In morning hours,Full of flowers,Our swift boats glideO’er life’s bright tide;And every time the oars we raiseThe falling drops like diamonds blaze.From earth and skyComes melody;And ev’ry voiceSingeth, “Rejoice!”While echoes all around prolongThe cadence of that wondrous song.Above each boatBright fairies float,Mounting on airTo castles there.The earth is full of glorious thingsAll tinged with light from rainbow wings.Dear Friendship’s smile,And Love’s sweet wile,Make Life all brightWith genial light,And seem to shine with steady ray,That ne’er can change, or fade away.
In morning hours,Full of flowers,Our swift boats glideO’er life’s bright tide;And every time the oars we raiseThe falling drops like diamonds blaze.From earth and skyComes melody;And ev’ry voiceSingeth, “Rejoice!”While echoes all around prolongThe cadence of that wondrous song.Above each boatBright fairies float,Mounting on airTo castles there.The earth is full of glorious thingsAll tinged with light from rainbow wings.Dear Friendship’s smile,And Love’s sweet wile,Make Life all brightWith genial light,And seem to shine with steady ray,That ne’er can change, or fade away.
In morning hours,Full of flowers,Our swift boats glideO’er life’s bright tide;And every time the oars we raiseThe falling drops like diamonds blaze.
From earth and skyComes melody;And ev’ry voiceSingeth, “Rejoice!”While echoes all around prolongThe cadence of that wondrous song.
Above each boatBright fairies float,Mounting on airTo castles there.The earth is full of glorious thingsAll tinged with light from rainbow wings.
Dear Friendship’s smile,And Love’s sweet wile,Make Life all brightWith genial light,And seem to shine with steady ray,That ne’er can change, or fade away.
* * * * *
More slowly glides life’seveningboat,And withered flowers around it float.The drops fall dark from weary oars,And dismal fogs shroud all the shores.Like widowed bird that mourns alone,Sings Music, in her minor tone,Of flowers that blossom but to die;And echoes answer plaintively.Bright fairies change to limping hags;Their rainbow wings to dingy rags.Dark heavy clouds sail through the air,Where golden castles shone so fair.Strong hearts grow faint, and young ones old;Friendships decline, and Love is cold.Dim twilight changes morn’s idealTo flick’ring shadows, all unreal.But joy remains, if we have thrownFresh flowers to boats around our own.Though currents part us far and wide,Sweet perfumes live from flowers that died.Or if our blossoms formed good seeds,Such as the growing future needs,Those little germs perchance may yieldRich waving crops in Time’s ripe fields.Though dark the tide we’re drifting o’er,It brings us near that brighter shore,Where longing souls at length will knowThe use of this world’s changing show.Meanwhile, though sunlight has gone down,Life’s ev’ning wears a starry crown,Where weary ones, who look above,May read the letters, “God is love.”
More slowly glides life’seveningboat,And withered flowers around it float.The drops fall dark from weary oars,And dismal fogs shroud all the shores.Like widowed bird that mourns alone,Sings Music, in her minor tone,Of flowers that blossom but to die;And echoes answer plaintively.Bright fairies change to limping hags;Their rainbow wings to dingy rags.Dark heavy clouds sail through the air,Where golden castles shone so fair.Strong hearts grow faint, and young ones old;Friendships decline, and Love is cold.Dim twilight changes morn’s idealTo flick’ring shadows, all unreal.But joy remains, if we have thrownFresh flowers to boats around our own.Though currents part us far and wide,Sweet perfumes live from flowers that died.Or if our blossoms formed good seeds,Such as the growing future needs,Those little germs perchance may yieldRich waving crops in Time’s ripe fields.Though dark the tide we’re drifting o’er,It brings us near that brighter shore,Where longing souls at length will knowThe use of this world’s changing show.Meanwhile, though sunlight has gone down,Life’s ev’ning wears a starry crown,Where weary ones, who look above,May read the letters, “God is love.”
More slowly glides life’seveningboat,And withered flowers around it float.The drops fall dark from weary oars,And dismal fogs shroud all the shores.
Like widowed bird that mourns alone,Sings Music, in her minor tone,Of flowers that blossom but to die;And echoes answer plaintively.
Bright fairies change to limping hags;Their rainbow wings to dingy rags.Dark heavy clouds sail through the air,Where golden castles shone so fair.
Strong hearts grow faint, and young ones old;Friendships decline, and Love is cold.Dim twilight changes morn’s idealTo flick’ring shadows, all unreal.
But joy remains, if we have thrownFresh flowers to boats around our own.Though currents part us far and wide,Sweet perfumes live from flowers that died.
Or if our blossoms formed good seeds,Such as the growing future needs,Those little germs perchance may yieldRich waving crops in Time’s ripe fields.
Though dark the tide we’re drifting o’er,It brings us near that brighter shore,Where longing souls at length will knowThe use of this world’s changing show.
Meanwhile, though sunlight has gone down,Life’s ev’ning wears a starry crown,Where weary ones, who look above,May read the letters, “God is love.”
Send thou abroad a love for all who live,And feel the deep content in turn they give.Kind wishes and good deeds—they make not poor;They’ll home again, full laden to thy door.The streams of love flow back where they begin;For springs of outward joys lie deep within.R. W. Dana.
Send thou abroad a love for all who live,And feel the deep content in turn they give.Kind wishes and good deeds—they make not poor;They’ll home again, full laden to thy door.The streams of love flow back where they begin;For springs of outward joys lie deep within.R. W. Dana.
Send thou abroad a love for all who live,And feel the deep content in turn they give.Kind wishes and good deeds—they make not poor;They’ll home again, full laden to thy door.The streams of love flow back where they begin;For springs of outward joys lie deep within.R. W. Dana.
Itis curious to observe how a man’s spiritual state reflects itself in the people and animals around him; nay, in the very garments, trees and stones.
Reuben Black was an infestation in the neighbourhood where he resided. The very sight of him produced effects similar to the Hindoo magical tune, called Raug, which is said to bring on clouds, storms, and earthquakes. His wife seemed lean, sharp, and uncomfortable. The heads of his boys had a bristling aspect, as if each individual hair stood on end with perpetual fear. The cows poked out their horns horizontally, as soon as he opened the barn-yard gate. The dog dropped his tail between his legs, and eyed him askance, to see whathumour he was in. The cat looked wild and scraggy, and had been known to rush straight up the chimney when he moved toward her. Fanny Kemble’s expressive description of the Pennsylvanian stage-horses was exactly suited to Reuben’s poor old nag. “His hide resembled an old hair-trunk.” Continual whipping and kicking had made him such a stoic, that no amount of blows could quicken his pace, and no chirruping could change the dejected drooping of his head. All his natural language said, as plainly as a horsecouldsay it, that he was a most unhappy beast. Even the trees on Reuben’s premises had a gnarled and knotted appearance. The bark wept little sickly tears of gum, and the branches grew awry, as if they felt the continual discord, and made sorry faces at each other, behind their owner’s back. His fields were red with sorrel, or run over with mullein. Every thing seemed as hard and arid as his own visage. Every day, he cursed the town and the neighbourhood, because they poisoned his dogs, and stoned his hens, and shot his cats. Continual law-suits involved him in so much expense, that he had neither time nor money to spend on the improvement of his farm.
Against Joe Smith, a poor labourer in the neighbourhood, he had brought three suits in succession. Joe said he had returned a spade he borrowed, and Reuben swore he had not. He sued Joe, and recovered damages, for which he ordered the sheriffto seize his pig. Joe, in his wrath, called him an old swindler, and a curse to the neighbourhood. These remarks were soon repeated to Reuben. He brought an action for slander, and recovered twenty-five cents. Provoked at the laugh this occasioned, he watched for Joe to pass by, and set his big dog upon him, screaming furiously, “Call me an old swindler again, will you?” An evil spirit is more contagious than the plague. Joe went home and scolded his wife, and boxed little Joe’s ears, and kicked the cat; and not one of them knew what it was all for. A fortnight after, Reuben’s big dog was found dead by poison. Whereupon he brought another action against Joe Smith, and not being able to prove him guilty of the charge of dog-murder, he took his revenge by poisoning a pet lamb, belonging to Mrs. Smith. Thus the bad game went on, with mutual worriment and loss. Joe’s temper grew more and more vindictive, and the love of talking over his troubles at the grogshop increased upon him. Poor Mrs. Smith cried, and said it was all owing to Reuben Black; for a better-hearted man never lived than her Joe, when she first married him.
Such was the state of things when Simeon Green purchased the farm adjoining Reuben’s. The estate had been much neglected, and had caught thistles and mullein from the neighbouring fields. But Simeon was a diligent man, blessed by nature with a healthy organization and a genial temperament; and a wise and kind education had aided nature in the perfection of her goodly work. His provident industry soon changed the aspect of things on the farm. River-mud, autumn leaves, old shoes, and old bones, were all put in requisition to assist in the production of use and beauty. The trees, with branches pruned, and bark scraped free from moss and insects, soon looked clean and vigorous. Fields of grain waved where weeds had rioted. Persian lilacs bowed gracefully over the simple gateway. Michigan roses covered half the house with their abundant clusters. Even the rough rock which formed the door-step, was edged with golden moss. The sleek horse, feeding in clover, tossed his mane and neighed when his master came near; as much as to say “The world is all the pleasanter for having you in it, Simeon Green!” The old cow, fondling her calf under the great walnut tree, walked up to him with serious friendly face, asking for the slice of sugar-beet he was wont to give her. Chanticleer, strutting about, with his troop of plump hens and downy little chickens, took no trouble to keep out of his way, but flapped his glossy wings, and crowed a welcome in his very face. When Simeon turned his steps homeward, the boys threw up their caps and ran out shouting, “Father’s coming!” and little Mary went toddling up to him, with a dandelion blossom to place in his button-hole. His wife was a woman of few words, but she sometimes saidto her neighbours, with a quiet kind of satisfaction, “Everybody loves my husband that knows him. They can’t help it.”
Simeon Green’s acquaintance knew that he was never engaged in a law-suit in his life; but they predicted that he would find it impossible to avoid it now. They told him his next neighbour was determined to quarrel with people, whether they would or not; that he was like John Liburne, of whom Judge Jenkins said, “If the world was emptied of every person but himself, Liburne would still quarrel with John, and John with Liburne.”
“Isthathis character?” said Simeon, in his smiling way. “If he exercises it uponme, I willsoonkill him.”
In every neighbourhood there are individuals who like to foment disputes, not from any definite intention of malice or mischief, but merely because it makes a little ripple of excitement in the dull stream of life, like a contest between dogs or game-cocks. Such people were not slow in repeating Simeon Green’s remark about his wrangling neighbour. “Killme! will he?” exclaimed Reuben. He said no more; but his tightly compressed mouth had such a significant expression, that his dog dodged him, as he would the track of a tiger. That very night, Reuben turned his horse into the highway, in hopes he would commit some depredations on neighbour Green’s premises. But JoeSmith, seeing the animal at large, let down the bars of Reuben’s own corn-field, and the poor beast walked in, and feasted as he had not done for many a year. It would have been a great satisfaction to Reuben if he could have brought a lawsuit against his horse; but as it was, he was obliged to content himself with beating him. His next exploit was to shoot Mary Green’s handsome chanticleer, because he stood on the stone wall and crowed, in the ignorant joy of his heart, two inches beyond the frontier line that bounded the contiguous farms. Simeon said he was sorry for the poor bird, and sorry because his wife and children liked the pretty creature; but otherwise it was no great matter. He had been intending to build a poultry yard, with a good high fence, that his hens might not annoy his neighbours; and now he was admonished to make haste and do it. He would build them a snug warm house to roost in; they should have plenty of gravel and oats, and room to promenade back and forth, and crow and cackle to their heart’s content; there they could enjoy themselves, and be out of harm’s way.
But Reuben Black had a degree of ingenuity and perseverance, which might have produced great results for mankind, had those qualities been devoted to some more noble purpose than provoking quarrels. A pear tree in his garden very improperly stretched over a friendly arm into Simeon Green’s premises. Whether the sunnystate of things there had a cheering effect on the tree I know not; but it happened that this over-hanging bough bore more abundant fruit, and glowed with a richer hue, than the other boughs. One day, little George Green, as he went whistling along, picked up a pear that had fallen into his father’s garden. The instant he touched it, he felt something on the back of his neck, like the sting of a wasp. It was Reuben Black’s whip, followed by such a storm of angry words, that the poor child rushed into the house in an agony of terror. But this experiment failed also. The boy was soothed by his mother, and told not to go near the pear tree again; and there the matter ended.
This imperturbable good nature vexed Reuben more than all the tricks and taunts he met from others. Evil efforts he could understand, and repay with compound interest; but he did not know what to make of this perpetual forbearance. It seemed to him there must be something contemptuous in it. He disliked Simeon Green more than all the rest of the town put together, because he made him feel so uncomfortably in the wrong, and did not afford him the slightest pretext for complaint. It was annoying to see every thing in his neighbour’s domains looking so happy, and presenting such a bright contrast to the forlornness of his own. When their wagons passed each other on the road, it seemed as if Simeon’s horse tossed his head higher, and flung out his mane, as if heknew he was going by Reuben Black’s old nag. He often said he supposed Green covered his house with roses and honeysuckles on purpose to shamehisbare walls. But he didn’t care—not he! He wasn’t going to be fool enough to rothisboards with such stuff. But no one resented his disparaging remarks, or sought to provoke him in any way. The roses smiled, the horse neighed, and the calf capered; but none of them had the least idea they were insulting Reuben Black. Even the dog had no malice in his heart, though he did one night chase home his geese, and bark at them through the bars. Reuben told his master, the next day; he swore he would bring an action against him, if he didn’t keep that dog at home; and Simeon answered very quietly that he would try to take better care of him. For several days a strict watch was kept, in hopes Towzer would worry the geese again; but they paced home undisturbed, and not a solitary bow-wow furnished excuse for a law-suit.
The new neighbours not only declined quarrelling, but they occasionally made positive advances towards a friendly relation. Simeon’s wife sent Mrs. Black a large basket full of very fine cherries. Pleased with the unexpected attention, she cordially replied, “Tell your mother it wasverykind of her, and I am very much obliged to her.” Reuben, who sat smoking in the chimney-corner, listened to this message once without any manifestation of impatience, except whiffing the smoke through his pipe a little faster and fiercer than usual. But when the boy was going out of the door, and the friendly words were again repeated, he exclaimed, “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Peg. They want to give us a hint to send a basket of our pears; that’s the upshot of the business. You may send ’em a basket, when they are ripe; for I scorn to be under obligation, especially to your smooth-tongued folks.” Poor Peggy, whose arid life had been for the moment refreshed with a little dew of kindness, admitted distrust into her bosom, and the halo that radiated round the ripe glowing cherries departed.
Not long after this advance towards good neighbourhood, some labourers employed by Simeon Green, passing over a bit of marshy ground, with a heavy team, stuck fast in a bog occasioned by long continued rain. The poor oxen were entirely unable to extricate themselves, and Simeon ventured to ask assistance from his waspish neighbour, who was working at a short distance. Reuben replied gruffly, “I’ve got enough to do to attend to my own business.” The civil request that he might be allowed to use his oxen and chains for a few moments being answered in the same surly tone, Simeon silently walked off, in search of a more obliging neighbour.
The men, who were left waiting with the patient, suffering oxen, scolded about Reuben’sill-nature, and said they hoped he would get stuck in the same bog himself. Their employer rejoined, “If he does, we will do our duty, and help him out.”
“There is such a thing as beingtoogood-natured,” said they. “If Reuben Black takes the notion that people are afraid of him, it makes him trample on them worse than ever.”
“Oh, wait a while,” replied Mr. Green, smiling, “I will kill him before long. Wait and see if I don’t kill him.”
It chanced, soon after, that Reuben’s team did stick fast in the same bog, as the workmen had wished. Simeon observed it, from a neighbouring field, and gave directions that the oxen and chains should be immediately conveyed to his assistance. The men laughed, shook their heads, and said it was good enough for the old hornet. They, however, cheerfully proceeded to do as their employer had requested. “You are in a bad situation, neighbour,” said Simeon, as he came alongside of the foundered team. “But my men are coming with two yoke of oxen, and I think we shall soon manage to help you out.”
“You may take your oxen back again,” replied Reuben; “I don’t want any of your help.”
In a very friendly tone Simeon answered, “I cannot consent to do that; for evening is coming on, and you have very little time to lose. It is a bad job any time, but it will be still worse in the dark.”
“Light or dark, I don’t askyourhelp,” replied Reuben, emphatically. “I would’nt help you out of the bog, the other day, when you askedme.”
“The trouble I had in relieving my poor oxen teaches me to sympathize with others in the same situation,” answered Simeon. “Don’t let us waste words about it, neighbour. It is impossible for me to go home and leave you here in the bog, and night coming on.”
The team was soon drawn out, and Simeon and his men went away, without waiting for thanks. When Reuben went home that night, he was unusually silent and thoughtful. After smoking a while, in deep contemplation, he gently knocked the ashes from his pipe, and said, with a sigh, “Peg, Simeon Greenhaskilled me!”
“What do you mean?” said his wife, dropping her knitting with a look of surprise.
“You know when he first came into this neighbourhood, hesaidhe’d kill me,” replied Reuben; “and he has done it. The other day, he asked me to help draw his team out of the bog, and I told him I had enough to do to attend to my own business. To-day, my team stuck fast in the same bog, and he came with two yoke of oxen to draw it out. I felt sort of ashamed to havehimlend me a hand, so I told him I didn’t want any of his help; but he answered, just as pleasant as if nothing contrary had ever happened, that night was coming on, and he was not willing to leave me there in the mud.”
“It was very good of him,” replied Peggy. “He is a pleasant-spoken man, and always has a pretty word to say to the boys. His wife seems to be a nice neighbourly body, too.”
Reuben made no answer; but after meditating a while, he remarked, “Peg, you know that big ripe melon down at the bottom of the garden? you may as well carry it over there, in the morning.” His wife said she would, without asking him to explain where “over there” was.
But when the morning came, Reuben walked back and forth, and round and round, with that sort of aimless activity, often manifested by hens, and by fashionable idlers, who feel restless, and don’t know what to run after. At length, the cause of his uncertain movements was explained, by his saying, in the form of a question, “I guess I may as well carry the melon myself, and thank him for his oxen? In my flurry down there in the marsh, I did’nt think to say I was obliged to him.”
He marched off toward the garden, and his wife stood at the door, with one hand on her hip, and the other shading the sun from her eyes, to see if he really would carry the melon into Simeon Green’s house. It was the most remarkable incident that had happened since her marriage. She could hardly believe her own eyes. He walked quick, as if afraid he should not be able to carry the unusual impulse into action if he stopped toreconsider the question. When he found himself in Mr. Green’s house, he felt extremely awkward, and hastened to say, “Mrs. Green, here is a melon my wife sent you, and we reckon it’s a ripe one.” Without manifesting any surprise at such unexpected courtesy, the friendly matron thanked him, and invited him to sit down. But he stood playing with the latch of the door, and without raising his eyes said, “May be Mr. Green ain’t in, this morning?”
“He is at the pump, and will be in directly,” she replied; and before her words were spoken, the honest man walked in, with a face as fresh and bright as a June morning. He stepped right up to Reuben, shook his hand cordially, and said, “I am glad to see you, neighbour. Take a chair. Take a chair.”
“Thank you, I can’t stop,” replied Reuben. He pushed his hat on one side, rubbed his head, looked out of the window, and then said suddenly, as if by a desperate effort, “The fact is, Mr. Green, I didn’t behave right about the oxen.”
“Never mind, never mind,” replied Mr. Green. “Perhaps I shall get into the bog again, some of these rainy days. If I do, I shall know whom to call upon.”
“Why you see,” said Reuben, still very much confused, and avoiding Simeon’s mild clear eye, “you see the neighbors about here are very ugly.If I had always lived by such neighbours as you are, I shouldn’t be just as I am.”
“Ah, well, we must try to be to others what we want them to be to us,” rejoined Simeon. “You know the good book says so. I have learned by experience that if we speak kind words, we hear kind echoes. If we try to make others happy, it fills them with a wish to make us happy. Perhaps you and I can bring the neighbourhood round, in time. Who knows? Let us try, Mr. Black! Let us try! But come and look at my orchard. I want to show you a tree, which I have grafted with very choice apples. If you like I will procure you some scions from the same stock.”
They went into the orchard together, and friendly chat soon put Reuben at his ease. When he returned home, he made no remarks about his visit; for he could not, as yet, summon sufficient greatness of soul to tell his wife that he had confessed himself in the wrong. A gun stood behind the kitchen door, in readiness to shoot Mr. Green’s dog for having barked at his horse. He now fired the contents into the air, and put the gun away in the barn. From that day, henceforth, he never sought for any pretext to quarrel with either the dog or his master. A short time after, Joe Smith, to his utter astonishment, saw him pat Towzer on the head, and heard him say, “Good fellow!”
Simeon Green was far too magnanimous torepeat to any one that his quarrelsome neighbour had confessed himself to blame. He merely smiled as he said to his wife, “I thought we should kill him, after a while.”
Joe Smith did not believe in such doctrines. When he heard of the adventures in the marsh, he said, “Sim Green’s a fool. When he first came here he talked very big about killing folks, if they didn’t mind their Ps and Qs. But he don’t appear to have as much spirit as a worm; for a worm will turn when its trod upon.”
Poor Joe had grown more intemperate and more quarrelsome, till at last nobody would employ him. About a year after the memorable incident of the water-melon, some one stole several valuable hides from Mr. Green. He did not mention the circumstance to any one but his wife; and they both had reasons for suspecting that Joe was the thief. The next week, the following anonymous advertisement appeared in the newspaper of the county:
“Whoever stole a lot of hides on Friday night, the 5th of the present month, is hereby informed that the owner has a sincere wish to be his friend. If poverty tempted him to this false step, the owner will keep the whole transaction a secret, and will gladly put him in the way of obtaining money by means more likely to bring him peace of mind.”[A]
[A]This advertisement is a literal copy of one actually published, and it produced the effects here related.
[A]This advertisement is a literal copy of one actually published, and it produced the effects here related.
This singular advertisement of course excited a good deal of remark. There was much debate whether or not the thief would avail himself of the friendly offer. Some said he would be a greenhorn if he did; for it was manifestly a trap to catch him. But he who had committed the dishonest deed alone knew whence the benevolent offer came; and he knew that Simeon Green was not a man to set traps for his fellow creatures.
A few nights afterward a timid knock was heard at Simeon’s door, just as the family were retiring to rest. When the door was opened, Joe Smith was seen on the steps, with a load of hides on his shoulder. Without raising his eyes, he said in a low, humble tone, “I have brought these back, Mr. Green. Where shall I put them?”
“Wait a moment, till I can get a lantern, and I will go to the barn with you,” he replied. “Then you will come in, and tell me how it happened. We will see what can be done for you.”
Mrs. Green knew that Joe often went hungry, and had become accustomed to the stimulus of rum. She therefore hastened to make hot coffee, and brought from the closet some cold meat and a pie.
When they returned from the barn, she said, “I thought you might feel the better for a little warm supper, neighbour Smith.” Joe turned his back toward her, and did not speak. He leaned his head against the chimney, and after a moment’s silence, he said in a choked voice, “It was the first time I ever stole any thing; and I have felt very bad about it. I don’t know how it is. I didn’t think once I should ever come to be what I am. But I took to quarrelling, and then to drinking. Since I began to go down hill, everybody gives me a kick. You are the first man that has offered me a helping hand. My wife is feeble, and my children starving. You have sent them many a meal, God bless you! and yet I stole the hides from you, meaning to sell them the first chance I could get. But I tell you the truth, Mr. Green, it is the first time I ever deserved the name of thief.”
“Let it be the last, my friend,” said Simeon, pressing his hand kindly. “The secret shall remain between ourselves. You are young, and can make up for lost time. Come, now, give me a promise that you will not drink one drop of intoxicating liquor for a year, and I will employ you to-morrow, at good wages. Mary will go to see your family early in the morning, and perhaps we may find some employment for them also. The little boy can at least pick up stones. But eat a bit now, and drink some hot coffee. It will keep you from wanting to drink any thing stronger to-night. You will find it hard to abstain, at first, Joseph; but keep up a brave heart, for the sake of your wife and children, and it will soon become easy. When you feel the need of coffee, tell my Mary, and she will always give it to you.”
Joe tried to eat and drink, but the food seemed to choke him. He was nervous and excited. After an ineffectual effort to compose himself, he laid his head on the table and wept like a child.
After a while, Simeon persuaded him to bathe his head in cold water, and he ate and drank with a good appetite. When he went away, the kind-hearted host said, “Try to do well, Joseph, and you shall always find a friend in me.”
The poor fellow pressed his hand and replied,—“I understand now how it is you kill bad neighbours.”
He entered in Mr. Green’s service the next day, and remained in it many years, an honest and faithful man.
“The whole subject of the brute creation is to me one of such painful mystery, that I dare not approach it.”—Dr. Arnold.“If we deny themsoul, we must admit that they havesome spirit direct from God, what we call unerring instinct, which holds the place of it.”—Sir Isaac Newton.
“The whole subject of the brute creation is to me one of such painful mystery, that I dare not approach it.”—Dr. Arnold.
“If we deny themsoul, we must admit that they havesome spirit direct from God, what we call unerring instinct, which holds the place of it.”—Sir Isaac Newton.
Anyreflecting person who has lived much in the country, and been observant of animals, must have had thoughts similar to those expressed in the above mottoes. Even the smallest and most common animals sometimes give indications of thought, feeling, and memory, almost as remarkable as those related of the “half-reasoning elephant.” If we could penetrate into the mysteries of their domestic arrangements, and learn of the humming-bird why she makes her little thimble of a nest so exactly the color of the tree on which it is placed, and of the mason-bee why he makes his small mortared cell to resemble so closely the stones of the wall where he inserts it, we should probably be still more puzzled to define the boundary between instinct and reason.
Several times in my life my attention has been arrested, and my mind excited to activity, by singular manifestations of intelligence in animals thatcame under my observation. A few summers ago, when I was living at an old farm-house in New York, I chanced to go into the garret late in the afternoon. The sun was setting in a blaze of glory, and I knelt at the western window, looking out long and lovingly upon the broad expanse of field and meadow, on which he was throwing a shower of gold as he passed away. After a while, my attention was diverted from this beautiful scene by the motions of a wasp, that emerged from a crevice in the old window, and began to nibble off thin, soft slivers of the decaying wood, to be used in constructing her nest. I bent very near to her, trying to ascertain by what process she cut up the materials so dexterously. Suddenly, she stopped working, drew back a little, and appeared to watchmeas closely as I watchedher. At first, I thought this was a delusion of my imagination; for I supposed her eyes were too small to see me. So I continued gazing at her, waiting to observe what she would do. She remained motionless, in an attitude that expressed surprise and consternation as plainly as an insectcouldexpress them. Presently, another wasp came up from the same crevice, and began to nibble at the rotten wood. The first wasp immediately put out one of her antennæ, and pulled the antenna of her neighbour, as I would jog the elbow of a companion, if I wished to call her attention to something extraordinary. The second wasp drew back instantly, in the same attitude, and, without stirring, appeared to gaze at me fixedly. A third wasp came. One of her antennæ was cautiously pulled by the second comer; and she did precisely as they had done. It may seem absurd to say I was troubled by the fixed stare of three wasps; but there was something sohumanabout their proceedings, that Iwastroubled. I was in the presence of a mystery. I asked myself, WhatamI to them? Do I appear like a vision of some superior being from another world? From this thought, I came down to the recollection that the sun was gleaming brightly on my eyes, and that, perhaps, their attention had been arrested merely by two great orbs of glittering light. What were they thinking of? Would they finally conclude to attack my eyes? I turned away suddenly, deeming it imprudent to stay any longer to ascertain that point. I was so much impressed by this little incident, that I frequently related it to my friends; and for years afterward, I frequently found myself conjecturing what those wasps thought of the apparition by which they were so obviously startled.
At the same farm-house there were two cats. Tom, who was old, heavy, and cross; and Mouser, who was remarkably active and nimble. Her hunting qualities were famous throughout the neighbourhood. She kept the premises clear of rats and mice, and visited all the barns and fields in the vicinity for the same purpose. While I wasthere, she had three kittens, which seemed to be the especial objects of Tom’s ill nature. When they began to open their eyes and stagger about, they sometimes stumbled over him; for which they were sure to receive a smart box on the ear. More than once, I saw his heavy paw knock the little blundering things topsy-turvy when they came near him. He even kept up a threatening growl if they seemed to be approaching from a distance. Things were in this state, when Mouser came into the kitchen one day, writhing and moaning, and giving every indication of great pain. Her body soon began to swell, and her manifestations of suffering grew more and more violent. The family were remarkably kind to animals, and Mouser was such a valuable creature, that they were very desirous to save her life. They knew not whether she had been poisoned, or kicked by the horse, during her frequent visits to the barn; and of course, they were doubtful what remedies to apply. They put her in a warm bath, and tried to pour catnip tea down her throat; but their efforts were unavailing. In an hour or two, poor pussy was dead.
While she was in this agonizing extremity, Tom seemed to rouse from his usual state of drowsy indifference. He lay with his head between his paws, watching her earnestly for awhile; then he rose up and walked round her, evidently much disquieted. When he saw her lying stiff and coldon the floor, he made no whining noise; but his proceedings seemed to indicate that he knew what had happened. The kittens were nestled together on the platform of the old Dutch “stoop.” He went out to them, and began to lick their fur in the most affectionate manner. After that, he was never seen to knock them about, and never heard to growl at them. Their own mother could not have treated them with more tenderness, or submitted to their gambols with more patience. Apparently, they mistook the gruff old fellow for their mother; for they went to him for nourishment, and he made no resistance. Again and again, I saw him stretched on the floor of the “stoop,” while the kittens appeared to be sucking with all diligence, moving their little paws, as if satisfied and happy. This circumstance, of course, excited surprise in the family. One asked another whether it was possible that they obtained milk, or whether they drew blood for their sustenance. Tom never gave any indications of suffering inconvenience from this singular imitation of the maternal office. He must have nourished them insomeway; for they did not learn to lap milk for several days; yet they lived, and seemed comfortable and thriving. After Tom took upon himself the care of the orphans, he seemed to become really fond of them, and to enjoy the frolics that had formerly made him so angry. The voluntary exercise of benevolence improved his temper wonderfully forthe time being, and evidently made him a much happier cat.
An intimate friend has often mentioned to me incidents that occurred on his farm, illustrative of brute sagacity. He owned a noble great ox, uncommonly strong, docile, and intelligent. One day, when he and another ox were ploughing swampy land, they sank very deep into a quagmire. Having made vigorous exertions to extricate himself, and finding the utmost exertion of his strength was ineffectual, he quietly waited for human aid. But his companion had an impatient and irritable disposition, to which the lessons of experience could teach no wisdom. He continued to struggle violently, at intervals, and every motion wrenched the neck of his suffering yoke-fellow. The gentle creature bore it patiently for a while; but at last it became insupportable. His owner was standing completely behind him, leaning on the plough, until more help could be brought to draw them out of the “slough of despond,” into which they had fallen. The much-enduring animal turned his long neck slowly round, and fixed his large patient eyes upon the man, with such an earnest, imploring gaze, sohumanin its expression, that it could never be forgotten. It said, as plainly as a lookcouldsay it, “Can you not contrive some way to relieve me from this tormenting companion?” His owner understood the silent appeal, and immediately divorced the unhappy couple, by removingthe yoke from the restless one; thus leaving him free to waste his own strength, without injuring his more philosophic companion. This happened fifteen years ago; but I was reminded of it yesterday, by hearing my friend utter his often-repeated exclamation: “If I live to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget how that ox looked at me.”
The same person often speaks of the sagacity manifested by another ox on his farm. It was late in the evening, and all the animals were safely lodged in the barn, when his attention was arrested by loud knocks in that direction. They continued to be repeated, at intervals of ten or fifteen minutes, for an hour or more; and the idea that some vagrant might be in the barn doing mischief, at last induced him to go out with a lantern to examine the premises. Finding nothing unusual, he gave up the search and retired to rest. But the heavy, measured sound continued, and excited curiosity to such a degree, that it was impossible to sleep. Another examination of the barn was made with the same result as before; but this time, my friend ensconced himself in a corner, and waited for a recurrence of the mysterious noise. In a few minutes, he saw an ox raise one of his hind hoofs, and strike the floor heavily three times. Supposing the animal must have some cause for dissatisfaction, he examined his stable, and found that the man had forgotten to furnish the usual supply of fresh straw for him to lie down upon.His demand for clean sheets was complied with, and no more knockings were heard from him.
Another agricultural friend owned a colt endowed with uncommon beauty and intelligence. He was about a year and a half old when he first saw a string of bells suspended round his mother’s neck when she was harnessed for a drive. The novel sound immediately arrested his attention, and seemed to enliven him greatly. He stood with uplifted ears, watching and listening, till the sleigh had passed out of sight and hearing; then, giving a snort and a rear, he capered round the barn-yard, in a state of unusual excitement. When the mare returned, the sound of the bells attracted him from afar, and he appeared to observe them closely when they were taken off and laid in the sleigh with the harness. As soon as the man had left them, the playful creature seized them between his teeth and trotted up and down the road, shaking them with prodigious satisfaction. This manner of playing old horse was evidently as entertaining to him, as it is to a boy to imitate the trainers with his feathered cap and drum.
The natural dispositions of animals differ, as do those of mankind; but the intelligence and docility of brutes, as well as of human beings, is wonderfully increased when they are judiciously reared, and treated with habitual kindness. It is not easy to tell how far the superiority of Arabian horses may be attributed to the affectionate companionship that exists between them and their masters. The whip is a detestable instrument. The evil it produces is immensely disproportioned to the temporary convenience it promotes. It compels submission for the time being; but it stupefies the intellect, and infuses malignity into the disposition, whether tried on children, slaves, or animals. The common practice of whipping a horse, to cure him of being frightened by some particular object, usually has the effect of giving him two causes of fear, instead of one. I remember reading of a much more judicious method, in Mrs. Hamilton’s Essays on Education, published in England about thirty years ago. A horse of an excellent disposition had been frightened by a drum, when he was a colt, and nothing could overcome his excessive terror of that instrument. The whippings he received, when he reared and plunged at the sound, rendered his associations with it so exceedingly painful, that his whole nervous system was excited to violent agitation, the instant he heard it approaching. He was finally purchased by a gentleman, who believed more in the efficacy of kindness, than he did in coercion. He kept him without food till he was hungry, and then spread oats on a drum-head. As soon as he began to eat, the groom began to drum. The frightened animal ran away, and could not be lured back again by the tempting display of provender. He was deprived of food for a still longer time, and the experimentwas again tried with similar result. But the third time, hunger proved stronger than fear, and he devoured his oats with the hated noise sounding louder and louder in his ears. After being thus rationally convinced that a drum would do him no harm, he ceased to be troublesome, and voluntarily walked toward the sound which had become so pleasantly associated in his memory.
If men would educate animals in a sensible and patient manner, and treat them with habitual gentleness, it would produce intelligence and docility apparently miraculous, and realize on earth the prophecies of the millenium.
Few, in the days of early youth,Trusted like me in love and truth.I’ve learned sad lessons from the years;But slowly, and with many tears;For God made me to kindly viewThe world that I was passing through.How little did I once believeThat friendly tones could e’er deceive!That kindness, and forbearance long,Might meet ingratitude and wrong!I could not help but kindly viewThe world that I was passing through.And though I’ve learned some souls are base,I would not, therefore, hate the race;I still would bless my fellow men,And trust them, though deceived again.God help me still to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through!Through weary conflicts I have passed,And struggled into rest at last;Such rest as comes when the rack has brokeA joint, or nerve, at ev’ry stroke.But the wish survives to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through.From all that fate has brought to meI strive to learn humility;And trust in Him who rules above,Whose universal law is love.Thus only can I kindly viewThe world that I am passing through.When I approach the setting sun,And feel my journey nearly done,May earth be veiled in genial light,And her last smile to me seem bright!Help me, till then, to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through!And all who tempt a trusting heartFrom faith and hope to drift apart,May they themselves be spared the painOf losing power to trust again!God help us all to kindly viewThe world that we are passing through!
Few, in the days of early youth,Trusted like me in love and truth.I’ve learned sad lessons from the years;But slowly, and with many tears;For God made me to kindly viewThe world that I was passing through.How little did I once believeThat friendly tones could e’er deceive!That kindness, and forbearance long,Might meet ingratitude and wrong!I could not help but kindly viewThe world that I was passing through.And though I’ve learned some souls are base,I would not, therefore, hate the race;I still would bless my fellow men,And trust them, though deceived again.God help me still to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through!Through weary conflicts I have passed,And struggled into rest at last;Such rest as comes when the rack has brokeA joint, or nerve, at ev’ry stroke.But the wish survives to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through.From all that fate has brought to meI strive to learn humility;And trust in Him who rules above,Whose universal law is love.Thus only can I kindly viewThe world that I am passing through.When I approach the setting sun,And feel my journey nearly done,May earth be veiled in genial light,And her last smile to me seem bright!Help me, till then, to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through!And all who tempt a trusting heartFrom faith and hope to drift apart,May they themselves be spared the painOf losing power to trust again!God help us all to kindly viewThe world that we are passing through!
Few, in the days of early youth,Trusted like me in love and truth.I’ve learned sad lessons from the years;But slowly, and with many tears;For God made me to kindly viewThe world that I was passing through.
How little did I once believeThat friendly tones could e’er deceive!That kindness, and forbearance long,Might meet ingratitude and wrong!I could not help but kindly viewThe world that I was passing through.
And though I’ve learned some souls are base,I would not, therefore, hate the race;I still would bless my fellow men,And trust them, though deceived again.God help me still to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through!
Through weary conflicts I have passed,And struggled into rest at last;Such rest as comes when the rack has brokeA joint, or nerve, at ev’ry stroke.But the wish survives to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through.
From all that fate has brought to meI strive to learn humility;And trust in Him who rules above,Whose universal law is love.Thus only can I kindly viewThe world that I am passing through.
When I approach the setting sun,And feel my journey nearly done,May earth be veiled in genial light,And her last smile to me seem bright!Help me, till then, to kindly viewThe world that I am passing through!
And all who tempt a trusting heartFrom faith and hope to drift apart,May they themselves be spared the painOf losing power to trust again!God help us all to kindly viewThe world that we are passing through!