the complete writings-3-第22节

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n　the　market。　Occasionally　he　blunders　into　a　sable…trap；　and　he　is　altogether　hateful　in　his　ways；　and　has　the　most　uncultivated　voice　that　is　heard　in　the　woods。　　We　shall　remember　him　as　one　of　the　least　pleasant　phantoms　of　that　cheerful　night　when　we　lay　in　the　storm；　fearing　any　moment　the　advent　to　one　of　us　of　the　grimmest　messenger。

We　rolled　up　and　shouldered　our　wet　belongings；　and；　before　the　shades　had　yet　lifted　from　the　saturated　bushes；　pursued　our　march。　It　was　a　relief　to　be　again　in　motion；　although　our　progress　was　slow；　and　it　was　a　question　every　rod　whether　the　guide　could　go　on。　We　had　the　day　before　us；　but　if　we　did　not　find　a　boat　at　the　inlet　a　day　might　not　suffice；　in　the　weak　condition　of　the　guide；　to　extricate　us　from　our　ridiculous　position。　　There　was　nothing　heroic　in　it；　we　had　no　object：　it　was　merely；　as　it　must　appear　by　this　time；　a　pleasure　excursion；　and　we　might　be　lost　or　perish　in　it　without　reward　and　with　little　sympathy。　　We　had　something　like　a　hour　and　a　half　of　stumbling　through　the　swamp　when　suddenly　we　stood　in　the　little　trail！　　Slight　as　it　was；　it　appeared　to　us　a　very　Broadway　to　Paradise　if　broad　ways　ever　lead　thither。　　Phelps　hailed　it　and　sank　down　in　it　like　one　reprieved　from　death。　　But　the　boat？　Leaving　him；　we　quickly　ran　a　quarter　of　a　mile　down　to　the　inlet。　The　boat　was　there。　　Our　shout　to　the　guide　would　have　roused　him　out　of　a　death…slumber。　　He　came　down　the　trail　with　the　agility　of　an　aged　deer：　never　was　so　glad　a　sound　in　his　ear；　he　said；　as　that　shout。　　It　was　in　a　very　jubilant　mood　that　we　emptied　the　boat　of　water；　pushed　off；　shipped　the　clumsy　oars；　and　bent　to　the　two…mile　row　through　the　black　waters　of　the　winding；　desolate　channel；　and　over　the　lake；　whose　dark　waves　were　tossed　a　little　in　the　morning　breeze。　　The　trunks　of　dead　trees　stand　about　this　lake；　and　all　its　shores　are　ragged　with　ghastly　drift…wood；　but　it　was　open　to　the　sky；　and　although　the　heavy　clouds　still　obscured　all　the　mountain…　ranges　we　had　a　sense　of　escape　and　freedom　that　almost　made　the　melancholy　scene　lovely。

How　lightly　past　hardship　sits　upon　us！　　All　the　misery　of　the　night　vanished；　as　if　it　had　not　been；　in　the　shelter　of　the　log　cabin　at　Mud　Pond；　with　dry　clothes　that　fitted　us　as　the　skin　of　the　bear　fits　him　in　the　spring；　a　noble　breakfast；　a　toasting　fire；　solicitude　about　our　comfort；　judicious　sympathy　with　our　suffering；　and　willingness　to　hear　the　now　growing　tale　of　our　adventure。　　Then　came；　in　a　day　of　absolute　idleness；　while　the　showers　came　and　went；　and　the　mountains　appeared　and　disappeared　in　sun　and　storm；　that　perfect　physical　enjoyment　which　consists　in　a　feeling　of　strength　without　any　inclination　to　use　it；　and　in　a　delicious　languor　which　is　too　enjoyable　to　be　surrendered　to　sleep。






'74　HOW　SPRING　CAME　IN　NEW　ENGLAND

BY　A　READER　OF　〃'93〃

New　England　is　the　battle…ground　of　the　seasons。　　It　is　La　Vendee。　To　conquer　it　is　only　to　begin　the　fight。　　When　it　is　completely　subdued；　what　kind　of　weather　have　you？　　None　whatever。

What　is　this　New　England？　　A　country？　　No：　a　camp。　　It　is　alternately　invaded　by　the　hyperborean　legions　and　by　the　wilting　sirens　of　the　tropics。　　Icicles　hang　always　on　its　northern　heights；　its　seacoasts　are　fringed　with　mosquitoes。　　There　is　for　a　third　of　the　year　a　contest　between　the　icy　air　of　the　pole　and　the　warm　wind　of　the　gulf。　　The　result　of　this　is　a　compromise：　the　compromise　is　called　Thaw。　　It　is　the　normal　condition　in　New　England。　　The　New…Englander　is　a　person　who　is　always　just　about　to　be　warm　and　comfortable。　This　is　the　stuff　of　which　heroes　and　martyrs　are　made。　　A　person　thoroughly　heated　or　frozen　is　good　for　nothing。　　Look　at　the　Bongos。　Examine　（on　the　map）　the　Dog…Rib　nation。　　The　New…Englander；　by　incessant　activity；　hopes　to　get　warm。　　Edwards　made　his　theology。　Thank　God；　New　England　is　not　in　Paris！

Hudson's　Bay；　Labrador；　Grinnell's　Land；　a　whole　zone　of　ice　and　walruses；　make　it　unpleasant　for　New　England。　　This　icy　cover；　like　the　lid　of　a　pot；　is　always　suspended　over　it：　when　it　shuts　down；　that　is　winter。　　This　would　be　intolerable；　were　it　not　for　the　Gulf　Stream。　　The　Gulf　Stream　is　a　benign；　liquid　force；　flowing　from　under　the　ribs　of　the　equator；a　white　knight　of　the　South　going　up　to　battle　the　giant　of　the　North。　　The　two　meet　in　New　England；　and　have　it　out　there。

This　is　the　theory；　but；　in　fact；　the　Gulf　Stream　is　mostly　a　delusion　as　to　New　England。　　For　Ireland　it　is　quite　another　thing。　Potatoes　ripen　in　Ireland　before　they　are　planted　in　New　England。　That　is　the　reason　the　Irish　emigratethey　desire　two　crops　the　same　year。　　The　Gulf　Stream　gets　shunted　off　from　New　England　by　the　formation　of　the　coast　below：　besides；　it　is　too　shallow　to　be　of　any　service。　　Icebergs　float　down　against　its　surface…current；　and　fill　all　the　New…England　air　with　the　chill　of　death　till　June：　after　that　the　fogs　drift　down　from　Newfoundland。　　There　never　was　such　a　mockery　as　this　Gulf　Stream。　　It　is　like　the　English　influence　on　France；　on　Europe。　　Pitt　was　an　iceberg。

Still　New　England　survives。　　To　what　purpose？　　I　say；　as　an　example：　the　politician　says；　to　produce　〃Poor　Boys。〃　　Bah！　　The　poor　boy　is　an　anachronism　in　civilization。　　He　is　no　longer　poor；　and　he　is　not　a　boy。　　In　Tartary　they　would　hang　him　for　sucking　all　the　asses'　milk　that　belongs　to　the　children：　in　New　England　he　has　all　the　cream　from　the　Public　Cow。　　What　can　you　expect　in　a　country　where　one　knows　not　today　what　the　weather　will　be　tomorrow？　　Climate　makes　the　man。　　Suppose　he；　too；　dwells　on　the　Channel　Islands；　where　he　has　all　climates；　and　is　superior　to　all。　　Perhaps　he　will　become　the　prophet；　the　seer；　of　his　age；　as　he　is　its　Poet。　　The　New…Englander　is　the　man　without　a　climate。　　Why　is　his　country　recognized？　　You　won't　find　it　on　any　map　of　Paris。

And　yet　Paris　is　the　universe。　　Strange　anomaly！　　The　greater　must　include　the　less；　but　how　if　the　less　leaks　out？　　This　sometimes　happens。

And　yet　there　are　phenomena　in　that　country　worth　observing。　　One　of　them　is　the　conduct　of　Nature　from　the　1st　of　March　to　the　1st　of　June；　or；　as　some　say；　from　the　vernal　equinox　to　the　summer　solstice。　　As　Tourmalain　remarked；　〃You'd　better　observe　the　unpleasant　than　to　be　blind。〃　　This　was　in　802。　　Tourmalain　is　dead；　so　is　Gross　Alain；　so　is　little　Pee…Wee：　we　shall　all　be　dead　before　things　get　any　better。

That　is　the　law。　　Without　revolution　there　is　nothing。　　What　is　revolution？　　It　is　turning　society　over；　and　putting　the　best　underground　for　a　fertilizer。　　Thus　only　will　things　grow。　　What　has　this　to　do　with　New　England？　　In　the　language　of　that　flash　of　social　lightning；　Beranger；　〃May　the　Devil　fly　away　with　me　if　I　can　see！〃

Let　us　speak　of　the　period　in　the　year　in　New　England　when　winter　appears　to　hesitate。　　Except　in　the　calendar；　the　action　is　ironical；　but　it　is　still　deceptive。　　The　sun　mounts　high：　it　is　above　the　horizon　twelve　hours　at　a　time。　　The　snow　gradually　sneaks　away　in　liquid　repentance。　　One　morning　it　is　gone；　except　in　shaded　spots　and　close　by　the　fences。　　From　about　the　trunks　of　the　trees　it　has　long　departed：　the　tree　is　a　living　thing；　and　its　growth　repels　it。　The　fence　is　dead；　driven　into　the　earth　in　a　rigid　line　by　man：　the　fence；　in　short；　is　dogma：　icy　prejudice　lingers　near　it。　The　snow　has　disappeared；　but　the　landscape　is　a　ghastly　sight；　bleached；　dead。　　The　trees　are　stakes；　the　grass　is　of　no　color；　and　the　bare　soil　is　not　brown　with　a　healthful　brown；　life　has　gone　out　of　it。　　Take　up　a　piece　of　turf：　it　is　a　clod；　without　warmth；　inanimate。　　Pull　it　in　pieces：　there　is　no　hope　in　it：　it　is　a　part　of　the　past；　it　is　the　refuse　of　last　year。　　This　is　the　condition　to　which　winter　has　reduced　the　landscape。　　When　the　snow；　which　was　a　pall；　is　removed；　you　see　how　ghastly　it　is。　　The　face　of　the　country　is　sodden。　　It　needs　now　only　the　south　wind　to　sweep　over　it；　full　of　the　damp　breath　of　death；　and　that　begins　to　blow。　　No　prospect　would　be　more　dreary。

And　yet　the　south　wind　fills　credulous　man　with　joy。　　He　opens　the　window。　　He　goes　out；　and　catches　cold。　　He　is　stirred　by　the　mysterious　coming　of　something。　　If　there　is　sign　of　change　nowhere　else；　we　detect　it　in　the　newspaper。　　In　sheltered　corners　of　that　truculent　instrument　for　the　diffusion　of　the　prejudices　of　the　few　among　the　many　begin　to　grow　the　violets　of　tender　sentiment；　the　early　greens　of　yearning。　　The　poet　feels　the　sap　of　the　new　year　before　the　marsh…willow。　　He　blossoms　in　advance　of　the　catkins。　　Man　is　greater　than　Nature。　　The　poet　is　greater　than　man：　he　is　nature　on　two　legs；ambulatory。

At　first　there　is　no　appearance　of　conflict。　　The　winter　garrison　seems　to　have　withdrawn。　　The　invading　hosts　of　the　South　are　entering　without　opposition。　　The　hard　ground　softens；　the　sun　lies　warm　upon　the　southern　bank；　and　water　oozes　from　its　base。　　If　you　examine　the　buds　of　the　lilac　and　the　flowering　shrubs；　you　cannot　say　that　they　are　swelling；　but　the　varnish　with　which　they　were　coated　in　the　fall　to　keep　out　the　frost　seems　to　be　cracking。　　If　the　sugar…maple　is　hacked；　it　will　bleed；the　pure　white　blood　of　Nature。

At　the　c