The Portland daily press., 1868-06-30
Letters of n VasabOnd.-No. 4.
REuIND HuJ lima 97 1880


nothing here TO remind one of what we call
civilization. You may ride all day without
seeing telegraph pole; and "the resonant
steam eagles" as somebody POLITICALLY called
locomotives, have never yet disturbed these
leaty solitudes with their scream and roar.
The weather is perfectly glorious. Still
and hot, but not dry. The long continued
rains of spring have left a freshness and
moisture everywhere which is delightful; and
vegetation is coming forward with rank
luxurance suggestive of the tropics. The grass
ia the fields is lush and tall; the forests are
mass of varied verdure above, and below
tangle of fragrant, rank-growing ferns. The
birds are in full chorus. This is their season
of jubilee, and they give US a brilliant per-
formance every morning and evening Don't
talk to me Of opera bouffe. What is the
Grande DucheSse in comparison with the
music, mirth and jollity OF the piece that is
being performed tor our benefit this morning.
Not Bateman or any other manager can pro-
duce bqfo singer to we with Signor Bobo-
linconi whose merry delicious notes are even
now ring ing in my ears. FIom where / am
sitting l can see him swinging with gay,
insouciont motion on the longest branch of
an alder by the side of the brook. What a
dandy he is, with his shiny black coat and
gay waistcoat; and how the rich notes come
bubbling from his swelling throat. Whirr!
there he goes, reeling tipsily across that slop-
ing field, singing all the way, and fiuttering
Any 70 "a, Sc -, ,l,o.
clump of bushes growing round a pile of
stones.
1t is nearly noon now, and intensely hot
The farmhouse where we have passed the
night is pleasant and its inhabitants so hos
pitable that we leel in no hurry to get
away; accordingly we decide not
to have the horses out until
the heat begins to abate. / am writing
now, with the Doctors sketching-board for
my table, seated on the warm grass of a
meadow, under an old butternut tree which
spreads outriike tent, and drops a cool ring
Of shadow all around. Close by is brook
that would be called river in any land but
ours which is so rich in great rivers. But it
is beautiful stream, and IT comes whirng
down out of long wooded ravine, and goes
ed with brown alders, and overhung with all
sorts of generous growths. There are dark
spots under the roots of trees, and holes and
eddies among the stones where it looks as if
the speckled trout might lie. caught the
Whit Of a cigar from that direction little
tUhila nd I ha ;e
his luck with the line; but he ought to know
that good angler never smokes beside a
trout stream. On my left rises smooth
round hill crowned with noble growth OF
maple trees, whose straight, columnar trunks
and solid masses OF dark verdure have most
park-like effect. A flock of sheep are crop
ping the grass of the slope. They are newly
shOrn and look sillier and more awkward than
sheep usually do, which is saying a great
deal; but the cattle ruminating here and
there in the shade, or standing knee-deep in
the cool water of the biook, wear an ex-
tremely placid and dignifed air.
On my right, beyond the strip of clover
field and the yellow high road, is the farm
house. 1t is an ancient, roomy structure
with clump OF tall lilac bushes, just now in
fragrant bloom, at one corner, and round
flat stone bedded in the grass before the en-
| trance serving as doorstep. At some time
long ago there seems to have been an insane
attempt made to paint it white; but the
| painter got no further than a part of one
end OF the building. Then the undertaking
was speedily dropped, and benefeent nature
speedily with sun and wind and rain obliter
ated the vandal touch. Now it is all of near
iy the same pleasant weather stained hue. III
the rear is perfect colony of barns an6
sheds, facing to all points of the compass
and joining each other al all conceiv
able angles, each one weather-color
ed like the house, except the doors and
the spaces under the gables, which have beel
painted a warm dark red. One is little a
a loss to understand just why those particu
rest lett, but it seems to be favorite style o
finish in this region, and the effect is yer.
pleasing especially under the cold gray skie
of our New England springs and autumns
Il But there is no coldness now to complain
OF. 1t is the very crown and climax of the
perfect summer. might quote you Mr.. Low
ell on June but for the fact that he has
been quoted occasionally before, and the ci
tation might not strike you as PARTICULAR,
new; and then doubt if l have quite energy
enough to quote anybody. This kind o.
weather is not conducive to activity, Or stm
IL
other hand, what an inexpressibly restful .snt
healing power it has. Nature, the great Low
iag mother of us all, now in this season of he.
FULLEST and richest life, is lavish of her gra
cious and beneficent ministries. How she
takes her weary children to her bosom, an,
smoothes away the wrinkles Of old pain
Who can watch tn S great annual miracle o
renewal going on all around without feeling
himself renewed and strengthened? Th'
wind talking in the airy tree above me, the
bees droning in the red clover, the puiplsl
shadows under the naples, the calm SIX.
bending over, all have a voice that whisper:
of rest and peace One ceases to think o.
strive, and is content simply to be. The
time spent in this kind of idleness is no
wasted. Land that lies fallow gains strength
from the sun and wind and rain; and it i
good, too, for the soul of man sometimes t
lie still and be breathed over by natures gen
tie and subtitle influences. i am not at al
sure that it is not wicked to work in June.
think of submitting the question to the mex
convention Of. theologians.
| ds Summer is ycomen in; ,a#a. ..
l. Loud sings cuckoo! .
ta Grow, tn seede and bloweth meade
| rra And sp yngeth the weede anew
The farmer, coming from his work in dis
tant field, passes by where l sit and stops t.
chat He is an old man, gray-haired and {
little bent with labor. He is a shrewd ant