The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1871-08-05
Letter from the Se0-Sho9'e.

SwAMPscOTT, MASS, Aug. l, 1871.
DEAR UNION Il have varied seaside lie a
little by running away from it. That state
ment looks as if it were German coresin to an
Irish bull! In these days of mixed races, how
ever, that is not of so much moment Mixed
| things seem to be the order, from drinks up to
IDEAS Indeed what is there just now in poll
tics, religion, science, business, intercourse that
has not the air Of very general mixedness?
Well, in sort of amphibious spirit I have
struck inland, left the sea and gone to the farm,
left the boat and taken to the bayfield,, for the
breeze of ocean exchanged the breath of COWS,
and for the murmur of waters the songof birds
and the growing of cocks. On the ocean shore
you have no silence. Not even night is STILL
but ever one voice speaks, one restless spirit
wakes and chafes rock and sand, so as you
sometimes long for the power to say "peace, be
STILL" In the country, away from town and
neighbor, silence reigns, is the one law and or
der. Your noises are all your own, and not
even cricket voices itself as you take your
farewell look at the glorious procession of the
stars, marching so statelily and so silently over
the slumbers of world. If the sun had not
something to do with it doubt if one would
ever wake, so still the morning is, and the noon
provokingly coaxes you again toward that
shadowy land of dreams and there is nor voice
nor sound to rouse you. There ere always
straying about myriad invisible influences,
from the hay NOV. the huckleberry pasture,
the shadows of trees, the old well-sweep which
make up not only a lazy charm and luxury,
but which keep from being lazy, and wake life
up, ever and anon, and send it out into surpris-
ing and genial activity, and one finds himself,
despite silence and all lethargic temptings,
wide awake, and taking in at every pore the
wholesome air that fingers about and never
strays from the farm. I incline to the opinion
that cities are mistakes. Why wasn't Adam
planted in one-Babel or GomOrrah? If it be
true as some astute critic has lately asserted
that Adam spent most of his time in the coun-
try, may it not be legitimate to surmise that
his domestic troubles began, where SO many
mans have since, by letting his wife go into
the city? don't see any chance the devil has
in the country, but in the city
But that isn't what sat down to talk about.
One of your subscribers and one of my Balti-
moro neighbors has an old ancestral mansion
in our little neighbor State of Rhode Island, to
which, with genuine Yankee love, he makes
annual pilgrimage, and fortunate, as he of
whom Virgil sings, spends the long summer
hours on his paternal acres. Instead of NEW
ing in narrow counting room and mulling
over "much goods for many years." he gets
away from and treats to reasonable oblivion
all these, forgets bargains and ships, and gets
up the tallest kind of brag about hay crop and
milk-crop and egg crop, and talks bravey of
manurcS and oxen and stone walls, and drives
no pair except they be oxen and wears the
shockngest hat that might ornament that
knight of the field whose tournament is sup
posed to be at granverous crows.
It's rare old spot-that it is old its great
charm. At the end of the long avenue of trees
is the gambril rooted mansion, under whose
door ways steop you must, for our foreiathers
may have been stiff necked and high minded,
but they knew when and where to stoop, and
taught at the very threshold a lesson of humil-
ity to all corners. BY the way, was the en-
trance to house called a stoop to remind one
that that was what he had to do would he
properly respect his head
Not only is the house old, but all things in
it are In these perverted days fashion goes to
work and makes new things in old fashion,
But here are the old things and we say they
are better. They are the real and not the pre-
tence the solid and not the sham. They have
the years on them. The polish is of time not
art. Generations have sat in the chairs, slept
on the beds, listened to tho old clock, have sat
about the old doorway, have come and are
gone. And so there is sort Of halo about it
all, something we Americans don't think
enough of, in un-apostolic haste anxious to for
get the things behind and press toward prize
hardly bright with peerless glores.
1t was very pleasant contrast to sea side
life, an walked longings never long in smoth-
er for the true farmers life which the expert
ences and years of life have never cooled
There must be something in this universal
craving for country life deeper than sentiment,
hint OF instinct. 1t is something higher than