To be happy on a farm like ours one must, I fancy, be either very old or very unprogressive. While we are waiting to grow comfortably old, we are willing to be considered unprogressive.
Very old and very, very unprogressive is the farm itself. There is nothing on it but[Pg 15] old apple trees, old lilac bushes, old rocks, and old associations—and, to be sure, the old red house. But the old rocks, piled on the hillsides, are unfailingly picturesque5, whether dark and dripping in the summer rains or silver gray in the summer suns. The lilacs are delightful6, too. In June they send wave upon wave of fragrance7 in through the little windows, penetrating8 even to the remotest corners of the dim old attic9, while all day long about their pale lavender sprays the great yellow and black butterflies hang flutteringly. Best of all is the orchard10; the old apple trees blossom prodigally11 for a brief season in May, blossom in rosy-white, in cream-white, in pure white, in green-white, transforming the lane and the hill-slopes into a bower12, smothering13 the old house in beauty, brooding over it, on still moonlight nights, in pale clouds of sweetness. And then comes a wind, with a drenching14 rain, and tears away all the pretty petals15 and buries them in the grass below. But there are seldom any apples; all this exuberance16 of beauty is but a dream of youth, not a promise of fruitage. Jonathan, indeed, tells me that if we want the trees to bear we[Pg 16] must keep pigs in the orchard to root up the ground and eat the wormy fruit as it falls; but under these conditions I would rather not have the apples. The orchard is old; why not leave it to dream and rest and dream again?
The old associations are, I admit, of a somewhat mixed character. There is the romance of the milk-room door, through which, in hoary17 ages past, the "hired girl," at the ripe age of twelve, eloped with her sixteen-year-old lover; there is the story of the cellar nail, a shuddery19 one, handed down from a yet more remote antiquity20; there are tales of the "ballroom21" on the second floor, of the old lightning-riven locust22 stump23, of the origin of the "new wing" of the house—still called "new," though a century old. Not a spot, indoors or out, but has its clustering memories.
Such an enveloping24 atmosphere of associations, no matter what their quality, in a place where generations have lived and died, is of itself a quieting thing. Life, incrusted with tradition, like a ship weighted with barnacles, moves more and more slowly; the past appears more real than the present. To the old[Pg 17] this seems natural and right, to others it is often depressing; but Jonathan and I like it. Our barnacle-clogged ship pleases us—pleases me because I love the slow, drifting motion, pleases Jonathan because—I regret to admit it—he thinks he can get all the barnacles off—and then!—
For, whereas my unprogressiveness is absolute and unqualified, Jonathan's is, I have discovered, tainted25 by a sneaking26 optimism, an ineradicable desire and hope of improvement, which, though it does not blossom rankly in pergolas and tea-houses, is none the less there, a lurking27 menace. It inspired his suggestion regarding pigs in the orchard, it showed itself even more clearly in the matter of the hens.
I have always liked hens. I doubt if mine are very profitable,—the farm is not, in general, a source of profit, and we cherish no delusions28 about it,—but I do not keep them for pecuniary29 gain. If they chance to lay eggs, so much the better; if they furnish forth30 my table with succulent broilers, with nutritious31 roasters, with ambrosial32 chicken-pasties, I am not unappreciative; but I realize that all[Pg 18] these things might be had from my neighbors' barnyards. What I primarily value my own hens for is their companionship. Talk about the companionship of dogs and cats! Cats walk about my home, sleek33 and superior; they make me feel that I am there on sufferance. One cannot even laugh at them, their manner is so perfect. Dogs, on the other hand, develop an unreasoning and tyrannous devotion to their masters, which is not really good for either, though it may be morbidly34 gratifying to sentimental35 natures.
But hens! No decorous superiority here, no mush of devotion. No; for varied36 folly37, for rich and highly developed perversities, combining all that is choicest of masculine and feminine foible—for this and much more, commend me to the hen. Ever since we came to the farm, my sister the hen has entertained me with her vagaries38. Jaques's delight at his encounter with Touchstone is pale compared with mine in their society. Nothing cheers me more than to sit on a big rock in the barnyard and watch the hens walking about. Their very gait pleases me—the way they bob their heads, the "genteel" way they have[Pg 19] of picking up their feet, for all the world as though they cared where they stepped; the absent and superior manner in which they "scratch for worms," their gaze fixed39 on the sky, then cock their heads downwards40 with an indifferent air, absently pick up a chip, drop it, and walk on! Did any one ever see a hen really find a worm? I never did. There are no worms in our barnyard, anyhow; Jonathan must have dug them all up for bait when he was a boy. I have even tried throwing some real worms to them, and they always respond by a few nervous cackles, and walk past the brown wrigglers with a detached manner, and the robins41 get them later. And yet they continue to go through all these forms, and we continue to call it "scratching for worms."
Jonathan has nothing to do with my hens except to give advice. One of his hobbies is the establishing of a breed of hens marked by intelligence, which he maintains might be done by careful selection of the mothers. Accordingly, whenever he goes to the roost to pick out a victim for the sacrificial hatchet42, he first gently pulls the tail of each candidate[Pg 20] in turn, and by the dim light of the lantern carefully observes the nature of their reaction, choosing for destruction the one whose deportment seems to him most foolish. In this way, by weeding out the extremely silly, he hopes in time to raise the general intellectual standard of the barnyard. But he urges that much more might be done if my heart were in it. Very likely, but my heart is not. Intelligence is all very well, but the barnyard, I am convinced, is no place for it. Give me my pretty, silly hens, with all their aimless, silly ways. I will seek intelligence, when I want it, elsewhere.
In another direction, too, Jonathan's optimistic temperament44 has found little encouragement. This is in regard to the chimney swallows. When we first came, these little creatures were one of my severest trials. They were not a trial to Jonathan. He loved to watch them at dusk, circling and eddying46 about the great chimney. So, indeed, did I; and if they had but contented47 themselves with circling and eddying there, I should have had no quarrel with them. I did not even object to their evolutions inside the chimney.[Pg 21] At first I took the muffled48 shudder18 of wings for distant thunder, and when great masses of soot49 came tumbling down into the fireplace, I jumped; but I soon grew accustomed to all this. I was even willing to clean the soot out of my neat fireplace daily, while Jonathan comforted me by suggesting that the birds took the place of chimney-sweeps, and that soot was good for rose bushes. Yes, if the little things had been willing to stick to their chimney, I should have been tolerant, if not cordial. But when they invaded my domain50, I felt that I had a grievance51. And invade it they did. At dawn I was rudely awakened52 by a rush from the fireplace, a mad scuttering about the dusky room, a desperate exit by the little open window, where the raised shade revealed the pale light of morning. At night, if I went with my candle into a dark room, I was met by a whirling thing, dashing itself against me, against the light, against the walls, in a moth-like ecstasy53 of self-destruction. In the mornings, as I went about the house pulling up the shades and drawing back the curtains, out from their white folds rushed dark, winged shapes, whirring past my ears,[Pg 22] fluttering blindly about the room, sinking exhausted54 in inaccessible55 corners. They were as foolish as June bugs56, fifty times bigger, and harder to catch. Moreover, when caught, they were not pretty; their eyes were in the top of their heads, like a snake's, their expression was low and cunning. They were almost as bad as bats! Worst of all, the young birds had an untidy habit of tumbling out of the nests down into the fireplaces, whether there was a fire or not. Now, I have no conscientious57 objection to roasting birds, but I prefer to choose my birds, and to kill them first.
One morning I had gathered and carried out of doors eight foolish, frightened, huddling58 things, and one dead young one from the sitting-room59 embers, and I returned to find Jonathan kneeling on the guest-room hearth60, one arm thrust far up the chimney. "What are you doing, Jonathan?" The next moment there was the familiar rush of wings, which finally subsided61 behind the fresh pillows of the bed. Jonathan sprang up. "Wait! I'll get it!" He carefully drew away the pillow, his hand was almost on the poor little quivering wretch62, when it made another[Pg 23] rush, hurled63 itself against the mirror, upset a vase full of columbines, and finally sank behind the wood-box. At last it was caught, and Jonathan, going over to the hearth, resumed his former position. "Jonathan! Put him out of doors!" I exclaimed. "Sh-h-h," he responded, "I'm going to teach him to go back the way he came. There he goes! see?" He rose, triumphant64, and began to brush the soot out of his collar and hair. I was sorry to dash such enthusiasm, but I felt my resolution hardening within me.
"Jonathan," I said, "we did not come to the farm to train chimney swallows. Besides, I don't wish them trained, I wish them kept out. I don't regard them as suitable for household pets. If you will sink to a pet bird, get a canary."
"But you wouldn't have an old house without chimney swallows!" he remonstrated65 in tones of real pain.
"I would indeed."
It ended in a compromise. At the top of the chimney Jonathan put a netting over half the flues; the others he left open at the top, but set in nettings in the corresponding flues[Pg 24] just above each fireplace. And so in half the chimney the swallows still build, but the young ones now drop on the nettings instead of in the embers, and lie there cheeping shrilly66 until somehow their parents or friends convey them up again where they belong. And I no longer spend my mornings collecting apronfuls of frightened and battered67 little creatures. At dusk the swallows still eddy45 and circle about the chimney, but Jonathan has lost the opportunity for training them. Once more the optimist43 is balked68.
But in these matters I am firm: I do not want the hens made intelligent, or the orchard improved, or the swallows trained. There is, I am sure, matter enough in other parts of the farm upon which one may wreak69 one's optimism. I hold me to my tidy hearths70, my comfortable hens, my old lilacs, and my dreaming apple trees.
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1
reclaiming
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| v.开拓( reclaim的现在分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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3
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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knolls
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| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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prodigally
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| adv.浪费地，丰饶地 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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13
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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14
drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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15
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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16
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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17
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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18
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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shuddery
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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locust
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| n.蝗虫；洋槐，刺槐 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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25
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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29
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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nutritious
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| adj.有营养的，营养价值高的 | |
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ambrosial
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| adj.美味的 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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36
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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38
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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39
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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40
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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41
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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42
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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43
optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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44
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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45
eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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46
eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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47
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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48
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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49
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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50
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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51
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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52
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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53
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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54
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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55
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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56
bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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57
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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58
huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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59
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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60
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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61
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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62
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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63
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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64
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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65
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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66
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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67
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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68
balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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69
wreak
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| v.发泄；报复 | |
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70
hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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