On a summer day, long gone among the summer days that come but to go, a lad of twelve years was idly and recklessly swinging in the top of a tall hickory, the advance picket1 of a mountain forest. The tree was on the edge of a steep declivity2 of rocky pasture-land that fell rapidly down to the stately chestnuts3, to the orchard4, to the cornfields in the narrow valley, and the maples5 on the bank of the amber6 river, whose loud, unceasing murmur7 came to the lad on his aerial perch8 like the voice of some tradition of nature that he could not understand.
He had climbed to the topmost branch of the lithe9 and tough tree in order to take the full swing of this free creature in its sport with the western wind. There was something exhilarating in this elemental battle of the forces that urge and the forces that resist, and the harder the wind blew, and the wider circles he took in the free air, the more stirred the boy was in the spring of his life. Nature was taking him by the hand, and it might be that in that moment ambition was born to achieve for himself, to conquer.
If you had asked him why he was there, he would very likely have said, "To see the world." It was a world worth seeing. The prospect10 might be limited to a dull eye, but not to this lad, who loved to climb this height, in order to be with himself and indulge the dreams of youth. Any pretense11 would suffice for taking this hour of freedom: to hunt for the spicy12 checker-berries and the pungent13 sassafras; to aggravate14 the woodchucks, who made their homes in mysterious passages in this gravelly hillside; to get a nosegay of columbine for the girl who spelled against him in school and was his gentle comrade morning and evening along the river road where grew the sweet-flag and the snap-dragon and the barberry bush; to make friends with the elegant gray squirrel and the lively red squirrel and the comical chipmunk15, who were not much afraid of this unarmed naturalist16. They may have recognized their kinship to him, for he could climb like any squirrel, and not one of them could have clung more securely to this bough17 where he was swinging, rejoicing in the strength of his lithe, compact little body. When he shouted in pure enjoyment18 of life, they chattered19 in reply, and eyed him with a primeval curiosity that had no fear in it. This lad in short trousers, torn shirt, and a frayed20 straw hat above his mobile and cheerful face, might be only another sort of animal, a lover like themselves of the beech-nut and the hickory-nut.
It was a gay world up here among the tossing branches. Across the river, on the first terrace of the hill, were weather-beaten farmhouses21, amid apple orchards23 and cornfields. Above these rose the wooded dome24 of Mount Peak, a thousand feet above the river, and beyond that to the left the road wound up, through the scriptural land of Bozrah, to high and lonesome towns on a plateau stretching to unknown regions in the south. There was no bar to the imagination in that direction. What a gracious valley, what graceful25 slopes, what a mass of color bathing this lovely summer landscape! Down from the west, through hills that crowded on either side to divert it from its course, ran the sparkling Deerfield, from among the springs and trout26 streams of the Hoosac, merrily going on to the great Connecticut. Along the stream was the ancient highway, or lowway, where in days before the railway came the stage-coach and the big transport-wagons used to sway and rattle28 along on their adventurous29 voyage from the gate of the Sea at Boston to the gate of the West at Albany.
Below, where the river spread wide among the rocks in shallows, or eddies30 in deep, dark pools, was the ancient, long, covered, wooden bridge, striding diagonally from rock to rock on stone columns, a dusky tunnel through the air, a passage of gloom flecked with glints of sunlight, that struggled in crosscurrents through the interstices of the boards, and set dancing the motes31 and the dust in a golden haze32, a stuffy33 passage with odors a century old--who does not know the pungent smell of an old bridge?--a structure that groaned34 in all its big timbers when a wagon27 invaded it. And then below the bridge the lad could see the historic meadow, which was a cornfield in the eighteenth century, where Captain Moses Rice and Phineas Arms came suddenly one summer day to the end of their planting and hoeing. The house at the foot of the hill where the boy was cultivating his imagination had been built by Captain Rice, and in the family burying-ground in the orchard above it lay the body of this mighty35 militia-man, and beside him that of Phineas Arms, and on the headstone of each the legend familiar at that period of our national life, "Killed by the Indians." Happy Phineas Arms, at the age of seventeen to exchange in a moment the tedium36 of the cornfield for immortality37.
There was a tradition that years after, when the Indians had disappeared through a gradual process of intoxication38 and pauperism39, a red man had been seen skulking40 along the brow of this very hill and peering down through the bushes where the boy was now perched on a tree, shaking his fist at the hated civilization, and vengefully, some said pathetically, looking down into this valley where his race had been so happy in the natural pursuits of fishing, hunting, and war. On the opposite side of the river was still to be traced an Indian trail, running to the western mountains, which the boy intended some time to follow; for this highway of warlike forays, of messengers of defiance41, along which white maidens42 had been led captive to Canada, appealed greatly to his imagination.
The boy lived in these traditions quite as much as in those of the Revolutionary War into which they invariably glided43 in his perspective of history, the redskins and the redcoats being both enemies of his ancestors. There was the grave of the envied Phineas Arms--that ancient boy not much older than he--and there were hanging in the kitchen the musket44 and powder-horn that his great-grandfather had carried at Bunker Hill, and did he not know by heart the story of his great-grandmother, who used to tell his father that she heard when she was a slip of a girl in Plymouth the cannonading on that awful day when Gage45 met his victorious46 defeat?
In fact, according to his history-book there had been little but wars in this peaceful nation: the War of 1812, the Mexican War, the incessant47 frontier wars with the Indians, the Kansas War, the Mormon War, the War for the Union. The echoes of the latter had not yet died away. What a career he might have had if he had not been born so late in the world! Swinging in this tree-top, with a vivid consciousness of life, of his own capacity for action, it seemed a pity that he could not follow the drum and the flag into such contests as he read about so eagerly.
And yet this was only a corner of the boy's imagination. He had many worlds and he lived in each by turn. There was the world of the Old Testament48, of David and Samson, and of those dim figures in the dawn of history, called the Patriarchs. There was the world of Julius Caesar and the Latin grammar, though this was scarcely as real to him as the Old Testament, which was brought to his notice every Sunday as a necessity of his life, while Caesar and AEneas and the fourth declension were made to be a task, for some mysterious reason, a part of his education. He had not been told that they were really a part of the other world which occupied his mind so much of the time, the world of the Arabian Nights and Robinson Crusoe, and Coleridge and Shelley and Longfellow, and Washington Irving and Scott and Thackeray, and Pope's Iliad and Plutarch's Lives. That this was a living world to the boy was scarcely his fault, for it must be confessed that those were very antiquated49 book-shelves in the old farmhouse22 to which he had access, and the news had not been apprehended50 in this remote valley that the classics of literature were all as good as dead and buried, and that the human mind had not really created anything worth modern notice before about the middle of the nineteenth century. It was not exactly an ignorant valley, for the daily newspapers were there, and the monthly magazine, and the fashion-plate of Paris, and the illuminating51 sunshine of new science, and enough of the uneasy throb52 of modern life. Yet somehow the books that were still books had not been sent to the garret, to make room for the illustrated53 papers and the profound physiological54 studies of sin and suffering that were produced by touching55 a scientific button. No, the boy was conscious in a way of the mighty pulsation56 of American life, and he had also a dim notion that his dreams in his various worlds would come to a brilliant fulfillment when he was big enough to go out and win a name and fame. But somehow the old books, and the family life, and the sedate57 ways of the community he knew, had given him a fundamental and not unarmed faith in the things that were and had been.
Every Sunday the preacher denounced the glitter and frivolity58 and corruption59 of what he called Society, until the boy longed to see this splendid panorama60 of cities and hasting populations, the seekers of pleasure and money and fame, this gay world which was as fascinating as it was wicked. The preacher said the world was wicked and vain. It did not seem so to the boy this summer day, not at least the world he knew. Of course the boy had no experience. He had never heard of Juvenal nor of Max Nordau. He had no philosophy of life. He did not even know that when he became very old the world would seem to him good or bad according to the degree in which he had become a good or a bad man.
In fact, he was not thinking much about being good or being bad, but of trying his powers in a world which seemed to offer to him infinite opportunities. His name--Philip Burnett--with which the world, at least the American world, is now tolerably familiar, and which he liked to write with ornamental61 flourishes on the fly-leaves of his schoolbooks, did not mean much to him, for he had never seen it in print, nor been confronted with it as something apart from himself. But the Philip that he was he felt sure would do something in the world. What that something should be varied62 from day to day according to the book, the poem, the history or biography that he was last reading. It would not be difficult to write a poem like "Thanatopsis" if he took time enough, building up a line a day. And yet it would be better to be a soldier, a man who could use the sword as well as the pen, a poet in uniform. This was a pleasing imagination. Surely his aunt and his cousins in the farmhouse would have more respect for him if he wore a uniform, and treat him with more consideration, and perhaps they would be very anxious about him when he was away in battles, and very proud of him when he came home between battles, and went quite modestly with the family into the village church, and felt rather than saw the slight flutter in the pews as he walked down the aisle63, and knew that the young ladies, the girl comrades of the district school, were watching him from the organ gallery, curious to see Phil, who had gone into the army. Perhaps the preacher would have a sermon against war, and the preacher should see how soldierlike he would take this attack on him. Alas64! is such vanity at the bottom of even a reasonable ambition? Perhaps his town would be proud of him if he were a lawyer, a Representative in Congress, come back to deliver the annual oration65 at the Agricultural Fair. He could see the audience of familiar faces, and hear the applause at his witty66 satires67 and his praise of the nobility of the farmer's life, and it would be sweet indeed to have the country people grasp him by the hand and call him Phil, just as they used to before he was famous. What he would say, he was not thinking of, but the position he would occupy before the audience. There were no misgivings68 in any of these dreams of youth.
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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declivity
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| n.下坡，倾斜面 | |
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chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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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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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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aggravate
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| vt.加重(剧)，使恶化；激怒，使恼火 | |
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chipmunk
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| n.花栗鼠 | |
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naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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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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farmhouses
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| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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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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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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pauperism
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| n.有被救济的资格，贫困 | |
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skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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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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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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gage
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| n.标准尺寸，规格；量规，量表 [=gauge] | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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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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physiological
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| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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pulsation
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| n.脉搏，悸动，脉动；搏动性 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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satires
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| 讽刺，讥讽( satire的名词复数 )； 讽刺作品 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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