Here and there, just back of the big hills, are deep secluded10 tarns11, which have no visible outlets12 or inlets. One looks cautiously down from the surrounding edges. In the obscurity of the deep shadows there is tangled dead vegetation, a few decayed tree-trunks, and an uncanny stillness. Unseen stagnant water is there, and the mysterious depths seem to be without life. They are fit abodes13 for gnomes14, and evil spirits may haunt their silences. There is an instinctive15 creepy feeling, and an undefined dread16 in the atmosphere around them.
Swamps of tamarack, which are impenetrable, contribute their masses of deep green to the charm of the landscape. The ravagers of the wet places hide in them, and the timid, hunted wild life finds refuge in their still labyrinths17. In the winter countless18 tracks and trails on the snow lead into them and are lost.
Among the most interesting of the marsh19 dwellers20 is the muskrat21. This active little animal{195} is an ever-present element in the life of the sloughs22, and he is the most industrious23 live thing in the back country. His numerous families thrive and increase, in spite of vigilant24 enemies that besiege25 them. The larger owls26, the foxes, minks27, and steel traps are their principal foes28.
The houses, irregular in shape and size, dot the surfaces of the ponds and swamps. They are built of lumps of sod and mud, mixed with bulrushes{196} and heavy grass. They usually contain two rooms, one above the other, and little tunnels lead out from them, under ground, providing channels of escape in case of danger, and safe routes of approach to the houses from the burrows29 in the higher ground along the banks.
The upper cavity of the little adobe30 structure is usually lined with moss31 and fine grass. Lily roots, freshwater clams32, and other food are carried up into it from under the ice in the winter. In these cosy33 retreats the little colonies live during the cold months, oblivious34 to the cares and dangers of the outside world.
There is a network of thoroughfares and burrows in the soft earth among the roots of the willows on the neighboring banks. The devious35 secret passages and runways are in constant use during the summer.
The muskrats37 are great travelers, and roam over the meadows, through the ravines, up and down the creeks38, and around on the sand hills, in search of food and adventure. They run along the lake shore at night, and their tracks are found all over the beach. Their well-beaten paths radiate{197} in all directions from their homes. They are not entirely39 lovable, but the back country would be desolate40 indeed without them.
The herons stand solemnly, like sentinels, among the thick grasses, and out in the open places, watching for unwary frogs, minnows, and other small life with which nature has bountifully peopled the sloughs. The crows and hawks42 drop quickly behind clumps43 of weeds on deadly errands in the day time, and at night the owls, foxes, and{198} minks haunt the margins44 of the wet places. The enemies of the Little Things are legion. Violent death is their destiny. With the exception of the turtles, they are all eaten by something larger and more powerful than themselves.
In the fall and early spring the wild ducks and geese drop into the ponds and marshes45, and rest for days at a time, before resuming their migrations46. They come in from over the lake during the storms to find shelter for the night, and are reluctant to leave the abundant food in these nooks{199} behind the hills. A flat-bottomed boat among the bulrushes, and a few artificially arranged thick bunches of brush and long grass, which have been used as shooting blinds, usually explain why they have not stayed longer.
A few of the ducks remain during the summer, build their nests on secluded boggy47 spots, and rear their young; but the minks, snapping turtles, and other enemies besides man, generally see that few of them live to fly away in the fall.
Occasionally a small weather-beaten frame house, and a tumble-down old barn, project their gables into the landscape. Around them is usually a piece of cleared land that represents years of toil48 and combat with the reluctant soil, obstinate49 stumps50, and tough roots.
Nature has begrudgingly52 yielded a scanty53 livelihood54 to the brave and simple ones who have spent their youth and middle age in wresting55 away the barriers which have stood between them and the comforts of life. The broken-spirited animals that stand still, with lowered heads, in the little fields and around the barn, are mute testimonies56 of the years of drudgery57 and hardship.{200}
On approaching the house we encounter a few ducks that splash into the ditch along the muddy road, and disappear in great trepidation58 among the weeds and bulrushes beyond the fence. The loud barking of a mongrel dog is heard, a lot of chickens scatter59, and several children with touseled heads and frightened faces appear. Behind them a lean-faced woman in a faded calico dress looks out with a reserved and kindly60 welcome. The dog is rebuked61 sharply, and finally quieted. The scared children hastily retreat into the house, and peek62 out through the curtained windows. We explain that we came to ask for a drink of water. The woman disappears for a moment, brings a cup, and some rain water in a broken pitcher63, with which to prime the pump in the yard.
This wheezy piece of hardware, after much teasing, and encouragement from the broken pitcher, finally yields, and one object of the visit is accomplished64. The children begin cautiously to reappear, their curiosity having got the better of their alarm.
A few commonplace remarks about the weather, a complimentary65 reference to a flower bed near the{201} fence, an inquiry66 as to the ages of the children, soon establish a friendly footing, and we are asked to sit down on the bench near the pump and rest awhile.
“Don’t you sometimes feel lonely out here, with no neighbors?” I asked. “No, indeed,” she replied. “We’ve got all the neighbors we want. Nobody lives very near here, but there isn’t a day passes that I don’t see somebody drivin’ by out on the road. I ride to town every two or three weeks, an’ that’s enough for anybody.”
A man of perhaps forty, but who looks to be fifty, rather tall and spare, with bent67 shoulders and shambling step, appears after a few minutes. His shaved upper lip and long chin whiskers strictly68 conform to the established customs of the back country.
It is a land of the chin whiskers, and they are met with everywhere in the by-paths of civilization. Their picturesque69 quality is the delight of him who uses the lead pencil and pen to portray70 the oddities of his race.
He has come from over near the edge of the timber, where he has been repairing a decayed rail{202} fence. His greeting is kindly, and we are made to feel quite at home. Some fresh buttermilk from an old-fashioned churn near the back door adds to the pleasant hospitality, and the loud cackling of a proud and energetic rooster, adorned71 with brilliant plumage, who takes credit for the warm egg which a dignified72 old hen has just left in the corner of the corn crib, lends an air of cheerfulness and animation73 to the scene. He has just learned of the achievement, and the glory is his.
Out in the yard is a covered box with a circular hole in its front. A small chain leads into it, which is attached to the outside by a staple74. After a few minutes the furtive75 wild eyes of a captive coon peer out fearfully from the inner darkness of the box. He was extracted from the cosy interior of a hollow tree, over near the edge of the swamp, during his infancy76, and was the sole survivor77 of a moonlight attack on his home tree, after the dogs had located the happy family. The tree was cut down, the little furry78 things mangled79 by savage80 teeth, and their house made desolate. The little fellow was carried into a hopeless captivity81, where his days and nights are passed in terror. He is a prisoner and not a pet.{203}
It is mankind that does these things—not the brutes—and yet we cry out in denunciation when humanity is thus outraged82. We chain and cage the wild things, and shriek84 for freedom of thought and action. Verily this is a strange world!
I talked with one of the little girls about the coon. She told me his story and said they called him “Tip.” My heart went out to him, and I longed to take him under my coat, carry him into the deep woods, and bid him God speed. He probably would have bitten me had I attempted it, but in this he would have been justified85 from his point of view, for he had never had a chance in his despoiled86 life to learn that there could be sympathy in a human touch. In this poor Tip is not alone in the world.
Time slumbers87 in the back country. The weekly paper is the only printed source of news from the outside, and, with the addition of a monthly farm magazine, with its woman’s department, constitutes the literature of the home. These periodicals are read by the light of the big kerosene88 lamp on the table in the middle of the room, and the facts and opinions found in them become gospel.{204}
The country village is perhaps a couple of miles farther inland. There is a water-mill on the little river, and bags of wheat and corn are taken to it to be ground. The miller—sleepy-eyed and white—comes out and helps to unload the incoming grain, or deposit the flour or meal in the back part of the wagon89.
The general store and post-office is on the main road, near the mill. The proprietor90 is the oracle91 of the community, and a fountain of wit and wisdom. The store is the clearing-house for the news and gossip of the passing days.
A weather-beaten sign across the front of the building reads, “The Center of the World.” The owner declares that “this must be so, fer the edges of it are just the same distance off from the store, no matter which way ye look.”
There is much unconscious philosophy in the quaintly92 humorous sign, for, after all, how little we realize the immensity of the material and intellectual world that is beyond our own horizon. The homely93 wit touches incisively94 one of the foibles of human kind.
Elihu Baxter Brown, the storekeeper, is well along in years. He is tall, somewhat stoop-shouldered, and his eyes look quizzically out of narrow slits95. His heavy gray mustache dominates his face, the cumbersome96 ornament97 suggesting a pair of frayed98 lambrequins. He lives in a little old-fashioned house that sets back in a yard next his store. A quiet gray-haired woman, with a kindly face, sits sewing in the shade near the back door. They walked to the home of the minister fifteen miles away, to be married, over fifty years{206} ago. They trudged99 back in the afternoon and began their lives together in the humble100 frame house that now shows the touch of decay and the scars of winter storms.
The small trees that they planted around it have grown tall enough almost to hide the quiet home among their shadows. Little patches of sunlight that have stolen through the leaves are scattered101{207} over the roof on bright days, like happy hours in solemn lives.
In a sealed glass jar on a “what-not” in a corner of the front room is a hard queer-looking lump, encrusted with dry mold, a fragment of the wedding cake of half a century ago, which has been faithfully kept and cherished through the years. To the world outside it is meaningless; here it is sacred.
The little things to which sentiment can cling are the anchorages of our hearts. They keep us from drifting too far away, and they call to us when we have wandered. The small piece of wedding cake—gray like the heads of those who reverence103 it—has helped to prolong the echoes of the chimes of years ago. It was a rough gnarled hand which carefully put the glass jar back into its place after it was shown, but it was a tender and beautiful thought that kept it there.
The old man is now seventy-six. He says that sometimes he is only about thirty, and at other times he is over a hundred—it all depends on the weather and the condition of his rheumatism104.{208}
“When I git up in the mornin’,” said he, “I first find out how my rheumatism is, then I take a look at the weather, an’ figger out what kind of a day it’s goin’ to be. If it’s goin’ to rain I let ’er rain, an’ if it ain’t, all well an’ good. Business is pretty slow when it rains, an’ when its ten or fifteen below in the winter, they ain’t no business at all. When it gits like that I hole up like a woodchuck, an’ set in the back part o’ the store in my high-chair, an’ make poetry an’ read. I don’t like to do too much readin’, fer readin’ rots the mind, an’ I’d rather be waitin’ on people comin’ in. Most gen’rally a lot o’ the old cods105 that live ’round ’ere drop in an’ we talk things over.
“This rheumatism o’ mine is a queer thing. I’ll tell ye sumpen confidential106. You prob’ly won’t believe it, an’ I wouldn’t want what I say to git out ’cause its so improb’le, an’ it might hurt my credit, but I’ve bin107 cured o’ my rheumatism twice by carryin’ a petrified108 potato in my pocket. An old friend of mine, Catfish109 John’s got it now, an’ I don’t want to take it away from ’im as long as it’s helpin’ ’im, but when ’e gits through with it, I’m goin’ to have it back on the job, an’ you bet{209} I’ll be hoppin’ ’round ’ere as lively as a cricket. The potato ’ll prob’ly be ’ere next week. I’ve had it fer ten years, an’ it beats everything I’ve ever tried.”
I asked the old man to allow me to see some of the poetry he had “made,” and thereby110 opened up a literary mine. The request touched a tender chord and I was ushered111 back to a worn desk of antique pattern in the rear of the store. He raised the lid and extracted the treasure. A book had been removed from its binding112, and the covers converted into a portfolio113. He gently removed about a hundred sheets of paper of various shapes and sizes, covered with closely written matter. Some of the spelling would have shocked the shade of Lindley Murray, and made it glad that he had passed away, and some of it would have made a champion of spelling reform quite happy. It was vers libre of the most malignant114 type. Rhymes were freely distributed at picturesque random115, and while the ideas, rhythm, and meter were quite lame116 at times, much of the verse was better than some recently published imagist poetry, which contains none of these things. Humor and pathos117{210} were intermingled. Sometimes there was much humor where pathos was intended, and often real pathos lurked119 among the lighter120 lines.
There are many singers who are never heard. Melodies in impenetrable forests and trills that float on desert air are for those who sing, and not for those who listen. A happy soul may pour forth121 impassioned song in solitude122, for the joy of the singing, and a solitary123 bard124 may distil125 his fancy upon pages that are for him alone.
The verse of Elihu Baxter Brown is its own and only excuse for being. It has solaced126 the still hours, and if its creator has been its only reader, he has been most appreciative127.
A touching128 lay depicts129 his elation130 upon the departure of his wife “in a autobeel” on a long visit to distant relatives, but the joy prevails only during the first six lines. The remaining thirty are devoted131 to sorrow and “lonely misery132 as I walketh the street,” and end with “when will she be back I wonder?” He falls into a “reverree” and from under its gentle spell the virile133 lines, “The brite moon makes a strong impress on me,” and “I’ve named my pet hen after thee,” float into the world.{211} With “eyes full of weep” he reflects that “sometimes she’s cold as all git out,” and further on he wishes that his “loved one was a pie,” so as to facilitate immediate134 and affectionate assimilation.
He bids the world to “go on with its music and kink it another note higher.” In later lines he na?vely admits that “of all the poets I love myself the best.” Alas135, he has much company! This effusion ends with “Gosh, I can’t finish this poetry till I pull myself together.”
War, love, spring, and beautiful snow flow through the limping measures. There are odes to the sun, the rain, and to his old bob-tailed gray cat, “Tobunkus,” who drowses peacefully on the counter near the scales.
The inspection136 of the poems led to the exhibition of his box of relics138 and curios, which he greatly valued. Among the carefully ticketed and labeled items, which we spread out on the counter, was a small chip from Libby Prison, a fragment of stone picked up near the National Capitol, a shark’s tooth, some Indian arrow-heads, an iron ring from a slave auction139 pen of ante-bellum days, a chip from the pilot house of a steamboat{212} that was wrecked140 sixty years ago on the Atlantic coast, the dried stump51 of a cigar which had been given to him when he visited a Russian man-of-war in Boston harbor in 1859, and many other odds141 and ends that were of priceless value to him.
I picked up a small, round piece of wood, which he told me was the most remarkable142 and interesting relic137 of the whole lot. “That,” said he, “is a piece of the first shaving brush I ever shaved with”—a fact fully41 as important as most things, seemingly significant at present, will be a century hence. This wonderful object completed the exhibition, and the collection was carefully put away.
The interior of the store was rather gloomy, badly ventilated, and was pervaded143 with numberless and commingled144 odors. I could distinguish kerosene, dead tobacco-smoke, stale vegetables, damp dry-goods, and smoked herrings, but the rest of the indescribable medley145 of smells baffled analysis.
The stock of merchandise was varied146, but there was very little of any one kind, except plug tobacco. Over a case containing several large boxes of this necessity of life in the back country was a{213} strip of cardboard, on which was inscribed147, “Don’t use the nasty stuff.” Under a wall-lamp was another placard, “This flue don’t smoke, neither should you.” Other examples of the proprietor’s wit were scattered along the edges of the shelves, and on the walls, and helped to impart an individual character to the place. Among them were, “Don’t be bashful. You can have anything you can pay for.” “This store is not run by a trust.” “No setting on the counter—this means you!” “Credit given only on Sundies, when the store is closed.” “Don’t talk about the war—it makes me sick.”
A large portion of the stock was in cans. Some of them had evidently been on the shelves for many years. There were cove5 oysters148, sardines150, and tinned meats of various kinds, with badly fly-specked labels. The old man remarked that “some o’ them air-tights has bin on hand since the early eighties.”
The humble tin can has been one of the important factors in the progress of the human race. With the theodolite, the sextant, and the rifle, it has been carried to the waste places of the earth,{214} and because of it they have bloomed. Tin cans have lined the trails to unknown lands, and they have been left at both of the poles. The invader151 has flung them along his remorseless path when he has gone to murder quiet distant peoples whose religion differed from his own, and they have thus been made “instruments of the Lord’s mercy.” They lie on ghastly battlefields, mingled118 with splintered bones, where a civilization, of which we have boasted, has left them.
They are scattered over the bottom of the sea, float languidly in the currents of uncharted rivers, and rust102 on the sands of the deserts. They are hiding-places for tropical reptiles153 in tangled morasses154, and prowling beasts sniff155 at them curiously156 in deserted157 camps along the outer rims158 of the world.
They symbolize159 the ingenuity160 of the white man, and in them has reposed161 the remains162 of every kind of fish, reptile152, bird and beast that he has used for food. The aged83 bull, the scrawny family cow, the venerable rooster, the faithful superannuated163 hen, the senile billy goat, and other obsolete164 domestic animals, have found a temporary tomb{215} within mysterious walls of tin, and have helped to feed others than those who canned them. They enclose fruit and vegetables that could not be sold fresh, and in them they go to the uttermost parts of the earth.
It was indeed strange destiny that took the sardine149, flashing his bright sides in the blue Mediterranean165, and left him immured166 on a musty shelf in a store in the back country. If he, with the contents of the cans around him, could return to life, there would be a motley company.
Perhaps, in quiet midnight hours, wraiths167 come out of the tins and play in the moonbeams that filter through the dusty windows. They may all have been there so long that social caste has been established. The fish, lobsters168, cove oysters and clams, being sea people, probably hold aloof169. This they may well do, as they are on the upper shelves.
The elderly domestic animals may have a dignified stratum170 of their own, in which the affairs of the old families can be discussed, while those who were feathered in life possibly form another pale{216} group that devotes itself entirely to questions of personal adornment171.
Behind the red labels on the lower shelves are the devilled ham and the pig’s feet. The goblins from these may hold high carnival172 in the silvery light—the frolics of the indigestibles—and their antics may last until the gray of the morning comes.
Nameless elfs may appear in the little throng173. They are from the soups, and have so many component174 parts that they know not what they are. Naturally they may precede the others, but if they are in the ghostly circle, they are not of it.
Probably the specters from the canned hash are at the lower end of the scale.
I suggested to the old man that all these things might be happening while he slumbered175, but he declared that I was mistaken. “There’s never bin any doin’s like that goin’ on ’round the store,” said he.
Figuratively, it might be said that many of us obtain most of our intellectual food from cans. The diet may be varied occasionally by fresh nutrients176, but too often we rely upon products bearing established trade-marks for our mental suste{217}nance. The rows of labels, honored by time and dimmed by dust, stand like tiers of skulls177, with their eyeless caverns178 gravely still—mute symbols of the eternal hours—as if staring in dull mockery out of a vanished past. Living currents flow around us unheeded. We absorb predigested thought to repletion179, and neglect vibrant180 mental forces, that through disuse become depleted181, instead of enriching them with the study of the green and growing things that have not been put in cans.
“About ev’ry third year,” said the old man, “business gits worse’n ever, an’ that’s when a hoss trader named Than Gandy comes ’round. He lives some’rs in the eastern part o’ the state, an’ after ’e’s bin through ’ere ’e waits long enough fer most of ’em to fergit ’im before ’e comes agin. He starts out from where ’e lives with a sulky, an’ a crow bait hoss, an’ about five dollars. He spends a couple o’ months on ’is travels among the little places away from the railroads, an’ when ’e gits through with ’is trip, ’e has a string o’ seven er eight hosses, an’ four er five little wagons182 an’ buggies, an’ a lot o’ harnesses an’ whips an’ calves183 an’ sheep, an’ a big wad o’ money. He’s got all{218} them things to boot in trades ’e keeps makin’. He beats ev’rybody ’e runs up ag’inst, an’ when ’e quits ’round ’ere nobody’s got any money left to buy things with. They don’t know what’s happened to ’em till ’e’s away off. When ’e stops at the store, he gen’rally trades me sumpen fer what ’e wants.
“Once Jedge Blossom traded hosses with ’im when ’e was piped, an’ gave ’im ten dollars to boot. He got a bum184 animal shifted on ’im, an’ when ’e sobered up, ’e sent Gandy a bill fer fifteen dollars fer legal advice, an’ the advice was not to come into this part o’ the country any more.”
The old man told me that he was born in a small town in Massachusetts.
“I was named after the preacher of our church. He was a great man an’ ’is eloquence185 was wonderful. His name was the Reverend Elihu Baxter, an’ ’e used to go up into the pulpit, an’ lean ’is stummick ’way out over it, an’ say, ‘Now you listen to me’!—an’ that’s the way ’e drawed ’em to ’im. When ’e’d first begin, the church ’ud be so still that you could hear the flies buzz, an’ ’is voice would sound all hollow, like ’e was talkin’ into a{219} big dish-pan. We don’t have no more preachers like ’im now days, an’ people don’t go to church no more like they did then. We don’t have no more old-fashioned Sundays. There’s too many newspapers, an’ what they have to say takes the place o’ what we used to hear in the pulpit. What the preachers say now days ain’t interestin’ any more. People rest an’ play on Sunday now, instid o’ bein’ solemn an’ sad an’ settin’ ’round an’ listenin’ over an’ over to somebody tellin’ about them three fellers that was in the fiery186 furnace.”
He felt deeply his responsibility as a representative of the national government. The post-office department, with its rows of glass-fronted mail boxes, numbered from 1 to 40, was located at the right of the store entrance. The mail bag was brought daily from the railroad station, five miles away, by a fat-faced young man in blue overalls187 and a hickory shirt. His elbows flopped188 madly up and down as his horse galloped189 along the highway with the precious burden across the pommel. He made another trip at night with the out-going mail, and when the hoof-beats were heard on the road, there would be many glances at the clocks{220} in the houses along his route, and the fact approvingly noted190, that “Bill’s on time to-night, all right.”
There are many people in the world who win lasting191 laurels192 by being “on time.” Some do it quietly, and others by flopping193 their arms violently, to the accompaniment of resonant194 hoof-beats, as “Bill” does, but being “on time” is essential to success in life. “Bill” may have no other argument to present for his eventual195 redemption than the fact that he was always “on time,” but it cannot fail to be powerful and convincing.
“I would like this postmaster business,” said the old man, “if it wasn’t fer all the books I have to write in an’ the blanks I have to fill out. It keeps people comin’ in, but sometimes I have to set up pretty near all night writin’ out things fer the gov’ament. I don’t keep no books fer the store, fer I never sell nothin’ ’cept fer cash, or fer sumpen that’s brought in, an’ I keep my expense account in my hat. If the sheriff ever comes ’round ’ere to close me up, ’e won’t find no books to go by. I spend all the money that gits in the drawer, an’ if what’s in the store should burn up, I’d be ahead{221} ’cause I’ve got insurance, an’ I’d git it all at once; so I guess I’m all right. I ain’t got much to show fer my life, ’cept a grin, but that’s sumpen. Some day I’ll have all the poetry I’ve made printed into a volume that’ll be put on sale, an’ I’ll have a reg’lar income an’ I won’t have to work no more.
“I’m keepin’ a first class place here. There’s a lot o’ this new-fangled stuff that I’ve stopped carryin’. People always buy it out when they come in, an’ I have to keep gittin’ more all the time. If I don’t have them things they ask fer, they’ll prob’ly buy sumpen that’s already on hand. I can’t please ev’rybody all the time, or I’d be worked to death. I don’t keep no likker, but anybody can git most anything else here that’ll make ’em smell like a man, an’ I don’t sell no cigarettes. A feller come in ’ere with one once, an’ when ’e went out ’e left ’is punk on the edge of a pile o’ paper. After a while some o’ the bunch out in front noticed some fire, an’ it pretty near burnt up the store, an’ besides they smell like a burnt offering, an’ I don’t like ’em.”
I asked him if he ever went over to the lake.
“Not fer about fifteen years. We all drove over there fer a bath, an’ I took a bad cold an’ I haven’t bin there since. This talk o’ washin’ all the time is nonsence. Jedge Blossom’s got a big tin bath tub up to his place, that’s painted green, an’ ’e gits in it an’ sloshes ’round ev’ry Saturday night when ’e’s home, but when Monday mornin’ comes ’e don’t look no better’n anybody else.”
During one afternoon that I spent with him in the rear of the store, he showed me some of the literature which he had taken down from the stock on one of the upper shelves, and had been reading during the winter. The pile consisted of old-fashioned dime196 novels of years ago, with their multicolored illustrated197 paper covers. Among the titles, and on the blood-curdling, well-thumbed pages, I found names that were once familiar and much beloved. “Lantern-Jawed Bob,” “Snake Eye,” “Deadwood Dick,” “Iron Hand,” “Navajo Bill,” “Shadow Bill,” “The Forest Avenger,” “Eagle-Eyed Zeke,” “The War Tiger of the Modocs,” “The Mountain Demon,” and many other forgotten heroes of boyhood days, “advanced coolly and stealthily” out of the mists of the dim past, and{223} once more they scalped, robbed, trailed, circumvented198 bloodthirsty pursuers, had hair-breadth escapes, mocked death, rescued peerless maidens199 from savage redskins in the wilderness200, and finally married them, as of yore.
The romance in the pile was irretrievably bad, but it recalled happy memories. It was not surprising that the old man was impressed with the idea that “too much readin’ rots the mind,” when spring came, and he had finished the stack.
Around the big stove, on chilly201 days, the owners of the chin whiskers congregate202, with cob pipes and juicy plug. They contribute liberally to the square boxes filled with sawdust that serve as cuspidors. In this solemn circle the great political problems of the nation are considered and solved.
The gossip of the township is exchanged, and the personal frailties203 of absent ones discussed. The local Munchausen tells wondrous204 tales of his cow, that stands out in the river and is milked by hungry fish that wait among the lilies, and of hailstorms he has seen that have demolished205 brickyards.
A projected barn, the sale of a horse or cow, the repairs on a wagon, the prospects206 of frost or{224} rain, the crops, the price of hogs207, the tariff208, the trusts, the rascality209 of the railroads, and many other subjects, are mingled with the gossip of the neighborhood. These matters are all deeply pondered over. They talk about their rheumatism, the “cricks” in their backs, their coughs, their aches and pains, and the foolish vagaries210 of the “women folks.” They buy patent medicines, and they bathe only when they get caught in the rain.
A slatternly looking woman comes in, buys some{225} calico, thread, two yards of ribbon, and some hooks and eyes. When she departs some one remarks, “Wonder wot she’s goin’ to make now!” From that the conversation drifts to “the feller that left ’er about two years ago.” The proprietors211 of the chin whiskers all knew “when ’e fust come ’round, ’e wasn’t any good,” and the sage36 prophecies of by-gone days are now fully verified. The demerits of a certain horse, which he had once sold to one of the prophets, are again recounted, and the general opinion is that after the delinquent212 “got through with the lawsuit213 ’e was mixed up in, ’e went out west som’ers with the money ’is lawyer didn’t git. Anyhow, ’e was no good.” Nobody is “any good.”
When the time comes to “git home to supper,” the dilapidated vehicles begin to crawl out into the fading light and disappear. They carry the pessimists214 and the few necessaries which they have bought at the store—some molasses, sugar, tea and coffee, possibly a new shovel215, some nails, and always a plentiful216 supply of plug tobacco, a great deal of which is filtered into the soil of the back country. Some eggs, butter, vegetables, and other{226} produce of the little farm has been left in payment.
After the tired horses are unhitched and fed, the exciting gossip is retold at the supper table. A few chores are done, an hour or so is spent around the big lamp, and another eventful day has closed. A week may pass before another trip is made to the sleepy village.
Those who are gone are under the tall grasses and wild flowers on the hill near the woods, beyond the little weather-beaten country church. The iron bell has tolled217 for them as they were laid away, and now that it is all over, it is the same with them as if they had been monarchs218 or millionaires.
A touching, if crude, epitaph can be deciphered on one of the gray mossy stones through the crumbling219 fence. After the name and the final date are the lines,
“Shed not for me the bitter tears
Nor fill the heart with vain regrets.
’Tis but the casket that lies here,
The gems220 that filled them sparkles yet.”
and lower, under a pair of clasped hands, “We will meet again,” and it may be that a mighty221 truth is on the stone.
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1
diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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2
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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3
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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4
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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5
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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7
elevations
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| （水平或数量）提高( elevation的名词复数 )； 高地； 海拔； 提升 | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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9
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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10
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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11
tarns
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| n.冰斗湖，山中小湖( tarn的名词复数 ) | |
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outlets
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| n.出口( outlet的名词复数 )；经销店；插座；廉价经销店 | |
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13
abodes
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| 住所( abode的名词复数 )； 公寓； （在某地的）暂住； 逗留 | |
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14
gnomes
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| n.矮子( gnome的名词复数 )；侏儒；（尤指金融市场上搞投机的）银行家；守护神 | |
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15
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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16
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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17
labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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18
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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20
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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21
muskrat
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| n.麝香鼠 | |
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22
sloughs
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| n.沼泽( slough的名词复数 )；苦难的深渊；难以改变的不良心情；斯劳(Slough)v.使蜕下或脱落( slough的第三人称单数 )；舍弃；除掉；摒弃 | |
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23
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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24
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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25
besiege
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| vt.包围，围攻，拥在...周围 | |
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26
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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27
minks
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| n.水貂( mink的名词复数 )；水貂皮 | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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31
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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32
clams
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| n.蛤；蚌，蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.（在沙滩上）挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
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33
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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35
devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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36
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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37
muskrats
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| n.麝鼠（产于北美，毛皮珍贵）( muskrat的名词复数 ) | |
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38
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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39
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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40
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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41
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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42
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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43
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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44
margins
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| 边( margin的名词复数 )； 利润； 页边空白； 差数 | |
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45
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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46
migrations
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| n.迁移，移居( migration的名词复数 ) | |
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47
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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48
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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49
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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50
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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51
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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52
begrudgingly
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| 小气地，吝啬地 | |
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53
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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54
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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55
wresting
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| 动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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56
testimonies
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| （法庭上证人的）证词( testimony的名词复数 )； 证明，证据 | |
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57
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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58
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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59
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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60
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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61
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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63
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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64
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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65
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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66
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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67
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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68
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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69
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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70
portray
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| v.描写，描述；画(人物、景象等) | |
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71
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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72
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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73
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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74
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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75
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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76
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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77
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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78
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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79
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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80
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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81
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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82
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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83
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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84
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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85
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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86
despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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88
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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89
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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90
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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91
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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92
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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93
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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94
incisively
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| adv.敏锐地，激烈地 | |
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95
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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96
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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97
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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98
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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100
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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101
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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102
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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103
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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104
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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105
cods
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| n.鳕鱼（cod的复数形式）v.哄骗，愚弄（cod的第三人称单数形式） | |
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106
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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107
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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108
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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109
catfish
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| n.鲶鱼 | |
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110
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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111
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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113
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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114
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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115
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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116
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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117
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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118
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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119
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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120
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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121
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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122
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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123
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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124
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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125
distil
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| vt.蒸馏；提取…的精华，精选出 | |
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126
solaced
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的过去分词 ) | |
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127
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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128
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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129
depicts
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| 描绘，描画( depict的第三人称单数 )； 描述 | |
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130
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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131
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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132
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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133
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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134
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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135
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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136
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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137
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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138
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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139
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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140
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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141
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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142
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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143
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
commingled
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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146
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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147
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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148
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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149
sardine
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| n.[C]沙丁鱼 | |
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150
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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151
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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152
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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153
reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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154
morasses
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| n.缠作一团( morass的名词复数 )；困境；沼泽；陷阱 | |
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155
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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156
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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157
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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158
rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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159
symbolize
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| vt.作为...的象征，用符号代表 | |
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160
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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161
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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163
superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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164
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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165
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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166
immured
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| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
wraiths
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| n.幽灵( wraith的名词复数 )；（传说中人在将死或死后不久的）显形阴魂 | |
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168
lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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169
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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170
stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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171
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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172
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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173
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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174
component
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| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
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175
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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176
nutrients
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| n.（食品或化学品）营养物，营养品( nutrient的名词复数 ) | |
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177
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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178
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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179
repletion
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| n.充满，吃饱 | |
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180
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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181
depleted
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| adj. 枯竭的, 废弃的 动词deplete的过去式和过去分词 | |
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182
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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183
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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184
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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185
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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186
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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187
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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188
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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189
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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190
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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191
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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192
laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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193
flopping
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| n.贬调v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的现在分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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194
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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195
eventual
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| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
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196
dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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197
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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198
circumvented
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| v.设法克服或避免（某事物），回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 )；绕过，绕行，绕道旅行 | |
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199
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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200
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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201
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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202
congregate
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| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
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203
frailties
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| n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 )；虚弱；（性格或行为上的）弱点；缺点 | |
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204
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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205
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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206
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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207
hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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208
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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209
rascality
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| 流氓性，流氓集团 | |
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210
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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211
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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212
delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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213
lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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214
pessimists
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| n.悲观主义者( pessimist的名词复数 ) | |
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215
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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216
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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217
tolled
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| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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218
monarchs
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| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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219
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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220
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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221
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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