisted upon my getting up beside him. He had a little -white pony, "twenty-one years old, sir," and a heavy, rattling -two-wheeler, quite as old I should say. We discoursed about roads. Had -we good roads in America? No? Had we no "metal" there, no stone? Plenty -of it, I told him,--too much; but we had not learned the art of -road-making yet. Then he would have to come "out" and show us; indeed, -he had been seriously thinking about it; he had an uncle in America, but -had lost all track of him. He had seen Carlyle many a time, "but the -people here took no interest in that man," he said; "he never done -nothing for this place." Referring to Carlyle's ancestors, he said, "The -Cairls were what we Scotch call bullies,--a set of bullies, sir. If you -crossed their path, they would murder you;" and then came out some -highly-colored tradition of the "Ecclefechan dog fight," which Carlyle -refers to in his Reminiscences. On this occasion, the old road-mender -said, the "Cairls" had clubbed together, and bullied and murdered half -the people of the place! "No, sir, we take no interest in that man -here," and he gave the pony a sharp punch with his stub of a whip. But -he himself took a friendly interest in the schoolgirls whom we overtook -along the road, and kept picking them up till the cart was full, and -giving the "lassies" a lift on their way home. Beyond Annan bridge we -parted company, and a short walk brought me to Repentance Hill, a grassy -eminence that commands a wide prospect toward the Solway. The tower -which stands on the top is one of those interesting relics of which this -land is full, and all memory and tradition of the use and occasion of -which are lost. It is a rude stone structure, about thirty feet square -and forty high, pierced by a single door, with the word "Repentance" cut -in Old English letters in the lintel over it. The walls are loopholed -here and there for musketry or archery. An old disused graveyard -surrounds it, and the walls of a little chapel stand in the rear of it. -The conies have their holes under it; some lord, whose castle lies in -the valley below, has his flagstaff upon it; and Time's initials are -scrawled on every stone. A piece of mortar probably three or four -hundred years old, that had fallen from its place, I picked up, and -found nearly as hard as the stone, and quite as gray and lichen-covered. -Returning, I stood some time on Annan bridge, looking over the parapet -into the clear, swirling water, now and then seeing a trout leap. -Whenever the pedestrian comes to one of these arched bridges, he must -pause and admire, it is so unlike what he is acquainted with at home. It -is a real _viaduct_; it conducts not merely the traveler over, it -conducts the road over as well. Then an arched bridge is ideally -perfect; there is no room for criticism,--not one superfluous touch or -stroke; every stone tells, and tells entirely. Of a piece of -architecture, we can say this or that, but of one of these old bridges -this only: it satisfies every sense of the mind. It has the beauty of -poetry, and the precision of mathematics. The older bridges, like this -over the Annan, are slightly hipped, so that the road rises gradually -from either side to the key of the arch; this adds to their beauty, and -makes them look more like things of life. The modern bridges are all -level on the top, which increases their utility. Two laborers, gossiping -on the bridge, said I could fish by simply going and asking leave of -some functionary about the castle. - -Shakespeare says of the martlet, that it - - "Builds in the weather on the outward wall, - Even in the force and road of casualty." - -I noticed that a pair had built their nest on an iron bracket under the -eaves of a building opposite our inn, which proved to be in the "road of -casualty;" for one day the painters began scraping the building, -preparatory to giving it a new coat of paint, and the "procreant cradle" -was knocked down. The swallows did not desert the place, however, but -were at work again next morning before the painters were. The Scotch, by -the way, make a free use of paint. They even paint their tombstones. -Most of them, I observed, were brown stones painted white. Carlyle's -father once sternly drove the painters from his door when they had been -summoned by the younger members of his family to give the house a coat -"o' pent." "Ye can jist pent the bog wi' yer ashbaket feet, for ye'll -pit nane o' yer glaur on ma door." But the painters have had their -revenge at last, and their "glaur" now covers the old man's tombstone. - -One day I visited a little overgrown cemetery about a mile below the -village, toward Kirtlebridge, and saw many of the graves of the old -stock of Carlyles, among them some of Carlyle's uncles. This name occurs -very often in those old cemeteries; they were evidently a prolific and -hardy race. The name Thomas is a favorite one among them, insomuch that -I saw the graves and headstones of eight Thomas Carlyles in the two -graveyards. The oldest Carlyle tomb I saw was that of one John Carlyle, -who died in 1692. The inscription upon his stone is as follows:-- - -"Heir Lyes John Carlyle of Penerssaughs, who departed this life ye 17 of -May 1692, and of age 72, and His Spouse Jannet Davidson, who departed -this life Febr. ye 7, 1708, and of age 73. Erected by John, his son." - -The old sexton, whom I frequently saw in the churchyard, lives in the -Carlyle house. He knew the family well, and had some amusing and -characteristic anecdotes to relate of Carlyle's father, the redoubtable -James, mainly illustrative of his bluntness and plainness of speech. The -sexton pointed out, with evident pride, the few noted graves the -churchyard held; that of the elder Peel being among them. He spoke of -many of the oldest graves as "extinct;" nobody owned or claimed them; -the name had disappeared, and the ground was used a second time. The -ordinary graves in these old burying places appear to become "extinct" -in about two hundred years. It was very rare to find a date older than -that. He said the "Cairls" were a peculiar set; there was nobody like -them. You would know them, man and woman, as soon as they opened their -mouths to speak; they spoke as if against a stone wall. (Their words hit -hard.) This is somewhat like Carlyle's own view of his style. "My -style," he says in his note-book, when he was thirty-eight years of age, -"is like no other man's. The first sentence bewrays me." Indeed, -Carlyle's style, which has been so criticised, was as much a part of -himself, and as little an affectation, as his shock of coarse yeoman -hair and bristly beard and bleared eyes were a part of himself; he -inherited them. What Taine calls his barbarisms was his strong mason -sire cropping out. He was his father's son to the last drop of his -blood, a master builder working with might and main. No more did the -former love to put a rock face upon his wall than did the latter to put -the same rock face upon his sentences; and he could do it, too, as no -other writer, ancient or modern, could. - -I occasionally saw strangers at the station, which is a mile from the -village, inquiring their way to the churchyard; but I was told there had -been a notable falling off of the pilgrims and visitors of late. During -the first few months after his burial, they nearly denuded the grave of -its turf; but after the publication of the Reminiscences, the number of -silly geese that came there to crop the grass was much fewer. No real -lover of Carlyle was ever disturbed by those Reminiscences; but to the -throng that run after a man because he is famous, and that chip his -headstone or carry away the turf above him when he is dead, they were -happily a great bugaboo. - -A most agreeable walk I took one day down to Annan. Irving's name still -exists there, but I believe all his near kindred have disappeared. -Across the street from the little house where he was born this sign may -be seen: "Edward Irving, Flesher." While in Glasgow, I visited Irving's -grave, in the crypt of the cathedral, a most dismal place, and was -touched to see the bronze tablet that marked its site in the pavement -bright and shining, while those about it, of Sir this or Lady that, were -dull and tarnished. Did some devoted hand keep it scoured, or was the -polishing done by the many feet that paused thoughtfully above this -name? Irving would long since have been forgotten by the world had it -not been for his connection with Carlyle, and it was probably the lustre -of the latter's memory that I saw reflected in the metal that bore -Irving's name. The two men must have been of kindred genius in many -ways, to have been so drawn to each other, but Irving had far less hold -upon reality; his written word has no projectile force. It makes a vast -difference whether you burn gunpowder on a shovel or in a gun-barrel. -Irving may be said to have made a brilliant flash, and then to have -disappeared in the smoke. - -Some men are like nails, easily drawn; others are like rivets, not -drawable at all. Carlyle is a rivet, well _headed_ in. He is not going -to give way, and be forgotten soon. People who differed from him in -opinion have stigmatized him as an actor, a mountebank, a rhetorician; -but he was committed to his purpose and to the part he played with the -force of gravity. Behold how he toiled! He says, "One monster there is -in the world,--the idle man." He did not merely preach the gospel of -work; he was it,--an indomitable worker from first to last. How he -delved! How he searched for a sure foundation, like a master builder, -fighting his way through rubbish and quicksands till he reached the -rock! Each of his review articles cost him a month or more of serious -work. "Sartor Resartus" cost him nine months, the "French Revolution" -three years, "Cromwell" four years, "Frederick" thirteen years. No surer -does the Auldgarth bridge, that his father helped build, carry the -traveler over the turbulent water beneath it, than these books convey -the reader over chasms and confusions, where before there was no way, or -only an inadequate one. Carlyle never wrote a book except to clear some -gulf or quagmire, to span and conquer some chaos. No architect or -engineer ever had purpose more tangible and definite. To further the -reader on his way, not to beguile or amuse him, was always his purpose. -He had that contempt for all dallying and toying and lightness and -frivolousness that hard, serious workers always have. He was impatient -of poetry and art; they savored too much of play and levity. His own -work was not done lightly and easily, but with labor throes and pains, -as of planting his piers in a weltering flood and chaos. The spirit of -struggling and wrestling which he had inherited was always uppermost. It -seems as if the travail and yearning of his mother had passed upon him -as a birthmark. The universe was madly rushing about him, seeking to -engulf him. Things assumed threatening and spectral shapes. There was -little joy or serenity for him. Every task he proposed to himself was a -struggle with chaos and darkness, real or imaginary. He speaks of -"Frederick" as a nightmare; the "Cromwell business" as toiling amid -mountains of dust. I know of no other man in literature with whom the -sense of labor is so tangible and terrible. That vast, grim, struggling, -silent, inarticulate array of ancestral force that lay in him, when the -burden of written speech was laid upon it, half rebelled, and would not -cease to struggle and be inarticulate. There was a plethora of power: a -channel, as through rocks, had to be made for it, and there was an -incipient cataclysm whenever a book was to be written. What brings joy -and buoyancy to other men, namely, a genial task, brought despair and -convulsions to him. It is not the effort of composition,--he was a rapid -and copious writer and speaker,--but the pressure of purpose, the -friction of power and velocity, the sense of overcoming the demons and -mud-gods and frozen torpidity he so often refers to. Hence no writing -extant is so little like writing, and gives so vividly the sense of -something _done_. He may praise silence and glorify work. The -unspeakable is ever present with him; it is the core of every sentence: -the inarticulate is round about him; a solitude like that of space -encompasseth him. His books are not easy reading; they are a kind of -wrestling to most persons. His style is like a road made of rocks: when -it is good, there is nothing like it; and when it is bad, there is -nothing like it! - -In "Past and Present" Carlyle has unconsciously painted his own life and -character in truer colors than has any one else: "Not a May-game is this -man's life, but a battle and a march, a warfare with principalities and -powers; no idle promenade through fragrant orange groves and green, -flowery spaces, waited on by the choral Muses and the rosy Hours: it is -a stern pilgrimage through burning, sandy solitudes, through regions of -thick-ribbed ice. He walks among men; loves men with inexpressible soft -pity, as they _cannot_ love him: but his soul dwells in solitude, in the -uttermost parts of Creation. In green oases by the palm-tree wells, he -rests a space; but anon he has to journey forward, escorted by the -Terrors and the Splendors, the Archdemons and Archangels. All heaven, -all pandemonium, are his escort." Part of the world will doubtless -persist in thinking that pandemonium furnished his chief counsel and -guide; but there are enough who think otherwise, and their numbers are -bound to increase in the future. - - - - -IV - -A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE - - -While I lingered away the latter half of May in Scotland, and the first -half of June in northern England, and finally in London, intent on -seeing the land leisurely and as the mood suited, the thought never -occurred to me that I was in danger of missing one of the chief -pleasures I had promised myself in crossing the Atlantic, namely, the -hearing of the song of the nightingale. Hence, when on the 17th of June -I found myself down among the copses near Hazlemere, on the borders of -Surrey and Sussex, and was told by the old farmer, to whose house I had -been recommended by friends in London, that I was too late, that the -season of the nightingale was over, I was a good deal disturbed. - -"I think she be done singing now, sir; I ain't heered her in some time, -sir," said my farmer, as we sat down to get acquainted over a mug of the -hardest cider I ever attempted to drink. - -"Too late!" I said in deep chagrin, "and I might have been here weeks -ago." - -"Yeas, sir, she be done now; May is the time to hear her. The cuckoo is -done too, sir; and you don't hear the nightingale after the cuckoo is -gone, sir." - -(The country people in this part of England _sir_ one at the end of -every sentence, and talk with an indescribable drawl.) - -But I had heard a cuckoo that very afternoon, and I took heart from the -fact. I afterward learned that the country people everywhere associate -these two birds in this way; you will not hear the one after the other -has ceased. But I heard the cuckoo almost daily till the middle of July. -Matthew Arnold reflects the popular opinion when in one of his poems -("Thyrsis") he makes the cuckoo say in early June,-- - - "The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I!" - -The explanation is to be found in Shakespeare, who says,-- - - "The cuckoo is in June - Heard, not regarded," - -as the bird really does not go till August. I got out my Gilbert White, -as I should have done at an earlier day, and was still more disturbed to -find that he limited the singing of the nightingale to June 15. But -seasons differ, I thought, and it can't be possible that any class of -feathered songsters all stop on a given day. There is a tradition that -when George I. died the nightingales all ceased singing for the year out -of grief at the sad event; but his majesty did not die till June 21. -This would give me a margin of several days. Then, when I looked further -in White, and found that he says the chaffinch ceases to sing the -beginning of June, I took more courage, for I had that day heard the -chaffinch also. But it was evident I had no time to lose; I was just on -the dividing line, and any day might witness the cessation of the last -songster. For it seems that the nightingale ceases singing the moment -her brood is hatched. After that event, you hear only a harsh chiding or -anxious note. Hence the poets, who attribute her melancholy strains to -sorrow for the loss of her young, are entirely at fault. Virgil, -portraying the grief of Orpheus after the loss of Eurydice, says:-- - - "So Philomela, 'mid the poplar shade, - Bemoans her captive brood; the cruel hind - Saw them unplumed, and took them; but all night - Grieves she, and, sitting on a bough, runs o'er - Her wretched tale, and fills the woods with woe." - -But she probably does nothing of the kind. The song of a bird is not a -reminiscence, but an anticipation, and expresses happiness or joy only, -except in those cases where the male bird, having lost its mate, sings -for a few days as if to call the lost one back. When the male renews his -powers of song, after the young brood has been destroyed, or after it -has flown away, it is a sign that a new brood is contemplated. The song -is, as it were, the magic note that calls the brood forth. At least, -this is the habit with other song-birds, and I have no doubt the same -holds good with the nightingale. Destroy the nest or brood of the wood -thrush, and if the season is not too far advanced, after a week or ten -days of silence, during which the parent birds by their manner seem to -bemoan their loss and to take counsel together, the male breaks forth -with a new song, and the female begins to construct a new nest. The -poets, therefore, in depicting the bird on such occasions as bewailing -the lost brood, are wide of the mark; he is invoking and celebrating a -new brood. - -As it was mid-afternoon, I could only compose myself till nightfall. I -accompanied the farmer to the hay-field and saw the working of his -mowing-machine, a rare implement in England, as most of the grass is -still cut by hand, and raked by hand also. The disturbed skylarks were -hovering above the falling grass, full of anxiety for their nests, as -one may note the bobolinks on like occasions at home. The weather is so -uncertain in England, and it is so impossible to predict its complexion, -not only from day to day but from hour to hour, that the farmers appear -to consider it a suitable time to cut grass when it is not actually -raining. They slash away without reference to the aspects of the sky, -and when the field is down trust to luck to be able to cure the hay, or -get it ready to "carry" between the showers. The clouds were lowering -and the air was damp now, and it was Saturday afternoon; but the farmer -said they would never get their hay if they minded such things. The farm -had seen better days; so had the farmer; both were slightly down at the -heel. Too high rent and too much hard cider were working their effects -upon both. The farm had been in the family many generations, but it was -now about to be sold and to pass into other hands, and my host said he -was glad of it. There was no money in farming any more; no money in -anything. I asked him what were the main sources of profit on such a -farm. - -"Well," he said, "sometimes the wheat pops up, and the barley drops in, -and the pigs come on, and we picks up a little money, sir, but not much, -sir. Pigs is doing well naow. But they brings so much wheat from -Ameriky, and our weather is so bad that we can't get a good sample, sir, -one year in three, that there is no money made in growing wheat, sir." -And the "wuts" (oats) were not much better. "Theys as would buy hain't -got no money, sir." "Up to the top of the nip," for top of the hill, was -one of his expressions. Tennyson had a summer residence at Blackdown, -not far off. "One of the Queen's poets, I believe, sir." "Yes, I often -see him riding about, sir." - -After an hour or two with the farmer, I walked out to take a survey of -the surrounding country. It was quite wild and irregular, full of bushy -fields and overgrown hedge-rows, and looked to me very nightingaly. I -followed for a mile or two a road that led by tangled groves and woods -and copses, with a still meadow trout stream in the gentle valley below. -I inquired for nightingales of every boy and laboring-man I met or saw. -I got but little encouragement; it was too late. "She be about done -singing now, sir." A boy whom I met in a footpath that ran through a -pasture beside a copse said, after reflecting a moment, that he had -heard one in that very copse two mornings before,--"about seven o'clock, -sir, while I was on my way to my work, sir." Then I would try my luck in -said copse and in the adjoining thickets that night and the next -morning. The railway ran near, but perhaps that might serve to keep the -birds awake. These copses in this part of England look strange enough to -American eyes. What thriftless farming! the first thought is; behold the -fields grown up to bushes, as if the land had relapsed to a state of -nature again. Adjoining meadows and grain-fields, one may see an -inclosure of many acres covered with a thick growth of oak and chestnut -sprouts, six or eight or twelve feet high. These are the copses one has -so often heard about, and they are a valuable and productive part of the -farm. They are planted and preserved as carefully as we plant an orchard -or a vineyard. Once in so many years, perhaps five or six, the copse is -cut and every twig is saved; it is a woodland harvest that in our own -country is gathered in the forest itself. The larger poles are tied up -in bundles and sold for hoop-poles; the fine branches and shoots are -made into brooms in the neighboring cottages and hamlets, or used as -material for thatching. The refuse is used as wood. - -About eight o'clock in the evening I sallied forth, taking my way over -the ground I had explored a few hours before. The gloaming, which at -this season lasts till after ten o'clock, dragged its slow length along. -Nine o'clock came, and, though my ear was attuned, the songster was -tardy. I hovered about the copses and hedge-rows like one meditating -some dark deed; I lingered in a grove and about an overgrown garden and -a neglected orchard; I sat on stiles and leaned on wickets, mentally -speeding the darkness that should bring my singer out. The weather was -damp and chilly, and the tryst grew tiresome. I had brought a rubber -water-proof, but not an overcoat. Lining the back of the rubber with a -newspaper, I wrapped it about me and sat down, determined to lay siege -to my bird. A footpath that ran along the fields and bushes on the other -side of the little valley showed every few minutes a woman or girl, or -boy or laborer, passing along it. A path near me also had its frequent -figures moving along in the dusk. In this country people travel in -footpaths as much as in highways. The paths give a private, human touch -to the landscape that the roads do not. They are sacred to the human -foot. They have the sentiment of domesticity, and suggest the way to -cottage doors and to simple, primitive times. - -Presently a man with a fishing-rod, and capped, coated, and booted for -the work, came through the meadow, and began casting for trout in the -stream below me. How he gave himself to the work! how oblivious he was -of everything but the one matter in hand! I doubt if he was conscious of -the train that passed within a few rods of him. Your born angler is -like a hound that scents no game but that which he is in pursuit of. -Every sense and faculty were concentrated upon that hovering fly. This -man wooed the stream, quivering with pleasure and expectation. Every -foot of it he tickled with his decoy. His close was evidently a short -one, and he made the most of it. He lingered over every cast, and -repeated it again and again. An American angler would have been out of -sight down stream long ago. But this fisherman was not going to bolt his -preserve; his line should taste every drop of it. His eager, stealthy -movements denoted his enjoyment and his absorption. When a trout was -caught, it was quickly rapped on the head and slipped into his basket, -as if in punishment for its tardiness in jumping. "Be quicker next time, -will you?" (British trout, by the way, are not so beautiful as our own. -They have more of a domesticated look. They are less brilliantly marked, -and have much coarser scales. There is no gold or vermilion in their -coloring.) - -Presently there arose from a bushy corner of a near field a low, -peculiar purring or humming sound, that sent a thrill through me; of -course, I thought my bird was inflating her throat. Then the sound -increased, and was answered or repeated in various other directions. It -had a curious ventriloquial effect. I presently knew it to be the -nightjar or goatsucker, a bird that answers to our whip-poor-will. Very -soon the sound seemed to be floating all about me,--_Jr-r-r-r-r_ or -_Chr-r-r-r-r_, slightly suggesting the call of our toads, but more -vague as to direction. Then as it grew darker the birds ceased; the -fisherman reeled up and left. No sound was now heard,--not even the -voice of a solitary frog anywhere. I never heard a frog in England. -About eleven o'clock I moved down by a wood, and stood for an hour on a -bridge over the railroad. No voice of bird greeted me till the -sedge-warbler struck up her curious nocturne in a hedge near by. It was -a singular medley of notes, hurried chirps, trills, calls, warbles, -snatched from the songs of other birds, with a half-chiding, -remonstrating tone or air running through it all. As there was no other -sound to be heard, and as the darkness was complete, it had the effect -of a very private and whimsical performance,--as if the little bird had -secluded herself there, and was giving vent to her emotions in the most -copious and vehement manner. I listened till after midnight, and till -the rain began to fall, and the vivacious warbler never ceased for a -moment. White says that, if it stops, a stone tossed into the bush near -it will set it going again. Its voice is not musical; the quality of it -is like that of the loquacious English house sparrows; but its song or -medley is so persistently animated, and in such contrast to the gloom -and the darkness, that the effect is decidedly pleasing. - -This and the nightjar were the only nightingales I heard that night. I -returned home, a good deal disappointed, but slept upon my arms, as it -were, and was out upon the chase again at four o'clock in the morning. -This time I passed down a lane by the neglected garden and orchard, -where I was told the birds had sung for weeks past; then under the -railroad by a cluster of laborers' cottages, and along a road with many -copses and bushy fence-corners on either hand, for two miles, but I -heard no nightingales. A boy of whom I inquired seemed half frightened, -and went into the house without answering. - -After a late breakfast I sallied out again, going farther in the same -direction, and was overtaken by several showers. I heard many and -frequent bird-songs,--the lark, the wren, the thrush, the blackbird, the -whitethroat, the greenfinch, and the hoarse, guttural cooing of the -wood-pigeons,--but not the note I was in quest of. I passed up a road -that was a deep trench in the side of a hill overgrown with low beeches. -The roots of the trees formed a network on the side of the bank, as -their branches did above. In a framework of roots, within reach of my -hand, I spied a wren's nest, a round hole leading to the interior of a -large mass of soft green moss, a structure displaying the taste and -neatness of the daintiest of bird architects, and the depth and warmth -and snugness of the most ingenious mouse habitation. While lingering -here, a young countryman came along whom I engaged in conversation. No, -he had not heard the nightingale for a few days; but the previous week -he had been in camp with the militia near Guildford, and while on -picket duty had heard her nearly all night. "'Don't she sing splendid -to-night?' the boys would say." This was tantalizing; Guildford was -within easy reach; but the previous week,--that could not be reached. -However, he encouraged me by saying he did not think they were done -singing yet, as he had often heard them during haying-time. I inquired -for the blackcap, but saw he did not know this bird, and thought I -referred to a species of tomtit, which also has a black cap. The -woodlark I was also on the lookout for, but he did not know this bird -either, and during my various rambles in England I found but one person -who did. In Scotland it was confounded with the titlark or pipit. - -I next met a man and boy, a villager with a stove-pipe hat on,--and, as -it turned out, a man of many trades, tailor, barber, painter, -etc.,--from Hazlemere. The absorbing inquiry was put to him also. No, -not that day, but a few mornings before he had. But he could easily call -one out, if there were any about, as he could imitate them. Plucking a -spear of grass, he adjusted it behind his teeth and startled me with the -shrill, rapid notes he poured forth. I at once recognized its -resemblance to the descriptions I had read of the opening part of the -nightingale song,--what is called the "challenge." The boy said, and he -himself averred, that it was an exact imitation. The _chew, chew, chew_, -and some other parts, were very bird-like, and I had no doubt were -correct. I was astonished at the strong, piercing quality of the -strain. It echoed in the woods and copses about, but, though oft -repeated, brought forth no response. With this man I made an engagement -to take a walk that evening at eight o'clock along a certain route where -he had heard plenty of nightingales but a few days before. He was -confident he could call them out; so was I. - -In the afternoon, which had gleams of warm sunshine, I made another -excursion, less in hopes of hearing my bird than of finding some one who -could direct me to the right spot. Once I thought the game was very -near. I met a boy who told me he had heard a nightingale only fifteen -minutes before, "on Polecat Hill, sir, just this side the Devil's -Punch-bowl, sir!" I had heard of his majesty's punch-bowl before, and of -the gibbets near it where three murderers were executed nearly a hundred -years ago, but Polecat Hill was a new name to me. The combination did -not seem a likely place for nightingales, but I walked rapidly -thitherward; I heard several warblers, but not Philomel, and was forced -to conclude that probably I had crossed the sea to miss my bird by just -fifteen minutes. I met many other boys (is there any country where boys -do not prowl about in small bands of a Sunday?) and advertised the -object of my search freely among them, offering a reward that made their -eyes glisten for the bird in song; but nothing ever came of it. In my -desperation, I even presented a letter I had brought to the village -squire, just as, in company with his wife, he was about to leave his -door for church. He turned back, and, hearing my quest, volunteered to -take me on a long walk through the wet grass and bushes of his fields -and copses, where he knew the birds were wont to sing. "Too late," he -said, and so it did appear. He showed me a fine old edition of White's -"Selborne," with notes by some editor whose name I have forgotten. This -editor had extended White's date of June 15 to July 1, as the time to -which the nightingale continues in song, and I felt like thanking him -for it, as it gave me renewed hope. The squire thought there was a -chance yet; and in case my man with the spear of grass behind his teeth -failed me, he gave me a card to an old naturalist and taxidermist at -Godalming, a town nine miles above, who, he felt sure, could put me on -the right track if anybody could. - -At eight o'clock, the sun yet some distance above the horizon, I was at -the door of the barber in Hazlemere. He led the way along one of those -delightful footpaths with which this country is threaded, extending to a -neighboring village several miles distant. It left the street at -Hazlemere, cutting through the houses diagonally, as if the brick walls -had made way for it, passed between gardens, through wickets, over -stiles, across the highway and railroad, through cultivated fields and a -gentleman's park, and on toward its destination,--a broad, well-kept -path, that seemed to have the same inevitable right of way as a brook. I -was told that it was repaired and looked after the same as the highway. -Indeed, it was a public way, public to pedestrians only, and no man -could stop or turn it aside. We followed it along the side of a steep -hill, with copses and groves sweeping down into the valley below us. It -was as wild and picturesque a spot as I had seen in England. The -foxglove pierced the lower foliage and wild growths everywhere with its -tall spires of purple flowers; the wild honeysuckle, with a ranker and -coarser fragrance than our cultivated species, was just opening along -the hedges. We paused here, and my guide blew his shrill call; he blew -it again and again. How it awoke the echoes, and how it awoke all the -other songsters! The valley below us and the slope beyond, which before -were silent, were soon musical. The chaffinch, the robin, the blackbird, -the thrush--the last the loudest and most copious--seemed to vie with -each other and with the loud whistler above them. But we listened in -vain for the nightingale's note. Twice my guide struck an attitude and -said, impressively, "There! I believe I 'erd 'er." But we were obliged -to give it up. A shower came on, and after it had passed we moved to -another part of the landscape and repeated our call, but got no -response, and as darkness set in we returned to the village. - -The situation began to look serious. I knew there was a nightingale -somewhere whose brood had been delayed from some cause or other, and who -was therefore still in song, but I could not get a clew to the spot. I -renewed the search late that night, and again the next morning; I -inquired of every man and boy I saw. - - "I met many travelers, - Who the road had surely kept; - They saw not my fine revelers,-- - These had crossed them while they slept; - Some had heard their fair report, - In the country or the court." - -I soon learned to distrust young fellows and their girls who had heard -nightingales in the gloaming. I knew one's ears could not always be -depended upon on such occasions, nor his eyes either. Larks are seen in -buntings, and a wren's song entrances like Philomel's. A young couple of -whom I inquired in the train, on my way to Godalming, said Yes, they had -heard nightingales just a few moments before on their way to the -station, and described the spot, so I could find it if I returned that -way. They left the train at the same point I did, and walked up the -street in advance of me. I had lost sight of them till they beckoned to -me from the corner of the street, near the church, where the prospect -opens with a view of a near meadow and a stream shaded by pollard -willows. "We heard one now, just there," they said, as I came up. They -passed on, and I bent my ear eagerly in the direction. Then I walked -farther on, following one of those inevitable footpaths to where it cuts -diagonally through the cemetery behind the old church, but I heard -nothing save a few notes of the thrush. My ear was too critical and -exacting. Then I sought out the old naturalist and taxidermist to whom I -had a card from the squire. He was a short, stout man, racy both in look -and speech, and kindly. He had a fine collection of birds and animals, -in which he took great pride. He pointed out the woodlark and the -blackcap to me, and told me where he had seen and heard them. He said I -was too late for the nightingale, though I might possibly find one yet -in song. But he said she grew hoarse late in the season, and did not -sing as a few weeks earlier. He thought our cardinal grosbeak, which he -called the Virginia nightingale, as fine a whistler as the nightingale -herself. He could not go with me that day, but he would send his boy. -Summoning the lad, he gave him minute directions where to take me,--over -by Easing, around by Shackerford church, etc., a circuit of four or five -miles. Leaving the picturesque old town, we took a road over a broad, -gentle hill, lined with great trees,--beeches, elms, oaks,--with rich -cultivated fields beyond. The air of peaceful and prosperous human -occupancy which everywhere pervades this land seemed especially -pronounced through all this section. The sentiment of parks and lawns, -easy, large, basking, indifferent of admiration, self-sufficing, and -full, everywhere prevailed. The road was like the most perfect private -carriage-way. Homeliness, in its true sense, is a word that applies to -nearly all English country scenes; homelike, redolent of affectionate -care and toil, saturated with rural and domestic contentment; beauty -without pride, order without stiffness, age without decay. This people -love the country, because it would seem as if the country must first -have loved them. In a field I saw for the first time a new species of -clover, much grown in parts of England as green fodder for horses. The -farmers call it trifolium, probably _Trifolium incarnatum_. The head is -two or three inches long, and as red as blood. A field of it under the -sunlight presents a most brilliant appearance. As we walked along, I got -also my first view of the British blue jay,--a slightly larger bird than -ours, with a hoarser voice and much duller plumage. Blue, the tint of -the sky, is not so common, and is not found in any such perfection among -the British birds as among the American. My boy companion was worthy of -observation also. He was a curious specimen, ready and officious, but, -as one soon found out, full of duplicity. I questioned him about -himself. "I helps he, sir; sometimes I shows people about, and sometimes -I does errands. I gets three a week, sir, and lunch and tea. I lives -with my grandmother, but I calls her mother, sir. The master and the -rector they gives me a character, says I am a good, honest boy, and that -it is well I went to school in my youth. I am ten, sir. Last year I had -the measles, sir, and I thought I should die; but I got hold of a bottle -of medicine, and it tasted like honey, and I takes the whole of it, and -it made me well, sir. I never lies, sir. It is good to tell the truth." -And yet he would slide off into a lie as if the track in that direction -was always greased. Indeed, there was a kind of fluent, unctuous, -obsequious effrontery in all he said and did. As the day was warm for -that climate, he soon grew tired of the chase. At one point we skirted -the grounds of a large house, as thickly planted with trees and shrubs -as a forest; many birds were singing there, and for a moment my guide -made me believe that among them he recognized the notes of the -nightingale. Failing in this, he coolly assured me that the swallow that -skimmed along the road in front of us was the nightingale! We presently -left the highway and took a footpath. It led along the margin of a large -plowed field, shut in by rows of noble trees, the soil of which looked -as if it might have been a garden of untold generations. Then the path -led through a wicket, and down the side of a wooded hill to a large -stream and to the hamlet of Easing. A boy fishing said indifferently -that he had heard nightingales there that morning. He had caught a -little fish which he said was a gudgeon. "Yes," said my companion in -response to a remark of mine, "they's little; but you can eat they if -they _is_ little." Then we went toward Shackerford church. The road, -like most roads in the south of England, was a deep trench. The banks on -either side rose fifteen feet, covered with ivy, moss, wild flowers, and -the roots of trees. England's best defense against an invading foe is -her sunken roads. Whole armies might be ambushed in these trenches, -while an enemy moving across the open plain would very often find -himself plunging headlong into these hidden pitfalls. Indeed, between -the subterranean character of the roads in some places and the -high-walled or high-hedged character of it in others, the pedestrian -about England is shut out from much he would like to see. I used to envy -the bicyclists, perched high upon their rolling stilts. But the -footpaths escape the barriers, and one need walk nowhere else if he -choose. - -Around Shackerford church are copses, and large pine and fir woods. The -place was full of birds. My guide threw a stone at a small bird which he -declared was a nightingale; and though the missile did not come within -three yards of it, yet he said he had hit it, and pretended to search -for it on the ground. He must needs invent an opportunity for lying. I -told him here I had no further use for him, and he turned cheerfully -back, with my shilling in his pocket. I spent the afternoon about the -woods and copses near Shackerford. The day was bright and the air balmy. -I heard the cuckoo call, and the chaffinch sing, both of which I -considered good omens. The little chiffchaff was chiffchaffing in the -pine woods. The whitethroat, with his quick, emphatic _Chew-che-rick_ or -_Che-rick-a-rew_, flitted and ducked and hid among the low bushes by the -roadside. A girl told me she had heard the nightingale yesterday on her -way to Sunday-school, and pointed out the spot. It was in some bushes -near a house. I hovered about this place till I was afraid the woman, -who saw me from the window, would think I had some designs upon her -premises. But I managed to look very indifferent or abstracted when I -passed. I am quite sure I heard the chiding, guttural note of the bird I -was after. Doubtless her brood had come out that very day. Another girl -had heard a nightingale on her way to school that morning, and directed -me to the road; still another pointed out to me the whitethroat and said -that was my bird. This last was a rude shock to my faith in the -ornithology of schoolgirls. Finally, I found a laborer breaking stone by -the roadside,--a serious, honest-faced man, who said he had heard my -bird that morning on his way to work; he heard her every morning, and -nearly every night, too. He heard her last night after the shower (just -at the hour when my barber and I were trying to awaken her near -Hazlemere), and she sang as finely as ever she did. This was a great -lift. I felt that I could trust this man. He said that after his day's -work was done, that is, at five o'clock, if I chose to accompany him on -his way home, he would show me where he had heard the bird. This I -gladly agreed to; and, remembering that I had had no dinner, I sought -out the inn in the village and asked for something to eat. The unwonted -request so startled the landlord that he came out from behind his -inclosed bar and confronted me with good-humored curiosity. These -back-country English inns, as I several times found to my discomfiture, -are only drinking places for the accommodation of local customers, -mainly of the laboring class. Instead of standing conspicuously on some -street corner, as with us, they usually stand on some byway, or some -little paved court away from the main thoroughfare. I could have plenty -of beer, said the landlord, but he had not a mouthful of meat in the -house. I urged my needs, and finally got some rye-bread and cheese. With -this and a glass of home-brewed beer I was fairly well fortified. At the -appointed time I met the cottager and went with him on his way home. We -walked two miles or more along a charming road, full of wooded nooks and -arbor-like vistas. Why do English trees always look so sturdy, and -exhibit such massive repose, so unlike, in this latter respect, to the -nervous and agitated expression of most of our own foliage? Probably -because they have been a long time out of the woods, and have had plenty -of room in which to develop individual traits and peculiarities; then, -in a deep fertile soil, and a climate that does not hurry or overtax, -they grow slow and last long, and come to have the picturesqueness of -age without its infirmities. The oak, the elm, the beech, all have more -striking profiles than in our country. - -Presently my companion pointed out to me a small wood below the road -that had a wide fringe of bushes and saplings connecting it with a -meadow, amid which stood the tree-embowered house of a city man, where -he had heard the nightingale in the morning; and then, farther along, -showed me, near his own cottage, where he had heard one the evening -before. It was now only six o'clock, and I had two or three hours to -wait before I could reasonably expect to hear her. "It gets to be into -the hevening," said my new friend, "when she sings the most, you know." -I whiled away the time as best I could. If I had been an artist, I -should have brought away a sketch of a picturesque old cottage near by, -that bore the date of 1688 on its wall. I was obliged to keep moving -most of the time to keep warm. Yet the "no-see-'ems," or midges, annoyed -me, in a temperature which at home would have chilled them buzzless and -biteless. Finally, I leaped the smooth masonry of the stone wall and -ambushed myself amid the tall ferns under a pine-tree, where the -nightingale had been heard in the morning. If the keeper had seen me, he -would probably have taken me for a poacher. I sat shivering there till -nine o'clock, listening to the cooing of the wood-pigeons, watching the -motions of a jay that, I suspect, had a nest near by, and taking note of -various other birds. The song-thrush and the robins soon made such a -musical uproar along the borders of a grove, across an adjoining field, -as quite put me out. It might veil and obscure the one voice I wanted to -hear. The robin continued to sing quite into the darkness. This bird is -related to the nightingale, and looks and acts like it at a little -distance; and some of its notes are remarkably piercing and musical. -When my patience was about exhausted, I was startled by a quick, -brilliant call or whistle, a few rods from me, that at once recalled my -barber with his blade of grass, and I knew my long-sought bird was -inflating her throat. How it woke me up! It had the quality that -startles; it pierced the gathering gloom like a rocket. Then it ceased. -Suspecting I was too near the singer, I moved away cautiously, and stood -in a lane beside the wood, where a loping hare regarded me a few paces -away. Then my singer struck up again, but I could see did not let -herself out; just tuning her instrument, I thought, and getting ready to -transfix the silence and the darkness. A little later, a man and boy -came up the lane. I asked them if that was the nightingale singing; they -listened, and assured me it was none other. "Now she's on, sir; now -she's on. Ah! but she don't stick. In May, sir, they makes the woods all -heccho about here. Now she's on again; that's her, sir; now she's off; -she won't stick." And stick she would not. I could hear a hoarse -wheezing and clucking sound beneath her notes, when I listened intently. -The man and boy moved away. I stood mutely invoking all the gentle -divinities to spur the bird on. Just then a bird like our hermit thrush -came quickly over the hedge a few yards below me, swept close past my -face, and back into the thicket. I had been caught listening; the -offended bird had found me taking notes of her dry and worn-out pipe -there behind the hedge, and the concert abruptly ended; not another -note; not a whisper. I waited a long time and then moved off; then came -back, implored the outraged bird to resume; then rushed off, and slammed -the door, or rather the gate, indignantly behind me. I paused by other -shrines, but not a sound. The cottager had told me of a little village -three miles beyond, where there were three inns, and where I could -probably get lodgings for the night. I walked rapidly in that direction; -committed myself to a footpath; lost the trail, and brought up at a -little cottage in a wide expanse of field or common, and by the good -woman, with a babe in her arms, was set right again. I soon struck the -highway by the bridge, as I had been told, and a few paces brought me to -the first inn. It was ten o'clock, and the lights were just about to be -put out, as the law or custom is in country inns. The landlady said she -could not give me a bed; she had only one spare room, and that was not -in order, and she should not set about putting it in shape at that hour; -and she was short and sharp about it, too. I hastened on to the next -one. The landlady said she had no sheets, and the bed was damp and unfit -to sleep in. I protested that I thought an inn was an inn, and for the -accommodation of travelers. But she referred me to the next house. Here -were more people, and more the look and air of a public house. But the -wife (the man does not show himself on such occasions) said her daughter -had just got married and come home, and she had much company and could -not keep me. In vain I urged my extremity; there was no room. Could I -have something to eat, then? This seemed doubtful, and led to -consultations in the kitchen; but, finally, some bread and cold meat -were produced. The nearest hotel was Godalming, seven miles distant, and -I knew all the inns would be shut up before I could get there. So I -munched my bread and meat, consoling myself with the thought that -perhaps this was just the ill wind that would blow me the good I was in -quest of. I saw no alternative but to spend a night under the trees with -the nightingales; and I might surprise them at their revels in the small -hours of the morning. Just as I was ready to congratulate myself on the -richness of my experience, the landlady came in and said there was a -young man there going with a "trap" to Godalming, and he had offered to -take me in. I feared I should pass for an escaped lunatic if I declined -the offer; so I reluctantly assented, and we were presently whirling -through the darkness, along a smooth, winding road, toward town. The -young man was a drummer; was from Lincolnshire, and said I spoke like a -Lincolnshire man. I could believe it, for I told him he talked more like -an American than any native I had met. The hotels in the larger towns -close at eleven, and I was set down in front of one just as the clock -was striking that hour. I asked to be conducted to a room at once. As I -was about getting in bed there was a rap at the door, and a waiter -presented me my bill on a tray. "Gentlemen as have no luggage, etc.," he -explained; and pretend to be looking for nightingales, too! -Three-and-sixpence; two shillings for the bed and one-and-six for -service. I was out at five in the morning, before any one inside was -astir. After much trying of bars and doors, I made my exit into a paved -court, from which a covered way led into the street. A man opened a -window and directed me how to undo the great door, and forth I started, -still hoping to catch my bird at her matins. I took the route of the day -before. On the edge of the beautiful plowed field, looking down through -the trees and bushes into the gleam of the river twenty rods below, I -was arrested by the note I longed to hear. It came up from near the -water, and made my ears tingle. I folded up my rubber coat and sat down -upon it, saying, Now we will take our fill. But--the bird ceased, and, -tarry though I did for an hour, not another note reached me. The prize -seemed destined to elude me each time just as I thought it mine. Still, -I treasured what little I had heard. - -It was enough to convince me of the superior quality of the song, and -make me more desirous than ever to hear the complete strain. I continued -my rambles, and in the early morning once more hung about the -Shackerford copses and loitered along the highways. Two schoolboys -pointed out a tree to me in which they had heard the nightingale, on -their way for milk, two hours before. But I could only repeat Emerson's -lines:-- - - "Right good-will my sinews strung, - But no speed of mine avails - To hunt up their shining trails." - -At nine o'clock I gave over the pursuit and returned to Easing in quest -of breakfast. Bringing up in front of the large and comfortable-looking -inn, I found the mistress of the house with her daughter engaged in -washing windows. Perched upon their step-ladders, they treated my -request for breakfast very coldly; in fact, finally refused to listen to -it at all. The fires were out, and I could not be served. So I must -continue my walk back to Godalming; and, in doing so, I found that one -may walk three miles on indignation quite as easily as upon bread. - -In the afternoon I returned to my lodgings at Shotter Mill, and made -ready for a walk to Selborne, twelve miles distant, part of the way to -be accomplished that night in the gloaming, and the rest early on the -following morning, to give the nightingales a chance to make any -reparation they might feel inclined to for the neglect with which they -had treated me. There was a footpath over the hill and through Leechmere -bottom to Liphook, and to this, with the sun half an hour high, I -committed myself. The feature in this hill scenery of Surrey and Sussex -that is new to American eyes is given by the furze and heather, broad -black or dark-brown patches of which sweep over the high rolling -surfaces, like sable mantles. Tennyson's house stands amid this dusky -scenery, a few miles east of Hazlemere. The path led through a large -common, partly covered with grass and partly grown up to furze,--another -un-American feature. Doubly precious is land in England, and yet so -much of it given to parks and pleasure-grounds, and so much of it left -unreclaimed in commons! These commons are frequently met with; about -Selborne they are miles in extent, and embrace the Hanger and other -woods. No one can inclose them, or appropriate them to his own use. The -landed proprietor of whose estates they form a part cannot; they belong -to the people, to the lease-holders. The villagers and others who own -houses on leased land pasture their cows upon them, gather the furze, -and cut the wood. In some places the commons belong to the crown and are -crown lands. These large uninclosed spaces often give a free-and-easy -air to the landscape that is very welcome. Near the top of the hill I -met a little old man nearly hidden beneath a burden of furze. He was -backing it home for fuel and other uses. He paused obsequious, and -listened to my inquiries. A dwarfish sort of man, whose ugliness was -redolent of the humblest chimney corner. Bent beneath his bulky burden, -and grinning upon me, he was a visible embodiment of the poverty, -ignorance, and, I may say, the domesticity of the lowliest peasant home. -I felt as if I had encountered a walking superstition, fostered beside a -hearth lighted by furze fagots and by branches dropped by the nesting -rooks and ravens,--a figure half repulsive and half alluring. On the -border of Leechmere bottom I sat down above a straggling copse, aflame -as usual with the foxglove, and gave eye and ear to the scene. While -sitting here, I saw and heard for the first time the black-capped -warbler. I recognized the note at once by its brightness and strength, -and a faint suggestion in it of the nightingale's. But it was -disappointing: I had expected a nearer approach to its great rival. The -bird was very shy, but did finally show herself fairly several times, as -she did also near Selborne, where I heard the song oft repeated and -prolonged. It is a ringing, animated strain, but as a whole seemed to me -crude, not smoothly and finely modulated. I could name several of our -own birds that surpass it in pure music. Like its congeners, the garden -warbler and the whitethroat, it sings with great emphasis and strength, -but its song is silvern, not golden. "Little birds with big voices," one -says to himself after having heard most of the British songsters. My -path led me an adventurous course through the copses and bottoms and -open commons, in the long twilight. At one point I came upon three young -men standing together and watching a dog that was working a near -field,--one of them probably the squire's son, and the other two habited -like laborers. In a little thicket near by there was a brilliant chorus -of bird voices, the robin, the song-thrush, and the blackbird, all vying -with each other. To my inquiry, put to test the reliability of the young -countrymen's ears, they replied that one of the birds I heard was the -nightingale, and, after a moment's attention, singled out the robin as -the bird in question. This incident so impressed me that I paid little -attention to the report of the next man I met, who said he had heard a -nightingale just around a bend in the road, a few minutes' walk in -advance of me. At ten o'clock I reached Liphook. I expected and half -hoped the inn would turn its back upon me again, in which case I -proposed to make for Wolmer Forest, a few miles distant, but it did not. -Before going to bed, I took a short and hasty walk down a -promising-looking lane, and again met a couple who had heard -nightingales. "It was a nightingale, was it not, Charley?" - -If all the people of whom I inquired for nightingales in England could -have been together and compared notes, they probably would not have been -long in deciding that there was at least one crazy American abroad. - -I proposed to be up and off at five o'clock in the morning, which seemed -greatly to puzzle mine host. At first he thought it could not be done, -but finally saw his way out of the dilemma, and said he would get up and -undo the door for me himself. The morning was cloudy and misty, though -the previous night had been of the fairest. There is one thing they do -not have in England that we can boast of at home, and that is a good -masculine type of weather: it is not even feminine; it is childish and -puerile, though I am told that occasionally there is a full-grown storm. -But I saw nothing but petulant little showers and prolonged juvenile -sulks. The clouds have no reserve, no dignity; if there is a drop of -water in them (and there generally are several drops), out it comes. The -prettiest little showers march across the country in summer, scarcely -bigger than a street watering-cart; sometimes by getting over the fence -one can avoid them, but they keep the haymakers in a perpetual flurry. -There is no cloud scenery, as with us, no mass and solidity, no height -nor depth. The clouds seem low, vague, and vapory,--immature, -indefinite, inconsequential, like youth. - -The walk to Selborne was through mist and light rain. Few bird voices, -save the cries of the lapwing and the curlew, were heard. Shortly after -leaving Liphook the road takes a straight cut for three or four miles -through a level, black, barren, peaty stretch of country, with Wolmer -Forest a short distance on the right. Under the low-hanging clouds the -scene was a dismal one,--a black earth beneath and a gloomy sky above. -For miles the only sign of life was a baker's cart rattling along the -smooth, white road. At the end of this solitude I came to cultivated -fields, and a little hamlet and an inn. At this inn (for a wonder!) I -got some breakfast. The family had not yet had theirs, and I sat with -them at the table, and had substantial fare. From this point I followed -a footpath a couple of miles through fields and parks. The highways for -the most part seemed so narrow and exclusive, or inclusive, such -penalties seemed to attach to a view over the high walls and hedges that -shut me in, that a footpath was always a welcome escape to me. I opened -the wicket or mounted the stile without much concern as to whether it -would further me on my way or not. It was like turning the flank of an -enemy. These well-kept fields and lawns, these cozy nooks, these stately -and exclusive houses that had taken such pains to shut out the public -gaze,--from the footpath one had them at an advantage, and could pluck -out their mystery. On striking the highway again, I met the -postmistress, stepping briskly along with the morning mail. Her husband -had died, and she had taken his place as mail-carrier. England is so -densely populated, the country is so like a great city suburb, that your -mail is brought to your door everywhere, the same as in town. I walked a -distance with a boy driving a little old white horse with a cart-load of -brick. He lived at Hedleigh, six miles distant; he had left there at -five o'clock in the morning, and had heard a nightingale. He was sure; -as I pressed him, he described the place minutely. "She was in the large -fir-tree by Tom Anthony's gate, at the south end of the village." Then, -I said, doubtless I shall find one in some of Gilbert White's haunts; -but I did not. I spent two rainy days at Selborne; I passed many chilly -and cheerless hours loitering along those wet lanes and dells and -dripping hangers, wooing both my bird and the spirit of the gentle -parson, but apparently without getting very near to either. When I think -of the place now, I see its hurrying and anxious haymakers in the field -of mown grass, and hear the cry of a child that sat in the hay back of -the old church, and cried by the hour while its mother was busy with her -rake not far off. The rain had ceased, the hay had dried off a little, -and scores of men, women, and children, but mostly women, had flocked to -the fields to rake it up. The hay is got together inch by inch, and -every inch is fought for. They first rake it up into narrow swaths, each -person taking a strip about a yard wide. If they hold the ground thus -gained, when the hay dries an hour or two longer, they take another -hitch, and thus on till they get it into the cock or "carry" it from the -windrow. It is usually nearly worn out with handling before they get it -into the rick. - -From Selborne I went to Alton, along a road that was one prolonged -rifle-pit, but smooth and hard as a rock; thence by train back to -London. To leave no ground for self-accusation in future, on the score -of not having made a thorough effort to hear my songster, I the next day -made a trip north toward Cambridge, leaving the train at Hitchin, a -large picturesque old town, and thought myself in just the right place -at last. I found a road between the station and the town proper called -Nightingale Lane, famous for its songsters. A man who kept a -thrifty-looking inn on the corner (where, by the way, I was again -refused both bed and board) said they sang night and morning in the -trees opposite. He had heard them the night before, but had not noticed -them that morning. He often sat at night with his friends, with open -windows, listening to the strain. He said he had tried several times to -hold his breath as long as the bird did in uttering certain notes, but -could not do it. This, I knew, was an exaggeration; but I waited eagerly -for nightfall, and, when it came, paced the street like a patrolman, and -paced other streets, and lingered about other likely localities, but -caught nothing but neuralgic pains in my shoulder. I had no better -success in the morning, and here gave over the pursuit, saying to -myself, It matters little, after all; I have seen the country and had -some object for a walk, and that is sufficient. - -Altogether I heard the bird less than five minutes, and only a few bars -of its song, but enough to satisfy me of the surprising quality of the -strain. - -It had the master tone as clearly as Tennyson or any great prima donna -or famous orator has it. Indeed, it was just the same. Here is the -complete artist, of whom all these other birds are but hints and -studies. Bright, startling, assured, of great compass and power, it -easily dominates all other notes; the harsher _chur-r-r-r-rg_ notes -serve as foil to her surpassing brilliancy. Wordsworth, among the poets, -has hit off the song nearest:-- - - "Those notes of thine,--they pierce and pierce; - Tumultuous harmony and fierce!" - -I could easily understand that this bird might keep people awake at -night by singing near their houses, as I was assured it frequently does; -there is something in the strain so startling and awakening. Its start -is a vivid flash of sound. On the whole, a high-bred, courtly, -chivalrous song; a song for ladies to hear leaning from embowered -windows on moonlight nights; a song for royal parks and groves,--and -easeful but impassioned life. We have no bird-voice so piercing and -loud, with such flexibility and compass, such full-throated harmony and -long-drawn cadences; though we have songs of more melody, tenderness, -and plaintiveness. None but the nightingale could have inspired Keats's -ode,--that longing for self-forgetfulness and for the oblivion of the -world, to escape the fret and fever of life. - - "And with thee fade away into the forest dim." - - - - -V - -ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SONG-BIRDS - - -The charm of the songs of birds, like that of a nation's popular airs -and hymns, is so little a question of intrinsic musical excellence, and -so largely a matter of association and suggestion, or of subjective -coloring and reminiscence, that it is perhaps entirely natural for every -people to think their own feathered songsters the best. What music would -there not be to the homesick American, in Europe, in the simple and -plaintive note of our bluebird, or the ditty of our song sparrow, or the -honest carol of our robin; and what, to the European traveler in this -country, in the burst of the blackcap, or the redbreast, or the whistle -of the merlin! The relative merit of bird-songs can hardly be settled -dogmatically; I suspect there is very little of what we call music, or -of what could be noted on the musical scale, in even the best of them; -they are parts of nature, and their power is in the degree in which they -speak to our experience. - -When the Duke of Argyll, who is a lover of the birds and a good -ornithologist, was in this country, he got the impression that our -song-birds were inferior to the British, and he refers to others of his -countrymen as of like opinion. No wonder he thought our robin inferior -in power to the missel thrush, in variety to the mavis, and in melody to -the blackbird! Robin did not and could not sing to his ears the song he -sings to ours. Then it is very likely true that his grace did not hear -the robin in the most opportune moment and season, or when the contrast -of his song with the general silence and desolation of nature is the -most striking and impressive. The nightingale needs to be heard at -night, the lark at dawn rising to meet the sun; and robin, if you would -know the magic of his voice, should be heard in early spring, when, as -the sun is setting, he carols steadily for ten or fifteen minutes from -the top of some near tree. There is perhaps no other sound in nature; -patches of snow linger here and there; the trees are naked and the earth -is cold and dead, and this contented, hopeful, reassuring, and withal -musical strain, poured out so freely and deliberately, fills the void -with the very breath and presence of the spring. It is a simple strain, -well suited to the early season; there are no intricacies in it, but its -honest cheer and directness, with its slight plaintive tinge, like that -of the sun gilding the treetops, go straight to the heart. The compass -and variety of the robin's powers are not to be despised either. A -German who has great skill in the musical education of birds told me -what I was surprised to hear, namely, that our robin surpasses the -European blackbird in capabilities of voice. - -The duke does not mention by name all the birds he heard while in this -country. He was evidently influenced in his opinion of them by the fact -that our common sandpiper appeared to be a silent bird, whereas its -British cousin, the sandpiper of the lakes and streams of the Scottish -Highlands, is very loquacious, and the "male bird has a continuous and -most lively song." Either the duke must have seen our bird in one of its -silent and meditative moods, or else, in the wilds of Canada where his -grace speaks of having seen it, the sandpiper is a more taciturn bird -than it is in the States. True, its call-notes are not incessant, and it -is not properly a song-bird any more than the British species is; but it -has a very pretty and pleasing note as it flits up and down our summer -streams, or runs along on their gray, pebbly, and bowlder-strewn -shallows. I often hear its calling and piping at night during its spring -migratings. Indeed, we have no silent bird that I am aware of, though -our pretty cedar-bird has, perhaps, the least voice of any. A lady -writes me that she has heard the hummingbird sing, and says she is not -to be put down, even if I were to prove by the anatomy of the bird's -vocal organs that a song was impossible to it. - -Argyll says that, though he was in the woods and fields of Canada and of -the States in the richest moment of the spring, he heard little of that -burst of song which in England comes from the blackcap, and the garden -warbler, and the whitethroat, and the reed warbler, and the common -wren, and (locally) from the nightingale. There is no lack of a burst of -song in this country (except in the remote forest solitudes) during the -richest moment of the spring, say from the 1st to the 20th of May, and -at times till near midsummer; moreover, more bird-voices join in it, as -I shall point out, than in Britain; but it is probably more fitful and -intermittent, more confined to certain hours of the day, and probably -proceeds from throats less loud and vivacious than that with which our -distinguished critic was familiar. The ear hears best and easiest what -it has heard before. Properly to apprehend and appreciate bird-songs, -especially to disentangle them from the confused murmur of nature, -requires more or less familiarity with them. If the duke had passed a -season with us in some _one_ place in the country, in New York or New -England, he would probably have modified his views about the silence of -our birds. - -One season, early in May, I discovered an English skylark in full song -above a broad, low meadow in the midst of a landscape that possessed -features attractive to a great variety of our birds. Every morning for -many days I used to go and sit on the brow of a low hill that commanded -the field, or else upon a gentle swell in the midst of the meadow -itself, and listen to catch the song of the lark. The maze and tangle of -bird-voices and bird-choruses through which my ear groped its way -searching for the new song can be imagined when I say that within -hearing there were from fifteen to twenty different kinds of songsters, -all more or less in full tune. If their notes and calls could have been -materialized and made as palpable to the eye as they were to the ear, I -think they would have veiled the landscape and darkened the day. There -were big songs and little songs,--songs from the trees, the bushes, the -ground, the air,--warbles, trills, chants, musical calls, and squeals, -etc. Near by in the foreground were the catbird and the brown thrasher, -the former in the bushes, the latter on the top of a hickory. These -birds are related to the mockingbird, and may be called performers; -their songs are a series of vocal feats, like the exhibition of an -acrobat; they throw musical somersaults, and turn and twist and contort -themselves in a very edifying manner, with now and then a ventriloquial -touch. The catbird is the more shrill, supple, and feminine; the -thrasher the louder, richer, and more audacious. The mate of the latter -had a nest, which I found in a field under the spreading ground-juniper. -From several points along the course of a bushy little creek there came -a song, or a melody of notes and calls, that also put me out,--the -tipsy, hodge-podge strain of the polyglot chat, a strong, olive-backed, -yellow-breasted, black-billed bird, with a voice like that of a jay or a -crow that had been to school to a robin or an oriole,--a performer sure -to arrest your ear and sure to elude your eye. There is no bird so -afraid of being seen, or fonder of being heard. - -The golden voice of the wood thrush that came to me from the border of -the woods on my right was no hindrance to the ear, it was so serene, -liquid, and, as it were, transparent: the lark's song has nothing in -common with it. Neither were the songs of the many bobolinks in the -meadow at all confusing,--a brief tinkle of silver bells in the grass, -while I was listening for a sound more like the sharp and continuous hum -of silver wheels upon a pebbly beach. Certain notes of the -red-shouldered starlings in the alders and swamp maples near by, the -distant barbaric voice of the great crested flycatcher, the jingle of -the kingbird, the shrill, metallic song of the savanna sparrow, and the -piercing call of the meadowlark, all stood more or less in the way of -the strain I was listening for, because every one had a touch of that -burr or guttural hum of the lark's song. The ear had still other notes -to contend with, as the strong, bright warble of the tanager, the richer -and more melodious strain of the rose-breasted grosbeak, the distant, -brief, and emphatic song of the chewink, the child-like contented warble -of the red-eyed vireo, the animated strain of the goldfinch, the softly -ringing notes of the bush sparrow, the rapid, circling, vivacious strain -of the purple finch, the gentle lullaby of the song sparrow, the -pleasing "wichery," "wichery" of the yellow-throat, the clear whistle of -the oriole, the loud call of the high-hole, the squeak and chatter of -swallows, etc. But when the lark did rise in full song, it was easy to -hear him athwart all these various sounds, first, because of the sense -of altitude his strain had,--its skyward character,--and then because of -its loud, aspirated, penetrating, unceasing, jubilant quality. It cut -its way to the ear like something exceeding swift, sharp, and copious. -It overtook and outran every other sound; it had an undertone like the -humming of multitudinous wheels and spindles. Now and then some turn -would start and set off a new combination of shriller or of graver -notes, but all of the same precipitate, out-rushing and down-pouring -character; not, on the whole, a sweet or melodious song, but a strong -and blithe one. - -The duke is abundantly justified in saying that we have no bird in this -country, at least east of the Mississippi, that can fill the place of -the skylark. Our high, wide, bright skies seem his proper field, too. -His song is a pure ecstasy, untouched by any plaintiveness, or pride, or -mere hilarity,--a well-spring of morning joy and blitheness set high -above the fields and downs. Its effect is well suggested in this stanza -of Wordsworth:-- - - "Up with me! up with me into the clouds! - For thy song, Lark, is strong; - Up with me, up with me into the clouds! - Singing, singing, - With clouds and sky about thee ringing, - Lift me, guide me till I find - That spot which seems so to thy mind!" - -But judging from Gilbert White's and Barrington's lists, I should say -that our bird-choir was a larger one, and embraced more good songsters, -than the British. - -White names twenty-two species of birds that sing in England during the -spring and summer, including the swallow in the list. A list of the -spring and summer songsters in New York and New England, without naming -any that are characteristically wood-birds, like the hermit thrush and -veery, the two wagtails, the thirty or more warblers, and the solitary -vireo, or including any of the birds that have musical call-notes, and -by some are denominated songsters, as the bluebird, the sandpiper, the -swallow, the red-shouldered starling, the pewee, the high-hole, and -others, would embrace more names, though perhaps no songsters equal to -the lark and nightingale, to wit: the robin, the catbird, the Baltimore -oriole, the orchard oriole, the song sparrow, the wood sparrow, the -vesper sparrow, the social sparrow, the swamp sparrow, the purple finch, -the wood thrush, the scarlet tanager, the indigo-bird, the goldfinch, -the bobolink, the summer yellowbird, the meadowlark, the house wren, the -marsh wren, the brown thrasher, the chewink, the chat, the red-eyed -vireo, the white-eyed vireo, the Maryland yellow-throat, and the -rose-breasted grosbeak. - -The British sparrows are for the most part songless. What a ditty is -that of our song sparrow, rising from the garden fence or the roadside -so early in March, so prophetic and touching, with endless variations -and pretty trilling effects; or the song of the vesper sparrow, full of -the repose and the wild sweetness of the fields; or the strain of the -little bush sparrow, suddenly projected upon the silence of the fields -or of the evening twilight, and delighting the ear as a beautiful scroll -delights the eye! The white-crowned, the white-throated, and the Canada -sparrows sing transiently spring and fall; and I have heard the fox -sparrow in April, when his song haunted my heart like some bright, sad, -delicious memory of youth,--the richest and most moving of all -sparrow-songs. - -Our wren-music, too, is superior to anything of the kind in the Old -World, because we have a greater variety of wren-songsters. Our house -wren is inferior to the British house wren, but our marsh wren has a -lively song; while our winter wren, in sprightliness, mellowness, -plaintiveness, and execution, is surpassed by but few songsters in the -world. The summer haunts of this wren are our high, cool, northern -woods, where, for the most part, his music is lost on the primeval -solitude. - -The British flycatcher, according to White, is a silent bird, while our -species, as the phoebe-bird, the wood pewee, the kingbird, the little -green flycatcher, and others, all have notes more or less lively and -musical. The great crested flycatcher has a harsh voice, but the -pathetic and silvery note of the wood pewee more than makes up for it. -White says the golden-crowned wren is not a song-bird in Great Britain. -The corresponding species here has a pleasing though not remarkable -song, which is seldom heard, however, except in its breeding haunts in -the north. But its congener, the ruby-crowned kinglet, has a rich, -delicious, and prolonged warble, which is noticeable in the Northern -States for a week or two in April or May, while the bird pauses to feed -on its way to its summer home. - -There are no vireos in Europe, nor birds that answer to them. With us, -they contribute an important element to the music of our groves and -woods. There are few birds I should miss more than the red-eyed vireo, -with his cheerful musical soliloquy, all day and all summer, in the -maples and locusts. It is he, or rather she, that builds the exquisite -basket nest on the ends of the low, leafy branches, suspending it -between two twigs. The warbling vireo has a stronger, louder strain, -more continuous, but not quite so sweet. The solitary vireo is heard -only in the deep woods, while the white-eyed is still more local or -restricted in its range, being found only in wet, bushy places, whence -its vehement, varied, and brilliant song is sure to catch the dullest -ear. - -The goldfinches of the two countries, though differing in plumage, are -perhaps pretty evenly matched in song; while our purple finch, or -linnet, I am persuaded, ranks far above the English linnet, or lintie, -as the Scotch call it. In compass, in melody, in sprightliness, it is a -remarkable songster. Indeed, take the finches as a family, they -certainly furnish more good songsters in this country than in Great -Britain. They furnish the staple of our bird-melody, including in the -family the tanager and the grosbeaks, while in Europe the warblers -lead. White names seven finches in his list, and Barrington includes -eight, none of them very noted songsters, except the linnet. Our list -would include the sparrows above named, and the indigo-bird, the -goldfinch, the purple finch, the scarlet tanager, the rose-breasted -grosbeak, the blue grosbeak, and the cardinal bird. Of these birds, all -except the fox sparrow and the blue grosbeak are familiar summer -songsters throughout the Middle and Eastern States. The indigo-bird is a -midsummer and an all-summer songster of great brilliancy. So is the -tanager. I judge there is no European thrush that, in the pure charm of -melody and hymn-like serenity and spirituality, equals our wood and -hermit thrushes, as there is no bird there that, in simple lingual -excellence, approaches our bobolink. - -The European cuckoo makes more music than ours, and their robin -redbreast is a better singer than the allied species, to wit, the -bluebird, with us. But it is mainly in the larks and warblers that the -European birds are richer in songsters than are ours. We have an army of -small wood-warblers,--no less than forty species,--but most of them have -faint chattering or lisping songs that escape all but the most attentive -ear, and then they spend the summer far to the north. Our two wagtails -are our most brilliant warblers, if we except the kinglets, which are -Northern birds in summer, and the Kentucky warbler, which is a Southern -bird; but they probably do not match the English blackcap, or -whitethroat, or garden warbler, to say nothing of the nightingale, -though Audubon thought our large-billed water-thrush, or wagtail, -equaled that famous bird. It is certainly a brilliant songster, but most -provokingly brief; the ear is arrested by a sudden joyous burst of -melody proceeding from the dim aisles along which some wild brook has -its way, but just as you say "Listen!" it ceases. I hear and see the -bird every season along a rocky stream that flows through a deep chasm -amid a wood of hemlock and pine. As I sit at the foot of some cascade, -or on the brink of some little dark eddying pool above it, this bird -darts by me, up or down the stream, or alights near me, upon a rock or -stone at the edge of the water. Its speckled breast, its dark -olive-colored back, its teetering, mincing gait, like that of a -sandpiper, and its sharp _chit_, like the click of two pebbles under -water, are characteristic features. Then its quick, ringing song, which -you are sure presently to hear, suggests something so bright and silvery -that it seems almost to light up, for a brief moment, the dim retreat. -If this strain were only sustained and prolonged like the nightingale's, -there would be good grounds for Audubon's comparison. Its cousin, the -wood wagtail, or golden-crowned thrush of the older ornithologists, and -golden-crowned accentor of the later,--a common bird in all our -woods,--has a similar strain, which it delivers as it were -surreptitiously, and in the most precipitate manner, while on the wing, -high above the treetops. It is a kind of wood-lark, practicing and -rehearsing on the sly. When the modest songster is ready to come out -and give all a chance to hear his full and completed strain, the -European wood-lark will need to look to his laurels. These two birds are -our best warblers, and yet they are probably seldom heard, except by -persons who know and admire them. If the two kinglets could also be -included in our common New England summer residents, our warbler music -would only pale before the song of Philomela herself. The English -redstart evidently surpasses ours as a songster, and we have no bird to -match the English wood-lark above referred to, which is said to be but -little inferior to the skylark; but, on the other hand, besides the -sparrows and vireos, already mentioned, they have no songsters to match -our oriole, our orchard starling, our catbird, our brown thrasher -(second only to the mockingbird), our chewink, our snowbird, our -cow-bunting, our bobolink, and our yellow-breasted chat. As regards the -swallows of the two countries, the advantage is rather on the side of -the American. Our chimney swallow, with his incessant, silvery, rattling -chipper, evidently makes more music than the corresponding house swallow -of Europe; while our purple martin is not represented in the Old World -avifauna at all. And yet it is probably true that a dweller in England -hears more bird-music throughout the year than a dweller in this -country, and that which, in some respects, is of a superior order. - -In the first place, there is not so much of it lost "upon the desert -air," upon the wild, unlistening solitudes. The English birds are more -domestic and familiar than ours; more directly and intimately -associated with man; not, as a class, so withdrawn and lost in the great -void of the wild and the unreclaimed. England is like a continent -concentrated,--all the waste land, the barren stretches, the -wildernesses, left out. The birds are brought near together and near to -man. Wood-birds here are house and garden birds there. They find good -pasturage and protection everywhere. A land of parks, and gardens, and -hedge-rows, and game preserves, and a climate free from violent -extremes,--what a stage for the birds, and for enhancing the effect of -their songs! How prolific they are, how abundant! If our songsters were -hunted and trapped by bird-fanciers and others, as the lark, and -goldfinch, and mavis, etc., are in England, the race would soon become -extinct. Then, as a rule, it is probably true that the British birds as -a class have more voice than ours have, or certain qualities that make -their songs more striking and conspicuous, such as greater vivacity and -strength. They are less bright in plumage, but more animated in voice. -They are not so recently out of the woods, and their strains have not -that elusiveness and plaintiveness that ours have. They sing with more -confidence and copiousness, and as if they, too, had been touched by -civilization. - -Then they sing more hours in the day, and more days in the year. This is -owing to the milder and more equable climate. I heard the skylark -singing above the South Downs in October, apparently with full spring -fervor and delight. The wren, the robin, and the wood-lark sing -throughout the winter, and in midsummer there are perhaps more vocal -throats than here. The heat and blaze of our midsummer sun silence most -of our birds. - -There are but four songsters that I hear with any regularity after the -meridian of summer is past, namely, the indigo-bird, the wood or bush -sparrow, the scarlet tanager, and the red-eyed vireo, while White names -eight or nine August songsters, though he speak of the yellow-hammer -only as persistent. His dictum, that birds sing as long as nidification -goes on, is as true here as in England. Hence our wood thrush will -continue in song over into August if, as frequently happens, its June -nest has been broken up by the crows or squirrels. - -The British songsters are more vocal at night than ours. White says the -grasshopper lark chirps all night in the height of summer. The -sedge-bird also sings the greater part of the night. A stone thrown into -the bushes where it is roosting, after it has become silent, will set it -going again. Other British birds, besides the nightingale, sing more or -less at night. - -In this country the mockingbird is the only regular night-singer we -have. Other songsters break out occasionally in the middle of the night, -but so briefly that it gives one the impression that they sing in their -sleep. Thus I have heard the hair-bird, or chippie, the kingbird, the -oven-bird, and the cuckoo fitfully in the dead of the night, like a -schoolboy laughing in his dreams. - -On the other hand, there are certain aspects in which our songsters -appear to advantage. That they surpass the European species in -sweetness, tenderness, and melody I have no doubt; and that our -mockingbird, in his native haunts in the South, surpasses any bird in -the world in fluency, variety, and execution is highly probable. That -the total effect of his strain may be less winning and persuasive than -the nocturne of the nightingale is the only question in my mind about -the relative merits of the two songsters. Bring our birds together as -they are brought together in England, let all our shy wood-birds--like -the hermit thrush, the veery, the winter wren, the wood wagtail, the -water wagtail, the many warblers, the several vireos--become birds of -the groves and orchards, and there would be a burst of song indeed. - -Bates, the naturalist of the Amazon, speaks of a little thrush he used -to hear in his rambles that showed the American quality to which I have -referred. "It is a much smaller and plainer-colored bird," he says, -"than our [the English] thrush, and its song is not so loud, varied, or -so long sustained; here the tone is of a sweet and plaintive quality, -which harmonizes well with the wild and silent woodlands, where alone it -is heard in the mornings and evenings of sultry, tropical days." - -I append parallel lists of the better-known American and English -song-birds, marking in each with an asterisk, those that are probably -the better songsters; followed by a list of other American songsters, -some of which are not represented in the British avifauna:-- - - _Old England._ _New England._ - *Wood-lark. Meadowlark. - Song-thrush. *Wood thrush. - *Jenny Wren. House wren. - Willow wren. *Winter wren. - *Redbreast. Bluebird. - *Redstart. Redstart. - Hedge-sparrow. *Song sparrow. - Yellow-hammer. *Fox sparrow. - *Skylark. Bobolink. - Swallow. Swallow. - *Blackcap. Wood wagtail. - Titlark. Titlark (spring and fall). - *Blackbird. Robin. - Whitethroat. *Maryland yellow-throat. - Goldfinch. Goldfinch. - Greenfinch. *Wood sparrow. - Reed-sparrow. *Vesper sparrow. - Linnet. *Purple finch. - *Chaffinch. Indigo-bird. - *Nightingale. Water wagtail. - Missel thrush. *Hermit thrush. - Great titmouse. Savanna sparrow. - Bullfinch. Chickadee. - -New England song-birds not included in the above are:-- - - Red-eyed vireo. - White-eyed vireo. - Brotherly love vireo. - Solitary vireo. - Yellow-throated vireo. - Scarlet tanager. - Baltimore oriole. - Orchard oriole. - Catbird. - Brown thrasher. - Chewink. - Rose-breasted grosbeak. - Purple martin. - Mockingbird (occasionally). - -Besides these, a dozen or more species of the Mniotiltidæ, or -wood-warblers, might be named, some of which, like the black-throated -green warbler, the speckled Canada warbler, the hooded warbler, the -mourning ground-warbler, and the yellow warbler, are fine songsters. - - - - -VI - -IMPRESSIONS OF SOME ENGLISH BIRDS - - -The foregoing chapter was written previous to my last visit to England, -and when my knowledge of the British song-birds was mainly from report, -and not from personal observation. I had heard the skylark, and briefly -the robin, and snatches of a few other bird strains, while in that -country in the autumn of 1871; but of the full spring and summer chorus, -and the merits of the individual songsters, I knew little except through -such writers as White, Broderip, and Barrington. Hence, when I found -myself upon British soil once more, and the birds in the height of their -May jubilee, I improved my opportunities, and had very soon traced every -note home. It is not a long and difficult lesson; there is not a great -variety of birds, and they do not hide in woods and remote corners. You -find them nearly all wherever your walk leads you. And how they do sing! -how loud and piercing their notes are! Not a little of the pleasure I -felt arose from the fact that the birds sang much as I expected them to, -much as they ought to have sung according to my previous views of their -merits and qualities, when contrasted with our own songsters. - -I shall not soon forget how my ears were beset that bright May morning, -two days after my arrival at Glasgow, when I walked from Ayr to Alloway, -a course of three miles in one of the most charming and fertile rural -districts in Scotland. It was as warm as mid-June, and the country had -the most leafy and luxuriant June aspect. Above a broad stretch of -undulating meadow-land on my right the larks were in full song. These I -knew; these I welcomed. What a sound up there, as if the sunshine were -vocal! A little farther along, in a clover field, I heard my first -corn-crake. "Crex, crex, crex," came the harsh note out of the grass, -like the rasping sound of some large insect, and I knew the bird at -once. But when I came to a beautiful grove or wood, jealously guarded by -a wall twelve feet high (some fine house concealed back there, I saw by -the entrance), what a throng of strange songs and calls beset my ears! -The concert was at its height. The wood fairly rang and reverberated -with bird-voices. How loud, how vivacious, almost clamorous, they -sounded to me! I paused in delightful bewilderment. - -Two or three species of birds, as I afterwards found, were probably -making all the music I heard, and of these, one species was contributing -at least two thirds of it. At Alloway I tarried nearly a week, putting -up at a neat little inn - - "Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear," - -and I was not long in analyzing this spirited bird-choir, and tracing -each note home to its proper source. It was, indeed, a burst of song, -as the Duke of Argyll had said, but the principal singer his grace does -not mention. Indeed, nothing I had read, or could find in the few -popular treatises on British ornithology I carried about with me, had -given me any inkling of which was the most abundant and vociferous -English song-bird, any more than what I had read or heard had given me -any idea of which was the most striking and conspicuous wild flower, or -which the most universal weed. Now the most abundant song-bird in -Britain is the chaffinch, the most conspicuous wild flower (at least in -those parts of the country I saw) is the foxglove, and the most -ubiquitous weed is the nettle. Throughout the month of May, and probably -during all the spring months, the chaffinch makes two thirds of the -music that ordinarily greets the ear as one walks or drives about the -country. In both England and Scotland, in my walks up to the time of my -departure, the last of July, I seemed to see three chaffinches to one of -any other species of bird. It is a permanent resident in this island, -and in winter appears in immense flocks. The male is the prettiest of -British song-birds, with its soft blue-gray back, barred wings, and pink -breast and sides. The Scotch call it shilfa. At Alloway there was a -shilfa for every tree, and its hurried and incessant notes met and -intersected each other from all directions every moment of the day, like -wavelets on a summer pool. So many birds, and each one so persistent and -vociferous, accounts for their part in the choir. The song is as loud -as that of our orchard starling, and is even more animated. It begins -with a rapid, wren-like trill, which quickly becomes a sharp jingle, -then slides into a warble, and ends with an abrupt flourish. I have -never heard a song that began so liltingly end with such a quick, abrupt -emphasis. The last note often sounds like "whittier," uttered with great -sharpness; but one that used to sing in an apple-tree over my head, day -after day there by the Doon, finished its strain each time with the -sharp ejaculation, "Sister, right here." Afterwards, whenever I met a -shilfa, I could hear in its concluding note this pointed and almost -impatient exclamation of "Sister, right here." The song, on the whole, -is a pleasing one, and very characteristic; so rapid, incessant, and -loud. The bird seemed to be held in much less esteem in Britain than on -the Continent, where it is much sought after as a caged bird. In -Germany, in the forest of Thuringia, the bird is in such quest that -scarcely can one be heard. A common workman has been known to give his -cow for a favorite songster. The chaffinch has far less melody and charm -of song than some of our finches, notably our purple finch; but it is so -abundant and so persistent in song that in quantity of music it far -excels any singer we have. - -Next to the chaffinch in the volume of its song, and perhaps in some -localities surpassing it, is the song-thrush. I did not find this bird -upon the Doon, and but rarely in other places in Scotland, but in the -south of England it leads the choir. Its voice can be heard above all -others. But one would never suspect it to be a thrush. It has none of -the flute-like melody and serene, devotional quality of our thrush -strains. It is a shrill whistling polyglot. Its song is much after the -manner of that of our brown thrasher, made up of vocal attitudes and -poses. It is easy to translate its strain into various words or short -ejaculatory sentences. It sings till the darkness begins to deepen, and -I could fancy what the young couple walking in the gloaming would hear -from the trees overhead. "Kiss her, kiss her; do it, do it; be quick, be -quick; stick her to it, stick her to it; that was neat, that was neat; -that will do," with many other calls not so explicit, and that might -sometimes be construed as approving nods or winks. Sometimes it has a -staccato whistle. Its performance is always animated, loud, and clear, -but never, to my ear, melodious, as the poets so often have it. Even -Burns says,-- - - "The mavis mild and mellow." - -Drayton hits it when he says,-- - - "The throstle with shrill sharps," etc. - -Ben Jonson's "lusty throstle" is still better. It is a song of great -strength and unbounded good cheer; it proceeds from a sound heart and a -merry throat. There is no touch of plaintiveness or melancholy in it; it -is as expressive of health and good digestion as the crowing of the cock -in the morning. When I was hunting for the nightingale, the thrush -frequently made such a din just at dusk as to be a great annoyance. At -Kew, where I passed a few weeks, its shrill pipe usually woke me in the -morning. - -A thrush of a much mellower strain is the blackbird, which is our robin -cut in ebony. His golden bill gives a golden touch to his song. It was -the most leisurely strain I heard. Amid the loud, vivacious, workaday -chorus, it had an easeful, _dolce far niente_ effect. I place the song -before that of our robin, where it belongs in quality, but it falls -short in some other respects. It constantly seemed to me as if the bird -was a learner and had not yet mastered his art. The tone is fine, but -the execution is labored; the musician does not handle his instrument -with deftness and confidence. It seems as if the bird were trying to -whistle some simple air, and never quite succeeding. Parts of the song -are languid and feeble, and the whole strain is wanting in the decision -and easy fulfillment of our robin's song. The bird is noisy and tuneful -in the twilight like his American congener. - -Such British writers on birds and bird life as I have been able to -consult do not, it seems to me, properly discriminate and appreciate the -qualities and merits of their own songsters. The most melodious strain I -heard, and the only one that exhibited to the full the best qualities of -the American songsters, proceeded from a bird quite unknown to fame, in -the British Islands at least. I refer to the willow warbler, or willow -wren, as it is also called,--a little brown bird, that builds a -dome-shaped nest upon the ground and lines it with feathers. White says -it has a "sweet, plaintive note," which is but half the truth. It has a -long, tender, delicious warble, not wanting in strength and volume, but -eminently pure and sweet,--the song of the chaffinch refined and -idealized. The famous blackcap, which I heard in the south of England -and again in France, falls far short of it in these respects, and only -surpasses it in strength and brilliancy. The song is, perhaps, in the -minor key, feminine and not masculine, but it touches the heart. - - "That strain again; it had a dying fall." - -The song of the willow warbler has a dying fall; no other bird-song is -so touching in this respect. It mounts up round and full, then runs down -the scale, and expires upon the air in a gentle murmur. I heard the bird -everywhere; next to the chaffinch, its voice greeted my ear oftenest; -yet many country people of whom I inquired did not know the bird, or -confounded it with some other. It is too fine a song for the ordinary -English ear; there is not noise enough in it. The whitethroat is much -more famous; it has a louder, coarser voice; it sings with great -emphasis and assurance, and is a much better John Bull than the little -willow warbler. - -I could well understand, after being in England a few days, why, to -English travelers, our songsters seem inferior to their own. They are -much less loud and vociferous, less abundant and familiar; one needs to -woo them more; they are less recently out of the wilderness; their songs -have the delicacy and wildness of most woodsy forms, and are as -plaintive as the whistle of the wind. They are not so happy a race as -the English songsters, as if life had more trials for them, as doubtless -it has in their enforced migrations and in the severer climate with -which they have to contend. - -When one hears the European cuckoo he regrets that he has ever heard a -cuckoo clock. The clock has stolen the bird's thunder; and when you hear -the rightful owner, the note has a second-hand, artificial sound. It is -only another cuckoo clock off there on the hill or in the grove. Yet it -is a cheerful call, with none of the solitary and monkish character of -our cuckoo's note; and, as it comes early in spring, I can see how much -it must mean to native ears. - -I found that the only British song-bird I had done injustice to in my -previous estimate was the wren. It is far superior to our house wren. It -approaches very nearly our winter wren, if it does not equal it. Without -hearing the two birds together, it would be impossible to decide which -was the better songster. Its strain has the same gushing, lyrical -character, and the shape, color, and manner of the two birds are nearly -identical. It is very common, sings everywhere, and therefore -contributes much more to the general entertainment than does our bird. -Barrington marks the wren far too low in his table of the comparative -merit of British song-birds; he denies it mellowness and plaintiveness, -and makes it high only in sprightliness, a fact that discredits his -whole table. He makes the thrush and blackbird equal in the two -qualities first named, which is equally wide of the mark. - -The English robin is a better songster than I expected to find him. The -poets and writers have not done him justice. He is of the royal line of -the nightingale, and inherits some of the qualities of that famous bird. -His favorite hour for singing is the gloaming, and I used to hear him -the last of all. His song is peculiar, jerky, and spasmodic, but abounds -in the purest and most piercing tones to be heard,--piercing from their -smoothness, intensity, and fullness of articulation; rapid and crowded -at one moment, as if some barrier had suddenly given way, then as -suddenly pausing, and scintillating at intervals, bright, tapering -shafts of sound. It stops and hesitates, and blurts out its notes like a -stammerer; but when they do come they are marvelously clear and pure. I -have heard green hickory branches thrown into a fierce blaze jet out the -same fine, intense, musical sounds on the escape of the imprisoned -vapors in the hard wood as characterize the robin's song. - -One misses along English fields and highways the tender music furnished -at home by our sparrows, and in the woods and groves the plaintive cries -of our pewees and the cheerful soliloquy of our red-eyed vireo. The -English sparrows and buntings are harsh-voiced, and their songs, when -they have songs, are crude. The yellow-hammer comes nearest to our -typical sparrow, it is very common, and is a persistent songster, but -the song is slight, like that of our savanna sparrow--scarcely more than -the chirping of a grasshopper. In form and color it is much like our -vesper sparrow, except that the head of the male has a light yellow -tinge. - -The greenfinch or green linnet is an abundant bird everywhere, but its -song is less pleasing than that of several of our finches. The goldfinch -is very rare, mainly, perhaps, because it is so persistently trapped by -bird-fanciers; its song is a series of twitters and chirps, less musical -to my ear than that of our goldfinch, especially when a flock of the -latter are congregated in a tree and inflating their throats in rivalry. -Their golden-crowned kinglet has a fine thread-like song, far less than -that of our kinglet, less even than that of our black and white creeper. -The nuthatch has not the soft, clear call of ours, and the various -woodpeckers figure much less; there is less wood to peck, and they seem -a more shy and silent race. I saw but one in all my walks, and that was -near Wolmer Forest. I looked in vain for the wood-lark; the country -people confound it with the pipit. The blackcap warbler I found to be a -rare and much overpraised bird. The nightingale is very restricted in -its range, and is nearly silent by the middle of June. I made a -desperate attempt to find it in full song after the seventeenth of the -month, as I have described in a previous chapter, but failed. And the -garden warbler is by no means found in every garden; probably I did not -hear it more than twice. - -The common sandpiper, I should say, was more loquacious and musical than -ours. I heard it on the Highland lakes, when its happy notes did indeed -almost run into a song, so continuous and bright and joyful were they. - -One of the first birds I saw, and one of the most puzzling, was the -lapwing or pewit. I observed it from the car window, on my way down to -Ayr, a large, broad-winged, awkward sort of bird, like a cross between a -hawk and an owl, swooping and gamboling in the air as the train darted -past. It is very abundant in Scotland, especially on the moors and near -the coast. In the Highlands I saw them from the top of the stage-coach, -running about the fields with their young. The most graceful and -pleasing of birds upon the ground, about the size of the pigeon, now -running nimbly along, now pausing to regard you intently, crested, -ringed, white-bellied, glossy green-backed, with every movement like -visible music. But the moment it launches into the air its beauty is -gone; the wings look round and clumsy, like a mittened hand, the tail -very short, the head and neck drawn back, with nothing in the form or -movement that suggests the plover kind. It gambols and disports itself -like a great bat, which its outlines suggest. On the moors I also saw -the curlew, and shall never forget its wild, musical call. - -Nearly all the British bird-voices have more of a burr in them than ours -have. Can it be that, like the people, they speak more from the throat? -It is especially noticeable in the crow tribe,--in the rook, the jay, -the jackdaw. The rook has a hoarse, thick caw,--not so clearly and -roundly uttered as that of our crow. The swift has a wheezy, catarrhal -squeak, in marked contrast to the cheery chipper of our swift. In Europe -the chimney swallow builds in barns, and the barn swallow builds in -chimneys. The barn swallow, as we would call it,--chimney swallow, as it -is called there,--is much the same in voice, color, form, flight, etc., -as our bird, while the swift is much larger than our chimney swallow and -has a forked tail. The martlet, answering to our cliff swallow, is not -so strong and ruddy looking a bird as our species, but it builds much -the same, and has a similar note. It is more plentiful than our swallow. -I was soon struck with the fact that in the main the British song-birds -lead up to and culminate in two species, namely, in the lark and the -nightingale. In these two birds all that is characteristic in the other -songsters is gathered up and carried to perfection. They crown the -series. Nearly all the finches and pipits seem like rude studies and -sketches of the skylark, and nearly all the warblers and thrushes point -to the nightingale; their powers have fully blossomed in her. There is -nothing in the lark's song, in the quality or in the manner of it, that -is not sketched or suggested in some voice lower in the choir, and the -tone and compass of the warblers mount in regular gradation from the -clinking note of the chiffchaff up to the nightingale. Several of the -warblers sing at night, and several of the constituents of the lark sing -on the wing. On the lark's side, the birds are remarkable for gladness -and ecstacy, and are more creatures of the light and of the open spaces; -on the side of the nightingale there is more pure melody, and more a -love for the twilight and the privacy of arboreal life. Both the famous -songsters are representative as to color, exhibiting the prevailing gray -and dark tints. A large number of birds, I noticed, had the two white -quills in the tail characteristic of the lark. - -I found that I had overestimated the bird-music to be heard in England -in midsummer. It appeared to be much less than our own. The last two or -three weeks of July were very silent: the only bird I was sure of -hearing in my walks was the yellow-hammer; while, on returning home -early in August, the birds made such music about my house that they woke -me up in the morning. The song sparrow and bush sparrow were noticeable -till in September, and the red-eyed vireo and warbling vireo were heard -daily till in October. - -On the whole, I may add that I did not anywhere in England hear so fine -a burst of bird-song as I have heard at home, and I listened long for it -and attentively. Not so fine in quality, though perhaps greater in -quantity. It sometimes happens that several species of our best -songsters pass the season in the same locality, some favorite spot in -the woods, or at the head of a sheltered valley, that possesses -attraction for many kinds. I found such a place one summer by a small -mountain lake, in the southern Catskills, just over the farm borders, in -the edge of the primitive forest. The lake was surrounded by an -amphitheatre of wooded steeps, except a short space on one side where -there was an old abandoned clearing, grown up to saplings and brush. -Birds love to be near water, and I think they like a good auditorium, -love an open space like that of a small lake in the woods, where their -voices can have room and their songs reverberate. Certain it is they -liked this place, and early in the morning especially, say from half -past three to half past four, there was such a burst of melody as I had -never before heard. The most prominent voices were those of the wood -thrush, veery thrush, rose-breasted grosbeak, winter wren, and one of -the vireos, and occasionally at evening that of the hermit, though far -off in the dusky background,--birds all notable for their pure melody, -except that of the vireo, which was cheery, rather than melodious. A -singular song that of this particular vireo,--"_Cheery, cheery, cheery -drunk! Cheery drunk!_"--all day long in the trees above our tent. The -wood thrush was the most abundant, and the purity and eloquence of its -strain, or of their mingled strains, heard in the cool dewy morning from -across that translucent sheet of water, was indeed memorable. Its liquid -and serene melody was in such perfect keeping with the scene. The eye -and the ear both reported the same beauty and harmony. Then the clear, -rich fife of the grosbeak from the tops of the tallest trees, the simple -flute-like note of the veery, and the sweetly ringing, wildly lyrical -outburst of the winter wren, sometimes from the roof of our -butternut-colored tent--all joining with it--formed one of the most -noteworthy bits of a bird symphony it has ever been my good luck to -hear. Often at sundown, too, while we sat idly in our boat, watching the -trout break the glassy surface here and there, the same soothing melody -would be poured out all around us, and kept up till darkness filled the -woods. The last note would be that of the wood thrush, calling out -"_quit_," "_quit_." Across there in a particular point, I used at night -to hear another thrush, the olive-backed, the song a slight variation of -the veery's. I did hear in England in the twilight the robin, blackbird, -and song-thrush unite their voices, producing a loud, pleasing chorus; -add the nightingale and you have great volume and power, but still the -pure melody of my songsters by the lake is probably not reached. - - - - -VII - -IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY - - -No other English poet had touched me quite so closely as Wordsworth. All -cultivated men delight in Shakespeare; he is the universal genius; but -Wordsworth's poetry has more the character of a message, and a message -special and personal, to a comparatively small circle of readers. He -stands for a particular phase of human thought and experience, and his -service to certain minds is like an initiation into a new order of -truths. Note what a revelation he was to the logical mind of John Stuart -Mill. His limitations make him all the more private and precious, like -the seclusion of one of his mountain dales. He is not and can never be -the world's poet, but more especially the poet of those who love -solitude and solitary communion with nature. Shakespeare's attitude -toward nature is for the most part like that of a gay, careless reveler, -who leaves his companions for a moment to pluck a flower or gather a -shell here and there, as they stroll - - "By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, - Or on the beachéd margent of the sea." - -He is, of course, preëminent in all purely poetic achievements, but his -poems can never minister to the spirit in the way Wordsworth's do. - -One can hardly appreciate the extent to which the latter poet has -absorbed and reproduced the spirit of the Westmoreland scenery until he -has visited that region. I paused there a few days in early June, on my -way south, and again on my return late in July. I walked up from -Windermere to Grasmere, where, on the second visit, I took up my abode -at the historic Swan Inn, where Scott used to go surreptitiously to get -his mug of beer when he was stopping with Wordsworth. - -The call of the cuckoo came to me from over Rydal Water as I passed -along. I plucked my first foxglove by the roadside; paused and listened -to the voice of the mountain torrent; heard - - "The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;" - -caught many a glimpse of green, unpeopled hills, urn-shaped dells, -treeless heights, rocky promontories, secluded valleys, and clear, -swift-running streams. The scenery was sombre; there were but two -colors, green and brown, verging on black; wherever the rock cropped out -of the green turf on the mountain-sides, or in the vale, it showed a -dark face. But the tenderness and freshness of the green tints were -something to remember,--the hue of the first springing April grass, -massed and widespread in midsummer. - -Then there was a quiet splendor, almost grandeur, about Grasmere vale, -such as I had not seen elsewhere,--a kind of monumental beauty and -dignity that agreed well with one's conception of the loftier strains of -its poet. It is not too much dominated by the mountains, though shut in -on all sides by them; that stately level floor of the valley keeps them -back and defines them, and they rise from its outer margin like rugged, -green-tufted, and green-draped walls. - -It is doubtless this feature, as De Quincey says, this floor-like -character of the valley, that makes the scenery of Grasmere more -impressive than the scenery in North Wales, where the physiognomy of the -mountains is essentially the same, but where the valleys are more -bowl-shaped. Amid so much that is steep and rugged and broken, the eye -delights in the repose and equilibrium of horizontal lines,--a bit of -table-land, the surface of the lake, or the level of the valley bottom. -The principal valleys of our own Catskill region all have this stately -floor, so characteristic of Wordsworth's country. It was a pleasure -which I daily indulged in to stand on the bridge by Grasmere Church, -with that full, limpid stream before me, pausing and deepening under the -stone embankment near where the dust of the poet lies, and let the eye -sweep across the plain to the foot of the near mountains, or dwell upon -their encircling summits above the tops of the trees and the roofs of -the village. The water-ouzel loved to linger there, too, and would sit -in contemplative mood on the stones around which the water loitered and -murmured, its clear white breast alone defining it from the object upon -which it rested. Then it would trip along the margin of the pool, or -flit a few feet over its surface, and suddenly, as if it had burst like -a bubble, vanish before my eyes; there would be a little splash of the -water beneath where I saw it, as if the drop of which it was composed -had reunited with the surface there. Then, in a moment or two, it would -emerge from the water and take up its stand as dry and unruffled as -ever. It was always amusing to see this plump little bird, so unlike a -water-fowl in shape and manner, disappear in the stream. It did not seem -to dive, but simply dropped into the water, as if its wings had suddenly -failed it. Sometimes it fairly tumbled in from its perch. It was gone -from sight in a twinkling, and, while you were wondering how it could -accomplish the feat of walking on the bottom of the stream under there, -it reappeared as unconcerned as possible. It is a song-bird, a thrush, -and gives a feature to these mountain streams and waterfalls which ours, -except on the Pacific coast, entirely lack. The stream that winds -through Grasmere vale, and flows against the embankment of the -churchyard, as the Avon at Stratford, is of great beauty,--clean, -bright, full, trouty, with just a tinge of gypsy blood in its veins, -which it gets from the black tarns on the mountains, and which adds to -its richness of color. I saw an angler take a few trout from it, in a -meadow near the village. After a heavy rain the stream was not roily, -but slightly darker in hue; these fields and mountains are so turf-bound -that no particle of soil is carried away by the water. - -Falls and cascades are a great feature all through this country, as they -are a marked feature in Wordsworth's poetry. One's ear is everywhere -haunted by the sound of falling water; and, when the ear cannot hear -them, the eye can see the streaks or patches of white foam down the -green declivities. There are no trees above the valley bottom to -obstruct the view, and no hum of woods to muffle the sounds of distant -streams. When I was at Grasmere there was much rain, and this stanza of -the poet came to mind:-- - - "Loud is the Vale! The voice is up - With which she speaks when storms are gone, - A mighty unison of streams! - Of all her voices, one!" - -The words "vale" and "dell" come to have a new meaning after one has -visited Wordsworth's country, just as the words "cottage" and "shepherd" -also have so much more significance there and in Scotland than at home. - - "Dear child of Nature, let them rail! - --There is a nest in a green dale, - A harbor and a hold, - Where thou, a wife and friend, shalt see - Thy own delightful days, and be - A light to young and old." - -Every humble dwelling looks like a nest; that in which the poet himself -lived had a cozy, nest-like look; and every vale is green,--a cradle -amid rocky heights, padded and carpeted with the thickest turf. - -Wordsworth is described as the poet of nature. He is more the poet of -man, deeply wrought upon by a certain phase of nature,--the nature of -those sombre, quiet, green, far-reaching mountain solitudes. There is a -shepherd quality about him; he loves the flocks, the heights, the tarn, -the tender herbage, the sheltered dell, the fold, with a kind of -poetized shepherd instinct. Lambs and sheep and their haunts, and those -who tend them, recur perpetually in his poems. How well his verse -harmonizes with those high, green, and gray solitudes, where the silence -is broken only by the bleat of lambs or sheep, or just stirred by the -voice of distant waterfalls! Simple, elemental yet profoundly tender and -human, he had - - "The primal sympathy - Which, having been, must ever be." - -He brooded upon nature, but it was nature mirrored in his own heart. In -his poem of "The Brothers" he says of his hero, who had gone to sea:-- - - "He had been rear'd - Among the mountains, and he in his heart - Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas. - Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard - The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds - Of caves and trees;" - -and, leaning over the vessel's side and gazing into the "broad green -wave and sparkling foam," he - - "Saw mountains,--saw the forms of sheep that grazed - On verdant hills." - -This was what his own heart told him; every experience or sentiment -called those beloved images to his own mind. - -One afternoon, when the sun seemed likely to get the better of the soft -rain-clouds, I set out to climb to the top of Helvellyn. I followed the -highway a mile or more beyond the Swan Inn, and then I committed myself -to a footpath that turns up the mountain-side to the right, and crosses -into Grisedale and so to Ulleswater. Two schoolgirls whom I overtook put -me on the right track. The voice of a foaming mountain torrent was in my -ears a long distance, and now and then the path crossed it. Fairfield -Mountain was on my right hand, Helm Crag and Dunmail Raise on my left. -Grasmere plain soon lay far below. The haymakers, encouraged by a gleam -of sunshine, were hastily raking together the rain-blackened hay. From -my outlook they appeared to be slowly and laboriously rolling up a great -sheet of dark brown paper, uncovering beneath it one of the most fresh -and vivid green. The mown grass is so long in curing in this country -(frequently two weeks) that the new blades spring beneath it, and a -second crop is well under way before the old is "carried." The long -mountain slopes up which I was making my way were as verdant as the -plain below me. Large coarse ferns or bracken, with an under-lining of -fine grass, covered the ground on the lower portions. On the higher, -grass alone prevailed. On the top of the divide, looking down into the -valley of Ulleswater, I came upon one of those black tarns, or mountain -lakelets, which are such a feature in this strange scenery. The word -"tarn" has no meaning with us, though our young poets sometimes use it -as they do this Yorkshire word "wold;" one they get from Wordsworth, the -other from Tennyson. But when you have seen one of those still, inky -pools at the head of a silent, lonely Westmoreland dale, you will not be -apt to misapply the word in future. Suddenly the serene shepherd -mountain opens this black, gleaming eye at your feet, and it is all the -more weird for having no eyebrow of rocks, or fringe of rush or bush. -The steep, encircling slopes drop down and hem it about with the most -green and uniform turf. If its rim had been modeled by human hands, it -could not have been more regular or gentle in outline. Beneath its -emerald coat the soil is black and peaty, which accounts for the hue of -the water and the dark line that encircles it. - - "All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink - On its firm margin, even as from a well, - Or some stone basin, which the herdsman's hand - Had shaped for their refreshment." - -The path led across the outlet of the tarn, and then divided, one branch -going down into the head of Grisedale, and the other mounting up the -steep flank of Helvellyn. Far up the green acclivity I met a man and two -young women making their way slowly down. They had come from Glenridding -on Ulleswater, and were going to Grasmere. The women looked cold, and -said I would find it wintry on the summit. - -Helvellyn has a broad flank and a long back, and comes to a head very -slowly and gently. You reach a wire fence well up on the top that -divides some sheep ranges, pass through a gate, and have a mile yet to -the highest ground in front of you; but you could traverse it in a -buggy, it is so smooth and grassy. The grass fails just before the -summit is reached, and the ground is covered with small fragments of the -decomposed rock. The view is impressive, and such as one likes to sit -down to and drink in slowly,--a - - "Grand terraqueous spectacle, - From centre to circumference, unveil'd." - -The wind was moderate and not cold. Toward Ulleswater the mountain drops -down abruptly many hundred feet, but its vast western slope appeared one -smooth, unbroken surface of grass. The following jottings in my -notebook, on the spot, preserve some of the features of the scene: "All -the northern landscape lies in the sunlight as far as Carlisle, - - "A tumultuous waste of huge hilltops;" - -not quite so severe and rugged as the Scotch mountains, but the view -more pleasing and more extensive than the one I got from Ben Venue. The -black tarns at my feet,--Keppel Cove Tarn one of them, according to my -map,--how curious they look! I can just discern the figure of a man -moving by the marge of one of them. Away beyond Ulleswater is a vast -sweep of country flecked here and there by slowly moving cloud shadows. -To the northeast, in places, the backs and sides of the mountains have a -green, pastoral voluptuousness, so smooth and full are they with thick -turf. At other points the rock has fretted through the verdant carpet. -St. Sunday's Crag to the west, across Grisedale, is a steep acclivity -covered with small, loose stones, as if they had been dumped over the -top, and were slowly sliding down; but nowhere do I see great bowlders -strewn about. Patches of black peat are here and there. The little -rills, near and far, are white as milk, so swiftly do they run. On the -more precipitous sides the grass and moss are lodged, and hold like -snow, and are as tender in hue as the first April blades. A multitude of -lakes are in view, and Morecambe Bay to the south. There are sheep -everywhere, loosely scattered, with their lambs; occasionally I hear -them bleat. No other sound is heard but the chirp of the mountain pipit. -I see the wheat-ear flitting here and there. One mountain now lies in -full sunshine, as fat as a seal, wrinkled and dimpled where it turns to -the west, like a fat animal when it bends to lick itself. What a -spectacle is now before me!--all the near mountains in shadow, and the -distant in strong sunlight; I shall not see the like of that again. On -some of the mountains the green vestments are in tatters and rags, so to -speak, and barely cling to them. No heather in view. Toward Windermere -the high peaks and crests are much more jagged and rocky. The air is -filled with the same white, motionless vapor as in Scotland. When the -sun breaks through,-- - - "Slant watery lights, from parting clouds, apace - Travel along the precipice's base, - Cheering its naked waste of scatter'd stone." - -Amid these scenes one comes face to face with nature, - - "With the pristine earth, - The planet in its nakedness," - -as he cannot in a wooded country. The primal, abysmal energies, grown -tender and meditative, as it were, thoughtful of the shepherd and his -flocks, and voiceful only in the leaping torrents, look out upon one -near at hand and pass a mute recognition. Wordsworth perpetually refers -to these hills and dales as lonely or lonesome; but his heart was still -more lonely. The outward solitude was congenial to the isolation and -profound privacy of his own soul. "Lonesome," he says of one of these -mountain dales, but - - "Not melancholy,--no, for it is green - And bright and fertile, furnished in itself - With the few needful things that life requires. - In rugged arms how soft it seems to lie, - How tenderly protected." - -It is this tender and sheltering character of the mountains of the Lake -district that is one main source of their charm. So rugged and lofty, -and yet so mellow and delicate! No shaggy, weedy growths or tangles -anywhere; nothing wilder than the bracken, which at a distance looks as -solid as the grass. The turf is as fine and thick as that of a lawn. The -dainty-nosed lambs could not crave a tenderer bite than it affords. The -wool of the dams could hardly be softer to the foot. The last of July -the grass was still short and thick, as if it never shot up a stalk and -produced seed, but always remained a fine, close mat. Nothing was more -unlike what I was used to at home than this universal tendency (the same -is true in Scotland and in Wales) to grass, and, on the lower slopes, to -bracken, as if these were the only two plants in nature. Many of these -eminences in the north of England, too lofty for hills and too smooth -for mountains, are called fells. The railway between Carlisle and -Preston winds between them, as Houghill Fells, Tebay Fells, Shap Fells, -etc. They are, even in midsummer, of such a vivid and uniform green that -it seems as if they must have been painted. Nothing blurs or mars the -hue; no stalk of weed or stem of dry grass. The scene, in singleness and -purity of tint, rivals the blue of the sky. Nature does not seem to -ripen and grow sere as autumn approaches, but wears the tints of May in -October. - - - - -VIII - -A GLANCE AT BRITISH WILD FLOWERS - - -The first flower I plucked in Britain was the daisy, in one of the parks -in Glasgow. The sward had recently been mown, but the daisies dotted it -as thickly as stars. It is a flower almost as common as the grass; find -a square foot of greensward anywhere, and you are pretty sure to find a -daisy, probably several of them. Bairnwort--child's flower--it is called -in some parts, and its expression is truly infantile. It is the favorite -of all the poets, and when one comes to see it he does not think it has -been a bit overpraised. Some flowers please us by their intrinsic beauty -of color and form; others by their expression of certain human -qualities: the daisy has a modest, lowly, unobtrusive look that is very -taking. A little white ring, its margin unevenly touched with crimson, -it looks up at one like the eye of a child. - - "Thou unassuming Commonplace - Of Nature, with that homely face, - And yet with something of a grace, - Which Love makes for thee!" - -Not a little of its charm to an American is the unexpected contrast it -presents with the rank, coarse ox-eye daisy so common in this country, -and more or less abundant in Britain, too. The Scotch call this latter -"dog daisy." I thought it even coarser, and taller there than with us. -Though the commonest of weeds, the "wee, modest, crimson-tippit flower" -sticks close at home; it seems to have none of the wandering, -devil-may-care, vagabond propensities of so many other weeds. I believe -it has never yet appeared upon our shores in a wild state, though -Wordsworth addressed it thus:-- - - "Thou wander'st this wild world about - Unchecked by pride or scrupulous doubt." - -The daisy is prettier in the bud than in the flower, as it then shows -more crimson. It shuts up on the approach of foul weather; hence -Tennyson says the daisy closes - - "Her crimson fringes to the shower." - -At Alloway, whither I flitted from Glasgow, I first put my hand into the -British nettle, and, I may add, took it out again as quickly as if I had -put it into the fire. I little suspected that rank dark-green weed there -amid the grass under the old apple-trees, where the blue speedwell and -cockscombs grew, to be a nettle. But I soon learned that the one plant -you can count on everywhere in England and Scotland is the nettle. It is -the royal weed of Britain. It stands guard along every road-bank and -hedge-row in the island. - -Put your hand to the ground after dark in any fence corner, or under any -hedge, or on the border of any field, and the chances are ten to one you -will take it back again with surprising alacrity. And such a villainous -fang as the plant has! it is like the sting of bees. Your hand burns and -smarts for hours afterward. My little boy and I were eagerly gathering -wild flowers on the banks of the Doon, when I heard him scream, a few -yards from me. I had that moment jerked my stinging hand out of the -grass as if I had put it into a hornet's nest, and I knew what the -youngster had found. We held our burning fingers in the water, which -only aggravated the poison. It is a dark green, rankly growing plant, -from one to two feet high, that asks no leave of anybody. It is the -police that protects every flower in the hedge. To "pluck the flower of -safety from the nettle danger" is a figure of speech that has especial -force in this island. The species of our own nettle with which I am best -acquainted, the large-leaved Canada nettle, grows in the woods, is shy -and delicate, is cropped by cattle, and its sting is mild. But -apparently no cow's tongue can stand the British nettle, though, when -cured as hay, it is said to make good fodder. Even the pigs cannot eat -it till it is boiled. In starvation times it is extensively used as a -pot-herb, and, when dried, its fibre is said to be nearly equal to that -of flax. Rough handling, I am told, disarms it, but I could not summon -up courage to try the experiment. Ophelia made her garlands - - "Of crow-flowers, daisies, nettles, and long purples." - -But the nettle here referred to was probably the stingless dead-nettle. - -A Scotch farmer, with whom I became acquainted, took me on a Sunday -afternoon stroll through his fields. I went to his kirk in the forenoon; -in the afternoon he and his son went to mine, and liked the sermon as -well as I did. These banks and braes of Doon, of a bright day in May, -are eloquent enough for anybody. Our path led along the river course for -some distance. The globe-flower, like a large buttercup with the petals -partly closed, nodded here and there. On a broad, sloping, semi-circular -bank, where a level expanse of rich fields dropped down to a springy, -rushy bottom near the river's edge, and which the Scotch call a brae, we -reclined upon the grass and listened to the birds, all but the lark new -to me, and discussed the flowers growing about. In a wet place the -"gillyflower" was growing, suggesting our dentaria, or crinkle-root. -This is said to be "the lady's smock all silver-white" of Shakespeare, -but these were not white, rather a pale lilac. Near by, upon the ground, -was the nest of the meadow pipit, a species of titlark, which my friend -would have me believe was the wood-lark,--a bird I was on the lookout -for. The nest contained six brown-speckled eggs,--a large number, I -thought. But I found that this is the country in which to see -birds'-nests crowded with eggs, as well as human habitations thronged -with children. A white umbelliferous plant, very much like wild carrot, -dotted the turf here and there. This, my companion said, was pig-nut, or -ground-chestnut, and that there was a sweet, edible tuber at the root -of it, and, to make his words good, dug up one with his fingers, -recalling Caliban's words in the "Tempest":-- - - "And I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts." - -The plant grows freely about England, but does not seem to be -troublesome as a weed. - -In a wooded slope beyond the brae, I plucked my first woodruff, a little -cluster of pure white flowers, much like that of our saxifrage, with a -delicate perfume. Its stalk has a whorl of leaves like the galium. As -the plant dries its perfume increases, and a handful of it will scent a -room. - -The wild hyacinths, or bluebells, had begun to fade, but a few could yet -be gathered here and there in the woods and in the edges of the fields. -This is one of the plants of which nature is very prodigal in Britain. -In places it makes the underwoods as blue as the sky, and its rank -perfume loads the air. Tennyson speaks of "sheets of hyacinths." We have -no wood flower in the Eastern States that grows in such profusion. - -Our flowers, like our birds and wild creatures, are more shy and -retiring than the British. They keep more to the woods, and are not -sowed so broadcast. Herb Robert is exclusively a wood plant with us, but -in England it strays quite out into the open fields and by the roadside. -Indeed, in England I found no so-called wood flower that could not be -met with more or less in the fields and along the hedges. The main -reason, perhaps, is that the need of shelter is never so great there, -neither winter nor summer, as it is here, and the supply of moisture is -more uniform and abundant. In dampness, coolness, and shadiness, the -whole climate is woodsy, while the atmosphere of the woods themselves is -almost subterranean in its dankness and chilliness. The plants come out -for sun and warmth, and every seed they scatter in this moist and -fruitful soil takes. - -How many exclusive wood flowers we have, most of our choicest kinds -being of sylvan birth,--flowers that seem to vanish before the mere -breath of cultivated fields, as wild as the partridge and the beaver, -like the yellow violet, the arbutus, the medeola, the dicentra, the -claytonia, the trilliums, many of the orchids, uvularia, dalibarda, and -others. In England, probably, all these plants, if they grew there, -would come out into the fields and opens. The wild strawberry, however, -reverses this rule; it is more a wood plant in England than with us. -Excepting the rarer variety (_Fragaria vesca_), our strawberry thrives -best in cultivated fields, and Shakespeare's reference to this fruit -would not be apt,-- - - "The strawberry grows underneath the nettle; - And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, - Neighbor'd by fruit of baser quality." - -The British strawberry is found exclusively, I believe, in woods and -copses, and the ripened fruit is smaller or lighter colored than our -own. - -Nature in this island is less versatile than with us, but more constant -and uniform, less variety and contrast in her works, and less -capriciousness and reservation also. She is chary of new species, but -multiplies the old ones endlessly. I did not observe so many varieties -of wild flowers as at home, but a great profusion of specimens; her lap -is fuller, but the kinds are fewer. Where you find one of a kind, you -will find ten thousand. Wordsworth saw "golden daffodils," - - "Continuous as the stars that shine - And twinkle on the milky way," - -and one sees nearly all the common wild flowers in the same profusion. -The buttercup, the dandelion, the ox-eye daisy, and other field flowers -that have come to us from Europe, are samples of how lavishly Nature -bestows her floral gifts upon the Old World. In July the scarlet poppies -are thickly sprinkled over nearly every wheat and oat field in the -kingdom. The green waving grain seems to have been spattered with blood. -Other flowers were alike universal. Not a plant but seems to have sown -itself from one end of the island to the other. Never before did I see -so much white clover. From the first to the last of July, the fields in -Scotland and England were white with it. Every square inch of ground had -its clover blossom. Such a harvest as there was for the honey-bee, -unless the nectar was too much diluted with water in this rainy climate, -which was probably the case. In traveling south from Scotland, the -foxglove traveled as fast as I did, and I found it just as abundant in -the southern counties as in the northern. This is the most beautiful -and conspicuous of all the wild flowers I saw,--a spire of large purple -bells rising above the ferns and copses and along the hedges everywhere. -Among the copses of Surrey and Hants, I saw it five feet high, and amid -the rocks of North Wales still higher. We have no conspicuous wild -flower that compares with it. It is so showy and abundant that the -traveler on the express train cannot miss it; while the pedestrian finds -it lining his way like rows of torches. The bloom creeps up the stalk -gradually as the season advances, taking from a month to six weeks to go -from the bottom to the top, making at all times a most pleasing -gradation of color, and showing the plant each day with new flowers and -a fresh, new look. It never looks shabby and spent, from first to last. -The lower buds open the first week in June, and slowly the purple wave -creeps upward; bell after bell swings to the bee and moth, till the end -of July, when you see the stalk waving in the wind with two or three -flowers at the top, as perfect and vivid as those that opened first. I -wonder the poets have not mentioned it oftener. Tennyson speaks of "the -foxglove spire." I note this allusion in Keats:-- - - "Where the deer's swift leap - Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell," - -and this from Coleridge:-- - - "The fox-glove tall - Sheds its loose purple bells or in the gust, - Or when it bends beneath the upspringing lark, - Or mountain finch alighting." - -Coleridge perhaps knew that the lark did not perch upon the stalk of the -foxglove, or upon any other stalk or branch, being entirely a ground -bird and not a percher, but he would seem to imply that it did, in these -lines. - -A London correspondent calls my attention to these lines from -Wordsworth,-- - - "Bees that soar - High as the highest peak of Furness Fells, - Yet murmur by the hour in foxglove bells;" - -and adds: "Less poetical, but as graphic, was a Devonshire woman's -comparison of a dull preacher to a 'Drummle drane in a pop;' Anglicè, A -drone in a foxglove,--called a pop from children amusing themselves with -popping its bells." - -The prettiest of all humble roadside flowers I saw was the little blue -speedwell. I was seldom out of sight of it anywhere in my walks till -near the end of June; while its little bands and assemblages of deep -blue flowers in the grass by the roadside, turning a host of infantile -faces up to the sun, often made me pause and admire. It is prettier than -the violet, and larger and deeper colored than our houstonia. It is a -small and delicate edition of our hepatica, done in indigo blue and -wonted to the grass in the fields and by the waysides. - - "The little speedwell's darling blue," - -sings Tennyson. I saw it blooming, with the daisy and the buttercup, -upon the grave of Carlyle. The tender human and poetic element of this -stern rocky nature was well expressed by it. - -In the Lake district I saw meadows purple with a species of wild -geranium, probably _Geranium pratense_. It answered well to our wild -geranium, which in May sometimes covers wettish meadows in the same -manner, except that this English species was of a dark blue purple. -Prunella, I noticed, was of a much deeper purple there than at home. The -purple orchids also were stronger colored, but less graceful and -pleasing, than our own. One species which I noticed in June, with habits -similar to our purple fringed-orchis, perhaps the pyramidal orchis, had -quite a coarse, plebeian look. Probably the most striking blue and -purple wild flowers we have are of European origin, as succory, -blue-weed or bugloss, vervain, purple loosestrife, and harebell. These -colors, except with the fall asters and gentians, seem rather unstable -in our flora. - -It has been observed by the Norwegian botanist Schübeler that plants and -trees in the higher latitudes have larger leaves and larger flowers than -farther south, and that many flowers which are white in the south become -violet in the far north. This agrees with my own observation. The -feebler light necessitates more leaf surface, and the fewer insects -necessitate larger and more showy flowers to attract them and secure -cross-fertilization. Blackberry blossoms, so white with us, are a -decided pink in England. The same is true of the water-plantain. Our -houstonia and hepatica would probably become a deep blue in that -country. The marine climate probably has something to do also with this -high color of the British flowers, as I have noticed that on our New -England coast the same flowers are deeper tinted than they are in the -interior. - -A flower which greets all ramblers to moist fields and tranquil -watercourses in midsummer is the meadow-sweet, called also queen of the -meadows. It belongs to the Spiræa tribe, where our hardhack, nine-bark, -meadow-sweet, queen of the prairie, and others belong, but surpasses all -our species in being sweet-scented,--a suggestion of almonds and -cinnamon. I saw much of it about Stratford, and in rowing on the Avon -plucked its large clusters of fine, creamy white flowers from my boat. -Arnold is felicitous in describing it as the "blond meadow-sweet." - -They cultivate a species of clover in England that gives a striking -effect to a field when in bloom, _Trifolium incarnatum_, the long heads -as red as blood. It is grown mostly for green fodder. I saw not one -spear of timothy grass in all my rambles. Though this is a grass of -European origin, yet it seems to be quite unknown among English and -Scotch farmers. The horse bean, or Winchester bean, sown broadcast, is a -new feature, while its perfume, suggesting that of apple orchards, is -the most agreeable to be met with. - -I was delighted with the furze, or whin, as the Scotch call it, with its -multitude of rich yellow, pea-like blossoms exhaling a perfume that -reminded me of mingled cocoanut and peaches. It is a prickly, -disagreeable shrub to the touch, like our ground juniper. It seems to -mark everywhere the line of cultivation; where the furze begins the plow -stops. It covers heaths and commons, and, with the heather, gives that -dark hue to the Scotch and English uplands. The heather I did not see in -all its glory. It was just coming into bloom when I left, the last of -July; but the glimpses I had of it in North Wales, and again in northern -Ireland, were most pleasing. It gave a purple border or fringe to the -dark rocks (the rocks are never so lightly tinted in this island as ours -are) that was very rich and striking. The heather vies with the grass in -its extent and uniformity. Until midsummer it covers the moors and -uplands as with a dark brown coat. When it blooms, this coat becomes a -royal robe. The flower yields honey to the bee, and the plant shelter to -the birds and game, and is used by the cottagers for thatching, and for -twisting into ropes, and for various other purposes. - -Several troublesome weeds I noticed in England that have not yet made -their appearance in this country. Coltsfoot invests the plowed lands -there, sending up its broad fuzzy leaves as soon as the grain is up, and -covering large areas. It is found in this country, but, so far as I have -observed, only in out-of-the-way places. - -Sheep sorrel has come to us from over seas, and reddens many a poor -worn-out field; but the larger species of sorrel, _Rumex acetosa_, so -common in English fields, and shooting up a stem two feet high, was -quite new to me. Nearly all the related species, the various docks, are -naturalized upon our shores. - -On the whole the place to see European weeds is in America. They run -riot here. They are like boys out of school, leaping all bounds. They -have the freedom of the whole broad land, and are allowed to take -possession in a way that would astonish a British farmer. The Scotch -thistle is much rarer in Scotland than in New York or Massachusetts. I -saw only one mullein by the roadside, and that was in Wales, though it -flourishes here and there throughout the island. The London -correspondent, already quoted, says of the mullein: "One will come up in -solitary glory, but, though it bears hundreds of flowers, many years -will elapse before another is seen in the same neighborhood. We used to -say, 'There is a mullein coming up in such a place,' much as if we had -seen a comet; and its flannel-like leaves and the growth of its spike -were duly watched and reported on day by day." I did not catch a glimpse -of blue-weed, Bouncing Bet, elecampane, live-for-ever, bladder campion, -and others, of which I see acres at home, though all these weeds do grow -there. They hunt the weeds mercilessly; they have no room for them. You -see men and boys, women and girls, in the meadows and pastures cutting -them out. A species of wild mustard infests the best grain lands in -June; when in bloom it gives to the oat-fields a fresh canary yellow. -Then men and boys walk carefully through the drilled grain and pull the -mustard out, and carry it away, leaving not one blossom visible. - -On the whole, I should say that the British wild flowers were less -beautiful than our own, but more abundant and noticeable, and more -closely associated with the country life of the people; just as their -birds are more familiar, abundant, and vociferous than our songsters, -but not so sweet-voiced and plaintively melodious. An agreeable -coarseness and robustness characterize most of their flowers, and they -more than make up in abundance where they lack in grace. - -The surprising delicacy of our first spring flowers, of the hepatica, -the spring beauty, the arbutus, the bloodroot, the rue-anemone, the -dicentra,--a beauty and delicacy that pertains to exclusive wood -forms,--contrasts with the more hardy, hairy, hedge-row look of their -firstlings of the spring, like the primrose, the hyacinth, the wood -spurge, the green hellebore, the hedge garlic, the moschatel, the -daffodil, the celandine, and others. Most of these flowers take one by -their multitude; the primrose covers broad hedge banks for miles as with -a carpet of bloom. In my excursions into field and forest I saw nothing -of the intense brilliancy of our cardinal flower, which almost baffles -the eye; nothing with the wild grace of our meadow or mountain lilies; -no wood flower so taking to the eye as our painted trillium and -lady's-slipper; no bog flower that compares with our calopogon and -arethusa, so common in southeastern New England; no brookside flower -that equals our jewel-weed; no rock flower before which one would pause -with the same feeling of admiration as before our columbine; no violet -as striking as our bird's-foot violet; no trailing flower that -approaches our matchless arbutus; no fern as delicate as our -maiden-hair; no flowering shrub as sweet as our azaleas. In fact, their -flora presented a commoner type of beauty, very comely and pleasing, but -not so exquisite and surprising as our own. The contrast is well shown -in the flowering of the maples of the two countries,--that of the -European species being stiff and coarse compared with the fringe-like -grace and delicacy of our maple. In like manner the silken tresses of -our white pine contrast strongly with the coarser foliage of the -European pines. But what they have, they have in greatest profusion. Few -of their flowers waste their sweetness on the desert air; they throng -the fields, lanes, and highways, and are known and seen of all. They -bloom on the housetops, and wave from the summits of castle walls. The -spring meadows are carpeted with flowers, and the midsummer -grain-fields, from one end of the kingdom to the other, are spotted with -fire and gold in the scarlet poppies and corn marigolds. - -I plucked but one white pond-lily, and that was in the Kew Gardens, -where I suppose the plucking was trespassing. Its petals were slightly -blunter than ours, and it had no perfume. Indeed, in the matter of -sweet-scented flowers, our flora shows by far the more varieties, the -British flora seeming richer in this respect by reason of the abundance -of specimens of any given kind. - -It is, indeed, a flowery land; a kind of perpetual spring-time reigns -there, a perennial freshness and bloom such as our fierce skies do not -permit. - - - - -IX - -BRITISH FERTILITY - - -I - -In crossing the Atlantic from the New World to the Old, one of the first -intimations the traveler has that he is nearing a strange shore, and an -old and populous one, is the greater boldness and familiarity of the -swarms of sea-gulls that begin to hover in the wake of the ship, and -dive and contend with each other for the fragments and parings thrown -overboard from the pantry. They have at once a different air and manner -from those we left behind. How bold and tireless they are, pursuing the -vessel from dawn to dark, and coming almost near enough to take the food -out of your hand as you lean over the bulwarks. It is a sign in the air; -it tells the whole story of the hungry and populous countries you are -approaching; it is swarming and omnivorous Europe come out to meet you. -You are near the sea-marge of a land teeming with life, a land where the -prevailing forms are indeed few, but these on the most copious and -vehement scale; where the birds and animals are not only more numerous -than at home, but more dominating and aggressive, more closely -associated with man, contending with him for the fruits of the soil, -learned in his ways, full of resources, prolific, tenacious of life, not -easily checked or driven out,--in fact, characterized by greater -persistence and fecundity. This fact is sure, sooner or later, to strike -the American in Britain. There seems to be an aboriginal push and heat -in animate nature there, to behold which is a new experience. It is the -Old World, and yet it really seems the New in the virility and hardihood -of its species. - -The New Englander who sees with evil forebodings the rapid falling off -of the birth-rate in his own land, the family rills shrinking in these -later generations, like his native streams in summer, and who -consequently fears for the perpetuity of the race, may see something to -comfort him in the British islands. Behold the fecundity of the parent -stock! The drought that has fallen upon the older parts of the New World -does not seem to have affected the sources of being in these islands. -They are apparently as copious and exhaustless as they were three -centuries ago. Britain might well appropriate to herself the last half -of Emerson's quatrain:-- - - "No numbers have counted my tallies, - No tribes my house can fill; - I sit by the shining Fount of Life, - And pour the deluge still." - -For it is literally a deluge; the land is inundated with humanity. -Thirty millions of people within the area of one of our larger States, -and who shall say that high-water mark is yet reached? Everything -betokens a race still in its youth, still on the road to empire. The -full-bloodedness, the large feet and hands, the prominent canine teeth, -the stomachic and muscular robustness, the health of the women, the -savage jealousy of personal rights, the swarms upon swarms of children -and young people, the delight in the open air and in athletic sports, -the love of danger and adventure, a certain morning freshness and -youthfulness in their look, as if their food and sleep nourished them -well, together with a certain animality and stupidity,--all indicate a -people who have not yet slackened speed or taken in sail. Neither the -land nor the race shows any exhaustion. In both there is yet the -freshness and fruitfulness of a new country. You would think the people -had just come into possession of a virgin soil. There is a pioneer -hardiness and fertility about them. Families increase as in our early -frontier settlements. Let me quote a paragraph from Taine's "Notes:"-- - -"An Englishman nearly always has many children,--the rich as well as the -poor. The Queen has nine, and sets the example. Let us run over the -families we are acquainted with: Lord ---- has six children; the Marquis -of ----, twelve; Sir N----, nine; Mr. S----, a judge, twenty-four, of -whom twenty-two are living; several clergymen, five, six, and up to ten -and twelve." - -Thus is the census kept up and increased. The land, the towns and -cities, are like hives in swarming time; a fertile queen indeed, and -plenty of brood-comb! Were it not for the wildernesses of America, of -Africa, and Australia, to which these swarms migrate, the people would -suffocate and trample each other out. A Scotch or English city, compared -with one of ours, is a kind of duplex or compound city; it has a double -interior,--the interior of the closes and alleys, in which and out of -which the people swarm like flies. Every country village has its closes, -its streets between streets, where the humbler portion of the population -is packed away. This back-door humanity streams forth to all parts of -the world, and carries the national virtues with it. In walking through -some of the older portions of Edinburgh, I was somehow reminded of -colonies of cliff swallows I had seen at home, packed beneath the eaves -of a farmer's barn, every inch of space occupied, the tenements crowding -and lapping over each other, the interstices filled, every coign of -vantage seized upon, the pendent beds and procreant cradles ranked one -above another, and showing all manner of quaint and ingenious forms and -adaptability to circumstances. In both London and Edinburgh there are -streets above streets, or huge viaducts that carry one torrent of -humanity above another torrent. They utilize the hills and depressions -to make more surface room for their swarming myriads. - -One day, in my walk through the Trosachs in the Highlands, I came upon a -couple of ant-hills that arrested my attention. They were a type of the -country. They were not large, scarcely larger than a peck measure, but -never before had I seen ant-hills so populous and so lively. They were -living masses of ants, while the ground for yards about literally -rustled with their numbers. I knew ant-hills at home, and had noted them -carefully, hills that would fill a cart-box; but they were like empty -tenements compared with these, a fort garrisoned with a company instead -of an army corps. These hills stood in thin woods by the roadside. From -each of them radiated five main highways, like the spokes of a wheel. -These highways were clearly defined to the eye, the grass and leaves -being slightly beaten down. Along each one of them there was a double -line of ants,--one line going out for supplies and the other returning -with booty,--worms, flies, insects, a constant stream of game going into -the capitol. If the ants, with any given worm or bug, got stuck, those -passing out would turn and lend a helping hand. The ground between the -main highways was being threaded in all directions by individual ants, -beating up and down for game. The same was true of the surface all about -the terminus of the roads, several yards distant. If I stood a few -moments in one place, the ants would begin to climb up my shoes and so -up my legs. Stamping them off seemed only to alarm and enrage the whole -camp, so that I would presently be compelled to retreat. Seeing a big -straddling beetle, I caught him and dropped him upon the nest. The ants -attacked him as wolves might attack an elephant. They clung to his -legs, they mounted his back, and assaulted him in front. As he rushed -through and over their ranks, down the side of the mound, those clinging -to his legs were caught hold of by others, till lines of four or five -ants were being jerked along by each of his six legs. The infuriated -beetle cleared the mound, and crawled under leaves and sticks to sweep -off his clinging enemies, and finally seemed to escape them by burying -himself in the earth. Then I took one of those large, black, shelless -snails with which this land abounds, a snail the size of my thumb, and -dropped it upon the nest. The ants swarmed upon it at once, and began to -sink their jaws into it. This woke the snail up to the true situation, -and it showed itself not without resources against its enemies. Flee, -like the beetle, it could not, but it bore an invisible armor; it began -to excrete from every pore of its body a thick, whitish, viscid -substance, that tied every ant that came in contact with it, hand and -foot, in a twinkling. When a thick coating of this impromptu bird-lime -had been exuded, the snail wriggled right and left a few times, partly -sloughing it off, and thus ingulfing hundreds of its antagonists. Never -was army of ants or of men bound in such a Stygian quagmire before. New -phalanxes rushed up and tried to scale the mass; most of them were mired -like their fellows, but a few succeeded and gained the snail's back; -then began the preparation of another avalanche of glue; the creature -seemed to dwindle in size, and to nerve itself to the work; as fast as -the ants reached him in any number he ingulfed them; he poured the vials -of his glutinous wrath upon them till he had formed quite a rampart of -cemented and helpless ants about him; fresh ones constantly coming up -laid hold of the barricade with their jaws, and were often hung that -way. I lingered half an hour or more to see the issue, but was finally -compelled to come away before the closing scene. I presume the ants -finally triumphed. The snail had nearly exhausted its ammunition; each -new broadside took more and more time and was less and less effective; -while the ants had unlimited resources, and could make bridges of their -sunken armies. But how they finally freed themselves and their mound of -that viscid, sloughing monster I should be glad to know. - -But it was not these incidents that impressed me so much as the numbers -and the animation of the ants, and their raiding, buccaneering -propensities. When I came to London, I could not help thinking of the -ant-hill I had seen in the North. This, I said, is the biggest ant-hill -yet. See the great steam highways, leading to all points of the compass; -see the myriads swarming, jostling each other in the streets, and -overflowing all the surrounding country. See the underground tunnels and -galleries and the overground viaducts; see the activity and the -supplies, the whole earth the hunting-ground of these insects and -rustling with their multitudinous stir. One may be pardoned, in the -presence of such an enormous aggregate of humanity as London shows, for -thinking of insects. Men and women seem cheapened and belittled, as if -the spawn of blow-flies had turned to human beings. How the throng -stream on interminably, the streets like river-beds, full to their -banks! One hardly notes the units,--he sees only the black tide. He -loses himself, and becomes an insignificant ant with the rest. He is -borne along through the galleries and passages to the underground -railway, and is swept forward like a drop in the sea. I used to make -frequent trips to the country, or seek out some empty nook in St. -Paul's, to come to my senses. But it requires no ordinary effort to find -one's self in St. Paul's, and in the country you must walk fast or -London will overtake you. When I would think I had a stretch of road all -to myself, a troop of London bicyclists would steal up behind me and -suddenly file by like spectres. The whole land is London-struck. You -feel the suction of the huge city wherever you are. It draws like a -cyclone; every current tends that way. It would seem as if cities and -towns were constantly breaking from their moorings and drifting -thitherward and joining themselves to it. On every side one finds -smaller cities welded fast. It spreads like a malignant growth, that -involves first one organ and then another. But it is not malignant. On -the contrary, it is perhaps as normal and legitimate a city as there is -on the globe. It is the proper outcome and expression of that fertile -and bountiful land, and that hardy, multiplying race. It seems less the -result of trade and commerce, and more the result of the domestic -home-seeking and home-building instinct, than any other city I have yet -seen. I felt, and yet feel, its attraction. It is such an aggregate of -actual human dwellings that this feeling pervades the very air. All its -vast and multiplex industries, and its traffic, seem domestic, like the -chores about the household. I used to get glimpses of it from the -northwest borders, from Hampstead Heath, and from about Highgate, lying -there in the broad, gentle valley of the Thames, like an enormous -country village--a village with nearly four million souls, where people -find life sweet and wholesome, and keep a rustic freshness of look and -sobriety of manner. See their vast parks and pleasure grounds; see the -upper Thames, of a bright Sunday, alive with rowing parties; see them -picnicking in all the country adjacent. Indeed, in summer a social and -even festive air broods over the whole vast encampment. There is squalor -and misery enough, of course, and too much, but this takes itself away -to holes and corners. - - -II - -A fertile race, a fertile nature, swarm in these islands. The climate is -a kind of prolonged May, and a vernal lustiness and raciness are -characteristic of all the prevailing forms. Life is rank and full. -Reproduction is easy. There is plenty of sap, plenty of blood. The salt -of the sea prickles in the veins; the spawning waters have imparted -their virility to the land. 'Tis a tropical and an arctic nature -combined, the fruitfulness of one and the activity of the other. - -The national poet is Shakespeare. In him we get the literary and -artistic equivalents of this teeming, racy, juicy land and people. It -needs just such a soil, just such a background, to account for him. The -poetic value of this continence on the one hand, and of this riot and -prodigality on the other, is in his pages. - -The teeming human populations reflect only the general law: there is the -same fullness of life in the lower types, the same push and hardiness. -It is the opinion of naturalists that the prevailing European forms are -a later production than those of the southern hemisphere or of the -United States, and hence, according to Darwin's law, should be more -versatile and dominating. That this last fact holds good with regard to -them, no competent observer can fail to see. When European plants and -animals come into competition with American, the latter, for the most -part, go to the wall, as do the natives in Australia. Or shall we say -that the native species flee before the advent of civilization, the -denuding the land of its forests, and the European species come in and -take their place? Yet the fact remains, that that trait or tendency to -persist in the face of obstacles, to hang on by tooth and nail, ready in -new expedients, thriving where others starve, climbing where others -fall, multiplying where others perish, like certain weeds, which if you -check the seed, will increase at the root, is more marked in the forms -that have come to us from Europe than in the native inhabitants. Nearly -everything that has come to this country from the Old World has come -prepared to fight its way through and take possession. The European or -Old World man, the Old World animals, the Old World grasses and grains, -and weeds and vermin, are in possession of the land, and the native -species have given way before them. The honey-bee, with its greed, its -industry, and its swarms, is a fair type of the rest. The English house -sparrow, which we were at such pains to introduce, breeds like vermin -and threatens to become a plague in the land. Nearly all our troublesome -weeds are European. When a new species gets a foothold here, it spreads -like fire. The European rats and mice would eat us up, were it not for -the European cats we breed. The wolf not only keeps a foothold in old -and populous countries like France and Germany, but in the former -country has so increased of late years that the government has offered -an additional bounty upon their pelts. When has an American wolf been -seen or heard in our comparatively sparsely settled Eastern or Middle -States? They have disappeared as completely as the beavers. Yet is it -probably true that, in a new country like ours, a tendency slowly -develops itself among the wild creatures to return and repossess the -land under the altered conditions. It is so with the plants, and -probably so with the animals. Thus, the chimney swallows give up the -hollow trees for the chimneys, the cliff swallows desert the cliffs for -the eaves of the barns, the squirrels find they can live in and about -the fields, etc. In my own locality, our native mice are becoming much -more numerous about the buildings than formerly; in the older settled -portions of the country, the flying squirrel often breeds in the houses; -the wolf does not seem to let go in the West as readily as he did in the -East; the black bear is coming back to parts of the country where it had -not been seen for thirty years. - -I noticed many traits among the British animals and birds that looked -like the result both of the sharp competition going on among themselves -in their crowded ranks and of association with man. Thus, the partridge -not only covers her nest, but carefully arranges the grass about it so -that no mark of her track to and fro can be seen. The field mouse lays -up a store of grain in its den in the ground, and then stops up the -entrance from within. The woodcock, when disturbed, flies away with one -of her young snatched up between her legs, and returns for another and -another. The sea-gulls devour the grain in the fields; the wild ducks -feed upon the oats; the crows and jackdaws pull up the sprouts of the -newly-planted potatoes; the grouse, partridges, pigeons, fieldfares, -etc., attack the turnips; the hawk frequently snatches the wounded game -from under the gun of the sportsman; the crows perch upon the tops of -the chimneys of the houses; in the East the stork builds upon the -housetops, in the midst of cities; in Scotland the rats follow the birds -and the Highlanders to the herring fisheries along the coast, and -disperse with them when the season is over; the eagle continues to breed -in the mountains with the prize of a guinea upon every egg; the rabbits -have to be kept down with nets and ferrets; the game birds--grouse, -partridges, ducks, geese--continue to swarm in the face of the most -inveterate race of sportsmen under the sun, and in a country where it is -said the crows destroy more game than all the guns in the kingdom. - -Many of the wild birds, when incubating, will allow themselves to be -touched by the hand. The fox frequently passes the day under some -covered drain or under some shelving bank near the farm buildings. The -otter, which so long ago disappeared from our streams, still holds its -own in Scotland, though trapped and shot on all occasions. A mother -otter has been known boldly to confront a man carrying off her young. - -Thomas Edward, the shoemaker-naturalist of Aberdeen, relates many -adventures he had during his nocturnal explorations with weasels, -polecats, badgers, owls, rats, etc., in which these creatures showed -astonishing boldness and audacity. On one occasion, a weasel actually -attacked him; on another, a polecat made repeated attempts to take a -moor-hen from the breast pocket of his coat while he was trying to -sleep. On still another occasion, while he was taking a nap, an owl -robbed him of a mouse which he wished to take home alive, and which was -tied by a string to his waistcoat. He says he has put his walking stick -into the mouth of a fox just roused from his lair, and the fox worried -the stick and took it away with him. Once, in descending a precipice, he -cornered two foxes upon a shelf of rock, when the brutes growled at him -and showed their teeth threateningly. As he let himself down to kick -them out of his way, they bolted up the precipice over his person. Along -the Scottish coast, crows break open shell-fish by carrying them high in -the air and letting them drop upon the rocks. This is about as -thoughtful a proceeding as that of certain birds of South Africa, which -fly amid the clouds of migrating locusts and clip off the wings of the -insects with their sharp beaks, causing them to fall to the ground, -where they are devoured at leisure. Among the Highlands, the eagles live -upon hares and young lambs; when the shepherds kill the eagles, the -hares increase so fast that they eat up all the grass, and the flocks -still suffer. - -The scenes along the coast of Scotland during the herring-fishing, as -described by Charles St. John in his "Natural History and Sport in -Moray," are characteristic. The herrings appear in innumerable shoals, -and are pursued by tens of thousands of birds in the air, and by the -hosts of their enemies of the deep. Salmon and dog-fish prey upon them -from beneath; gulls, gannets, cormorants, and solan geese prey upon them -from above; while the fishermen from a vast fleet of boats scoop them up -by the million. The birds plunge and scream, the men shout and labor, -the sea is covered with broken and wounded fish, the shore exhales the -odor of the decaying offal, which also attracts the birds and the -vermin; and, altogether, the scene is thoroughly European. Yet the -herring supply does not fail; and when the shoals go into the lochs, the -people say they contain two parts fish to one of water. - -One of the most significant facts I observed while in England and -Scotland was the number of eggs in the birds'-nests. The first nest I -saw, which was that of the meadow pipit, held six eggs; the second, -which was that of the willow warbler, contained seven. Are these British -birds, then, I said, like the people, really more prolific than our own? -Such is, undoubtedly, the fact. The nests I had observed were not -exceptional; and when a boy told me he knew of a wren's nest with -twenty-six eggs in it, I was half inclined to believe him. The common -British wren, which is nearly identical with our winter wren, often does -lay upward of twenty eggs, while ours lays five or six. The long-tailed -titmouse lays from ten to twelve eggs; the marsh tit, from eight to ten; -the great tit, from six to nine; the blue-bonnet, from six to eighteen; -the wryneck, often as many as ten; the nuthatch, seven; the brown -creeper, nine; the kinglet, eight; the robin, seven; the flycatcher, -eight; and so on,--all, or nearly all, exceeding the number laid by -corresponding species in this country. The highest number of eggs of the -majority of our birds is five; some of the wrens and creepers and -titmice produce six, or even more; but as a rule one sees only three or -four eggs in the nests of our common birds. Our quail seems to produce -more eggs than the European species, and our swift more. - -Then this superabundance of eggs is protected by such warm and compact -nests. The nest of the willow warbler, to which I have referred, is a -kind of thatched cottage upholstered with feathers. It is placed upon -the ground, and is dome-shaped, like that of our meadow mouse, the -entrance being on the side. The chaffinch, the most abundant and -universal of the British birds, builds a nest in the white thorn that is -a marvel of compactness and neatness. It is made mainly of fine moss and -wool. The nest of Jenny Wren, with its dozen or more of eggs, is too -perfect for art, and too cunning for nature. Those I saw were placed -amid the roots of trees on a steep bank by the roadside. You behold a -mass of fine green moss set in an irregular framework of roots, with a -round hole in the middle of it. As far in as your finger can reach, it -is exquisitely soft and delicately modeled. When removed from its place, -it is a large mass of moss with the nest at the heart of it. - -Then add to these things the comparative immunity from the many dangers -that beset the nests of our birds,--dangers from squirrels, snakes, -crows, owls, weasels, etc., and from violent storms and tempests,--and -one can quickly see why the British birds so thrive and abound. There is -a chaffinch for every tree, and a rook and a starling for every square -rod of ground. I think there would be still more starlings if they could -find places to build, but every available spot is occupied; every hole -in a wall, or tower, or tree, or stump; every niche about the farm -buildings; every throat of the grinning gargoyles about the old churches -and cathedrals; every cranny in towers and steeples and castle parapet, -and the mouth of every rain-spout and gutter in which they can find a -lodgment. - -The ruins of the old castles afford a harbor to many species, the most -noticeable of which are sparrows, starlings, doves, and swallows. -Rochester Castle, the main tower or citadel of which is yet in a good -state of preservation, is one vast dove-cote. The woman in charge told -me there were then about six hundred doves there. They whitened the air -as they flew and circled about. From time to time they are killed off -and sent to market. At sundown, after the doves had gone to roost, the -swifts appeared, seeking out their crannies. For a few moments the air -was dark with them. - -Look also at the rooks. They follow the plowmen like chickens, picking -up the grubs and worms; and chickens they are, sable farm fowls of a -wider range. Young rooks are esteemed a great delicacy. The -four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, and set before the king, of -the nursery rhyme, were very likely four-and-twenty young rooks. -Rook-pie is a national dish, and it would seem as if the young birds are -slaughtered in sufficient numbers to exterminate the species in a few -years. But they have to be kept under, like the rabbits; inasmuch as -they do not emigrate, like the people. I had heard vaguely that our -British cousins eschewed all pie except rook-pie, but I did not fully -realize the fact till I saw them shooting the young birds and shipping -them to market. A rookery in one's grove or shade-trees may be quite a -source of profit. The young birds are killed just before they are able -to fly, and when they first venture upon the outer rim of the nest or -perch upon the near branches. I witnessed this chicken-killing in a -rookery on the banks of the Doon. The ruins of an old castle crowned the -height overgrown with forest trees. In these trees the rooks nested, -much after the fashion of our wild pigeons. A young man with a rifle was -having a little sport by shooting the young rooks for the gamekeeper. -There appeared to be fewer than a hundred nests, and yet I was told that -as many as thirty dozen young rooks had been shot there that season. -During the firing the parent birds circle high aloft, uttering their -distressed cries. Apparently, no attempt is made to conceal the nests; -they are placed far out upon the branches, several close together, -showing as large dense masses of sticks and twigs. Year after year the -young are killed, and yet the rookery is not abandoned, nor the old -birds discouraged. It is to be added that this species is not the -carrion crow, like ours, though so closely resembling it in appearance. -It picks up its subsistence about the fields, and is not considered an -unclean bird. The British carrion crow is a much more rare species. It -is a strong, fierce bird, and often attacks and kills young lambs or -rabbits. - -What is true of the birds is true of the rabbits, and probably of the -other smaller animals. The British rabbit breeds seven times a year, and -usually produces eight young at a litter; while, so far as I have -observed, the corresponding species in this country breeds not more than -twice, producing from three to four young. The western gray rabbit is -said to produce three or four broods a year of four to six young. It is -calculated that in England a pair of rabbits will, in the course of four -years, multiply to one million two hundred and fifty thousand. If -unchecked for one season, this game would eat the farmers up. In the -parks of the Duke of Hamilton, the rabbits were so numerous that I think -one might have fired a gun at random with his eyes closed and knocked -them over. They scampered right and left as I advanced, like leaves -blown by the wind. Their cotton tails twinkled thicker than fireflies in -our summer night. In the Highlands, where there were cultivated lands, -and in various other parts of England and Scotland that I visited, they -were more abundant than chipmunks in our beechen woods. The revenue -derived from the sale of the ground game on some estates is an -important item. The rabbits are slaughtered in untold numbers throughout -the island. They shoot them, and hunt them with ferrets, and catch them -in nets and gins and snares, and they are the principal game of the -poacher, and yet the land is alive with them. Thirty million skins are -used up annually in Great Britain, besides several million hare skins. -The fur is used for stuffing beds, and is also made into yarn and cloth. - -But the Colorado beetle is our own, and it shows many of the European -virtues. It is sufficiently prolific and persistent to satisfy any -standard; but we cannot claim all the qualities for it till it has -crossed the Atlantic and established itself on the other side. - -There are other forms of life in which we surpass the mother country. I -did not hear the voice of frog or toad while I was in England. Their -marshes were silent; their summer nights were voiceless. I longed for -the multitudinous chorus of my own bog; for the tiny silver bells of our -hylas, the long-drawn and soothing _tr-r-r-r-r_ of our twilight toads, -and the rattling drums, kettle and bass, of our pond frogs. Their insect -world, too, is far behind ours; no fiddling grasshoppers, no purring -tree-crickets, no scraping katydids, no whirring cicadas; no sounds from -any of these sources by meadow or grove, by night or day, that I could -ever hear. We have a large orchestra of insect musicians, ranging from -that tiny performer that picks the strings of his instrument so daintily -in the summer twilight, to the shrill and piercing crescendo of the -harvest-fly. A young Englishman who had traveled over this country told -me he thought we had the noisiest nature in the world. English midsummer -nature is the other extreme of stillness. The long twilight is unbroken -by a sound, unless in places by the "clanging rookery." The British -bumblebee, a hairy, short-waisted fellow, has the same soft, mellow bass -as our native bee, and his habits appear much the same, except that he -can stand the cold and the wet much better (I used to see them very -lively after sundown, when I was shivering with my overcoat on), and -digs his own hole like the rabbit, which ours does not. Sitting in the -woods one day, a bumblebee alighted near me on the ground, and, scraping -away the surface mould, began to bite and dig his way into the earth,--a -true Britisher, able to dig his own hole. - -In the matter of squirrel life, too, we are far ahead of England. I -believe there are more red squirrels, to say nothing of gray squirrels, -flying squirrels, and chipmunks, within half a mile of my house than in -any county in England. In all my loitering and prying about the woods -and groves there, I saw but two squirrels. The species is larger than -ours, longer and softer furred, and appears to have little of the -snickering, frisking, attitudinizing manner of the American species. But -England is the paradise of snails. The trail of the snail is over all. I -have counted a dozen on the bole of a single tree. I have seen them -hanging to the bushes and hedges like fruit. I heard a lady complain -that they got into the kitchen, crawling about by night and hiding by -day, and baffling her efforts to rid herself of them. The thrushes eat -them, breaking their shells upon a stone. They are said to be at times a -serious pest in the garden, devouring the young plants at night. When -did the American snail devour anything, except, perhaps, now and then a -strawberry? The bird or other creature that feeds on the large black -snail of Britain, if such there be, need never go hungry, for I saw -these snails even on the tops of mountains. - -The same opulence of life that characterizes the animal world in England -characterizes the vegetable. I was especially struck, not so much with -the variety of wild flowers, as with their numbers and wide -distribution. The ox-eye daisy and the buttercup are good samples of the -fecundity of most European plants. The foxglove, the corn-poppy, the -speedwell, the wild hyacinth, the primrose, the various vetches, and -others grow in nearly the same profusion. The forget-me-not is very -common, and the little daisy is nearly as universal as the grass. -Indeed, as I have already stated in another chapter, nearly all the -British wild flowers seemed to grow in the open manner and in the same -abundance as our goldenrods and purple asters. They show no shyness, no -wildness. Nature is not stingy of them, but fills her lap with each in -its turn. Rare and delicate plants, like our arbutus, certain of our -orchids and violets, that hide in the woods, and are very fastidious -and restricted in their range, probably have no parallel in England. The -island is small, is well assorted and compacted, and is thoroughly -homogeneous in its soil and climate; the conditions of field and forest -and stream that exist have long existed; a settled permanence and -equipoise prevail; every creature has found its place, every plant its -home. There are no new experiments to be made, no new risks to be run; -life in all its forms is established, and its current maintains a steady -strength and fullness that an observer from our spasmodic hemisphere is -sure to appreciate. - - - - -X - -A SUNDAY IN CHEYNE ROW - - -I - -While in London I took a bright Sunday afternoon to visit Chelsea, and -walk along Cheyne Row and look upon the house in which Carlyle passed -nearly fifty years of his life, and in which he died. Many times I paced -to and fro. I had been there eleven years before, but it was on a dark, -rainy night, and I had brought away no image of the street or house. The -place now had a more humble and neglected look than I expected to see; -nothing that suggested it had ever been the abode of the foremost -literary man of his time, but rather the home of plain, obscure persons -of little means. One would have thought that the long residence there of -such a man as Carlyle would have enhanced the value of real estate for -many squares around, and drawn men of wealth and genius to that part of -the city. The Carlyle house was unoccupied, and, with its closed -shutters and little pools of black sooty water standing in the brick -area in front of the basement windows, looked dead and deserted indeed. -But the house itself, though nearly two hundred years old, showed no -signs of decay. It had doubtless witnessed the extinction of many -households before that of the Carlyles. - -My own visit to that house was in one autumn night in 1871. Carlyle was -then seventy-six years old, his wife had been dead five years, his work -was done, and his days were pitifully sad. He was out taking his -after-dinner walk when we arrived, Mr. Conway and I; most of his walking -and riding, it seems, was done after dark, an indication in itself of -the haggard and melancholy frame of mind habitual to him. He presently -appeared, wrapped in a long gray coat that fell nearly to the floor. His -greeting was quiet and grandfatherly, and that of a man burdened with -his own sad thoughts. I shall never forget the impression his large, -long, soft hand made in mine, nor the look of sorrow and suffering -stamped upon the upper part of the face,--sorrow mingled with yearning -compassion. The eyes were bleared and filmy with unshed and unshedable -tears. In pleasing contrast to his coarse hair and stiff, bristly, -iron-gray beard, was the fresh, delicate color that just touched his -brown cheeks, like the tinge of poetry that plays over his own rugged -page. I noted a certain shyness and delicacy, too, in his manner, which -contrasted in the same way with what is alleged of his rudeness and -severity. He leaned his head upon his hand, the fingers thrust up -through the hair, and, with his elbow resting upon the table, looked -across to my companion, who kept the conversation going. This attitude -he hardly changed during the two hours we sat there. How serious and -concerned he looked, and how surprising that hearty, soliloquizing sort -of laugh which now and then came from him as he talked, not so much a -laugh provoked by anything humorous in the conversation, as a sort of -foil to his thoughts, as one might say, after a severe judgment, "Ah, -well-a-day, what matters it!" If that laugh could have been put in his -Latter-day Pamphlets, where it would naturally come, or in his later -political tracts, these publications would have given much less offense. -But there was amusement in his laugh when I told him we had introduced -the English sparrow in America. "Introduced!" he repeated, and laughed -again. He spoke of the bird as a "comical little wretch," and feared we -should regret the "introduction." He repeated an Arab proverb which says -Solomon's Temple was built amid the chirping of ten thousand sparrows, -and applied it very humorously in the course of his talk to the human -sparrows that always stand ready to chirrup and cackle down every great -undertaking. He had seen a cat walk slowly along the top of a fence -while a row of sparrows seated upon a ridge-board near by all pointed at -her and chattered and scolded, and by unanimous vote pronounced her this -and that, but the cat went on her way all the same. The verdict of -majorities was not always very formidable, however unanimous. - -A monument had recently been erected to Scott in Edinburgh, and he had -been asked to take part in some attendant ceremony. But he had refused -peremptorily. "If the angel Gabriel had summoned me I would not have -gone," he said. It was too soon to erect a monument to Scott. Let them -wait a hundred years and see how they feel about it then. He had never -met Scott: the nearest he had come to it was once when he was the bearer -of a message to him from Goethe; he had rung at his door with some -trepidation, and was relieved when told that the great man was out. Not -long afterwards he had a glimpse of him while standing in the streets of -Edinburgh. He saw a large wagon coming drawn by several horses, and -containing a great many people, and there in the midst of them, full of -talk and hilarity like a great boy, sat Scott. Carlyle had recently -returned from his annual visit to Scotland, and was full of sad and -tender memories of his native land. He was a man in whom every beautiful -thing awakened melancholy thoughts. He spoke of the blooming lasses and -the crowds of young people he had seen on the streets of some northern -city, Aberdeen, I think, as having filled him with sadness; a kind of -homesickness of the soul was upon him, and deepened with age,--a -solitary and a bereaved man from first to last. - -As I walked Cheyne Row that summer Sunday my eye rested again and again -upon those three stone steps that led up to the humble door, each -hollowed out by the attrition of the human foot, the middle one, where -the force of the footfall would be greatest, most deeply worn of -all,--worn by hundreds of famous feet, and many, many more not famous. -Nearly every notable literary man of the century, both of England and -America, had trod those steps. Emerson's foot had left its mark there, -if one could have seen it, once in his prime and again in his old age, -and it was perhaps of him I thought, and of his new-made grave there -under the pines at Concord, that summer afternoon as I mused to and fro, -more than of any other visitor to that house. "Here we are shoveled -together again," said Carlyle from behind his wife, with a lamp high in -his hand, that October night thirty-seven years ago, as Jane opened the -door to Emerson. The friendship, the love of those two men for each -other, as revealed in their published correspondence, is one of the most -beautiful episodes in English literary history. The correspondence was -opened and invited by Emerson, but as years went by it is plain that it -became more and more a need and a solace to Carlyle. There is something -quite pathetic in the way he clung to Emerson and entreated him for a -fuller and more frequent evidence of his love. The New Englander, in -some ways, appears stinted and narrow beside him; Carlyle was much the -more loving and emotional man. He had less self-complacency than -Emerson, was much less stoical, and felt himself much more alone in the -world. Emerson was genial and benevolent from temperament and habit; -Carlyle was wrathful and vituperative, while his heart was really -bursting with sympathy and love. The savagest man, probably, in the -world in his time, who had anything like his enormous fund of -tenderness and magnanimity. He was full of contempt for the mass of -mankind, but he was capable of loving particular men with a depth and an -intensity that more than makes the account good. And let me say here -that the saving feature about Carlyle's contempt, which is such a -stumbling-block till one has come to understand it, is its perfect -sincerity and inevitableness, and the real humility in which it has its -root. He cannot help it; it is genuine, and has a kind of felicity. Then -there is no malice or ill-will in it, but pity rather, and pity springs -from love. We also know that he is always dominated by the inexorable -conscience, and that the standard by which he tries men is the standard -of absolute rectitude and worthiness. Contempt without love and humility -begets a sneering, mocking, deriding habit of mind, which was far enough -from Carlyle's sorrowing denunciations. "The quantity of sorrow he has, -does it not mean withal the quantity of _sympathy_ he has, the quantity -of faculty and victory he shall yet have? 'Our sorrow is the inverted -image of our nobleness.' The depth of our despair measures what -capability, and height of claim we have, to hope." (Cromwell.) Emerson -heard many responding voices, touched and won many hearts, but Carlyle -was probably admired and feared more than he was loved, and love he -needed and valued above all else. Hence his pathetic appeals to Emerson, -the one man he felt sure of, the one voice that reached him and moved -him among his contemporaries. He felt Emerson's serenity and courage, -and seemed to cling to, while he ridiculed, that New World hope that -shone in him so brightly. - -The ship that carries the most sail is most buffeted by the winds and -storms. Carlyle carried more sail than Emerson did, and the very winds -of the globe he confronted and opposed; the one great movement of the -modern world, the democratic movement, the coming forward of the people -in their own right, he assailed and ridiculed in a vocabulary the most -copious and telling that was probably ever used, and with a concern and -a seriousness most impressive. - -Much as we love and revere Emerson, and immeasurable as his service has -been, especially to the younger and more penetrating minds, I think it -will not do at all to say, as one of our critics (Mr. Stedman) has -lately said, that Emerson is as "far above Carlyle as the affairs of the -soul and universe are above those of the contemporary or even the -historic world." Above him he certainly was, in a thinner, colder air, -but not in any sense that implies greater power or a farther range. His -sympathies with the concrete world and his gripe upon it were far less -than Carlyle's. He bore no such burden, he fought no such battle, as the -latter did. His mass, his velocity, his penetrating power, are far less. -A tranquil, high-sailing, fair-weather cloud is Emerson, and a massive, -heavy-laden storm-cloud is Carlyle. Carlyle was never placidly sounding -the azure depths like Emerson, but always pouring and rolling -earthward, with wind, thunder, rain, and hail. He reaches up to the -Emersonian altitudes, but seldom disports himself there; never loses -himself, as Emerson sometimes does; the absorption takes place in the -other direction; he descends to actual affairs and events with fierce -precipitation. Carlyle's own verdict, written in his journal on -Emerson's second visit to him in 1848, was much to the same effect, and, -allowing for the Carlylean exaggeration, was true. He wrote that Emerson -differed as much from himself "as a gymnosophist sitting idle on a -flowery bank may do from a wearied worker and wrestler passing that way -with many of his bones broken." - -All men would choose Emerson's fate, Emerson's history; how rare, how -serene, how inspiring, how beautiful, how fortunate! But as between -these two friends, our verdict must be that Carlyle did the more unique -and difficult, the more heroic, piece of work. Whether the more valuable -and important or not, it is perhaps too early in the day to say, but -certainly the more difficult and masterful. As an artist, using the term -in the largest sense, as the master-worker in, and shaper of, the -Concrete, he is immeasurably Emerson's superior. Emerson's two words -were truth and beauty, which lie, as it were, in the same plane, and the -passage from one to the other is easy; it is smooth sailing. Carlyle's -two words were truth and duty, which lie in quite different planes, and -the passage between which is steep and rough. Hence the pain, the -struggle, the picturesque power. Try to shape the actual world of -politics and human affairs according to the ideal truth, and see if you -keep your serenity. There is a Niagara gulf between them that must be -bridged. But what a gripe this man had upon both shores, the real and -the ideal! The quality of action, of tangible performance, that lies in -his works, is unique. "He has not so much written as spoken," and he has -not so much spoken as he has actually wrought. He experienced, in each -of his books, the pain and the antagonism of the man of action. His -mental mood and attitude are the same; as is also his impatience of -abstractions, of theories, of subtleties, of mere words. Indeed, Carlyle -was essentially a man of action, as he himself seemed to think, driven -by fate into literature. He is as real and as earnest as Luther or -Cromwell, and his faults are the same in kind. Not the mere _saying_ of -a thing satisfies him as it does Emerson; you must _do_ it; bring order -out of chaos, make the dead alive, make the past present, in some way -make your fine sayings point to, or result in, fact. He says the -Perennial lies always in the Concrete. Subtlety of intellect, which -conducts you, "not to new clearness, but to ever-new abstruseness, wheel -within wheel, depth under depth," has no charms for him. "My erudite -friend, the astonishing intellect that occupies itself in splitting -hairs, and not in twisting some kind of cordage and effectual -draught-tackle to take the road with, is not to me the most astonishing -of intellects." - -Emerson split no hairs, but he twisted very little cordage for the rough -draught-horses of this world. He tells us to hitch our wagon to a star; -and the star is without doubt a good steed, when once fairly caught and -harnessed, but it takes an astronomer to catch it. The value of such -counsel is not very tangible unless it awakes us to the fact that every -power of both heaven and earth is friendly to a noble and courageous -activity. - -Carlyle was impatient of Emerson's fine-spun sentences and -transcendental sleight-of-hand. Indeed, from a literary point of view, -one of the most interesting phases of the published correspondence -between these two notable men is the value which each unwittingly set -upon his own methods and work. Each would have the other like himself. - -Emerson wants Emersonian epigrams from Carlyle, and Carlyle wants -Carlylean thunder from Emerson. Each was unconsciously his own ideal. -The thing which a man's nature calls him to do,--what else so well worth -doing? Certainly nothing else to him,--but to another? How surely each -one of us would make our fellow over in our own image! Carlyle wants -Emerson more practical, more concrete, more like himself in short. "The -vile Pythons of this Mud-world do verily require to have sun-arrows shot -into them, and red-hot pokers stuck through them, according to -occasion;" do this as I am doing it, or trying to do it, and I shall -like you better. It is well to know that nature will make good compost -of the carcass of an Oliver Cromwell, and produce a cart-load of -turnips from the same; but it is better to appreciate and make the most -of the live Oliver himself. "A faculty is in you for a _sort_ of speech -which is itself _action_, an artistic sort. You _tell_ us with piercing -emphasis that man's soul is great; _show_ us a great soul of a man, in -some work symbolic of such; this is the seal of such a message, and you -will feel by and by that you are called to do this. I long to see some -concrete Thing, some Event, Man's Hope, American Forest, or piece of -Creation, which this Emerson loves and wonders at, well _Emersonized_, -depicted by Emerson, filled with the life of Emerson and cast forth from -him, then to live by itself." Again: "I will have all things condense -themselves, take shape and body, if they are to have my sympathy; I have -a _body_ myself; in the brown leaf, sport of the Autumn winds, I find -what mocks all prophesyings, even Hebrew ones." "Alas, it is so easy to -screw one's self up into high and even higher altitudes of -Transcendentalism, and see nothing under one but the everlasting snows -of Himmalayah, the Earth shrinking to a Planet, and the indigo firmament -sowing itself with daylight stars; easy for you, for me; but whither -does it lead? I dread always, to inanity and mere injuring of the -lungs!"--with more of the same sort. - -On the other hand, Emerson evidently tires of Carlyle's long-winded -heroes. He would have him give us the gist of the matter in a few -sentences. Cremate your heroes, he seems to say; get all this gas and -water out of them, and give us the handful of lime and iron of which -they are composed. He hungered for the "central monosyllables." He -praises Cromwell and Frederick, yet says to his friend, "that book will -not come which I most wish to read, namely, the culled results, the -quintessence of private conviction, a _liber veritatis_, a few -sentences, hints of the final moral you drew from so much penetrating -inquest into past and present men." - -This is highly characteristic of Emerson; his bid for the quintessence -of things. He was always impatient of creative imaginative works; would -sublunate or evaporate them in a hurry. Give him the pith of the matter, -the net result in the most pungent words. It must still be picture and -parable, but in a sort of disembodied or potential state. He fed on the -marrow of Shakespeare's sentences, and apparently cared little for his -marvelous characterizations. One is reminded of the child's riddle: -Under the hill there is a mill, in the mill there is a chest, in the -chest there is a till, in the till there is a phial, in the phial there -is a drop I would not give for all the world. This drop Emerson would -have. Keep or omit the chest and the mill and all that circumlocution, -and give him the precious essence. But the artistic or creative mind -does not want things thus abridged,--does not want the universe reduced -to an epigram. Carlyle wants an actual flesh-and-blood hero, and, what -is more, wants him immersed head and ears in the actual affairs of this -world. - -Those who seek to explain Carlyle on the ground of his humble origin -shoot wide of the mark. "Merely a peasant with a glorified intellect," -says a certain irate female, masquerading as the "Day of Judgment." - -It seems to me Carlyle was as little of a peasant as any man of his -time,--a man without one peasant trait or proclivity, a regal and -dominating man, "looking," as he said of one of his own books, "king and -beggar in the face with an indifference of brotherhood and an -indifference of contempt." The two marks of the peasant are stolidity -and abjectness; he is dull and heavy, and he dare not say his soul is -his own. No man ever so hustled and jostled titled dignitaries, and made -them toe the mark, as did Carlyle. It was not merely that his intellect -was towering; it was also his character, his will, his standard of -manhood, that was towering. He bowed to the hero, to valor and personal -worth, never to titles or conventions. The virtues and qualities of his -yeoman ancestry were in him without doubt; his power of application, the -spirit of toil that possessed him, his frugal, self-denying habits, came -from his family and race, but these are not peasant traits, but heroic -traits. A certain coarseness of fibre he had also, together with great -delicacy and sensibility, but these again he shares with all strong -first-class men. You cannot get such histories as Cromwell and Frederick -out of polished _littérateurs_; you must have a man of the same heroic -fibre, of the same inexpugnableness of mind and purpose. Not even was -Emerson adequate to such a task; he was fine enough and high enough, but -he was not coarse enough and broad enough. The scholarly part of -Carlyle's work is nearly always thrown in the shade by the manly part, -the original raciness and personal intensity of the writer. He is not in -the least veiled or hidden by his literary vestments. He is rather -hampered by them, and his sturdy Annandale character often breaks -through them in the most surprising manner. His contemporaries soon -discovered that if here was a great writer, here was also a great man, -come not merely to paint their picture, but to judge them, to weigh them -in the balance. He is eminently an artist, and yet it is not the -artistic or literary impulse that lies at the bottom of his works, but a -moral, human, emotional impulse and attraction,--the impulse of justice, -of veracity, or of sympathy and love. - -What love of work well done, what love of genuine leadership, of -devotion to duty, of mastery of affairs, in fact what love of man pure -and simple, lies at the bottom of "Frederick," lies at the bottom of -"Cromwell"! Here is not the disinterestedness of Shakespeare, here is -not the Hellenic flexibility of mind and scientific impartiality Mr. -Arnold demands: here is espousal, here is vindication, here is the moral -bias of the nineteenth century. But here also is _reality_, here is the -creative touch, here are men and things made alive again, palpable to -the understanding and enticing to the imagination. Of all histories -that have fallen into my hands, "Frederick" is the most vital and real. -If the current novels were half so entertaining, I fear I should read -little else. The portrait-painting is like that of Rembrandt; the eye -for battles and battle-fields is like that of Napoleon, or Frederick -himself; the sifting of events, and the separating of the false from the -true, is that of the most patient and laborious science; the descriptive -passages are equaled by those of no other man; while the work as a -whole, as Emerson says, "is a Judgment Day, for its moral verdict, on -the men and nations and manners of modern times." It is to be read for -its honest history; it is to be read for its inexhaustible wit and -humor; it is to be read for its poetic fire, for its felicities of -style, for its burden of human sympathy and effort, its heroic -attractions and stimulating moral judgments. All Carlyle's histories -have the quick, penetrating glance, that stroke of the eye, as the -French say, that lays the matter open to the heart. He did not write in -the old way of a topographical survey of the surface: his "French -Revolution" is more like a transverse section; more like a geologist's -map than like a geographer's; the depths are laid open; the abyss yawns; -the cosmic forces and fires stalk forth and become visible and real. It -was this power to detach and dislocate things and project them against -the light of a fierce and lurid imagination that makes his pages unique -and matchless, of their kind, in literature. He may be deficient in the -historical sense, the sense of development, and of compensation in -history; but in vividness of apprehension of men and events, and power -of portraiture, he is undoubtedly without a rival. "Those devouring eyes -and that portraying hand," Emerson says. - -Those who contract their view of Carlyle till they see only his faults -do a very unwise thing. Nearly all his great traits have their shadows. -His power of characterization sometimes breaks away into caricature; his -command of the picturesque leads him into the grotesque; his eloquent -denunciation at times becomes vituperation; his marvelous power to name -things degenerates into outrageous nicknaming; his streaming humor, -which, as Emerson said, floats every object he looks upon, is not free -from streaks of the most crabbed, hide-bound ill-humor. Nearly every -page has a fringe of these things, and sometimes a pretty broad one, but -they are by no means the main matter, and often lend an additional -interest. The great personages, the great events, are never caricatured, -though painted with a bold, free hand, but there is in the border of the -picture all manner of impish and grotesque strokes. In "Frederick" there -is a whole series of secondary men and incidents that are touched off -with the hand of a master caricaturist. Some peculiarity of feature or -manner is seized upon, magnified, and made prominent on all occasions. -We are never suffered to forget George the Second's fish eyes and -gartered leg; nor the lean May-pole mistress of George the First; nor -the Czarina's big fat cheek; nor poor Bruhl, "vainest of human -clothes-horses," with his twelve tailors and his three hundred and -sixty-five suits of clothes; nor Augustus, "the dilapidated strong," -with his three hundred and fifty-four bastards. Nor can any reader of -that work ever forget "Jenkins' Ear,"--the poor fraction of an ear of an -English sailor snipped off by the Spaniards, and here made to stand for -a whole series of historical events. Indeed, this severed ear looms up -till it becomes like a sign in the zodiac of those times. His portrait -of the French army, which he calls the Dauphiness, is unforgettable, and -is in the best style of his historical caricature. It makes its exit -over the Rhine before Duke Ferdinand, "much in rags, much in disorder, -in terror, and here and there almost in despair, winging their way like -clouds of draggled poultry caught by a mastiff in the corn. Across -Weser, across Ems, finally across the Rhine itself, every feather of -them,--their long-drawn cackle, of a shrieky type, filling all nature in -those months." A good sample of the grotesque in Carlyle, pushed to the -last limit, and perhaps a little beyond, is in this picture of the -Czarina of Russia, stirred up to declare war against Frederick by his -Austrian enemies: "Bombarded with cunningly-devised fabrications, every -wind freighted for her with phantasmal rumors, no ray of direct daylight -visiting the poor Sovereign Woman; who is lazy, not malignant, if she -could avoid it; mainly a mass of esurient oil, with alkali on the back -of alkali poured in, at this rate for ten years past, till, by pouring -and by stirring, they get her to the state of _soap_ and froth." - -Carlyle had a narrow escape from being the most formidable blackguard -the world had ever seen; was, indeed, in certain moods, a kind of divine -blackguard,--a purged and pious Rabelais, who could bespatter the devil -with more telling epithets than any other man who ever lived. What a -tongue, what a vocabulary! He fairly oxidizes, burns up, the object of -his opprobrium, in the stream of caustic epithets he turns upon it. He -had a low opinion of the contemporaries of Frederick and Voltaire: they -were "mere ephemera; contemporary eaters, scramblers for provender, -talkers of acceptable hearsay; and related merely to the butteries and -wiggeries of their time, and not related to the Perennialities at all, -as these two were." He did not have to go very far from home for some of -the lineaments of Voltaire's portrait: "He had, if no big gloomy devil -in him among the bright angels that were there, a multitude of ravening, -tumultuary imps, or little devils, very _ill-chained_, and was lodged, -he and his restless little devils, in a skin far too thin for him and -them!" - -Of Frederick's cynicism he says there was "always a kind of vinegar -cleanness in it, _except_ in theory." Equally original and felicitous is -the "albuminous simplicity" which he ascribes to the Welfs. Newspaper -men have never forgiven him for calling them the "gazetteer owls of -Minerva;" and our Catholic brethren can hardly relish his reference to -the "consolations" the nuns deal out to the sick as "poisoned -gingerbread." In "Frederick" one comes upon such phrases as -"milk-faced," "bead-roll histories," "heavy pipe-clay natures," a -"stiff-jointed, algebraic kind of piety," etc. - -Those who persist in trying Carlyle as a philosopher and man of ideas -miss his purport. He had no philosophy, and laid claim to none, except -what he got from the German metaphysicians,--views which crop out here -and there in "Sartor." He was a preacher of righteousness to his -generation, and a rebuker of its shams and irreverences, and as such he -cut deep, cut to the bone, and to the marrow of the bone. That piercing, -agonized, prophetic, yet withal melodious and winsome voice, how it -rises through and above the multitudinous hum and clatter of -contemporary voices in England, and alone falls upon the ear as from out -the primal depths of moral conviction and power! He is the last man in -the world to be reduced to a system or tried by logical tests. You might -as well try to bind the sea with chains. His appeal is to the -intuitions, the imagination, the moral sense. His power of mental -abstraction was not great; he could not deal in abstract ideas. When he -attempted to state his philosophy, as in the fragment called "Spiritual -Optics," which Froude gives, he is far from satisfactory. His -mathematical proficiency seemed to avail him but little in the region of -pure ideality. His mind is precipitated at once upon the concrete, upon -actual persons and events. This makes him the artist he is, as -distinguished from the mystic and philosopher, and is perhaps the basis -of Emerson's remark, that there is "more character than intellect in -every sentence;" that is, more motive, more will-power, more stress of -conscience, more that appeals to one as a living personal identity, -wrestling with facts and events, than there is that appeals to him as a -contemplative philosopher. - -Carlyle owed everything to his power of will and to his unflinching -adherence to principle. He was in no sense a lucky man, had no good -fortune, was borne by no current, was favored and helped by no -circumstance whatever. His life from the first was a steady pull against -both wind and tide. He confronted all the cherished thoughts, beliefs, -tendencies, of his time; he spurned and insulted his age and country. No -man ever before poured out such withering scorn upon his contemporaries. -Many of his political tracts are as blasting as the Satires of Juvenal. -The opinions and practices of his times, in politics, religion, and -literature, were as a stubbly, brambly field, to which he would fain -apply the match and clean the ground for a nobler crop. He would purge -and fertilize the soil by fire. His attitude was one of warning and -rebuking. He was refused every public place he ever aspired to,--every -college and editorial chair. Every man's hand was against him. He was -hated by the Whigs and feared by the Tories. He was poor, proud, -uncompromising, sarcastic; he was morose, dyspeptic, despondent, -compassed about by dragons and all manner of evil menacing forms; in -fact, the odds were fearfully against him, and yet he succeeded, and -succeeded on his own terms. He fairly conquered the world; yes, and the -flesh and the devil. But it was one incessant, heroic struggle and -wrestle from the first. All through his youth and his early manhood he -was nerving himself for the conflict. Whenever he took counsel with -himself it was to give his courage a new fillip. In his letters to his -people, in his private journal, in all his meditations, he never loses -the opportunity to take a new hitch upon his resolution, to screw his -purpose up tighter. Not a moment's relaxation, but ceaseless vigilance -and "desperate hope." In 1830 he says in his journal: "Oh, I care not -for poverty, little even for disgrace, nothing at all for want of -renown. But the horrible feeling is when I cease my own struggle, lose -the consciousness of my own strength, and become positively quite -worldly and wicked." A year later he wrote: "To it, thou _Taugenichts_! -Gird thyself! stir! struggle! forward! forward! Thou art bundled up here -and tied as in a sack. On, then, as in a sack race; running, not -raging!" Carlyle made no terms with himself nor with others. He would -not agree to keep the peace; he would be the voice of absolute -conscience, of absolute justice, come what come might. "Woe to them that -are at ease in Zion," he once said to John Sterling. The stern, -uncompromising front which he first turned to the world he never -relaxed for a moment. He had his way with mankind at all times; or -rather conscience had its way with him at all times in his relations -with mankind. He made no selfish demands, but ideal demands. Jeffries, -seeing his attitude and his earnestness in it, despaired of him; he -looked upon him as a man butting his head against a stone wall; he never -dreamed that the wall would give way before the head did. It was not -mere obstinacy; it was not the pride of opinion: it was the thunders of -conscience, the awful voice of Sinai, within him; he _dared_ not do -otherwise. - -A selfish or self-seeking man Carlyle in no sense was, though it has so -often been charged upon him. He was the victim of his own genius; and he -made others its victims, not of his selfishness. This genius, no doubt, -came nearer the demon of Socrates than that of any modern man. He is -under its lash and tyranny from first to last. But the watchword of his -life was "_Entsagen_," renunciation, self-denial, which he learned from -Goethe. His demon did not possess him lightly, but dominated and drove -him. - -One would as soon accuse St. Simeon Stylites, thirty years at the top of -his penitential pillar, of selfishness. Seeking his own ends, following -his own demon, St. Simeon certainly was; but seeking his ease or -pleasure, or animated by any unworthy, ignoble purpose, he certainly was -not. No more was Carlyle, each one of whose books was a sort of pillar -of penitence or martyrdom atop of which he wrought and suffered, shut -away from the world, renouncing its pleasures and prizes, wrapped in -deepest gloom and misery, and wrestling with all manner of real and -imaginary demons and hindrances. During his last great work,--the -thirteen years spent in his study at the top of his house, writing the -history of Frederick,--this isolation, this incessant toil and -penitential gloom, were such as only religious devotees have voluntarily -imposed upon themselves. - -If Carlyle was "ill to live with," as his mother said, it was not -because he was selfish. He was a man, to borrow one of Emerson's early -phrases, "inflamed to a fury of personality." He must of necessity -assert himself; he is shot with great velocity; he is keyed to an -extraordinary pitch; and it was this, this raging fever of -individuality, if any namable trait or quality, rather than anything -lower in the scale, that often made him an uncomfortable companion and -neighbor. - -And it may be said here that his wife had the same complaint, and had it -bad, the feminine form of it, and without the vent and assuagement of it -that her husband found in literature. Little wonder that between two -such persons, living childless together for forty years, each -assiduously cultivating their sensibilities and idiosyncrasies, there -should have been more or less frictions. Both sarcastic, quick-witted, -plain-spoken, sleepless, addicted to morphia and blue-pills, nerves all -on the outside; the wife without any occupation adequate to her genius, -the husband toiling like Hercules at his tasks and groaning much louder; -both flouting at happiness; both magnifying the petty ills of life into -harrowing tragedies; both gifted with "preternatural intensity of -sensation;" Mrs. C. nearly killed by the sting of a wasp; Mr. C. driven -nearly distracted by the crowing of a cock or the baying of a dog; the -wife hot-tempered, the husband atrabilarious; one caustic, the other -arrogant; marrying from admiration rather than from love--could one -reasonably predict, beforehand, a very high state of domestic felicity -for such a couple? and would it be just to lay the blame all on the -husband, as has generally been done in this case? Man and wife were too -much alike; the marriage was in no sense a union of opposites; at no -point did the two sufficiently offset and complement each other; hence, -though deeply devoted, they never seemed to find the repose and the -soothing acquiescence in the society of one another that marriage -should bring. They both had the great virtues,--nobleness, generosity, -courage, deep kindliness, etc.,--but neither of them had the small -virtues. Both gave way under small annoyances, paltry cares, petty -interruptions,--bugs, cocks, donkeys, street noises, etc. To great -emergencies, to great occasions, they could oppose great qualities; -there can be no doubt of that, but the ordinary every-day hindrances and -petty burdens of life fretted their spirits into tatters. Mrs. C. used -frequently to return from her trips to the country with her "mind all -churned into froth,"--no butter of sweet thought or sweet content at -all. Yet Carlyle could say of her, "Not a bad little dame at all. She -and I did aye very weel together; and 'tweel, it was not every one that -could have done with her," which was doubtless the exact truth. Froude -also speaks from personal knowledge when he says: "His was the soft -heart and hers the stern one." - -We are now close on to the cardinal fact of Carlyle's life and -teachings, namely, the urgency of his quest for heroes and heroic -qualities. This is the master key to him; the main stress of his -preaching and writing is here. He is the medium and exemplar of the -value of personal force and prowess, and he projected this thought into -current literature and politics, with the emphasis of gunpowder and -torpedoes. He had a vehement and overweening conceit in man. A sort of -anthropomorphic greed and hunger possessed him always, an insatiable -craving for strong, picturesque characters, and for contact and conflict -with them. This was his ruling passion (and it amounted to a passion) -all his days. He fed his soul on heroes and heroic qualities, and all -his literary exploits were a search for these things. Where he found -them not, where he did not come upon some trace of them in books, in -society, in politics, he saw only barrenness and futility. He was an -idealist who was inhospitable to ideas; he must have a man, the flavor -and stimulus of ample concrete personalities. "In the country," he said, -writing to his brother in 1821, "I am like an alien, a stranger and -pilgrim from a far-distant land." His faculties were "up in mutiny, and -slaying one another for lack of fair enemies." He must to the city, to -Edinburgh, and finally to London, where, thirteen years later, we find -his craving as acute as ever. "Oct. 1st. This morning think of the old -primitive Edinburgh scheme of _engineership_; almost meditate for a -moment resuming it _yet_! It were a method of gaining bread, of getting -into contact with men, my two grand wants and prayers." - -Nothing but man, but heroes, touched him, moved him, satisfied him. He -stands for heroes and hero-worship, and for that alone. Bring him the -most plausible theory, the most magnanimous idea in the world, and he is -cold, indifferent, or openly insulting; but bring him a brave, strong -man, or the reminiscence of any noble personal trait,--sacrifice, -obedience, reverence,--and every faculty within him stirs and responds. -Dreamers and enthusiasts, with their schemes for the millennium, rushed -to him for aid and comfort, and usually had the door slammed in their -faces. They forgot it was a man he had advertised for, and not an idea. -Indeed, if you had the blow-fly of any popular ism or reform buzzing in -your bonnet, No. 5 Cheyne Row was the house above all others to be -avoided; little chance of inoculating such a mind as Carlyle's with your -notions,--of _blowing_ a toiling and sweating hero at his work. But -welcome to any man with real work to do and the courage to do it; -welcome to any man who stood for any real, tangible thing in his own -right. "In God's name, what _art_ thou? Not Nothing, sayest thou! Then, -How much and what? This is the thing I would know, and even _must_ soon -know, such a pass am I come to!" ("Past and Present.") - -Caroline Fox, in her Memoirs, tells how, in 1842, Carlyle's sympathies -were enlisted in behalf of a Cornish miner who had kept his place in the -bottom of a shaft, above a blast the fuse of which had been prematurely -lighted, and allowed his comrades to be hauled up when only one could -escape at a time. He inquired out the hero, who, as by miracle, had -survived the explosion, and set on foot an enterprise to raise funds for -the bettering of his condition. In a letter to Sterling, he said there -was help and profit in knowing that there was such a true and brave -workman living, and working with him on the earth at that time. "Tell -all the people," he said, "that a man of this kind ought to be -hatched,--that it were shameful to eat him as a breakfast egg!" - -All Carlyle's sins of omission and commission grew out of this terrible -predilection for the individual hero: this bent or inclination -determined the whole water-shed, so to speak, of his mind; every rill -and torrent swept swiftly and noisily in this one direction. It is the -tragedy in Burns's life that attracts him; the morose heroism in -Johnson's, the copious manliness in Scott's, the lordly and regal -quality in Goethe. Emerson praised Plato to him; but the endless -dialectical hair-splitting of the Greek philosopher,--"how does all this -concern me at all?" he said. But when he discovered that Plato hated the -Athenian democracy most cordially, and poured out his scorn upon it, he -thought much better of him. History swiftly resolves itself into -biography to him; the tide in the affairs of men ebbed and flowed in -obedience to the few potent wills. We do not find him exploiting or -elucidating ideas and principles, but moral qualities,--always on the -scent, on the search of the heroic. - -He raises aloft the standard of the individual will, the supremacy of -man over events. He sees the reign of law; none see it clearer. "Eternal -Law is silently present everywhere and everywhen. By Law the Planets -gyrate in their orbits; by some approach to Law the street-cabs ply in -their thoroughfares." But law is still personal will with him, the will -of God. He can see nothing but individuality, but conscious will and -force, in the universe. He believed in a personal God. He had an inward -ground of assurance of it in his own intense personality and vivid -apprehension of personal force and genius. He seems to have believed in -a personal devil. At least he abuses "Auld Nickie-Ben" as one would -hardly think of abusing an abstraction. However impractical we may -regard Carlyle, he was entirely occupied with practical questions; an -idealist turned loose, in the actual affairs of this world, and intent -only on bettering them. That which so drew reformers and all ardent -ideal natures to him was not the character of his conviction, but the -torrid impetuosity of his belief. He had the earnestness of fanaticism, -the earnestness of rebellion; the earnestness of the Long Parliament and -the National Convention,--the only two parliaments he praises. He did -not merely see the truth and placidly state it, standing aloof and apart -from it; but, as soon as his intellect had conceived a thing as true, -every current of his being set swiftly in that direction; it was an -outlet at once for his whole pent-up energies, and there was a flood and -sometimes an inundation of Carlylean wrath and power. Coming from -Goethe, with his marvelous insight and cool, uncommitted moral nature, -to the great Scotchman, is like coming from dress parade to a battle, -from Melancthon to Luther. It would be far from the truth to say that -Goethe was not in earnest: he was all eyes, all vision; he saw -everything, but saw it for his own ends and behoof, for contemplation -and enjoyment. In Carlyle the vision is productive of pain and -suffering, because his moral nature sympathizes so instantly and -thoroughly with his intellectual; it is a call to battle, and every -faculty is enlisted. It was this that made Carlyle akin to the reformers -and the fanatics, and led them to expect more of him than they got. The -artist element in him, and his vital hold upon the central truths of -character and personal force, saved him from any such fate as overtook -his friend Irving. - -Out of Carlyle's fierce and rampant individualism come his grasp of -character and his power of human portraiture. It is, perhaps, not too -much to say, that in all literature there is not another such a master -portrait-painter, such a limner and interpreter of historical figures -and physiognomies. That power of the old artists to paint or to carve a -man, to body him forth, almost re-create him, so rare in the moderns, -Carlyle had in a preëminent degree. As an artist it is his -distinguishing gift, and puts him on a par with Rembrandt, Angelo, -Reynolds, and with the antique masters of sculpture. He could put his -finger upon the weak point and upon the strong point of a man as -unerringly as fate. He knew a man as a jockey knows a horse. His -pictures of Johnson, of Boswell, of Voltaire, of Mirabeau, what -masterpieces! His portrait of Coleridge will doubtless survive all -others, inadequate as it is in many ways; one fears, also that poor Lamb -has been stamped to last. None of Carlyle's characterizations have -excited more ill-feeling than this same one of Lamb. But it was plain -from the outset that Carlyle could not like such a verbal acrobat as -Lamb. He doubtless had him or his kind in view when he wrote this -passage in "Past and Present:" "His poor fraction of sense has to be -perked into some epigrammatic shape, that it may prick into me,--perhaps -(this is the commonest) to be topsy-turvied, left standing on its head, -that I may remember it the better! Such grinning insanity is very sad to -the soul of man. Human faces should not grin on one like masks; they -should look on one like faces! I love honest laughter as I do sunlight, -but not dishonest; most kinds of dancing, too, but the St. Vitus kind, -not at all!" - -If Carlyle had taken to the brush instead of to the pen, he would -probably have left a gallery of portraits such as this century has not -seen. In his letters, journals, reminiscences, etc., for him to mention -a man is to describe his face, and with what graphic pen-and-ink -sketches they abound! Let me extract a few of them. Here is Rousseau's -face, from "Heroes and Hero Worship:" "A high but narrow-contracted -intensity in it; bony brows; deep, straight-set eyes, in which there is -something bewildered-looking,--bewildered, peering with lynx-eagerness; -a face full of misery, even ignoble misery, and also of an antagonism -against that; something mean, plebeian, there, redeemed only by -_intensity_; the face of what is called a fanatic,--a sadly _contracted_ -hero!" Here a glimpse of Danton: "Through whose black brows and rude, -flattened face there looks a waste energy as of Hercules." Camille -Desmoulins: "With the face of dingy blackguardism, wondrously irradiated -with genius, as if a naphtha lamp burned in it." Through Mirabeau's -"shaggy, beetle-brows, and rough-hewn, seamed, carbuncled face there -look natural ugliness, smallpox, incontinence, bankruptcy, and burning -fire of genius; like comet fire, glaring fuliginous through murkiest -confusions." - -On first meeting with John Stuart Mill he describes him to his wife as -"a slender, rather tall, and elegant youth, with small, clear, -Roman-nosed face, two small, earnestly smiling eyes; modest, remarkably -gifted with precision of utterance; enthusiastic, yet lucid, calm; not a -great, yet distinctly a gifted and amiable youth." - -A London editor, whom he met about the same time, he describes as "a -tall, loose, lank-haired, wrinkly, wintry, vehement-looking flail of a -man." He goes into the House of Commons on one of his early visits to -London: "Althorp spoke, a thick, large, broad-whiskered, farmer-looking -man; Hume also, a powdered, clean, burly fellow; and Wetherell, a -beetle-browed, sagacious, quizzical old gentleman; then Davies, a -Roman-nosed dandy," etc. He must touch off the portrait of every man he -sees. De Quincey "is one of the smallest men you ever in your life -beheld; but with a most gentle and sensible face, only that the teeth -are destroyed by opium, and the little bit of an under lip projects like -a shelf." Leigh Hunt: "Dark complexion (a trace of the African, I -believe); copious, clean, strong black hair, beautifully shaped head, -fine, beaming, serious hazel eyes; seriousness and intellect the main -expression of the face (to our surprise at first)." - -Here is his sketch of Tennyson: "A fine, large-featured, dim-eyed, -bronze-colored, shaggy-headed man is Alfred; dusty, smoky, free and -easy, who swings outwardly and inwardly with great composure in an -inarticulate element of tranquil chaos and tobacco smoke. Great now and -then when he does emerge,--a most restful, brotherly, solid-hearted -man." - -Here we have Dickens in 1840: "Clear blue intelligent eyes; eyebrows -that he arches amazingly; large, protrusive, rather loose mouth; a face -of most extreme _mobility_, which he shuttles about--eyebrows, eyes, -mouth, and all--in a very singular manner while speaking. Surmount this -with a loose coil of common-colored hair, and set it on a small compact -figure, very small, and dressed à la D'Orsay rather than well,--this is -Pickwick." - -Here is a glimpse of Grote, the historian of Greece: "A man with -straight upper lip, large chin, and open mouth (spout mouth); for the -rest, a tall man, with dull, thoughtful brow and lank, disheveled hair, -greatly the look of a prosperous Dissenting minister." - -In telling Emerson whom he shall see in London, he says: "Southey's -complexion is still healthy mahogany brown, with a fleece of white hair, -and eyes that seem running at full gallop; old Rogers, with his pale -head, white, bare, and cold as snow, with those large blue eyes, cruel, -sorrowful, and that sardonic shelf chin." - -In another letter he draws this portrait of Webster: "As a logic-fencer, -advocate, or parliamentary Hercules, one would incline to back him, at -first sight, against all the extant world. The tanned complexion; that -amorphous crag-like face; the dull black eyes under their precipice of -brows, like dull anthracite furnaces, needing only to be _blown_; the -mastiff-mouth accurately closed: I have not traced as much of _silent -Berserker rage_, that I remember of, in any other man." In writing his -histories Carlyle valued, above almost anything else, a good portrait of -his hero, and searched far and wide for such. He roamed through endless -picture-galleries in Germany searching for a genuine portrait of -Frederick the Great, and at last, chiefly by good luck, hit upon the -thing he was in quest of. "If one would buy an indisputably authentic -_old shoe_ of William Wallace for hundreds of pounds, and run to look at -it from all ends of Scotland, what would one give for an authentic -visible shadow of his face, could such, by art natural or art magic, now -be had!" "Often I have found a Portrait superior in real instruction to -half a dozen written 'Biographies,' as Biographies are written; or, -rather, let me say, I have found that the Portrait was a small lighted -_candle_ by which the Biographies could for the first time be _read_, -and some human interpretation be made of them." - - -II - -Carlyle stands at all times, at all places, for the hero, for power of -will, authority of character, adequacy, and obligation of personal -force. He offsets completely, and with the emphasis of a clap of -thunder, the modern leveling impersonal tendencies, the "manifest -destinies," the blind mass movements, the merging of the one in the -many, the rule of majorities, the no-government, no-leadership, -_laissez-faire_ principle. Unless there was evidence of a potent, -supreme, human will guiding affairs, he had no faith in the issue; -unless the hero was in the saddle, and the dumb blind forces well bitted -and curbed beneath him, he took no interest in the venture. The cause of -the North, in the War of the Rebellion, failed to enlist him or touch -him. It was a people's war; the hand of the strong man was not -conspicuous; it was a conflict of ideas, rather than of personalities; -there was no central and dominating figure around which events revolved. -He missed his Cromwell, his Frederick. So far as his interest was -aroused at all, it was with the South, because he had heard of the -Southern slave-driver; he knew Cuffee had a master, and the crack of his -whip was sweeter music to him than the crack of antislavery rifles, -behind which he recognized only a vague, misdirected philanthropy. - -Carlyle did not see things in their relation, or as a philosopher; he -saw them detached, and hence more or less in conflict and opposition. We -accuse him of wrong-headedness, but it is rather inflexibleness of mind -and temper. He is not a brook that flows, but a torrent that plunges and -plows. He tried poetry, he tried novel-writing in his younger days, but -he had not the flexibility of spirit to succeed in these things; his -moral vehemence, his fury of conviction, were too great. - -Great is the power of reaction in the human body; great is the power of -reaction and recoil in all organic nature. But apparently there was no -power of reaction in Carlyle's mind; he never reacts from his own -extreme views; never looks for the compensations, never seeks to place -himself at the point of equilibrium, or adjusts his view to other -related facts. He saw the value of the hero, the able man, and he -precipitated himself upon this fact with such violence, so detached it -and magnified it, that it fits with no modern system of things. He was -apparently entirely honest in his conviction that modern governments and -social organizations were rushing swiftly to chaos and ruin, because the -hero, the natural leader, was not at the head of affairs,--overlooking -entirely the many checks and compensations, and ignoring the fact that, -under a popular government especially, nations are neither made nor -unmade by the wisdom or folly of their rulers, but by the character for -wisdom and virtue of the mass of their citizens. "Where the great mass -of men is tolerably right," he himself says, "all is right; where they -are not right, all is wrong." What difference can it make to America, -for instance, to the real growth and prosperity of the nation, whether -the ablest man goes to Congress or fills the Presidency or the second or -third ablest? The most that we can expect, in ordinary times at least, -is that the machinery of universal suffrage will yield us a fair sample -of the leading public man,--a man who fairly represents the average -ability and average honesty of the better class of the citizens. In -extraordinary times, in times of national peril, when there is a real -strain upon the state, and the instinct of self-preservation comes into -play, then fate itself brings forward the ablest men. The great crisis -makes or discovers the great man,--discovers Cromwell, Frederick, -Washington, Lincoln. Carlyle leaves out of his count entirely the -competitive principle that operates everywhere in nature,--in your field -and garden as well as in political states and amid teeming -populations,--natural selection, the survival of the fittest. Under -artificial conditions the operation of this law is more or less checked; -but amid the struggles and parturition throes of a people, artificial -conditions disappear, and we touch real ground at last. What a sorting -and sifting process went on in our army during the secession war, till -the real captains, the real leaders, were found; not Fredericks, or -Wellingtons, perhaps, but the best the land afforded! - -The object of popular government is no more to find and elevate the -hero, the man of special and exceptional endowment, into power, than the -object of agriculture is to take the prizes at the agricultural fairs. -It is one of the things to be hoped for and aspired to, but not one of -the indispensables. The success of free government is attained when it -has made the people independent of special leaders, and secured the free -and full expression of the popular will and conscience. Any view of -American politics, based upon the failure of the suffrage always, or -even generally, to lift into power the ablest men, is partial and -unscientific. We can stand, and have stood, any amount of mediocrity in -our appointed rulers; and perhaps in the ordinary course of events -mediocrity is the safest and best. We could no longer surrender -ourselves to great leaders, if we wanted to. Indeed, there is no longer -a call for great leaders; with the appearance of the people upon the -scene, the hero must await his orders. How often in this country have -the people checked and corrected the folly and wrong-headedness of their -rulers! It is probably true, as Carlyle says, that "the smallest item of -human Slavery is the oppression of man by his Mock-Superiors;" but shall -we accept the other side of the proposition, that the grand problem is -to find government by our Real Superiors? The grand problem is rather to -be superior to all government, and to possess a nationality that finally -rests upon principles quite beyond the fluctuations of ordinary -politics. A people possessed of the gift of Empire, like the English -stock, both in Europe and in America, are in our day beholden very -little to their chosen rulers. Otherwise the English nation would have -been extinct long ago. - -"Human virtue," Carlyle wrote in 1850, "if we went down to the roots of -it, is not so rare. The materials of human virtue are everywhere -abundant as the light of the sun." This may well offset his more -pessimistic statement, that "there are fools, cowards, knaves, and -gluttonous traitors, true only to their own appetite, in immense -majority in every rank of life; and there is nothing frightfuller than -to see these voting and deciding." If we "went down to the roots of it," -this statement is simply untrue. "Democracy," he says, "is, by the -nature of it, a self-canceling business, and gives, in the long run, a -net result of _zero_." - -Because the law of gravitation is uncompromising, things are not, -therefore, crushed in a wild rush to the centre of attraction. The very -traits that make Carlyle so entertaining and effective as a historian -and biographer, namely, his fierce, man-devouring eyes, make him -impracticable in the sphere of practical politics. - -Let me quote a long and characteristic passage from Carlyle's Latter-Day -Pamphlets, one of dozens of others, illustrating his misconception of -universal suffrage:-- - -"Your ship cannot double Cape Horn by its excellent plans of voting. The -ship may vote this and that, above decks and below, in the most -harmonious, exquisitely constitutional manner; the ship, to get round -Cape Horn, will find a set of conditions already voted for and fixed -with adamantine rigor by the ancient Elemental Powers, who are entirely -careless how you vote. If you can, by voting or without voting, -ascertain these conditions, and valiantly conform to them, you will get -around the Cape: if you cannot, the ruffian winds will blow you ever -back again; the inexorable Icebergs, dumb privy-councilors from Chaos, -will nudge you with most chaotic 'admonition;' you will be flung half -frozen on the Patagonian cliffs, or admonished into shivers by your -iceberg councilors and sent sheer down to Davy Jones, and will never get -around Cape Horn at all! Unanimity on board ship;--yes, indeed, the -ship's crew may be very unanimous, which, doubtless, for the time being, -will be very comfortable to the ship's crew and to their Phantasm -Captain, if they have one; but if the tack they unanimously steer upon -is guiding them into the belly of the Abyss, it will not profit them -much! Ships, accordingly, do not use the ballot-box at all; and they -reject the Phantasm species of Captain. One wishes much some other -Entities--since all entities lie under the same rigorous set of -laws--could be brought to show as much wisdom and sense at least of -self-preservation, the _first_ command of nature. Phantasm Captains with -unanimous votings,--this is considered to be all the law and all the -prophets at present." - -This has the real crushing Carlylean wit and picturesqueness of -statement, but is it the case of democracy, of universal suffrage fairly -put? The eternal verities appear again, as they appear everywhere in our -author in connection with this subject. They recur in his pages like -"minute-guns," as if deciding, by the count of heads, whether Jones or -Smith should go to Parliament or to Congress was equivalent to sitting -in judgment upon the law of gravitation. What the ship in doubling Cape -Horn would very likely do, if it found itself officerless, would be to -choose, by some method more or less approaching a count of heads, a -captain, an ablest man to take command, and put the vessel through. If -none were able, then indeed the case were desperate; with or without the -ballot-box, the abyss would be pretty sure of a victim. In any case -there would perhaps be as little voting to annul the storms, or change -the ocean currents, as there is in democracies to settle ethical or -scientific principles by an appeal to universal suffrage. But Carlyle -was fated to see the abyss lurking under, and the eternities presiding -over, every act of life. He saw everything in fearful gigantic -perspective. It is true that one cannot loosen the latchet of his shoe -without bending to forces that are cosmical, sidereal; but whether he -bends or not, or this way or that, he passes no verdict upon them. The -temporary, the expedient,--all those devices and adjustments that are of -the nature of scaffolding, and that enter so largely into the -administration of the coarser affairs of this world,--were with Carlyle -equivalent to the false, the sham, the phantasmal, and he would none of -them. As the ages seem to have settled themselves for the present and -the future, in all civilized countries,--and especially in -America,--politics is little more than scaffolding; it certainly is not -the house we live in, but an appurtenance or necessity of the house. A -government, in the long run, can never be better or worse than the -people governed. In voting for Jones for constable, am I voting for or -against the unalterable laws of the universe,--an act wherein the -consequences of a mistake are so appalling that voting had better be -dispensed with, and the selection of constables be left to the -evolutionary principle of the solar system? - -Carlyle was not a reconciler. When he saw a fact, he saw it with such -intense and magnifying eyes, as I have already said, that it became at -once irreconcilable with other facts. He could not and would not -reconcile popular government, the rule of majorities, with what he knew -and what we all know to be popular follies, or the proneness of the -multitude to run after humbugs. How easy for fallacies, speciosities, -quackeries, etc., to become current! That a thing is popular makes a -wise man look upon it with suspicion. Are the greatest or best books the -most read books? Have not the great principles, the great reforms, begun -in minorities and fought their way against the masses? Does not the -multitude generally greet its saviors with "Crucify him, crucify him"? -Who have been the martyrs and the persecuted in all ages? Where does the -broad road lead to, and which is the Narrow Way? "Can it be proved that, -since the beginning of the world, there was ever given a universal vote -in favor of the worthiest man or thing? I have always understood that -true worth, in any department, was difficult to recognize; that the -worthiest, if he appealed to universal suffrage, would have but a poor -chance." - -Upon these facts Carlyle planted himself, and the gulf which he saw open -between them and the beauties of universal suffrage was simply immense. -Without disputing the facts here, we may ask if they really bear upon -the question of popular government, of a free ballot? If so, then the -ground is clean shot away from under it. The world is really governed -and led by minorities, and always will be. The many, sooner or later, -follow the one. We have all become abolitionists in this country, some -of us much to our surprise and bewilderment; we hardly know yet how it -happened; but the time was when abolitionists were hunted by the -multitude. Marvelous to relate, also, civil service reform has become -popular among our politicians. Something has happened; the tide has -risen while we slept, or while we mocked and laughed, and away we all go -on the current. Yet it is equally true that, under any form of -government, nothing short of events themselves, nothing short of that -combination of circumstances which we name fate or fortune, can place -that exceptional man, the hero, at the head of affairs. If there are no -heroes, then woe to the people who have lost the secret of producing -great men. - -The worthiest man usually has other work to do, and avoids politics. -Carlyle himself could not be induced to stand for Parliament. "Who would -govern," he says, "that can get along without governing? He that is -fittest for it is of all men the unwillingest unless constrained." But -constrained he cannot be, yet he is our only hope. What shall we do? A -government by the fittest can alone save mankind, yet the fittest is -not forthcoming. We do not know him; he does not know himself. The case -is desperate. Hence the despair of Carlyle in his view of modern -politics. - -Who that has read his history of Frederick has not at times felt that he -would gladly be the subject of a real king like the great Prussian, a -king who was indeed the father of his people; a sovereign man at the -head of affairs with the reins of government all in his own hands; an -imperial husbandman devoted to improving, extending, and building up his -nation as the farmer his farm, and toiling as no husbandman ever toiled; -a man to reverence, to love, to fear; who called all the women his -daughters, and all the men his sons, and whom to see and to speak with -was the event of a lifetime; a shepherd to his people, a lion to his -enemies? Such a man gives head and character to a nation; he is the head -and the people are the body; currents of influence and of power stream -down from such a hero to the life of the humblest peasant; his spirit -diffuses itself through the nation. It is the ideal state; it is -captivating to the imagination; there is an artistic completeness about -it. Probably this is why it so captivated Carlyle, inevitable artist -that he was. But how impossible to us! how impossible to any -English-speaking people by their own action and choice; not because we -are unworthy such a man, but because an entirely new order of things has -arrived, and arrived in due course of time, through the political and -social evolution of man. The old world has passed away; the age of the -hero, of the strong leader, is gone. The people have arrived, and sit in -judgment upon all who would rule or lead them. Science has arrived, -everything is upon trial; private judgment is supreme. Our only hope in -this country, at least in the sphere of governments, is in the -collective wisdom of the people; and, as extremes so often meet, perhaps -this, if thoroughly realized, is as complete and artistic a plan as the -others. The "collective folly" of the people, Carlyle would say, and -perhaps during his whole life he never for a moment saw it otherwise; -never saw that the wisdom of the majority could be other than the -no-wisdom of blind masses of unguided men. He seemed to forget, or else -not to know, that universal suffrage, as exemplified in America, was -really a sorting and sifting process, a search for the wise, the truly -representative man; that the vast masses were not asked who should rule -over them, but were asked which of two candidates they preferred, in -selecting which candidates what of wisdom and leadership there was -available had had their due weight; in short, that democracy alone makes -way for and offers a clear road to natural leadership. Under the -pressure of opposing parties, all the political wisdom and integrity -there is in the country stand between the people, the masses, and the -men of their choice. - -Undoubtedly popular government will, in the main, be like any other -popular thing,--it will partake of the conditions of popularity; it -will seldom elevate the greatest; it will never elevate the meanest; it -is based upon the average virtue and intelligence of the people. - -There have been great men in all countries and times who possessed the -elements of popularity, and would have commanded the suffrage of the -people; on the other hand, there have been men who possessed many -elements of popularity, but few traits of true greatness; others with -greatness, but no elements of popularity. These last are the reformers, -the innovators, the starters, and their greatness is a discovery of -after-times. Popular suffrage cannot elevate these men, and if, as -between the two other types, it more frequently seizes upon the last, it -is because the former is the more rare. - -But there is a good deal of delusion about the proneness of the -multitude to run after quacks and charlatans: a multitude runs, but a -larger multitude does not run; and those that do run soon see their -mistake. Real worth, real merit, alone wins the permanent suffrage of -mankind. In every neighborhood and community the best men are held in -highest regard by the most persons. The world over, the names most -fondly cherished are those most worthy of being cherished. Yet this does -not prevent that certain types of great men--men who are in advance of -their times and announce new doctrines and faiths--will be rejected and -denied by their contemporaries. This is the order of nature. Minorities -lead and save the world, and the world knows them not till long -afterward. - -No man perhaps suspects how large and important the region of -unconsciousness in him, what a vast, unknown territory lies there back -of his conscious will and purpose, and which is really the controlling -power of his life. Out of it things arise, and shape and define -themselves to his consciousness and rule his career. Here the influence -of environment works; here the elements of race, of family; here the -Time-Spirit moulds him and he knows it not; here Nature, or Fate, as we -sometimes name it, rules him and makes him what he is. - -In every people or nation stretches this deep, unsuspected background. -Here the great movements begin; here the deep processes go on; here the -destiny of the race or nation really lies. In this soil the new ideas -are sown; the new man, the despised leader, plants his seed here, and if -they be vital they thrive, and in due time emerge and become the -conscious possession of the community. - -None knew better than Carlyle himself that, whoever be the ostensible -potentates and lawmakers, the wise do virtually rule, the natural -leaders do lead. Wisdom will out: it is the one thing in this world that -cannot be suppressed or annulled. There is not a parish, township, or -community, little or big, in this country or in England, that is not -finally governed, shaped, directed, built up by what of wisdom there is -in it. All the leading industries and enterprises gravitate naturally to -the hands best able to control them. The wise furnish employment for -the unwise, capital flows to capital hands as surely as water seeks -water. - - "Winds blow and waters roll - Strength to the brave." - -There never is and never can be any government but by the wisest. In all -nations and communities the law of nature finally prevails. If there is -no wisdom in the people, there will be none in their rulers; the virtue -and intelligence of the representative will not be essentially different -from that of his constituents. The dependence of the foolish, the -thriftless, the improvident, upon his natural master and director, for -food, employment, for life itself, is just as real to-day in America as -it was in the old feudal or patriarchal times. The relation between the -two is not so obvious, so intimate, so voluntary, but it is just as -vital and essential. How shall we know the wise man unless he makes -himself felt, or seen, or heard? How shall we know the master unless he -masters us? Is there any danger that the real captains will not step to -the front, and that we shall not know them when they do? Shall we not -know a Luther, a Cromwell, a Franklin, a Washington? - -"Man," says Carlyle, "little as he may suppose it, is necessitated to -obey superiors; he is a social being in virtue of this necessity; nay, -he could not be gregarious otherwise; he obeys those whom he esteems -better than himself, wiser, braver, and will forever obey such; and ever -be ready and delighted to do it." Think in how many ways, through how -many avenues, in our times, the wise man can reach us and place himself -at our head, or mould us to his liking, as orator, statesman, poet, -philosopher, preacher, editor. If he has any wise mind to speak, any -scheme to unfold, there is the rostrum or pulpit and crowds ready to -hear him, or there is the steam power press ready to disseminate his -wisdom to the four corners of the earth. He can set up a congress or a -parliament and really make and unmake the laws, by his own fireside, in -any country that has a free press. "If we will consider it, the -essential truth of the matter is, every British man can now elect -_himself_ to Parliament without consulting the hustings at all. If there -be any vote, idea, or notion in him, or any earthly or heavenly thing, -cannot he take a pen and therewith autocratically pour forth the same -into the ears and hearts of all people, so far as it will go?" ("Past -and Present.") Or, there is the pulpit everywhere waiting to be worthily -filled. What may not the real hero accomplish here? "Indeed, is not this -that we call spiritual guidance properly the soul of the whole, the life -and eyesight of the whole?" Some one has even said, "Let me make the -songs of a nation and I care not who makes the laws." Certainly the -great poet of a people is its real Founder and King. He rules for -centuries and rules in the heart. - -In more primitive times, and amid more rudely organized communities, the -hero, the strong man, could step to the front and seize the leadership -like the buffalo of the plains or the wild horse of the pampas; but in -our time, at least among English-speaking races, he must be more or less -called by the suffrage of the people. It is quite certain that, had -there been a seventeenth or eighteenth century Carlyle he would not have -seen the hero in Cromwell, or in Frederick, that the nineteenth century -Carlyle saw in each. In any case, in any event, the dead rule us more -than the living; we cannot escape the past. It is not merely by virtue -of the sunlight that falls now, and the rain and dew that it brings, -that we continue here; but by virtue of the sunlight of æons of past -ages. - -"This land of England has its conquerors, possessors, which change from -epoch to epoch, from day to day; but its real conquerors, creators, and -eternal proprietors are these following and their representatives, if -you can find them: all the Heroic Souls that ever were in England, each -in their degree; all the men that ever cut a thistle, drained a puddle -out of England, contrived a wise scheme in England, did or said a true -and valiant thing in England." "Work? The quantity of done and forgotten -work that lies silent under my feet in this world, and escorts and -attends me and supports and keeps me alive, wheresoever I walk or stand, -whatsoever I think or do, gives rise to reflections!" In our own -politics, has our first President ever ceased to be President? Does he -not still sit there, the stern and blameless patriot, uttering counsel? - -Carlyle had no faith in the inherent tendency of things to right -themselves, to adjust themselves to their own proper standards; the -conservative force of Nature, the checks and balances by which her own -order and succession is maintained; the Darwinian principle, according -to which the organic life of the globe has been evolved, the higher and -more complex forms mounting from the lower, the true _palingenesia_, the -principle or power, name it Fate, name it Necessity, name it God, or -what you will, which finally lifts a people, a race, an age, and even a -community above the reach of choice, of accident, of individual will, -into the region of general law. So little is life what we make it, after -all; so little is the course of history, the destiny of nations, the -result of any man's purpose, or direction, or will, so great is Fate, so -insignificant is man! The human body is made up of a vast congeries or -association of minute cells, each with its own proper work and function, -at which it toils incessantly night and day, and thinks of nothing -beyond. The shape, the size, the color of the body, its degree of health -and strength, etc.,--no cell or series of cells decides these points; a -law above and beyond the cell determines them. The final destiny and -summing up of a nation is, perhaps, as little within the conscious will -and purpose of the individual citizens. When you come to large masses, -to long periods, the law of nature steps in. The day is hot or the day -is cold, the spring is late or the spring is early; but the inclination -of the earth's axis makes the winter and summer sure. The wind blows -this way and blows that, but the great storms gyrate and travel in one -general direction. There is a wind of the globe that never varies, and -there is the breeze of the mountain that is never two days alike. The -local hurricane moves the waters of the sea to a depth of but a few -feet, but the tidal impulse goes to the bottom. Men and communities in -this world are often in the position of arctic explorers, who are making -great speed in a given direction while the ice-floe beneath them is -making greater speed in the opposite direction. This kind of progress -has often befallen political and ecclesiastical parties in this country. -Behind mood lies temperament; back of the caprice of will lies the fate -of character; back of both is the bias of family; back of that, the -tyranny of race; still deeper, the power of climate, of soil, of -geology, the whole physical and moral environment. Still we are free men -only so far as we rise above these. We cannot abolish fate, but we can -in a measure utilize it. The projectile force of the bullet does not -annul or suspend gravity; it uses it. The floating vapor is just as true -an illustration of the law of gravity as the falling avalanche. - -Carlyle, I say, had sounded these depths that lie beyond the region of -will and choice, beyond the sphere of man's moral accountability; but in -life, in action, in conduct, no man shall take shelter here. One may -summon his philosophy when he is beaten in battle, and not till then. -You shall not shirk the hobbling Times to catch a ride on the -sure-footed Eternities. "The times are bad; very well, you are there to -make them better." "The public highways ought not to be occupied by -people demonstrating that motion is impossible." ("Chartism.") - - -III - -Caroline Fox, in her "Memoirs of Old Friends," reports a smart saying -about Carlyle, current in her time, which has been current in some form -or other ever since; namely, that he had a large capital of faith -uninvested,--carried it about him as ready money, I suppose, working -capital. It is certainly true that it was not locked up in any of the -various social and religious safe-deposits. He employed a vast deal of -it in his daily work. It took not a little to set Cromwell up, and -Frederick. Indeed, it is doubtful if among his contemporaries there was -a man with so active a faith,--so little invested in paper securities. -His religion, as a present living reality, went with him into every -question. He did not believe that the Maker of this universe had retired -from business, or that he was merely a sleeping partner in the concern. -"Original sin," he says, "and such like are bad enough, I doubt not; but -distilled sin, dark ignorance, stupidity, dark corn-law, bastile and -company, what are they?" For creeds, theories, philosophies, plans for -reforming the world, etc., he cared nothing, he would not invest one -moment in them; but the hero, the worker, the doer, justice, veracity, -courage, these drew him,--in these he put his faith. What to other -people were mere obstructions were urgent, pressing realities to -Carlyle. Every truth or fact with him has a personal inclination, points -to conduct, points to duty. He could not invest himself in creeds and -formulas, but in that which yielded an instant return in force, justice, -character. He has no philosophical impartiality. He has been broken up; -there have been moral convulsions; the rock stands on end. Hence the -vehement and precipitous character of his speech,--its wonderful -picturesqueness and power. The spirit of gloom and dejection that -possesses him, united to such an indomitable spirit of work and -helpfulness, is very noteworthy. Such courage, such faith, such unshaken -adamantine belief in the essential soundness and healthfulness that lay -beneath all this weltering and chaotic world of folly and evil about -him, in conjunction with such pessimism and despondency, was never -before seen in a man of letters. I am reminded that in this respect he -was more like a root of the tree of Igdrasil than like a branch; one of -the central and master roots, with all that implies, toiling and -grappling in the gloom, but full of the spirit of light. How he delves -and searches; how much he made live and bloom again; how he sifted the -soil for the last drop of heroic blood! The Fates are there, too, with -water from the sacred well. He is quick, sensitive, full of tenderness -and pity; yet he is savage and brutal when you oppose him, or seek to -wrench him from his holdings. His stormy outbursts always leave the -moral atmosphere clear and bracing; he does not communicate the gloom -and despondency he feels, because he brings us so directly and -unfailingly in contact with the perennial sources of hope and faith, -with the life-giving and the life-renewing. Though the heavens fall, the -orbs of truth and justice fall not. Carlyle was like an unhoused soul, -naked and bare to every wind that blows. He felt the awful cosmic chill. -He could not take shelter in the creed of his fathers, nor in any of the -opinions and beliefs of his time. He could not and did not try to fend -himself against the keen edge of the terrible doubts, the awful -mysteries, the abysmal questions and duties. He lived and wrought on in -the visible presence of God. This was no myth to him, but a terrible -reality. How the immensities open and yawn about him! He was like a man -who should suddenly see his relations to the universe, both physical and -moral, in gigantic perspective, and never through life lose the awe, the -wonder, the fear, the revelation inspired. The veil, the illusion of the -familiar, the commonplace, is torn away. The natural becomes the -supernatural. Every question, every character, every duty, was seen -against the immensities, like figures in the night against a background -of fire, and seen as if for the first time. The sidereal, the cosmical, -the eternal,--we grow familiar with these or lose sight of them -entirely. But Carlyle never lost sight of them; his sense of them became -morbidly acute, preternaturally developed, and it was as if he saw -every movement of the hand, every fall of a leaf, as an emanation of -solar energy. A "haggard mood of the imagination" (his own phrase) was -habitual with him. He could see only the tragical in life and in -history. Events were imminent, poised like avalanches that a word might -loosen. We see Jeffries perpetually amazed at his earnestness, the -gradations in his mind were so steep; the descent from the thought to -the deed was so swift and inevitable that the witty advocate came to -look upon him as a man to be avoided. - -"Daily and hourly," he says (at the age of thirty-eight), "the world -natural grows more of a world magical to me; this is as it should be. -Daily, too, I see that there is no true poetry but in _reality_." - -"The gist of my whole way of thought," he says again, "is to raise the -natural to the supernatural." To his brother John he wrote in 1832: "I -get more earnest, graver, not unhappier, every day. The whole creation -seems more and more divine to me, the natural more and more -supernatural." His eighty-five years did not tame him at all, did not -blunt his conception of the "fearfulness and wonderfulness of life." -Sometimes an opiate or an anæsthetic operates inversely upon a -constitution, and, instead of inducing somnolence, makes the person -wildly wakeful and sensitive. The anodyne of life acted this way upon -Carlyle, and, instead of quieting or benumbing him, filled him with -portentous imaginings and fresh cause for wonder. There is a danger that -such a mind, if it takes to literature, will make a mess of it. But -Carlyle is saved by his tremendous gripe upon reality. Do I say the -ideal and the real were one with him? He made the ideal _the_ real, and -the only real. Whatever he touched he made tangible, actual, and vivid. -Ideas are hurled like rocks, a word blisters like a branding-iron, a -metaphor transfixes like a javelin. There is something in his sentences -that lays hold of things, as the acids bite metals. His subtle thoughts, -his marvelous wit, like the viewless gases of the chemist, combine with -a force that startles the reader. - -Carlyle differs from the ordinary religious enthusiast in the way he -bares his bosom to the storm. His attitude is rather one of gladiatorial -resignation than supplication. He makes peace with nothing, takes refuge -in nothing. He flouts at happiness, at repose, at joy. "There is in man -a _higher_ than love of happiness; he can do without happiness, and -instead thereof find blessedness." "The life of all gods figures itself -to us as a sublime sadness,--earnestness of infinite battle against -infinite labor. Our highest religion is named the 'Worship of Sorrow.' -For the Son of Man there is no noble crown, well worn or even ill worn, -but is a crown of thorns." His own worship is a kind of defiant -admiration of Eternal Justice. He asks no quarter, and will give none. -He turns upon the grim destinies a look as undismayed and as -uncompromising as their own. Despair cannot crush him; he will crush it. -The more it bears on, the harder he will work. The way to get rid of -wretchedness is to despise it; the way to conquer the devil is to defy -him; the way to gain heaven is to turn your back upon it, and be as -unflinching as the gods themselves. Satan may be roasted in his own -flames; Tophet may be exploded with its own sulphur. "Despicable biped!" -(Teufelsdrökh is addressing himself.) "What is the sum total of the -worst that lies before thee? Death? Well, death; and say the pangs of -Tophet, too, and all that the devil and man may, will, or can do against -thee! Hast thou not a heart? Canst thou not suffer what so it be, and as -a child of freedom, though outcast, trample Tophet itself under thy feet -while it consumes thee? Let it come, then; I will meet it and defy it." -This is the "Everlasting No" of Teufelsdrökh, the annihilation of self. -Having thus routed Satan with his own weapons, the "Everlasting Yea" is -to people his domain with fairer forms; to find your ideal in the world -about you. "Thy condition is but the stuff thou art to shape that same -ideal out of; what matters whether such stuff be of this sort or of -that, so the form thou give it be heroic, be poetic?" Carlyle's -watchword through life, as I have said, was the German word _Entsagen_, -or renunciation. The perfect flower of religion opens in the soul only -when all self-seeking is abandoned. The divine, the heroic attitude is: -"I ask not Heaven, I fear not Hell; I crave the truth alone, -withersoever it may lead." "Truth! I cried, though the heavens crush me -for following her; no falsehood, though a celestial lubberland were the -price of apostasy." The truth,--what is the truth? Carlyle answers: That -which you believe with all your soul and all your might and all your -strength, and are ready to face Tophet for,--that, for you, is the -truth. Such a seeker was he himself. It matters little whether we agree -that he found it or not. The law of this universe is such that where the -love, the desire, is perfect and supreme, the truth is already found. -That is the truth, not the letter but the spirit; the seeker and the -sought are one. Can you by searching find out God? "Moses cried, 'When, -O Lord, shall I find thee? God said, Know that when thou hast sought -thou hast already found me.'" This is Carlyle's position, so far as it -can be defined. He hated dogma as he hated poison. No direct or dogmatic -statement of religious belief or opinion could he tolerate. He abandoned -the church, for which his father designed him, because of his inexorable -artistic sense; he could not endure the dogma that the church rested -upon, the pedestal of clay upon which the golden image was reared. The -gold he held to, as do all serious souls, but the dogma of clay he -quickly dropped. "Whatever becomes of us," he said, referring to this -subject in a letter to a friend when he was in his twenty-third year, -"never let us cease to behave like honest men." - - -IV - -Carlyle had an enormous egoism, but to do the work he felt called on to -do, to offset and withstand the huge, roaring, on-rushing modern world -as he did, required an enormous egoism. In more senses than one do the -words applied to the old prophet apply to him: "For, behold, I have made -thee this day a defenced city, and an iron pillar, and brazen walls -against the whole land, against the kings of Judah, against the princes -thereof, against the priests thereof, and against the people of the -land." He was a defenced city, an iron pillar, and brazen wall, in the -extent to which he was riveted and clinched in his own purpose and aim, -as well as in his attitude of opposition or hostility to the times in -which he lived. - -Froude, whose life of Carlyle in its just completed form, let me say -here, has no equal in interest or literary value among biographies since -his master's life of Sterling, presents his hero to us a prophet in the -literal and utilitarian sense, as a foreteller of the course of events, -and says that an adequate estimate of his work is not yet possible. We -must wait and see if he was right about democracy, about America, -universal suffrage, progress of the species, etc. "Whether his message -was a true message remains to be seen." "If he was wrong he has misused -his powers. The principles of his teaching are false. He has offered -himself as a guide upon a road of which he had no knowledge; and his -own desire for himself would be the speediest oblivion both of his -person and his works." - -But the man was true; there can be no doubt about that, and when such is -the case the message may safely be left to take care of itself. We have -got the full force and benefit of it in our own day and generation, -whether our "cherished ideas of political liberty, with their kindred -corollaries," prove illusions or not. All high spiritual and prophetic -utterances are instantly their own proof and justification, or they are -naught. Does Mr. Froude really mean that the prophecies of Jeremiah and -Isaiah have become a part of the permanent "spiritual inheritance of -mankind" because they were literally fulfilled in specific instances, -and not because they were true from the first and always, as the -impassioned yearnings and uprisings and reachings-forth of high -God-burdened souls at all times are true? Regarded merely as a -disturbing and overturning force, Carlyle was of great value. There -never was a time, especially in an era like ours, when the opinion and -moral conviction of the race did not need subsoiling, loosening up from -the bottom,--the shock of rude, scornful, merciless power. There are ten -thousand agencies and instrumentalities titillating the surface, -smoothing, pulverizing, and vulgarizing the top. Chief of these is the -gigantic, ubiquitous newspaper press, without character and without -conscience; then the lyceum, the pulpit, the novel, the club,--all -_cultivating_ the superficies, and helping make life shallow and -monotonous. How deep does the leading editorial go, or the review -article, or the Sunday sermon? But such a force as Carlyle disturbs our -complacency. Opinion is shocked, but it is deepened. The moral and -intellectual resources of all men have been added to. But the literal -fulfillment and verification of his prophecies,--shall we insist upon -that? Is not a prophet his own proof, the same as a poet? Must we summon -witnesses and go into the justice-court of fact? The only questions to -be asked are: Was he an inspired man? was his an authoritative voice? -did he touch bottom? was he sincere? was he grounded and rooted in -character? It is not the stamp on the coin that gives it its value, -though on the bank-note it is. Carlyle's words were not promises, but -performances; they are good now if ever. To test him by his political -opinions is like testing Shakespeare by his fidelity to historical fact -in his plays, or judging Lucretius by his philosophy, or Milton or Dante -by their theology. Carlyle was just as distinctively an imaginative -writer as were any of these men, and his case is to be tried on the same -grounds. It is his utterances as a seer touching conduct, touching duty, -touching nature, touching the soul, touching life, that most concern -us,--the ideal to be cherished, the standard he held to. - -Carlyle was a poet touched with religious wrath and fervor, and he -confronted his times and country as squarely and in the same spirit as -did the old prophets. He predicts nothing, foretells nothing, except -death and destruction to those who depart from the ways of the Lord, or, -in modern phrase, from nature and truth. He shared the Hebraic sense of -the awful mystery and fearfulness of life and the splendor and -inexorableness of the moral law. His habitual mood was not one of -contemplation and enjoyment, but of struggle and "desperate hope." The -deep biblical word fear,--fear of the Lord,--he knew what that meant, as -few moderns did. - -He was antagonistic to his country and his times, and who would have had -him otherwise? Let him be the hammer on the other side that clinches the -nail. He did not believe in democracy, in popular sovereignty, in the -progress of the species, in the political equality of Jesus and Judas; -in fact, he repudiated with mingled wrath and sorrow the whole American -idea and theory of politics: yet who shall say that his central doctrine -of the survival of the fittest, the nobility of labor, the exaltation of -justice, valor, pity, the leadership of character, truth, nobility, -wisdom, etc., is really and finally inconsistent with, or inimical to, -that which is valuable and permanent and formative in the modern -movement? I think it is the best medicine and regimen for it that could -be suggested,--the best stay and counterweight. For the making of good -democrats, there are no books like Carlyle's, and we in America need -especially to cherish him, and to lay his lesson to heart. - -It is his supreme merit that he spoke with absolute sincerity; not -according to the beliefs, traditions, conventionalities of his times, -for they were mostly against him, but according to his private and -solemn conviction of what the will of his Maker with reference to -himself was. The reason why so much writing and preaching sounds hollow -and insincere compared with his is that the writers and speakers are -mostly under the influence of current beliefs or received traditions; -they deliver themselves of what they have been taught, or what is -fashionable and pleasant; they draw upon a sort of public fund of -conviction and sentiment and not at all from original private resources, -as he did. It is not their own minds or their own experience they speak -from, but a vague, featureless, general mind and general experience. We -drink from a cistern or reservoir and not from a fountain-head. Carlyle -always takes us to the source of intense personal and original -conviction. The spring may be a hot spring, or a sulphur spring, or a -spouting spring,--a geyser, as Froude says, shooting up volumes of steam -and stone,--or the most refreshing and delicious of fountains (and he -seems to have been all these things alternately); but in any case it was -an original source and came from out the depths, at times from out the -Plutonic depths. - -He bewails his gloom and loneliness, and the isolation of his soul in -the paths in which he was called to walk. In many ways he was an exile, -a wanderer, forlorn or uncertain, like one who had missed the road,--at -times groping about sorrowfully, anon desperately hewing his way through -all manner of obstructions. He presents the singular anomaly of a great -man, of a towering and unique genius, such as appears at intervals of -centuries, who was not in any sense representative, who had no -precursors and who left no followers,--a man isolated, exceptional, -towering like a solitary peak or cone set over against the main ranges. -He is in line with none of the great men, or small men, of his age and -country. His message is unwelcome to them. He is an enormous reaction or -rebound from the all-leveling tendencies of democracy. No wonder he -thought himself the most solitary man in the world, and bewailed his -loneliness continually. He was the most solitary. Of all the great men -his race and country have produced, none, perhaps, were quite so -isolated and set apart as he. None shared so little the life and -aspirations of their countrymen, or were so little sustained by the -spirit of their age. The literature, the religion, the science, the -politics of his times were alike hateful to him. His spirit was as -lonely as a "peak in Darien." He felt himself on a narrow isthmus of -time, confronted by two eternities,--the eternity past and the eternity -to come. Daily and hourly he felt the abysmal solitude that surrounded -him. Endowed with the richest fund of sympathy, and yet sympathizing -with so little; burdened with solicitude for the public weal, and yet in -no vital or intimate relation with the public he would serve; deeply -absorbed in the social and political problems of his time, and yet able -to arrive at no adequate practical solution of them; passionately -religious, and yet repudiating all creeds and forms of worship; -despising the old faiths, and disgusted with the new; honoring science, -and acknowledging his debt to it, yet drawing back with horror from -conclusions to which science seemed inevitably to lead; essentially a -man of action, of deeds, of heroic fibre, yet forced to become a "writer -of books;" a democrat who denounced democracy; a radical who despised -radicalism; "a Puritan without a creed." - -These things measure the depth of his sincerity; he never lost heart or -hope, though heart and hope had so little that was tangible to go upon. -He had the piety and zeal of a religious devotee, without the devotee's -comforting belief; the fiery earnestness of a reformer, without the -reformer's definite aims; the spirit of science, without the scientific -coolness and disinterestedness; the heart of a hero, without the hero's -insensibilities; he had strugglings, wrestlings, agonizings, without any -sense of victory; his foes were invisible and largely imaginary, but all -the more terrible and unconquerable on that account. Verily was he -lonely, heavy laden, and at best full of "desperate hope." His own work, -which was accomplished with such pains and labor throes, gave him no -satisfaction. When he was idle, his demon tormented him with the cry, -"Work, work;" and when he was toiling at his tasks, his obstructions, -torpidities, and dispiritments nearly crushed him. - -It is probably true that he thought he had some special mission to -mankind, something as definite and tangible as Luther had. His stress -and heat of conviction were such as only the great world-reformers have -been possessed of. He was burdened with the sins and follies of mankind, -and _must_ mend them. His mission was to mend them, but perhaps in quite -other ways than he thought. He sought to restore an age fast -passing,--the age of authority, the age of the heroic leader; but toward -the restoration of such age he had no effect whatever. The tide of -democracy sweeps on. He was like Xerxes whipping the sea. His real -mission he was far less conscious of, for it was what his search for the -hero implied and brought forward that he finally bequeathed us. If he -did not make us long for the strong man to rule over us, he made us love -all manly and heroic qualities afresh, and as if by a new revelation of -their value. He made all shallownesses and shams wear such a face as -they never before wore. He made it easier for all men to be more -truthful and earnest. Hence his final effect and value was as a fountain -of fresh moral conviction and power. The old stock truths perpetually -need restating and reapplying on fresh grounds and in large and -unexpected ways. And how he restated them and reinforced them! veracity, -sincerity, courage, justice, manliness, religiousness,--fairly burning -them into the conscience of his times. He took the great facts of -existence out of the mouths of priests, out of their conventional -theological swathing, where they were fast becoming mummified, and -presented them _quick_ or as living and breathing realities. - -It may be added that Carlyle was one of those men whom the world can -neither make nor break,--a meteoric rock from out the fiery heavens, -bound to hit hard if not self-consumed, and not looking at all for a -convenient or a soft place to alight,--a blazing star in his literary -expression, but in his character and purpose the most tangible and -unconquerable of men. "Thou, O World, how wilt thou secure thyself -against this man? Thou canst not hire him by thy guineas, nor by thy -gibbets and law penalties restrain him. He eludes thee like a Spirit. -Thou canst not forward him, thou canst not hinder him. Thy penalties, -thy poverties, neglects, contumelies: behold, all these are good for -him." - - - - -XI - -AT SEA - - -One does not seem really to have got out-of-doors till he goes to sea. -On the land he is shut in by the hills, or the forests, or more or less -housed by the sharp lines of his horizon. But at sea he finds the roof -taken off, the walls taken down; he is no longer in the hollow of the -earth's hand, but upon its naked back, with nothing between him and the -immensities. He is in the great cosmic out-of-doors, as much so as if -voyaging to the moon or to Mars. An astronomic solitude and vacuity -surround him; his only guides and landmarks are stellar; the earth has -disappeared; the horizon has gone; he has only the sky and its orbs -left; this cold, vitreous, blue-black liquid through which the ship -plows is not water, but some denser form of the cosmic ether. He can now -see the curve of the sphere which the hills hid from him; he can study -astronomy under improved conditions. If he was being borne through the -interplanetary spaces on an immense shield, his impressions would not -perhaps be much different. He would find the same vacuity, the same -blank or negative space, the same empty, indefinite, oppressive -out-of-doors. - -For it must be admitted that a voyage at sea is more impressive to the -imagination than to the actual sense. The world is left behind; all -standards of size, of magnitude, of distance, are vanished; there is no -size, no form, no perspective; the universe has dwindled to a little -circle of crumpled water, that journeys with you day after day, and to -which you seem bound by some enchantment. The sky becomes a shallow, -close-fitting dome, or else a pall of cloud that seems ready to descend -upon you. You cannot see or realize the vast and vacant surrounding; -there is nothing to define it or set it off. Three thousand miles of -ocean space are less impressive than three miles bounded by rugged -mountains walls. Indeed, the grandeur of form, of magnitude, of -distance, of proportion, are only upon shore. A voyage across the -Atlantic is an eight or ten day sail through vacancy. There is no -sensible progress; you pass no fixed points. Is it the steamer that is -moving, or is it the sea? or is it all a dance and illusion of the -troubled brain? Yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow, you are in the same -parenthesis of nowhere. The three hundred or more miles the ship daily -makes is ideal, not real. Every night the stars dance and reel there in -the same place amid the rigging; every morning the sun comes up from -behind the same wave, and staggers slowly across the sinister sky. The -eye becomes a-hunger for form, for permanent lines, for a horizon wall -to lift up and keep off the sky, and give it a sense of room. One -understands why sailors become an imaginative and superstitious race; -it is the reaction from this narrow horizon in which they are -pent,--this ring of fate surrounds and oppresses them. They escape by -invoking the aid of the supernatural. In the sea itself there is far -less to stimulate the imagination than in the varied forms and colors of -the land. How cold, how merciless, how elemental it looks! - -The only things that look familiar at sea are the clouds. These are -messengers from home, and how weary and disconsolate they appear, -stretching out along the horizon, as if looking for a hill or -mountain-top to rest upon,--nothing to hold them up,--a roof without -walls, a span without piers. One gets the impression that they are grown -faint, and must presently, if they reach much farther, fall into the -sea. But when the rain came, it seemed like mockery or irony on the part -of the clouds. Did one vaguely believe, then, that the clouds would -respect the sea, and withhold their needless rain? No, they treated it -as if it were a mill-pond, or a spring-run, too insignificant to make -any exceptions to. - -One bright Sunday, when the surface of the sea was like glass, a long -chain of cloud-mountains lay to the south of us all day, while the rest -of the sky was clear. How they glowed in the strong sunlight, their -summits shining like a bouquet of full moons, and making a broad, white, -or golden path upon the water! They came out of the southwest, an -endless procession of them, and tapered away in the east. They were the -piled, convoluted, indolent clouds of midsummer,--thunder-clouds that -had retired from business; the captains of the storm in easy undress. -All day they filed along there, keeping the ship company. How the eye -reveled in their definite, yet ever-changing, forms! Their under or base -line was as straight and continuous as the rim of the ocean. The -substratum of air upon which they rested was like a uniform layer of -granite rock, invisible, but all-resisting; not one particle of these -vast cloud-mountains, so broken and irregular in their summits, sank -below this aerial granite boundary. The equilibrium of the air is -frequently such that the under-surface of the clouds is like a ceiling. -It is a fair-weather sign, whether upon the sea or upon the land. One -may frequently see it in a mountainous district, when the fog-clouds -settle down, and blot out all the tops of the mountains without one -fleck of vapor going below a given line which runs above every valley, -as uniform as the sea-level. It is probable that in fair weather the -atmosphere always lies in regular strata in this way, and that it is the -displacement and mixing up of these by some unknown cause that produces -storms. - -As the sun neared the horizon these cloud-masses threw great blue -shadows athwart each other, which afforded the eye a new pleasure. - -Late one afternoon the clouds assumed a still more friendly and welcome -shape. A long, purple, irregular range of them rose up from the horizon -in the northwest, exactly stimulating distant mountains. The sun sank -behind them, and threw out great spokes of light as from behind my -native Catskills. Then gradually a low, wooded shore came into view -along their base. It proved to be a fog-bank lying low upon the water, -but it copied exactly, in its forms and outlines, a flat, umbrageous -coast. You could see distinctly where it ended, and where the water -began. I sat long on that side of the ship, and let my willing eyes -deceive themselves. I could not divest myself of the comfortable feeling -inspired by the prospect. It was to the outward sense what dreams and -reveries are to the inward. That blind, instinctive love of the land,--I -did not know how masterful and involuntary the impulse was, till I found -myself warming up toward that phantom coast. The empty void of the sea -was partly filled, if only with a shadow. The inhuman desolation of the -ocean was blotted out for a moment, in that direction at least. What -phantom-huggers we are upon sea or upon land! It made no difference that -I knew this to be a sham coast. I could feel its friendly influence all -the same, even when my back was turned. - -In summer, fog seems to lie upon the Atlantic in great shallow fleeces, -looking, I dare say, like spots of mould or mildew from an elevation of -a few miles. These fog-banks are produced by the deep cold currents -rising to the surface, and coming in contact with the warmer air. One -may see them far in advance, looking so shallow that it seems as if the -great steamer must carry her head above them. But she does not quite do -it. When she enters this obscurity, there begins the hoarse bellowing of -her great whistle. As one dozes in his berth or sits in the cabin -reading, there comes a vague impression that we are entering some port -or harbor, the sound is so welcome, and is so suggestive of the -proximity of other vessels. But only once did our loud and repeated -hallooing awaken any response. Everybody heard the answering whistle out -of the thick obscurity ahead, and was on the alert. Our steamer -instantly slowed her engines and redoubled her tootings. The two vessels -soon got the bearing of each other, and the stranger passed us on the -starboard side, the hoarse voice of her whistle alone revealing her -course to us. - -Late one afternoon, as we neared the Banks, the word spread on deck that -the knobs and pinnacles of a thunder-cloud sunk below the horizon, and -that deeply and sharply notched the western rim of the sea, were -icebergs. The captain was quoted as authority. He probably encouraged -the delusion. The jaded passengers wanted a new sensation. Everybody was -willing, even anxious, to believe them icebergs, and some persons would -have them so, and listened coldly and reluctantly to any proof to the -contrary. What we want to believe, what it suits our convenience, or -pleasure, or prejudice, to believe, one need not go to sea to learn what -slender logic will incline us to believe. To a firm, steady gaze, these -icebergs were seen to be momently changing their forms, new chasms -opening, new pinnacles rising: but these appearances were easily -accounted for by the credulous; the ice mountains were rolling over, or -splitting asunder. One of the rarest things in the average cultivated -man or woman is the capacity to receive and weigh evidence touching any -natural phenomenon, especially at sea. If the captain had deliberately -said that the shifting forms there on the horizon were only a school of -whales playing at leap-frog, all the women and half the men among the -passengers would have believed him. - -In going to England in early May, we encountered the fine weather, the -warmth and the sunshine as of June, that had been "central" over the -British Islands for a week or more, five or six hundred miles from -shore. We had come up from lower latitudes, and it was as if we had -ascended a hill and found summer at the top, while a cold, backward -spring yet lingered in the valley. But on our return in early August, -the positions of spring and summer were reversed. Scotland was cold and -rainy, and for several days at sea you could in the distance hardly tell -the sea from the sky, all was so gray and misty. In mid-Atlantic we ran -into the American climate. The great continent, basking there in the -western sun, and glowing with midsummer heat, made itself felt to the -centre of this briny void. The sea detached itself sharply from the sky, -and became like a shield of burnished steel, which the sky surrounded -like a dome of glass. For four successive nights the sun sank clear in -the wave, sometimes seeming to melt and mingle with the ocean. One night -a bank of mist seemed to impede his setting. He lingered a long while -partly buried in it, then slowly disappeared as through a slit in the -vapor, which glowed red-hot, a mere line of fire, for some moments -afterward. - -As we neared home the heat became severe. We were going down the hill -into a fiery valley. Vast stretches of the sea were like glass bending -above the long, slow heaving of the primal ocean. Swordfish lay basking -here and there on the surface, too lazy to get out of the way of the -ship:-- - - "The air was calm, and on the level brine - Sleek Panope with all her sisters played." - -Occasionally a whale would blow, or show his glistening back, attracting -a crowd to the railing. One morning a whale plunged spitefully through -the track of the ship but a few hundred yards away. - -But the prettiest sight in the way of animated nature was the shoals of -dolphins occasionally seen during these brilliant torrid days, leaping -and sporting, and apparently racing with the vessel. They would leap in -pairs from the glassy surface of one swell of the steamer across the -polished chasm into the next swell, frisking their tails and doing their -best not to be beaten. They were like fawns or young kine sporting in a -summer meadow. It was the only touch of mirth, or youth and jollity, I -saw in the grim sea. Savagery and desolation make up the prevailing -expression here. The sea-fowls have weird and disconsolate cries, and -appear doomed to perpetual solitude. But these dolphins know what -companionship is, and are in their own demesne. When one sees them -bursting out of the waves, the impression is that school is just out; -there come the boys, skipping and laughing, and, seeing us just passing, -cry to one another: "Now for a race! Hurrah, boys! We can beat 'em!" - -One notices any change in the course of the ship by the stars at night. -For nearly a week Venus sank nightly into the sea far to the north of -us. Our course coming home is south-southwest. Then, one night, as you -promenade the deck, you see, with a keen pleasure, Venus through the -rigging dead ahead. The good ship has turned the corner; she has scented -New York harbor, and is making straight for it, with New England far -away there on her right. Now sails and smoke-funnels begin to appear. -All ocean paths converge here: full-rigged ships, piled with canvas, are -passed, rocking idly upon the polished surface; sails are seen just -dropping below the horizon, phantom ships without hulls, while here and -there the black smoke of some steamer tarnishes the sky. Now we pass -steamers that left New York but yesterday; the City of Rome--looking, -with her three smoke-stacks and her long hull, like two steamers -together--creeps along the southern horizon, just ready to vanish behind -it. Now she stands in the reflected light of a great white cloud which -makes a bright track upon the water like the full moon. Then she slides -on into the dim and even dimmer distance, and we slide on over the -tropic sea, and, by a splendid run, just catch the tide at the moment of -its full, early the next morning, and pass the bar off Sandy Hook -without a moment of time or an inch of water to spare. - - - - -INDEX - - - Alloway, 8, 133-134, 160. - - Anemone. _See_ Rue-anemone. - - Angler, an English, 83-85. - - Anglo-Saxon, the, 45. - - Annan, 72. - - Annan bridge, 68, 69. - - Ants, 178-181. - - Arbutus, trailing, 164, 172, 173. - - Arethusa, 172. - - Argyll, Duke of, on the comparative merits of British and - American song-birds, 113-116, 119. - - Arnold, Matthew, quotations from, 78, 169, 212. - - Arthur's Seat, 48, 49. - - Ash, 19. - - Asters, 196. - - Audubon, John James, 123, 124. - - Avon, the Scottish river, 39. - - Ayr, 46. - - Azaleas, 173. - - - Barrington, Dames, 119, 126, 138. - - Bean, horse _or_ Winchester, 169. - - Bear, black (_Ursus americanus_), 186. - - Bee. _See_ Bumblebee _and_ Honey-bee. - - Beech, European, 18, 19, 40, 41, 97. - - Beetle, ants and, 179, 180. - - Beetle, Colorado, 194. - - Ben Lomond, 24. - - Ben Nevis, 25. - - Ben Venue, 23, 24, 155. - - Birds, blue not a common color among British, 93; - voices of British, 105, 142; - source of the charm of their songs, 113; - the Duke of Argyll on the comparative merits of British and - American song-birds, 113-116; - the American bird-choir larger and embracing more good - songsters than the British, 119-129; - British more familiar, prolific, and abundant than American, - 125, 126; - superior vivacity and strength of voice in British, 126; - hours and seasons of singing of British and American, 126, - 127, 143; - superior sweetness, tenderness, and melody in the songs of - American, 128, 143-145; - the two classes of British song-birds, 142, 143; - certain localities favored by, 144; - British more prolific than American, 189, 190; - warm and compact nests of British, 190; - abundance of British, 190-192. - - Blackberry, 18, 52, 168. - - Blackbird, European, song of, 86, 90, 105, 114, 129, 136, 139, - 145; - nest of, 66. - - Blackbird, red-winged. _See_ Starling, red-shouldered. - - Blackcap, _or_ black-capped warbler, 87, 92; - song of, 105, 115, 123, 129, 137, 140. - - Bloodroot, 172. - - Bluebell. _See_ Hyacinth, wild. - - Bluebird (_Sialia sialis_), notes of, 120, 123, 129. - - Blue-bonnet, 189. - - Blue-weed, _or_ viper's bugloss, 168, 171. - - Bobolink (_Dolichonyx oryzivorus_), song of, 118, 120, 123, - 125, 129. - - Bob-white. _See_ Quail. - - Bouncing Bet, 171. - - Boys, at Ecclefechan, 64-66; - a Godalming boy, 92-95. - - Bridges, arched, 68, 69. - - Brig o' Doon, 26. - - Britain. _See_ Great Britain. - - Bryant, William Cullen, as a poet of the woods, 43. - - Bugloss, viper's. _See_ Blue-weed. - - Building-stone, softness of British, 26. - - Bullfinch, notes of, 129. - - Bumblebee, 17-19, 195. - - Bunting, indigo. _See_ Indigo-bird. - - Burns, Robert, the Scotch love of, 48; - quotation from, 135, 225. - - Buttercup, 16, 165, 196. - - - Calopogon, 172. - - Campion, bladder, 171. - - Canterbury, 10, 11; - the cathedral of, 11-13. - - Cardinal. _See_ Grosbeak, cardinal. - - Carlyle, James, father of Thomas Carlyle, 55, 59, 60, 69-71, - 73. - - Carlyle, Mrs. James, 55, 61. - - Carlyle, Jane Baillie Welsh, 221-223. - - Carlyle, Thomas, quotations from, 25, 49, 50, 58, 60, 61, 71, - 73, 75, 204, 206-209, 211, 215-217, 219, 223-226, 228-232, - 234, 236-238, 240, 241, 246-248, 251, 254-259, 266; - residences of, 49-51, 54, 55; - the grave of, 56, 57; - at the graves of his father and mother, 57, 58; - his reverence and affection for his kindred, 58; - his family traits, 58, 59; - his love of Scotland, 59, 60; - his affection for his mother, 61; - an old road-mender's opinion of, 67; - his style, 71, 75; - his connection with Irving, 72; - an indomitable worker, 73-75; - his house in Chelsea, 199, 200; - a call on, 200-202; - on Scott, 201, 202; - his correspondence with Emerson, 203, 204, 208-210; - his friendship with Emerson, 203, 204; - compared and contrasted with Emerson, 203-210, 212; - his magnanimous wrathfulness, 203, 204; - a man of action, 207; - a regal and dominating man, 211, 212; - as an historical writer, 213, 214; - his power of characterization, 214, 215; - his vocabulary of vituperation, 216, 217; - not a philosopher, 217, 218; - his struggle against odds, 218-220; - his unselfishness, 220, 221; - his relations with his wife, 221-223; - his passion for heroes, 223-226, 232-234; - his glorification of the individual will, 226; - his earnestness, 227; - a master portrait-painter, 228-232; - the value he set on painted portraits, 232; - his hatred of democracy, 232-251; - his large capital of faith, 251-253; - his religious belief, 251-257; - his attitude of renunciation, 255, 256; - his search for the truth, 256, 257; - his egoism, 258; - value of his teaching, 258-266; - his isolation of soul, 262-264; - his mission, 265; - his _Oliver Cromwell_, 211, 212; - his _Frederick the Great_, 211-217, 242. - - Carlyle family, the, 56-61, 67, 70, 71. - - Catbird (_Galeoscoptes carolinensis_), notes of, 117, 120, - 125, 129. - - Cathedrals, Canterbury, 11-13; - images in, 15; - soil collected on the walls of, 21; - Rochester, 21; - St. Paul's, 182. - - Catskill Mountains, contrasted with the mountains of Scotland, - 7; - scenery in, 38; - the valleys of, 149. - - Cattle, of the Scotch Highlands, 25. - - Cedar-bird, _or_ cedar waxwing (_Ampelis cedrorum_), notes of, - 115. - - Celandine, 172. - - Celts, the, 45. - - Chaffinch, or shilfa, 133, 134, 191; - song of, 79, 90, 95, 129, 133, 134; - nest of, 65, 190. - - Chat, yellow-breasted (_Icteria virens_), 117; - song of, 117, 120, 125. - - Chewink, _or_ towhee (_Pipilo erythrophthalmus_), notes of, - 118, 120, 125, 129. - - Chickadee (_Parus atricapillus_), notes of, 129. - - Chiffchaff, notes of, 95, 143. - - Chipmunk (_Tamias striatus_), 195. - - Chippie. _See_ Sparrow, social. - - Cicada, _or_ harvest-fly, 194, 195. - - Cinquefoil, 17. - - Claytonia, _or_ spring beauty, 164, 172. - - Clematis, wild, 17. - - Clouds, in England, 107; - at sea, 269-273. - - Clover (_Trifolium incarnatum_), 93, 169. - - Clover, red, 16, 52. - - Clover, white, 16, 17, 165. - - Clover, yellow, 16. - - Clyde, the, sailing up, 2-7. - - Cockscomb, 160. - - Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, quotation from, 166, 167, 228. - - Coltsfoot, 170. - - Columbine, 38, 173. - - Commons, in England, 104. - - Convolvulus, 19. - - Copses, in England, 82. - - Cormorants, 189. - - Corn-crake, notes of, 132. - - Cow-bunting, _or_ cowbird (_Molothrus ater_), notes of, 125. - - Cranesbill, 53. - - Creeper, European brown, 189. - - Crow, carrion, 193. - - Cuckoo (_Coccyzus_ sp.), notes of, 127. - - Cuckoo, European, 65; - notes of, 77, 78, 95, 123, 138, 148. - - Curlew, European, 107; - notes of, 141. - - - Daffodils, 165, 172. - - Daisy, English, 52, 159, 160, 196. - - Daisy, ox-eye, 160, 165, 196. - - Dalibarda, 164. - - Dandelion, 16, 165. - - Danton, Georges Jacques, 229. - - Darwin, Charles, 31, 32. - - Dead-nettle, 161. - - Democracy, Carlyle's opinion of, 232-251. - - De Quincey, Thomas, 230. - - Desmoulins, Camille, 229. - - Devil's Punch-Bowl, the, 88. - - Dicentra, 38, 164, 172. - - Dickens, Charles, 231. - - Dock, sorrel (_Rumex acetosa_), 170. - - Docks, 171. - - Dog-fish, 188. - - Dolphins, 274, 275. - - Doon, the, 46, 132, 134, 161, 162. - - Dover, the cliffs of, 13, 14. - - Ducks, wild, 186. - - - Eagle, 187, 188. - - Earthworm, as a cultivator of the soil, 31, 32. - - Easing, 94, 103. - - Ecclefechan, 39; - the journey from Edinburgh to, 49-55; - in the village and churchyard of, 55-58, 61-64; - birds'-nesting boys of, 64-66; - walks about, 67-72; - the "dogfight," 67. - - Edinburgh, 48, 49, 178. - - Edward, Thomas, 187, 188. - - Elder, English, 10. - - Elecampane, 171. - - Elm, English, 19, 97. - - Emerson, Ralph Waldo, as a poet of the woods, 43, 44; - quotations from, 43, 44, 102, 176, 210, 213, 214, 218, 221; - statement on fields, 53; - his friendship with Carlyle, 203, 204; - compared and contrasted with Carlyle, 203-210, 212; - his correspondence with Carlyle, 203, 204, 208-210, 225. - - England, tour in, 9; - walks in, 9-20; - the green turf of, 20-23, 29, 31, 32; - building-stone of, 26; - humanization of nature in, 27, 28; - repose of the landscape in, 29-34; - foliage in, 29-31; - cultivated fields of, 32, 33; - grazing in, 33; - the climate as a promoter of greenness, 33, 34; - pastoral beauty of, 35, 36; - lack of wild and aboriginal beauty in, 36, 37; - no rocks worth mentioning in, 37; - woods in, 38-43; - plowing in, 53, 54; - country houses and village houses in, 62, 63; - haying in, 80, 108, 109, 153; - a farm and a farmer in the south of, 77, 80, 81; - sunken roads of, 94, 95; - inns of, 96, 97, 100-103; - sturdiness and picturesqueness of the trees in, 97; - commons in, 104; - weather of, 106, 107; - the bird-songs of, compared with those of New York and New - England, 113-129; - impressions of some birds of, 131-145; - stillness at twilight in, 194, 195. - _See_ Great Britain. - - English, the, contrasted with the Scotch, 45; - a prolific people, 176-178. - - Europe, animals and plants of, more versatile and dominating - than those of America, 184-186. - - - Farming in the south of England, 80, 81. - - Fells, in the north of England, 158. - - Fern, maiden-hair, 173. - - Fieldfare, 186. - - Finch, purple (_Carpodacus purpureus_), song of, 118, 120, - 123, 129. - - Finches, songs of, 122, 123. - - Fir, Scotch, 39. - - Flicker. _See_ High-hole. - - Flowers, wild, American more shy and retiring than British, - 163, 164, 196; - species fewer but individuals more abundant in Great Britain - than in America, 165; - effect of latitude on the size and color of, 168; - effect of proximity to the sea on, 168, 169; - British less beautiful but more abundant and noticeable than - American, 172, 173; - British and American sweet-scented, 173; - abundance of British, 196. - - Flycatcher, British, 121, 189. - - Flycatcher, great crested (_Myiarchus crinitus_), notes of, - 118, 121. - - Flycatcher, little green or green-crested (_Empidonax - virescens_), notes of, 121. - - Fog, at sea, 271, 272. - - Foliage, in England and America, 29-31. - _See_ Trees. - - Footpath, an English, 89, 90. - - Forget-me-not, 196. - - Fox, European red, 187, 188. - - Foxglove, 90, 133, 148, 165; - a beautiful and conspicuous flower, 166; - in poetry, 166, 167, 196. - - Frederick the Great, 242. - - Frogs, 194. - - Froude, James Anthony, his _Thomas Carlyle_, 258, 259. - - Furze, _or_ whin, 169, 170. - - - Gannets, 189. - - Garlic, hedge, 172. - - Geranium, wild, 168. - - Gillyflower, 162. - - Glasgow, 2, 8, 9, 46, 47, 72. - - Globe-flower, 162. - - Goat Fell, 6. - - Godalming, 89, 91, 92, 101, 102. - - Goethe, 225, 227. - - Goldenrod, 18, 196. - - Goldfinch, American (_Spinus tristis_), notes of, 118, 120, - 122, 123, 129. - - Goldfinch, European, 140; - song of, 122, 129, 140. - - Goose, solan, 189. - - Grasmere, 148-151. - - Grasshoppers, 194. - - Graves, "extinct," 70, 71. - - Great Britain, wild flowers of, 159-174, 196; - species less numerous than in America but individuals more - abundant, 164, 165; - weeds in, 170, 171; - prolific life of, 175-197. - _See_ England, Scotland, _and_ Wales. - - Greenfinch, _or_ green linnet, 140; - notes of, 18, 86, 129, 140. - - Greenock, Scotland, 3, 4. - - Grosbeak, blue (_Guiraca coerulea_), song of, 123. - - Grosbeak, cardinal, _or_ cardinal (_Cardinalis cardinalis_), - song of, 92, 123. - - Grosbeak, rose-breasted (_Habia ludoviciana_), notes of, 118, - 120, 123, 129, 144, 145. - - Grote, George, 231. - - Ground-chestnut. _See_ Pig-nut. - - Grouse, 186. - - Grouse, ruffed (_Bonasa umbellus_), 39. - - Gudgeon, 94. - - Gulls, European, 175, 186, 189. - - - Haggard falcon, 14. - - Hairbird. _See_ Sparrow, social. - - Hamilton, Duke of, his parks, 39, 40, 193. - - Hanger, the, 40, 41, 104. - - Harbledown hill, 11, 12. - - Hare, European, 23, 188, 194. - - Harebell, 168. - - Harvest-fly. _See_ Cicada. - - Hawk, 186. - - Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 44. - - Haymaking in England, 80, 108, 109, 153. - - Hazlemere, 89. - - Heather, 170. - - Hedgehog, 19. - - Hedge-sparrow, 65; - notes of, 129; - nest of, 65. - - Hellebore, green, 172. - - Helvellyn, 153-156. - - Hepatica, 172. - - Herb Robert, 18, 163. - - Herring, on the coast of Scotland, 188, 189. - - High-hole, _or_ flicker (_Colaptes auratus_), notes of, 118, 120. - - Hitchin, 109, 110. - - Honey-bee, 185. - - Honeysuckle, wild, 90. - - House-martin, _or_ martlet, _or_ window-swallow, 142; - notes of, 142; - nest of, 69, 142. - - Hummingbird, ruby-throated (_Trochilus colubris_), notes of, - 115. - - Hunt, Leigh, 230. - - Hyacinth, wild, _or_ bluebell, 163, 172, 196. - - Hyla, 194. - - - Indigo-bird, _or_ indigo bunting (_Passerina cyanea_), song - of, 120, 123, 127, 129. - - Inns, English, 96, 97, 100-103. - - Insects, music of, 194, 195. - - Ireland, the peat of, 1. - - Irving, Edward, 72, 227. - - - Jackdaw, 12, 186; - notes of, 142. - - Jay, British, 93, 98; - notes of, 142. - - Jewel-weed, 173. - - Johnson, Samuel, 225. - - Junco, slate-colored. _See_ Snowbird. - - - Katydids, 194. - - Keats, John, quotations from, 111, 166. - - Kent, walks in, 9-14. - - Kingbird (_Tyrannus tyrannus_), notes of, 118, 121, 127. - - Kinglet, European golden-crested, _or_ golden-crested wren, - 121, 189; - song of, 140. - - Kinglet, golden-crowned, _or_ golden-crowned wren (_Regulus - satrapa_), song of, 121. - - Kinglet, ruby-crowned (_Regulus calendula_), 122; - song of, 121, 122. - - - Lady's-slipper, 172. - - Lake district, the, 148-158. - - Lake Mohunk, 37. - - Lamb, Charles, 228. - - Lapwing, or pewit, 141; - cry of, 107. - - Lark. _See_ Skylark _and_ Wood-lark. - - Lark, grasshopper, notes of, 127. - - Leechmere bottom, 103-105. - - Lichens, in America and in England, 36, 37. - - Linnet, English, song of, 122, 123, 129. - - Linnet, green. _See_ Greenfinch. - - Liphook, 106, 107. - - Live-for-ever, 171. - - Lockerbie, 52. - - London, streets above streets in, 178; - overflowing life of, 181, 182; - a domestic city, 182, 183. - - Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 44. - - Loosestrife, purple, 168. - - - Maidstone, 10. - - Mainhill, 54, 55. - - Maple, European, 30, 31, 173. - - Marigold, corn, 173. - - Martin, purple (_Progne subis_), 125; - notes of, 129. - - Martlet. _See_ House-martin. - - Mavis. _See_ Thrush, song. - - Meadowlark (_Sturnella magna_), notes of, 118, 120, 129. - - Meadow-sweet, 17, 169. - - Medeola, 164. - - Midges, 98. - - Mill, John Stuart, 229, 230. - - Milton, John, quotations from, 42. - - Mirabeau, Comte de, 228, 229. - - Mockingbird (_Mimus polyglottos_), song of, 127-129. - - Moschatel, 172. - - Mountains, of Scotland, 6, 7, 21-25; - of the Lake district, 153-158. - - Mouse, European field, 186. - - Mullein, 171. - - Mustard, wild, 171. - - - Nettle, 18, 20, 160, 161. - - Nettle, Canada, 161. - - Newt, red, 39. - - Nightingale, a glimpse of, 99; - at the head of a series of British song-birds, 142, 143; - notes of, 77-79, 87, 89, 92, 96, 99, 102, 110, 111, 114, - 116, 123, 124, 128, 129, 140, 145. - - Nightjar, notes of, 84. - - Nuthatch, European, 140, 189. - - - Oak, English, 19, 97. - - Ocean, the, voyage across, 267-269; - clouds, 269-273; - fog, 271, 272; - the weather, 273, 274; - animal life, 274, 275; - the end of the voyage, 275, 276. - - Orchids, purple, 168. - - Oriole, Baltimore (_Icterus galbula_), notes of, 118, 120, - 125, 129. - - Oriole, orchard, _or_ orchard starling (_Icterus spurius_), - song of, 120, 125. - - Otter, 187. - - Ousel, ringed, 24. - - Ousel, water, 149, 150. - - Oven-bird. _See_ Wagtail, wood. - - Owl, 188. - - - Pansy, wild, 65. - - Partridge, European, 186; - nest of, 186. - - Peat, 1. - - Pewee, wood (_Contopus virens_), notes of, 39, 121. - - Pewit. _See_ Lapwing. - - Phoebe-bird (_Sayornis phoebe_), notes of, 121. - - Pig-nut, _or_ ground-chestnut, 162, 163. - - Pine, white, 173. - - Pipit, American, _or_ titlark (_Anthus pensilvanicus_), song - of, 129. - - Pipit, meadow, nest and eggs of, 162, 189. - - Pipit, mountain, 24. - - Plane-tree, European, 30. - - Plantain, 19. - - Plantain, narrow-leaved, 16, 17. - - Plato, 225, 226. - - Plowing, in England and Scotland, 53, 54. - - Polecat, 187. - - Polecat Hill, 88. - - Pond-lily, European white, 173. - - Poppy, 52, 165, 173, 196. - - Primrose, 172, 196. - - Privet, 19. - - Prunella, 16, 17, 53, 168. - - - Quail, _or_ bob-white (_Colinus virginianus_), 190. - - - Rabbit, European, 187, 193, 194. - - Railway-trains, the view from, 51. - - Rats, 187. - - Redbreast. _See_ Robin redbreast. - - Redstart, American (_Setophaga ruticilla_), song of, 129. - - Redstart, European, notes of, 129. - - Reed-sparrow, song of, 129. - - Repentance Hill, 67, 68. - - Road-mender, an old, 67. - - Robin, American (_Merula migratoria_), song of, 114, 120, 129, - 136. - - Robin redbreast, 189; - song of, 90, 98, 105, 123, 127, 129, 139, 145; - nest of, 65. - - Rochester Castle, 21, 191. - - Rochester Cathedral, 21. - - Rogers, Samuel, 231. - - Rook, 191, 192; - notes of, 142; - nest of, 192. - - Rook-pie, 191, 192. - - Rose, wild, 17. - - Rothay, the river, 149, 150. - - Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 229. - - Rue-anemone, 172. - - _Rumex acetosa_, 170. - - Rydal Mount, 41. - - - St. John's-wort, 19. - - St. Paul's Cathedral, 182. - - Salisbury Crags, 48, 49. - - Salmon, 188. - - Sandpiper, European, notes of, 40, 115, 141. - - Sandpiper, spotted (_Actitis macularia_), notes of, 115, 120. - - Scotch, the, contrasted with the English, 45; - acquaintances among, 46, 47; - a trait of, 47, 48; - their love for Burns, 48. - - Scotland, first sight of, 2-7; - mountains of, 6, 7, 21-25; - tour through, 8; - moorlands of, 25; - streams and lakes of, 25, 26; - plowing in, 53, 54; - work of women and girls in the fields in, 54; - country houses and village houses in, 62, 63; - free use of paint in, 69, 70. - _See_ Great Britain. - - Scotsbrig, 62. - - Scott, Sir Walter, Carlyle on, 201, 202, 225. - - Sea. _See_ Ocean. - - Sedge-warbler, song of, 85. - - Selbourne, 40, 103-105, 108, 109. - - Shackerford, 94-102. - - Shakespeare, quotations from, 42, 69, 78, 147, 161-164, 184; - and other authors, 147, 210, 212. - - Shakespeare's Cliff, 14. - - Shawangunk Mountains, 37. - - Shilfa. _See_ Chaffinch. - - Ship-building on the Clyde, 4-6. - - Shottery, the fields about, 16, 17. - - Skylark, 80; - in America, 116; - at the head of a series of British song-birds, 142, 143; - song of, 4, 11, 18, 86, 114, 116, 118, 119, 126, 129, 132. - - Snails, ants and snail, 180, 181; - abundance of, in England, 195, 196. - - Snowbird, _or_ slate-colored junco (_Junco hyemalis_), song - of, 125. - - Solomon's-seal, 18. - - Sorrel, sheep, 170. _See_ Dock. - - Southey, Robert, 231. - - Sparrow, bush _or_ wood _or_ field (_Spizella pusilla_), song - of, 118, 120, 121, 127, 129, 143. - - Sparrow, English (_Passer domesticus_), 185; - Carlyle on, 201. - - Sparrow, fox (_Passerella iliaca_), song of, 121, 129. - - Sparrow, savanna (_Ammodramus sandwichensis savanna_), notes - of, 118, 129. - - Sparrow, social _or_ chipping, _or_ hair-bird, _or_ chippie - (_Spizella socialis_), song of, 120, 127. - - Sparrow, song (_Melospiza fasciata_), notes of, 118, 120, 129, - 143. - - Sparrow, swamp (_Melospiza georgiana_), song of, 120. - - Sparrow, vesper (_Poöcoetes gramineus_), song of, 120, 129. - - Sparrow, white-crowned (_Zonotrichia leucophrys_), song of, - 121. - - Sparrow, white-throated (_Zonotrichia albicollis_), song of, - 121. - - Sparrows, songs of, 120, 121. - - Speedwell, blue, 160, 167, 196. - - Spring beauty. _See_ Claytonia. - - Spurge, wood, 172. - - Squirrel, European, 195. - - Squirrel, flying (_Sciuropterus volans_), 186, 195. - - Squirrel, gray (_Sciurus carolinensis_ var. _leucotis_), 39, - 195. - - Squirrel, red (_Sciurus hudsonicus_), 195. - - Starling, European, 191; - nest of, 191. - - Starling, orchard. _See_ Oriole, orchard. - - Starling, red-shouldered, _or_ red-winged blackbird (_Agelaius - phoeniceus_), notes of, 118, 120. - - Stone. _See_ Building-stone. - - Stork, nest of, 187. - - Stratford-on-Avon, 15, 17, 19, 26, 169. - - Strawberry, wild, 164. - - Succory, 168. - - Swallow, barn (_Chelidon erythrogaster_), 2. - - Swallow, chimney, _or_ chimney swift (_Chætura pelagica_), - 190; - notes of, 125, 142; - nest of, 186. - - Swallow, cliff (_Petrochelidon lunifrons_), nests of, 178, - 186. - - Swallow, European chimney, 2, 142; - notes of, 2; - nest of, 2, 142. - - Swallow, window. _See_ House-martin. - - Swift, chimney. _See_ Swallow, chimney. - - Swift, European, notes of, 142; - nest of, 2, 191. - - Swordfish, 274. - - - Tanager, scarlet (_Piranga erythromelas_), song of, 118, 120, - 123, 127, 129. - - Tarns, 153-155. - - Teasel, 19. - - Tennyson, Alfred, quotations from, 30, 160, 163, 166, 167; - residences, 43, 81, 103; - Carlyle's portrait of, 230, 231. - - Thames, up the, 15. - - Thistle, Scotch, 20, 171. - - Thoreau, Henry D., 44. - - Thrasher, brown (_Harporhynchus rufus_), notes of, 117, 120, - 125, 129; - nest of, 117. - - Throstle. _See_ Thrush, song. - - Thrush, hermit (_Turdus aonalaschkæ pallasii_), 120; - song of, 123, 128, 129. - - Thrush, missel, song of, 114, 129. - - Thrush, song, _or_ mavis, _or_ throstle, song of, 98, 105, - 114, 129, 134-136, 139, 145. - - Thrush, Wilson's. _See_ Veery. - - Thrush, olive-backed or Swainson's (_Turdus ustulatus - swainsonii_), song of, 145. - - Thrush, wood (_Turdus mustelinus_), notes of, 80, 118, 120, - 123, 127, 129, 144, 145; - nest of, 79, 80. - - Timothy grass, 169. - - Tit, great. _See_ Titmouse, great. - - Tit, marsh, 189. - - Titlark. _See_ Pipit, American. - - Titlark, European, notes of, 129. - - Titmouse, great, _or_ great tit, 189; - notes of, 129. - - Titmouse, long-tailed, 189. - - Toad, 194. - - Tomtit, nest of, 65. - - Towhee. _See_ Chewink. - - Tree-cricket, 194. - - Trees, sturdiness and picturesqueness of English, 97. - _See_ Foliage. - - Trillium, painted, 172. - - Trilliums, 164. - - Trosachs, the, 178. - - Trout, British, 84. - - Turf, of England and Scotland, 20-26, 29, 31, 32. - - - Ulleswater, 153-155. - - Uvularia, 164. - - - Valleys, 149. - - Veery, _or_ Wilson's thrush (_Turdus fuscescens_), 120; - song of, 128, 144, 145. - - Vervain, 168. - - Vetches, 196. - - Violet, bird's-foot, 173. - - Violet, yellow, 164. - - Vireo, brotherly love _or_ Philadelphia (_Vireo philadelphicus_), - song of, 129. - - Vireo, red-eyed (_Vireo olivaceus_), song of, 118, 120, 122, - 127, 129, 143. - - Vireo, solitary _or_ blue-headed (_Vireo solitarius_), 120, - 122; - song of, 129. - - Vireo, warbling (_Vireo gilvus_), song of, 122, 143. - - Vireo, white-eyed (_Vireo noveboracensis_), 122; - song of, 120, 122, 129. - - Vireo, yellow-throated (_Vireo flavifrons_), notes of, 129. - - Vireos, songs of, 122, 128. - - Virgil, quotation from, 79. - - - Wagtail, water. _See_ Water-thrush, large-billed. - - Wagtail, wood, _or_ golden-crowned thrush, _or_ golden-crowned - accentor, _or_ oven-bird (_Seiurus aurocapillus_), song - of, 124, 125, 127-129. - - Wales, rock scenery in, 37. - - Warbler, black-capped. _See_ Blackcap. - - Warbler, black-throated green (_Dendroica virens_), song of, - 129. - - Warbler, Canada (_Sylvania canadensis_), song of, 129. - - Warbler, garden, 141; - song of, 105, 115, 123. - - Warbler, hooded (_Sylvania mitrata_), song of, 129. - - Warbler, Kentucky (_Geothlypis formosa_), song of, 123. - - Warbler, mourning (_Geothlypis philadelphia_), song of, 129. - - Warbler, reed, notes of, 116. - - Warbler, willow, _or_ willow-wren, song of, 129, 136, 137; - nest and eggs of, 66, 137, 189, 190. - - Warbler, yellow. _See_ Yellowbird, summer. - - Water-lily. _See_ Pond-lily. - - Water-plantain, 168. - - Water-thrush, large-billed _or_ Louisiana, _or_ water wagtail - (_Seiurus motacilla_), 124; - song of, 123-125, 129. - - Waxwing, cedar. _See_ Cedar-bird. - - Weasel, 19, 187. - - Webster, Daniel, 231. - - Weeds, in Great Britain and in America, 170, 171. - - Westmoreland, 148-158. - - Whale, 274. - - Wheat-ear, 24, 156. - - Whin. _See_ Furze. - - White, Gilbert, 78, 85, 89, 119-122, 127, 137. - - Whitethroat, song of, 86, 95, 105, 115, 123, 129, 137. - - Wolf, 185, 186. - - Wolmer Forest, 40, 107. - - Woodbine, 38. - - Woodcock, European, 186. - - Wood-frog, 39. - - Wood-lark, 87, 92, 140; - song of, 125, 127, 129. - - Wood-pigeon, notes of, 86, 98. - - Woodruff, 163. - - Woods, of America, 38; - of England, 38-43; - in poetry, 42-44. - - Wordsworth, William, 43; - quotations from, 110, 119, 151, 152, 157, 160, 165, 167; - the poet of those who love solitude, 147; - his house at Grasmere, 151; - his attitude toward nature, 151, 152; - his lonely heart, 157. - - Wren, British house, _or_ Jenny Wren, 66; - notes of, 18, 40, 86, 116, 121, 127, 129, 138; - nest of, 86, 189, 190. - - Wren, European golden-crested. _See_ Kinglet, European - golden-crested. - - Wren, golden-crowned. _See_ Kinglet, golden-crowned. - - Wren, house (_Troglodytes aëdon_), song of, 120, 121, 129. - - Wren, long-billed marsh (_Cistothorus palustris_), song of, - 120, 121. - - Wren, willow. _See_ Warbler, willow. - - Wren, winter (_Troglodytes hiemalis_), 121; - song of, 121, 128, 129, 144, 145. - - Wrens, songs of, 121. - - Wryneck, 189. - - - Yarrow, 17, 52. - - Yellowbird, summer, _or_ yellow warbler (_Dendroica æstiva_), - song of, 120, 129. - - Yellow-hammer, _or_ yellow yite, notes of, 16, 18, 127, 129, - 140, 143; - nest of, 65. - - Yellow-throat, Maryland (_Geothlypis trichas_), song of, 118, - 120, 129. - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been left as in the -original. - -The following corrections have been made to the text: - - Page 83: conscious of the train that passed[original has - "paased"] - - Page 103: continue my walk back to Godalming[original has - "Goldalming"] - - Page 204: far enough from Carlyle's sorrowing[original has - "sorowing"] denunciations - - Page 215: he calls the Dauphiness, is unforgettable[original - has "unforgetable"] - - Page 220: pillar of penitence or martyrdom[original has - "martydom"] - - Page 230: great composure in an inarticulate[original has - "inartlculate"] element - - Page 278, under "Carlyle, Thomas": residences of[subentry - title added by transcriber], 49-51, 54, 55 - - Page 279, under "Emerson, Ralph Waldo": statement on - fields[subentry title added by transcriber], 53 - - Page 282, under "Shakespeare": and other authors[subentry - title added by transcriber], 147, 210, 212. - - Page 283, under "Tennyson, Alfred": residences[subentry title - added by transcriber], 43, 81, 103 - -The following index entries have been changed to reflect the spelling -used in the main text: - - Page 277: Bloodroot[original has "Blood-root"], 172. - - Page 278: Cranesbill[original has "Crane's-bill"], 53. - - Page 280: Goldenrod[original has "Golden-rod"], 18, 196. - - Page 283: Swordfish[original has "Sword-fish"], 274. - - Page 284: Yellow-hammer[original has "Yellowhammer"], or - yellow yite - -Punctuation has been standardized in the Index. - -The following words use an "oe" ligature in the original: - - coerula - phoebe - phoebe-bird/Phoebe-bird - phoeniceus - Poöcoetes - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRESH FIELDS*** - - -******* This file should be named 44127-8.txt or 44127-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/4/1/2/44127 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 - - - - - -Title: Fresh Fields - - -Author: John Burroughs - - - -Release Date: November 8, 2013 [eBook #44127] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRESH FIELDS*** - - -E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist, Lisa Reigel, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/freshfieldsburr00burriala - - -Transcriber's note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -FRESH FIELDS - - - +--------------------------------------------------------------+ - | | - | John Burroughs's Books. | - | | - | FRESH FIELDS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | BIRDS AND POETS, WITH OTHER PAPERS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | PEPACTON, AND OTHER SKETCHES. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | WAKE ROBIN. Illustrated. Revised and enlarged edition. 16mo, | - | gilt top, $1.25; _Riverside Aldine Edition_, 16mo, $1.00 | - | | - | WINTER SUNSHINE. New edition, revised and enlarged. With | - | Frontispiece. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25 | - | | - | SIGNS AND SEASONS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | INDOOR STUDIES. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. | - | | - | RIVERBY. 16mo, $1.25. | - | | - | The set, 9 vols., uniform, $11.25. | - | | - | New _Riverside Edition_. 9 vols. limited to 1000 sets. With | - | etched frontispieces and engraved half titles. Sold in sets | - | only. Cloth, gilt top, $13.50; cloth, paper label, untrimmed,| - | $13.50; half calf, gilt top, $27.00. | - | | - | HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., _Publishers_, | - | BOSTON AND NEW YORK. | - +--------------------------------------------------------------+ - - -FRESH FIELDS - -by - -JOHN BURROUGHS - - - - - - - -Boston and New York -Houghton, Mifflin and Company -The Riverside Press, Cambridge -1896 - -Copyright, 1884, 1895, -By John Burroughs. - -All rights reserved. - -The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. -Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - I. NATURE IN ENGLAND 1 - - II. ENGLISH WOODS: A CONTRAST 35 - - III. IN CARLYLE'S COUNTRY 45 - - IV. A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE 77 - - V. ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SONG-BIRDS 113 - - VI. IMPRESSIONS OF SOME ENGLISH BIRDS 131 - - VII. IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY 147 - - VIII. A GLANCE AT BRITISH WILD FLOWERS 159 - - IX. BRITISH FERTILITY 175 - - X. A SUNDAY IN CHEYNE ROW 199 - - XI. AT SEA 267 - - INDEX 277 - - - - -FRESH FIELDS - - - - -I - -NATURE IN ENGLAND - - -I - -The first whiff we got of transatlantic nature was the peaty breath of -the peasant chimneys of Ireland while we were yet many miles at sea. -What a homelike, fireside smell it was! it seemed to make something long -forgotten stir within one. One recognizes it as a characteristic Old -World odor, it savors so of the soil and of a ripe and mellow antiquity. -I know no other fuel that yields so agreeable a perfume as peat. Unless -the Irishman in one has dwindled to a very small fraction, he will be -pretty sure to dilate his nostrils and feel some dim awakening of memory -on catching the scent of this ancestral fuel. The fat, unctuous -peat,--the pith and marrow of ages of vegetable growth,--how typical it -is of much that lies there before us in the elder world; of the slow -ripenings and accumulations, of extinct life and forms, decayed -civilizations, of ten thousand growths and achievements of the hand and -soul of man, now reduced to their last modicum of fertilizing mould! - -With the breath of the chimney there came presently the chimney swallow, -and dropped much fatigued upon the deck of the steamer. It was a still -more welcome and suggestive token,--the bird of Virgil and of -Theocritus, acquainted with every cottage roof and chimney in Europe, -and with the ruined abbeys and castle walls. Except its lighter-colored -breast, it seemed identical with our barn swallow; its little black cap -appeared pulled down over its eyes in the same manner, and its glossy -steel-blue coat, its forked tail, its infantile feet, and its cheerful -twitter were the same. But its habits are different; for in Europe this -swallow builds in chimneys, and the bird that answers to our chimney -swallow, or swift, builds in crevices in barns and houses. - -We did not suspect we had taken aboard our pilot in the little swallow, -yet so it proved: this light navigator always hails from the port of -bright, warm skies; and the next morning we found ourselves sailing -between shores basking in full summer sunshine. Those who, after ten -days of sorrowing and fasting in the desert of the ocean, have sailed up -the Frith of Clyde, and thence up the Clyde to Glasgow, on the morning -of a perfect mid-May day, the sky all sunshine, the earth all verdure, -know what this experience is; and only those can know it. It takes a -good many foul days in Scotland to breed one fair one; but when the -fair day does come, it is worth the price paid for it. The soul and -sentiment of all fair weather is in it; it is the flowering of the -meteorological influences, the rose on this thorn of rain and mist. -These fair days, I was told, may be quite confidently looked for in May; -we were so fortunate as to experience a series of them, and the day we -entered port was such a one as you would select from a hundred. - -The traveler is in a mood to be pleased after clearing the Atlantic -gulf; the eye in its exuberance is full of caresses and flattery, and -the deck of a steamer is a rare vantage-ground on any occasion of -sight-seeing; it affords just the isolation and elevation needed. Yet -fully discounting these favorable conditions, the fact remains that -Scotch sunshine is bewitching, and that the scenery of the Clyde is -unequaled by any other approach to Europe. It is Europe, abridged and -assorted and passed before you in the space of a few hours,--the -highlands and lochs and castle-crowned crags on the one hand; and the -lowlands, with their parks and farms, their manor halls and matchless -verdure, on the other. The eye is conservative, and loves a look of -permanence and order, of peace and contentment; and these Scotch shores, -with their stone houses, compact masonry, clean fields, grazing herds, -ivied walls, massive foliage, perfect roads, verdant mountains, etc., -fill all the conditions. We pause an hour in front of Greenock, and -then, on the crest of the tide, make our way slowly upward. The -landscape closes around us. We can almost hear the cattle ripping off -the lush grass in the fields. One feels as if he could eat grass -himself. It is pastoral paradise. We can see the daisies and buttercups; -and from above a meadow on the right a part of the song of a skylark -reaches my ear. Indeed, not a little of the charm and novelty of this -part of the voyage was the impression it made as of going afield in an -ocean steamer. We had suddenly passed from a wilderness of waters into a -verdurous, sunlit landscape, where scarcely any water was visible. The -Clyde, soon after you leave Greenock, becomes little more than a large, -deep canal, inclosed between meadow banks, and from the deck of the -great steamer only the most charming rural sights and sounds greet you. -You are at sea amid verdant parks and fields of clover and grain. You -behold farm occupations--sowing, planting, plowing--as from the middle -of the Atlantic. Playful heifers and skipping lambs take the place of -the leaping dolphins and the basking swordfish. The ship steers her way -amid turnip-fields and broad acres of newly planted potatoes. You are -not surprised that she needs piloting. A little tug with a rope at her -bow pulls her first this way and then that, while one at her stern -nudges her right flank and then her left. Presently we come to the -ship-building yards of the Clyde, where rural, pastoral scenes are -strangely mingled with those of quite another sort. "First a cow and -then an iron ship," as one of the voyagers observed. Here a pasture or a -meadow, or a field of wheat or oats, and close beside it, without an -inch of waste or neutral ground between, rise the skeletons of -innumerable ships, like a forest of slender growths of iron, with the -workmen hammering amid it like so many noisy woodpeckers. It is doubtful -if such a scene can be witnessed anywhere else in the world,--an -enormous mechanical, commercial, and architectural interest, alternating -with the quiet and simplicity of inland farms and home occupations. You -could leap from the deck of a half-finished ocean steamer into a field -of waving wheat or Winchester beans. These vast shipyards appear to be -set down here upon the banks of the Clyde without any interference with -the natural surroundings of the place. - -Of the factories and foundries that put this iron in shape you get no -hint; here the ships rise as if they sprouted from the soil, without -waste or litter, but with an incessant din. They stand as thickly as a -row of cattle in stanchions, almost touching each other, and in all -stages of development. Now and then a stall will be vacant, the ship -having just been launched, and others will be standing with flags flying -and timbers greased or soaped, ready to take to the water at the word. -Two such, both large ocean steamers, waited for us to pass. We looked -back, saw the last block or wedge knocked away from one of them, and the -monster ship sauntered down to the water and glided out into the current -in the most gentle, nonchalant way imaginable. I wondered at her slow -pace, and at the grace and composure with which she took to the water; -the problem nicely studied and solved,--just power enough, and not an -ounce to spare. The vessels are launched diagonally up or down stream, -on account of the narrowness of the channel. But to see such a brood of -ships, the largest in the world, hatched upon the banks of such a placid -little river, amid such quiet country scenes, is a novel experience. But -this is Britain,--a little island, with little lakes, little rivers, -quiet, bosky fields, but mighty interests and power that reach round the -world. I was conscious that the same scene at home would have been less -pleasing. It would not have been so compact and tidy. There would not -have been a garden of ships and a garden of turnips side by side; -haymakers and shipbuilders in adjoining fields; milch-cows and iron -steamers seeking the water within sight of each other. We leave wide -margins and ragged edges in this country, and both man and nature sprawl -about at greater lengths than in the Old World. - -For the rest I was perhaps least prepared for the utter tranquillity, -and shall I say domesticity, of the mountains. At a distance they appear -to be covered with a tender green mould that one could brush away with -his hand. On nearer approach it is seen to be grass. They look nearly as -rural and pastoral as the fields. Goat Fell is steep and stony, but even -it does not have a wild and barren look. At home, one thinks of a -mountain as either a vast pile of barren, frowning rocks and precipices, -or else a steep acclivity covered with a tangle of primitive forest -timber. But here, the mountains are high, grassy sheep-walks, smooth, -treeless, rounded, and as green as if dipped in a fountain of perpetual -spring. I did not wish my Catskills any different; but I wondered what -would need to be done to them to make them look like these Scotch -highlands. Cut away their forests, rub down all inequalities in their -surfaces, pulverizing their loose bowlders; turf them over, leaving the -rock to show through here and there,--then, with a few large black -patches to represent the heather, and the softening and ameliorating -effect of a mild, humid climate, they might in time come to bear some -resemblance to these shepherd mountains. Then over all the landscape is -that new look,--that mellow, legendary, half-human expression which -nature wears in these ancestral lands, an expression familiar in -pictures and in literature, but which a native of our side of the -Atlantic has never before seen in gross, material objects and open-air -spaces,--the added charm of the sentiment of time and human history, the -ripening and ameliorating influence of long ages of close and loving -occupation of the soil,--naturally a deep, fertile soil under a mild, -very humid climate. - -There is an unexpected, an unexplained lure and attraction in the -landscape,--a pensive, reminiscent feeling in the air itself. Nature has -grown mellow under these humid skies, as in our fiercer climate she -grows harsh and severe. One sees at once why this fragrant Old World -has so dominated the affections and the imaginations of our artists and -poets: it is saturated with human qualities; it is unctuous with the -ripeness of ages, the very marrowfat of time. - - -II - -I had come to Great Britain less to see the noted sights and places than -to observe the general face of nature. I wanted to steep myself long and -well in that mellow, benign landscape, and put to further tests the -impressions I had got of it during a hasty visit one autumn, eleven -years before. Hence I was mainly intent on roaming about the country, it -mattered little where. Like an attic stored with relics and heirlooms, -there is no place in England where you cannot instantly turn from nature -to scenes and places of deep historical or legendary or artistic -interest. - -My journal of travel is a brief one, and keeps to a few of the main -lines. After spending a couple of days in Glasgow, we went down to -Alloway, in Burns's country, and had our first taste of the beauty and -sweetness of rural Britain, and of the privacy and comfort of a little -Scotch inn. The weather was exceptionally fair, and the mellow Ayrshire -landscape, threaded by the Doon, a perpetual delight. Thence we went -north on a short tour through the Highlands,--up Loch Lomond, down Loch -Katrine, and through the Trosachs to Callander, and thence to Stirling -and Edinburgh. After a few days in the Scotch capital we set out for -Carlyle's country, where we passed five delightful days. The next week -found us in Wordsworth's land, and the 10th of June in London. After a -week here I went down into Surrey and Hants, in quest of the -nightingale, for four or five days. Till the middle of July I hovered -about London, making frequent excursions into the country,--east, south, -north, west, and once across the channel into France, where I had a long -walk over the hills about Boulogne. July 15 we began our return journey -northward, stopping a few days at Stratford, where I found the Red Horse -Inn sadly degenerated from excess of travel. Thence again into the Lake -region for a longer stay. From Grasmere we went into north Wales, and -did the usual touring and sight-seeing around and over the mountains. -The last week of July we were again in Glasgow, from which port we -sailed on our homeward voyage July 29. - -With a suitable companion, I should probably have made many long -pedestrian tours. As it was, I took many short but delightful walks both -in England and Scotland, with a half day's walk in the north of Ireland -about Moville. 'Tis an admirable country to walk in,--the roads are so -dry and smooth and of such easy grade, the footpaths so numerous and so -bold, and the climate so cool and tonic. One night, with a friend, I -walked from Rochester to Maidstone, part of the way in a slow rain and -part of the way in the darkness. We had proposed to put up at some one -of the little inns on the road, and get a view of the weald of Kent in -the morning; but the inns refused us entertainment, and we were -compelled to do the eight miles at night, stepping off very lively the -last four in order to reach Maidstone before the hotels were shut up, -which takes place at eleven o'clock. I learned this night how fragrant -the English elder is while in bloom, and that distance lends enchantment -to the smell. When I plucked the flowers, which seemed precisely like -our own, the odor was rank and disagreeable; but at the distance of a -few yards it floated upon the moist air, a spicy and pleasing perfume. -The elder here grows to be a veritable tree; I saw specimens seven or -eight inches in diameter and twenty feet high. In the morning we walked -back by a different route, taking in Boxley Church, where the pilgrims -used to pause on their way to Canterbury, and getting many good views of -Kent grain-fields and hop-yards. Sometimes the road wound through the -landscape like a footpath, with nothing between it and the rank-growing -crops. An occasional newly-plowed field presented a curious appearance. -The soil is upon the chalk formation, and is full of large fragments of -flint. These work out upon the surface, and, being white and full of -articulations and processes, give to the ground the appearance of being -thickly strewn with bones,--with thigh bones greatly foreshortened. Yet -these old bones in skillful hands make a most effective building -material. They appear in all the old churches and ancient buildings in -the south of England. Broken squarely off, the flint shows a fine -semi-transparent surface that, in combination with coarser material, has -a remarkable crystalline effect. One of the most delicious bits of -architectural decoration I saw in England was produced, in the front -wall of one of the old buildings attached to the cathedral at -Canterbury, by little squares of these flints in brick panel-work. The -cool, pellucid, illuminating effect of the flint was just the proper -foil to the warm, glowing, livid brick. - -From Rochester we walked to Gravesend, over Gad's Hill; the day soft and -warm, half sunshine, half shadow; the air full of the songs of skylarks; -a rich, fertile landscape all about us; the waving wheat just in bloom, -dashed with scarlet poppies; and presently, on the right, the Thames in -view dotted with vessels. Seldom any cattle or grazing herds in Kent; -the ground is too valuable; it is all given up to wheat, oats, barley, -hops, fruit, and various garden produce. - -A few days later we walked from Feversham to Canterbury, and from the -top of Harbledown hill saw the magnificent cathedral suddenly break upon -us as it did upon the footsore and worshipful pilgrims centuries ago. At -this point, it is said, they knelt down, which seems quite probable, the -view is so imposing. The cathedral stands out from and above the city, -as if the latter were the foundation upon which it rested. On this walk -we passed several of the famous cherry orchards of Kent, the thriftiest -trees and the finest fruit I ever saw. We invaded one of the orchards, -and proposed to purchase some of the fruit of the men engaged in -gathering it. But they refused to sell it; had no right to do so, they -said; but one of them followed us across the orchard, and said in a -confidential way that he would see that we had some cherries. He filled -my companion's hat, and accepted our shilling with alacrity. In getting -back into the highway, over the wire fence, I got my clothes well tarred -before I was aware of it. The fence proved to be well besmeared with a -mixture of tar and grease,--an ingenious device for marking trespassers. -We sat in the shade of a tree and ate our fruit and scraped our clothes, -while a troop of bicyclists filed by. About the best glimpses I had of -Canterbury cathedral--after the first view from Harbledown hill--were -obtained while lying upon my back on the grass, under the shadow of its -walls, and gazing up at the jackdaws flying about the central tower and -going out and in weather-worn openings three hundred feet above me. -There seemed to be some wild, pinnacled mountain peak or rocky ledge up -there toward the sky, where the fowls of the air had made their nests, -secure from molestation. The way the birds make themselves at home about -these vast architectural piles is very pleasing. Doves, starlings, -jackdaws, swallows, sparrows, take to them as to a wood or to a cliff. -If there were only something to give a corresponding touch of nature or -a throb of life inside! But their interiors are only impressive -sepulchres, tombs within a tomb. Your own footfalls seem like the echo -of past ages. These cathedrals belong to the pleistocene period of man's -religious history, the period of gigantic forms. How vast, how -monstrous, how terrible in beauty and power! but in our day as empty and -dead as the shells upon the shore. The cold, thin ecclesiasticism that -now masquerades in them hardly disturbs the dust in their central -aisles. I saw five worshipers at the choral service in Canterbury, and -about the same number of curious spectators. For my part, I could not -take my eyes off the remnants of some of the old stained windows up -aloft. If I worshiped at all, it was my devout admiration of those -superb relics. There could be no doubt about the faith that inspired -those. Below them were some gorgeous modern memorial windows: stained -glass, indeed! loud, garish, thin, painty; while these were like a -combination of precious stones and gems, full of depth and richness of -tone, and, above all, serious, not courting your attention. My eye was -not much taken with them at first, and not till after it had recoiled -from the hard, thin glare in my immediate front. - -From Canterbury I went to Dover, and spent part of a day walking along -the cliffs to Folkestone. There is a good footpath that skirts the edge -of the cliffs, and it is much frequented. It is characteristic of the -compactness and neatness of this little island, that there is not an -inch of waste land along this sea margin; the fertile rolling landscape, -waving with wheat and barley, and with grass just ready for the scythe, -is cut squarely off by the sea; the plow and the reaper come to the very -brink of the chalky cliffs. As you sit down on Shakespeare's Cliff, with -your feet dangling in the air at a height of three hundred and fifty -feet, you can reach back and pluck the grain heads and the scarlet -poppies. Never have I seen such quiet pastoral beauty take such a sudden -leap into space. Yet the scene is tame in one sense: there is no hint of -the wild and the savage; the rock is soft and friable, a kind of chalky -bread, which the sea devours readily; the hills are like freshly cut -loaves; slice after slice has been eaten away by the hungry elements. -Sitting here, I saw no "crows and choughs" winging "the midway air," but -a species of hawk, "haggards of the rocks," were disturbed in the niches -beneath me, and flew along from point to point. - - "The murmuring surge, - That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, - Cannot be heard so high." - -I had wondered why Shakespeare had made his seashores pebbly instead of -sandy, and now I saw why: they are pebbly, with not a grain of sand to -be found. This chalk formation, as I have already said, is full of flint -nodules; and as the shore is eaten away by the sea, these rounded masses -remain. They soon become worn into smooth pebbles, which beneath the -pounding of the surf give out a strange clinking, rattling sound. Across -the Channel, on the French side, there is more sand, but it is of the -hue of mud and not pleasing to look upon. - -Of other walks I had in England, I recall with pleasure a Sunday up the -Thames toward Windsor: the day perfect, the river alive with row-boats, -the shore swarming with pedestrians and picnickers; young athletic -London, male and female, rushing forth as hungry for the open air and -the water as young mountain herds for salt. I never saw or imagined -anything like it. One shore of the Thames, sometimes the right, -sometimes the left, it seems, belongs to the public. No private grounds, -however lordly, are allowed to monopolize both sides. - -Another walk was about Winchester and Salisbury, with more -cathedral-viewing. One of the most human things to be seen in the great -cathedrals is the carven image of some old knight or warrior prince -resting above his tomb, with his feet upon his faithful dog. I was -touched by this remembrance of the dog. In all cases he looked alert and -watchful, as if guarding his master while he slept. I noticed that -Cromwell's soldiers were less apt to batter off the nose and ears of the -dog than they were those of the knight. - -At Stratford I did more walking. After a row on the river, we strolled -through the low, grassy field in front of the church, redolent of cattle -and clover, and sat for an hour on the margin of the stream and enjoyed -the pastoral beauty and the sunshine. In the afternoon (it was Sunday) -I walked across the fields to Shottery, and then followed the road as -it wound amid the quaint little thatched cottages till it ended at a -stile from which a footpath led across broad, sunny fields to a stately -highway. To give a more minute account of English country scenes and -sounds in midsummer, I will here copy some jottings in my note-book, -made then and there:-- - -"_July 16._ In the fields beyond Shottery. Bright and breezy, with -appearance of slight showers in the distance. Thermometer probably about -seventy; a good working temperature. Clover--white, red, and yellow -(white predominating)--in the fields all about me. The red very ruddy; -the white large. The only noticeable bird voice that of the -yellow-hammer, two or three being within ear-shot. The song is much like -certain sparrow songs, only inferior: _Sip, sip, sip, see-e-e-e_; or, -_If if, if you ple-e-ease_. Honey-bees on the white clover. Turf very -thick and springy, supporting two or three kinds of grass resembling -red-top and bearded rye-grass. Narrow-leaved plantain, a few buttercups, -a small yellow flower unknown to me (probably ladies' fingers), also a -species of dandelion and prunella. The land thrown into marked swells -twenty feet broad. Two Sunday-school girls lying on the grass in the -other end of the field. A number of young men playing some game, perhaps -cards, seated on the ground in an adjoining field. Scarcely any signs of -midsummer to me; no ripeness or maturity in nature yet. The grass very -tender and succulent, the streams full and roily. Yarrow and cinquefoil -also in the grass where I sit. The plantain in bloom and fragrant. Along -the Avon, the meadow-sweet in full bloom, with a fine cinnamon odor. A -wild rose here and there in the hedge-rows. The wild clematis nearly -ready to bloom, in appearance almost identical with our own. The wheat -and oats full-grown, but not yet turning. The clouds soft and fleecy. -Prunella dark purple. A few paces farther on I enter a highway, one of -the broadest I have seen, the roadbed hard and smooth as usual, about -sixteen feet wide, with grassy margins twelve feet wide, redolent with -white and red clover. A rich farming landscape spreads around me, with -blue hills in the far west. Cool and fresh like June. Bumblebees here -and there, more hairy than at home. A plow in a field by the roadside is -so heavy I can barely move it,--at least three times as heavy as an -American plow; beam very long, tails four inches square, the mould-board -a thick plank. The soil like putty; where it dries, crumbling into -small, hard lumps, but sticky and tough when damp,--Shakespeare's soil, -the finest and most versatile wit of the world, the product of a sticky, -stubborn clay-bank. Here is a field where every alternate swell is -small. The large swells heave up in a very molten-like way--real turfy -billows, crested with white clover-blossoms." - -"_July 17._ On the road to Warwick, two miles from Stratford. Morning -bright, with sky full of white, soft, high-piled thunderheads. Plenty -of pink blackberry blossoms along the road; herb Robert in bloom, and a -kind of Solomon's-seal as at home, and what appears to be a species of -goldenrod with a midsummery smell. The note of the yellow-hammer and the -wren here and there. Beech-trees loaded with mast and humming with -bumblebees, probably gathering honey-dew, which seems to be more -abundant here than with us. The landscape like a well-kept park dotted -with great trees, which make islands of shade in a sea of grass. Droves -of sheep grazing, and herds of cattle reposing in the succulent fields. -Now the just felt breeze brings me the rattle of a mowing-machine, a -rare sound here, as most of the grass is cut by hand. The great -motionless arms of a windmill rising here and there above the horizon. A -gentleman's turnout goes by with glittering wheels and spanking team; -the footman in livery behind, the gentleman driving. I hear his brake -scrape as he puts it on down the gentle descent. Now a lark goes off. -Then the mellow horn of a cow or heifer is heard. Then the bleat of -sheep. The crows caw hoarsely. Few houses by the roadside, but here and -there behind the trees in the distance. I hear the greenfinch, stronger -and sharper than our goldfinch, but less pleasing. The matured look of -some fields of grass alone suggests midsummer. Several species of mint -by the roadside, also certain white umbelliferous plants. Everywhere -that royal weed of Britain, the nettle. Shapely piles of road material -and pounded stone at regular distances, every fragment of which will go -through a two-inch ring. The roads are mended only in winter, and are -kept as smooth and hard as a rock. No swells or 'thank-y'-ma'ams' in -them to turn the water; they shed the water like a rounded pavement. On -the hill, three miles from Stratford, where a finger-post points you to -Hampton Lucy, I turn and see the spire of Shakespeare's church between -the trees. It lies in a broad, gentle valley, and rises above much -foliage. 'I hope and praise God it will keep foine,' said the old woman -at whose little cottage I stopped for ginger-beer, attracted by a sign -in the window. 'One penny, sir, if you please. I made it myself, sir. I -do not leave the front door unfastened' (undoing it to let me out) 'when -I am down in the garden.' A weasel runs across the road in front of me, -and is scolded by a little bird. The body of a dead hedgehog festering -beside the hedge. A species of St. John's-wort in bloom, teasels, and a -small convolvulus. Also a species of plantain with a head large as my -finger, purple tinged with white. Road margins wide, grassy, and -fragrant with clover. Privet in bloom in the hedges, panicles of small -white flowers faintly sweet-scented. 'As clean and white as privet when -it flowers,' says Tennyson in 'Walking to the Mail.' The road and avenue -between noble trees, beech, ash, elm, and oak. All the fields are -bounded by lines of stately trees; the distance is black with them. A -large thistle by the roadside, with homeless bumblebees on the heads as -at home, some of them white-faced and stingless. Thistles rare in this -country. Weeds of all kinds rare except the nettle. The place to see the -Scotch thistle is not in Scotland or England, but in America." - - -III - -England is like the margin of a spring-run, near its source,--always -green, always cool, always moist, comparatively free from frost in -winter and from drought in summer. The spring-run to which it owes this -character is the Gulf Stream, which brings out of the pit of the -southern ocean what the fountain brings out of the bowels of the -earth--a uniform temperature, low but constant; a fog in winter, a cloud -in summer. The spirit of gentle, fertilizing summer rain perhaps never -took such tangible and topographical shape before. Cloud-evolved, -cloud-enveloped, cloud-protected, it fills the eye of the American -traveler with a vision of greenness such as he has never before dreamed -of; a greenness born of perpetual May, tender, untarnished, ever -renewed, and as uniform and all-pervading as the rain-drops that fall, -covering mountain, cliff, and vale alike. The softened, rounded, flowing -outlines given to our landscape by a deep fall of snow are given to the -English by this depth of vegetable mould and this all-prevailing verdure -which it supports. Indeed, it is caught upon the shelves and projections -of the rocks as if it fell from the clouds,--a kind of green snow,--and -it clings to their rough or slanting sides like moist flakes. In the -little valleys and chasms it appears to lie deepest. Only the peaks and -broken rocky crests of the highest Scotch and Cumberland mountains are -bare. Adown their treeless sides the moist, fresh greenness fairly -drips. Grass, grass, grass, and evermore grass. Is there another country -under the sun so becushioned, becarpeted, and becurtained with grass? -Even the woods are full of grass, and I have seen them mowing in a -forest. Grass grows upon the rocks, upon the walls, on the tops of the -old castles, on the roofs of the houses, and in winter the hay-seed -sometimes sprouts upon the backs of the sheep. Turf used as capping to a -stone fence thrives and blooms as if upon the ground. There seems to be -a deposit from the atmosphere,--a slow but steady accumulation of a -black, peaty mould upon all exposed surfaces,--that by and by supports -some of the lower or cryptogamous forms of vegetation. These decay and -add to the soil, till thus in time grass and other plants will grow. The -walls of the old castles and cathedrals support a variety of plant life. -On Rochester Castle I saw two or three species of large wild flowers -growing one hundred feet from the ground and tempting the tourist to -perilous reachings and climbings to get them. The very stones seem to -sprout. My companion made a sketch of a striking group of red and white -flowers blooming far up on one of the buttresses of Rochester Cathedral. -The soil will climb to any height. Indeed, there seems to be a kind of -finer soil floating in the air. How else can one account for the general -smut of the human face and hands in this country, and the impossibility -of keeping his own clean? The unwashed hand here quickly leaves its mark -on whatever it touches. A prolonged neglect of soap and water, and I -think one would be presently covered with a fine green mould, like that -upon the boles of the trees in the woods. If the rains were not -occasionally heavy enough to clean them off, I have no doubt that the -roofs of all buildings in England would in a few years be covered with -turf, and that daisies and buttercups would bloom upon them. How quickly -all new buildings take on the prevailing look of age and mellowness! One -needs to have seen the great architectural piles and monuments of -Britain to appreciate Shakespeare's line,-- - - "That unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish Time." - -He must also have seen those Scotch or Cumberland mountains to -appreciate the descriptive force of this other line,-- - - "The turfy mountains where live the nibbling sheep." - -The turfy mountains are the unswept stones that have held and utilized -their ever-increasing capital of dirt. These vast rocky eminences are -stuffed and padded with peat; it is the sooty soil of the housetops and -of the grimy human hand, deepened and accumulated till it nourishes the -finest, sweetest grass. - -It was this turfy and grassy character of these mountains--I am tempted -to say their cushionary character--that no reading or picture viewing of -mine had prepared me for. In the cut or on canvas they appeared like -hard and frowning rocks; and here I beheld them as green and succulent -as any meadow-bank in April or May,--vast, elevated sheep-walks and -rabbit-warrens, treeless, shrubless, generally without loose bowlders, -shelving rocks, or sheer precipices; often rounded, feminine, dimpled, -or impressing one as if the rock had been thrust up beneath an immense -stretch of the finest lawn, and had carried the turf with it heavenward, -rending it here and there, but preserving acres of it intact. - -In Scotland I ascended Ben Venue, not one of the highest or ruggedest of -the Scotch mountains, but a fair sample of them, and my foot was seldom -off the grass or bog, often sinking into them as into a saturated -sponge. Where I expected a dry course, I found a wet one. The thick, -springy turf was oozing with water. Instead of being balked by -precipices, I was hindered by swamps. Where a tangle of brush or a chaos -of bowlders should have detained me, I was picking my way as through a -wet meadow-bottom tilted up at an angle of forty-five degrees. My feet -became soaked when my shins should have been bruised. Occasionally, a -large deposit of peat in some favored place had given way beneath the -strain of much water, and left a black chasm a few yards wide and a yard -or more deep. Cold spring-runs were abundant, wild flowers few, grass -universal. A loping hare started up before me; a pair of ringed ousels -took a hasty glance at me from behind a rock; sheep and lambs, the -latter white and conspicuous beside their dingy and all but invisible -dams, were scattered here and there; the wheat-ear uncovered its white -rump as it flitted from rock to rock, and the mountain pipit displayed -its larklike tail. No sound of wind in the trees; there were no trees, -no seared branches and trunks that so enhance and set off the wildness -of our mountain-tops. On the summit the wind whistled around the -outcropping rocks and hummed among the heather, but the great mountain -did not purr or roar like one covered with forests. - -I lingered for an hour or more, and gazed upon the stretch of mountain -and vale about me. The summit of Ben Lomond, eight or ten miles to the -west, rose a few hundred feet above me. On four peaks I could see snow -or miniature glaciers. Only four or five houses, mostly humble shepherd -dwellings, were visible in that wide circuit. The sun shone out at -intervals; the driving clouds floated low, their keels scraping the -rocks of some of the higher summits. The atmosphere was filled with a -curious white film, like water tinged with milk, an effect only produced -at home by a fine mist. "A certain tameness in the view, after all," I -recorded in my note-book on the spot, "perhaps because of the trim and -grassy character of the mountain; not solemn and impressive; no sense of -age or power. The rock crops out everywhere, but it can hardly look you -in the face; it is crumbling and insignificant; shows no frowning -walls, no tremendous cleavage; nothing overhanging and precipitous; no -wrath and revel of the elder gods." - -Even in rugged Scotland nature is scarcely wilder than a mountain sheep, -certainly a good way short of the ferity of the moose and caribou. There -is everywhere marked repose and moderation in the scenery, a kind of -aboriginal Scotch canniness and propriety that gives one a new -sensation. On and about Ben Nevis there is barrenness, cragginess, and -desolation; but the characteristic feature of wild Scotch scenery is the -moor, lifted up into mountains, covering low, broad hills, or stretching -away in undulating plains, black, silent, melancholy, it may be, but -never savage or especially wild. "The vast and yet not savage solitude," -Carlyle says, referring to these moorlands. The soil is black and peaty, -often boggy; the heather short and uniform as prairie grass; a -shepherd's cottage or a sportsman's "box" stuck here and there amid the -hills. The highland cattle are shaggy and picturesque, but the moors and -mountains are close cropped and uniform. The solitude is not that of a -forest full of still forms and dim vistas, but of wide, open, sombre -spaces. Nature did not look alien or unfriendly to me; there must be -barrenness or some savage threatening feature in the landscape to -produce this impression; but the heather and whin are like a permanent -shadow, and one longs to see the trees stand up and wave their branches. -The torrents leaping down off the mountains are very welcome to both -eye and ear. And the lakes--nothing can be prettier than Loch Lomond and -Loch Katrine, though one wishes for some of the superfluous rocks of the -New World to give their beauty a granite setting. - - -IV - -It is characteristic of nature in England that most of the stone with -which the old bridges, churches, and cathedrals are built is so soft -that people carve their initials in it with their jack-knives, as we do -in the bark of a tree or in a piece of pine timber. At Stratford a card -has been posted upon the outside of the old church, imploring visitors -to refrain from this barbarous practice. One sees names and dates there -more than a century old. Often, in leaning over the parapets of the -bridges along the highways, I would find them covered with letters and -figures. Tourists have made such havoc chipping off fragments from the -old Brig o' Doon in Burns's country, that the parapet has had to be -repaired. One could cut out the key of the arch with his pocket-knife. -And yet these old structures outlast empires. A few miles from Glasgow I -saw the remains of an old Roman bridge, the arch apparently as perfect -as when the first Roman chariot passed over it, probably fifteen -centuries ago. No wheels but those of time pass over it in these later -centuries, and these seem to be driven slowly and gently in this land, -with but little wear and tear to the ancient highways. - -England is not a country of granite and marble, but of chalk, marl, and -clay. The old Plutonic gods do not assert themselves; they are buried -and turned to dust, and the more modern humanistic divinities bear sway. -The land is a green cemetery of extinct rude forces. Where the highway -or the railway gashed the hills deeply, I could seldom tell where the -soil ended and the rock began, as they gradually assimilated, blended, -and became one. - -And this is the key to nature in England: 'tis granite grown ripe and -mellow and issuing in grass and verdure; 'tis aboriginal force and -fecundity become docile and equable and mounting toward higher -forms,--the harsh, bitter rind of the earth grown sweet and edible. -There is such body and substance in the color and presence of things -that one thinks the very roots of the grass must go deeper than usual. -The crude, the raw, the discordant, where are they? It seems a -comparatively short and easy step from nature to the canvas or to the -poem in this cozy land. Nothing need be added; the idealization has -already taken place. The Old World is deeply covered with a kind of -human leaf-mould, while the New is for the most part yet raw, undigested -hard-pan. This is why these scenes haunt one like a memory. One seems to -have youthful associations with every field and hilltop he looks upon. -The complete humanization of nature has taken place. The soil has been -mixed with human thought and substance. These fields have been -alternately Celt, Roman, British, Norman, Saxon; they have moved and -walked and talked and loved and suffered; hence one feels kindred to -them and at home among them. The mother-land, indeed. Every foot of its -soil has given birth to a human being and grown tender and conscious -with time. - -England is like a seat by the chimney-corner, and is as redolent of -human occupancy and domesticity. It has the island coziness and unity, -and the island simplicity as opposed to the continental diversity of -forms. It is all one neighborhood; a friendly and familiar air is over -all. It satisfies to the full one's utmost craving for the home-like and -for the fruits of affectionate occupation of the soil. It does not -satisfy one's craving for the wild, the savage, the aboriginal, what our -poet describes as his - - "Hungering, hungering, hungering for primal energies and Nature's - dauntlessness." - -But probably in the matter of natural scenes we hunger most for that -which we most do feed upon. At any rate, I can conceive that one might -be easily contented with what the English landscape affords him. - -The whole physiognomy of the land bespeaks the action of slow, uniform, -conservative agencies. There is an elemental composure and moderation in -things that leave their mark everywhere,--a sort of elemental sweetness -and docility that are a surprise and a charm. One does not forget that -the evolution of man probably occurred in this hemisphere, and time -would seem to have proved that there is something here more favorable to -his perpetuity and longevity. - -The dominant impression of the English landscape is repose. Never was -such a restful land to the eye, especially to the American eye, sated as -it is very apt to be with the mingled squalor and splendor of its own -landscape, its violent contrasts, and general spirit of unrest. But the -completeness and composure of this outdoor nature is like a dream. It is -like the poise of the tide at its full: every hurt of the world is -healed, every shore covered, every unsightly spot is hidden. The circle -of the horizon is brimming with the green equable flood. (I did not see -the fens of Lincolnshire nor the wolds of York.) This look of repose is -partly the result of the maturity and ripeness brought about by time and -ages of patient and thorough husbandry, and partly the result of the -gentle, continent spirit of Nature herself. She is contented, she is -happily wedded, she is well clothed and fed. Her offspring swarm about -her, her paths have fallen in pleasant places. The foliage of the trees, -how dense and massive! The turf of the fields, how thick and uniform! -The streams and rivers, how placid and full, showing no devastated -margins, no widespread sandy wastes and unsightly heaps of drift -bowlders! To the returned traveler the foliage of the trees and groves -of New England and New York looks thin and disheveled when compared with -the foliage he has just left. This effect is probably owing to our -cruder soil and sharper climate. The aspect of our trees in midsummer is -as if the hair of their heads stood on end; the woods have a wild, -frightened look, or as if they were just recovering from a debauch. In -our intense light and heat, the leaves, instead of spreading themselves -full to the sun and crowding out upon the ends of the branches as they -do in England, retreat, as it were, hide behind each other, stand -edgewise, perpendicular, or at any angle, to avoid the direct rays. In -Britain, from the slow, dripping rains and the excessive moisture, the -leaves of the trees droop more, and the branches are more pendent. The -rays of light are fewer and feebler, and the foliage disposes itself so -as to catch them all, and thus presents a fuller and broader surface to -the eye of the beholder. The leaves are massed upon the outer ends of -the branches, while the interior of the tree is comparatively leafless. -The European plane-tree is like a tent. The foliage is all on the -outside. The bird voices in it reverberate as in a chamber. - - "The pillar'd dusk of sounding sycamores," - -says Tennyson. At a little distance, it has the mass and solidity of a -rock. The same is true of the European maple, and when this tree is -grown on our side of the Atlantic it keeps up its Old World habits. I -have for several years taken note of a few of them growing in a park -near my home. They have less grace and delicacy of outline than our -native maple, but present a darker and more solid mass of foliage. The -leaves are larger and less feathery, and are crowded to the periphery of -the tree. Nearly every summer one of the trees, which is most exposed, -gets the leaves on one side badly scorched. When the foliage begins to -turn in the fall, the trees appear as if they had been lightly and -hastily brushed with gold. The outer edges of the branches become a -light yellow, while, a little deeper, the body of the foliage is still -green. It is this solid and sculpturesque character of the English -foliage that so fills the eye of the artist. The feathery, formless, -indefinite, not to say thin, aspect of our leafage is much less easy to -paint, and much less pleasing when painted. - -The same is true of the turf in the fields and upon the hills. The sward -with us, even in the oldest meadows, will wear more or less a ragged, -uneven aspect. The frost heaves it, the sun parches it; it is thin here -and thick there, crabbed in one spot and fine and soft in another. Only -by the frequent use of a heavy roller, copious waterings, and -top-dressings, can we produce sod that approaches in beauty even that of -the elevated sheep ranges in England and Scotland. - -The greater activity and abundance of the earthworm, as disclosed by -Darwin, probably has much to do with the smoothness and fatness of those -fields when contrasted with our own. This little yet mighty engine is -much less instrumental in leavening and leveling the soil in New England -than in Old. The greater humidity of the mother country, the deep -clayey soil, its fattening for ages by human occupancy, the abundance of -food, the milder climate, etc., are all favorable to the life and -activity of the earthworm. Indeed, according to Darwin, the gardener -that has made England a garden is none other than this little obscure -creature. It plows, drains, airs, pulverizes, fertilizes, and levels. It -cannot transport rocks and stone, but it can bury them; it cannot remove -the ancient walls and pavements, but it can undermine them and deposit -its rich castings above them. On each acre of land, he says, "in many -parts of England, a weight of more than ten tons of dry earth annually -passes through their bodies and is brought to the surface." "When we -behold a wide, turf-covered expanse," he further observes, "we should -remember that its smoothness, on which so much of its beauty depends, is -mainly due to all the inequalities having been slowly leveled by worms." - -The small part which worms play in this direction in our landscape is, I -am convinced, more than neutralized by our violent or disrupting -climate; but England looks like the product of some such gentle, -tireless, and beneficent agent. I have referred to that effect in the -face of the landscape as if the soil had snowed down; it seems the snow -came from the other direction, namely, from below, but was deposited -with equal gentleness and uniformity. - -The repose and equipoise of nature of which I have spoken appears in the -fields of grain no less than in the turf and foliage. One may see vast -stretches of wheat, oats, barley, beans, etc., as uniform as the surface -of a lake, every stalk of grain or bean the size and height of every -other stalk. This, of course, means good husbandry; it means a mild, -even-tempered nature back of it, also. Then the repose of the English -landscape is enhanced, rather than marred, by the part man has played in -it. How those old arched bridges rest above the placid streams; how -easily they conduct the trim, perfect highways over them! Where the foot -finds an easy way, the eye finds the same; where the body finds harmony, -the mind finds harmony. Those ivy-covered walls and ruins, those -finished fields, those rounded hedge-rows, those embowered cottages, and -that gray, massive architecture, all contribute to the harmony and to -the repose of the landscape. Perhaps in no other country are the grazing -herds so much at ease. One's first impression, on seeing British fields -in spring or summer, is that the cattle and sheep have all broken into -the meadow and have not yet been discovered by the farmer; they have -taken their fill, and are now reposing upon the grass or dreaming under -the trees. But you presently perceive that it is all meadow or -meadow-like; that there are no wild, weedy, or barren pastures about -which the herds toil; but that they are in grass up to their eyes -everywhere. Hence their contentment; hence another element of repose in -the landscape. - -The softness and humidity of the English climate act in two ways in -promoting that marvelous greenness of the land, namely, by growth and by -decay. As the grass springs quickly, so its matured stalk or dry leaf -decays quickly. No field growths are desiccated and preserved as with -us; there are no dried stubble and seared leaves remaining over the -winter to mar and obscure the verdancy of spring. Every dead thing is -quickly converted back to vegetable mould. In the woods, in May, it is -difficult to find any of the dry leaves of the previous autumn; in the -fields and copses and along the highways, no stalk of weed or grass -remains; while our wild, uplying pastures and mountain-tops always -present a more or less brown and seared appearance from the dried and -bleached stalks of the growth of the previous year, through which the -fresh springing grass is scarcely visible. Where rain falls on nearly -three hundred days in the year, as in the British islands, the -conversion of the mould into grass, and _vice versa_, takes place very -rapidly. - - - - -II - -ENGLISH WOODS: A CONTRAST - - -One cannot well overpraise the rural and pastoral beauty of England--the -beauty of her fields, parks, downs, holms. In England you shall see at -its full that of which you catch only glimpses in this country, the -broad, beaming, hospitable beauty of a perfectly cultivated landscape. -Indeed, to see England is to take one's fill of the orderly, the -permanent, the well-kept in the works of man, and of the continent, the -beneficent, the uniform, in the works of nature. It is to see the most -perfect bit of garden lawn extended till it covers an empire; it is to -see the history of two thousand years written in grass and verdure, and -in the lines of the landscape; a continent concentrated into a state, -the deserts and waste places left out, every rood of it swarming with -life; the pith and marrow of wide tracts compacted into narrow fields -and recruited and forwarded by the most vigilant husbandry. Those fields -look stall-fed, those cattle beam contentment, those rivers have never -left their banks; those mountains are the paradise of shepherds; those -open forest glades, half sylvan, half pastoral, clean, stately, full of -long vistas and cathedral-like aisles,--where else can one find beauty -like that? The wild and the savage flee away. The rocks pull the green -turf over them like coverlids; the hills are plump with vegetable mould, -and when they bend this way or that, their sides are wrinkled and -dimpled like the forms of fatted sheep. And fatted they are; not merely -by the care of man, but by the elements themselves; the sky rains -fertility upon them; there is no wear and tear as with our alternately -flooded, parched, and frozen hilltops; the soil accumulates, the mould -deepens; the matted turf binds it and yearly adds to it. - -All this is not simply because man is or has been so potent in the -landscape (this is but half the truth), but because the very mood and -humor of Nature herself is domestic and human. She seems to have grown -up with man and taken on his look and ways. Her spirit is that of the -full, placid stream that you may lead through your garden or conduct by -your doorstep without other danger than a wet sill or a soaked -flower-plot, at rare intervals. It is the opulent nature of the southern -seas, brought by the Gulf Stream, and reproduced and perpetuated here -under these cool northern skies, the fangs and the poison taken out; -full, but no longer feverish; lusty, but no longer lewd. - -Yet there is a certain beauty of nature to be had in much fuller measure -in our own country than in England,--the beauty of the wild, the -aboriginal,--the beauty of primitive forests,--the beauty of -lichen-covered rocks and ledges. The lichen is one of the lowest and -humblest forms of vegetable growth, but think how much it adds to the -beauty of all our wild scenery, giving to our mountain walls and drift -bowlders the softest and most pleasing tints. The rocky escarpments of -New York and New England hills are frescoed by Time himself, painted as -with the brush of the eternal elements. But the lichen is much less -conspicuous in England, and plays no such part in her natural scenery. -The climate is too damp. The rocks in Wales and Northumberland and in -Scotland are dark and cold and unattractive. The trees in the woods do -not wear the mottled suit of soft gray ours do. The bark of the British -beech is smooth and close-fitting, and often tinged with a green mould. -The Scotch pine is clad as in a ragged suit of leather. Nature uses -mosses instead of lichens. The old walls and housetops are covered with -moss--a higher form of vegetation than lichens. Its decay soon -accumulates a little soil or vegetable mould, which presently supports -flowering plants. - -Neither are there any rocks in England worth mentioning; no granite -bowlders, no fern-decked or moss-covered fragments scattered through the -woods, as with us. They have all been used up for building purposes, or -for road-making, or else have quite dissolved in the humid climate. I -saw rocks in Wales, quite a profusion of them in the pass of Llanberis, -but they were tame indeed in comparison with such rock scenery as that -say at Lake Mohunk, in the Shawangunk range in New York. There are -passes in the Catskills that for the grandeur of wildness and savageness -far surpass anything the Welsh mountains have to show. Then for -exquisite and thrilling beauty, probably one of our mottled rocky walls -with the dicentra blooming from little niches and shelves in April, and -the columbine thrusting out from seams and crevices clusters of its -orange bells in May, with ferns and mosses clinging here and there, and -the woodbine tracing a delicate green line across its face, cannot be -matched anywhere in the world. - -Then, in our woods, apart from their treasures of rocks, there is a -certain beauty and purity unknown in England, a certain delicacy and -sweetness, and charm of unsophisticated nature, that are native to our -forests. - -The pastoral or field life of nature in England is so rank and full, -that no woods or forests that I was able to find could hold their own -against it for a moment. It flooded them like a tide. The grass grows -luxuriantly in the thick woods, and where the grass fails, the coarse -bracken takes its place. There was no wood spirit, no wild wood air. Our -forests shut their doors against the fields; they shut out the strong -light and the heat. Where the land has been long cleared, the woods put -out a screen of low branches, or else a brushy growth starts up along -their borders that guards and protects their privacy. Lift or part away -these branches, and step inside, and you are in another world; new -plants, new flowers, new birds, new animals, new insects, new sounds, -new odors; in fact, an entirely different atmosphere and presence. Dry -leaves cover the ground, delicate ferns and mosses drape the rocks, shy, -delicate flowers gleam out here and there, the slender brown wood-frog -leaps nimbly away from your feet, the little red newt fills its -infantile pipe, or hides under a leaf, the ruffed grouse bursts up -before you, the gray squirrel leaps from tree to tree, the wood pewee -utters its plaintive cry, the little warblers lisp and dart amid the -branches, and sooner or later the mosquito demands his fee. Our woods -suggest new arts, new pleasures, a new mode of life. English parks and -groves, when the sun shines, suggest a perpetual picnic, or Maying -party; but no one, I imagine, thinks of camping out in English woods. -The constant rains, the darkened skies, the low temperature, make the -interior of a forest as uninviting as an underground passage. I wondered -what became of the dry leaves that are such a feature and give out such -a pleasing odor in our woods. They are probably raked up and carried -away; or, if left upon the ground, are quickly resolved into mould by -the damp climate. - -While in Scotland I explored a large tract of woodland, mainly of Scotch -fir, that covers a hill near Ecclefechan, but it was grassy and -uninviting. In one of the parks of the Duke of Hamilton, I found a deep -wooded gorge through which flowed the river Avon (I saw four rivers of -this name in Great Britain), a branch of the Clyde,--a dark, rock-paved -stream, the color of brown stout. It was the wildest bit of forest -scenery I saw anywhere. I almost imagined myself on the headwaters of -the Hudson or the Penobscot. The stillness, the solitude, the wild -boiling waters, were impressive; but the woods had no charm; there were -no flowers, no birds; the sylvan folk had moved away long ago, and their -house was cold and inhospitable. I sat a half-hour in their dark -nettle-grown halls by the verge of the creek, to see if they were -stirring anywhere, but they were not. I did, indeed, hear part of a -wren's song, and the call of the sandpiper; but that was all. Not one -purely wood voice or sound or odor. But looking into the air a few yards -below me, there leapt one of those matchless stone bridges, clearing the -profound gulf and carrying the road over as securely as if upon the -geological strata. It was the bow of art and civilization set against -nature's wildness. In the woods beyond, I came suddenly upon the ruins -of an old castle, with great trees growing out of it, and rabbits -burrowing beneath it. One learns that it takes more than a collection of -trees to make a forest, as we know it in this country. Unless they house -that spirit of wildness and purity like a temple, they fail to satisfy. -In walking to Selborne, I skirted Wolmer Forest, but it had an -uninviting look. The Hanger on the hill above Selborne, which remains -nearly as it was in White's time,--a thrifty forest of beeches,--I -explored, but found it like the others, without any distinctive woodsy -attraction--only so much soil covered with dripping beeches, too dense -for a park and too tame for a forest. The soil is a greasy, slippery -clay, and down the steepest part of the hill, amid the trees, the boys -have a slide that serves them for summer "coastings." Hardly a leaf, -hardly a twig or branch, to be found. In White's time, the poor people -used to pick up the sticks the crows dropped in building their nests, -and they probably do so yet. When one comes upon the glades beyond the -Hanger, the mingling of groves and grassy common, the eye is fully -content. The beech, which is the prevailing tree here, as it is in many -other parts of England, is a much finer tree than the American beech. -The deep limestone soil seems especially adapted to it. It grows as -large as our elm, with much the same manner of branching. The trunk is -not patched and mottled with gray, like ours, but is often tinged with a -fine deep green mould. The beeches that stand across the road in front -of Wordsworth's house, at Rydal Mount, have boles nearly as green as the -surrounding hills. The bark of this tree is smooth and close-fitting, -and shows that muscular, athletic character of the tree beneath it which -justifies Spenser's phrase, "the warlike beech." These beeches develop -finely in the open, and make superb shade-trees along the highway. All -the great historical forests of England--Shrewsbury Forest, the Forest -of Dean, New Forest, etc.--have practically disappeared. Remnants of -them remain here and there, but the country they once occupied is now -essentially pastoral. - -It is noteworthy that there is little or no love of woods as such in -English poetry; no fond mention of them, and dwelling upon them. The -muse of Britain's rural poetry has none of the wide-eyedness and -furtiveness of the sylvan creatures; she is rather a gentle, wholesome, -slightly stupid divinity of the fields. Milton sings the praises of - - "Arched walks of twilight groves." - -But his wood is a "drear wood," - - "The nodding horror of whose shady brows - Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger." - -Again:-- - - "Very desolation dwells - By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shade." - -Shakespeare refers to the "ruthless, vast, and horrid wood,"--a fit -place for robbery, rapine, and murder. Indeed, English poetry is pretty -well colored with the memory of the time when the woods were the -hiding-places of robbers and outlaws, and were the scenes of all manner -of dark deeds. The only thing I recall in Shakespeare that gives a faint -whiff of our forest life occurs in "All's Well That Ends Well," where -the clown says to Lafeu, "I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved -a great fire." That great fire is American; wood is too scarce in -Europe. Francis Higginson wrote in 1630: "New England may boast of the -element of fire more than all the rest; for all Europe is not able to -afford to make so great fires as New England. A poor servant, that is -to possess but fifty acres, may afford to give more wood for fire, as -good as the world yields, than many noblemen in England." In many parts -of New England, New York, and Pennsylvania, the same royal fires may -still be indulged in. In the chief nature-poet of England, Wordsworth, -there is no line that has the subtle aroma of the deep woods. After -seeing his country, one can recognize its features, its spirit, all -through his poems--its impressive solitudes, its lonely tarns, its -silent fells, its green dales, its voiceful waterfalls; but there are no -woods there to speak of; the mountains appear to have always been -treeless, and the poet's muse has never felt the spell of this phase of -nature--the mystery and attraction of the indoors of aboriginal -wildness. Likewise in Tennyson there is the breath of the wold, but not -of the woods. - -Among our own poets, two at least of the more eminent have listened to -the siren of our primitive woods. I refer to Bryant and Emerson. Though -so different, there is an Indian's love of forests and forest-solitudes -in them both. Neither Bryant's "Forest Hymn" nor Emerson's "Woodnotes" -could have been written by an English poet. The "Woodnotes" savor of our -vast Northern pine forests, amid which one walks with distended pupil, -and a boding, alert sense. - - "In unploughed Maine he sought the lumberers' gang, - Where from a hundred lakes young rivers sprang; - He trode the unplanted forest floor, whereon - The all-seeing sun for ages hath not shone; - Where feeds the moose, and walks the surly bear, - And up the tall mast runs the woodpecker. - He saw beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds, - The slight Linnaea hang its twin-born heads, - And blessed the monument of the man of flowers, - Which breathes his sweet fame through the northern bowers. - He heard, when in the grove, at intervals, - With sudden roar the aged pine-tree falls,-- - One crash, the death-hymn of the perfect tree, - Declares the close of its green century." - -Emerson's muse is urbane, but it is that wise urbanity that is at home -in the woods as well as in the town, and can make a garden of a forest. - - "My garden is a forest ledge, - Which older forests bound; - The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge, - Then plunge to depths profound." - -On the other hand, we have no pastoral poetry in the English sense, -because we have no pastoral nature as overpowering as the English have. -When the muse of our poetry is not imitative, it often has a piny, -woodsy flavor, that is unknown in the older literatures. The gentle muse -of Longfellow, so civil, so cultivated; yet how it delighted in all -legends and echoes and Arcadian dreams, that date from the forest -primeval. Thoreau was a wood-genius--the spirit of some Indian poet or -prophet, graduated at Harvard College, but never losing his taste for -the wild. The shy, mystical genius of Hawthorne was never more at home -than when in the woods. Read the forest-scenes in the "Scarlet Letter." -They are among the most suggestive in the book. - - - - -III - -IN CARLYLE'S COUNTRY - - -In crossing the sea a second time, I was more curious to see Scotland -than England, partly because I had had a good glimpse of the latter -country eleven years before, but largely because I had always preferred -the Scotch people to the English (I had seen and known more of them in -my youth), and especially because just then I was much absorbed with -Carlyle, and wanted to see with my own eyes the land and the race from -which he sprang. - -I suspect anyhow I am more strongly attracted by the Celt than by the -Anglo-Saxon; at least by the individual Celt. Collectively the -Anglo-Saxon is the more impressive; his triumphs are greater; the face -of his country and of his cities is the more pleasing; the gift of -empire is his. Yet there can be no doubt, I think, that the Celts, at -least the Scotch Celts, are a more hearty, cordial, and hospitable -people than the English; they have more curiosity, more raciness, and -quicker and surer sympathies. They fuse and blend readily with another -people, which the English seldom do. In this country John Bull is -usually like a pebble in the clay; grind him and press him and bake him -as you will, he is still a pebble--a hard spot in the brick, but not -essentially a part of it. - -Every close view I got of the Scotch character confirmed my liking for -it. A most pleasant episode happened to me down in Ayr. A young man whom -I stumbled on by chance in a little wood by the Doon, during some -conversation about the birds that were singing around us, quoted my own -name to me. This led to an acquaintance with the family and with the -parish minister, and gave a genuine human coloring to our brief sojourn -in Burns's country. In Glasgow I had an inside view of a household a -little lower in the social scale, but high in the scale of virtues and -excellences. I climbed up many winding stone stairs and found the family -in three or four rooms on the top floor: a father, mother, three sons, -two of them grown, and a daughter, also grown. The father and the sons -worked in an iron foundry near by. I broke bread with them around the -table in the little cluttered kitchen, and was spared apologies as much -as if we had been seated at a banquet in a baronial hall. A Bible -chapter was read after we were seated at table, each member of the -family reading a verse alternately. When the meal was over, we went into -the next room, where all joined in singing some Scotch songs, mainly -from Burns. One of the sons possessed the finest bass voice I had ever -listened to. Its power was simply tremendous, well tempered with the -Scotch raciness and tenderness, too. He had taken the first prize at a -public singing bout, open to competition to all of Scotland. I told his -mother, who also had a voice of wonderful sweetness, that such a gift -would make her son's fortune anywhere, and found that the subject was -the cause of much anxiety to her. She feared lest it should be the -ruination of him--lest he should prostitute it to the service of the -devil, as she put it, rather than use it to the glory of God. She said -she had rather follow him to his grave than see him in the opera or -concert hall, singing for money. She wanted him to stick to his work, -and use his voice only as a pious and sacred gift. When I asked the -young man to come and sing for us at the hotel, the mother was greatly -troubled, as she afterward told me, till she learned we were stopping at -a temperance house. But the young man seemed not at all inclined to -break away from the advice of his mother. The other son had a sweetheart -who had gone to America, and he was looking longingly thitherward. He -showed me her picture, and did not at all attempt to conceal from me, or -from his family, his interest in the original. Indeed, one would have -said there were no secrets or concealments in such a family, and the -thorough unaffected piety of the whole household, mingled with so much -that was human and racy and canny, made an impression upon me I shall -not soon forget. This family was probably an exceptional one, but it -tinges all my recollections of smoky, tall-chimneyed Glasgow. - -A Scotch trait of quite another sort, and more suggestive of Burns than -of Carlyle, was briefly summarized in an item of statistics which I used -to read in one of the Edinburgh papers every Monday morning, namely, -that of the births registered during the previous week, invariably from -ten to twelve per cent. were illegitimate. The Scotch--all classes of -them--love Burns deep down in their hearts, because he has expressed -them, from the roots up, as none other has. - -When I think of Edinburgh the vision that comes before my mind's eye is -of a city presided over, and shone upon as it were, by two green -treeless heights. Arthur's Seat is like a great irregular orb or -half-orb, rising above the near horizon there in the southeast, and -dominating city and country with its unbroken verdancy. Its greenness -seems almost to pervade the air itself--a slight radiance of grass, -there in the eastern skies. No description of Edinburgh I had read had -prepared me for the striking hill features that look down upon it. There -is a series of three hills which culminate in Arthur's Seat, 800 feet -high. Upon the first and smaller hill stands the Castle. This is a -craggy, precipitous rock, on three sides, but sloping down into a broad -gentle expanse toward the east, where the old city of Edinburgh is -mainly built,--as if it had flowed out of the Castle as out of a -fountain, and spread over the adjacent ground. Just beyond the point -where it ceases rise Salisbury Crags to a height of 570 feet, turning to -the city a sheer wall of rocks like the Palisades of the Hudson. From -its brink eastward again, the ground slopes in a broad expanse of -greensward to a valley called Hunter's Bog, where I thought the hunters -were very quiet and very numerous until I saw they were city riflemen -engaged in target practice; thence it rises irregularly to the crest of -Arthur's Seat, forming the pastoral eminence and green-shining disk to -which I have referred. Along the crest of Salisbury Crags the thick turf -comes to the edge of the precipices, as one might stretch a carpet. It -is so firm and compact that the boys cut their initials in it, on a -large scale, with their jack-knives, as in the bark of a tree. Arthur's -Seat was a favorite walk of Carlyle's during those gloomy days in -Edinburgh in 1820-21. It was a mount of vision to him, and he apparently -went there every day when the weather permitted.[Note: See letter to his -brother John, March 9, 1821.] - -There was no road in Scotland or England which I should have been so -glad to have walked over as that from Edinburgh to Ecclefechan,--a -distance covered many times by the feet of him whose birth and burial -place I was about to visit. Carlyle as a young man had walked it with -Edward Irving (the Scotch say "travel" when they mean going afoot), and -he had walked it alone, and as a lad with an elder boy, on his way to -Edinburgh college. He says in his "Reminiscences" he nowhere else had -such affectionate, sad, thoughtful, and, in fact, interesting and -salutary journeys. "No company to you but the rustle of the grass under -foot, the tinkling of the brook, or the voices of innocent, primeval -things." "I have had days as clear as Italy (as in this Irving case); -days moist and dripping, overhung with the infinite of silent gray,--and -perhaps the latter were the preferable, in certain moods. You had the -world and its waste imbroglios of joy and woe, of light and darkness, to -yourself alone. You could strip barefoot, if it suited better; carry -shoes and socks over shoulder, hung on your stick; clean shirt and comb -were in your pocket; _omnia mea mecum porto_. You lodged with shepherds, -who had clean, solid cottages; wholesome eggs, milk, oatmeal porridge, -clean blankets to their beds, and a great deal of human sense and -unadulterated natural politeness." - -But how can one walk a hundred miles in cool blood without a companion, -especially when the trains run every hour, and he has a surplus -sovereign in his pocket? One saves time and consults his ease by riding, -but he thereby misses the real savor of the land. And the roads of this -compact little kingdom are so inviting, like a hard, smooth surface -covered with sand-paper! How easily the foot puts them behind it! And -the summer weather,--what a fresh under-stratum the air has even on the -warmest days! Every breath one draws has a cool, invigorating core to -it, as if there might be some unmelted, or just melted, frost not far -off. - -But as we did not walk, there was satisfaction in knowing that the -engine which took our train down from Edinburgh was named Thomas -Carlyle. The cognomen looked well on the toiling, fiery-hearted, -iron-browed monster. I think its original owner would have contemplated -it with grim pleasure, especially since he confesses to having spent -some time, once, in trying to look up a shipmaster who had named his -vessel for him. Here was a hero after his own sort, a leader by the -divine right of the expansive power of steam. - -The human faculties of observation have not yet adjusted themselves to -the flying train. Steam has clapped wings to our shoulders without the -power to soar; we get bird's-eye views without the bird's eyes or the -bird's elevation, distance without breadth, detail without mass. If such -speed only gave us a proportionate extent of view, if this leisure of -the eye were only mated to an equal leisure in the glance! Indeed, when -one thinks of it, how near railway traveling, as a means of seeing a -country, comes, except in the discomforts of it, to being no traveling -at all! It is like being tied to your chair, and being jolted and shoved -about at home. The landscape is turned topsy-turvy. The eye sustains -unnatural relations to all but the most distant objects. We move in an -arbitrary plane, and seldom is anything seen from the proper point, or -with the proper sympathy of coordinate position. We shall have to wait -for the air ship to give us the triumph over space in which the eye can -share. Of this flight south from Edinburgh on that bright summer day, I -keep only the most general impression. I recall how clean and naked the -country looked, lifted up in broad hill-slopes, naked of forests and -trees and weedy, bushy growths, and of everything that would hide or -obscure its unbroken verdancy,--the one impression that of a universe of -grass, as in the arctic regions it might be one of snow; the mountains, -pastoral solitudes; the vales, emerald vistas. - -Not to be entirely cheated out of my walk, I left the train at -Lockerbie, a small Scotch market town, and accomplished the remainder of -the journey to Ecclefechan on foot, a brief six-mile pull. It was the -first day of June; the afternoon sun was shining brightly. It was still -the honeymoon of travel with me, not yet two weeks in the bonnie land; -the road was smooth and clean as the floor of a sea beach, and firmer, -and my feet devoured the distance with right good will. The first red -clover had just bloomed, as I probably would have found it that day had -I taken a walk at home; but, like the people I met, it had a ruddier -cheek than at home. I observed it on other occasions, and later in the -season, and noted that it had more color than in this country, and held -its bloom longer. All grains and grasses ripen slower there than here, -the season is so much longer and cooler. The pink and ruddy tints are -more common in the flowers also. The bloom of the blackberry is often of -a decided pink, and certain white, umbelliferous plants, like yarrow, -have now and then a rosy tinge. The little white daisy ("gowan," the -Scotch call it) is tipped with crimson, foretelling the scarlet -poppies, with which the grain fields will by and by be splashed. -Prunella (self-heal), also, is of a deeper purple than with us, and a -species of cranesbill, like our wild geranium, is of a much deeper and -stronger color. On the other hand, their ripened fruits and foliage of -autumn pale their ineffectual colors beside our own. - -Among the farm occupations, that which most took my eye, on this and on -other occasions, was the furrowing of the land for turnips and potatoes; -it is done with such absolute precision. It recalled Emerson's statement -that the fields in this island look as if finished with a pencil instead -of a plow,--a pencil and a ruler in this case, the lines were so -straight and so uniform. I asked a farmer at work by the roadside how he -managed it. "Ah," said he, "a Scotchman's head is level." Both here and -in England, plowing is studied like a fine art; they have plowing -matches, and offer prizes for the best furrow. In planting both potatoes -and turnips the ground is treated alike, grubbed, plowed, cross-plowed, -crushed, harrowed, chain-harrowed, and rolled. Every sod and tuft of -uprooted grass is carefully picked up by women and boys, and burned or -carted away; leaving the surface of the ground like a clean sheet of -paper, upon which the plowman is now to inscribe his perfect lines. The -plow is drawn by two horses; it is a long, heavy tool, with double -mould-boards, and throws the earth each way. In opening the first furrow -the plowman is guided by stakes; having got this one perfect, it is -used as the model for every subsequent one, and the land is thrown into -ridges as uniform and faultless as if it had been stamped at one stroke -with a die, or cast in a mould. It is so from one end of the island to -the other; the same expert seems to have done the work in every plowed -and planted field. - -Four miles from Lockerbie I came to Mainhill, the name of a farm where -the Carlyle family lived many years, and where Carlyle first read -Goethe, "in a dry ditch," Froude says, and translated "Wilhelm Meister." -The land drops gently away to the south and east, opening up broad views -in these directions, but it does not seem to be the bleak and windy -place Froude describes it. The crops looked good, and the fields smooth -and fertile. The soil is rather a stubborn clay, nearly the same as one -sees everywhere. A sloping field adjoining the highway was being got -ready for turnips. The ridges had been cast; the farmer, a courteous but -serious and reserved man, was sprinkling some commercial fertilizer in -the furrows from a bag slung across his shoulders, while a boy, with a -horse and cart, was depositing stable manure in the same furrows, which -a lassie, in clogs and short skirts, was evenly distributing with a -fork. Certain work in Scotch fields always seems to be done by women and -girls,--spreading manure, pulling weeds, and picking up sods,--while -they take an equal hand with the men in the hay and harvest fields. - -The Carlyles were living on this farm while their son was teaching -school at Annan, and later at Kirkcaldy with Irving, and they supplied -him with cheese, butter, ham, oatmeal, etc., from their scanty stores. A -new farmhouse has been built since then, though the old one is still -standing; doubtless the same Carlyle's father refers to in a letter to -his son, in 1817, as being under way. The parish minister was expected -at Mainhill. "Your mother was very anxious to have the house done before -he came, or else she said she would run over the hill and hide herself." - -From Mainhill the highway descends slowly to the village of Ecclefechan, -the site of which is marked to the eye, a mile or more away, by the -spire of the church rising up against a background of Scotch firs, which -clothe a hill beyond. I soon entered the main street of the village, -which in Carlyle's youth had an open burn or creek flowing through the -centre of it. This has been covered over by some enterprising citizen, -and instead of a loitering little burn, crossed by numerous bridges, the -eye is now greeted by a broad expanse of small cobble-stone. The -cottages are for the most part very humble, and rise from the outer -edges of the pavement, as if the latter had been turned up and shaped to -make their walls. The church is a handsome brown stone structure, of -recent date, and is more in keeping with the fine fertile country about -than with the little village in its front. In the cemetery back of it, -Carlyle lies buried. As I approached, a girl sat by the roadside, near -the gate, combing her black locks and arranging her toilet; waiting, as -it proved, for her mother and brother, who lingered in the village. A -couple of boys were cutting nettles against the hedge; for the pigs, -they said, after the sting had been taken out of them by boiling. Across -the street from the cemetery the cows of the villagers were grazing. - -I must have thought it would be as easy to distinguish Carlyle's grave -from the others as it was to distinguish the man while living, or his -fame when dead; for it never occurred to me to ask in what part of the -inclosure it was placed. Hence, when I found myself inside the gate, -which opens from the Annan road through a high stone wall, I followed -the most worn path toward a new and imposing-looking monument on the far -side of the cemetery; and the edge of my fine emotion was a good deal -dulled against the marble when I found it bore a strange name. I tried -others, and still others, but was disappointed. I found a long row of -Carlyles, but he whom I sought was not among them. My pilgrim enthusiasm -felt itself needlessly hindered and chilled. How many rebuffs could one -stand? Carlyle dead, then, was the same as Carlyle living; sure to take -you down a peg or two when you came to lay your homage at his feet. - -Presently I saw "Thomas Carlyle" on a big marble slab that stood in a -family inclosure. But this turned out to be the name of a nephew of the -great Thomas. However, I had struck the right plat at last; here were -the Carlyles I was looking for, within a space probably of eight by -sixteen feet, surrounded by a high iron fence. The latest made grave was -higher and fuller than the rest, but it had no stone or mark of any kind -to distinguish it. Since my visit, I believe, a stone or monument of -some kind has been put up. A few daisies and the pretty blue-eyed -speedwell were growing amid the grass upon it. The great man lies with -his head toward the south or southwest, with his mother, sister, and -father to the right of him, and his brother John to the left. I was glad -to learn that the high iron fence was not his own suggestion. His father -had put it around the family plat in his lifetime. Carlyle would have -liked to have it cut down about half way. The whole look of this -cemetery, except in the extraordinary size of the headstones, was quite -American, it being back of the church, and separated from it, a kind of -mortuary garden, instead of surrounding it and running under it, as is -the case with the older churches. I noted here, as I did elsewhere, that -the custom prevails of putting the trade or occupation of the deceased -upon his stone: So-and-So, mason, or tailor, or carpenter, or farmer, -etc. - -A young man and his wife were working in a nursery of young trees, a few -paces from the graves, and I conversed with them through a thin place in -the hedge. They said they had seen Carlyle many times, and seemed to -hold him in proper esteem and reverence. The young man had seen him -come in summer and stand, with uncovered head, beside the graves of his -father and mother. "And long and reverently did he remain there, too," -said the young gardener. I learned this was Carlyle's invariable custom: -every summer did he make a pilgrimage to this spot, and with bared head -linger beside these graves. The last time he came, which was a couple of -years before he died, he was so feeble that two persons sustained him -while he walked into the cemetery. This observance recalls a passage -from his "Past and Present." Speaking of the religious custom of the -Emperor of China, he says, "He and his three hundred millions (it is -their chief punctuality) visit yearly the Tombs of their Fathers; each -man the Tomb of his Father and his Mother; alone there in silence with -what of 'worship' or of other thought there may be, pauses solemnly each -man; the divine Skies all silent over him; the divine Graves, and this -divinest Grave, all silent under him; the pulsings of his own soul, if -he have any soul, alone audible. Truly it may be a kind of worship! -Truly, if a man cannot get some glimpse into the Eternities, looking -through this portal,--through what other need he try it?" - -Carlyle's reverence and affection for his kindred were among his most -beautiful traits, and make up in some measure for the contempt he felt -toward the rest of mankind. The family stamp was never more strongly set -upon a man, and no family ever had a more original, deeply cut pattern -than that of the Carlyles. Generally, in great men who emerge from -obscure peasant homes, the genius of the family takes an enormous leap, -or is completely metamorphosed; but Carlyle keeps all the paternal -lineaments unfaded; he is his father and his mother, touched to finer -issues. That wonderful speech of his sire, which all who knew him -feared, has lost nothing in the son, but is tremendously augmented, and -cuts like a Damascus sword, or crushes like a sledge-hammer. The -strongest and finest paternal traits have survived in him. Indeed, a -little congenital rill seems to have come all the way down from the old -vikings. Carlyle is not merely Scotch; he is Norselandic. There is a -marked Scandinavian flavor in him; a touch, or more than a touch, of the -rude, brawling, bullying, hard-hitting, wrestling viking times. The -hammer of Thor antedates the hammer of his stone-mason sire in him. He -is Scotland, past and present, moral and physical. John Knox and the -Covenanters survive in him: witness his religious zeal, his depth and -solemnity of conviction, his strugglings and agonizings, his -"conversion." Ossian survives in him: behold that melancholy retrospect, -that gloom, that melodious wail. And especially, as I have said, do his -immediate ancestors survive in him,--his sturdy, toiling, fiery-tongued, -clannish yeoman progenitors: all are summed up here; this is the net -result available for literature in the nineteenth century. - -Carlyle's heart was always here in Scotland. A vague, yearning -homesickness seemed ever to possess him. "The Hill I first saw the Sun -rise over," he says in "Past and Present," "when the Sun and I and all -things were yet in their auroral hour, who can divorce me from it? -Mystic, deep as the world's centre, are the roots I have struck into my -Native Soil; no _tree_ that grows is rooted so." How that mournful -retrospective glance haunts his pages! His race, generation upon -generation, had toiled and wrought here amid the lonely moors, had -wrestled with poverty and privation, had wrung the earth for a scanty -subsistence, till they had become identified with the soil, kindred with -it. How strong the family ties had grown in the struggle; how the -sentiment of home was fostered! Then the Carlyles were men who lavished -their heart and conscience upon their work; they builded themselves, -their days, their thoughts and sorrows, into their houses; they leavened -the soil with the sweat of their rugged brows. When James Carlyle, his -father, after a lapse of fifty years, saw Auldgarth bridge, upon which -he had worked as a lad, he was deeply moved. When Carlyle in his turn -saw it, and remembered his father and all he had told him, he also was -deeply moved. "It was as if half a century of past time had fatefully -for moments turned back." Whatever these men touched with their hands in -honest toil became sacred to them, a page out of their own lives. A -silent, inarticulate kind of religion they put into their work. All this -bore fruit in their distinguished descendant. It gave him that -reverted, half mournful gaze; the ground was hallowed behind him; his -dead called to him from their graves. Nothing deepens and intensifies -family traits like poverty and toil and suffering. It is the furnace -heat that brings out the characters, the pressure that makes the strata -perfect. One recalls Carlyle's grandmother getting her children up late -at night, his father one of them, to break their long fast with oaten -cakes from the meal that had but just arrived; making the fire from -straw taken from their beds. Surely, such things reach the springs of -being. - -It seemed eminently fit that Carlyle's dust should rest here in his -native soil, with that of his kindred, he was so thoroughly one of them, -and that his place should be next his mother's, between whom and himself -there existed such strong affection. I recall a little glimpse he gives -of his mother in a letter to his brother John, while the latter was -studying in Germany. His mother had visited him in Edinburgh. "I had -her," he writes, "at the pier of Leith, and showed her where your ship -vanished; and she looked over the blue waters eastward with wettish -eyes, and asked the dumb waves 'when he would be back again.' Good -mother." - -To see more of Ecclefechan and its people, and to browse more at my -leisure about the country, I brought my wife and youngster down from -Lockerbie; and we spent several days there, putting up at the quiet and -cleanly little Bush Inn. I tramped much about the neighborhood, noting -the birds, the wild flowers, the people, the farm occupations, etc.; -going one afternoon to Scotsbrig, where the Carlyles lived after they -left Mainhill, and where both father and mother died; one day to Annan, -another to Repentance Hill, another over the hill toward Kirtlebridge, -tasting the land, and finding it good. It is an evidence of how -permanent and unchanging things are here that the house where Carlyle -was born, eighty-seven years ago, and which his father built, stands -just as it did then, and looks good for several hundred years more. In -going up to the little room where he first saw the light, one ascends -the much-worn but original stone stairs, and treads upon the original -stone floors. I suspect that even the window panes in the little window -remain the same. The village is a very quiet and humble one, paved with -small cobble-stone, over which one hears the clatter of the wooden -clogs, the same as in Carlyle's early days. The pavement comes quite up -to the low, modest, stone-floored houses, and one steps from the street -directly into most of them. When an Englishman or a Scotchman of the -humbler ranks builds a house in the country, he either turns its back -upon the highway, or places it several rods distant from it, with sheds -or stables between; or else he surrounds it with a high, massive fence, -shutting out your view entirely. In the village he crowds it to the -front; continues the street pavement into his hall, if he can; allows no -fence or screen between it and the street, but makes the communication -between the two as easy and open as possible. At least this is the case -with most of the older houses. Hence village houses and cottages in -Britain are far less private and secluded than ours, and country houses -far less public. The only feature of Ecclefechan, besides the church, -that distinguishes it from the humblest peasant village of a hundred -years ago, is the large, fine stone structure used for the public -school. It confers a sort of distinction upon the place, as if it were -in some way connected with the memory of its famous son. I think I was -informed that he had some hand in founding it. The building in which he -first attended school is a low, humble dwelling, that now stands behind -the church, and forms part of the boundary between the cemetery and the -Annan road. - -From our window I used to watch the laborers on their way to their work, -the children going to school, or to the pump for water, and night and -morning the women bringing in their cows from the pasture to be milked. -In the long June gloaming the evening milking was not done till about -nine o'clock. On two occasions, the first in a brisk rain, a bedraggled, -forlorn, deeply-hooded, youngish woman, came slowly through the street, -pausing here and there, and singing in wild, melancholy, and not -unpleasing strains. Her voice had a strange piercing plaintiveness and -wildness. Now and then some passer-by would toss a penny at her feet. -The pretty Edinburgh lass, her hair redder than Scotch gold, that waited -upon us at the inn, went out in the rain and put a penny in her hand. -After a few pennies had been collected the music would stop, and the -singer disappear,--to drink up her gains, I half suspect, but do not -know. I noticed that she was never treated with rudeness or disrespect. -The boys would pause and regard her occasionally, but made no remark, or -gesture, or grimace. One afternoon a traveling show pitched its tent in -the broader part of the street, and by diligent grinding of a hand-organ -summoned all the children of the place to see the wonders. The admission -was one penny, and I went in with the rest, and saw the little man, the -big dog, the happy family, and the gaping, dirty-faced, but orderly -crowd of boys and girls. The Ecclefechan boys, with some of whom I -tried, not very successfully, to scrape an acquaintance, I found a -sober, quiet, modest set, shy of strangers, and, like all country boys, -incipient naturalists. If you want to know where the birds'-nests are, -ask the boys. Hence, one Sunday afternoon, meeting a couple of them on -the Annan road, I put the inquiry. They looked rather blank and -unresponsive at first; but I made them understand I was in earnest, and -wished to be shown some nests. To stimulate their ornithology I offered -a penny for the first nest, twopence for the second, threepence for the -third, etc.,--a reward that, as it turned out, lightened my burden of -British copper considerably; for these boys appeared to know every nest -in the neighborhood, and I suspect had just then been making Sunday -calls upon their feathered friends. They turned about, with a bashful -smile, but without a word, and marched me a few paces along the road, -when they stepped to the hedge, and showed me a hedge-sparrow's nest -with young. The mother bird was near, with food in her beak. This nest -is a great favorite of the cuckoo, and is the one to which Shakespeare -refers:-- - - "The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long - That it's had it head bit off by it young." - -The bird is not a sparrow at all, but is a warbler, closely related to -the nightingale. Then they conducted me along a pretty by-road, and -parted away the branches, and showed me a sparrow's nest with eggs in -it. A group of wild pansies, the first I had seen, made bright the bank -near it. Next, after conferring a moment soberly together, they took me -to a robin's nest,--a warm, mossy structure in the side of the bank. -Then we wheeled up another road, and they disclosed the nest of the -yellow yite, or yellow-hammer, a bird of the sparrow kind, also upon the -ground. It seemed to have a little platform of coarse, dry stalks, like -a door-stone, in front of it. In the mean time they had showed me -several nests of the hedge-sparrow, and one of the shilfa, or chaffinch, -that had been "harried," as the boys said, or robbed. These were -gratuitous and merely by the way. Then they pointed out to me the nest -of a tomtit in a disused pump that stood near the cemetery; after which -they proposed to conduct me to a chaffinch's nest and a blackbird's -nest; but I said I had already seen several of these and my curiosity -was satisfied. Did they know any others? Yes, several of them; beyond -the village, on the Middlebie road, they knew a wren's nest with -eighteen eggs in it. Well, I would see that, and that would be enough; -the coppers were changing pockets too fast. So through the village we -went, and along the Middlebie road for nearly a mile. The boys were as -grave and silent as if they were attending a funeral; not a remark, not -a smile. We walked rapidly. The afternoon was warm, for Scotland, and -the tips of their ears glowed through their locks, as they wiped their -brows. I began to feel as if I had had about enough walking myself. -"Boys, how much farther is it?" I said. "A wee bit farther, sir;" and -presently, by their increasing pace, I knew we were nearing it. It -proved to be the nest of the willow wren, or willow warbler, an -exquisite structure, with a dome or canopy above it, the cavity lined -with feathers and crowded with eggs. But it did not contain eighteen. -The boys said they had been told that the bird would lay as many as -eighteen eggs; but it is the common wren that lays this number,--even -more. What struck me most was the gravity and silent earnestness of the -boys. As we walked back they showed me more nests that had been harried. -The elder boy's name was Thomas. He had heard of Thomas Carlyle; but -when I asked him what he thought of him, he only looked awkwardly upon -the ground. - -I had less trouble to get the opinion of an old road-mender whom I fell -in with one day. I was walking toward Repentance Hill, when he overtook -me with his "machine" (all road vehicles in Scotland are called -machines), and insisted upon my getting up beside him. He had a little -white pony, "twenty-one years old, sir," and a heavy, rattling -two-wheeler, quite as old I should say. We discoursed about roads. Had -we good roads in America? No? Had we no "metal" there, no stone? Plenty -of it, I told him,--too much; but we had not learned the art of -road-making yet. Then he would have to come "out" and show us; indeed, -he had been seriously thinking about it; he had an uncle in America, but -had lost all track of him. He had seen Carlyle many a time, "but the -people here took no interest in that man," he said; "he never done -nothing for this place." Referring to Carlyle's ancestors, he said, "The -Cairls were what we Scotch call bullies,--a set of bullies, sir. If you -crossed their path, they would murder you;" and then came out some -highly-colored tradition of the "Ecclefechan dog fight," which Carlyle -refers to in his Reminiscences. On this occasion, the old road-mender -said, the "Cairls" had clubbed together, and bullied and murdered half -the people of the place! "No, sir, we take no interest in that man -here," and he gave the pony a sharp punch with his stub of a whip. But -he himself took a friendly interest in the schoolgirls whom we overtook -along the road, and kept picking them up till the cart was full, and -giving the "lassies" a lift on their way home. Beyond Annan bridge we -parted company, and a short walk brought me to Repentance Hill, a grassy -eminence that commands a wide prospect toward the Solway. The tower -which stands on the top is one of those interesting relics of which this -land is full, and all memory and tradition of the use and occasion of -which are lost. It is a rude stone structure, about thirty feet square -and forty high, pierced by a single door, with the word "Repentance" cut -in Old English letters in the lintel over it. The walls are loopholed -here and there for musketry or archery. An old disused graveyard -surrounds it, and the walls of a little chapel stand in the rear of it. -The conies have their holes under it; some lord, whose castle lies in -the valley below, has his flagstaff upon it; and Time's initials are -scrawled on every stone. A piece of mortar probably three or four -hundred years old, that had fallen from its place, I picked up, and -found nearly as hard as the stone, and quite as gray and lichen-covered. -Returning, I stood some time on Annan bridge, looking over the parapet -into the clear, swirling water, now and then seeing a trout leap. -Whenever the pedestrian comes to one of these arched bridges, he must -pause and admire, it is so unlike what he is acquainted with at home. It -is a real _viaduct_; it conducts not merely the traveler over, it -conducts the road over as well. Then an arched bridge is ideally -perfect; there is no room for criticism,--not one superfluous touch or -stroke; every stone tells, and tells entirely. Of a piece of -architecture, we can say this or that, but of one of these old bridges -this only: it satisfies every sense of the mind. It has the beauty of -poetry, and the precision of mathematics. The older bridges, like this -over the Annan, are slightly hipped, so that the road rises gradually -from either side to the key of the arch; this adds to their beauty, and -makes them look more like things of life. The modern bridges are all -level on the top, which increases their utility. Two laborers, gossiping -on the bridge, said I could fish by simply going and asking leave of -some functionary about the castle. - -Shakespeare says of the martlet, that it - - "Builds in the weather on the outward wall, - Even in the force and road of casualty." - -I noticed that a pair had built their nest on an iron bracket under the -eaves of a building opposite our inn, which proved to be in the "road of -casualty;" for one day the painters began scraping the building, -preparatory to giving it a new coat of paint, and the "procreant cradle" -was knocked down. The swallows did not desert the place, however, but -were at work again next morning before the painters were. The Scotch, by -the way, make a free use of paint. They even paint their tombstones. -Most of them, I observed, were brown stones painted white. Carlyle's -father once sternly drove the painters from his door when they had been -summoned by the younger members of his family to give the house a coat -"o' pent." "Ye can jist pent the bog wi' yer ashbaket feet, for ye'll -pit nane o' yer glaur on ma door." But the painters have had their -revenge at last, and their "glaur" now covers the old man's tombstone. - -One day I visited a little overgrown cemetery about a mile below the -village, toward Kirtlebridge, and saw many of the graves of the old -stock of Carlyles, among them some of Carlyle's uncles. This name occurs -very often in those old cemeteries; they were evidently a prolific and -hardy race. The name Thomas is a favorite one among them, insomuch that -I saw the graves and headstones of eight Thomas Carlyles in the two -graveyards. The oldest Carlyle tomb I saw was that of one John Carlyle, -who died in 1692. The inscription upon his stone is as follows:-- - -"Heir Lyes John Carlyle of Penerssaughs, who departed this life ye 17 of -May 1692, and of age 72, and His Spouse Jannet Davidson, who departed -this life Febr. ye 7, 1708, and of age 73. Erected by John, his son." - -The old sexton, whom I frequently saw in the churchyard, lives in the -Carlyle house. He knew the family well, and had some amusing and -characteristic anecdotes to relate of Carlyle's father, the redoubtable -James, mainly illustrative of his bluntness and plainness of speech. The -sexton pointed out, with evident pride, the few noted graves the -churchyard held; that of the elder Peel being among them. He spoke of -many of the oldest graves as "extinct;" nobody owned or claimed them; -the name had disappeared, and the ground was used a second time. The -ordinary graves in these old burying places appear to become "extinct" -in about two hundred years. It was very rare to find a date older than -that. He said the "Cairls" were a peculiar set; there was nobody like -them. You would know them, man and woman, as soon as they opened their -mouths to speak; they spoke as if against a stone wall. (Their words hit -hard.) This is somewhat like Carlyle's own view of his style. "My -style," he says in his note-book, when he was thirty-eight years of age, -"is like no other man's. The first sentence bewrays me." Indeed, -Carlyle's style, which has been so criticised, was as much a part of -himself, and as little an affectation, as his shock of coarse yeoman -hair and bristly beard and bleared eyes were a part of himself; he -inherited them. What Taine calls his barbarisms was his strong mason -sire cropping out. He was his father's son to the last drop of his -blood, a master builder working with might and main. No more did the -former love to put a rock face upon his wall than did the latter to put -the same rock face upon his sentences; and he could do it, too, as no -other writer, ancient or modern, could. - -I occasionally saw strangers at the station, which is a mile from the -village, inquiring their way to the churchyard; but I was told there had -been a notable falling off of the pilgrims and visitors of late. During -the first few months after his burial, they nearly denuded the grave of -its turf; but after the publication of the Reminiscences, the number of -silly geese that came there to crop the grass was much fewer. No real -lover of Carlyle was ever disturbed by those Reminiscences; but to the -throng that run after a man because he is famous, and that chip his -headstone or carry away the turf above him when he is dead, they were -happily a great bugaboo. - -A most agreeable walk I took one day down to Annan. Irving's name still -exists there, but I believe all his near kindred have disappeared. -Across the street from the little house where he was born this sign may -be seen: "Edward Irving, Flesher." While in Glasgow, I visited Irving's -grave, in the crypt of the cathedral, a most dismal place, and was -touched to see the bronze tablet that marked its site in the pavement -bright and shining, while those about it, of Sir this or Lady that, were -dull and tarnished. Did some devoted hand keep it scoured, or was the -polishing done by the many feet that paused thoughtfully above this -name? Irving would long since have been forgotten by the world had it -not been for his connection with Carlyle, and it was probably the lustre -of the latter's memory that I saw reflected in the metal that bore -Irving's name. The two men must have been of kindred genius in many -ways, to have been so drawn to each other, but Irving had far less hold -upon reality; his written word has no projectile force. It makes a vast -difference whether you burn gunpowder on a shovel or in a gun-barrel. -Irving may be said to have made a brilliant flash, and then to have -disappeared in the smoke. - -Some men are like nails, easily drawn; others are like rivets, not -drawable at all. Carlyle is a rivet, well _headed_ in. He is not going -to give way, and be forgotten soon. People who differed from him in -opinion have stigmatized him as an actor, a mountebank, a rhetorician; -but he was committed to his purpose and to the part he played with the -force of gravity. Behold how he toiled! He says, "One monster there is -in the world,--the idle man." He did not merely preach the gospel of -work; he was it,--an indomitable worker from first to last. How he -delved! How he searched for a sure foundation, like a master builder, -fighting his way through rubbish and quicksands till he reached the -rock! Each of his review articles cost him a month or more of serious -work. "Sartor Resartus" cost him nine months, the "French Revolution" -three years, "Cromwell" four years, "Frederick" thirteen years. No surer -does the Auldgarth bridge, that his father helped build, carry the -traveler over the turbulent water beneath it, than these books convey -the reader over chasms and confusions, where before there was no way, or -only an inadequate one. Carlyle never wrote a book except to clear some -gulf or quagmire, to span and conquer some chaos. No architect or -engineer ever had purpose more tangible and definite. To further the -reader on his way, not to beguile or amuse him, was always his purpose. -He had that contempt for all dallying and toying and lightness and -frivolousness that hard, serious workers always have. He was impatient -of poetry and art; they savored too much of play and levity. His own -work was not done lightly and easily, but with labor throes and pains, -as of planting his piers in a weltering flood and chaos. The spirit of -struggling and wrestling which he had inherited was always uppermost. It -seems as if the travail and yearning of his mother had passed upon him -as a birthmark. The universe was madly rushing about him, seeking to -engulf him. Things assumed threatening and spectral shapes. There was -little joy or serenity for him. Every task he proposed to himself was a -struggle with chaos and darkness, real or imaginary. He speaks of -"Frederick" as a nightmare; the "Cromwell business" as toiling amid -mountains of dust. I know of no other man in literature with whom the -sense of labor is so tangible and terrible. That vast, grim, struggling, -silent, inarticulate array of ancestral force that lay in him, when the -burden of written speech was laid upon it, half rebelled, and would not -cease to struggle and be inarticulate. There was a plethora of power: a -channel, as through rocks, had to be made for it, and there was an -incipient cataclysm whenever a book was to be written. What brings joy -and buoyancy to other men, namely, a genial task, brought despair and -convulsions to him. It is not the effort of composition,--he was a rapid -and copious writer and speaker,--but the pressure of purpose, the -friction of power and velocity, the sense of overcoming the demons and -mud-gods and frozen torpidity he so often refers to. Hence no writing -extant is so little like writing, and gives so vividly the sense of -something _done_. He may praise silence and glorify work. The -unspeakable is ever present with him; it is the core of every sentence: -the inarticulate is round about him; a solitude like that of space -encompasseth him. His books are not easy reading; they are a kind of -wrestling to most persons. His style is like a road made of rocks: when -it is good, there is nothing like it; and when it is bad, there is -nothing like it! - -In "Past and Present" Carlyle has unconsciously painted his own life and -character in truer colors than has any one else: "Not a May-game is this -man's life, but a battle and a march, a warfare with principalities and -powers; no idle promenade through fragrant orange groves and green, -flowery spaces, waited on by the choral Muses and the rosy Hours: it is -a stern pilgrimage through burning, sandy solitudes, through regions of -thick-ribbed ice. He walks among men; loves men with inexpressible soft -pity, as they _cannot_ love him: but his soul dwells in solitude, in the -uttermost parts of Creation. In green oases by the palm-tree wells, he -rests a space; but anon he has to journey forward, escorted by the -Terrors and the Splendors, the Archdemons and Archangels. All heaven, -all pandemonium, are his escort." Part of the world will doubtless -persist in thinking that pandemonium furnished his chief counsel and -guide; but there are enough who think otherwise, and their numbers are -bound to increase in the future. - - - - -IV - -A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE - - -While I lingered away the latter half of May in Scotland, and the first -half of June in northern England, and finally in London, intent on -seeing the land leisurely and as the mood suited, the thought never -occurred to me that I was in danger of missing one of the chief -pleasures I had promised myself in crossing the Atlantic, namely, the -hearing of the song of the nightingale. Hence, when on the 17th of June -I found myself down among the copses near Hazlemere, on the borders of -Surrey and Sussex, and was told by the old farmer, to whose house I had -been recommended by friends in London, that I was too late, that the -season of the nightingale was over, I was a good deal disturbed. - -"I think she be done singing now, sir; I ain't heered her in some time, -sir," said my farmer, as we sat down to get acquainted over a mug of the -hardest cider I ever attempted to drink. - -"Too late!" I said in deep chagrin, "and I might have been here weeks -ago." - -"Yeas, sir, she be done now; May is the time to hear her. The cuckoo is -done too, sir; and you don't hear the nightingale after the cuckoo is -gone, sir." - -(The country people in this part of England _sir_ one at the end of -every sentence, and talk with an indescribable drawl.) - -But I had heard a cuckoo that very afternoon, and I took heart from the -fact. I afterward learned that the country people everywhere associate -these two birds in this way; you will not hear the one after the other -has ceased. But I heard the cuckoo almost daily till the middle of July. -Matthew Arnold reflects the popular opinion when in one of his poems -("Thyrsis") he makes the cuckoo say in early June,-- - - "The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I!" - -The explanation is to be found in Shakespeare, who says,-- - - "The cuckoo is in June - Heard, not regarded," - -as the bird really does not go till August. I got out my Gilbert White, -as I should have done at an earlier day, and was still more disturbed to -find that he limited the singing of the nightingale to June 15. But -seasons differ, I thought, and it can't be possible that any class of -feathered songsters all stop on a given day. There is a tradition that -when George I. died the nightingales all ceased singing for the year out -of grief at the sad event; but his majesty did not die till June 21. -This would give me a margin of several days. Then, when I looked further -in White, and found that he says the chaffinch ceases to sing the -beginning of June, I took more courage, for I had that day heard the -chaffinch also. But it was evident I had no time to lose; I was just on -the dividing line, and any day might witness the cessation of the last -songster. For it seems that the nightingale ceases singing the moment -her brood is hatched. After that event, you hear only a harsh chiding or -anxious note. Hence the poets, who attribute her melancholy strains to -sorrow for the loss of her young, are entirely at fault. Virgil, -portraying the grief of Orpheus after the loss of Eurydice, says:-- - - "So Philomela, 'mid the poplar shade, - Bemoans her captive brood; the cruel hind - Saw them unplumed, and took them; but all night - Grieves she, and, sitting on a bough, runs o'er - Her wretched tale, and fills the woods with woe." - -But she probably does nothing of the kind. The song of a bird is not a -reminiscence, but an anticipation, and expresses happiness or joy only, -except in those cases where the male bird, having lost its mate, sings -for a few days as if to call the lost one back. When the male renews his -powers of song, after the young brood has been destroyed, or after it -has flown away, it is a sign that a new brood is contemplated. The song -is, as it were, the magic note that calls the brood forth. At least, -this is the habit with other song-birds, and I have no doubt the same -holds good with the nightingale. Destroy the nest or brood of the wood -thrush, and if the season is not too far advanced, after a week or ten -days of silence, during which the parent birds by their manner seem to -bemoan their loss and to take counsel together, the male breaks forth -with a new song, and the female begins to construct a new nest. The -poets, therefore, in depicting the bird on such occasions as bewailing -the lost brood, are wide of the mark; he is invoking and celebrating a -new brood. - -As it was mid-afternoon, I could only compose myself till nightfall. I -accompanied the farmer to the hay-field and saw the working of his -mowing-machine, a rare implement in England, as most of the grass is -still cut by hand, and raked by hand also. The disturbed skylarks were -hovering above the falling grass, full of anxiety for their nests, as -one may note the bobolinks on like occasions at home. The weather is so -uncertain in England, and it is so impossible to predict its complexion, -not only from day to day but from hour to hour, that the farmers appear -to consider it a suitable time to cut grass when it is not actually -raining. They slash away without reference to the aspects of the sky, -and when the field is down trust to luck to be able to cure the hay, or -get it ready to "carry" between the showers. The clouds were lowering -and the air was damp now, and it was Saturday afternoon; but the farmer -said they would never get their hay if they minded such things. The farm -had seen better days; so had the farmer; both were slightly down at the -heel. Too high rent and too much hard cider were working their effects -upon both. The farm had been in the family many generations, but it was -now about to be sold and to pass into other hands, and my host said he -was glad of it. There was no money in farming any more; no money in -anything. I asked him what were the main sources of profit on such a -farm. - -"Well," he said, "sometimes the wheat pops up, and the barley drops in, -and the pigs come on, and we picks up a little money, sir, but not much, -sir. Pigs is doing well naow. But they brings so much wheat from -Ameriky, and our weather is so bad that we can't get a good sample, sir, -one year in three, that there is no money made in growing wheat, sir." -And the "wuts" (oats) were not much better. "Theys as would buy hain't -got no money, sir." "Up to the top of the nip," for top of the hill, was -one of his expressions. Tennyson had a summer residence at Blackdown, -not far off. "One of the Queen's poets, I believe, sir." "Yes, I often -see him riding about, sir." - -After an hour or two with the farmer, I walked out to take a survey of -the surrounding country. It was quite wild and irregular, full of bushy -fields and overgrown hedge-rows, and looked to me very nightingaly. I -followed for a mile or two a road that led by tangled groves and woods -and copses, with a still meadow trout stream in the gentle valley below. -I inquired for nightingales of every boy and laboring-man I met or saw. -I got but little encouragement; it was too late. "She be about done -singing now, sir." A boy whom I met in a footpath that ran through a -pasture beside a copse said, after reflecting a moment, that he had -heard one in that very copse two mornings before,--"about seven o'clock, -sir, while I was on my way to my work, sir." Then I would try my luck in -said copse and in the adjoining thickets that night and the next -morning. The railway ran near, but perhaps that might serve to keep the -birds awake. These copses in this part of England look strange enough to -American eyes. What thriftless farming! the first thought is; behold the -fields grown up to bushes, as if the land had relapsed to a state of -nature again. Adjoining meadows and grain-fields, one may see an -inclosure of many acres covered with a thick growth of oak and chestnut -sprouts, six or eight or twelve feet high. These are the copses one has -so often heard about, and they are a valuable and productive part of the -farm. They are planted and preserved as carefully as we plant an orchard -or a vineyard. Once in so many years, perhaps five or six, the copse is -cut and every twig is saved; it is a woodland harvest that in our own -country is gathered in the forest itself. The larger poles are tied up -in bundles and sold for hoop-poles; the fine branches and shoots are -made into brooms in the neighboring cottages and hamlets, or used as -material for thatching. The refuse is used as wood. - -About eight o'clock in the evening I sallied forth, taking my way over -the ground I had explored a few hours before. The gloaming, which at -this season lasts till after ten o'clock, dragged its slow length along. -Nine o'clock came, and, though my ear was attuned, the songster was -tardy. I hovered about the copses and hedge-rows like one meditating -some dark deed; I lingered in a grove and about an overgrown garden and -a neglected orchard; I sat on stiles and leaned on wickets, mentally -speeding the darkness that should bring my singer out. The weather was -damp and chilly, and the tryst grew tiresome. I had brought a rubber -water-proof, but not an overcoat. Lining the back of the rubber with a -newspaper, I wrapped it about me and sat down, determined to lay siege -to my bird. A footpath that ran along the fields and bushes on the other -side of the little valley showed every few minutes a woman or girl, or -boy or laborer, passing along it. A path near me also had its frequent -figures moving along in the dusk. In this country people travel in -footpaths as much as in highways. The paths give a private, human touch -to the landscape that the roads do not. They are sacred to the human -foot. They have the sentiment of domesticity, and suggest the way to -cottage doors and to simple, primitive times. - -Presently a man with a fishing-rod, and capped, coated, and booted for -the work, came through the meadow, and began casting for trout in the -stream below me. How he gave himself to the work! how oblivious he was -of everything but the one matter in hand! I doubt if he was conscious of -the train that passed within a few rods of him. Your born angler is -like a hound that scents no game but that which he is in pursuit of. -Every sense and faculty were concentrated upon that hovering fly. This -man wooed the stream, quivering with pleasure and expectation. Every -foot of it he tickled with his decoy. His close was evidently a short -one, and he made the most of it. He lingered over every cast, and -repeated it again and again. An American angler would have been out of -sight down stream long ago. But this fisherman was not going to bolt his -preserve; his line should taste every drop of it. His eager, stealthy -movements denoted his enjoyment and his absorption. When a trout was -caught, it was quickly rapped on the head and slipped into his basket, -as if in punishment for its tardiness in jumping. "Be quicker next time, -will you?" (British trout, by the way, are not so beautiful as our own. -They have more of a domesticated look. They are less brilliantly marked, -and have much coarser scales. There is no gold or vermilion in their -coloring.) - -Presently there arose from a bushy corner of a near field a low, -peculiar purring or humming sound, that sent a thrill through me; of -course, I thought my bird was inflating her throat. Then the sound -increased, and was answered or repeated in various other directions. It -had a curious ventriloquial effect. I presently knew it to be the -nightjar or goatsucker, a bird that answers to our whip-poor-will. Very -soon the sound seemed to be floating all about me,--_Jr-r-r-r-r_ or -_Chr-r-r-r-r_, slightly suggesting the call of our toads, but more -vague as to direction. Then as it grew darker the birds ceased; the -fisherman reeled up and left. No sound was now heard,--not even the -voice of a solitary frog anywhere. I never heard a frog in England. -About eleven o'clock I moved down by a wood, and stood for an hour on a -bridge over the railroad. No voice of bird greeted me till the -sedge-warbler struck up her curious nocturne in a hedge near by. It was -a singular medley of notes, hurried chirps, trills, calls, warbles, -snatched from the songs of other birds, with a half-chiding, -remonstrating tone or air running through it all. As there was no other -sound to be heard, and as the darkness was complete, it had the effect -of a very private and whimsical performance,--as if the little bird had -secluded herself there, and was giving vent to her emotions in the most -copious and vehement manner. I listened till after midnight, and till -the rain began to fall, and the vivacious warbler never ceased for a -moment. White says that, if it stops, a stone tossed into the bush near -it will set it going again. Its voice is not musical; the quality of it -is like that of the loquacious English house sparrows; but its song or -medley is so persistently animated, and in such contrast to the gloom -and the darkness, that the effect is decidedly pleasing. - -This and the nightjar were the only nightingales I heard that night. I -returned home, a good deal disappointed, but slept upon my arms, as it -were, and was out upon the chase again at four o'clock in the morning. -This time I passed down a lane by the neglected garden and orchard, -where I was told the birds had sung for weeks past; then under the -railroad by a cluster of laborers' cottages, and along a road with many -copses and bushy fence-corners on either hand, for two miles, but I -heard no nightingales. A boy of whom I inquired seemed half frightened, -and went into the house without answering. - -After a late breakfast I sallied out again, going farther in the same -direction, and was overtaken by several showers. I heard many and -frequent bird-songs,--the lark, the wren, the thrush, the blackbird, the -whitethroat, the greenfinch, and the hoarse, guttural cooing of the -wood-pigeons,--but not the note I was in quest of. I passed up a road -that was a deep trench in the side of a hill overgrown with low beeches. -The roots of the trees formed a network on the side of the bank, as -their branches did above. In a framework of roots, within reach of my -hand, I spied a wren's nest, a round hole leading to the interior of a -large mass of soft green moss, a structure displaying the taste and -neatness of the daintiest of bird architects, and the depth and warmth -and snugness of the most ingenious mouse habitation. While lingering -here, a young countryman came along whom I engaged in conversation. No, -he had not heard the nightingale for a few days; but the previous week -he had been in camp with the militia near Guildford, and while on -picket duty had heard her nearly all night. "'Don't she sing splendid -to-night?' the boys would say." This was tantalizing; Guildford was -within easy reach; but the previous week,--that could not be reached. -However, he encouraged me by saying he did not think they were done -singing yet, as he had often heard them during haying-time. I inquired -for the blackcap, but saw he did not know this bird, and thought I -referred to a species of tomtit, which also has a black cap. The -woodlark I was also on the lookout for, but he did not know this bird -either, and during my various rambles in England I found but one person -who did. In Scotland it was confounded with the titlark or pipit. - -I next met a man and boy, a villager with a stove-pipe hat on,--and, as -it turned out, a man of many trades, tailor, barber, painter, -etc.,--from Hazlemere. The absorbing inquiry was put to him also. No, -not that day, but a few mornings before he had. But he could easily call -one out, if there were any about, as he could imitate them. Plucking a -spear of grass, he adjusted it behind his teeth and startled me with the -shrill, rapid notes he poured forth. I at once recognized its -resemblance to the descriptions I had read of the opening part of the -nightingale song,--what is called the "challenge." The boy said, and he -himself averred, that it was an exact imitation. The _chew, chew, chew_, -and some other parts, were very bird-like, and I had no doubt were -correct. I was astonished at the strong, piercing quality of the -strain. It echoed in the woods and copses about, but, though oft -repeated, brought forth no response. With this man I made an engagement -to take a walk that evening at eight o'clock along a certain route where -he had heard plenty of nightingales but a few days before. He was -confident he could call them out; so was I. - -In the afternoon, which had gleams of warm sunshine, I made another -excursion, less in hopes of hearing my bird than of finding some one who -could direct me to the right spot. Once I thought the game was very -near. I met a boy who told me he had heard a nightingale only fifteen -minutes before, "on Polecat Hill, sir, just this side the Devil's -Punch-bowl, sir!" I had heard of his majesty's punch-bowl before, and of -the gibbets near it where three murderers were executed nearly a hundred -years ago, but Polecat Hill was a new name to me. The combination did -not seem a likely place for nightingales, but I walked rapidly -thitherward; I heard several warblers, but not Philomel, and was forced -to conclude that probably I had crossed the sea to miss my bird by just -fifteen minutes. I met many other boys (is there any country where boys -do not prowl about in small bands of a Sunday?) and advertised the -object of my search freely among them, offering a reward that made their -eyes glisten for the bird in song; but nothing ever came of it. In my -desperation, I even presented a letter I had brought to the village -squire, just as, in company with his wife, he was about to leave his -door for church. He turned back, and, hearing my quest, volunteered to -take me on a long walk through the wet grass and bushes of his fields -and copses, where he knew the birds were wont to sing. "Too late," he -said, and so it did appear. He showed me a fine old edition of White's -"Selborne," with notes by some editor whose name I have forgotten. This -editor had extended White's date of June 15 to July 1, as the time to -which the nightingale continues in song, and I felt like thanking him -for it, as it gave me renewed hope. The squire thought there was a -chance yet; and in case my man with the spear of grass behind his teeth -failed me, he gave me a card to an old naturalist and taxidermist at -Godalming, a town nine miles above, who, he felt sure, could put me on -the right track if anybody could. - -At eight o'clock, the sun yet some distance above the horizon, I was at -the door of the barber in Hazlemere. He led the way along one of those -delightful footpaths with which this country is threaded, extending to a -neighboring village several miles distant. It left the street at -Hazlemere, cutting through the houses diagonally, as if the brick walls -had made way for it, passed between gardens, through wickets, over -stiles, across the highway and railroad, through cultivated fields and a -gentleman's park, and on toward its destination,--a broad, well-kept -path, that seemed to have the same inevitable right of way as a brook. I -was told that it was repaired and looked after the same as the highway. -Indeed, it was a public way, public to pedestrians only, and no man -could stop or turn it aside. We followed it along the side of a steep -hill, with copses and groves sweeping down into the valley below us. It -was as wild and picturesque a spot as I had seen in England. The -foxglove pierced the lower foliage and wild growths everywhere with its -tall spires of purple flowers; the wild honeysuckle, with a ranker and -coarser fragrance than our cultivated species, was just opening along -the hedges. We paused here, and my guide blew his shrill call; he blew -it again and again. How it awoke the echoes, and how it awoke all the -other songsters! The valley below us and the slope beyond, which before -were silent, were soon musical. The chaffinch, the robin, the blackbird, -the thrush--the last the loudest and most copious--seemed to vie with -each other and with the loud whistler above them. But we listened in -vain for the nightingale's note. Twice my guide struck an attitude and -said, impressively, "There! I believe I 'erd 'er." But we were obliged -to give it up. A shower came on, and after it had passed we moved to -another part of the landscape and repeated our call, but got no -response, and as darkness set in we returned to the village. - -The situation began to look serious. I knew there was a nightingale -somewhere whose brood had been delayed from some cause or other, and who -was therefore still in song, but I could not get a clew to the spot. I -renewed the search late that night, and again the next morning; I -inquired of every man and boy I saw. - - "I met many travelers, - Who the road had surely kept; - They saw not my fine revelers,-- - These had crossed them while they slept; - Some had heard their fair report, - In the country or the court." - -I soon learned to distrust young fellows and their girls who had heard -nightingales in the gloaming. I knew one's ears could not always be -depended upon on such occasions, nor his eyes either. Larks are seen in -buntings, and a wren's song entrances like Philomel's. A young couple of -whom I inquired in the train, on my way to Godalming, said Yes, they had -heard nightingales just a few moments before on their way to the -station, and described the spot, so I could find it if I returned that -way. They left the train at the same point I did, and walked up the -street in advance of me. I had lost sight of them till they beckoned to -me from the corner of the street, near the church, where the prospect -opens with a view of a near meadow and a stream shaded by pollard -willows. "We heard one now, just there," they said, as I came up. They -passed on, and I bent my ear eagerly in the direction. Then I walked -farther on, following one of those inevitable footpaths to where it cuts -diagonally through the cemetery behind the old church, but I heard -nothing save a few notes of the thrush. My ear was too critical and -exacting. Then I sought out the old naturalist and taxidermist to whom I -had a card from the squire. He was a short, stout man, racy both in look -and speech, and kindly. He had a fine collection of birds and animals, -in which he took great pride. He pointed out the woodlark and the -blackcap to me, and told me where he had seen and heard them. He said I -was too late for the nightingale, though I might possibly find one yet -in song. But he said she grew hoarse late in the season, and did not -sing as a few weeks earlier. He thought our cardinal grosbeak, which he -called the Virginia nightingale, as fine a whistler as the nightingale -herself. He could not go with me that day, but he would send his boy. -Summoning the lad, he gave him minute directions where to take me,--over -by Easing, around by Shackerford church, etc., a circuit of four or five -miles. Leaving the picturesque old town, we took a road over a broad, -gentle hill, lined with great trees,--beeches, elms, oaks,--with rich -cultivated fields beyond. The air of peaceful and prosperous human -occupancy which everywhere pervades this land seemed especially -pronounced through all this section. The sentiment of parks and lawns, -easy, large, basking, indifferent of admiration, self-sufficing, and -full, everywhere prevailed. The road was like the most perfect private -carriage-way. Homeliness, in its true sense, is a word that applies to -nearly all English country scenes; homelike, redolent of affectionate -care and toil, saturated with rural and domestic contentment; beauty -without pride, order without stiffness, age without decay. This people -love the country, because it would seem as if the country must first -have loved them. In a field I saw for the first time a new species of -clover, much grown in parts of England as green fodder for horses. The -farmers call it trifolium, probably _Trifolium incarnatum_. The head is -two or three inches long, and as red as blood. A field of it under the -sunlight presents a most brilliant appearance. As we walked along, I got -also my first view of the British blue jay,--a slightly larger bird than -ours, with a hoarser voice and much duller plumage. Blue, the tint of -the sky, is not so common, and is not found in any such perfection among -the British birds as among the American. My boy companion was worthy of -observation also. He was a curious specimen, ready and officious, but, -as one soon found out, full of duplicity. I questioned him about -himself. "I helps he, sir; sometimes I shows people about, and sometimes -I does errands. I gets three a week, sir, and lunch and tea. I lives -with my grandmother, but I calls her mother, sir. The master and the -rector they gives me a character, says I am a good, honest boy, and that -it is well I went to school in my youth. I am ten, sir. Last year I had -the measles, sir, and I thought I should die; but I got hold of a bottle -of medicine, and it tasted like honey, and I takes the whole of it, and -it made me well, sir. I never lies, sir. It is good to tell the truth." -And yet he would slide off into a lie as if the track in that direction -was always greased. Indeed, there was a kind of fluent, unctuous, -obsequious effrontery in all he said and did. As the day was warm for -that climate, he soon grew tired of the chase. At one point we skirted -the grounds of a large house, as thickly planted with trees and shrubs -as a forest; many birds were singing there, and for a moment my guide -made me believe that among them he recognized the notes of the -nightingale. Failing in this, he coolly assured me that the swallow that -skimmed along the road in front of us was the nightingale! We presently -left the highway and took a footpath. It led along the margin of a large -plowed field, shut in by rows of noble trees, the soil of which looked -as if it might have been a garden of untold generations. Then the path -led through a wicket, and down the side of a wooded hill to a large -stream and to the hamlet of Easing. A boy fishing said indifferently -that he had heard nightingales there that morning. He had caught a -little fish which he said was a gudgeon. "Yes," said my companion in -response to a remark of mine, "they's little; but you can eat they if -they _is_ little." Then we went toward Shackerford church. The road, -like most roads in the south of England, was a deep trench. The banks on -either side rose fifteen feet, covered with ivy, moss, wild flowers, and -the roots of trees. England's best defense against an invading foe is -her sunken roads. Whole armies might be ambushed in these trenches, -while an enemy moving across the open plain would very often find -himself plunging headlong into these hidden pitfalls. Indeed, between -the subterranean character of the roads in some places and the -high-walled or high-hedged character of it in others, the pedestrian -about England is shut out from much he would like to see. I used to envy -the bicyclists, perched high upon their rolling stilts. But the -footpaths escape the barriers, and one need walk nowhere else if he -choose. - -Around Shackerford church are copses, and large pine and fir woods. The -place was full of birds. My guide threw a stone at a small bird which he -declared was a nightingale; and though the missile did not come within -three yards of it, yet he said he had hit it, and pretended to search -for it on the ground. He must needs invent an opportunity for lying. I -told him here I had no further use for him, and he turned cheerfully -back, with my shilling in his pocket. I spent the afternoon about the -woods and copses near Shackerford. The day was bright and the air balmy. -I heard the cuckoo call, and the chaffinch sing, both of which I -considered good omens. The little chiffchaff was chiffchaffing in the -pine woods. The whitethroat, with his quick, emphatic _Chew-che-rick_ or -_Che-rick-a-rew_, flitted and ducked and hid among the low bushes by the -roadside. A girl told me she had heard the nightingale yesterday on her -way to Sunday-school, and pointed out the spot. It was in some bushes -near a house. I hovered about this place till I was afraid the woman, -who saw me from the window, would think I had some designs upon her -premises. But I managed to look very indifferent or abstracted when I -passed. I am quite sure I heard the chiding, guttural note of the bird I -was after. Doubtless her brood had come out that very day. Another girl -had heard a nightingale on her way to school that morning, and directed -me to the road; still another pointed out to me the whitethroat and said -that was my bird. This last was a rude shock to my faith in the -ornithology of schoolgirls. Finally, I found a laborer breaking stone by -the roadside,--a serious, honest-faced man, who said he had heard my -bird that morning on his way to work; he heard her every morning, and -nearly every night, too. He heard her last night after the shower (just -at the hour when my barber and I were trying to awaken her near -Hazlemere), and she sang as finely as ever she did. This was a great -lift. I felt that I could trust this man. He said that after his day's -work was done, that is, at five o'clock, if I chose to accompany him on -his way home, he would show me where he had heard the bird. This I -gladly agreed to; and, remembering that I had had no dinner, I sought -out the inn in the village and asked for something to eat. The unwonted -request so startled the landlord that he came out from behind his -inclosed bar and confronted me with good-humored curiosity. These -back-country English inns, as I several times found to my discomfiture, -are only drinking places for the accommodation of local customers, -mainly of the laboring class. Instead of standing conspicuously on some -street corner, as with us, they usually stand on some byway, or some -little paved court away from the main thoroughfare. I could have plenty -of beer, said the landlord, but he had not a mouthful of meat in the -house. I urged my needs, and finally got some rye-bread and cheese. With -this and a glass of home-brewed beer I was fairly well fortified. At the -appointed time I met the cottager and went with him on his way home. We -walked two miles or more along a charming road, full of wooded nooks and -arbor-like vistas. Why do English trees always look so sturdy, and -exhibit such massive repose, so unlike, in this latter respect, to the -nervous and agitated expression of most of our own foliage? Probably -because they have been a long time out of the woods, and have had plenty -of room in which to develop individual traits and peculiarities; then, -in a deep fertile soil, and a climate that does not hurry or overtax, -they grow slow and last long, and come to have the picturesqueness of -age without its infirmities. The oak, the elm, the beech, all have more -striking profiles than in our country. - -Presently my companion pointed out to me a small wood below the road -that had a wide fringe of bushes and saplings connecting it with a -meadow, amid which stood the tree-embowered house of a city man, where -he had heard the nightingale in the morning; and then, farther along, -showed me, near his own cottage, where he had heard one the evening -before. It was now only six o'clock, and I had two or three hours to -wait before I could reasonably expect to hear her. "It gets to be into -the hevening," said my new friend, "when she sings the most, you know." -I whiled away the time as best I could. If I had been an artist, I -should have brought away a sketch of a picturesque old cottage near by, -that bore the date of 1688 on its wall. I was obliged to keep moving -most of the time to keep warm. Yet the "no-see-'ems," or midges, annoyed -me, in a temperature which at home would have chilled them buzzless and -biteless. Finally, I leaped the smooth masonry of the stone wall and -ambushed myself amid the tall ferns under a pine-tree, where the -nightingale had been heard in the morning. If the keeper had seen me, he -would probably have taken me for a poacher. I sat shivering there till -nine o'clock, listening to the cooing of the wood-pigeons, watching the -motions of a jay that, I suspect, had a nest near by, and taking note of -various other birds. The song-thrush and the robins soon made such a -musical uproar along the borders of a grove, across an adjoining field, -as quite put me out. It might veil and obscure the one voice I wanted to -hear. The robin continued to sing quite into the darkness. This bird is -related to the nightingale, and looks and acts like it at a little -distance; and some of its notes are remarkably piercing and musical. -When my patience was about exhausted, I was startled by a quick, -brilliant call or whistle, a few rods from me, that at once recalled my -barber with his blade of grass, and I knew my long-sought bird was -inflating her throat. How it woke me up! It had the quality that -startles; it pierced the gathering gloom like a rocket. Then it ceased. -Suspecting I was too near the singer, I moved away cautiously, and stood -in a lane beside the wood, where a loping hare regarded me a few paces -away. Then my singer struck up again, but I could see did not let -herself out; just tuning her instrument, I thought, and getting ready to -transfix the silence and the darkness. A little later, a man and boy -came up the lane. I asked them if that was the nightingale singing; they -listened, and assured me it was none other. "Now she's on, sir; now -she's on. Ah! but she don't stick. In May, sir, they makes the woods all -heccho about here. Now she's on again; that's her, sir; now she's off; -she won't stick." And stick she would not. I could hear a hoarse -wheezing and clucking sound beneath her notes, when I listened intently. -The man and boy moved away. I stood mutely invoking all the gentle -divinities to spur the bird on. Just then a bird like our hermit thrush -came quickly over the hedge a few yards below me, swept close past my -face, and back into the thicket. I had been caught listening; the -offended bird had found me taking notes of her dry and worn-out pipe -there behind the hedge, and the concert abruptly ended; not another -note; not a whisper. I waited a long time and then moved off; then came -back, implored the outraged bird to resume; then rushed off, and slammed -the door, or rather the gate, indignantly behind me. I paused by other -shrines, but not a sound. The cottager had told me of a little village -three miles beyond, where there were three inns, and where I could -probably get lodgings for the night. I walked rapidly in that direction; -committed myself to a footpath; lost the trail, and brought up at a -little cottage in a wide expanse of field or common, and by the good -woman, with a babe in her arms, was set right again. I soon struck the -highway by the bridge, as I had been told, and a few paces brought me to -the first inn. It was ten o'clock, and the lights were just about to be -put out, as the law or custom is in country inns. The landlady said she -could not give me a bed; she had only one spare room, and that was not -in order, and she should not set about putting it in shape at that hour; -and she was short and sharp about it, too. I hastened on to the next -one. The landlady said she had no sheets, and the bed was damp and unfit -to sleep in. I protested that I thought an inn was an inn, and for the -accommodation of travelers. But she referred me to the next house. Here -were more people, and more the look and air of a public house. But the -wife (the man does not show himself on such occasions) said her daughter -had just got married and come home, and she had much company and could -not keep me. In vain I urged my extremity; there was no room. Could I -have something to eat, then? This seemed doubtful, and led to -consultations in the kitchen; but, finally, some bread and cold meat -were produced. The nearest hotel was Godalming, seven miles distant, and -I knew all the inns would be shut up before I could get there. So I -munched my bread and meat, consoling myself with the thought that -perhaps this was just the ill wind that would blow me the good I was in -quest of. I saw no alternative but to spend a night under the trees with -the nightingales; and I might surprise them at their revels in the small -hours of the morning. Just as I was ready to congratulate myself on the -richness of my experience, the landlady came in and said there was a -young man there going with a "trap" to Godalming, and he had offered to -take me in. I feared I should pass for an escaped lunatic if I declined -the offer; so I reluctantly assented, and we were presently whirling -through the darkness, along a smooth, winding road, toward town. The -young man was a drummer; was from Lincolnshire, and said I spoke like a -Lincolnshire man. I could believe it, for I told him he talked more like -an American than any native I had met. The hotels in the larger towns -close at eleven, and I was set down in front of one just as the clock -was striking that hour. I asked to be conducted to a room at once. As I -was about getting in bed there was a rap at the door, and a waiter -presented me my bill on a tray. "Gentlemen as have no luggage, etc.," he -explained; and pretend to be looking for nightingales, too! -Three-and-sixpence; two shillings for the bed and one-and-six for -service. I was out at five in the morning, before any one inside was -astir. After much trying of bars and doors, I made my exit into a paved -court, from which a covered way led into the street. A man opened a -window and directed me how to undo the great door, and forth I started, -still hoping to catch my bird at her matins. I took the route of the day -before. On the edge of the beautiful plowed field, looking down through -the trees and bushes into the gleam of the river twenty rods below, I -was arrested by the note I longed to hear. It came up from near the -water, and made my ears tingle. I folded up my rubber coat and sat down -upon it, saying, Now we will take our fill. But--the bird ceased, and, -tarry though I did for an hour, not another note reached me. The prize -seemed destined to elude me each time just as I thought it mine. Still, -I treasured what little I had heard. - -It was enough to convince me of the superior quality of the song, and -make me more desirous than ever to hear the complete strain. I continued -my rambles, and in the early morning once more hung about the -Shackerford copses and loitered along the highways. Two schoolboys -pointed out a tree to me in which they had heard the nightingale, on -their way for milk, two hours before. But I could only repeat Emerson's -lines:-- - - "Right good-will my sinews strung, - But no speed of mine avails - To hunt up their shining trails." - -At nine o'clock I gave over the pursuit and returned to Easing in quest -of breakfast. Bringing up in front of the large and comfortable-looking -inn, I found the mistress of the house with her daughter engaged in -washing windows. Perched upon their step-ladders, they treated my -request for breakfast very coldly; in fact, finally refused to listen to -it at all. The fires were out, and I could not be served. So I must -continue my walk back to Godalming; and, in doing so, I found that one -may walk three miles on indignation quite as easily as upon bread. - -In the afternoon I returned to my lodgings at Shotter Mill, and made -ready for a walk to Selborne, twelve miles distant, part of the way to -be accomplished that night in the gloaming, and the rest early on the -following morning, to give the nightingales a chance to make any -reparation they might feel inclined to for the neglect with which they -had treated me. There was a footpath over the hill and through Leechmere -bottom to Liphook, and to this, with the sun half an hour high, I -committed myself. The feature in this hill scenery of Surrey and Sussex -that is new to American eyes is given by the furze and heather, broad -black or dark-brown patches of which sweep over the high rolling -surfaces, like sable mantles. Tennyson's house stands amid this dusky -scenery, a few miles east of Hazlemere. The path led through a large -common, partly covered with grass and partly grown up to furze,--another -un-American feature. Doubly precious is land in England, and yet so -much of it given to parks and pleasure-grounds, and so much of it left -unreclaimed in commons! These commons are frequently met with; about -Selborne they are miles in extent, and embrace the Hanger and other -woods. No one can inclose them, or appropriate them to his own use. The -landed proprietor of whose estates they form a part cannot; they belong -to the people, to the lease-holders. The villagers and others who own -houses on leased land pasture their cows upon them, gather the furze, -and cut the wood. In some places the commons belong to the crown and are -crown lands. These large uninclosed spaces often give a free-and-easy -air to the landscape that is very welcome. Near the top of the hill I -met a little old man nearly hidden beneath a burden of furze. He was -backing it home for fuel and other uses. He paused obsequious, and -listened to my inquiries. A dwarfish sort of man, whose ugliness was -redolent of the humblest chimney corner. Bent beneath his bulky burden, -and grinning upon me, he was a visible embodiment of the poverty, -ignorance, and, I may say, the domesticity of the lowliest peasant home. -I felt as if I had encountered a walking superstition, fostered beside a -hearth lighted by furze fagots and by branches dropped by the nesting -rooks and ravens,--a figure half repulsive and half alluring. On the -border of Leechmere bottom I sat down above a straggling copse, aflame -as usual with the foxglove, and gave eye and ear to the scene. While -sitting here, I saw and heard for the first time the black-capped -warbler. I recognized the note at once by its brightness and strength, -and a faint suggestion in it of the nightingale's. But it was -disappointing: I had expected a nearer approach to its great rival. The -bird was very shy, but did finally show herself fairly several times, as -she did also near Selborne, where I heard the song oft repeated and -prolonged. It is a ringing, animated strain, but as a whole seemed to me -crude, not smoothly and finely modulated. I could name several of our -own birds that surpass it in pure music. Like its congeners, the garden -warbler and the whitethroat, it sings with great emphasis and strength, -but its song is silvern, not golden. "Little birds with big voices," one -says to himself after having heard most of the British songsters. My -path led me an adventurous course through the copses and bottoms and -open commons, in the long twilight. At one point I came upon three young -men standing together and watching a dog that was working a near -field,--one of them probably the squire's son, and the other two habited -like laborers. In a little thicket near by there was a brilliant chorus -of bird voices, the robin, the song-thrush, and the blackbird, all vying -with each other. To my inquiry, put to test the reliability of the young -countrymen's ears, they replied that one of the birds I heard was the -nightingale, and, after a moment's attention, singled out the robin as -the bird in question. This incident so impressed me that I paid little -attention to the report of the next man I met, who said he had heard a -nightingale just around a bend in the road, a few minutes' walk in -advance of me. At ten o'clock I reached Liphook. I expected and half -hoped the inn would turn its back upon me again, in which case I -proposed to make for Wolmer Forest, a few miles distant, but it did not. -Before going to bed, I took a short and hasty walk down a -promising-looking lane, and again met a couple who had heard -nightingales. "It was a nightingale, was it not, Charley?" - -If all the people of whom I inquired for nightingales in England could -have been together and compared notes, they probably would not have been -long in deciding that there was at least one crazy American abroad. - -I proposed to be up and off at five o'clock in the morning, which seemed -greatly to puzzle mine host. At first he thought it could not be done, -but finally saw his way out of the dilemma, and said he would get up and -undo the door for me himself. The morning was cloudy and misty, though -the previous night had been of the fairest. There is one thing they do -not have in England that we can boast of at home, and that is a good -masculine type of weather: it is not even feminine; it is childish and -puerile, though I am told that occasionally there is a full-grown storm. -But I saw nothing but petulant little showers and prolonged juvenile -sulks. The clouds have no reserve, no dignity; if there is a drop of -water in them (and there generally are several drops), out it comes. The -prettiest little showers march across the country in summer, scarcely -bigger than a street watering-cart; sometimes by getting over the fence -one can avoid them, but they keep the haymakers in a perpetual flurry. -There is no cloud scenery, as with us, no mass and solidity, no height -nor depth. The clouds seem low, vague, and vapory,--immature, -indefinite, inconsequential, like youth. - -The walk to Selborne was through mist and light rain. Few bird voices, -save the cries of the lapwing and the curlew, were heard. Shortly after -leaving Liphook the road takes a straight cut for three or four miles -through a level, black, barren, peaty stretch of country, with Wolmer -Forest a short distance on the right. Under the low-hanging clouds the -scene was a dismal one,--a black earth beneath and a gloomy sky above. -For miles the only sign of life was a baker's cart rattling along the -smooth, white road. At the end of this solitude I came to cultivated -fields, and a little hamlet and an inn. At this inn (for a wonder!) I -got some breakfast. The family had not yet had theirs, and I sat with -them at the table, and had substantial fare. From this point I followed -a footpath a couple of miles through fields and parks. The highways for -the most part seemed so narrow and exclusive, or inclusive, such -penalties seemed to attach to a view over the high walls and hedges that -shut me in, that a footpath was always a welcome escape to me. I opened -the wicket or mounted the stile without much concern as to whether it -would further me on my way or not. It was like turning the flank of an -enemy. These well-kept fields and lawns, these cozy nooks, these stately -and exclusive houses that had taken such pains to shut out the public -gaze,--from the footpath one had them at an advantage, and could pluck -out their mystery. On striking the highway again, I met the -postmistress, stepping briskly along with the morning mail. Her husband -had died, and she had taken his place as mail-carrier. England is so -densely populated, the country is so like a great city suburb, that your -mail is brought to your door everywhere, the same as in town. I walked a -distance with a boy driving a little old white horse with a cart-load of -brick. He lived at Hedleigh, six miles distant; he had left there at -five o'clock in the morning, and had heard a nightingale. He was sure; -as I pressed him, he described the place minutely. "She was in the large -fir-tree by Tom Anthony's gate, at the south end of the village." Then, -I said, doubtless I shall find one in some of Gilbert White's haunts; -but I did not. I spent two rainy days at Selborne; I passed many chilly -and cheerless hours loitering along those wet lanes and dells and -dripping hangers, wooing both my bird and the spirit of the gentle -parson, but apparently without getting very near to either. When I think -of the place now, I see its hurrying and anxious haymakers in the field -of mown grass, and hear the cry of a child that sat in the hay back of -the old church, and cried by the hour while its mother was busy with her -rake not far off. The rain had ceased, the hay had dried off a little, -and scores of men, women, and children, but mostly women, had flocked to -the fields to rake it up. The hay is got together inch by inch, and -every inch is fought for. They first rake it up into narrow swaths, each -person taking a strip about a yard wide. If they hold the ground thus -gained, when the hay dries an hour or two longer, they take another -hitch, and thus on till they get it into the cock or "carry" it from the -windrow. It is usually nearly worn out with handling before they get it -into the rick. - -From Selborne I went to Alton, along a road that was one prolonged -rifle-pit, but smooth and hard as a rock; thence by train back to -London. To leave no ground for self-accusation in future, on the score -of not having made a thorough effort to hear my songster, I the next day -made a trip north toward Cambridge, leaving the train at Hitchin, a -large picturesque old town, and thought myself in just the right place -at last. I found a road between the station and the town proper called -Nightingale Lane, famous for its songsters. A man who kept a -thrifty-looking inn on the corner (where, by the way, I was again -refused both bed and board) said they sang night and morning in the -trees opposite. He had heard them the night before, but had not noticed -them that morning. He often sat at night with his friends, with open -windows, listening to the strain. He said he had tried several times to -hold his breath as long as the bird did in uttering certain notes, but -could not do it. This, I knew, was an exaggeration; but I waited eagerly -for nightfall, and, when it came, paced the street like a patrolman, and -paced other streets, and lingered about other likely localities, but -caught nothing but neuralgic pains in my shoulder. I had no better -success in the morning, and here gave over the pursuit, saying to -myself, It matters little, after all; I have seen the country and had -some object for a walk, and that is sufficient. - -Altogether I heard the bird less than five minutes, and only a few bars -of its song, but enough to satisfy me of the surprising quality of the -strain. - -It had the master tone as clearly as Tennyson or any great prima donna -or famous orator has it. Indeed, it was just the same. Here is the -complete artist, of whom all these other birds are but hints and -studies. Bright, startling, assured, of great compass and power, it -easily dominates all other notes; the harsher _chur-r-r-r-rg_ notes -serve as foil to her surpassing brilliancy. Wordsworth, among the poets, -has hit off the song nearest:-- - - "Those notes of thine,--they pierce and pierce; - Tumultuous harmony and fierce!" - -I could easily understand that this bird might keep people awake at -night by singing near their houses, as I was assured it frequently does; -there is something in the strain so startling and awakening. Its start -is a vivid flash of sound. On the whole, a high-bred, courtly, -chivalrous song; a song for ladies to hear leaning from embowered -windows on moonlight nights; a song for royal parks and groves,--and -easeful but impassioned life. We have no bird-voice so piercing and -loud, with such flexibility and compass, such full-throated harmony and -long-drawn cadences; though we have songs of more melody, tenderness, -and plaintiveness. None but the nightingale could have inspired Keats's -ode,--that longing for self-forgetfulness and for the oblivion of the -world, to escape the fret and fever of life. - - "And with thee fade away into the forest dim." - - - - -V - -ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SONG-BIRDS - - -The charm of the songs of birds, like that of a nation's popular airs -and hymns, is so little a question of intrinsic musical excellence, and -so largely a matter of association and suggestion, or of subjective -coloring and reminiscence, that it is perhaps entirely natural for every -people to think their own feathered songsters the best. What music would -there not be to the homesick American, in Europe, in the simple and -plaintive note of our bluebird, or the ditty of our song sparrow, or the -honest carol of our robin; and what, to the European traveler in this -country, in the burst of the blackcap, or the redbreast, or the whistle -of the merlin! The relative merit of bird-songs can hardly be settled -dogmatically; I suspect there is very little of what we call music, or -of what could be noted on the musical scale, in even the best of them; -they are parts of nature, and their power is in the degree in which they -speak to our experience. - -When the Duke of Argyll, who is a lover of the birds and a good -ornithologist, was in this country, he got the impression that our -song-birds were inferior to the British, and he refers to others of his -countrymen as of like opinion. No wonder he thought our robin inferior -in power to the missel thrush, in variety to the mavis, and in melody to -the blackbird! Robin did not and could not sing to his ears the song he -sings to ours. Then it is very likely true that his grace did not hear -the robin in the most opportune moment and season, or when the contrast -of his song with the general silence and desolation of nature is the -most striking and impressive. The nightingale needs to be heard at -night, the lark at dawn rising to meet the sun; and robin, if you would -know the magic of his voice, should be heard in early spring, when, as -the sun is setting, he carols steadily for ten or fifteen minutes from -the top of some near tree. There is perhaps no other sound in nature; -patches of snow linger here and there; the trees are naked and the earth -is cold and dead, and this contented, hopeful, reassuring, and withal -musical strain, poured out so freely and deliberately, fills the void -with the very breath and presence of the spring. It is a simple strain, -well suited to the early season; there are no intricacies in it, but its -honest cheer and directness, with its slight plaintive tinge, like that -of the sun gilding the treetops, go straight to the heart. The compass -and variety of the robin's powers are not to be despised either. A -German who has great skill in the musical education of birds told me -what I was surprised to hear, namely, that our robin surpasses the -European blackbird in capabilities of voice. - -The duke does not mention by name all the birds he heard while in this -country. He was evidently influenced in his opinion of them by the fact -that our common sandpiper appeared to be a silent bird, whereas its -British cousin, the sandpiper of the lakes and streams of the Scottish -Highlands, is very loquacious, and the "male bird has a continuous and -most lively song." Either the duke must have seen our bird in one of its -silent and meditative moods, or else, in the wilds of Canada where his -grace speaks of having seen it, the sandpiper is a more taciturn bird -than it is in the States. True, its call-notes are not incessant, and it -is not properly a song-bird any more than the British species is; but it -has a very pretty and pleasing note as it flits up and down our summer -streams, or runs along on their gray, pebbly, and bowlder-strewn -shallows. I often hear its calling and piping at night during its spring -migratings. Indeed, we have no silent bird that I am aware of, though -our pretty cedar-bird has, perhaps, the least voice of any. A lady -writes me that she has heard the hummingbird sing, and says she is not -to be put down, even if I were to prove by the anatomy of the bird's -vocal organs that a song was impossible to it. - -Argyll says that, though he was in the woods and fields of Canada and of -the States in the richest moment of the spring, he heard little of that -burst of song which in England comes from the blackcap, and the garden -warbler, and the whitethroat, and the reed warbler, and the common -wren, and (locally) from the nightingale. There is no lack of a burst of -song in this country (except in the remote forest solitudes) during the -richest moment of the spring, say from the 1st to the 20th of May, and -at times till near midsummer; moreover, more bird-voices join in it, as -I shall point out, than in Britain; but it is probably more fitful and -intermittent, more confined to certain hours of the day, and probably -proceeds from throats less loud and vivacious than that with which our -distinguished critic was familiar. The ear hears best and easiest what -it has heard before. Properly to apprehend and appreciate bird-songs, -especially to disentangle them from the confused murmur of nature, -requires more or less familiarity with them. If the duke had passed a -season with us in some _one_ place in the country, in New York or New -England, he would probably have modified his views about the silence of -our birds. - -One season, early in May, I discovered an English skylark in full song -above a broad, low meadow in the midst of a landscape that possessed -features attractive to a great variety of our birds. Every morning for -many days I used to go and sit on the brow of a low hill that commanded -the field, or else upon a gentle swell in the midst of the meadow -itself, and listen to catch the song of the lark. The maze and tangle of -bird-voices and bird-choruses through which my ear groped its way -searching for the new song can be imagined when I say that within -hearing there were from fifteen to twenty different kinds of songsters, -all more or less in full tune. If their notes and calls could have been -materialized and made as palpable to the eye as they were to the ear, I -think they would have veiled the landscape and darkened the day. There -were big songs and little songs,--songs from the trees, the bushes, the -ground, the air,--warbles, trills, chants, musical calls, and squeals, -etc. Near by in the foreground were the catbird and the brown thrasher, -the former in the bushes, the latter on the top of a hickory. These -birds are related to the mockingbird, and may be called performers; -their songs are a series of vocal feats, like the exhibition of an -acrobat; they throw musical somersaults, and turn and twist and contort -themselves in a very edifying manner, with now and then a ventriloquial -touch. The catbird is the more shrill, supple, and feminine; the -thrasher the louder, richer, and more audacious. The mate of the latter -had a nest, which I found in a field under the spreading ground-juniper. -From several points along the course of a bushy little creek there came -a song, or a melody of notes and calls, that also put me out,--the -tipsy, hodge-podge strain of the polyglot chat, a strong, olive-backed, -yellow-breasted, black-billed bird, with a voice like that of a jay or a -crow that had been to school to a robin or an oriole,--a performer sure -to arrest your ear and sure to elude your eye. There is no bird so -afraid of being seen, or fonder of being heard. - -The golden voice of the wood thrush that came to me from the border of -the woods on my right was no hindrance to the ear, it was so serene, -liquid, and, as it were, transparent: the lark's song has nothing in -common with it. Neither were the songs of the many bobolinks in the -meadow at all confusing,--a brief tinkle of silver bells in the grass, -while I was listening for a sound more like the sharp and continuous hum -of silver wheels upon a pebbly beach. Certain notes of the -red-shouldered starlings in the alders and swamp maples near by, the -distant barbaric voice of the great crested flycatcher, the jingle of -the kingbird, the shrill, metallic song of the savanna sparrow, and the -piercing call of the meadowlark, all stood more or less in the way of -the strain I was listening for, because every one had a touch of that -burr or guttural hum of the lark's song. The ear had still other notes -to contend with, as the strong, bright warble of the tanager, the richer -and more melodious strain of the rose-breasted grosbeak, the distant, -brief, and emphatic song of the chewink, the child-like contented warble -of the red-eyed vireo, the animated strain of the goldfinch, the softly -ringing notes of the bush sparrow, the rapid, circling, vivacious strain -of the purple finch, the gentle lullaby of the song sparrow, the -pleasing "wichery," "wichery" of the yellow-throat, the clear whistle of -the oriole, the loud call of the high-hole, the squeak and chatter of -swallows, etc. But when the lark did rise in full song, it was easy to -hear him athwart all these various sounds, first, because of the sense -of altitude his strain had,--its skyward character,--and then because of -its loud, aspirated, penetrating, unceasing, jubilant quality. It cut -its way to the ear like something exceeding swift, sharp, and copious. -It overtook and outran every other sound; it had an undertone like the -humming of multitudinous wheels and spindles. Now and then some turn -would start and set off a new combination of shriller or of graver -notes, but all of the same precipitate, out-rushing and down-pouring -character; not, on the whole, a sweet or melodious song, but a strong -and blithe one. - -The duke is abundantly justified in saying that we have no bird in this -country, at least east of the Mississippi, that can fill the place of -the skylark. Our high, wide, bright skies seem his proper field, too. -His song is a pure ecstasy, untouched by any plaintiveness, or pride, or -mere hilarity,--a well-spring of morning joy and blitheness set high -above the fields and downs. Its effect is well suggested in this stanza -of Wordsworth:-- - - "Up with me! up with me into the clouds! - For thy song, Lark, is strong; - Up with me, up with me into the clouds! - Singing, singing, - With clouds and sky about thee ringing, - Lift me, guide me till I find - That spot which seems so to thy mind!" - -But judging from Gilbert White's and Barrington's lists, I should say -that our bird-choir was a larger one, and embraced more good songsters, -than the British. - -White names twenty-two species of birds that sing in England during the -spring and summer, including the swallow in the list. A list of the -spring and summer songsters in New York and New England, without naming -any that are characteristically wood-birds, like the hermit thrush and -veery, the two wagtails, the thirty or more warblers, and the solitary -vireo, or including any of the birds that have musical call-notes, and -by some are denominated songsters, as the bluebird, the sandpiper, the -swallow, the red-shouldered starling, the pewee, the high-hole, and -others, would embrace more names, though perhaps no songsters equal to -the lark and nightingale, to wit: the robin, the catbird, the Baltimore -oriole, the orchard oriole, the song sparrow, the wood sparrow, the -vesper sparrow, the social sparrow, the swamp sparrow, the purple finch, -the wood thrush, the scarlet tanager, the indigo-bird, the goldfinch, -the bobolink, the summer yellowbird, the meadowlark, the house wren, the -marsh wren, the brown thrasher, the chewink, the chat, the red-eyed -vireo, the white-eyed vireo, the Maryland yellow-throat, and the -rose-breasted grosbeak. - -The British sparrows are for the most part songless. What a ditty is -that of our song sparrow, rising from the garden fence or the roadside -so early in March, so prophetic and touching, with endless variations -and pretty trilling effects; or the song of the vesper sparrow, full of -the repose and the wild sweetness of the fields; or the strain of the -little bush sparrow, suddenly projected upon the silence of the fields -or of the evening twilight, and delighting the ear as a beautiful scroll -delights the eye! The white-crowned, the white-throated, and the Canada -sparrows sing transiently spring and fall; and I have heard the fox -sparrow in April, when his song haunted my heart like some bright, sad, -delicious memory of youth,--the richest and most moving of all -sparrow-songs. - -Our wren-music, too, is superior to anything of the kind in the Old -World, because we have a greater variety of wren-songsters. Our house -wren is inferior to the British house wren, but our marsh wren has a -lively song; while our winter wren, in sprightliness, mellowness, -plaintiveness, and execution, is surpassed by but few songsters in the -world. The summer haunts of this wren are our high, cool, northern -woods, where, for the most part, his music is lost on the primeval -solitude. - -The British flycatcher, according to White, is a silent bird, while our -species, as the phoebe-bird, the wood pewee, the kingbird, the little -green flycatcher, and others, all have notes more or less lively and -musical. The great crested flycatcher has a harsh voice, but the -pathetic and silvery note of the wood pewee more than makes up for it. -White says the golden-crowned wren is not a song-bird in Great Britain. -The corresponding species here has a pleasing though not remarkable -song, which is seldom heard, however, except in its breeding haunts in -the north. But its congener, the ruby-crowned kinglet, has a rich, -delicious, and prolonged warble, which is noticeable in the Northern -States for a week or two in April or May, while the bird pauses to feed -on its way to its summer home. - -There are no vireos in Europe, nor birds that answer to them. With us, -they contribute an important element to the music of our groves and -woods. There are few birds I should miss more than the red-eyed vireo, -with his cheerful musical soliloquy, all day and all summer, in the -maples and locusts. It is he, or rather she, that builds the exquisite -basket nest on the ends of the low, leafy branches, suspending it -between two twigs. The warbling vireo has a stronger, louder strain, -more continuous, but not quite so sweet. The solitary vireo is heard -only in the deep woods, while the white-eyed is still more local or -restricted in its range, being found only in wet, bushy places, whence -its vehement, varied, and brilliant song is sure to catch the dullest -ear. - -The goldfinches of the two countries, though differing in plumage, are -perhaps pretty evenly matched in song; while our purple finch, or -linnet, I am persuaded, ranks far above the English linnet, or lintie, -as the Scotch call it. In compass, in melody, in sprightliness, it is a -remarkable songster. Indeed, take the finches as a family, they -certainly furnish more good songsters in this country than in Great -Britain. They furnish the staple of our bird-melody, including in the -family the tanager and the grosbeaks, while in Europe the warblers -lead. White names seven finches in his list, and Barrington includes -eight, none of them very noted songsters, except the linnet. Our list -would include the sparrows above named, and the indigo-bird, the -goldfinch, the purple finch, the scarlet tanager, the rose-breasted -grosbeak, the blue grosbeak, and the cardinal bird. Of these birds, all -except the fox sparrow and the blue grosbeak are familiar summer -songsters throughout the Middle and Eastern States. The indigo-bird is a -midsummer and an all-summer songster of great brilliancy. So is the -tanager. I judge there is no European thrush that, in the pure charm of -melody and hymn-like serenity and spirituality, equals our wood and -hermit thrushes, as there is no bird there that, in simple lingual -excellence, approaches our bobolink. - -The European cuckoo makes more music than ours, and their robin -redbreast is a better singer than the allied species, to wit, the -bluebird, with us. But it is mainly in the larks and warblers that the -European birds are richer in songsters than are ours. We have an army of -small wood-warblers,--no less than forty species,--but most of them have -faint chattering or lisping songs that escape all but the most attentive -ear, and then they spend the summer far to the north. Our two wagtails -are our most brilliant warblers, if we except the kinglets, which are -Northern birds in summer, and the Kentucky warbler, which is a Southern -bird; but they probably do not match the English blackcap, or -whitethroat, or garden warbler, to say nothing of the nightingale, -though Audubon thought our large-billed water-thrush, or wagtail, -equaled that famous bird. It is certainly a brilliant songster, but most -provokingly brief; the ear is arrested by a sudden joyous burst of -melody proceeding from the dim aisles along which some wild brook has -its way, but just as you say "Listen!" it ceases. I hear and see the -bird every season along a rocky stream that flows through a deep chasm -amid a wood of hemlock and pine. As I sit at the foot of some cascade, -or on the brink of some little dark eddying pool above it, this bird -darts by me, up or down the stream, or alights near me, upon a rock or -stone at the edge of the water. Its speckled breast, its dark -olive-colored back, its teetering, mincing gait, like that of a -sandpiper, and its sharp _chit_, like the click of two pebbles under -water, are characteristic features. Then its quick, ringing song, which -you are sure presently to hear, suggests something so bright and silvery -that it seems almost to light up, for a brief moment, the dim retreat. -If this strain were only sustained and prolonged like the nightingale's, -there would be good grounds for Audubon's comparison. Its cousin, the -wood wagtail, or golden-crowned thrush of the older ornithologists, and -golden-crowned accentor of the later,--a common bird in all our -woods,--has a similar strain, which it delivers as it were -surreptitiously, and in the most precipitate manner, while on the wing, -high above the treetops. It is a kind of wood-lark, practicing and -rehearsing on the sly. When the modest songster is ready to come out -and give all a chance to hear his full and completed strain, the -European wood-lark will need to look to his laurels. These two birds are -our best warblers, and yet they are probably seldom heard, except by -persons who know and admire them. If the two kinglets could also be -included in our common New England summer residents, our warbler music -would only pale before the song of Philomela herself. The English -redstart evidently surpasses ours as a songster, and we have no bird to -match the English wood-lark above referred to, which is said to be but -little inferior to the skylark; but, on the other hand, besides the -sparrows and vireos, already mentioned, they have no songsters to match -our oriole, our orchard starling, our catbird, our brown thrasher -(second only to the mockingbird), our chewink, our snowbird, our -cow-bunting, our bobolink, and our yellow-breasted chat. As regards the -swallows of the two countries, the advantage is rather on the side of -the American. Our chimney swallow, with his incessant, silvery, rattling -chipper, evidently makes more music than the corresponding house swallow -of Europe; while our purple martin is not represented in the Old World -avifauna at all. And yet it is probably true that a dweller in England -hears more bird-music throughout the year than a dweller in this -country, and that which, in some respects, is of a superior order. - -In the first place, there is not so much of it lost "upon the desert -air," upon the wild, unlistening solitudes. The English birds are more -domestic and familiar than ours; more directly and intimately -associated with man; not, as a class, so withdrawn and lost in the great -void of the wild and the unreclaimed. England is like a continent -concentrated,--all the waste land, the barren stretches, the -wildernesses, left out. The birds are brought near together and near to -man. Wood-birds here are house and garden birds there. They find good -pasturage and protection everywhere. A land of parks, and gardens, and -hedge-rows, and game preserves, and a climate free from violent -extremes,--what a stage for the birds, and for enhancing the effect of -their songs! How prolific they are, how abundant! If our songsters were -hunted and trapped by bird-fanciers and others, as the lark, and -goldfinch, and mavis, etc., are in England, the race would soon become -extinct. Then, as a rule, it is probably true that the British birds as -a class have more voice than ours have, or certain qualities that make -their songs more striking and conspicuous, such as greater vivacity and -strength. They are less bright in plumage, but more animated in voice. -They are not so recently out of the woods, and their strains have not -that elusiveness and plaintiveness that ours have. They sing with more -confidence and copiousness, and as if they, too, had been touched by -civilization. - -Then they sing more hours in the day, and more days in the year. This is -owing to the milder and more equable climate. I heard the skylark -singing above the South Downs in October, apparently with full spring -fervor and delight. The wren, the robin, and the wood-lark sing -throughout the winter, and in midsummer there are perhaps more vocal -throats than here. The heat and blaze of our midsummer sun silence most -of our birds. - -There are but four songsters that I hear with any regularity after the -meridian of summer is past, namely, the indigo-bird, the wood or bush -sparrow, the scarlet tanager, and the red-eyed vireo, while White names -eight or nine August songsters, though he speak of the yellow-hammer -only as persistent. His dictum, that birds sing as long as nidification -goes on, is as true here as in England. Hence our wood thrush will -continue in song over into August if, as frequently happens, its June -nest has been broken up by the crows or squirrels. - -The British songsters are more vocal at night than ours. White says the -grasshopper lark chirps all night in the height of summer. The -sedge-bird also sings the greater part of the night. A stone thrown into -the bushes where it is roosting, after it has become silent, will set it -going again. Other British birds, besides the nightingale, sing more or -less at night. - -In this country the mockingbird is the only regular night-singer we -have. Other songsters break out occasionally in the middle of the night, -but so briefly that it gives one the impression that they sing in their -sleep. Thus I have heard the hair-bird, or chippie, the kingbird, the -oven-bird, and the cuckoo fitfully in the dead of the night, like a -schoolboy laughing in his dreams. - -On the other hand, there are certain aspects in which our songsters -appear to advantage. That they surpass the European species in -sweetness, tenderness, and melody I have no doubt; and that our -mockingbird, in his native haunts in the South, surpasses any bird in -the world in fluency, variety, and execution is highly probable. That -the total effect of his strain may be less winning and persuasive than -the nocturne of the nightingale is the only question in my mind about -the relative merits of the two songsters. Bring our birds together as -they are brought together in England, let all our shy wood-birds--like -the hermit thrush, the veery, the winter wren, the wood wagtail, the -water wagtail, the many warblers, the several vireos--become birds of -the groves and orchards, and there would be a burst of song indeed. - -Bates, the naturalist of the Amazon, speaks of a little thrush he used -to hear in his rambles that showed the American quality to which I have -referred. "It is a much smaller and plainer-colored bird," he says, -"than our [the English] thrush, and its song is not so loud, varied, or -so long sustained; here the tone is of a sweet and plaintive quality, -which harmonizes well with the wild and silent woodlands, where alone it -is heard in the mornings and evenings of sultry, tropical days." - -I append parallel lists of the better-known American and English -song-birds, marking in each with an asterisk, those that are probably -the better songsters; followed by a list of other American songsters, -some of which are not represented in the British avifauna:-- - - _Old England._ _New England._ - *Wood-lark. Meadowlark. - Song-thrush. *Wood thrush. - *Jenny Wren. House wren. - Willow wren. *Winter wren. - *Redbreast. Bluebird. - *Redstart. Redstart. - Hedge-sparrow. *Song sparrow. - Yellow-hammer. *Fox sparrow. - *Skylark. Bobolink. - Swallow. Swallow. - *Blackcap. Wood wagtail. - Titlark. Titlark (spring and fall). - *Blackbird. Robin. - Whitethroat. *Maryland yellow-throat. - Goldfinch. Goldfinch. - Greenfinch. *Wood sparrow. - Reed-sparrow. *Vesper sparrow. - Linnet. *Purple finch. - *Chaffinch. Indigo-bird. - *Nightingale. Water wagtail. - Missel thrush. *Hermit thrush. - Great titmouse. Savanna sparrow. - Bullfinch. Chickadee. - -New England song-birds not included in the above are:-- - - Red-eyed vireo. - White-eyed vireo. - Brotherly love vireo. - Solitary vireo. - Yellow-throated vireo. - Scarlet tanager. - Baltimore oriole. - Orchard oriole. - Catbird. - Brown thrasher. - Chewink. - Rose-breasted grosbeak. - Purple martin. - Mockingbird (occasionally). - -Besides these, a dozen or more species of the Mniotiltidae, or -wood-warblers, might be named, some of which, like the black-throated -green warbler, the speckled Canada warbler, the hooded warbler, the -mourning ground-warbler, and the yellow warbler, are fine songsters. - - - - -VI - -IMPRESSIONS OF SOME ENGLISH BIRDS - - -The foregoing chapter was written previous to my last visit to England, -and when my knowledge of the British song-birds was mainly from report, -and not from personal observation. I had heard the skylark, and briefly -the robin, and snatches of a few other bird strains, while in that -country in the autumn of 1871; but of the full spring and summer chorus, -and the merits of the individual songsters, I knew little except through -such writers as White, Broderip, and Barrington. Hence, when I found -myself upon British soil once more, and the birds in the height of their -May jubilee, I improved my opportunities, and had very soon traced every -note home. It is not a long and difficult lesson; there is not a great -variety of birds, and they do not hide in woods and remote corners. You -find them nearly all wherever your walk leads you. And how they do sing! -how loud and piercing their notes are! Not a little of the pleasure I -felt arose from the fact that the birds sang much as I expected them to, -much as they ought to have sung according to my previous views of their -merits and qualities, when contrasted with our own songsters. - -I shall not soon forget how my ears were beset that bright May morning, -two days after my arrival at Glasgow, when I walked from Ayr to Alloway, -a course of three miles in one of the most charming and fertile rural -districts in Scotland. It was as warm as mid-June, and the country had -the most leafy and luxuriant June aspect. Above a broad stretch of -undulating meadow-land on my right the larks were in full song. These I -knew; these I welcomed. What a sound up there, as if the sunshine were -vocal! A little farther along, in a clover field, I heard my first -corn-crake. "Crex, crex, crex," came the harsh note out of the grass, -like the rasping sound of some large insect, and I knew the bird at -once. But when I came to a beautiful grove or wood, jealously guarded by -a wall twelve feet high (some fine house concealed back there, I saw by -the entrance), what a throng of strange songs and calls beset my ears! -The concert was at its height. The wood fairly rang and reverberated -with bird-voices. How loud, how vivacious, almost clamorous, they -sounded to me! I paused in delightful bewilderment. - -Two or three species of birds, as I afterwards found, were probably -making all the music I heard, and of these, one species was contributing -at least two thirds of it. At Alloway I tarried nearly a week, putting -up at a neat little inn - - "Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear," - -and I was not long in analyzing this spirited bird-choir, and tracing -each note home to its proper source. It was, indeed, a burst of song, -as the Duke of Argyll had said, but the principal singer his grace does -not mention. Indeed, nothing I had read, or could find in the few -popular treatises on British ornithology I carried about with me, had -given me any inkling of which was the most abundant and vociferous -English song-bird, any more than what I had read or heard had given me -any idea of which was the most striking and conspicuous wild flower, or -which the most universal weed. Now the most abundant song-bird in -Britain is the chaffinch, the most conspicuous wild flower (at least in -those parts of the country I saw) is the foxglove, and the most -ubiquitous weed is the nettle. Throughout the month of May, and probably -during all the spring months, the chaffinch makes two thirds of the -music that ordinarily greets the ear as one walks or drives about the -country. In both England and Scotland, in my walks up to the time of my -departure, the last of July, I seemed to see three chaffinches to one of -any other species of bird. It is a permanent resident in this island, -and in winter appears in immense flocks. The male is the prettiest of -British song-birds, with its soft blue-gray back, barred wings, and pink -breast and sides. The Scotch call it shilfa. At Alloway there was a -shilfa for every tree, and its hurried and incessant notes met and -intersected each other from all directions every moment of the day, like -wavelets on a summer pool. So many birds, and each one so persistent and -vociferous, accounts for their part in the choir. The song is as loud -as that of our orchard starling, and is even more animated. It begins -with a rapid, wren-like trill, which quickly becomes a sharp jingle, -then slides into a warble, and ends with an abrupt flourish. I have -never heard a song that began so liltingly end with such a quick, abrupt -emphasis. The last note often sounds like "whittier," uttered with great -sharpness; but one that used to sing in an apple-tree over my head, day -after day there by the Doon, finished its strain each time with the -sharp ejaculation, "Sister, right here." Afterwards, whenever I met a -shilfa, I could hear in its concluding note this pointed and almost -impatient exclamation of "Sister, right here." The song, on the whole, -is a pleasing one, and very characteristic; so rapid, incessant, and -loud. The bird seemed to be held in much less esteem in Britain than on -the Continent, where it is much sought after as a caged bird. In -Germany, in the forest of Thuringia, the bird is in such quest that -scarcely can one be heard. A common workman has been known to give his -cow for a favorite songster. The chaffinch has far less melody and charm -of song than some of our finches, notably our purple finch; but it is so -abundant and so persistent in song that in quantity of music it far -excels any singer we have. - -Next to the chaffinch in the volume of its song, and perhaps in some -localities surpassing it, is the song-thrush. I did not find this bird -upon the Doon, and but rarely in other places in Scotland, but in the -south of England it leads the choir. Its voice can be heard above all -others. But one would never suspect it to be a thrush. It has none of -the flute-like melody and serene, devotional quality of our thrush -strains. It is a shrill whistling polyglot. Its song is much after the -manner of that of our brown thrasher, made up of vocal attitudes and -poses. It is easy to translate its strain into various words or short -ejaculatory sentences. It sings till the darkness begins to deepen, and -I could fancy what the young couple walking in the gloaming would hear -from the trees overhead. "Kiss her, kiss her; do it, do it; be quick, be -quick; stick her to it, stick her to it; that was neat, that was neat; -that will do," with many other calls not so explicit, and that might -sometimes be construed as approving nods or winks. Sometimes it has a -staccato whistle. Its performance is always animated, loud, and clear, -but never, to my ear, melodious, as the poets so often have it. Even -Burns says,-- - - "The mavis mild and mellow." - -Drayton hits it when he says,-- - - "The throstle with shrill sharps," etc. - -Ben Jonson's "lusty throstle" is still better. It is a song of great -strength and unbounded good cheer; it proceeds from a sound heart and a -merry throat. There is no touch of plaintiveness or melancholy in it; it -is as expressive of health and good digestion as the crowing of the cock -in the morning. When I was hunting for the nightingale, the thrush -frequently made such a din just at dusk as to be a great annoyance. At -Kew, where I passed a few weeks, its shrill pipe usually woke me in the -morning. - -A thrush of a much mellower strain is the blackbird, which is our robin -cut in ebony. His golden bill gives a golden touch to his song. It was -the most leisurely strain I heard. Amid the loud, vivacious, workaday -chorus, it had an easeful, _dolce far niente_ effect. I place the song -before that of our robin, where it belongs in quality, but it falls -short in some other respects. It constantly seemed to me as if the bird -was a learner and had not yet mastered his art. The tone is fine, but -the execution is labored; the musician does not handle his instrument -with deftness and confidence. It seems as if the bird were trying to -whistle some simple air, and never quite succeeding. Parts of the song -are languid and feeble, and the whole strain is wanting in the decision -and easy fulfillment of our robin's song. The bird is noisy and tuneful -in the twilight like his American congener. - -Such British writers on birds and bird life as I have been able to -consult do not, it seems to me, properly discriminate and appreciate the -qualities and merits of their own songsters. The most melodious strain I -heard, and the only one that exhibited to the full the best qualities of -the American songsters, proceeded from a bird quite unknown to fame, in -the British Islands at least. I refer to the willow warbler, or willow -wren, as it is also called,--a little brown bird, that builds a -dome-shaped nest upon the ground and lines it with feathers. White says -it has a "sweet, plaintive note," which is but half the truth. It has a -long, tender, delicious warble, not wanting in strength and volume, but -eminently pure and sweet,--the song of the chaffinch refined and -idealized. The famous blackcap, which I heard in the south of England -and again in France, falls far short of it in these respects, and only -surpasses it in strength and brilliancy. The song is, perhaps, in the -minor key, feminine and not masculine, but it touches the heart. - - "That strain again; it had a dying fall." - -The song of the willow warbler has a dying fall; no other bird-song is -so touching in this respect. It mounts up round and full, then runs down -the scale, and expires upon the air in a gentle murmur. I heard the bird -everywhere; next to the chaffinch, its voice greeted my ear oftenest; -yet many country people of whom I inquired did not know the bird, or -confounded it with some other. It is too fine a song for the ordinary -English ear; there is not noise enough in it. The whitethroat is much -more famous; it has a louder, coarser voice; it sings with great -emphasis and assurance, and is a much better John Bull than the little -willow warbler. - -I could well understand, after being in England a few days, why, to -English travelers, our songsters seem inferior to their own. They are -much less loud and vociferous, less abundant and familiar; one needs to -woo them more; they are less recently out of the wilderness; their songs -have the delicacy and wildness of most woodsy forms, and are as -plaintive as the whistle of the wind. They are not so happy a race as -the English songsters, as if life had more trials for them, as doubtless -it has in their enforced migrations and in the severer climate with -which they have to contend. - -When one hears the European cuckoo he regrets that he has ever heard a -cuckoo clock. The clock has stolen the bird's thunder; and when you hear -the rightful owner, the note has a second-hand, artificial sound. It is -only another cuckoo clock off there on the hill or in the grove. Yet it -is a cheerful call, with none of the solitary and monkish character of -our cuckoo's note; and, as it comes early in spring, I can see how much -it must mean to native ears. - -I found that the only British song-bird I had done injustice to in my -previous estimate was the wren. It is far superior to our house wren. It -approaches very nearly our winter wren, if it does not equal it. Without -hearing the two birds together, it would be impossible to decide which -was the better songster. Its strain has the same gushing, lyrical -character, and the shape, color, and manner of the two birds are nearly -identical. It is very common, sings everywhere, and therefore -contributes much more to the general entertainment than does our bird. -Barrington marks the wren far too low in his table of the comparative -merit of British song-birds; he denies it mellowness and plaintiveness, -and makes it high only in sprightliness, a fact that discredits his -whole table. He makes the thrush and blackbird equal in the two -qualities first named, which is equally wide of the mark. - -The English robin is a better songster than I expected to find him. The -poets and writers have not done him justice. He is of the royal line of -the nightingale, and inherits some of the qualities of that famous bird. -His favorite hour for singing is the gloaming, and I used to hear him -the last of all. His song is peculiar, jerky, and spasmodic, but abounds -in the purest and most piercing tones to be heard,--piercing from their -smoothness, intensity, and fullness of articulation; rapid and crowded -at one moment, as if some barrier had suddenly given way, then as -suddenly pausing, and scintillating at intervals, bright, tapering -shafts of sound. It stops and hesitates, and blurts out its notes like a -stammerer; but when they do come they are marvelously clear and pure. I -have heard green hickory branches thrown into a fierce blaze jet out the -same fine, intense, musical sounds on the escape of the imprisoned -vapors in the hard wood as characterize the robin's song. - -One misses along English fields and highways the tender music furnished -at home by our sparrows, and in the woods and groves the plaintive cries -of our pewees and the cheerful soliloquy of our red-eyed vireo. The -English sparrows and buntings are harsh-voiced, and their songs, when -they have songs, are crude. The yellow-hammer comes nearest to our -typical sparrow, it is very common, and is a persistent songster, but -the song is slight, like that of our savanna sparrow--scarcely more than -the chirping of a grasshopper. In form and color it is much like our -vesper sparrow, except that the head of the male has a light yellow -tinge. - -The greenfinch or green linnet is an abundant bird everywhere, but its -song is less pleasing than that of several of our finches. The goldfinch -is very rare, mainly, perhaps, because it is so persistently trapped by -bird-fanciers; its song is a series of twitters and chirps, less musical -to my ear than that of our goldfinch, especially when a flock of the -latter are congregated in a tree and inflating their throats in rivalry. -Their golden-crowned kinglet has a fine thread-like song, far less than -that of our kinglet, less even than that of our black and white creeper. -The nuthatch has not the soft, clear call of ours, and the various -woodpeckers figure much less; there is less wood to peck, and they seem -a more shy and silent race. I saw but one in all my walks, and that was -near Wolmer Forest. I looked in vain for the wood-lark; the country -people confound it with the pipit. The blackcap warbler I found to be a -rare and much overpraised bird. The nightingale is very restricted in -its range, and is nearly silent by the middle of June. I made a -desperate attempt to find it in full song after the seventeenth of the -month, as I have described in a previous chapter, but failed. And the -garden warbler is by no means found in every garden; probably I did not -hear it more than twice. - -The common sandpiper, I should say, was more loquacious and musical than -ours. I heard it on the Highland lakes, when its happy notes did indeed -almost run into a song, so continuous and bright and joyful were they. - -One of the first birds I saw, and one of the most puzzling, was the -lapwing or pewit. I observed it from the car window, on my way down to -Ayr, a large, broad-winged, awkward sort of bird, like a cross between a -hawk and an owl, swooping and gamboling in the air as the train darted -past. It is very abundant in Scotland, especially on the moors and near -the coast. In the Highlands I saw them from the top of the stage-coach, -running about the fields with their young. The most graceful and -pleasing of birds upon the ground, about the size of the pigeon, now -running nimbly along, now pausing to regard you intently, crested, -ringed, white-bellied, glossy green-backed, with every movement like -visible music. But the moment it launches into the air its beauty is -gone; the wings look round and clumsy, like a mittened hand, the tail -very short, the head and neck drawn back, with nothing in the form or -movement that suggests the plover kind. It gambols and disports itself -like a great bat, which its outlines suggest. On the moors I also saw -the curlew, and shall never forget its wild, musical call. - -Nearly all the British bird-voices have more of a burr in them than ours -have. Can it be that, like the people, they speak more from the throat? -It is especially noticeable in the crow tribe,--in the rook, the jay, -the jackdaw. The rook has a hoarse, thick caw,--not so clearly and -roundly uttered as that of our crow. The swift has a wheezy, catarrhal -squeak, in marked contrast to the cheery chipper of our swift. In Europe -the chimney swallow builds in barns, and the barn swallow builds in -chimneys. The barn swallow, as we would call it,--chimney swallow, as it -is called there,--is much the same in voice, color, form, flight, etc., -as our bird, while the swift is much larger than our chimney swallow and -has a forked tail. The martlet, answering to our cliff swallow, is not -so strong and ruddy looking a bird as our species, but it builds much -the same, and has a similar note. It is more plentiful than our swallow. -I was soon struck with the fact that in the main the British song-birds -lead up to and culminate in two species, namely, in the lark and the -nightingale. In these two birds all that is characteristic in the other -songsters is gathered up and carried to perfection. They crown the -series. Nearly all the finches and pipits seem like rude studies and -sketches of the skylark, and nearly all the warblers and thrushes point -to the nightingale; their powers have fully blossomed in her. There is -nothing in the lark's song, in the quality or in the manner of it, that -is not sketched or suggested in some voice lower in the choir, and the -tone and compass of the warblers mount in regular gradation from the -clinking note of the chiffchaff up to the nightingale. Several of the -warblers sing at night, and several of the constituents of the lark sing -on the wing. On the lark's side, the birds are remarkable for gladness -and ecstacy, and are more creatures of the light and of the open spaces; -on the side of the nightingale there is more pure melody, and more a -love for the twilight and the privacy of arboreal life. Both the famous -songsters are representative as to color, exhibiting the prevailing gray -and dark tints. A large number of birds, I noticed, had the two white -quills in the tail characteristic of the lark. - -I found that I had overestimated the bird-music to be heard in England -in midsummer. It appeared to be much less than our own. The last two or -three weeks of July were very silent: the only bird I was sure of -hearing in my walks was the yellow-hammer; while, on returning home -early in August, the birds made such music about my house that they woke -me up in the morning. The song sparrow and bush sparrow were noticeable -till in September, and the red-eyed vireo and warbling vireo were heard -daily till in October. - -On the whole, I may add that I did not anywhere in England hear so fine -a burst of bird-song as I have heard at home, and I listened long for it -and attentively. Not so fine in quality, though perhaps greater in -quantity. It sometimes happens that several species of our best -songsters pass the season in the same locality, some favorite spot in -the woods, or at the head of a sheltered valley, that possesses -attraction for many kinds. I found such a place one summer by a small -mountain lake, in the southern Catskills, just over the farm borders, in -the edge of the primitive forest. The lake was surrounded by an -amphitheatre of wooded steeps, except a short space on one side where -there was an old abandoned clearing, grown up to saplings and brush. -Birds love to be near water, and I think they like a good auditorium, -love an open space like that of a small lake in the woods, where their -voices can have room and their songs reverberate. Certain it is they -liked this place, and early in the morning especially, say from half -past three to half past four, there was such a burst of melody as I had -never before heard. The most prominent voices were those of the wood -thrush, veery thrush, rose-breasted grosbeak, winter wren, and one of -the vireos, and occasionally at evening that of the hermit, though far -off in the dusky background,--birds all notable for their pure melody, -except that of the vireo, which was cheery, rather than melodious. A -singular song that of this particular vireo,--"_Cheery, cheery, cheery -drunk! Cheery drunk!_"--all day long in the trees above our tent. The -wood thrush was the most abundant, and the purity and eloquence of its -strain, or of their mingled strains, heard in the cool dewy morning from -across that translucent sheet of water, was indeed memorable. Its liquid -and serene melody was in such perfect keeping with the scene. The eye -and the ear both reported the same beauty and harmony. Then the clear, -rich fife of the grosbeak from the tops of the tallest trees, the simple -flute-like note of the veery, and the sweetly ringing, wildly lyrical -outburst of the winter wren, sometimes from the roof of our -butternut-colored tent--all joining with it--formed one of the most -noteworthy bits of a bird symphony it has ever been my good luck to -hear. Often at sundown, too, while we sat idly in our boat, watching the -trout break the glassy surface here and there, the same soothing melody -would be poured out all around us, and kept up till darkness filled the -woods. The last note would be that of the wood thrush, calling out -"_quit_," "_quit_." Across there in a particular point, I used at night -to hear another thrush, the olive-backed, the song a slight variation of -the veery's. I did hear in England in the twilight the robin, blackbird, -and song-thrush unite their voices, producing a loud, pleasing chorus; -add the nightingale and you have great volume and power, but still the -pure melody of my songsters by the lake is probably not reached. - - - - -VII - -IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY - - -No other English poet had touched me quite so closely as Wordsworth. All -cultivated men delight in Shakespeare; he is the universal genius; but -Wordsworth's poetry has more the character of a message, and a message -special and personal, to a comparatively small circle of readers. He -stands for a particular phase of human thought and experience, and his -service to certain minds is like an initiation into a new order of -truths. Note what a revelation he was to the logical mind of John Stuart -Mill. His limitations make him all the more private and precious, like -the seclusion of one of his mountain dales. He is not and can never be -the world's poet, but more especially the poet of those who love -solitude and solitary communion with nature. Shakespeare's attitude -toward nature is for the most part like that of a gay, careless reveler, -who leaves his companions for a moment to pluck a flower or gather a -shell here and there, as they stroll - - "By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, - Or on the beached margent of the sea." - -He is, of course, preeminent in all purely poetic achievements, but his -poems can never minister to the spirit in the way Wordsworth's do. - -One can hardly appreciate the extent to which the latter poet has -absorbed and reproduced the spirit of the Westmoreland scenery until he -has visited that region. I paused there a few days in early June, on my -way south, and again on my return late in July. I walked up from -Windermere to Grasmere, where, on the second visit, I took up my abode -at the historic Swan Inn, where Scott used to go surreptitiously to get -his mug of beer when he was stopping with Wordsworth. - -The call of the cuckoo came to me from over Rydal Water as I passed -along. I plucked my first foxglove by the roadside; paused and listened -to the voice of the mountain torrent; heard - - "The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;" - -caught many a glimpse of green, unpeopled hills, urn-shaped dells, -treeless heights, rocky promontories, secluded valleys, and clear, -swift-running streams. The scenery was sombre; there were but two -colors, green and brown, verging on black; wherever the rock cropped out -of the green turf on the mountain-sides, or in the vale, it showed a -dark face. But the tenderness and freshness of the green tints were -something to remember,--the hue of the first springing April grass, -massed and widespread in midsummer. - -Then there was a quiet splendor, almost grandeur, about Grasmere vale, -such as I had not seen elsewhere,--a kind of monumental beauty and -dignity that agreed well with one's conception of the loftier strains of -its poet. It is not too much dominated by the mountains, though shut in -on all sides by them; that stately level floor of the valley keeps them -back and defines them, and they rise from its outer margin like rugged, -green-tufted, and green-draped walls. - -It is doubtless this feature, as De Quincey says, this floor-like -character of the valley, that makes the scenery of Grasmere more -impressive than the scenery in North Wales, where the physiognomy of the -mountains is essentially the same, but where the valleys are more -bowl-shaped. Amid so much that is steep and rugged and broken, the eye -delights in the repose and equilibrium of horizontal lines,--a bit of -table-land, the surface of the lake, or the level of the valley bottom. -The principal valleys of our own Catskill region all have this stately -floor, so characteristic of Wordsworth's country. It was a pleasure -which I daily indulged in to stand on the bridge by Grasmere Church, -with that full, limpid stream before me, pausing and deepening under the -stone embankment near where the dust of the poet lies, and let the eye -sweep across the plain to the foot of the near mountains, or dwell upon -their encircling summits above the tops of the trees and the roofs of -the village. The water-ouzel loved to linger there, too, and would sit -in contemplative mood on the stones around which the water loitered and -murmured, its clear white breast alone defining it from the object upon -which it rested. Then it would trip along the margin of the pool, or -flit a few feet over its surface, and suddenly, as if it had burst like -a bubble, vanish before my eyes; there would be a little splash of the -water beneath where I saw it, as if the drop of which it was composed -had reunited with the surface there. Then, in a moment or two, it would -emerge from the water and take up its stand as dry and unruffled as -ever. It was always amusing to see this plump little bird, so unlike a -water-fowl in shape and manner, disappear in the stream. It did not seem -to dive, but simply dropped into the water, as if its wings had suddenly -failed it. Sometimes it fairly tumbled in from its perch. It was gone -from sight in a twinkling, and, while you were wondering how it could -accomplish the feat of walking on the bottom of the stream under there, -it reappeared as unconcerned as possible. It is a song-bird, a thrush, -and gives a feature to these mountain streams and waterfalls which ours, -except on the Pacific coast, entirely lack. The stream that winds -through Grasmere vale, and flows against the embankment of the -churchyard, as the Avon at Stratford, is of great beauty,--clean, -bright, full, trouty, with just a tinge of gypsy blood in its veins, -which it gets from the black tarns on the mountains, and which adds to -its richness of color. I saw an angler take a few trout from it, in a -meadow near the village. After a heavy rain the stream was not roily, -but slightly darker in hue; these fields and mountains are so turf-bound -that no particle of soil is carried away by the water. - -Falls and cascades are a great feature all through this country, as they -are a marked feature in Wordsworth's poetry. One's ear is everywhere -haunted by the sound of falling water; and, when the ear cannot hear -them, the eye can see the streaks or patches of white foam down the -green declivities. There are no trees above the valley bottom to -obstruct the view, and no hum of woods to muffle the sounds of distant -streams. When I was at Grasmere there was much rain, and this stanza of -the poet came to mind:-- - - "Loud is the Vale! The voice is up - With which she speaks when storms are gone, - A mighty unison of streams! - Of all her voices, one!" - -The words "vale" and "dell" come to have a new meaning after one has -visited Wordsworth's country, just as the words "cottage" and "shepherd" -also have so much more significance there and in Scotland than at home. - - "Dear child of Nature, let them rail! - --There is a nest in a green dale, - A harbor and a hold, - Where thou, a wife and friend, shalt see - Thy own delightful days, and be - A light to young and old." - -Every humble dwelling looks like a nest; that in which the poet himself -lived had a cozy, nest-like look; and every vale is green,--a cradle -amid rocky heights, padded and carpeted with the thickest turf. - -Wordsworth is described as the poet of nature. He is more the poet of -man, deeply wrought upon by a certain phase of nature,--the nature of -those sombre, quiet, green, far-reaching mountain solitudes. There is a -shepherd quality about him; he loves the flocks, the heights, the tarn, -the tender herbage, the sheltered dell, the fold, with a kind of -poetized shepherd instinct. Lambs and sheep and their haunts, and those -who tend them, recur perpetually in his poems. How well his verse -harmonizes with those high, green, and gray solitudes, where the silence -is broken only by the bleat of lambs or sheep, or just stirred by the -voice of distant waterfalls! Simple, elemental yet profoundly tender and -human, he had - - "The primal sympathy - Which, having been, must ever be." - -He brooded upon nature, but it was nature mirrored in his own heart. In -his poem of "The Brothers" he says of his hero, who had gone to sea:-- - - "He had been rear'd - Among the mountains, and he in his heart - Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas. - Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard - The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds - Of caves and trees;" - -and, leaning over the vessel's side and gazing into the "broad green -wave and sparkling foam," he - - "Saw mountains,--saw the forms of sheep that grazed - On verdant hills." - -This was what his own heart told him; every experience or sentiment -called those beloved images to his own mind. - -One afternoon, when the sun seemed likely to get the better of the soft -rain-clouds, I set out to climb to the top of Helvellyn. I followed the -highway a mile or more beyond the Swan Inn, and then I committed myself -to a footpath that turns up the mountain-side to the right, and crosses -into Grisedale and so to Ulleswater. Two schoolgirls whom I overtook put -me on the right track. The voice of a foaming mountain torrent was in my -ears a long distance, and now and then the path crossed it. Fairfield -Mountain was on my right hand, Helm Crag and Dunmail Raise on my left. -Grasmere plain soon lay far below. The haymakers, encouraged by a gleam -of sunshine, were hastily raking together the rain-blackened hay. From -my outlook they appeared to be slowly and laboriously rolling up a great -sheet of dark brown paper, uncovering beneath it one of the most fresh -and vivid green. The mown grass is so long in curing in this country -(frequently two weeks) that the new blades spring beneath it, and a -second crop is well under way before the old is "carried." The long -mountain slopes up which I was making my way were as verdant as the -plain below me. Large coarse ferns or bracken, with an under-lining of -fine grass, covered the ground on the lower portions. On the higher, -grass alone prevailed. On the top of the divide, looking down into the -valley of Ulleswater, I came upon one of those black tarns, or mountain -lakelets, which are such a feature in this strange scenery. The word -"tarn" has no meaning with us, though our young poets sometimes use it -as they do this Yorkshire word "wold;" one they get from Wordsworth, the -other from Tennyson. But when you have seen one of those still, inky -pools at the head of a silent, lonely Westmoreland dale, you will not be -apt to misapply the word in future. Suddenly the serene shepherd -mountain opens this black, gleaming eye at your feet, and it is all the -more weird for having no eyebrow of rocks, or fringe of rush or bush. -The steep, encircling slopes drop down and hem it about with the most -green and uniform turf. If its rim had been modeled by human hands, it -could not have been more regular or gentle in outline. Beneath its -emerald coat the soil is black and peaty, which accounts for the hue of -the water and the dark line that encircles it. - - "All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink - On its firm margin, even as from a well, - Or some stone basin, which the herdsman's hand - Had shaped for their refreshment." - -The path led across the outlet of the tarn, and then divided, one branch -going down into the head of Grisedale, and the other mounting up the -steep flank of Helvellyn. Far up the green acclivity I met a man and two -young women making their way slowly down. They had come from Glenridding -on Ulleswater, and were going to Grasmere. The women looked cold, and -said I would find it wintry on the summit. - -Helvellyn has a broad flank and a long back, and comes to a head very -slowly and gently. You reach a wire fence well up on the top that -divides some sheep ranges, pass through a gate, and have a mile yet to -the highest ground in front of you; but you could traverse it in a -buggy, it is so smooth and grassy. The grass fails just before the -summit is reached, and the ground is covered with small fragments of the -decomposed rock. The view is impressive, and such as one likes to sit -down to and drink in slowly,--a - - "Grand terraqueous spectacle, - From centre to circumference, unveil'd." - -The wind was moderate and not cold. Toward Ulleswater the mountain drops -down abruptly many hundred feet, but its vast western slope appeared one -smooth, unbroken surface of grass. The following jottings in my -notebook, on the spot, preserve some of the features of the scene: "All -the northern landscape lies in the sunlight as far as Carlisle, - - "A tumultuous waste of huge hilltops;" - -not quite so severe and rugged as the Scotch mountains, but the view -more pleasing and more extensive than the one I got from Ben Venue. The -black tarns at my feet,--Keppel Cove Tarn one of them, according to my -map,--how curious they look! I can just discern the figure of a man -moving by the marge of one of them. Away beyond Ulleswater is a vast -sweep of country flecked here and there by slowly moving cloud shadows. -To the northeast, in places, the backs and sides of the mountains have a -green, pastoral voluptuousness, so smooth and full are they with thick -turf. At other points the rock has fretted through the verdant carpet. -St. Sunday's Crag to the west, across Grisedale, is a steep acclivity -covered with small, loose stones, as if they had been dumped over the -top, and were slowly sliding down; but nowhere do I see great bowlders -strewn about. Patches of black peat are here and there. The little -rills, near and far, are white as milk, so swiftly do they run. On the -more precipitous sides the grass and moss are lodged, and hold like -snow, and are as tender in hue as the first April blades. A multitude of -lakes are in view, and Morecambe Bay to the south. There are sheep -everywhere, loosely scattered, with their lambs; occasionally I hear -them bleat. No other sound is heard but the chirp of the mountain pipit. -I see the wheat-ear flitting here and there. One mountain now lies in -full sunshine, as fat as a seal, wrinkled and dimpled where it turns to -the west, like a fat animal when it bends to lick itself. What a -spectacle is now before me!--all the near mountains in shadow, and the -distant in strong sunlight; I shall not see the like of that again. On -some of the mountains the green vestments are in tatters and rags, so to -speak, and barely cling to them. No heather in view. Toward Windermere -the high peaks and crests are much more jagged and rocky. The air is -filled with the same white, motionless vapor as in Scotland. When the -sun breaks through,-- - - "Slant watery lights, from parting clouds, apace - Travel along the precipice's base, - Cheering its naked waste of scatter'd stone." - -Amid these scenes one comes face to face with nature, - - "With the pristine earth, - The planet in its nakedness," - -as he cannot in a wooded country. The primal, abysmal energies, grown -tender and meditative, as it were, thoughtful of the shepherd and his -flocks, and voiceful only in the leaping torrents, look out upon one -near at hand and pass a mute recognition. Wordsworth perpetually refers -to these hills and dales as lonely or lonesome; but his heart was still -more lonely. The outward solitude was congenial to the isolation and -profound privacy of his own soul. "Lonesome," he says of one of these -mountain dales, but - - "Not melancholy,--no, for it is green - And bright and fertile, furnished in itself - With the few needful things that life requires. - In rugged arms how soft it seems to lie, - How tenderly protected." - -It is this tender and sheltering character of the mountains of the Lake -district that is one main source of their charm. So rugged and lofty, -and yet so mellow and delicate! No shaggy, weedy growths or tangles -anywhere; nothing wilder than the bracken, which at a distance looks as -solid as the grass. The turf is as fine and thick as that of a lawn. The -dainty-nosed lambs could not crave a tenderer bite than it affords. The -wool of the dams could hardly be softer to the foot. The last of July -the grass was still short and thick, as if it never shot up a stalk and -produced seed, but always remained a fine, close mat. Nothing was more -unlike what I was used to at home than this universal tendency (the same -is true in Scotland and in Wales) to grass, and, on the lower slopes, to -bracken, as if these were the only two plants in nature. Many of these -eminences in the north of England, too lofty for hills and too smooth -for mountains, are called fells. The railway between Carlisle and -Preston winds between them, as Houghill Fells, Tebay Fells, Shap Fells, -etc. They are, even in midsummer, of such a vivid and uniform green that -it seems as if they must have been painted. Nothing blurs or mars the -hue; no stalk of weed or stem of dry grass. The scene, in singleness and -purity of tint, rivals the blue of the sky. Nature does not seem to -ripen and grow sere as autumn approaches, but wears the tints of May in -October. - - - - -VIII - -A GLANCE AT BRITISH WILD FLOWERS - - -The first flower I plucked in Britain was the daisy, in one of the parks -in Glasgow. The sward had recently been mown, but the daisies dotted it -as thickly as stars. It is a flower almost as common as the grass; find -a square foot of greensward anywhere, and you are pretty sure to find a -daisy, probably several of them. Bairnwort--child's flower--it is called -in some parts, and its expression is truly infantile. It is the favorite -of all the poets, and when one comes to see it he does not think it has -been a bit overpraised. Some flowers please us by their intrinsic beauty -of color and form; others by their expression of certain human -qualities: the daisy has a modest, lowly, unobtrusive look that is very -taking. A little white ring, its margin unevenly touched with crimson, -it looks up at one like the eye of a child. - - "Thou unassuming Commonplace - Of Nature, with that homely face, - And yet with something of a grace, - Which Love makes for thee!" - -Not a little of its charm to an American is the unexpected contrast it -presents with the rank, coarse ox-eye daisy so common in this country, -and more or less abundant in Britain, too. The Scotch call this latter -"dog daisy." I thought it even coarser, and taller there than with us. -Though the commonest of weeds, the "wee, modest, crimson-tippit flower" -sticks close at home; it seems to have none of the wandering, -devil-may-care, vagabond propensities of so many other weeds. I believe -it has never yet appeared upon our shores in a wild state, though -Wordsworth addressed it thus:-- - - "Thou wander'st this wild world about - Unchecked by pride or scrupulous doubt." - -The daisy is prettier in the bud than in the flower, as it then shows -more crimson. It shuts up on the approach of foul weather; hence -Tennyson says the daisy closes - - "Her crimson fringes to the shower." - -At Alloway, whither I flitted from Glasgow, I first put my hand into the -British nettle, and, I may add, took it out again as quickly as if I had -put it into the fire. I little suspected that rank dark-green weed there -amid the grass under the old apple-trees, where the blue speedwell and -cockscombs grew, to be a nettle. But I soon learned that the one plant -you can count on everywhere in England and Scotland is the nettle. It is -the royal weed of Britain. It stands guard along every road-bank and -hedge-row in the island. - -Put your hand to the ground after dark in any fence corner, or under any -hedge, or on the border of any field, and the chances are ten to one you -will take it back again with surprising alacrity. And such a villainous -fang as the plant has! it is like the sting of bees. Your hand burns and -smarts for hours afterward. My little boy and I were eagerly gathering -wild flowers on the banks of the Doon, when I heard him scream, a few -yards from me. I had that moment jerked my stinging hand out of the -grass as if I had put it into a hornet's nest, and I knew what the -youngster had found. We held our burning fingers in the water, which -only aggravated the poison. It is a dark green, rankly growing plant, -from one to two feet high, that asks no leave of anybody. It is the -police that protects every flower in the hedge. To "pluck the flower of -safety from the nettle danger" is a figure of speech that has especial -force in this island. The species of our own nettle with which I am best -acquainted, the large-leaved Canada nettle, grows in the woods, is shy -and delicate, is cropped by cattle, and its sting is mild. But -apparently no cow's tongue can stand the British nettle, though, when -cured as hay, it is said to make good fodder. Even the pigs cannot eat -it till it is boiled. In starvation times it is extensively used as a -pot-herb, and, when dried, its fibre is said to be nearly equal to that -of flax. Rough handling, I am told, disarms it, but I could not summon -up courage to try the experiment. Ophelia made her garlands - - "Of crow-flowers, daisies, nettles, and long purples." - -But the nettle here referred to was probably the stingless dead-nettle. - -A Scotch farmer, with whom I became acquainted, took me on a Sunday -afternoon stroll through his fields. I went to his kirk in the forenoon; -in the afternoon he and his son went to mine, and liked the sermon as -well as I did. These banks and braes of Doon, of a bright day in May, -are eloquent enough for anybody. Our path led along the river course for -some distance. The globe-flower, like a large buttercup with the petals -partly closed, nodded here and there. On a broad, sloping, semi-circular -bank, where a level expanse of rich fields dropped down to a springy, -rushy bottom near the river's edge, and which the Scotch call a brae, we -reclined upon the grass and listened to the birds, all but the lark new -to me, and discussed the flowers growing about. In a wet place the -"gillyflower" was growing, suggesting our dentaria, or crinkle-root. -This is said to be "the lady's smock all silver-white" of Shakespeare, -but these were not white, rather a pale lilac. Near by, upon the ground, -was the nest of the meadow pipit, a species of titlark, which my friend -would have me believe was the wood-lark,--a bird I was on the lookout -for. The nest contained six brown-speckled eggs,--a large number, I -thought. But I found that this is the country in which to see -birds'-nests crowded with eggs, as well as human habitations thronged -with children. A white umbelliferous plant, very much like wild carrot, -dotted the turf here and there. This, my companion said, was pig-nut, or -ground-chestnut, and that there was a sweet, edible tuber at the root -of it, and, to make his words good, dug up one with his fingers, -recalling Caliban's words in the "Tempest":-- - - "And I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts." - -The plant grows freely about England, but does not seem to be -troublesome as a weed. - -In a wooded slope beyond the brae, I plucked my first woodruff, a little -cluster of pure white flowers, much like that of our saxifrage, with a -delicate perfume. Its stalk has a whorl of leaves like the galium. As -the plant dries its perfume increases, and a handful of it will scent a -room. - -The wild hyacinths, or bluebells, had begun to fade, but a few could yet -be gathered here and there in the woods and in the edges of the fields. -This is one of the plants of which nature is very prodigal in Britain. -In places it makes the underwoods as blue as the sky, and its rank -perfume loads the air. Tennyson speaks of "sheets of hyacinths." We have -no wood flower in the Eastern States that grows in such profusion. - -Our flowers, like our birds and wild creatures, are more shy and -retiring than the British. They keep more to the woods, and are not -sowed so broadcast. Herb Robert is exclusively a wood plant with us, but -in England it strays quite out into the open fields and by the roadside. -Indeed, in England I found no so-called wood flower that could not be -met with more or less in the fields and along the hedges. The main -reason, perhaps, is that the need of shelter is never so great there, -neither winter nor summer, as it is here, and the supply of moisture is -more uniform and abundant. In dampness, coolness, and shadiness, the -whole climate is woodsy, while the atmosphere of the woods themselves is -almost subterranean in its dankness and chilliness. The plants come out -for sun and warmth, and every seed they scatter in this moist and -fruitful soil takes. - -How many exclusive wood flowers we have, most of our choicest kinds -being of sylvan birth,--flowers that seem to vanish before the mere -breath of cultivated fields, as wild as the partridge and the beaver, -like the yellow violet, the arbutus, the medeola, the dicentra, the -claytonia, the trilliums, many of the orchids, uvularia, dalibarda, and -others. In England, probably, all these plants, if they grew there, -would come out into the fields and opens. The wild strawberry, however, -reverses this rule; it is more a wood plant in England than with us. -Excepting the rarer variety (_Fragaria vesca_), our strawberry thrives -best in cultivated fields, and Shakespeare's reference to this fruit -would not be apt,-- - - "The strawberry grows underneath the nettle; - And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, - Neighbor'd by fruit of baser quality." - -The British strawberry is found exclusively, I believe, in woods and -copses, and the ripened fruit is smaller or lighter colored than our -own. - -Nature in this island is less versatile than with us, but more constant -and uniform, less variety and contrast in her works, and less -capriciousness and reservation also. She is chary of new species, but -multiplies the old ones endlessly. I did not observe so many varieties -of wild flowers as at home, but a great profusion of specimens; her lap -is fuller, but the kinds are fewer. Where you find one of a kind, you -will find ten thousand. Wordsworth saw "golden daffodils," - - "Continuous as the stars that shine - And twinkle on the milky way," - -and one sees nearly all the common wild flowers in the same profusion. -The buttercup, the dandelion, the ox-eye daisy, and other field flowers -that have come to us from Europe, are samples of how lavishly Nature -bestows her floral gifts upon the Old World. In July the scarlet poppies -are thickly sprinkled over nearly every wheat and oat field in the -kingdom. The green waving grain seems to have been spattered with blood. -Other flowers were alike universal. Not a plant but seems to have sown -itself from one end of the island to the other. Never before did I see -so much white clover. From the first to the last of July, the fields in -Scotland and England were white with it. Every square inch of ground had -its clover blossom. Such a harvest as there was for the honey-bee, -unless the nectar was too much diluted with water in this rainy climate, -which was probably the case. In traveling south from Scotland, the -foxglove traveled as fast as I did, and I found it just as abundant in -the southern counties as in the northern. This is the most beautiful -and conspicuous of all the wild flowers I saw,--a spire of large purple -bells rising above the ferns and copses and along the hedges everywhere. -Among the copses of Surrey and Hants, I saw it five feet high, and amid -the rocks of North Wales still higher. We have no conspicuous wild -flower that compares with it. It is so showy and abundant that the -traveler on the express train cannot miss it; while the pedestrian finds -it lining his way like rows of torches. The bloom creeps up the stalk -gradually as the season advances, taking from a month to six weeks to go -from the bottom to the top, making at all times a most pleasing -gradation of color, and showing the plant each day with new flowers and -a fresh, new look. It never looks shabby and spent, from first to last. -The lower buds open the first week in June, and slowly the purple wave -creeps upward; bell after bell swings to the bee and moth, till the end -of July, when you see the stalk waving in the wind with two or three -flowers at the top, as perfect and vivid as those that opened first. I -wonder the poets have not mentioned it oftener. Tennyson speaks of "the -foxglove spire." I note this allusion in Keats:-- - - "Where the deer's swift leap - Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell," - -and this from Coleridge:-- - - "The fox-glove tall - Sheds its loose purple bells or in the gust, - Or when it bends beneath the upspringing lark, - Or mountain finch alighting." - -Coleridge perhaps knew that the lark did not perch upon the stalk of the -foxglove, or upon any other stalk or branch, being entirely a ground -bird and not a percher, but he would seem to imply that it did, in these -lines. - -A London correspondent calls my attention to these lines from -Wordsworth,-- - - "Bees that soar - High as the highest peak of Furness Fells, - Yet murmur by the hour in foxglove bells;" - -and adds: "Less poetical, but as graphic, was a Devonshire woman's -comparison of a dull preacher to a 'Drummle drane in a pop;' Anglice, A -drone in a foxglove,--called a pop from children amusing themselves with -popping its bells." - -The prettiest of all humble roadside flowers I saw was the little blue -speedwell. I was seldom out of sight of it anywhere in my walks till -near the end of June; while its little bands and assemblages of deep -blue flowers in the grass by the roadside, turning a host of infantile -faces up to the sun, often made me pause and admire. It is prettier than -the violet, and larger and deeper colored than our houstonia. It is a -small and delicate edition of our hepatica, done in indigo blue and -wonted to the grass in the fields and by the waysides. - - "The little speedwell's darling blue," - -sings Tennyson. I saw it blooming, with the daisy and the buttercup, -upon the grave of Carlyle. The tender human and poetic element of this -stern rocky nature was well expressed by it. - -In the Lake district I saw meadows purple with a species of wild -geranium, probably _Geranium pratense_. It answered well to our wild -geranium, which in May sometimes covers wettish meadows in the same -manner, except that this English species was of a dark blue purple. -Prunella, I noticed, was of a much deeper purple there than at home. The -purple orchids also were stronger colored, but less graceful and -pleasing, than our own. One species which I noticed in June, with habits -similar to our purple fringed-orchis, perhaps the pyramidal orchis, had -quite a coarse, plebeian look. Probably the most striking blue and -purple wild flowers we have are of European origin, as succory, -blue-weed or bugloss, vervain, purple loosestrife, and harebell. These -colors, except with the fall asters and gentians, seem rather unstable -in our flora. - -It has been observed by the Norwegian botanist Schuebeler that plants and -trees in the higher latitudes have larger leaves and larger flowers than -farther south, and that many flowers which are white in the south become -violet in the far north. This agrees with my own observation. The -feebler light necessitates more leaf surface, and the fewer insects -necessitate larger and more showy flowers to attract them and secure -cross-fertilization. Blackberry blossoms, so white with us, are a -decided pink in England. The same is true of the water-plantain. Our -houstonia and hepatica would probably become a deep blue in that -country. The marine climate probably has something to do also with this -high color of the British flowers, as I have noticed that on our New -England coast the same flowers are deeper tinted than they are in the -interior. - -A flower which greets all ramblers to moist fields and tranquil -watercourses in midsummer is the meadow-sweet, called also queen of the -meadows. It belongs to the Spiraea tribe, where our hardhack, nine-bark, -meadow-sweet, queen of the prairie, and others belong, but surpasses all -our species in being sweet-scented,--a suggestion of almonds and -cinnamon. I saw much of it about Stratford, and in rowing on the Avon -plucked its large clusters of fine, creamy white flowers from my boat. -Arnold is felicitous in describing it as the "blond meadow-sweet." - -They cultivate a species of clover in England that gives a striking -effect to a field when in bloom, _Trifolium incarnatum_, the long heads -as red as blood. It is grown mostly for green fodder. I saw not one -spear of timothy grass in all my rambles. Though this is a grass of -European origin, yet it seems to be quite unknown among English and -Scotch farmers. The horse bean, or Winchester bean, sown broadcast, is a -new feature, while its perfume, suggesting that of apple orchards, is -the most agreeable to be met with. - -I was delighted with the furze, or whin, as the Scotch call it, with its -multitude of rich yellow, pea-like blossoms exhaling a perfume that -reminded me of mingled cocoanut and peaches. It is a prickly, -disagreeable shrub to the touch, like our ground juniper. It seems to -mark everywhere the line of cultivation; where the furze begins the plow -stops. It covers heaths and commons, and, with the heather, gives that -dark hue to the Scotch and English uplands. The heather I did not see in -all its glory. It was just coming into bloom when I left, the last of -July; but the glimpses I had of it in North Wales, and again in northern -Ireland, were most pleasing. It gave a purple border or fringe to the -dark rocks (the rocks are never so lightly tinted in this island as ours -are) that was very rich and striking. The heather vies with the grass in -its extent and uniformity. Until midsummer it covers the moors and -uplands as with a dark brown coat. When it blooms, this coat becomes a -royal robe. The flower yields honey to the bee, and the plant shelter to -the birds and game, and is used by the cottagers for thatching, and for -twisting into ropes, and for various other purposes. - -Several troublesome weeds I noticed in England that have not yet made -their appearance in this country. Coltsfoot invests the plowed lands -there, sending up its broad fuzzy leaves as soon as the grain is up, and -covering large areas. It is found in this country, but, so far as I have -observed, only in out-of-the-way places. - -Sheep sorrel has come to us from over seas, and reddens many a poor -worn-out field; but the larger species of sorrel, _Rumex acetosa_, so -common in English fields, and shooting up a stem two feet high, was -quite new to me. Nearly all the related species, the various docks, are -naturalized upon our shores. - -On the whole the place to see European weeds is in America. They run -riot here. They are like boys out of school, leaping all bounds. They -have the freedom of the whole broad land, and are allowed to take -possession in a way that would astonish a British farmer. The Scotch -thistle is much rarer in Scotland than in New York or Massachusetts. I -saw only one mullein by the roadside, and that was in Wales, though it -flourishes here and there throughout the island. The London -correspondent, already quoted, says of the mullein: "One will come up in -solitary glory, but, though it bears hundreds of flowers, many years -will elapse before another is seen in the same neighborhood. We used to -say, 'There is a mullein coming up in such a place,' much as if we had -seen a comet; and its flannel-like leaves and the growth of its spike -were duly watched and reported on day by day." I did not catch a glimpse -of blue-weed, Bouncing Bet, elecampane, live-for-ever, bladder campion, -and others, of which I see acres at home, though all these weeds do grow -there. They hunt the weeds mercilessly; they have no room for them. You -see men and boys, women and girls, in the meadows and pastures cutting -them out. A species of wild mustard infests the best grain lands in -June; when in bloom it gives to the oat-fields a fresh canary yellow. -Then men and boys walk carefully through the drilled grain and pull the -mustard out, and carry it away, leaving not one blossom visible. - -On the whole, I should say that the British wild flowers were less -beautiful than our own, but more abundant and noticeable, and more -closely associated with the country life of the people; just as their -birds are more familiar, abundant, and vociferous than our songsters, -but not so sweet-voiced and plaintively melodious. An agreeable -coarseness and robustness characterize most of their flowers, and they -more than make up in abundance where they lack in grace. - -The surprising delicacy of our first spring flowers, of the hepatica, -the spring beauty, the arbutus, the bloodroot, the rue-anemone, the -dicentra,--a beauty and delicacy that pertains to exclusive wood -forms,--contrasts with the more hardy, hairy, hedge-row look of their -firstlings of the spring, like the primrose, the hyacinth, the wood -spurge, the green hellebore, the hedge garlic, the moschatel, the -daffodil, the celandine, and others. Most of these flowers take one by -their multitude; the primrose covers broad hedge banks for miles as with -a carpet of bloom. In my excursions into field and forest I saw nothing -of the intense brilliancy of our cardinal flower, which almost baffles -the eye; nothing with the wild grace of our meadow or mountain lilies; -no wood flower so taking to the eye as our painted trillium and -lady's-slipper; no bog flower that compares with our calopogon and -arethusa, so common in southeastern New England; no brookside flower -that equals our jewel-weed; no rock flower before which one would pause -with the same feeling of admiration as before our columbine; no violet -as striking as our bird's-foot violet; no trailing flower that -approaches our matchless arbutus; no fern as delicate as our -maiden-hair; no flowering shrub as sweet as our azaleas. In fact, their -flora presented a commoner type of beauty, very comely and pleasing, but -not so exquisite and surprising as our own. The contrast is well shown -in the flowering of the maples of the two countries,--that of the -European species being stiff and coarse compared with the fringe-like -grace and delicacy of our maple. In like manner the silken tresses of -our white pine contrast strongly with the coarser foliage of the -European pines. But what they have, they have in greatest profusion. Few -of their flowers waste their sweetness on the desert air; they throng -the fields, lanes, and highways, and are known and seen of all. They -bloom on the housetops, and wave from the summits of castle walls. The -spring meadows are carpeted with flowers, and the midsummer -grain-fields, from one end of the kingdom to the other, are spotted with -fire and gold in the scarlet poppies and corn marigolds. - -I plucked but one white pond-lily, and that was in the Kew Gardens, -where I suppose the plucking was trespassing. Its petals were slightly -blunter than ours, and it had no perfume. Indeed, in the matter of -sweet-scented flowers, our flora shows by far the more varieties, the -British flora seeming richer in this respect by reason of the abundance -of specimens of any given kind. - -It is, indeed, a flowery land; a kind of perpetual spring-time reigns -there, a perennial freshness and bloom such as our fierce skies do not -permit. - - - - -IX - -BRITISH FERTILITY - - -I - -In crossing the Atlantic from the New World to the Old, one of the first -intimations the traveler has that he is nearing a strange shore, and an -old and populous one, is the greater boldness and familiarity of the -swarms of sea-gulls that begin to hover in the wake of the ship, and -dive and contend with each other for the fragments and parings thrown -overboard from the pantry. They have at once a different air and manner -from those we left behind. How bold and tireless they are, pursuing the -vessel from dawn to dark, and coming almost near enough to take the food -out of your hand as you lean over the bulwarks. It is a sign in the air; -it tells the whole story of the hungry and populous countries you are -approaching; it is swarming and omnivorous Europe come out to meet you. -You are near the sea-marge of a land teeming with life, a land where the -prevailing forms are indeed few, but these on the most copious and -vehement scale; where the birds and animals are not only more numerous -than at home, but more dominating and aggressive, more closely -associated with man, contending with him for the fruits of the soil, -learned in his ways, full of resources, prolific, tenacious of life, not -easily checked or driven out,--in fact, characterized by greater -persistence and fecundity. This fact is sure, sooner or later, to strike -the American in Britain. There seems to be an aboriginal push and heat -in animate nature there, to behold which is a new experience. It is the -Old World, and yet it really seems the New in the virility and hardihood -of its species. - -The New Englander who sees with evil forebodings the rapid falling off -of the birth-rate in his own land, the family rills shrinking in these -later generations, like his native streams in summer, and who -consequently fears for the perpetuity of the race, may see something to -comfort him in the British islands. Behold the fecundity of the parent -stock! The drought that has fallen upon the older parts of the New World -does not seem to have affected the sources of being in these islands. -They are apparently as copious and exhaustless as they were three -centuries ago. Britain might well appropriate to herself the last half -of Emerson's quatrain:-- - - "No numbers have counted my tallies, - No tribes my house can fill; - I sit by the shining Fount of Life, - And pour the deluge still." - -For it is literally a deluge; the land is inundated with humanity. -Thirty millions of people within the area of one of our larger States, -and who shall say that high-water mark is yet reached? Everything -betokens a race still in its youth, still on the road to empire. The -full-bloodedness, the large feet and hands, the prominent canine teeth, -the stomachic and muscular robustness, the health of the women, the -savage jealousy of personal rights, the swarms upon swarms of children -and young people, the delight in the open air and in athletic sports, -the love of danger and adventure, a certain morning freshness and -youthfulness in their look, as if their food and sleep nourished them -well, together with a certain animality and stupidity,--all indicate a -people who have not yet slackened speed or taken in sail. Neither the -land nor the race shows any exhaustion. In both there is yet the -freshness and fruitfulness of a new country. You would think the people -had just come into possession of a virgin soil. There is a pioneer -hardiness and fertility about them. Families increase as in our early -frontier settlements. Let me quote a paragraph from Taine's "Notes:"-- - -"An Englishman nearly always has many children,--the rich as well as the -poor. The Queen has nine, and sets the example. Let us run over the -families we are acquainted with: Lord ---- has six children; the Marquis -of ----, twelve; Sir N----, nine; Mr. S----, a judge, twenty-four, of -whom twenty-two are living; several clergymen, five, six, and up to ten -and twelve." - -Thus is the census kept up and increased. The land, the towns and -cities, are like hives in swarming time; a fertile queen indeed, and -plenty of brood-comb! Were it not for the wildernesses of America, of -Africa, and Australia, to which these swarms migrate, the people would -suffocate and trample each other out. A Scotch or English city, compared -with one of ours, is a kind of duplex or compound city; it has a double -interior,--the interior of the closes and alleys, in which and out of -which the people swarm like flies. Every country village has its closes, -its streets between streets, where the humbler portion of the population -is packed away. This back-door humanity streams forth to all parts of -the world, and carries the national virtues with it. In walking through -some of the older portions of Edinburgh, I was somehow reminded of -colonies of cliff swallows I had seen at home, packed beneath the eaves -of a farmer's barn, every inch of space occupied, the tenements crowding -and lapping over each other, the interstices filled, every coign of -vantage seized upon, the pendent beds and procreant cradles ranked one -above another, and showing all manner of quaint and ingenious forms and -adaptability to circumstances. In both London and Edinburgh there are -streets above streets, or huge viaducts that carry one torrent of -humanity above another torrent. They utilize the hills and depressions -to make more surface room for their swarming myriads. - -One day, in my walk through the Trosachs in the Highlands, I came upon a -couple of ant-hills that arrested my attention. They were a type of the -country. They were not large, scarcely larger than a peck measure, but -never before had I seen ant-hills so populous and so lively. They were -living masses of ants, while the ground for yards about literally -rustled with their numbers. I knew ant-hills at home, and had noted them -carefully, hills that would fill a cart-box; but they were like empty -tenements compared with these, a fort garrisoned with a company instead -of an army corps. These hills stood in thin woods by the roadside. From -each of them radiated five main highways, like the spokes of a wheel. -These highways were clearly defined to the eye, the grass and leaves -being slightly beaten down. Along each one of them there was a double -line of ants,--one line going out for supplies and the other returning -with booty,--worms, flies, insects, a constant stream of game going into -the capitol. If the ants, with any given worm or bug, got stuck, those -passing out would turn and lend a helping hand. The ground between the -main highways was being threaded in all directions by individual ants, -beating up and down for game. The same was true of the surface all about -the terminus of the roads, several yards distant. If I stood a few -moments in one place, the ants would begin to climb up my shoes and so -up my legs. Stamping them off seemed only to alarm and enrage the whole -camp, so that I would presently be compelled to retreat. Seeing a big -straddling beetle, I caught him and dropped him upon the nest. The ants -attacked him as wolves might attack an elephant. They clung to his -legs, they mounted his back, and assaulted him in front. As he rushed -through and over their ranks, down the side of the mound, those clinging -to his legs were caught hold of by others, till lines of four or five -ants were being jerked along by each of his six legs. The infuriated -beetle cleared the mound, and crawled under leaves and sticks to sweep -off his clinging enemies, and finally seemed to escape them by burying -himself in the earth. Then I took one of those large, black, shelless -snails with which this land abounds, a snail the size of my thumb, and -dropped it upon the nest. The ants swarmed upon it at once, and began to -sink their jaws into it. This woke the snail up to the true situation, -and it showed itself not without resources against its enemies. Flee, -like the beetle, it could not, but it bore an invisible armor; it began -to excrete from every pore of its body a thick, whitish, viscid -substance, that tied every ant that came in contact with it, hand and -foot, in a twinkling. When a thick coating of this impromptu bird-lime -had been exuded, the snail wriggled right and left a few times, partly -sloughing it off, and thus ingulfing hundreds of its antagonists. Never -was army of ants or of men bound in such a Stygian quagmire before. New -phalanxes rushed up and tried to scale the mass; most of them were mired -like their fellows, but a few succeeded and gained the snail's back; -then began the preparation of another avalanche of glue; the creature -seemed to dwindle in size, and to nerve itself to the work; as fast as -the ants reached him in any number he ingulfed them; he poured the vials -of his glutinous wrath upon them till he had formed quite a rampart of -cemented and helpless ants about him; fresh ones constantly coming up -laid hold of the barricade with their jaws, and were often hung that -way. I lingered half an hour or more to see the issue, but was finally -compelled to come away before the closing scene. I presume the ants -finally triumphed. The snail had nearly exhausted its ammunition; each -new broadside took more and more time and was less and less effective; -while the ants had unlimited resources, and could make bridges of their -sunken armies. But how they finally freed themselves and their mound of -that viscid, sloughing monster I should be glad to know. - -But it was not these incidents that impressed me so much as the numbers -and the animation of the ants, and their raiding, buccaneering -propensities. When I came to London, I could not help thinking of the -ant-hill I had seen in the North. This, I said, is the biggest ant-hill -yet. See the great steam highways, leading to all points of the compass; -see the myriads swarming, jostling each other in the streets, and -overflowing all the surrounding country. See the underground tunnels and -galleries and the overground viaducts; see the activity and the -supplies, the whole earth the hunting-ground of these insects and -rustling with their multitudinous stir. One may be pardoned, in the -presence of such an enormous aggregate of humanity as London shows, for -thinking of insects. Men and women seem cheapened and belittled, as if -the spawn of blow-flies had turned to human beings. How the throng -stream on interminably, the streets like river-beds, full to their -banks! One hardly notes the units,--he sees only the black tide. He -loses himself, and becomes an insignificant ant with the rest. He is -borne along through the galleries and passages to the underground -railway, and is swept forward like a drop in the sea. I used to make -frequent trips to the country, or seek out some empty nook in St. -Paul's, to come to my senses. But it requires no ordinary effort to find -one's self in St. Paul's, and in the country you must walk fast or -London will overtake you. When I would think I had a stretch of road all -to myself, a troop of London bicyclists would steal up behind me and -suddenly file by like spectres. The whole land is London-struck. You -feel the suction of the huge city wherever you are. It draws like a -cyclone; every current tends that way. It would seem as if cities and -towns were constantly breaking from their moorings and drifting -thitherward and joining themselves to it. On every side one finds -smaller cities welded fast. It spreads like a malignant growth, that -involves first one organ and then another. But it is not malignant. On -the contrary, it is perhaps as normal and legitimate a city as there is -on the globe. It is the proper outcome and expression of that fertile -and bountiful land, and that hardy, multiplying race. It seems less the -result of trade and commerce, and more the result of the domestic -home-seeking and home-building instinct, than any other city I have yet -seen. I felt, and yet feel, its attraction. It is such an aggregate of -actual human dwellings that this feeling pervades the very air. All its -vast and multiplex industries, and its traffic, seem domestic, like the -chores about the household. I used to get glimpses of it from the -northwest borders, from Hampstead Heath, and from about Highgate, lying -there in the broad, gentle valley of the Thames, like an enormous -country village--a village with nearly four million souls, where people -find life sweet and wholesome, and keep a rustic freshness of look and -sobriety of manner. See their vast parks and pleasure grounds; see the -upper Thames, of a bright Sunday, alive with rowing parties; see them -picnicking in all the country adjacent. Indeed, in summer a social and -even festive air broods over the whole vast encampment. There is squalor -and misery enough, of course, and too much, but this takes itself away -to holes and corners. - - -II - -A fertile race, a fertile nature, swarm in these islands. The climate is -a kind of prolonged May, and a vernal lustiness and raciness are -characteristic of all the prevailing forms. Life is rank and full. -Reproduction is easy. There is plenty of sap, plenty of blood. The salt -of the sea prickles in the veins; the spawning waters have imparted -their virility to the land. 'Tis a tropical and an arctic nature -combined, the fruitfulness of one and the activity of the other. - -The national poet is Shakespeare. In him we get the literary and -artistic equivalents of this teeming, racy, juicy land and people. It -needs just such a soil, just such a background, to account for him. The -poetic value of this continence on the one hand, and of this riot and -prodigality on the other, is in his pages. - -The teeming human populations reflect only the general law: there is the -same fullness of life in the lower types, the same push and hardiness. -It is the opinion of naturalists that the prevailing European forms are -a later production than those of the southern hemisphere or of the -United States, and hence, according to Darwin's law, should be more -versatile and dominating. That this last fact holds good with regard to -them, no competent observer can fail to see. When European plants and -animals come into competition with American, the latter, for the most -part, go to the wall, as do the natives in Australia. Or shall we say -that the native species flee before the advent of civilization, the -denuding the land of its forests, and the European species come in and -take their place? Yet the fact remains, that that trait or tendency to -persist in the face of obstacles, to hang on by tooth and nail, ready in -new expedients, thriving where others starve, climbing where others -fall, multiplying where others perish, like certain weeds, which if you -check the seed, will increase at the root, is more marked in the forms -that have come to us from Europe than in the native inhabitants. Nearly -everything that has come to this country from the Old World has come -prepared to fight its way through and take possession. The European or -Old World man, the Old World animals, the Old World grasses and grains, -and weeds and vermin, are in possession of the land, and the native -species have given way before them. The honey-bee, with its greed, its -industry, and its swarms, is a fair type of the rest. The English house -sparrow, which we were at such pains to introduce, breeds like vermin -and threatens to become a plague in the land. Nearly all our troublesome -weeds are European. When a new species gets a foothold here, it spreads -like fire. The European rats and mice would eat us up, were it not for -the European cats we breed. The wolf not only keeps a foothold in old -and populous countries like France and Germany, but in the former -country has so increased of late years that the government has offered -an additional bounty upon their pelts. When has an American wolf been -seen or heard in our comparatively sparsely settled Eastern or Middle -States? They have disappeared as completely as the beavers. Yet is it -probably true that, in a new country like ours, a tendency slowly -develops itself among the wild creatures to return and repossess the -land under the altered conditions. It is so with the plants, and -probably so with the animals. Thus, the chimney swallows give up the -hollow trees for the chimneys, the cliff swallows desert the cliffs for -the eaves of the barns, the squirrels find they can live in and about -the fields, etc. In my own locality, our native mice are becoming much -more numerous about the buildings than formerly; in the older settled -portions of the country, the flying squirrel often breeds in the houses; -the wolf does not seem to let go in the West as readily as he did in the -East; the black bear is coming back to parts of the country where it had -not been seen for thirty years. - -I noticed many traits among the British animals and birds that looked -like the result both of the sharp competition going on among themselves -in their crowded ranks and of association with man. Thus, the partridge -not only covers her nest, but carefully arranges the grass about it so -that no mark of her track to and fro can be seen. The field mouse lays -up a store of grain in its den in the ground, and then stops up the -entrance from within. The woodcock, when disturbed, flies away with one -of her young snatched up between her legs, and returns for another and -another. The sea-gulls devour the grain in the fields; the wild ducks -feed upon the oats; the crows and jackdaws pull up the sprouts of the -newly-planted potatoes; the grouse, partridges, pigeons, fieldfares, -etc., attack the turnips; the hawk frequently snatches the wounded game -from under the gun of the sportsman; the crows perch upon the tops of -the chimneys of the houses; in the East the stork builds upon the -housetops, in the midst of cities; in Scotland the rats follow the birds -and the Highlanders to the herring fisheries along the coast, and -disperse with them when the season is over; the eagle continues to breed -in the mountains with the prize of a guinea upon every egg; the rabbits -have to be kept down with nets and ferrets; the game birds--grouse, -partridges, ducks, geese--continue to swarm in the face of the most -inveterate race of sportsmen under the sun, and in a country where it is -said the crows destroy more game than all the guns in the kingdom. - -Many of the wild birds, when incubating, will allow themselves to be -touched by the hand. The fox frequently passes the day under some -covered drain or under some shelving bank near the farm buildings. The -otter, which so long ago disappeared from our streams, still holds its -own in Scotland, though trapped and shot on all occasions. A mother -otter has been known boldly to confront a man carrying off her young. - -Thomas Edward, the shoemaker-naturalist of Aberdeen, relates many -adventures he had during his nocturnal explorations with weasels, -polecats, badgers, owls, rats, etc., in which these creatures showed -astonishing boldness and audacity. On one occasion, a weasel actually -attacked him; on another, a polecat made repeated attempts to take a -moor-hen from the breast pocket of his coat while he was trying to -sleep. On still another occasion, while he was taking a nap, an owl -robbed him of a mouse which he wished to take home alive, and which was -tied by a string to his waistcoat. He says he has put his walking stick -into the mouth of a fox just roused from his lair, and the fox worried -the stick and took it away with him. Once, in descending a precipice, he -cornered two foxes upon a shelf of rock, when the brutes growled at him -and showed their teeth threateningly. As he let himself down to kick -them out of his way, they bolted up the precipice over his person. Along -the Scottish coast, crows break open shell-fish by carrying them high in -the air and letting them drop upon the rocks. This is about as -thoughtful a proceeding as that of certain birds of South Africa, which -fly amid the clouds of migrating locusts and clip off the wings of the -insects with their sharp beaks, causing them to fall to the ground, -where they are devoured at leisure. Among the Highlands, the eagles live -upon hares and young lambs; when the shepherds kill the eagles, the -hares increase so fast that they eat up all the grass, and the flocks -still suffer. - -The scenes along the coast of Scotland during the herring-fishing, as -described by Charles St. John in his "Natural History and Sport in -Moray," are characteristic. The herrings appear in innumerable shoals, -and are pursued by tens of thousands of birds in the air, and by the -hosts of their enemies of the deep. Salmon and dog-fish prey upon them -from beneath; gulls, gannets, cormorants, and solan geese prey upon them -from above; while the fishermen from a vast fleet of boats scoop them up -by the million. The birds plunge and scream, the men shout and labor, -the sea is covered with broken and wounded fish, the shore exhales the -odor of the decaying offal, which also attracts the birds and the -vermin; and, altogether, the scene is thoroughly European. Yet the -herring supply does not fail; and when the shoals go into the lochs, the -people say they contain two parts fish to one of water. - -One of the most significant facts I observed while in England and -Scotland was the number of eggs in the birds'-nests. The first nest I -saw, which was that of the meadow pipit, held six eggs; the second, -which was that of the willow warbler, contained seven. Are these British -birds, then, I said, like the people, really more prolific than our own? -Such is, undoubtedly, the fact. The nests I had observed were not -exceptional; and when a boy told me he knew of a wren's nest with -twenty-six eggs in it, I was half inclined to believe him. The common -British wren, which is nearly identical with our winter wren, often does -lay upward of twenty eggs, while ours lays five or six. The long-tailed -titmouse lays from ten to twelve eggs; the marsh tit, from eight to ten; -the great tit, from six to nine; the blue-bonnet, from six to eighteen; -the wryneck, often as many as ten; the nuthatch, seven; the brown -creeper, nine; the kinglet, eight; the robin, seven; the flycatcher, -eight; and so on,--all, or nearly all, exceeding the number laid by -corresponding species in this country. The highest number of eggs of the -majority of our birds is five; some of the wrens and creepers and -titmice produce six, or even more; but as a rule one sees only three or -four eggs in the nests of our common birds. Our quail seems to produce -more eggs than the European species, and our swift more. - -Then this superabundance of eggs is protected by such warm and compact -nests. The nest of the willow warbler, to which I have referred, is a -kind of thatched cottage upholstered with feathers. It is placed upon -the ground, and is dome-shaped, like that of our meadow mouse, the -entrance being on the side. The chaffinch, the most abundant and -universal of the British birds, builds a nest in the white thorn that is -a marvel of compactness and neatness. It is made mainly of fine moss and -wool. The nest of Jenny Wren, with its dozen or more of eggs, is too -perfect for art, and too cunning for nature. Those I saw were placed -amid the roots of trees on a steep bank by the roadside. You behold a -mass of fine green moss set in an irregular framework of roots, with a -round hole in the middle of it. As far in as your finger can reach, it -is exquisitely soft and delicately modeled. When removed from its place, -it is a large mass of moss with the nest at the heart of it. - -Then add to these things the comparative immunity from the many dangers -that beset the nests of our birds,--dangers from squirrels, snakes, -crows, owls, weasels, etc., and from violent storms and tempests,--and -one can quickly see why the British birds so thrive and abound. There is -a chaffinch for every tree, and a rook and a starling for every square -rod of ground. I think there would be still more starlings if they could -find places to build, but every available spot is occupied; every hole -in a wall, or tower, or tree, or stump; every niche about the farm -buildings; every throat of the grinning gargoyles about the old churches -and cathedrals; every cranny in towers and steeples and castle parapet, -and the mouth of every rain-spout and gutter in which they can find a -lodgment. - -The ruins of the old castles afford a harbor to many species, the most -noticeable of which are sparrows, starlings, doves, and swallows. -Rochester Castle, the main tower or citadel of which is yet in a good -state of preservation, is one vast dove-cote. The woman in charge told -me there were then about six hundred doves there. They whitened the air -as they flew and circled about. From time to time they are killed off -and sent to market. At sundown, after the doves had gone to roost, the -swifts appeared, seeking out their crannies. For a few moments the air -was dark with them. - -Look also at the rooks. They follow the plowmen like chickens, picking -up the grubs and worms; and chickens they are, sable farm fowls of a -wider range. Young rooks are esteemed a great delicacy. The -four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, and set before the king, of -the nursery rhyme, were very likely four-and-twenty young rooks. -Rook-pie is a national dish, and it would seem as if the young birds are -slaughtered in sufficient numbers to exterminate the species in a few -years. But they have to be kept under, like the rabbits; inasmuch as -they do not emigrate, like the people. I had heard vaguely that our -British cousins eschewed all pie except rook-pie, but I did not fully -realize the fact till I saw them shooting the young birds and shipping -them to market. A rookery in one's grove or shade-trees may be quite a -source of profit. The young birds are killed just before they are able -to fly, and when they first venture upon the outer rim of the nest or -perch upon the near branches. I witnessed this chicken-killing in a -rookery on the banks of the Doon. The ruins of an old castle crowned the -height overgrown with forest trees. In these trees the rooks nested, -much after the fashion of our wild pigeons. A young man with a rifle was -having a little sport by shooting the young rooks for the gamekeeper. -There appeared to be fewer than a hundred nests, and yet I was told that -as many as thirty dozen young rooks had been shot there that season. -During the firing the parent birds circle high aloft, uttering their -distressed cries. Apparently, no attempt is made to conceal the nests; -they are placed far out upon the branches, several close together, -showing as large dense masses of sticks and twigs. Year after year the -young are killed, and yet the rookery is not abandoned, nor the old -birds discouraged. It is to be added that this species is not the -carrion crow, like ours, though so closely resembling it in appearance. -It picks up its subsistence about the fields, and is not considered an -unclean bird. The British carrion crow is a much more rare species. It -is a strong, fierce bird, and often attacks and kills young lambs or -rabbits. - -What is true of the birds is true of the rabbits, and probably of the -other smaller animals. The British rabbit breeds seven times a year, and -usually produces eight young at a litter; while, so far as I have -observed, the corresponding species in this country breeds not more than -twice, producing from three to four young. The western gray rabbit is -said to produce three or four broods a year of four to six young. It is -calculated that in England a pair of rabbits will, in the course of four -years, multiply to one million two hundred and fifty thousand. If -unchecked for one season, this game would eat the farmers up. In the -parks of the Duke of Hamilton, the rabbits were so numerous that I think -one might have fired a gun at random with his eyes closed and knocked -them over. They scampered right and left as I advanced, like leaves -blown by the wind. Their cotton tails twinkled thicker than fireflies in -our summer night. In the Highlands, where there were cultivated lands, -and in various other parts of England and Scotland that I visited, they -were more abundant than chipmunks in our beechen woods. The revenue -derived from the sale of the ground game on some estates is an -important item. The rabbits are slaughtered in untold numbers throughout -the island. They shoot them, and hunt them with ferrets, and catch them -in nets and gins and snares, and they are the principal game of the -poacher, and yet the land is alive with them. Thirty million skins are -used up annually in Great Britain, besides several million hare skins. -The fur is used for stuffing beds, and is also made into yarn and cloth. - -But the Colorado beetle is our own, and it shows many of the European -virtues. It is sufficiently prolific and persistent to satisfy any -standard; but we cannot claim all the qualities for it till it has -crossed the Atlantic and established itself on the other side. - -There are other forms of life in which we surpass the mother country. I -did not hear the voice of frog or toad while I was in England. Their -marshes were silent; their summer nights were voiceless. I longed for -the multitudinous chorus of my own bog; for the tiny silver bells of our -hylas, the long-drawn and soothing _tr-r-r-r-r_ of our twilight toads, -and the rattling drums, kettle and bass, of our pond frogs. Their insect -world, too, is far behind ours; no fiddling grasshoppers, no purring -tree-crickets, no scraping katydids, no whirring cicadas; no sounds from -any of these sources by meadow or grove, by night or day, that I could -ever hear. We have a large orchestra of insect musicians, ranging from -that tiny performer that picks the strings of his instrument so daintily -in the summer twilight, to the shrill and piercing crescendo of the -harvest-fly. A young Englishman who had traveled over this country told -me he thought we had the noisiest nature in the world. English midsummer -nature is the other extreme of stillness. The long twilight is unbroken -by a sound, unless in places by the "clanging rookery." The British -bumblebee, a hairy, short-waisted fellow, has the same soft, mellow bass -as our native bee, and his habits appear much the same, except that he -can stand the cold and the wet much better (I used to see them very -lively after sundown, when I was shivering with my overcoat on), and -digs his own hole like the rabbit, which ours does not. Sitting in the -woods one day, a bumblebee alighted near me on the ground, and, scraping -away the surface mould, began to bite and dig his way into the earth,--a -true Britisher, able to dig his own hole. - -In the matter of squirrel life, too, we are far ahead of England. I -believe there are more red squirrels, to say nothing of gray squirrels, -flying squirrels, and chipmunks, within half a mile of my house than in -any county in England. In all my loitering and prying about the woods -and groves there, I saw but two squirrels. The species is larger than -ours, longer and softer furred, and appears to have little of the -snickering, frisking, attitudinizing manner of the American species. But -England is the paradise of snails. The trail of the snail is over all. I -have counted a dozen on the bole of a single tree. I have seen them -hanging to the bushes and hedges like fruit. I heard a lady complain -that they got into the kitchen, crawling about by night and hiding by -day, and baffling her efforts to rid herself of them. The thrushes eat -them, breaking their shells upon a stone. They are said to be at times a -serious pest in the garden, devouring the young plants at night. When -did the American snail devour anything, except, perhaps, now and then a -strawberry? The bird or other creature that feeds on the large black -snail of Britain, if such there be, need never go hungry, for I saw -these snails even on the tops of mountains. - -The same opulence of life that characterizes the animal world in England -characterizes the vegetable. I was especially struck, not so much with -the variety of wild flowers, as with their numbers and wide -distribution. The ox-eye daisy and the buttercup are good samples of the -fecundity of most European plants. The foxglove, the corn-poppy, the -speedwell, the wild hyacinth, the primrose, the various vetches, and -others grow in nearly the same profusion. The forget-me-not is very -common, and the little daisy is nearly as universal as the grass. -Indeed, as I have already stated in another chapter, nearly all the -British wild flowers seemed to grow in the open manner and in the same -abundance as our goldenrods and purple asters. They show no shyness, no -wildness. Nature is not stingy of them, but fills her lap with each in -its turn. Rare and delicate plants, like our arbutus, certain of our -orchids and violets, that hide in the woods, and are very fastidious -and restricted in their range, probably have no parallel in England. The -island is small, is well assorted and compacted, and is thoroughly -homogeneous in its soil and climate; the conditions of field and forest -and stream that exist have long existed; a settled permanence and -equipoise prevail; every creature has found its place, every plant its -home. There are no new experiments to be made, no new risks to be run; -life in all its forms is established, and its current maintains a steady -strength and fullness that an observer from our spasmodic hemisphere is -sure to appreciate. - - - - -X - -A SUNDAY IN CHEYNE ROW - - -I - -While in London I took a bright Sunday afternoon to visit Chelsea, and -walk along Cheyne Row and look upon the house in which Carlyle passed -nearly fifty years of his life, and in which he died. Many times I paced -to and fro. I had been there eleven years before, but it was on a dark, -rainy night, and I had brought away no image of the street or house. The -place now had a more humble and neglected look than I expected to see; -nothing that suggested it had ever been the abode of the foremost -literary man of his time, but rather the home of plain, obscure persons -of little means. One would have thought that the long residence there of -such a man as Carlyle would have enhanced the value of real estate for -many squares around, and drawn men of wealth and genius to that part of -the city. The Carlyle house was unoccupied, and, with its closed -shutters and little pools of black sooty water standing in the brick -area in front of the basement windows, looked dead and deserted indeed. -But the house itself, though nearly two hundred years old, showed no -signs of decay. It had doubtless witnessed the extinction of many -households before that of the Carlyles. - -My own visit to that house was in one autumn night in 1871. Carlyle was -then seventy-six years old, his wife had been dead five years, his work -was done, and his days were pitifully sad. He was out taking his -after-dinner walk when we arrived, Mr. Conway and I; most of his walking -and riding, it seems, was done after dark, an indication in itself of -the haggard and melancholy frame of mind habitual to him. He presently -appeared, wrapped in a long gray coat that fell nearly to the floor. His -greeting was quiet and grandfatherly, and that of a man burdened with -his own sad thoughts. I shall never forget the impression his large, -long, soft hand made in mine, nor the look of sorrow and suffering -stamped upon the upper part of the face,--sorrow mingled with yearning -compassion. The eyes were bleared and filmy with unshed and unshedable -tears. In pleasing contrast to his coarse hair and stiff, bristly, -iron-gray beard, was the fresh, delicate color that just touched his -brown cheeks, like the tinge of poetry that plays over his own rugged -page. I noted a certain shyness and delicacy, too, in his manner, which -contrasted in the same way with what is alleged of his rudeness and -severity. He leaned his head upon his hand, the fingers thrust up -through the hair, and, with his elbow resting upon the table, looked -across to my companion, who kept the conversation going. This attitude -he hardly changed during the two hours we sat there. How serious and -concerned he looked, and how surprising that hearty, soliloquizing sort -of laugh which now and then came from him as he talked, not so much a -laugh provoked by anything humorous in the conversation, as a sort of -foil to his thoughts, as one might say, after a severe judgment, "Ah, -well-a-day, what matters it!" If that laugh could have been put in his -Latter-day Pamphlets, where it would naturally come, or in his later -political tracts, these publications would have given much less offense. -But there was amusement in his laugh when I told him we had introduced -the English sparrow in America. "Introduced!" he repeated, and laughed -again. He spoke of the bird as a "comical little wretch," and feared we -should regret the "introduction." He repeated an Arab proverb which says -Solomon's Temple was built amid the chirping of ten thousand sparrows, -and applied it very humorously in the course of his talk to the human -sparrows that always stand ready to chirrup and cackle down every great -undertaking. He had seen a cat walk slowly along the top of a fence -while a row of sparrows seated upon a ridge-board near by all pointed at -her and chattered and scolded, and by unanimous vote pronounced her this -and that, but the cat went on her way all the same. The verdict of -majorities was not always very formidable, however unanimous. - -A monument had recently been erected to Scott in Edinburgh, and he had -been asked to take part in some attendant ceremony. But he had refused -peremptorily. "If the angel Gabriel had summoned me I would not have -gone," he said. It was too soon to erect a monument to Scott. Let them -wait a hundred years and see how they feel about it then. He had never -met Scott: the nearest he had come to it was once when he was the bearer -of a message to him from Goethe; he had rung at his door with some -trepidation, and was relieved when told that the great man was out. Not -long afterwards he had a glimpse of him while standing in the streets of -Edinburgh. He saw a large wagon coming drawn by several horses, and -containing a great many people, and there in the midst of them, full of -talk and hilarity like a great boy, sat Scott. Carlyle had recently -returned from his annual visit to Scotland, and was full of sad and -tender memories of his native land. He was a man in whom every beautiful -thing awakened melancholy thoughts. He spoke of the blooming lasses and -the crowds of young people he had seen on the streets of some northern -city, Aberdeen, I think, as having filled him with sadness; a kind of -homesickness of the soul was upon him, and deepened with age,--a -solitary and a bereaved man from first to last. - -As I walked Cheyne Row that summer Sunday my eye rested again and again -upon those three stone steps that led up to the humble door, each -hollowed out by the attrition of the human foot, the middle one, where -the force of the footfall would be greatest, most deeply worn of -all,--worn by hundreds of famous feet, and many, many more not famous. -Nearly every notable literary man of the century, both of England and -America, had trod those steps. Emerson's foot had left its mark there, -if one could have seen it, once in his prime and again in his old age, -and it was perhaps of him I thought, and of his new-made grave there -under the pines at Concord, that summer afternoon as I mused to and fro, -more than of any other visitor to that house. "Here we are shoveled -together again," said Carlyle from behind his wife, with a lamp high in -his hand, that October night thirty-seven years ago, as Jane opened the -door to Emerson. The friendship, the love of those two men for each -other, as revealed in their published correspondence, is one of the most -beautiful episodes in English literary history. The correspondence was -opened and invited by Emerson, but as years went by it is plain that it -became more and more a need and a solace to Carlyle. There is something -quite pathetic in the way he clung to Emerson and entreated him for a -fuller and more frequent evidence of his love. The New Englander, in -some ways, appears stinted and narrow beside him; Carlyle was much the -more loving and emotional man. He had less self-complacency than -Emerson, was much less stoical, and felt himself much more alone in the -world. Emerson was genial and benevolent from temperament and habit; -Carlyle was wrathful and vituperative, while his heart was really -bursting with sympathy and love. The savagest man, probably, in the -world in his time, who had anything like his enormous fund of -tenderness and magnanimity. He was full of contempt for the mass of -mankind, but he was capable of loving particular men with a depth and an -intensity that more than makes the account good. And let me say here -that the saving feature about Carlyle's contempt, which is such a -stumbling-block till one has come to understand it, is its perfect -sincerity and inevitableness, and the real humility in which it has its -root. He cannot help it; it is genuine, and has a kind of felicity. Then -there is no malice or ill-will in it, but pity rather, and pity springs -from love. We also know that he is always dominated by the inexorable -conscience, and that the standard by which he tries men is the standard -of absolute rectitude and worthiness. Contempt without love and humility -begets a sneering, mocking, deriding habit of mind, which was far enough -from Carlyle's sorrowing denunciations. "The quantity of sorrow he has, -does it not mean withal the quantity of _sympathy_ he has, the quantity -of faculty and victory he shall yet have? 'Our sorrow is the inverted -image of our nobleness.' The depth of our despair measures what -capability, and height of claim we have, to hope." (Cromwell.) Emerson -heard many responding voices, touched and won many hearts, but Carlyle -was probably admired and feared more than he was loved, and love he -needed and valued above all else. Hence his pathetic appeals to Emerson, -the one man he felt sure of, the one voice that reached him and moved -him among his contemporaries. He felt Emerson's serenity and courage, -and seemed to cling to, while he ridiculed, that New World hope that -shone in him so brightly. - -The ship that carries the most sail is most buffeted by the winds and -storms. Carlyle carried more sail than Emerson did, and the very winds -of the globe he confronted and opposed; the one great movement of the -modern world, the democratic movement, the coming forward of the people -in their own right, he assailed and ridiculed in a vocabulary the most -copious and telling that was probably ever used, and with a concern and -a seriousness most impressive. - -Much as we love and revere Emerson, and immeasurable as his service has -been, especially to the younger and more penetrating minds, I think it -will not do at all to say, as one of our critics (Mr. Stedman) has -lately said, that Emerson is as "far above Carlyle as the affairs of the -soul and universe are above those of the contemporary or even the -historic world." Above him he certainly was, in a thinner, colder air, -but not in any sense that implies greater power or a farther range. His -sympathies with the concrete world and his gripe upon it were far less -than Carlyle's. He bore no such burden, he fought no such battle, as the -latter did. His mass, his velocity, his penetrating power, are far less. -A tranquil, high-sailing, fair-weather cloud is Emerson, and a massive, -heavy-laden storm-cloud is Carlyle. Carlyle was never placidly sounding -the azure depths like Emerson, but always pouring and rolling -earthward, with wind, thunder, rain, and hail. He reaches up to the -Emersonian altitudes, but seldom disports himself there; never loses -himself, as Emerson sometimes does; the absorption takes place in the -other direction; he descends to actual affairs and events with fierce -precipitation. Carlyle's own verdict, written in his journal on -Emerson's second visit to him in 1848, was much to the same effect, and, -allowing for the Carlylean exaggeration, was true. He wrote that Emerson -differed as much from himself "as a gymnosophist sitting idle on a -flowery bank may do from a wearied worker and wrestler passing that way -with many of his bones broken." - -All men would choose Emerson's fate, Emerson's history; how rare, how -serene, how inspiring, how beautiful, how fortunate! But as between -these two friends, our verdict must be that Carlyle did the more unique -and difficult, the more heroic, piece of work. Whether the more valuable -and important or not, it is perhaps too early in the day to say, but -certainly the more difficult and masterful. As an artist, using the term -in the largest sense, as the master-worker in, and shaper of, the -Concrete, he is immeasurably Emerson's superior. Emerson's two words -were truth and beauty, which lie, as it were, in the same plane, and the -passage from one to the other is easy; it is smooth sailing. Carlyle's -two words were truth and duty, which lie in quite different planes, and -the passage between which is steep and rough. Hence the pain, the -struggle, the picturesque power. Try to shape the actual world of -politics and human affairs according to the ideal truth, and see if you -keep your serenity. There is a Niagara gulf between them that must be -bridged. But what a gripe this man had upon both shores, the real and -the ideal! The quality of action, of tangible performance, that lies in -his works, is unique. "He has not so much written as spoken," and he has -not so much spoken as he has actually wrought. He experienced, in each -of his books, the pain and the antagonism of the man of action. His -mental mood and attitude are the same; as is also his impatience of -abstractions, of theories, of subtleties, of mere words. Indeed, Carlyle -was essentially a man of action, as he himself seemed to think, driven -by fate into literature. He is as real and as earnest as Luther or -Cromwell, and his faults are the same in kind. Not the mere _saying_ of -a thing satisfies him as it does Emerson; you must _do_ it; bring order -out of chaos, make the dead alive, make the past present, in some way -make your fine sayings point to, or result in, fact. He says the -Perennial lies always in the Concrete. Subtlety of intellect, which -conducts you, "not to new clearness, but to ever-new abstruseness, wheel -within wheel, depth under depth," has no charms for him. "My erudite -friend, the astonishing intellect that occupies itself in splitting -hairs, and not in twisting some kind of cordage and effectual -draught-tackle to take the road with, is not to me the most astonishing -of intellects." - -Emerson split no hairs, but he twisted very little cordage for the rough -draught-horses of this world. He tells us to hitch our wagon to a star; -and the star is without doubt a good steed, when once fairly caught and -harnessed, but it takes an astronomer to catch it. The value of such -counsel is not very tangible unless it awakes us to the fact that every -power of both heaven and earth is friendly to a noble and courageous -activity. - -Carlyle was impatient of Emerson's fine-spun sentences and -transcendental sleight-of-hand. Indeed, from a literary point of view, -one of the most interesting phases of the published correspondence -between these two notable men is the value which each unwittingly set -upon his own methods and work. Each would have the other like himself. - -Emerson wants Emersonian epigrams from Carlyle, and Carlyle wants -Carlylean thunder from Emerson. Each was unconsciously his own ideal. -The thing which a man's nature calls him to do,--what else so well worth -doing? Certainly nothing else to him,--but to another? How surely each -one of us would make our fellow over in our own image! Carlyle wants -Emerson more practical, more concrete, more like himself in short. "The -vile Pythons of this Mud-world do verily require to have sun-arrows shot -into them, and red-hot pokers stuck through them, according to -occasion;" do this as I am doing it, or trying to do it, and I shall -like you better. It is well to know that nature will make good compost -of the carcass of an Oliver Cromwell, and produce a cart-load of -turnips from the same; but it is better to appreciate and make the most -of the live Oliver himself. "A faculty is in you for a _sort_ of speech -which is itself _action_, an artistic sort. You _tell_ us with piercing -emphasis that man's soul is great; _show_ us a great soul of a man, in -some work symbolic of such; this is the seal of such a message, and you -will feel by and by that you are called to do this. I long to see some -concrete Thing, some Event, Man's Hope, American Forest, or piece of -Creation, which this Emerson loves and wonders at, well _Emersonized_, -depicted by Emerson, filled with the life of Emerson and cast forth from -him, then to live by itself." Again: "I will have all things condense -themselves, take shape and body, if they are to have my sympathy; I have -a _body_ myself; in the brown leaf, sport of the Autumn winds, I find -what mocks all prophesyings, even Hebrew ones." "Alas, it is so easy to -screw one's self up into high and even higher altitudes of -Transcendentalism, and see nothing under one but the everlasting snows -of Himmalayah, the Earth shrinking to a Planet, and the indigo firmament -sowing itself with daylight stars; easy for you, for me; but whither -does it lead? I dread always, to inanity and mere injuring of the -lungs!"--with more of the same sort. - -On the other hand, Emerson evidently tires of Carlyle's long-winded -heroes. He would have him give us the gist of the matter in a few -sentences. Cremate your heroes, he seems to say; get all this gas and -water out of them, and give us the handful of lime and iron of which -they are composed. He hungered for the "central monosyllables." He -praises Cromwell and Frederick, yet says to his friend, "that book will -not come which I most wish to read, namely, the culled results, the -quintessence of private conviction, a _liber veritatis_, a few -sentences, hints of the final moral you drew from so much penetrating -inquest into past and present men." - -This is highly characteristic of Emerson; his bid for the quintessence -of things. He was always impatient of creative imaginative works; would -sublunate or evaporate them in a hurry. Give him the pith of the matter, -the net result in the most pungent words. It must still be picture and -parable, but in a sort of disembodied or potential state. He fed on the -marrow of Shakespeare's sentences, and apparently cared little for his -marvelous characterizations. One is reminded of the child's riddle: -Under the hill there is a mill, in the mill there is a chest, in the -chest there is a till, in the till there is a phial, in the phial there -is a drop I would not give for all the world. This drop Emerson would -have. Keep or omit the chest and the mill and all that circumlocution, -and give him the precious essence. But the artistic or creative mind -does not want things thus abridged,--does not want the universe reduced -to an epigram. Carlyle wants an actual flesh-and-blood hero, and, what -is more, wants him immersed head and ears in the actual affairs of this -world. - -Those who seek to explain Carlyle on the ground of his humble origin -shoot wide of the mark. "Merely a peasant with a glorified intellect," -says a certain irate female, masquerading as the "Day of Judgment." - -It seems to me Carlyle was as little of a peasant as any man of his -time,--a man without one peasant trait or proclivity, a regal and -dominating man, "looking," as he said of one of his own books, "king and -beggar in the face with an indifference of brotherhood and an -indifference of contempt." The two marks of the peasant are stolidity -and abjectness; he is dull and heavy, and he dare not say his soul is -his own. No man ever so hustled and jostled titled dignitaries, and made -them toe the mark, as did Carlyle. It was not merely that his intellect -was towering; it was also his character, his will, his standard of -manhood, that was towering. He bowed to the hero, to valor and personal -worth, never to titles or conventions. The virtues and qualities of his -yeoman ancestry were in him without doubt; his power of application, the -spirit of toil that possessed him, his frugal, self-denying habits, came -from his family and race, but these are not peasant traits, but heroic -traits. A certain coarseness of fibre he had also, together with great -delicacy and sensibility, but these again he shares with all strong -first-class men. You cannot get such histories as Cromwell and Frederick -out of polished _litterateurs_; you must have a man of the same heroic -fibre, of the same inexpugnableness of mind and purpose. Not even was -Emerson adequate to such a task; he was fine enough and high enough, but -he was not coarse enough and broad enough. The scholarly part of -Carlyle's work is nearly always thrown in the shade by the manly part, -the original raciness and personal intensity of the writer. He is not in -the least veiled or hidden by his literary vestments. He is rather -hampered by them, and his sturdy Annandale character often breaks -through them in the most surprising manner. His contemporaries soon -discovered that if here was a great writer, here was also a great man, -come not merely to paint their picture, but to judge them, to weigh them -in the balance. He is eminently an artist, and yet it is not the -artistic or literary impulse that lies at the bottom of his works, but a -moral, human, emotional impulse and attraction,--the impulse of justice, -of veracity, or of sympathy and love. - -What love of work well done, what love of genuine leadership, of -devotion to duty, of mastery of affairs, in fact what love of man pure -and simple, lies at the bottom of "Frederick," lies at the bottom of -"Cromwell"! Here is not the disinterestedness of Shakespeare, here is -not the Hellenic flexibility of mind and scientific impartiality Mr. -Arnold demands: here is espousal, here is vindication, here is the moral -bias of the nineteenth century. But here also is _reality_, here is the -creative touch, here are men and things made alive again, palpable to -the understanding and enticing to the imagination. Of all histories -that have fallen into my hands, "Frederick" is the most vital and real. -If the current novels were half so entertaining, I fear I should read -little else. The portrait-painting is like that of Rembrandt; the eye -for battles and battle-fields is like that of Napoleon, or Frederick -himself; the sifting of events, and the separating of the false from the -true, is that of the most patient and laborious science; the descriptive -passages are equaled by those of no other man; while the work as a -whole, as Emerson says, "is a Judgment Day, for its moral verdict, on -the men and nations and manners of modern times." It is to be read for -its honest history; it is to be read for its inexhaustible wit and -humor; it is to be read for its poetic fire, for its felicities of -style, for its burden of human sympathy and effort, its heroic -attractions and stimulating moral judgments. All Carlyle's histories -have the quick, penetrating glance, that stroke of the eye, as the -French say, that lays the matter open to the heart. He did not write in -the old way of a topographical survey of the surface: his "French -Revolution" is more like a transverse section; more like a geologist's -map than like a geographer's; the depths are laid open; the abyss yawns; -the cosmic forces and fires stalk forth and become visible and real. It -was this power to detach and dislocate things and project them against -the light of a fierce and lurid imagination that makes his pages unique -and matchless, of their kind, in literature. He may be deficient in the -historical sense, the sense of development, and of compensation in -history; but in vividness of apprehension of men and events, and power -of portraiture, he is undoubtedly without a rival. "Those devouring eyes -and that portraying hand," Emerson says. - -Those who contract their view of Carlyle till they see only his faults -do a very unwise thing. Nearly all his great traits have their shadows. -His power of characterization sometimes breaks away into caricature; his -command of the picturesque leads him into the grotesque; his eloquent -denunciation at times becomes vituperation; his marvelous power to name -things degenerates into outrageous nicknaming; his streaming humor, -which, as Emerson said, floats every object he looks upon, is not free -from streaks of the most crabbed, hide-bound ill-humor. Nearly every -page has a fringe of these things, and sometimes a pretty broad one, but -they are by no means the main matter, and often lend an additional -interest. The great personages, the great events, are never caricatured, -though painted with a bold, free hand, but there is in the border of the -picture all manner of impish and grotesque strokes. In "Frederick" there -is a whole series of secondary men and incidents that are touched off -with the hand of a master caricaturist. Some peculiarity of feature or -manner is seized upon, magnified, and made prominent on all occasions. -We are never suffered to forget George the Second's fish eyes and -gartered leg; nor the lean May-pole mistress of George the First; nor -the Czarina's big fat cheek; nor poor Bruhl, "vainest of human -clothes-horses," with his twelve tailors and his three hundred and -sixty-five suits of clothes; nor Augustus, "the dilapidated strong," -with his three hundred and fifty-four bastards. Nor can any reader of -that work ever forget "Jenkins' Ear,"--the poor fraction of an ear of an -English sailor snipped off by the Spaniards, and here made to stand for -a whole series of historical events. Indeed, this severed ear looms up -till it becomes like a sign in the zodiac of those times. His portrait -of the French army, which he calls the Dauphiness, is unforgettable, and -is in the best style of his historical caricature. It makes its exit -over the Rhine before Duke Ferdinand, "much in rags, much in disorder, -in terror, and here and there almost in despair, winging their way like -clouds of draggled poultry caught by a mastiff in the corn. Across -Weser, across Ems, finally across the Rhine itself, every feather of -them,--their long-drawn cackle, of a shrieky type, filling all nature in -those months." A good sample of the grotesque in Carlyle, pushed to the -last limit, and perhaps a little beyond, is in this picture of the -Czarina of Russia, stirred up to declare war against Frederick by his -Austrian enemies: "Bombarded with cunningly-devised fabrications, every -wind freighted for her with phantasmal rumors, no ray of direct daylight -visiting the poor Sovereign Woman; who is lazy, not malignant, if she -could avoid it; mainly a mass of esurient oil, with alkali on the back -of alkali poured in, at this rate for ten years past, till, by pouring -and by stirring, they get her to the state of _soap_ and froth." - -Carlyle had a narrow escape from being the most formidable blackguard -the world had ever seen; was, indeed, in certain moods, a kind of divine -blackguard,--a purged and pious Rabelais, who could bespatter the devil -with more telling epithets than any other man who ever lived. What a -tongue, what a vocabulary! He fairly oxidizes, burns up, the object of -his opprobrium, in the stream of caustic epithets he turns upon it. He -had a low opinion of the contemporaries of Frederick and Voltaire: they -were "mere ephemera; contemporary eaters, scramblers for provender, -talkers of acceptable hearsay; and related merely to the butteries and -wiggeries of their time, and not related to the Perennialities at all, -as these two were." He did not have to go very far from home for some of -the lineaments of Voltaire's portrait: "He had, if no big gloomy devil -in him among the bright angels that were there, a multitude of ravening, -tumultuary imps, or little devils, very _ill-chained_, and was lodged, -he and his restless little devils, in a skin far too thin for him and -them!" - -Of Frederick's cynicism he says there was "always a kind of vinegar -cleanness in it, _except_ in theory." Equally original and felicitous is -the "albuminous simplicity" which he ascribes to the Welfs. Newspaper -men have never forgiven him for calling them the "gazetteer owls of -Minerva;" and our Catholic brethren can hardly relish his reference to -the "consolations" the nuns deal out to the sick as "poisoned -gingerbread." In "Frederick" one comes upon such phrases as -"milk-faced," "bead-roll histories," "heavy pipe-clay natures," a -"stiff-jointed, algebraic kind of piety," etc. - -Those who persist in trying Carlyle as a philosopher and man of ideas -miss his purport. He had no philosophy, and laid claim to none, except -what he got from the German metaphysicians,--views which crop out here -and there in "Sartor." He was a preacher of righteousness to his -generation, and a rebuker of its shams and irreverences, and as such he -cut deep, cut to the bone, and to the marrow of the bone. That piercing, -agonized, prophetic, yet withal melodious and winsome voice, how it -rises through and above the multitudinous hum and clatter of -contemporary voices in England, and alone falls upon the ear as from out -the primal depths of moral conviction and power! He is the last man in -the world to be reduced to a system or tried by logical tests. You might -as well try to bind the sea with chains. His appeal is to the -intuitions, the imagination, the moral sense. His power of mental -abstraction was not great; he could not deal in abstract ideas. When he -attempted to state his philosophy, as in the fragment called "Spiritual -Optics," which Froude gives, he is far from satisfactory. His -mathematical proficiency seemed to avail him but little in the region of -pure ideality. His mind is precipitated at once upon the concrete, upon -actual persons and events. This makes him the artist he is, as -distinguished from the mystic and philosopher, and is perhaps the basis -of Emerson's remark, that there is "more character than intellect in -every sentence;" that is, more motive, more will-power, more stress of -conscience, more that appeals to one as a living personal identity, -wrestling with facts and events, than there is that appeals to him as a -contemplative philosopher. - -Carlyle owed everything to his power of will and to his unflinching -adherence to principle. He was in no sense a lucky man, had no good -fortune, was borne by no current, was favored and helped by no -circumstance whatever. His life from the first was a steady pull against -both wind and tide. He confronted all the cherished thoughts, beliefs, -tendencies, of his time; he spurned and insulted his age and country. No -man ever before poured out such withering scorn upon his contemporaries. -Many of his political tracts are as blasting as the Satires of Juvenal. -The opinions and practices of his times, in politics, religion, and -literature, were as a stubbly, brambly field, to which he would fain -apply the match and clean the ground for a nobler crop. He would purge -and fertilize the soil by fire. His attitude was one of warning and -rebuking. He was refused every public place he ever aspired to,--every -college and editorial chair. Every man's hand was against him. He was -hated by the Whigs and feared by the Tories. He was poor, proud, -uncompromising, sarcastic; he was morose, dyspeptic, despondent, -compassed about by dragons and all manner of evil menacing forms; in -fact, the odds were fearfully against him, and yet he succeeded, and -succeeded on his own terms. He fairly conquered the world; yes, and the -flesh and the devil. But it was one incessant, heroic struggle and -wrestle from the first. All through his youth and his early manhood he -was nerving himself for the conflict. Whenever he took counsel with -himself it was to give his courage a new fillip. In his letters to his -people, in his private journal, in all his meditations, he never loses -the opportunity to take a new hitch upon his resolution, to screw his -purpose up tighter. Not a moment's relaxation, but ceaseless vigilance -and "desperate hope." In 1830 he says in his journal: "Oh, I care not -for poverty, little even for disgrace, nothing at all for want of -renown. But the horrible feeling is when I cease my own struggle, lose -the consciousness of my own strength, and become positively quite -worldly and wicked." A year later he wrote: "To it, thou _Taugenichts_! -Gird thyself! stir! struggle! forward! forward! Thou art bundled up here -and tied as in a sack. On, then, as in a sack race; running, not -raging!" Carlyle made no terms with himself nor with others. He would -not agree to keep the peace; he would be the voice of absolute -conscience, of absolute justice, come what come might. "Woe to them that -are at ease in Zion," he once said to John Sterling. The stern, -uncompromising front which he first turned to the world he never -relaxed for a moment. He had his way with mankind at all times; or -rather conscience had its way with him at all times in his relations -with mankind. He made no selfish demands, but ideal demands. Jeffries, -seeing his attitude and his earnestness in it, despaired of him; he -looked upon him as a man butting his head against a stone wall; he never -dreamed that the wall would give way before the head did. It was not -mere obstinacy; it was not the pride of opinion: it was the thunders of -conscience, the awful voice of Sinai, within him; he _dared_ not do -otherwise. - -A selfish or self-seeking man Carlyle in no sense was, though it has so -often been charged upon him. He was the victim of his own genius; and he -made others its victims, not of his selfishness. This genius, no doubt, -came nearer the demon of Socrates than that of any modern man. He is -under its lash and tyranny from first to last. But the watchword of his -life was "_Entsagen_," renunciation, self-denial, which he learned from -Goethe. His demon did not possess him lightly, but dominated and drove -him. - -One would as soon accuse St. Simeon Stylites, thirty years at the top of -his penitential pillar, of selfishness. Seeking his own ends, following -his own demon, St. Simeon certainly was; but seeking his ease or -pleasure, or animated by any unworthy, ignoble purpose, he certainly was -not. No more was Carlyle, each one of whose books was a sort of pillar -of penitence or martyrdom atop of which he wrought and suffered, shut -away from the world, renouncing its pleasures and prizes, wrapped in -deepest gloom and misery, and wrestling with all manner of real and -imaginary demons and hindrances. During his last great work,--the -thirteen years spent in his study at the top of his house, writing the -history of Frederick,--this isolation, this incessant toil and -penitential gloom, were such as only religious devotees have voluntarily -imposed upon themselves. - -If Carlyle was "ill to live with," as his mother said, it was not -because he was selfish. He was a man, to borrow one of Emerson's early -phrases, "inflamed to a fury of personality." He must of necessity -assert himself; he is shot with great velocity; he is keyed to an -extraordinary pitch; and it was this, this raging fever of -individuality, if any namable trait or quality, rather than anything -lower in the scale, that often made him an uncomfortable companion and -neighbor. - -And it may be said here that his wife had the same complaint, and had it -bad, the feminine form of it, and without the vent and assuagement of it -that her husband found in literature. Little wonder that between two -such persons, living childless together for forty years, each -assiduously cultivating their sensibilities and idiosyncrasies, there -should have been more or less frictions. Both sarcastic, quick-witted, -plain-spoken, sleepless, addicted to morphia and blue-pills, nerves all -on the outside; the wife without any occupation adequate to her genius, -the husband toiling like Hercules at his tasks and groaning much louder; -both flouting at happiness; both magnifying the petty ills of life into -harrowing tragedies; both gifted with "preternatural intensity of -sensation;" Mrs. C. nearly killed by the sting of a wasp; Mr. C. driven -nearly distracted by the crowing of a cock or the baying of a dog; the -wife hot-tempered, the husband atrabilarious; one caustic, the other -arrogant; marrying from admiration rather than from love--could one -reasonably predict, beforehand, a very high state of domestic felicity -for such a couple? and would it be just to lay the blame all on the -husband, as has generally been done in this case? Man and wife were too -much alike; the marriage was in no sense a union of opposites; at no -point did the two sufficiently offset and complement each other; hence, -though deeply devoted, they never seemed to find the repose and the -soothing acquiescence in the society of one another that marriage -should bring. They both had the great virtues,--nobleness, generosity, -courage, deep kindliness, etc.,--but neither of them had the small -virtues. Both gave way under small annoyances, paltry cares, petty -interruptions,--bugs, cocks, donkeys, street noises, etc. To great -emergencies, to great occasions, they could oppose great qualities; -there can be no doubt of that, but the ordinary every-day hindrances and -petty burdens of life fretted their spirits into tatters. Mrs. C. used -frequently to return from her trips to the country with her "mind all -churned into froth,"--no butter of sweet thought or sweet content at -all. Yet Carlyle could say of her, "Not a bad little dame at all. She -and I did aye very weel together; and 'tweel, it was not every one that -could have done with her," which was doubtless the exact truth. Froude -also speaks from personal knowledge when he says: "His was the soft -heart and hers the stern one." - -We are now close on to the cardinal fact of Carlyle's life and -teachings, namely, the urgency of his quest for heroes and heroic -qualities. This is the master key to him; the main stress of his -preaching and writing is here. He is the medium and exemplar of the -value of personal force and prowess, and he projected this thought into -current literature and politics, with the emphasis of gunpowder and -torpedoes. He had a vehement and overweening conceit in man. A sort of -anthropomorphic greed and hunger possessed him always, an insatiable -craving for strong, picturesque characters, and for contact and conflict -with them. This was his ruling passion (and it amounted to a passion) -all his days. He fed his soul on heroes and heroic qualities, and all -his literary exploits were a search for these things. Where he found -them not, where he did not come upon some trace of them in books, in -society, in politics, he saw only barrenness and futility. He was an -idealist who was inhospitable to ideas; he must have a man, the flavor -and stimulus of ample concrete personalities. "In the country," he said, -writing to his brother in 1821, "I am like an alien, a stranger and -pilgrim from a far-distant land." His faculties were "up in mutiny, and -slaying one another for lack of fair enemies." He must to the city, to -Edinburgh, and finally to London, where, thirteen years later, we find -his craving as acute as ever. "Oct. 1st. This morning think of the old -primitive Edinburgh scheme of _engineership_; almost meditate for a -moment resuming it _yet_! It were a method of gaining bread, of getting -into contact with men, my two grand wants and prayers." - -Nothing but man, but heroes, touched him, moved him, satisfied him. He -stands for heroes and hero-worship, and for that alone. Bring him the -most plausible theory, the most magnanimous idea in the world, and he is -cold, indifferent, or openly insulting; but bring him a brave, strong -man, or the reminiscence of any noble personal trait,--sacrifice, -obedience, reverence,--and every faculty within him stirs and responds. -Dreamers and enthusiasts, with their schemes for the millennium, rushed -to him for aid and comfort, and usually had the door slammed in their -faces. They forgot it was a man he had advertised for, and not an idea. -Indeed, if you had the blow-fly of any popular ism or reform buzzing in -your bonnet, No. 5 Cheyne Row was the house above all others to be -avoided; little chance of inoculating such a mind as Carlyle's with your -notions,--of _blowing_ a toiling and sweating hero at his work. But -welcome to any man with real work to do and the courage to do it; -welcome to any man who stood for any real, tangible thing in his own -right. "In God's name, what _art_ thou? Not Nothing, sayest thou! Then, -How much and what? This is the thing I would know, and even _must_ soon -know, such a pass am I come to!" ("Past and Present.") - -Caroline Fox, in her Memoirs, tells how, in 1842, Carlyle's sympathies -were enlisted in behalf of a Cornish miner who had kept his place in the -bottom of a shaft, above a blast the fuse of which had been prematurely -lighted, and allowed his comrades to be hauled up when only one could -escape at a time. He inquired out the hero, who, as by miracle, had -survived the explosion, and set on foot an enterprise to raise funds for -the bettering of his condition. In a letter to Sterling, he said there -was help and profit in knowing that there was such a true and brave -workman living, and working with him on the earth at that time. "Tell -all the people," he said, "that a man of this kind ought to be -hatched,--that it were shameful to eat him as a breakfast egg!" - -All Carlyle's sins of omission and commission grew out of this terrible -predilection for the individual hero: this bent or inclination -determined the whole water-shed, so to speak, of his mind; every rill -and torrent swept swiftly and noisily in this one direction. It is the -tragedy in Burns's life that attracts him; the morose heroism in -Johnson's, the copious manliness in Scott's, the lordly and regal -quality in Goethe. Emerson praised Plato to him; but the endless -dialectical hair-splitting of the Greek philosopher,--"how does all this -concern me at all?" he said. But when he discovered that Plato hated the -Athenian democracy most cordially, and poured out his scorn upon it, he -thought much better of him. History swiftly resolves itself into -biography to him; the tide in the affairs of men ebbed and flowed in -obedience to the few potent wills. We do not find him exploiting or -elucidating ideas and principles, but moral qualities,--always on the -scent, on the search of the heroic. - -He raises aloft the standard of the individual will, the supremacy of -man over events. He sees the reign of law; none see it clearer. "Eternal -Law is silently present everywhere and everywhen. By Law the Planets -gyrate in their orbits; by some approach to Law the street-cabs ply in -their thoroughfares." But law is still personal will with him, the will -of God. He can see nothing but individuality, but conscious will and -force, in the universe. He believed in a personal God. He had an inward -ground of assurance of it in his own intense personality and vivid -apprehension of personal force and genius. He seems to have believed in -a personal devil. At least he abuses "Auld Nickie-Ben" as one would -hardly think of abusing an abstraction. However impractical we may -regard Carlyle, he was entirely occupied with practical questions; an -idealist turned loose, in the actual affairs of this world, and intent -only on bettering them. That which so drew reformers and all ardent -ideal natures to him was not the character of his conviction, but the -torrid impetuosity of his belief. He had the earnestness of fanaticism, -the earnestness of rebellion; the earnestness of the Long Parliament and -the National Convention,--the only two parliaments he praises. He did -not merely see the truth and placidly state it, standing aloof and apart -from it; but, as soon as his intellect had conceived a thing as true, -every current of his being set swiftly in that direction; it was an -outlet at once for his whole pent-up energies, and there was a flood and -sometimes an inundation of Carlylean wrath and power. Coming from -Goethe, with his marvelous insight and cool, uncommitted moral nature, -to the great Scotchman, is like coming from dress parade to a battle, -from Melancthon to Luther. It would be far from the truth to say that -Goethe was not in earnest: he was all eyes, all vision; he saw -everything, but saw it for his own ends and behoof, for contemplation -and enjoyment. In Carlyle the vision is productive of pain and -suffering, because his moral nature sympathizes so instantly and -thoroughly with his intellectual; it is a call to battle, and every -faculty is enlisted. It was this that made Carlyle akin to the reformers -and the fanatics, and led them to expect more of him than they got. The -artist element in him, and his vital hold upon the central truths of -character and personal force, saved him from any such fate as overtook -his friend Irving. - -Out of Carlyle's fierce and rampant individualism come his grasp of -character and his power of human portraiture. It is, perhaps, not too -much to say, that in all literature there is not another such a master -portrait-painter, such a limner and interpreter of historical figures -and physiognomies. That power of the old artists to paint or to carve a -man, to body him forth, almost re-create him, so rare in the moderns, -Carlyle had in a preeminent degree. As an artist it is his -distinguishing gift, and puts him on a par with Rembrandt, Angelo, -Reynolds, and with the antique masters of sculpture. He could put his -finger upon the weak point and upon the strong point of a man as -unerringly as fate. He knew a man as a jockey knows a horse. His -pictures of Johnson, of Boswell, of Voltaire, of Mirabeau, what -masterpieces! His portrait of Coleridge will doubtless survive all -others, inadequate as it is in many ways; one fears, also that poor Lamb -has been stamped to last. None of Carlyle's characterizations have -excited more ill-feeling than this same one of Lamb. But it was plain -from the outset that Carlyle could not like such a verbal acrobat as -Lamb. He doubtless had him or his kind in view when he wrote this -passage in "Past and Present:" "His poor fraction of sense has to be -perked into some epigrammatic shape, that it may prick into me,--perhaps -(this is the commonest) to be topsy-turvied, left standing on its head, -that I may remember it the better! Such grinning insanity is very sad to -the soul of man. Human faces should not grin on one like masks; they -should look on one like faces! I love honest laughter as I do sunlight, -but not dishonest; most kinds of dancing, too, but the St. Vitus kind, -not at all!" - -If Carlyle had taken to the brush instead of to the pen, he would -probably have left a gallery of portraits such as this century has not -seen. In his letters, journals, reminiscences, etc., for him to mention -a man is to describe his face, and with what graphic pen-and-ink -sketches they abound! Let me extract a few of them. Here is Rousseau's -face, from "Heroes and Hero Worship:" "A high but narrow-contracted -intensity in it; bony brows; deep, straight-set eyes, in which there is -something bewildered-looking,--bewildered, peering with lynx-eagerness; -a face full of misery, even ignoble misery, and also of an antagonism -against that; something mean, plebeian, there, redeemed only by -_intensity_; the face of what is called a fanatic,--a sadly _contracted_ -hero!" Here a glimpse of Danton: "Through whose black brows and rude, -flattened face there looks a waste energy as of Hercules." Camille -Desmoulins: "With the face of dingy blackguardism, wondrously irradiated -with genius, as if a naphtha lamp burned in it." Through Mirabeau's -"shaggy, beetle-brows, and rough-hewn, seamed, carbuncled face there -look natural ugliness, smallpox, incontinence, bankruptcy, and burning -fire of genius; like comet fire, glaring fuliginous through murkiest -confusions." - -On first meeting with John Stuart Mill he describes him to his wife as -"a slender, rather tall, and elegant youth, with small, clear, -Roman-nosed face, two small, earnestly smiling eyes; modest, remarkably -gifted with precision of utterance; enthusiastic, yet lucid, calm; not a -great, yet distinctly a gifted and amiable youth." - -A London editor, whom he met about the same time, he describes as "a -tall, loose, lank-haired, wrinkly, wintry, vehement-looking flail of a -man." He goes into the House of Commons on one of his early visits to -London: "Althorp spoke, a thick, large, broad-whiskered, farmer-looking -man; Hume also, a powdered, clean, burly fellow; and Wetherell, a -beetle-browed, sagacious, quizzical old gentleman; then Davies, a -Roman-nosed dandy," etc. He must touch off the portrait of every man he -sees. De Quincey "is one of the smallest men you ever in your life -beheld; but with a most gentle and sensible face, only that the teeth -are destroyed by opium, and the little bit of an under lip projects like -a shelf." Leigh Hunt: "Dark complexion (a trace of the African, I -believe); copious, clean, strong black hair, beautifully shaped head, -fine, beaming, serious hazel eyes; seriousness and intellect the main -expression of the face (to our surprise at first)." - -Here is his sketch of Tennyson: "A fine, large-featured, dim-eyed, -bronze-colored, shaggy-headed man is Alfred; dusty, smoky, free and -easy, who swings outwardly and inwardly with great composure in an -inarticulate element of tranquil chaos and tobacco smoke. Great now and -then when he does emerge,--a most restful, brotherly, solid-hearted -man." - -Here we have Dickens in 1840: "Clear blue intelligent eyes; eyebrows -that he arches amazingly; large, protrusive, rather loose mouth; a face -of most extreme _mobility_, which he shuttles about--eyebrows, eyes, -mouth, and all--in a very singular manner while speaking. Surmount this -with a loose coil of common-colored hair, and set it on a small compact -figure, very small, and dressed a la D'Orsay rather than well,--this is -Pickwick." - -Here is a glimpse of Grote, the historian of Greece: "A man with -straight upper lip, large chin, and open mouth (spout mouth); for the -rest, a tall man, with dull, thoughtful brow and lank, disheveled hair, -greatly the look of a prosperous Dissenting minister." - -In telling Emerson whom he shall see in London, he says: "Southey's -complexion is still healthy mahogany brown, with a fleece of white hair, -and eyes that seem running at full gallop; old Rogers, with his pale -head, white, bare, and cold as snow, with those large blue eyes, cruel, -sorrowful, and that sardonic shelf chin." - -In another letter he draws this portrait of Webster: "As a logic-fencer, -advocate, or parliamentary Hercules, one would incline to back him, at -first sight, against all the extant world. The tanned complexion; that -amorphous crag-like face; the dull black eyes under their precipice of -brows, like dull anthracite furnaces, needing only to be _blown_; the -mastiff-mouth accurately closed: I have not traced as much of _silent -Berserker rage_, that I remember of, in any other man." In writing his -histories Carlyle valued, above almost anything else, a good portrait of -his hero, and searched far and wide for such. He roamed through endless -picture-galleries in Germany searching for a genuine portrait of -Frederick the Great, and at last, chiefly by good luck, hit upon the -thing he was in quest of. "If one would buy an indisputably authentic -_old shoe_ of William Wallace for hundreds of pounds, and run to look at -it from all ends of Scotland, what would one give for an authentic -visible shadow of his face, could such, by art natural or art magic, now -be had!" "Often I have found a Portrait superior in real instruction to -half a dozen written 'Biographies,' as Biographies are written; or, -rather, let me say, I have found that the Portrait was a small lighted -_candle_ by which the Biographies could for the first time be _read_, -and some human interpretation be made of them." - - -II - -Carlyle stands at all times, at all places, for the hero, for power of -will, authority of character, adequacy, and obligation of personal -force. He offsets completely, and with the emphasis of a clap of -thunder, the modern leveling impersonal tendencies, the "manifest -destinies," the blind mass movements, the merging of the one in the -many, the rule of majorities, the no-government, no-leadership, -_laissez-faire_ principle. Unless there was evidence of a potent, -supreme, human will guiding affairs, he had no faith in the issue; -unless the hero was in the saddle, and the dumb blind forces well bitted -and curbed beneath him, he took no interest in the venture. The cause of -the North, in the War of the Rebellion, failed to enlist him or touch -him. It was a people's war; the hand of the strong man was not -conspicuous; it was a conflict of ideas, rather than of personalities; -there was no central and dominating figure around which events revolved. -He missed his Cromwell, his Frederick. So far as his interest was -aroused at all, it was with the South, because he had heard of the -Southern slave-driver; he knew Cuffee had a master, and the crack of his -whip was sweeter music to him than the crack of antislavery rifles, -behind which he recognized only a vague, misdirected philanthropy. - -Carlyle did not see things in their relation, or as a philosopher; he -saw them detached, and hence more or less in conflict and opposition. We -accuse him of wrong-headedness, but it is rather inflexibleness of mind -and temper. He is not a brook that flows, but a torrent that plunges and -plows. He tried poetry, he tried novel-writing in his younger days, but -he had not the flexibility of spirit to succeed in these things; his -moral vehemence, his fury of conviction, were too great. - -Great is the power of reaction in the human body; great is the power of -reaction and recoil in all organic nature. But apparently there was no -power of reaction in Carlyle's mind; he never reacts from his own -extreme views; never looks for the compensations, never seeks to place -himself at the point of equilibrium, or adjusts his view to other -related facts. He saw the value of the hero, the able man, and he -precipitated himself upon this fact with such violence, so detached it -and magnified it, that it fits with no modern system of things. He was -apparently entirely honest in his conviction that modern governments and -social organizations were rushing swiftly to chaos and ruin, because the -hero, the natural leader, was not at the head of affairs,--overlooking -entirely the many checks and compensations, and ignoring the fact that, -under a popular government especially, nations are neither made nor -unmade by the wisdom or folly of their rulers, but by the character for -wisdom and virtue of the mass of their citizens. "Where the great mass -of men is tolerably right," he himself says, "all is right; where they -are not right, all is wrong." What difference can it make to America, -for instance, to the real growth and prosperity of the nation, whether -the ablest man goes to Congress or fills the Presidency or the second or -third ablest? The most that we can expect, in ordinary times at least, -is that the machinery of universal suffrage will yield us a fair sample -of the leading public man,--a man who fairly represents the average -ability and average honesty of the better class of the citizens. In -extraordinary times, in times of national peril, when there is a real -strain upon the state, and the instinct of self-preservation comes into -play, then fate itself brings forward the ablest men. The great crisis -makes or discovers the great man,--discovers Cromwell, Frederick, -Washington, Lincoln. Carlyle leaves out of his count entirely the -competitive principle that operates everywhere in nature,--in your field -and garden as well as in political states and amid teeming -populations,--natural selection, the survival of the fittest. Under -artificial conditions the operation of this law is more or less checked; -but amid the struggles and parturition throes of a people, artificial -conditions disappear, and we touch real ground at last. What a sorting -and sifting process went on in our army during the secession war, till -the real captains, the real leaders, were found; not Fredericks, or -Wellingtons, perhaps, but the best the land afforded! - -The object of popular government is no more to find and elevate the -hero, the man of special and exceptional endowment, into power, than the -object of agriculture is to take the prizes at the agricultural fairs. -It is one of the things to be hoped for and aspired to, but not one of -the indispensables. The success of free government is attained when it -has made the people independent of special leaders, and secured the free -and full expression of the popular will and conscience. Any view of -American politics, based upon the failure of the suffrage always, or -even generally, to lift into power the ablest men, is partial and -unscientific. We can stand, and have stood, any amount of mediocrity in -our appointed rulers; and perhaps in the ordinary course of events -mediocrity is the safest and best. We could no longer surrender -ourselves to great leaders, if we wanted to. Indeed, there is no longer -a call for great leaders; with the appearance of the people upon the -scene, the hero must await his orders. How often in this country have -the people checked and corrected the folly and wrong-headedness of their -rulers! It is probably true, as Carlyle says, that "the smallest item of -human Slavery is the oppression of man by his Mock-Superiors;" but shall -we accept the other side of the proposition, that the grand problem is -to find government by our Real Superiors? The grand problem is rather to -be superior to all government, and to possess a nationality that finally -rests upon principles quite beyond the fluctuations of ordinary -politics. A people possessed of the gift of Empire, like the English -stock, both in Europe and in America, are in our day beholden very -little to their chosen rulers. Otherwise the English nation would have -been extinct long ago. - -"Human virtue," Carlyle wrote in 1850, "if we went down to the roots of -it, is not so rare. The materials of human virtue are everywhere -abundant as the light of the sun." This may well offset his more -pessimistic statement, that "there are fools, cowards, knaves, and -gluttonous traitors, true only to their own appetite, in immense -majority in every rank of life; and there is nothing frightfuller than -to see these voting and deciding." If we "went down to the roots of it," -this statement is simply untrue. "Democracy," he says, "is, by the -nature of it, a self-canceling business, and gives, in the long run, a -net result of _zero_." - -Because the law of gravitation is uncompromising, things are not, -therefore, crushed in a wild rush to the centre of attraction. The very -traits that make Carlyle so entertaining and effective as a historian -and biographer, namely, his fierce, man-devouring eyes, make him -impracticable in the sphere of practical politics. - -Let me quote a long and characteristic passage from Carlyle's Latter-Day -Pamphlets, one of dozens of others, illustrating his misconception of -universal suffrage:-- - -"Your ship cannot double Cape Horn by its excellent plans of voting. The -ship may vote this and that, above decks and below, in the most -harmonious, exquisitely constitutional manner; the ship, to get round -Cape Horn, will find a set of conditions already voted for and fixed -with adamantine rigor by the ancient Elemental Powers, who are entirely -careless how you vote. If you can, by voting or without voting, -ascertain these conditions, and valiantly conform to them, you will get -around the Cape: if you cannot, the ruffian winds will blow you ever -back again; the inexorable Icebergs, dumb privy-councilors from Chaos, -will nudge you with most chaotic 'admonition;' you will be flung half -frozen on the Patagonian cliffs, or admonished into shivers by your -iceberg councilors and sent sheer down to Davy Jones, and will never get -around Cape Horn at all! Unanimity on board ship;--yes, indeed, the -ship's crew may be very unanimous, which, doubtless, for the time being, -will be very comfortable to the ship's crew and to their Phantasm -Captain, if they have one; but if the tack they unanimously steer upon -is guiding them into the belly of the Abyss, it will not profit them -much! Ships, accordingly, do not use the ballot-box at all; and they -reject the Phantasm species of Captain. One wishes much some other -Entities--since all entities lie under the same rigorous set of -laws--could be brought to show as much wisdom and sense at least of -self-preservation, the _first_ command of nature. Phantasm Captains with -unanimous votings,--this is considered to be all the law and all the -prophets at present." - -This has the real crushing Carlylean wit and picturesqueness of -statement, but is it the case of democracy, of universal suffrage fairly -put? The eternal verities appear again, as they appear everywhere in our -author in connection with this subject. They recur in his pages like -"minute-guns," as if deciding, by the count of heads, whether Jones or -Smith should go to Parliament or to Congress was equivalent to sitting -in judgment upon the law of gravitation. What the ship in doubling Cape -Horn would very likely do, if it found itself officerless, would be to -choose, by some method more or less approaching a count of heads, a -captain, an ablest man to take command, and put the vessel through. If -none were able, then indeed the case were desperate; with or without the -ballot-box, the abyss would be pretty sure of a victim. In any case -there would perhaps be as little voting to annul the storms, or change -the ocean currents, as there is in democracies to settle ethical or -scientific principles by an appeal to universal suffrage. But Carlyle -was fated to see the abyss lurking under, and the eternities presiding -over, every act of life. He saw everything in fearful gigantic -perspective. It is true that one cannot loosen the latchet of his shoe -without bending to forces that are cosmical, sidereal; but whether he -bends or not, or this way or that, he passes no verdict upon them. The -temporary, the expedient,--all those devices and adjustments that are of -the nature of scaffolding, and that enter so largely into the -administration of the coarser affairs of this world,--were with Carlyle -equivalent to the false, the sham, the phantasmal, and he would none of -them. As the ages seem to have settled themselves for the present and -the future, in all civilized countries,--and especially in -America,--politics is little more than scaffolding; it certainly is not -the house we live in, but an appurtenance or necessity of the house. A -government, in the long run, can never be better or worse than the -people governed. In voting for Jones for constable, am I voting for or -against the unalterable laws of the universe,--an act wherein the -consequences of a mistake are so appalling that voting had better be -dispensed with, and the selection of constables be left to the -evolutionary principle of the solar system? - -Carlyle was not a reconciler. When he saw a fact, he saw it with such -intense and magnifying eyes, as I have already said, that it became at -once irreconcilable with other facts. He could not and would not -reconcile popular government, the rule of majorities, with what he knew -and what we all know to be popular follies, or the proneness of the -multitude to run after humbugs. How easy for fallacies, speciosities, -quackeries, etc., to become current! That a thing is popular makes a -wise man look upon it with suspicion. Are the greatest or best books the -most read books? Have not the great principles, the great reforms, begun -in minorities and fought their way against the masses? Does not the -multitude generally greet its saviors with "Crucify him, crucify him"? -Who have been the martyrs and the persecuted in all ages? Where does the -broad road lead to, and which is the Narrow Way? "Can it be proved that, -since the beginning of the world, there was ever given a universal vote -in favor of the worthiest man or thing? I have always understood that -true worth, in any department, was difficult to recognize; that the -worthiest, if he appealed to universal suffrage, would have but a poor -chance." - -Upon these facts Carlyle planted himself, and the gulf which he saw open -between them and the beauties of universal suffrage was simply immense. -Without disputing the facts here, we may ask if they really bear upon -the question of popular government, of a free ballot? If so, then the -ground is clean shot away from under it. The world is really governed -and led by minorities, and always will be. The many, sooner or later, -follow the one. We have all become abolitionists in this country, some -of us much to our surprise and bewilderment; we hardly know yet how it -happened; but the time was when abolitionists were hunted by the -multitude. Marvelous to relate, also, civil service reform has become -popular among our politicians. Something has happened; the tide has -risen while we slept, or while we mocked and laughed, and away we all go -on the current. Yet it is equally true that, under any form of -government, nothing short of events themselves, nothing short of that -combination of circumstances which we name fate or fortune, can place -that exceptional man, the hero, at the head of affairs. If there are no -heroes, then woe to the people who have lost the secret of producing -great men. - -The worthiest man usually has other work to do, and avoids politics. -Carlyle himself could not be induced to stand for Parliament. "Who would -govern," he says, "that can get along without governing? He that is -fittest for it is of all men the unwillingest unless constrained." But -constrained he cannot be, yet he is our only hope. What shall we do? A -government by the fittest can alone save mankind, yet the fittest is -not forthcoming. We do not know him; he does not know himself. The case -is desperate. Hence the despair of Carlyle in his view of modern -politics. - -Who that has read his history of Frederick has not at times felt that he -would gladly be the subject of a real king like the great Prussian, a -king who was indeed the father of his people; a sovereign man at the -head of affairs with the reins of government all in his own hands; an -imperial husbandman devoted to improving, extending, and building up his -nation as the farmer his farm, and toiling as no husbandman ever toiled; -a man to reverence, to love, to fear; who called all the women his -daughters, and all the men his sons, and whom to see and to speak with -was the event of a lifetime; a shepherd to his people, a lion to his -enemies? Such a man gives head and character to a nation; he is the head -and the people are the body; currents of influence and of power stream -down from such a hero to the life of the humblest peasant; his spirit -diffuses itself through the nation. It is the ideal state; it is -captivating to the imagination; there is an artistic completeness about -it. Probably this is why it so captivated Carlyle, inevitable artist -that he was. But how impossible to us! how impossible to any -English-speaking people by their own action and choice; not because we -are unworthy such a man, but because an entirely new order of things has -arrived, and arrived in due course of time, through the political and -social evolution of man. The old world has passed away; the age of the -hero, of the strong leader, is gone. The people have arrived, and sit in -judgment upon all who would rule or lead them. Science has arrived, -everything is upon trial; private judgment is supreme. Our only hope in -this country, at least in the sphere of governments, is in the -collective wisdom of the people; and, as extremes so often meet, perhaps -this, if thoroughly realized, is as complete and artistic a plan as the -others. The "collective folly" of the people, Carlyle would say, and -perhaps during his whole life he never for a moment saw it otherwise; -never saw that the wisdom of the majority could be other than the -no-wisdom of blind masses of unguided men. He seemed to forget, or else -not to know, that universal suffrage, as exemplified in America, was -really a sorting and sifting process, a search for the wise, the truly -representative man; that the vast masses were not asked who should rule -over them, but were asked which of two candidates they preferred, in -selecting which candidates what of wisdom and leadership there was -available had had their due weight; in short, that democracy alone makes -way for and offers a clear road to natural leadership. Under the -pressure of opposing parties, all the political wisdom and integrity -there is in the country stand between the people, the masses, and the -men of their choice. - -Undoubtedly popular government will, in the main, be like any other -popular thing,--it will partake of the conditions of popularity; it -will seldom elevate the greatest; it will never elevate the meanest; it -is based upon the average virtue and intelligence of the people. - -There have been great men in all countries and times who possessed the -elements of popularity, and would have commanded the suffrage of the -people; on the other hand, there have been men who possessed many -elements of popularity, but few traits of true greatness; others with -greatness, but no elements of popularity. These last are the reformers, -the innovators, the starters, and their greatness is a discovery of -after-times. Popular suffrage cannot elevate these men, and if, as -between the two other types, it more frequently seizes upon the last, it -is because the former is the more rare. - -But there is a good deal of delusion about the proneness of the -multitude to run after quacks and charlatans: a multitude runs, but a -larger multitude does not run; and those that do run soon see their -mistake. Real worth, real merit, alone wins the permanent suffrage of -mankind. In every neighborhood and community the best men are held in -highest regard by the most persons. The world over, the names most -fondly cherished are those most worthy of being cherished. Yet this does -not prevent that certain types of great men--men who are in advance of -their times and announce new doctrines and faiths--will be rejected and -denied by their contemporaries. This is the order of nature. Minorities -lead and save the world, and the world knows them not till long -afterward. - -No man perhaps suspects how large and important the region of -unconsciousness in him, what a vast, unknown territory lies there back -of his conscious will and purpose, and which is really the controlling -power of his life. Out of it things arise, and shape and define -themselves to his consciousness and rule his career. Here the influence -of environment works; here the elements of race, of family; here the -Time-Spirit moulds him and he knows it not; here Nature, or Fate, as we -sometimes name it, rules him and makes him what he is. - -In every people or nation stretches this deep, unsuspected background. -Here the great movements begin; here the deep processes go on; here the -destiny of the race or nation really lies. In this soil the new ideas -are sown; the new man, the despised leader, plants his seed here, and if -they be vital they thrive, and in due time emerge and become the -conscious possession of the community. - -None knew better than Carlyle himself that, whoever be the ostensible -potentates and lawmakers, the wise do virtually rule, the natural -leaders do lead. Wisdom will out: it is the one thing in this world that -cannot be suppressed or annulled. There is not a parish, township, or -community, little or big, in this country or in England, that is not -finally governed, shaped, directed, built up by what of wisdom there is -in it. All the leading industries and enterprises gravitate naturally to -the hands best able to control them. The wise furnish employment for -the unwise, capital flows to capital hands as surely as water seeks -water. - - "Winds blow and waters roll - Strength to the brave." - -There never is and never can be any government but by the wisest. In all -nations and communities the law of nature finally prevails. If there is -no wisdom in the people, there will be none in their rulers; the virtue -and intelligence of the representative will not be essentially different -from that of his constituents. The dependence of the foolish, the -thriftless, the improvident, upon his natural master and director, for -food, employment, for life itself, is just as real to-day in America as -it was in the old feudal or patriarchal times. The relation between the -two is not so obvious, so intimate, so voluntary, but it is just as -vital and essential. How shall we know the wise man unless he makes -himself felt, or seen, or heard? How shall we know the master unless he -masters us? Is there any danger that the real captains will not step to -the front, and that we shall not know them when they do? Shall we not -know a Luther, a Cromwell, a Franklin, a Washington? - -"Man," says Carlyle, "little as he may suppose it, is necessitated to -obey superiors; he is a social being in virtue of this necessity; nay, -he could not be gregarious otherwise; he obeys those whom he esteems -better than himself, wiser, braver, and will forever obey such; and ever -be ready and delighted to do it." Think in how many ways, through how -many avenues, in our times, the wise man can reach us and place himself -at our head, or mould us to his liking, as orator, statesman, poet, -philosopher, preacher, editor. If he has any wise mind to speak, any -scheme to unfold, there is the rostrum or pulpit and crowds ready to -hear him, or there is the steam power press ready to disseminate his -wisdom to the four corners of the earth. He can set up a congress or a -parliament and really make and unmake the laws, by his own fireside, in -any country that has a free press. "If we will consider it, the -essential truth of the matter is, every British man can now elect -_himself_ to Parliament without consulting the hustings at all. If there -be any vote, idea, or notion in him, or any earthly or heavenly thing, -cannot he take a pen and therewith autocratically pour forth the same -into the ears and hearts of all people, so far as it will go?" ("Past -and Present.") Or, there is the pulpit everywhere waiting to be worthily -filled. What may not the real hero accomplish here? "Indeed, is not this -that we call spiritual guidance properly the soul of the whole, the life -and eyesight of the whole?" Some one has even said, "Let me make the -songs of a nation and I care not who makes the laws." Certainly the -great poet of a people is its real Founder and King. He rules for -centuries and rules in the heart. - -In more primitive times, and amid more rudely organized communities, the -hero, the strong man, could step to the front and seize the leadership -like the buffalo of the plains or the wild horse of the pampas; but in -our time, at least among English-speaking races, he must be more or less -called by the suffrage of the people. It is quite certain that, had -there been a seventeenth or eighteenth century Carlyle he would not have -seen the hero in Cromwell, or in Frederick, that the nineteenth century -Carlyle saw in each. In any case, in any event, the dead rule us more -than the living; we cannot escape the past. It is not merely by virtue -of the sunlight that falls now, and the rain and dew that it brings, -that we continue here; but by virtue of the sunlight of aeons of past -ages. - -"This land of England has its conquerors, possessors, which change from -epoch to epoch, from day to day; but its real conquerors, creators, and -eternal proprietors are these following and their representatives, if -you can find them: all the Heroic Souls that ever were in England, each -in their degree; all the men that ever cut a thistle, drained a puddle -out of England, contrived a wise scheme in England, did or said a true -and valiant thing in England." "Work? The quantity of done and forgotten -work that lies silent under my feet in this world, and escorts and -attends me and supports and keeps me alive, wheresoever I walk or stand, -whatsoever I think or do, gives rise to reflections!" In our own -politics, has our first President ever ceased to be President? Does he -not still sit there, the stern and blameless patriot, uttering counsel? - -Carlyle had no faith in the inherent tendency of things to right -themselves, to adjust themselves to their own proper standards; the -conservative force of Nature, the checks and balances by which her own -order and succession is maintained; the Darwinian principle, according -to which the organic life of the globe has been evolved, the higher and -more complex forms mounting from the lower, the true _palingenesia_, the -principle or power, name it Fate, name it Necessity, name it God, or -what you will, which finally lifts a people, a race, an age, and even a -community above the reach of choice, of accident, of individual will, -into the region of general law. So little is life what we make it, after -all; so little is the course of history, the destiny of nations, the -result of any man's purpose, or direction, or will, so great is Fate, so -insignificant is man! The human body is made up of a vast congeries or -association of minute cells, each with its own proper work and function, -at which it toils incessantly night and day, and thinks of nothing -beyond. The shape, the size, the color of the body, its degree of health -and strength, etc.,--no cell or series of cells decides these points; a -law above and beyond the cell determines them. The final destiny and -summing up of a nation is, perhaps, as little within the conscious will -and purpose of the individual citizens. When you come to large masses, -to long periods, the law of nature steps in. The day is hot or the day -is cold, the spring is late or the spring is early; but the inclination -of the earth's axis makes the winter and summer sure. The wind blows -this way and blows that, but the great storms gyrate and travel in one -general direction. There is a wind of the globe that never varies, and -there is the breeze of the mountain that is never two days alike. The -local hurricane moves the waters of the sea to a depth of but a few -feet, but the tidal impulse goes to the bottom. Men and communities in -this world are often in the position of arctic explorers, who are making -great speed in a given direction while the ice-floe beneath them is -making greater speed in the opposite direction. This kind of progress -has often befallen political and ecclesiastical parties in this country. -Behind mood lies temperament; back of the caprice of will lies the fate -of character; back of both is the bias of family; back of that, the -tyranny of race; still deeper, the power of climate, of soil, of -geology, the whole physical and moral environment. Still we are free men -only so far as we rise above these. We cannot abolish fate, but we can -in a measure utilize it. The projectile force of the bullet does not -annul or suspend gravity; it uses it. The floating vapor is just as true -an illustration of the law of gravity as the falling avalanche. - -Carlyle, I say, had sounded these depths that lie beyond the region of -will and choice, beyond the sphere of man's moral accountability; but in -life, in action, in conduct, no man shall take shelter here. One may -summon his philosophy when he is beaten in battle, and not till then. -You shall not shirk the hobbling Times to catch a ride on the -sure-footed Eternities. "The times are bad; very well, you are there to -make them better." "The public highways ought not to be occupied by -people demonstrating that motion is impossible." ("Chartism.") - - -III - -Caroline Fox, in her "Memoirs of Old Friends," reports a smart saying -about Carlyle, current in her time, which has been current in some form -or other ever since; namely, that he had a large capital of faith -uninvested,--carried it about him as ready money, I suppose, working -capital. It is certainly true that it was not locked up in any of the -various social and religious safe-deposits. He employed a vast deal of -it in his daily work. It took not a little to set Cromwell up, and -Frederick. Indeed, it is doubtful if among his contemporaries there was -a man with so active a faith,--so little invested in paper securities. -His religion, as a present living reality, went with him into every -question. He did not believe that the Maker of this universe had retired -from business, or that he was merely a sleeping partner in the concern. -"Original sin," he says, "and such like are bad enough, I doubt not; but -distilled sin, dark ignorance, stupidity, dark corn-law, bastile and -company, what are they?" For creeds, theories, philosophies, plans for -reforming the world, etc., he cared nothing, he would not invest one -moment in them; but the hero, the worker, the doer, justice, veracity, -courage, these drew him,--in these he put his faith. What to other -people were mere obstructions were urgent, pressing realities to -Carlyle. Every truth or fact with him has a personal inclination, points -to conduct, points to duty. He could not invest himself in creeds and -formulas, but in that which yielded an instant return in force, justice, -character. He has no philosophical impartiality. He has been broken up; -there have been moral convulsions; the rock stands on end. Hence the -vehement and precipitous character of his speech,--its wonderful -picturesqueness and power. The spirit of gloom and dejection that -possesses him, united to such an indomitable spirit of work and -helpfulness, is very noteworthy. Such courage, such faith, such unshaken -adamantine belief in the essential soundness and healthfulness that lay -beneath all this weltering and chaotic world of folly and evil about -him, in conjunction with such pessimism and despondency, was never -before seen in a man of letters. I am reminded that in this respect he -was more like a root of the tree of Igdrasil than like a branch; one of -the central and master roots, with all that implies, toiling and -grappling in the gloom, but full of the spirit of light. How he delves -and searches; how much he made live and bloom again; how he sifted the -soil for the last drop of heroic blood! The Fates are there, too, with -water from the sacred well. He is quick, sensitive, full of tenderness -and pity; yet he is savage and brutal when you oppose him, or seek to -wrench him from his holdings. His stormy outbursts always leave the -moral atmosphere clear and bracing; he does not communicate the gloom -and despondency he feels, because he brings us so directly and -unfailingly in contact with the perennial sources of hope and faith, -with the life-giving and the life-renewing. Though the heavens fall, the -orbs of truth and justice fall not. Carlyle was like an unhoused soul, -naked and bare to every wind that blows. He felt the awful cosmic chill. -He could not take shelter in the creed of his fathers, nor in any of the -opinions and beliefs of his time. He could not and did not try to fend -himself against the keen edge of the terrible doubts, the awful -mysteries, the abysmal questions and duties. He lived and wrought on in -the visible presence of God. This was no myth to him, but a terrible -reality. How the immensities open and yawn about him! He was like a man -who should suddenly see his relations to the universe, both physical and -moral, in gigantic perspective, and never through life lose the awe, the -wonder, the fear, the revelation inspired. The veil, the illusion of the -familiar, the commonplace, is torn away. The natural becomes the -supernatural. Every question, every character, every duty, was seen -against the immensities, like figures in the night against a background -of fire, and seen as if for the first time. The sidereal, the cosmical, -the eternal,--we grow familiar with these or lose sight of them -entirely. But Carlyle never lost sight of them; his sense of them became -morbidly acute, preternaturally developed, and it was as if he saw -every movement of the hand, every fall of a leaf, as an emanation of -solar energy. A "haggard mood of the imagination" (his own phrase) was -habitual with him. He could see only the tragical in life and in -history. Events were imminent, poised like avalanches that a word might -loosen. We see Jeffries perpetually amazed at his earnestness, the -gradations in his mind were so steep; the descent from the thought to -the deed was so swift and inevitable that the witty advocate came to -look upon him as a man to be avoided. - -"Daily and hourly," he says (at the age of thirty-eight), "the world -natural grows more of a world magical to me; this is as it should be. -Daily, too, I see that there is no true poetry but in _reality_." - -"The gist of my whole way of thought," he says again, "is to raise the -natural to the supernatural." To his brother John he wrote in 1832: "I -get more earnest, graver, not unhappier, every day. The whole creation -seems more and more divine to me, the natural more and more -supernatural." His eighty-five years did not tame him at all, did not -blunt his conception of the "fearfulness and wonderfulness of life." -Sometimes an opiate or an anaesthetic operates inversely upon a -constitution, and, instead of inducing somnolence, makes the person -wildly wakeful and sensitive. The anodyne of life acted this way upon -Carlyle, and, instead of quieting or benumbing him, filled him with -portentous imaginings and fresh cause for wonder. There is a danger that -such a mind, if it takes to literature, will make a mess of it. But -Carlyle is saved by his tremendous gripe upon reality. Do I say the -ideal and the real were one with him? He made the ideal _the_ real, and -the only real. Whatever he touched he made tangible, actual, and vivid. -Ideas are hurled like rocks, a word blisters like a branding-iron, a -metaphor transfixes like a javelin. There is something in his sentences -that lays hold of things, as the acids bite metals. His subtle thoughts, -his marvelous wit, like the viewless gases of the chemist, combine with -a force that startles the reader. - -Carlyle differs from the ordinary religious enthusiast in the way he -bares his bosom to the storm. His attitude is rather one of gladiatorial -resignation than supplication. He makes peace with nothing, takes refuge -in nothing. He flouts at happiness, at repose, at joy. "There is in man -a _higher_ than love of happiness; he can do without happiness, and -instead thereof find blessedness." "The life of all gods figures itself -to us as a sublime sadness,--earnestness of infinite battle against -infinite labor. Our highest religion is named the 'Worship of Sorrow.' -For the Son of Man there is no noble crown, well worn or even ill worn, -but is a crown of thorns." His own worship is a kind of defiant -admiration of Eternal Justice. He asks no quarter, and will give none. -He turns upon the grim destinies a look as undismayed and as -uncompromising as their own. Despair cannot crush him; he will crush it. -The more it bears on, the harder he will work. The way to get rid of -wretchedness is to despise it; the way to conquer the devil is to defy -him; the way to gain heaven is to turn your back upon it, and be as -unflinching as the gods themselves. Satan may be roasted in his own -flames; Tophet may be exploded with its own sulphur. "Despicable biped!" -(Teufelsdroekh is addressing himself.) "What is the sum total of the -worst that lies before thee? Death? Well, death; and say the pangs of -Tophet, too, and all that the devil and man may, will, or can do against -thee! Hast thou not a heart? Canst thou not suffer what so it be, and as -a child of freedom, though outcast, trample Tophet itself under thy feet -while it consumes thee? Let it come, then; I will meet it and defy it." -This is the "Everlasting No" of Teufelsdroekh, the annihilation of self. -Having thus routed Satan with his own weapons, the "Everlasting Yea" is -to people his domain with fairer forms; to find your ideal in the world -about you. "Thy condition is but the stuff thou art to shape that same -ideal out of; what matters whether such stuff be of this sort or of -that, so the form thou give it be heroic, be poetic?" Carlyle's -watchword through life, as I have said, was the German word _Entsagen_, -or renunciation. The perfect flower of religion opens in the soul only -when all self-seeking is abandoned. The divine, the heroic attitude is: -"I ask not Heaven, I fear not Hell; I crave the truth alone, -withersoever it may lead." "Truth! I cried, though the heavens crush me -for following her; no falsehood, though a celestial lubberland were the -price of apostasy." The truth,--what is the truth? Carlyle answers: That -which you believe with all your soul and all your might and all your -strength, and are ready to face Tophet for,--that, for you, is the -truth. Such a seeker was he himself. It matters little whether we agree -that he found it or not. The law of this universe is such that where the -love, the desire, is perfect and supreme, the truth is already found. -That is the truth, not the letter but the spirit; the seeker and the -sought are one. Can you by searching find out God? "Moses cried, 'When, -O Lord, shall I find thee? God said, Know that when thou hast sought -thou hast already found me.'" This is Carlyle's position, so far as it -can be defined. He hated dogma as he hated poison. No direct or dogmatic -statement of religious belief or opinion could he tolerate. He abandoned -the church, for which his father designed him, because of his inexorable -artistic sense; he could not endure the dogma that the church rested -upon, the pedestal of clay upon which the golden image was reared. The -gold he held to, as do all serious souls, but the dogma of clay he -quickly dropped. "Whatever becomes of us," he said, referring to this -subject in a letter to a friend when he was in his twenty-third year, -"never let us cease to behave like honest men." - - -IV - -Carlyle had an enormous egoism, but to do the work he felt called on to -do, to offset and withstand the huge, roaring, on-rushing modern world -as he did, required an enormous egoism. In more senses than one do the -words applied to the old prophet apply to him: "For, behold, I have made -thee this day a defenced city, and an iron pillar, and brazen walls -against the whole land, against the kings of Judah, against the princes -thereof, against the priests thereof, and against the people of the -land." He was a defenced city, an iron pillar, and brazen wall, in the -extent to which he was riveted and clinched in his own purpose and aim, -as well as in his attitude of opposition or hostility to the times in -which he lived. - -Froude, whose life of Carlyle in its just completed form, let me say -here, has no equal in interest or literary value among biographies since -his master's life of Sterling, presents his hero to us a prophet in the -literal and utilitarian sense, as a foreteller of the course of events, -and says that an adequate estimate of his work is not yet possible. We -must wait and see if he was right about democracy, about America, -universal suffrage, progress of the species, etc. "Whether his message -was a true message remains to be seen." "If he was wrong he has misused -his powers. The principles of his teaching are false. He has offered -himself as a guide upon a road of which he had no knowledge; and his -own desire for himself would be the speediest oblivion both of his -person and his works." - -But the man was true; there can be no doubt about that, and when such is -the case the message may safely be left to take care of itself. We have -got the full force and benefit of it in our own day and generation, -whether our "cherished ideas of political liberty, with their kindred -corollaries," prove illusions or not. All high spiritual and prophetic -utterances are instantly their own proof and justification, or they are -naught. Does Mr. Froude really mean that the prophecies of Jeremiah and -Isaiah have become a part of the permanent "spiritual inheritance of -mankind" because they were literally fulfilled in specific instances, -and not because they were true from the first and always, as the -impassioned yearnings and uprisings and reachings-forth of high -God-burdened souls at all times are true? Regarded merely as a -disturbing and overturning force, Carlyle was of great value. There -never was a time, especially in an era like ours, when the opinion and -moral conviction of the race did not need subsoiling, loosening up from -the bottom,--the shock of rude, scornful, merciless power. There are ten -thousand agencies and instrumentalities titillating the surface, -smoothing, pulverizing, and vulgarizing the top. Chief of these is the -gigantic, ubiquitous newspaper press, without character and without -conscience; then the lyceum, the pulpit, the novel, the club,--all -_cultivating_ the superficies, and helping make life shallow and -monotonous. How deep does the leading editorial go, or the review -article, or the Sunday sermon? But such a force as Carlyle disturbs our -complacency. Opinion is shocked, but it is deepened. The moral and -intellectual resources of all men have been added to. But the literal -fulfillment and verification of his prophecies,--shall we insist upon -that? Is not a prophet his own proof, the same as a poet? Must we summon -witnesses and go into the justice-court of fact? The only questions to -be asked are: Was he an inspired man? was his an authoritative voice? -did he touch bottom? was he sincere? was he grounded and rooted in -character? It is not the stamp on the coin that gives it its value, -though on the bank-note it is. Carlyle's words were not promises, but -performances; they are good now if ever. To test him by his political -opinions is like testing Shakespeare by his fidelity to historical fact -in his plays, or judging Lucretius by his philosophy, or Milton or Dante -by their theology. Carlyle was just as distinctively an imaginative -writer as were any of these men, and his case is to be tried on the same -grounds. It is his utterances as a seer touching conduct, touching duty, -touching nature, touching the soul, touching life, that most concern -us,--the ideal to be cherished, the standard he held to. - -Carlyle was a poet touched with religious wrath and fervor, and he -confronted his times and country as squarely and in the same spirit as -did the old prophets. He predicts nothing, foretells nothing, except -death and destruction to those who depart from the ways of the Lord, or, -in modern phrase, from nature and truth. He shared the Hebraic sense of -the awful mystery and fearfulness of life and the splendor and -inexorableness of the moral law. His habitual mood was not one of -contemplation and enjoyment, but of struggle and "desperate hope." The -deep biblical word fear,--fear of the Lord,--he knew what that meant, as -few moderns did. - -He was antagonistic to his country and his times, and who would have had -him otherwise? Let him be the hammer on the other side that clinches the -nail. He did not believe in democracy, in popular sovereignty, in the -progress of the species, in the political equality of Jesus and Judas; -in fact, he repudiated with mingled wrath and sorrow the whole American -idea and theory of politics: yet who shall say that his central doctrine -of the survival of the fittest, the nobility of labor, the exaltation of -justice, valor, pity, the leadership of character, truth, nobility, -wisdom, etc., is really and finally inconsistent with, or inimical to, -that which is valuable and permanent and formative in the modern -movement? I think it is the best medicine and regimen for it that could -be suggested,--the best stay and counterweight. For the making of good -democrats, there are no books like Carlyle's, and we in America need -especially to cherish him, and to lay his lesson to heart. - -It is his supreme merit that he spoke with absolute sincerity; not -according to the beliefs, traditions, conventionalities of his times, -for they were mostly against him, but according to his private and -solemn conviction of what the will of his Maker with reference to -himself was. The reason why so much writing and preaching sounds hollow -and insincere compared with his is that the writers and speakers are -mostly under the influence of current beliefs or received traditions; -they deliver themselves of what they have been taught, or what is -fashionable and pleasant; they draw upon a sort of public fund of -conviction and sentiment and not at all from original private resources, -as he did. It is not their own minds or their own experience they speak -from, but a vague, featureless, general mind and general experience. We -drink from a cistern or reservoir and not from a fountain-head. Carlyle -always takes us to the source of intense personal and original -conviction. The spring may be a hot spring, or a sulphur spring, or a -spouting spring,--a geyser, as Froude says, shooting up volumes of steam -and stone,--or the most refreshing and delicious of fountains (and he -seems to have been all these things alternately); but in any case it was -an original source and came from out the depths, at times from out the -Plutonic depths. - -He bewails his gloom and loneliness, and the isolation of his soul in -the paths in which he was called to walk. In many ways he was an exile, -a wanderer, forlorn or uncertain, like one who had missed the road,--at -times groping about sorrowfully, anon desperately hewing his way through -all manner of obstructions. He presents the singular anomaly of a great -man, of a towering and unique genius, such as appears at intervals of -centuries, who was not in any sense representative, who had no -precursors and who left no followers,--a man isolated, exceptional, -towering like a solitary peak or cone set over against the main ranges. -He is in line with none of the great men, or small men, of his age and -country. His message is unwelcome to them. He is an enormous reaction or -rebound from the all-leveling tendencies of democracy. No wonder he -thought himself the most solitary man in the world, and bewailed his -loneliness continually. He was the most solitary. Of all the great men -his race and country have produced, none, perhaps, were quite so -isolated and set apart as he. None shared so little the life and -aspirations of their countrymen, or were so little sustained by the -spirit of their age. The literature, the religion, the science, the -politics of his times were alike hateful to him. His spirit was as -lonely as a "peak in Darien." He felt himself on a narrow isthmus of -time, confronted by two eternities,--the eternity past and the eternity -to come. Daily and hourly he felt the abysmal solitude that surrounded -him. Endowed with the richest fund of sympathy, and yet sympathizing -with so little; burdened with solicitude for the public weal, and yet in -no vital or intimate relation with the public he would serve; deeply -absorbed in the social and political problems of his time, and yet able -to arrive at no adequate practical solution of them; passionately -religious, and yet repudiating all creeds and forms of worship; -despising the old faiths, and disgusted with the new; honoring science, -and acknowledging his debt to it, yet drawing back with horror from -conclusions to which science seemed inevitably to lead; essentially a -man of action, of deeds, of heroic fibre, yet forced to become a "writer -of books;" a democrat who denounced democracy; a radical who despised -radicalism; "a Puritan without a creed." - -These things measure the depth of his sincerity; he never lost heart or -hope, though heart and hope had so little that was tangible to go upon. -He had the piety and zeal of a religious devotee, without the devotee's -comforting belief; the fiery earnestness of a reformer, without the -reformer's definite aims; the spirit of science, without the scientific -coolness and disinterestedness; the heart of a hero, without the hero's -insensibilities; he had strugglings, wrestlings, agonizings, without any -sense of victory; his foes were invisible and largely imaginary, but all -the more terrible and unconquerable on that account. Verily was he -lonely, heavy laden, and at best full of "desperate hope." His own work, -which was accomplished with such pains and labor throes, gave him no -satisfaction. When he was idle, his demon tormented him with the cry, -"Work, work;" and when he was toiling at his tasks, his obstructions, -torpidities, and dispiritments nearly crushed him. - -It is probably true that he thought he had some special mission to -mankind, something as definite and tangible as Luther had. His stress -and heat of conviction were such as only the great world-reformers have -been possessed of. He was burdened with the sins and follies of mankind, -and _must_ mend them. His mission was to mend them, but perhaps in quite -other ways than he thought. He sought to restore an age fast -passing,--the age of authority, the age of the heroic leader; but toward -the restoration of such age he had no effect whatever. The tide of -democracy sweeps on. He was like Xerxes whipping the sea. His real -mission he was far less conscious of, for it was what his search for the -hero implied and brought forward that he finally bequeathed us. If he -did not make us long for the strong man to rule over us, he made us love -all manly and heroic qualities afresh, and as if by a new revelation of -their value. He made all shallownesses and shams wear such a face as -they never before wore. He made it easier for all men to be more -truthful and earnest. Hence his final effect and value was as a fountain -of fresh moral conviction and power. The old stock truths perpetually -need restating and reapplying on fresh grounds and in large and -unexpected ways. And how he restated them and reinforced them! veracity, -sincerity, courage, justice, manliness, religiousness,--fairly burning -them into the conscience of his times. He took the great facts of -existence out of the mouths of priests, out of their conventional -theological swathing, where they were fast becoming mummified, and -presented them _quick_ or as living and breathing realities. - -It may be added that Carlyle was one of those men whom the world can -neither make nor break,--a meteoric rock from out the fiery heavens, -bound to hit hard if not self-consumed, and not looking at all for a -convenient or a soft place to alight,--a blazing star in his literary -expression, but in his character and purpose the most tangible and -unconquerable of men. "Thou, O World, how wilt thou secure thyself -against this man? Thou canst not hire him by thy guineas, nor by thy -gibbets and law penalties restrain him. He eludes thee like a Spirit. -Thou canst not forward him, thou canst not hinder him. Thy penalties, -thy poverties, neglects, contumelies: behold, all these are good for -him." - - - - -XI - -AT SEA - - -One does not seem really to have got out-of-doors till he goes to sea. -On the land he is shut in by the hills, or the forests, or more or less -housed by the sharp lines of his horizon. But at sea he finds the roof -taken off, the walls taken down; he is no longer in the hollow of the -earth's hand, but upon its naked back, with nothing between him and the -immensities. He is in the great cosmic out-of-doors, as much so as if -voyaging to the moon or to Mars. An astronomic solitude and vacuity -surround him; his only guides and landmarks are stellar; the earth has -disappeared; the horizon has gone; he has only the sky and its orbs -left; this cold, vitreous, blue-black liquid through which the ship -plows is not water, but some denser form of the cosmic ether. He can now -see the curve of the sphere which the hills hid from him; he can study -astronomy under improved conditions. If he was being borne through the -interplanetary spaces on an immense shield, his impressions would not -perhaps be much different. He would find the same vacuity, the same -blank or negative space, the same empty, indefinite, oppressive -out-of-doors. - -For it must be admitted that a voyage at sea is more impressive to the -imagination than to the actual sense. The world is left behind; all -standards of size, of magnitude, of distance, are vanished; there is no -size, no form, no perspective; the universe has dwindled to a little -circle of crumpled water, that journeys with you day after day, and to -which you seem bound by some enchantment. The sky becomes a shallow, -close-fitting dome, or else a pall of cloud that seems ready to descend -upon you. You cannot see or realize the vast and vacant surrounding; -there is nothing to define it or set it off. Three thousand miles of -ocean space are less impressive than three miles bounded by rugged -mountains walls. Indeed, the grandeur of form, of magnitude, of -distance, of proportion, are only upon shore. A voyage across the -Atlantic is an eight or ten day sail through vacancy. There is no -sensible progress; you pass no fixed points. Is it the steamer that is -moving, or is it the sea? or is it all a dance and illusion of the -troubled brain? Yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow, you are in the same -parenthesis of nowhere. The three hundred or more miles the ship daily -makes is ideal, not real. Every night the stars dance and reel there in -the same place amid the rigging; every morning the sun comes up from -behind the same wave, and staggers slowly across the sinister sky. The -eye becomes a-hunger for form, for permanent lines, for a horizon wall -to lift up and keep off the sky, and give it a sense of room. One -understands why sailors become an imaginative and superstitious race; -it is the reaction from this narrow horizon in which they are -pent,--this ring of fate surrounds and oppresses them. They escape by -invoking the aid of the supernatural. In the sea itself there is far -less to stimulate the imagination than in the varied forms and colors of -the land. How cold, how merciless, how elemental it looks! - -The only things that look familiar at sea are the clouds. These are -messengers from home, and how weary and disconsolate they appear, -stretching out along the horizon, as if looking for a hill or -mountain-top to rest upon,--nothing to hold them up,--a roof without -walls, a span without piers. One gets the impression that they are grown -faint, and must presently, if they reach much farther, fall into the -sea. But when the rain came, it seemed like mockery or irony on the part -of the clouds. Did one vaguely believe, then, that the clouds would -respect the sea, and withhold their needless rain? No, they treated it -as if it were a mill-pond, or a spring-run, too insignificant to make -any exceptions to. - -One bright Sunday, when the surface of the sea was like glass, a long -chain of cloud-mountains lay to the south of us all day, while the rest -of the sky was clear. How they glowed in the strong sunlight, their -summits shining like a bouquet of full moons, and making a broad, white, -or golden path upon the water! They came out of the southwest, an -endless procession of them, and tapered away in the east. They were the -piled, convoluted, indolent clouds of midsummer,--thunder-clouds that -had retired from business; the captains of the storm in easy undress. -All day they filed along there, keeping the ship company. How the eye -reveled in their definite, yet ever-changing, forms! Their under or base -line was as straight and continuous as the rim of the ocean. The -substratum of air upon which they rested was like a uniform layer of -granite rock, invisible, but all-resisting; not one particle of these -vast cloud-mountains, so broken and irregular in their summits, sank -below this aerial granite boundary. The equilibrium of the air is -frequently such that the under-surface of the clouds is like a ceiling. -It is a fair-weather sign, whether upon the sea or upon the land. One -may frequently see it in a mountainous district, when the fog-clouds -settle down, and blot out all the tops of the mountains without one -fleck of vapor going below a given line which runs above every valley, -as uniform as the sea-level. It is probable that in fair weather the -atmosphere always lies in regular strata in this way, and that it is the -displacement and mixing up of these by some unknown cause that produces -storms. - -As the sun neared the horizon these cloud-masses threw great blue -shadows athwart each other, which afforded the eye a new pleasure. - -Late one afternoon the clouds assumed a still more friendly and welcome -shape. A long, purple, irregular range of them rose up from the horizon -in the northwest, exactly stimulating distant mountains. The sun sank -behind them, and threw out great spokes of light as from behind my -native Catskills. Then gradually a low, wooded shore came into view -along their base. It proved to be a fog-bank lying low upon the water, -but it copied exactly, in its forms and outlines, a flat, umbrageous -coast. You could see distinctly where it ended, and where the water -began. I sat long on that side of the ship, and let my willing eyes -deceive themselves. I could not divest myself of the comfortable feeling -inspired by the prospect. It was to the outward sense what dreams and -reveries are to the inward. That blind, instinctive love of the land,--I -did not know how masterful and involuntary the impulse was, till I found -myself warming up toward that phantom coast. The empty void of the sea -was partly filled, if only with a shadow. The inhuman desolation of the -ocean was blotted out for a moment, in that direction at least. What -phantom-huggers we are upon sea or upon land! It made no difference that -I knew this to be a sham coast. I could feel its friendly influence all -the same, even when my back was turned. - -In summer, fog seems to lie upon the Atlantic in great shallow fleeces, -looking, I dare say, like spots of mould or mildew from an elevation of -a few miles. These fog-banks are produced by the deep cold currents -rising to the surface, and coming in contact with the warmer air. One -may see them far in advance, looking so shallow that it seems as if the -great steamer must carry her head above them. But she does not quite do -it. When she enters this obscurity, there begins the hoarse bellowing of -her great whistle. As one dozes in his berth or sits in the cabin -reading, there comes a vague impression that we are entering some port -or harbor, the sound is so welcome, and is so suggestive of the -proximity of other vessels. But only once did our loud and repeated -hallooing awaken any response. Everybody heard the answering whistle out -of the thick obscurity ahead, and was on the alert. Our steamer -instantly slowed her engines and redoubled her tootings. The two vessels -soon got the bearing of each other, and the stranger passed us on the -starboard side, the hoarse voice of her whistle alone revealing her -course to us. - -Late one afternoon, as we neared the Banks, the word spread on deck that -the knobs and pinnacles of a thunder-cloud sunk below the horizon, and -that deeply and sharply notched the western rim of the sea, were -icebergs. The captain was quoted as authority. He probably encouraged -the delusion. The jaded passengers wanted a new sensation. Everybody was -willing, even anxious, to believe them icebergs, and some persons would -have them so, and listened coldly and reluctantly to any proof to the -contrary. What we want to believe, what it suits our convenience, or -pleasure, or prejudice, to believe, one need not go to sea to learn what -slender logic will incline us to believe. To a firm, steady gaze, these -icebergs were seen to be momently changing their forms, new chasms -opening, new pinnacles rising: but these appearances were easily -accounted for by the credulous; the ice mountains were rolling over, or -splitting asunder. One of the rarest things in the average cultivated -man or woman is the capacity to receive and weigh evidence touching any -natural phenomenon, especially at sea. If the captain had deliberately -said that the shifting forms there on the horizon were only a school of -whales playing at leap-frog, all the women and half the men among the -passengers would have believed him. - -In going to England in early May, we encountered the fine weather, the -warmth and the sunshine as of June, that had been "central" over the -British Islands for a week or more, five or six hundred miles from -shore. We had come up from lower latitudes, and it was as if we had -ascended a hill and found summer at the top, while a cold, backward -spring yet lingered in the valley. But on our return in early August, -the positions of spring and summer were reversed. Scotland was cold and -rainy, and for several days at sea you could in the distance hardly tell -the sea from the sky, all was so gray and misty. In mid-Atlantic we ran -into the American climate. The great continent, basking there in the -western sun, and glowing with midsummer heat, made itself felt to the -centre of this briny void. The sea detached itself sharply from the sky, -and became like a shield of burnished steel, which the sky surrounded -like a dome of glass. For four successive nights the sun sank clear in -the wave, sometimes seeming to melt and mingle with the ocean. One night -a bank of mist seemed to impede his setting. He lingered a long while -partly buried in it, then slowly disappeared as through a slit in the -vapor, which glowed red-hot, a mere line of fire, for some moments -afterward. - -As we neared home the heat became severe. We were going down the hill -into a fiery valley. Vast stretches of the sea were like glass bending -above the long, slow heaving of the primal ocean. Swordfish lay basking -here and there on the surface, too lazy to get out of the way of the -ship:-- - - "The air was calm, and on the level brine - Sleek Panope with all her sisters played." - -Occasionally a whale would blow, or show his glistening back, attracting -a crowd to the railing. One morning a whale plunged spitefully through -the track of the ship but a few hundred yards away. - -But the prettiest sight in the way of animated nature was the shoals of -dolphins occasionally seen during these brilliant torrid days, leaping -and sporting, and apparently racing with the vessel. They would leap in -pairs from the glassy surface of one swell of the steamer across the -polished chasm into the next swell, frisking their tails and doing their -best not to be beaten. They were like fawns or young kine sporting in a -summer meadow. It was the only touch of mirth, or youth and jollity, I -saw in the grim sea. Savagery and desolation make up the prevailing -expression here. The sea-fowls have weird and disconsolate cries, and -appear doomed to perpetual solitude. But these dolphins know what -companionship is, and are in their own demesne. When one sees them -bursting out of the waves, the impression is that school is just out; -there come the boys, skipping and laughing, and, seeing us just passing, -cry to one another: "Now for a race! Hurrah, boys! We can beat 'em!" - -One notices any change in the course of the ship by the stars at night. -For nearly a week Venus sank nightly into the sea far to the north of -us. Our course coming home is south-southwest. Then, one night, as you -promenade the deck, you see, with a keen pleasure, Venus through the -rigging dead ahead. The good ship has turned the corner; she has scented -New York harbor, and is making straight for it, with New England far -away there on her right. Now sails and smoke-funnels begin to appear. -All ocean paths converge here: full-rigged ships, piled with canvas, are -passed, rocking idly upon the polished surface; sails are seen just -dropping below the horizon, phantom ships without hulls, while here and -there the black smoke of some steamer tarnishes the sky. Now we pass -steamers that left New York but yesterday; the City of Rome--looking, -with her three smoke-stacks and her long hull, like two steamers -together--creeps along the southern horizon, just ready to vanish behind -it. Now she stands in the reflected light of a great white cloud which -makes a bright track upon the water like the full moon. Then she slides -on into the dim and even dimmer distance, and we slide on over the -tropic sea, and, by a splendid run, just catch the tide at the moment of -its full, early the next morning, and pass the bar off Sandy Hook -without a moment of time or an inch of water to spare. - - - - -INDEX - - - Alloway, 8, 133-134, 160. - - Anemone. _See_ Rue-anemone. - - Angler, an English, 83-85. - - Anglo-Saxon, the, 45. - - Annan, 72. - - Annan bridge, 68, 69. - - Ants, 178-181. - - Arbutus, trailing, 164, 172, 173. - - Arethusa, 172. - - Argyll, Duke of, on the comparative merits of British and - American song-birds, 113-116, 119. - - Arnold, Matthew, quotations from, 78, 169, 212. - - Arthur's Seat, 48, 49. - - Ash, 19. - - Asters, 196. - - Audubon, John James, 123, 124. - - Avon, the Scottish river, 39. - - Ayr, 46. - - Azaleas, 173. - - - Barrington, Dames, 119, 126, 138. - - Bean, horse _or_ Winchester, 169. - - Bear, black (_Ursus americanus_), 186. - - Bee. _See_ Bumblebee _and_ Honey-bee. - - Beech, European, 18, 19, 40, 41, 97. - - Beetle, ants and, 179, 180. - - Beetle, Colorado, 194. - - Ben Lomond, 24. - - Ben Nevis, 25. - - Ben Venue, 23, 24, 155. - - Birds, blue not a common color among British, 93; - voices of British, 105, 142; - source of the charm of their songs, 113; - the Duke of Argyll on the comparative merits of British and - American song-birds, 113-116; - the American bird-choir larger and embracing more good - songsters than the British, 119-129; - British more familiar, prolific, and abundant than American, - 125, 126; - superior vivacity and strength of voice in British, 126; - hours and seasons of singing of British and American, 126, - 127, 143; - superior sweetness, tenderness, and melody in the songs of - American, 128, 143-145; - the two classes of British song-birds, 142, 143; - certain localities favored by, 144; - British more prolific than American, 189, 190; - warm and compact nests of British, 190; - abundance of British, 190-192. - - Blackberry, 18, 52, 168. - - Blackbird, European, song of, 86, 90, 105, 114, 129, 136, 139, - 145; - nest of, 66. - - Blackbird, red-winged. _See_ Starling, red-shouldered. - - Blackcap, _or_ black-capped warbler, 87, 92; - song of, 105, 115, 123, 129, 137, 140. - - Bloodroot, 172. - - Bluebell. _See_ Hyacinth, wild. - - Bluebird (_Sialia sialis_), notes of, 120, 123, 129. - - Blue-bonnet, 189. - - Blue-weed, _or_ viper's bugloss, 168, 171. - - Bobolink (_Dolichonyx oryzivorus_), song of, 118, 120, 123, - 125, 129. - - Bob-white. _See_ Quail. - - Bouncing Bet, 171. - - Boys, at Ecclefechan, 64-66; - a Godalming boy, 92-95. - - Bridges, arched, 68, 69. - - Brig o' Doon, 26. - - Britain. _See_ Great Britain. - - Bryant, William Cullen, as a poet of the woods, 43. - - Bugloss, viper's. _See_ Blue-weed. - - Building-stone, softness of British, 26. - - Bullfinch, notes of, 129. - - Bumblebee, 17-19, 195. - - Bunting, indigo. _See_ Indigo-bird. - - Burns, Robert, the Scotch love of, 48; - quotation from, 135, 225. - - Buttercup, 16, 165, 196. - - - Calopogon, 172. - - Campion, bladder, 171. - - Canterbury, 10, 11; - the cathedral of, 11-13. - - Cardinal. _See_ Grosbeak, cardinal. - - Carlyle, James, father of Thomas Carlyle, 55, 59, 60, 69-71, - 73. - - Carlyle, Mrs. James, 55, 61. - - Carlyle, Jane Baillie Welsh, 221-223. - - Carlyle, Thomas, quotations from, 25, 49, 50, 58, 60, 61, 71, - 73, 75, 204, 206-209, 211, 215-217, 219, 223-226, 228-232, - 234, 236-238, 240, 241, 246-248, 251, 254-259, 266; - residences of, 49-51, 54, 55; - the grave of, 56, 57; - at the graves of his father and mother, 57, 58; - his reverence and affection for his kindred, 58; - his family traits, 58, 59; - his love of Scotland, 59, 60; - his affection for his mother, 61; - an old road-mender's opinion of, 67; - his style, 71, 75; - his connection with Irving, 72; - an indomitable worker, 73-75; - his house in Chelsea, 199, 200; - a call on, 200-202; - on Scott, 201, 202; - his correspondence with Emerson, 203, 204, 208-210; - his friendship with Emerson, 203, 204; - compared and contrasted with Emerson, 203-210, 212; - his magnanimous wrathfulness, 203, 204; - a man of action, 207; - a regal and dominating man, 211, 212; - as an historical writer, 213, 214; - his power of characterization, 214, 215; - his vocabulary of vituperation, 216, 217; - not a philosopher, 217, 218; - his struggle against odds, 218-220; - his unselfishness, 220, 221; - his relations with his wife, 221-223; - his passion for heroes, 223-226, 232-234; - his glorification of the individual will, 226; - his earnestness, 227; - a master portrait-painter, 228-232; - the value he set on painted portraits, 232; - his hatred of democracy, 232-251; - his large capital of faith, 251-253; - his religious belief, 251-257; - his attitude of renunciation, 255, 256; - his search for the truth, 256, 257; - his egoism, 258; - value of his teaching, 258-266; - his isolation of soul, 262-264; - his mission, 265; - his _Oliver Cromwell_, 211, 212; - his _Frederick the Great_, 211-217, 242. - - Carlyle family, the, 56-61, 67, 70, 71. - - Catbird (_Galeoscoptes carolinensis_), notes of, 117, 120, - 125, 129. - - Cathedrals, Canterbury, 11-13; - images in, 15; - soil collected on the walls of, 21; - Rochester, 21; - St. Paul's, 182. - - Catskill Mountains, contrasted with the mountains of Scotland, - 7; - scenery in, 38; - the valleys of, 149. - - Cattle, of the Scotch Highlands, 25. - - Cedar-bird, _or_ cedar waxwing (_Ampelis cedrorum_), notes of, - 115. - - Celandine, 172. - - Celts, the, 45. - - Chaffinch, or shilfa, 133, 134, 191; - song of, 79, 90, 95, 129, 133, 134; - nest of, 65, 190. - - Chat, yellow-breasted (_Icteria virens_), 117; - song of, 117, 120, 125. - - Chewink, _or_ towhee (_Pipilo erythrophthalmus_), notes of, - 118, 120, 125, 129. - - Chickadee (_Parus atricapillus_), notes of, 129. - - Chiffchaff, notes of, 95, 143. - - Chipmunk (_Tamias striatus_), 195. - - Chippie. _See_ Sparrow, social. - - Cicada, _or_ harvest-fly, 194, 195. - - Cinquefoil, 17. - - Claytonia, _or_ spring beauty, 164, 172. - - Clematis, wild, 17. - - Clouds, in England, 107; - at sea, 269-273. - - Clover (_Trifolium incarnatum_), 93, 169. - - Clover, red, 16, 52. - - Clover, white, 16, 17, 165. - - Clover, yellow, 16. - - Clyde, the, sailing up, 2-7. - - Cockscomb, 160. - - Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, quotation from, 166, 167, 228. - - Coltsfoot, 170. - - Columbine, 38, 173. - - Commons, in England, 104. - - Convolvulus, 19. - - Copses, in England, 82. - - Cormorants, 189. - - Corn-crake, notes of, 132. - - Cow-bunting, _or_ cowbird (_Molothrus ater_), notes of, 125. - - Cranesbill, 53. - - Creeper, European brown, 189. - - Crow, carrion, 193. - - Cuckoo (_Coccyzus_ sp.), notes of, 127. - - Cuckoo, European, 65; - notes of, 77, 78, 95, 123, 138, 148. - - Curlew, European, 107; - notes of, 141. - - - Daffodils, 165, 172. - - Daisy, English, 52, 159, 160, 196. - - Daisy, ox-eye, 160, 165, 196. - - Dalibarda, 164. - - Dandelion, 16, 165. - - Danton, Georges Jacques, 229. - - Darwin, Charles, 31, 32. - - Dead-nettle, 161. - - Democracy, Carlyle's opinion of, 232-251. - - De Quincey, Thomas, 230. - - Desmoulins, Camille, 229. - - Devil's Punch-Bowl, the, 88. - - Dicentra, 38, 164, 172. - - Dickens, Charles, 231. - - Dock, sorrel (_Rumex acetosa_), 170. - - Docks, 171. - - Dog-fish, 188. - - Dolphins, 274, 275. - - Doon, the, 46, 132, 134, 161, 162. - - Dover, the cliffs of, 13, 14. - - Ducks, wild, 186. - - - Eagle, 187, 188. - - Earthworm, as a cultivator of the soil, 31, 32. - - Easing, 94, 103. - - Ecclefechan, 39; - the journey from Edinburgh to, 49-55; - in the village and churchyard of, 55-58, 61-64; - birds'-nesting boys of, 64-66; - walks about, 67-72; - the "dogfight," 67. - - Edinburgh, 48, 49, 178. - - Edward, Thomas, 187, 188. - - Elder, English, 10. - - Elecampane, 171. - - Elm, English, 19, 97. - - Emerson, Ralph Waldo, as a poet of the woods, 43, 44; - quotations from, 43, 44, 102, 176, 210, 213, 214, 218, 221; - statement on fields, 53; - his friendship with Carlyle, 203, 204; - compared and contrasted with Carlyle, 203-210, 212; - his correspondence with Carlyle, 203, 204, 208-210, 225. - - England, tour in, 9; - walks in, 9-20; - the green turf of, 20-23, 29, 31, 32; - building-stone of, 26; - humanization of nature in, 27, 28; - repose of the landscape in, 29-34; - foliage in, 29-31; - cultivated fields of, 32, 33; - grazing in, 33; - the climate as a promoter of greenness, 33, 34; - pastoral beauty of, 35, 36; - lack of wild and aboriginal beauty in, 36, 37; - no rocks worth mentioning in, 37; - woods in, 38-43; - plowing in, 53, 54; - country houses and village houses in, 62, 63; - haying in, 80, 108, 109, 153; - a farm and a farmer in the south of, 77, 80, 81; - sunken roads of, 94, 95; - inns of, 96, 97, 100-103; - sturdiness and picturesqueness of the trees in, 97; - commons in, 104; - weather of, 106, 107; - the bird-songs of, compared with those of New York and New - England, 113-129; - impressions of some birds of, 131-145; - stillness at twilight in, 194, 195. - _See_ Great Britain. - - English, the, contrasted with the Scotch, 45; - a prolific people, 176-178. - - Europe, animals and plants of, more versatile and dominating - than those of America, 184-186. - - - Farming in the south of England, 80, 81. - - Fells, in the north of England, 158. - - Fern, maiden-hair, 173. - - Fieldfare, 186. - - Finch, purple (_Carpodacus purpureus_), song of, 118, 120, - 123, 129. - - Finches, songs of, 122, 123. - - Fir, Scotch, 39. - - Flicker. _See_ High-hole. - - Flowers, wild, American more shy and retiring than British, - 163, 164, 196; - species fewer but individuals more abundant in Great Britain - than in America, 165; - effect of latitude on the size and color of, 168; - effect of proximity to the sea on, 168, 169; - British less beautiful but more abundant and noticeable than - American, 172, 173; - British and American sweet-scented, 173; - abundance of British, 196. - - Flycatcher, British, 121, 189. - - Flycatcher, great crested (_Myiarchus crinitus_), notes of, - 118, 121. - - Flycatcher, little green or green-crested (_Empidonax - virescens_), notes of, 121. - - Fog, at sea, 271, 272. - - Foliage, in England and America, 29-31. - _See_ Trees. - - Footpath, an English, 89, 90. - - Forget-me-not, 196. - - Fox, European red, 187, 188. - - Foxglove, 90, 133, 148, 165; - a beautiful and conspicuous flower, 166; - in poetry, 166, 167, 196. - - Frederick the Great, 242. - - Frogs, 194. - - Froude, James Anthony, his _Thomas Carlyle_, 258, 259. - - Furze, _or_ whin, 169, 170. - - - Gannets, 189. - - Garlic, hedge, 172. - - Geranium, wild, 168. - - Gillyflower, 162. - - Glasgow, 2, 8, 9, 46, 47, 72. - - Globe-flower, 162. - - Goat Fell, 6. - - Godalming, 89, 91, 92, 101, 102. - - Goethe, 225, 227. - - Goldenrod, 18, 196. - - Goldfinch, American (_Spinus tristis_), notes of, 118, 120, - 122, 123, 129. - - Goldfinch, European, 140; - song of, 122, 129, 140. - - Goose, solan, 189. - - Grasmere, 148-151. - - Grasshoppers, 194. - - Graves, "extinct," 70, 71. - - Great Britain, wild flowers of, 159-174, 196; - species less numerous than in America but individuals more - abundant, 164, 165; - weeds in, 170, 171; - prolific life of, 175-197. - _See_ England, Scotland, _and_ Wales. - - Greenfinch, _or_ green linnet, 140; - notes of, 18, 86, 129, 140. - - Greenock, Scotland, 3, 4. - - Grosbeak, blue (_Guiraca coerulea_), song of, 123. - - Grosbeak, cardinal, _or_ cardinal (_Cardinalis cardinalis_), - song of, 92, 123. - - Grosbeak, rose-breasted (_Habia ludoviciana_), notes of, 118, - 120, 123, 129, 144, 145. - - Grote, George, 231. - - Ground-chestnut. _See_ Pig-nut. - - Grouse, 186. - - Grouse, ruffed (_Bonasa umbellus_), 39. - - Gudgeon, 94. - - Gulls, European, 175, 186, 189. - - - Haggard falcon, 14. - - Hairbird. _See_ Sparrow, social. - - Hamilton, Duke of, his parks, 39, 40, 193. - - Hanger, the, 40, 41, 104. - - Harbledown hill, 11, 12. - - Hare, European, 23, 188, 194. - - Harebell, 168. - - Harvest-fly. _See_ Cicada. - - Hawk, 186. - - Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 44. - - Haymaking in England, 80, 108, 109, 153. - - Hazlemere, 89. - - Heather, 170. - - Hedgehog, 19. - - Hedge-sparrow, 65; - notes of, 129; - nest of, 65. - - Hellebore, green, 172. - - Helvellyn, 153-156. - - Hepatica, 172. - - Herb Robert, 18, 163. - - Herring, on the coast of Scotland, 188, 189. - - High-hole, _or_ flicker (_Colaptes auratus_), notes of, 118, 120. - - Hitchin, 109, 110. - - Honey-bee, 185. - - Honeysuckle, wild, 90. - - House-martin, _or_ martlet, _or_ window-swallow, 142; - notes of, 142; - nest of, 69, 142. - - Hummingbird, ruby-throated (_Trochilus colubris_), notes of, - 115. - - Hunt, Leigh, 230. - - Hyacinth, wild, _or_ bluebell, 163, 172, 196. - - Hyla, 194. - - - Indigo-bird, _or_ indigo bunting (_Passerina cyanea_), song - of, 120, 123, 127, 129. - - Inns, English, 96, 97, 100-103. - - Insects, music of, 194, 195. - - Ireland, the peat of, 1. - - Irving, Edward, 72, 227. - - - Jackdaw, 12, 186; - notes of, 142. - - Jay, British, 93, 98; - notes of, 142. - - Jewel-weed, 173. - - Johnson, Samuel, 225. - - Junco, slate-colored. _See_ Snowbird. - - - Katydids, 194. - - Keats, John, quotations from, 111, 166. - - Kent, walks in, 9-14. - - Kingbird (_Tyrannus tyrannus_), notes of, 118, 121, 127. - - Kinglet, European golden-crested, _or_ golden-crested wren, - 121, 189; - song of, 140. - - Kinglet, golden-crowned, _or_ golden-crowned wren (_Regulus - satrapa_), song of, 121. - - Kinglet, ruby-crowned (_Regulus calendula_), 122; - song of, 121, 122. - - - Lady's-slipper, 172. - - Lake district, the, 148-158. - - Lake Mohunk, 37. - - Lamb, Charles, 228. - - Lapwing, or pewit, 141; - cry of, 107. - - Lark. _See_ Skylark _and_ Wood-lark. - - Lark, grasshopper, notes of, 127. - - Leechmere bottom, 103-105. - - Lichens, in America and in England, 36, 37. - - Linnet, English, song of, 122, 123, 129. - - Linnet, green. _See_ Greenfinch. - - Liphook, 106, 107. - - Live-for-ever, 171. - - Lockerbie, 52. - - London, streets above streets in, 178; - overflowing life of, 181, 182; - a domestic city, 182, 183. - - Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 44. - - Loosestrife, purple, 168. - - - Maidstone, 10. - - Mainhill, 54, 55. - - Maple, European, 30, 31, 173. - - Marigold, corn, 173. - - Martin, purple (_Progne subis_), 125; - notes of, 129. - - Martlet. _See_ House-martin. - - Mavis. _See_ Thrush, song. - - Meadowlark (_Sturnella magna_), notes of, 118, 120, 129. - - Meadow-sweet, 17, 169. - - Medeola, 164. - - Midges, 98. - - Mill, John Stuart, 229, 230. - - Milton, John, quotations from, 42. - - Mirabeau, Comte de, 228, 229. - - Mockingbird (_Mimus polyglottos_), song of, 127-129. - - Moschatel, 172. - - Mountains, of Scotland, 6, 7, 21-25; - of the Lake district, 153-158. - - Mouse, European field, 186. - - Mullein, 171. - - Mustard, wild, 171. - - - Nettle, 18, 20, 160, 161. - - Nettle, Canada, 161. - - Newt, red, 39. - - Nightingale, a glimpse of, 99; - at the head of a series of British song-birds, 142, 143; - notes of, 77-79, 87, 89, 92, 96, 99, 102, 110, 111, 114, - 116, 123, 124, 128, 129, 140, 145. - - Nightjar, notes of, 84. - - Nuthatch, European, 140, 189. - - - Oak, English, 19, 97. - - Ocean, the, voyage across, 267-269; - clouds, 269-273; - fog, 271, 272; - the weather, 273, 274; - animal life, 274, 275; - the end of the voyage, 275, 276. - - Orchids, purple, 168. - - Oriole, Baltimore (_Icterus galbula_), notes of, 118, 120, - 125, 129. - - Oriole, orchard, _or_ orchard starling (_Icterus spurius_), - song of, 120, 125. - - Otter, 187. - - Ousel, ringed, 24. - - Ousel, water, 149, 150. - - Oven-bird. _See_ Wagtail, wood. - - Owl, 188. - - - Pansy, wild, 65. - - Partridge, European, 186; - nest of, 186. - - Peat, 1. - - Pewee, wood (_Contopus virens_), notes of, 39, 121. - - Pewit. _See_ Lapwing. - - Phoebe-bird (_Sayornis phoebe_), notes of, 121. - - Pig-nut, _or_ ground-chestnut, 162, 163. - - Pine, white, 173. - - Pipit, American, _or_ titlark (_Anthus pensilvanicus_), song - of, 129. - - Pipit, meadow, nest and eggs of, 162, 189. - - Pipit, mountain, 24. - - Plane-tree, European, 30. - - Plantain, 19. - - Plantain, narrow-leaved, 16, 17. - - Plato, 225, 226. - - Plowing, in England and Scotland, 53, 54. - - Polecat, 187. - - Polecat Hill, 88. - - Pond-lily, European white, 173. - - Poppy, 52, 165, 173, 196. - - Primrose, 172, 196. - - Privet, 19. - - Prunella, 16, 17, 53, 168. - - - Quail, _or_ bob-white (_Colinus virginianus_), 190. - - - Rabbit, European, 187, 193, 194. - - Railway-trains, the view from, 51. - - Rats, 187. - - Redbreast. _See_ Robin redbreast. - - Redstart, American (_Setophaga ruticilla_), song of, 129. - - Redstart, European, notes of, 129. - - Reed-sparrow, song of, 129. - - Repentance Hill, 67, 68. - - Road-mender, an old, 67. - - Robin, American (_Merula migratoria_), song of, 114, 120, 129, - 136. - - Robin redbreast, 189; - song of, 90, 98, 105, 123, 127, 129, 139, 145; - nest of, 65. - - Rochester Castle, 21, 191. - - Rochester Cathedral, 21. - - Rogers, Samuel, 231. - - Rook, 191, 192; - notes of, 142; - nest of, 192. - - Rook-pie, 191, 192. - - Rose, wild, 17. - - Rothay, the river, 149, 150. - - Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 229. - - Rue-anemone, 172. - - _Rumex acetosa_, 170. - - Rydal Mount, 41. - - - St. John's-wort, 19. - - St. Paul's Cathedral, 182. - - Salisbury Crags, 48, 49. - - Salmon, 188. - - Sandpiper, European, notes of, 40, 115, 141. - - Sandpiper, spotted (_Actitis macularia_), notes of, 115, 120. - - Scotch, the, contrasted with the English, 45; - acquaintances among, 46, 47; - a trait of, 47, 48; - their love for Burns, 48. - - Scotland, first sight of, 2-7; - mountains of, 6, 7, 21-25; - tour through, 8; - moorlands of, 25; - streams and lakes of, 25, 26; - plowing in, 53, 54; - work of women and girls in the fields in, 54; - country houses and village houses in, 62, 63; - free use of paint in, 69, 70. - _See_ Great Britain. - - Scotsbrig, 62. - - Scott, Sir Walter, Carlyle on, 201, 202, 225. - - Sea. _See_ Ocean. - - Sedge-warbler, song of, 85. - - Selbourne, 40, 103-105, 108, 109. - - Shackerford, 94-102. - - Shakespeare, quotations from, 42, 69, 78, 147, 161-164, 184; - and other authors, 147, 210, 212. - - Shakespeare's Cliff, 14. - - Shawangunk Mountains, 37. - - Shilfa. _See_ Chaffinch. - - Ship-building on the Clyde, 4-6. - - Shottery, the fields about, 16, 17. - - Skylark, 80; - in America, 116; - at the head of a series of British song-birds, 142, 143; - song of, 4, 11, 18, 86, 114, 116, 118, 119, 126, 129, 132. - - Snails, ants and snail, 180, 181; - abundance of, in England, 195, 196. - - Snowbird, _or_ slate-colored junco (_Junco hyemalis_), song - of, 125. - - Solomon's-seal, 18. - - Sorrel, sheep, 170. _See_ Dock. - - Southey, Robert, 231. - - Sparrow, bush _or_ wood _or_ field (_Spizella pusilla_), song - of, 118, 120, 121, 127, 129, 143. - - Sparrow, English (_Passer domesticus_), 185; - Carlyle on, 201. - - Sparrow, fox (_Passerella iliaca_), song of, 121, 129. - - Sparrow, savanna (_Ammodramus sandwichensis savanna_), notes - of, 118, 129. - - Sparrow, social _or_ chipping, _or_ hair-bird, _or_ chippie - (_Spizella socialis_), song of, 120, 127. - - Sparrow, song (_Melospiza fasciata_), notes of, 118, 120, 129, - 143. - - Sparrow, swamp (_Melospiza georgiana_), song of, 120. - - Sparrow, vesper (_Poocoetes gramineus_), song of, 120, 129. - - Sparrow, white-crowned (_Zonotrichia leucophrys_), song of, - 121. - - Sparrow, white-throated (_Zonotrichia albicollis_), song of, - 121. - - Sparrows, songs of, 120, 121. - - Speedwell, blue, 160, 167, 196. - - Spring beauty. _See_ Claytonia. - - Spurge, wood, 172. - - Squirrel, European, 195. - - Squirrel, flying (_Sciuropterus volans_), 186, 195. - - Squirrel, gray (_Sciurus carolinensis_ var. _leucotis_), 39, - 195. - - Squirrel, red (_Sciurus hudsonicus_), 195. - - Starling, European, 191; - nest of, 191. - - Starling, orchard. _See_ Oriole, orchard. - - Starling, red-shouldered, _or_ red-winged blackbird (_Agelaius - phoeniceus_), notes of, 118, 120. - - Stone. _See_ Building-stone. - - Stork, nest of, 187. - - Stratford-on-Avon, 15, 17, 19, 26, 169. - - Strawberry, wild, 164. - - Succory, 168. - - Swallow, barn (_Chelidon erythrogaster_), 2. - - Swallow, chimney, _or_ chimney swift (_Chaetura pelagica_), - 190; - notes of, 125, 142; - nest of, 186. - - Swallow, cliff (_Petrochelidon lunifrons_), nests of, 178, - 186. - - Swallow, European chimney, 2, 142; - notes of, 2; - nest of, 2, 142. - - Swallow, window. _See_ House-martin. - - Swift, chimney. _See_ Swallow, chimney. - - Swift, European, notes of, 142; - nest of, 2, 191. - - Swordfish, 274. - - - Tanager, scarlet (_Piranga erythromelas_), song of, 118, 120, - 123, 127, 129. - - Tarns, 153-155. - - Teasel, 19. - - Tennyson, Alfred, quotations from, 30, 160, 163, 166, 167; - residences, 43, 81, 103; - Carlyle's portrait of, 230, 231. - - Thames, up the, 15. - - Thistle, Scotch, 20, 171. - - Thoreau, Henry D., 44. - - Thrasher, brown (_Harporhynchus rufus_), notes of, 117, 120, - 125, 129; - nest of, 117. - - Throstle. _See_ Thrush, song. - - Thrush, hermit (_Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii_), 120; - song of, 123, 128, 129. - - Thrush, missel, song of, 114, 129. - - Thrush, song, _or_ mavis, _or_ throstle, song of, 98, 105, - 114, 129, 134-136, 139, 145. - - Thrush, Wilson's. _See_ Veery. - - Thrush, olive-backed or Swainson's (_Turdus ustulatus - swainsonii_), song of, 145. - - Thrush, wood (_Turdus mustelinus_), notes of, 80, 118, 120, - 123, 127, 129, 144, 145; - nest of, 79, 80. - - Timothy grass, 169. - - Tit, great. _See_ Titmouse, great. - - Tit, marsh, 189. - - Titlark. _See_ Pipit, American. - - Titlark, European, notes of, 129. - - Titmouse, great, _or_ great tit, 189; - notes of, 129. - - Titmouse, long-tailed, 189. - - Toad, 194. - - Tomtit, nest of, 65. - - Towhee. _See_ Chewink. - - Tree-cricket, 194. - - Trees, sturdiness and picturesqueness of English, 97. - _See_ Foliage. - - Trillium, painted, 172. - - Trilliums, 164. - - Trosachs, the, 178. - - Trout, British, 84. - - Turf, of England and Scotland, 20-26, 29, 31, 32. - - - Ulleswater, 153-155. - - Uvularia, 164. - - - Valleys, 149. - - Veery, _or_ Wilson's thrush (_Turdus fuscescens_), 120; - song of, 128, 144, 145. - - Vervain, 168. - - Vetches, 196. - - Violet, bird's-foot, 173. - - Violet, yellow, 164. - - Vireo, brotherly love _or_ Philadelphia (_Vireo philadelphicus_), - song of, 129. - - Vireo, red-eyed (_Vireo olivaceus_), song of, 118, 120, 122, - 127, 129, 143. - - Vireo, solitary _or_ blue-headed (_Vireo solitarius_), 120, - 122; - song of, 129. - - Vireo, warbling (_Vireo gilvus_), song of, 122, 143. - - Vireo, white-eyed (_Vireo noveboracensis_), 122; - song of, 120, 122, 129. - - Vireo, yellow-throated (_Vireo flavifrons_), notes of, 129. - - Vireos, songs of, 122, 128. - - Virgil, quotation from, 79. - - - Wagtail, water. _See_ Water-thrush, large-billed. - - Wagtail, wood, _or_ golden-crowned thrush, _or_ golden-crowned - accentor, _or_ oven-bird (_Seiurus aurocapillus_), song - of, 124, 125, 127-129. - - Wales, rock scenery in, 37. - - Warbler, black-capped. _See_ Blackcap. - - Warbler, black-throated green (_Dendroica virens_), song of, - 129. - - Warbler, Canada (_Sylvania canadensis_), song of, 129. - - Warbler, garden, 141; - song of, 105, 115, 123. - - Warbler, hooded (_Sylvania mitrata_), song of, 129. - - Warbler, Kentucky (_Geothlypis formosa_), song of, 123. - - Warbler, mourning (_Geothlypis philadelphia_), song of, 129. - - Warbler, reed, notes of, 116. - - Warbler, willow, _or_ willow-wren, song of, 129, 136, 137; - nest and eggs of, 66, 137, 189, 190. - - Warbler, yellow. _See_ Yellowbird, summer. - - Water-lily. _See_ Pond-lily. - - Water-plantain, 168. - - Water-thrush, large-billed _or_ Louisiana, _or_ water wagtail - (_Seiurus motacilla_), 124; - song of, 123-125, 129. - - Waxwing, cedar. _See_ Cedar-bird. - - Weasel, 19, 187. - - Webster, Daniel, 231. - - Weeds, in Great Britain and in America, 170, 171. - - Westmoreland, 148-158. - - Whale, 274. - - Wheat-ear, 24, 156. - - Whin. _See_ Furze. - - White, Gilbert, 78, 85, 89, 119-122, 127, 137. - - Whitethroat, song of, 86, 95, 105, 115, 123, 129, 137. - - Wolf, 185, 186. - - Wolmer Forest, 40, 107. - - Woodbine, 38. - - Woodcock, European, 186. - - Wood-frog, 39. - - Wood-lark, 87, 92, 140; - song of, 125, 127, 129. - - Wood-pigeon, notes of, 86, 98. - - Woodruff, 163. - - Woods, of America, 38; - of England, 38-43; - in poetry, 42-44. - - Wordsworth, William, 43; - quotations from, 110, 119, 151, 152, 157, 160, 165, 167; - the poet of those who love solitude, 147; - his house at Grasmere, 151; - his attitude toward nature, 151, 152; - his lonely heart, 157. - - Wren, British house, _or_ Jenny Wren, 66; - notes of, 18, 40, 86, 116, 121, 127, 129, 138; - nest of, 86, 189, 190. - - Wren, European golden-crested. _See_ Kinglet, European - golden-crested. - - Wren, golden-crowned. _See_ Kinglet, golden-crowned. - - Wren, house (_Troglodytes aedon_), song of, 120, 121, 129. - - Wren, long-billed marsh (_Cistothorus palustris_), song of, - 120, 121. - - Wren, willow. _See_ Warbler, willow. - - Wren, winter (_Troglodytes hiemalis_), 121; - song of, 121, 128, 129, 144, 145. - - Wrens, songs of, 121. - - Wryneck, 189. - - - Yarrow, 17, 52. - - Yellowbird, summer, _or_ yellow warbler (_Dendroica aestiva_), - song of, 120, 129. - - Yellow-hammer, _or_ yellow yite, notes of, 16, 18, 127, 129, - 140, 143; - nest of, 65. - - Yellow-throat, Maryland (_Geothlypis trichas_), song of, 118, - 120, 129. - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been left as in the -original. - -The following corrections have been made to the text: - - Page 83: conscious of the train that passed[original has - "paased"] - - Page 103: continue my walk back to Godalming[original has - "Goldalming"] - - Page 204: far enough from Carlyle's sorrowing[original has - "sorowing"] denunciations - - Page 215: he calls the Dauphiness, is unforgettable[original - has "unforgetable"] - - Page 220: pillar of penitence or martyrdom[original has - "martydom"] - - Page 230: great composure in an inarticulate[original has - "inartlculate"] element - - Page 278, under "Carlyle, Thomas": residences of[subentry - title added by transcriber], 49-51, 54, 55 - - Page 279, under "Emerson, Ralph Waldo": statement on - fields[subentry title added by transcriber], 53 - - Page 282, under "Shakespeare": and other authors[subentry - title added by transcriber], 147, 210, 212. - - Page 283, under "Tennyson, Alfred": residences[subentry title - added by transcriber], 43, 81, 103 - -The following index entries have been changed to reflect the spelling -used in the main text: - - Page 277: Bloodroot[original has "Blood-root"], 172. - - Page 278: Cranesbill[original has "Crane's-bill"], 53. - - Page 280: Goldenrod[original has "Golden-rod"], 18, 196. - - Page 283: Swordfish[original has "Sword-fish"], 274. - - Page 284: Yellow-hammer[original has "Yellowhammer"], or - yellow yite - -Punctuation has been standardized in the Index. - -The following words use an "oe" ligature in the original: - - coerula - phoebe - phoebe-bird/Phoebe-bird - phoeniceus - Poocoetes - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRESH FIELDS*** - - -******* This file should be named 44127.txt or 44127.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/4/1/2/44127 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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