The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1850-1873, 1869-10-22
Saturday Afternoon.
BY HARRIET BEEcHKR STOWE.

BY HARRIET BEECHKR STOWE.
IT is our opinion that every human be-
ing needs to have some one thing in which
he takes pleasure for itself al0ne-not as
work, net as duty, but as diversion.
In old times, when children were strict
ly schooled and ruled, Saturday afternoon
was the children's perquisite-th little
peculium. Then they did what they
pleased. At all other times, they did as
they were bid.
Grown children need something CORE
spending to this They need time when
they let off the strain of the dreadful MUST
something which they can do or leave
undone at pleasure, but which they do for
the pure love of it.
What this thing is varies with character.
With some it is pure l0dfng-sitt;ng in a
state of quiescent enjoyment of sunshine
and nature. Wordsworth calls it
1.-THE harvest OF a quiet eye,
and sings verses In praise OF 1t eloquent as
the murmur of brooks.
Poets, imaginative men, and sensitive
people of all kind, are given to silent,
brooding wanderings, lying under trees,
gazing listlessly into the sky, and letting
nature rock them as in a cradle.
Such a person goes out into nature
neither as a botanist, mineralogist, nor
scientist of any kind. There is pOrk in all
these, and what he seeks is repose. The
glOriied patron saint of all loafers, the
divine Wordsworth, has settled this matter
for all his followers in two stanzas:
"Content if he may but enjoy
The things that others understand"
What splendid loafng was done in all
that lake region, as he wandered in q sort
of illuminated fog, trailing clouds of glory
after him! How cool and fresh and dewy
he made the hot, sultry air of English lit
eraturc, which had become close and swell
tering with Byron brimstone!
No wonder men looked on his poetry as
new evangel, and quoted it with tears in
their eyes, for there was in it the very rest
and repose which the hot, weary turbu
lence of modern life made necessary!
Wordsworth was and still is the poet of
repose and peace, as needful now as when
he wrote. He is, to be sure, all essentially
English in his details. 1t is an English
landscape, English trees, and English flow
ers he presents; but the spirit of his poet
ry applies equally well to the bright skies
and rainbow woods of America, as to the
showery green regions fthe English lakes.
Hawthornelwas follower of Wordsworth
in spirit. His prose is essentially poetry,
and it is the poetic character of his short
pieces that gives the never-dying charm
to them, and will make them immortal as
far as the English language is immortal.
Dr. Holmes has, in 81 Elsie Venner," pas
sages which show that even his subtle,
merclrial temperament had felt the charm
of this silent, quiescent state of baptism
into nature. Brilliant as he is in social
circles, it is evident from some of his
writings, that he has been for many hours
of his life hushed and silent listener and
pupil, a passive receiver and believer of
WOrdsworth's doctrine:
"Nor less deem that there are powers
Which of themselves our minds impress,
That we can feed this mind of ours
In a wise passiveness.
Think You In all this mighty sum
OF things forever speaking,
That nothing of itself will come,
But we must still be seekingr'
The resting grounds Of minds, however,
must be various but we think men and
women more and more wear out for want
of them.
When, o busy friend! hot with the
Wall-street chase, when do you get
Saturday afternoon ?-and where do you
play? Where, poor, dear mother of a
great family of boys and girls, is your little
comfortable play ground? These noisy,
bright, romping, crowding boys and girls,
who, every one of them, press upon you
and leave you not moment to yourself,
have they each favorite little amusement
or ,solace. Tina and Bessie have their
dolls and baby houses|Tom and Jack
their boats and railroad cars-your collie
gian his cigar and his newspaper-your
daughter her embroidery and music. What
have you: Is there moment any where
sacred to your own private peculiar pleas
ures What is your Saturday afternoon?
What thing 90 you do purely for the pleas
ure it gives, and not as duty?
Some mothers have their reading,
which leads to late hours When every
CAV head in the hive is on its pillow, and
the clock ticks in the still house, then
comes the precious, quiet hour of reading.
Blessed soul who shall forbid it to her,
but who does not wish she had been able
to take it fresh, and unwearied, out of her
morning hours?
Some women seem to find real pleas
ure in sewing. 1t soothes their nerves,
and they go on sewing, stitch after stitch,
their griefs and cares passing away as the
work for some loved one grows under
their hands.
There are garments, sacred as the grave
clothes in Christ's sepulchre, that patient
women have wrought, who sent q prayer
with every motion of the needle. Sons
and husbands have been thus clothed, who
knew not what they were wearing; but
blessing always goes with all such love
work.
Some mothers have learned in early
days pencil-craft, or artistic skill, and laid
it aside in motherly decentralization.
Dear mother, keep this gift for yourself
get out your boxes and colors-sharpen
your pencils s-sketcli-paint-it will do
you good; it will rest your nerves; it viii
brighten your thoughts; it will give spring,
elasticity, and cheerfulness to your life,
and the more yoa are, the more you will
have to give to others. =
For ourselves, some little fancy for