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1So the Muse fables. But therein, as I found, dwelt now John Field, an Irishman, and his wife, and several children, from
2the broad-faced boy who assisted his father at his work, and now came running by his side from the bog to escape the
3rain, to the wrinkled, sibyl-like, cone-headed infant that sat upon its father's knee as in the palaces of nobles, and
4looked out from its home in the midst of wet and hunger inquisitively upon the stranger, with the privilege of infancy,
5not knowing but it was the last of a noble line, and the hope and cynosure of the world, instead of John Field's poor
6starveling brat. There we sat together under that part of the roof which leaked the least, while it showered and
7thundered without. I had sat there many times of old before the ship was built that floated his family to America. An
8honest, hard-working, but shiftless man plainly was John Field; and his wife, she too was brave to cook so many
9successive dinners in the recesses of that lofty stove; with round greasy face and bare breast, still thinking to
10improve her condition one day; with the never absent mop in one hand, and yet no effects of it visible anywhere. The
11chickens, which had also taken shelter here from the rain, stalked about the room like members of the family, too
12humanized methought to roast well. They stood and looked in my eye or pecked at my shoe significantly. Meanwhile my host
13told me his story, how hard he worked "bogging" for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with a spade or bog hoe at
14the rate of ten dollars an acre and the use of the land with manure for one year, and his little broad-faced son worked
15cheerfully at his father's side the while, not knowing how poor a bargain the latter had made. I tried to help him with
16my experience, telling him that he was one of my nearest neighbors, and that I too, who came a-fishing here, and looked
17like a loafer, was getting my living like himself; that I lived in a tight, light, and clean house, which hardly cost
18more than the annual rent of such a ruin as his commonly amounts to; and how, if he chose, he might in a month or two
19build himself a palace of his own; that I did not use tea, nor coffee, nor butter, nor milk, nor fresh meat, and so did
20not have to work to get them; again, as I did not work hard, I did not have to eat hard, and it cost me but a trifle for
21my food; but as he began with tea, and coffee, and butter, and milk, and beef, he had to work hard to pay for them, and
22when he had worked hard he had to eat hard again to repair the waste of his system,--and so it was as broad as it was
23long, indeed it was broader than it was long, for he was discontented and wasted his life into the bargain; and yet he
24had rated it as a gain in coming to America, that here you could get tea, and coffee, and meat every day. But the only
25true America is that country where you are at liberty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without
26these, and where the state does not endeavor to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and other superfluous expenses
27which directly or indirectly result from the use of such things. For I purposely talked to him as if he were a
28philosopher, or desired to be one. I should be glad if all the meadows on the earth were left in a wild state, if that
29were the consequence of men's beginning to redeem themselves. A man will not need to study history to find out what is
30best for his own culture. But alas! the culture of an Irishman is an enterprise to be undertaken with a sort of moral
31bog hoe. I told him, that as he worked so hard at bogging, he required thick boots and stout clothing, which yet were
32soon soiled and worn out, but I wore light shoes and thin clothing, which cost not half so much, though he might think
33that I was dressed like a gentleman, (which, however, was not the case,) and in an hour or two, without labor, but as a
34recreation, I could, if I wished, catch as many fish as I should want for two days, or earn enough money to support me a
35week. If he and his family would live simply, they might all go a-huckleberrying in the summer for their amusement. John
36heaved a sigh at this, and his wife stared with arms a-kimbo, and both appeared to be wondering if they had capital
37enough to begin such a course with, or arithmetic enough to carry it through. It was sailing by dead reckoning to them,
38and they saw not clearly how to make their port so; therefore I suppose they still take life bravely, after their
39fashion, face to face, giving it tooth and nail, not having skill to split its massive columns with any fine entering
40wedge, and rout it in detail;--thinking to deal with it roughly, as one should handle a thistle. But they fight at an
41overwhelming disadvantage,--living, John Field, alas! without arithmetic, and failing so. "Do you ever fish?" I asked.
42"Oh yes, I catch a mess now and then when I am lying by; good perch I catch." "What's your bait?" "I catch shiners with
43fish-worms, and bait the perch with them." "You'd better go now, John," said his wife, with glistening and hopeful face;
44but John demurred. The shower was now over, and a rainbow above the eastern woods promised a fair evening; so I took my
45departure. When I had got without I asked for a drink, hoping to get a sight of the well bottom, to complete my survey
46of the premises; but there, alas! are shallows and quicksands, and rope broken withal, and bucket irrecoverable.
47Meanwhile the right culinary vessel was selected, water was seemingly distilled, and after consultation and long delay
48passed out to the thirsty one,--not yet suffered to cool, not yet to settle. Such gruel sustains life here, I thought;
49so, shutting my eyes, and excluding the motes by a skilfully directed under-current, I drank to genuine hospitality the
50heartiest draught I could. I am not squeamish in such cases when manners are concerned. As I was leaving the Irishman's
51roof after the rain, bending my steps again to the pond, my haste to catch pickerel, wading in retired meadows, in
52sloughs and bog-holes, in forlorn and savage places, appeared for an instant trivial to me who had been sent to school
53and college; but as I ran down the hill toward the reddening west, with the rainbow over my shoulder, and some faint
54tinkling sounds borne to my ear through the cleansed air, from I know not what quarter, my Good Genius seemed to
55say,--Go fish and hunt far and wide day by day,--farther and wider,--and rest thee by many brooks and hearth-sides
56without misgiving. Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth. Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek
57adventures. Let the noon find thee by other lakes, and the night overtake thee everywhere at home. There are no larger
58fields than these, no worthier games than may here be played. Grow wild according to thy nature, like these sedges and
59brakes, which will never become English hay. Let the thunder rumble; what if it threaten ruin to farmers' crops? that is
60not its errand to thee. Take shelter under the cloud, while they flee to carts and sheds. Let not to get a living be thy
61trade, but thy sport. Enjoy the land, but own it not. Through want of enterprise and faith men are where they are,
62buying and selling, and spending their lives like serfs. O Baker Farm! "Landscape where the richest element Is a little
63sunshine innocent." "No one runs to revel On thy rail-fenced lea." "Debate with no man hast thou, With questions art
64never perplexed, As tame at the first sight as now, In thy plain russet gabardine dressed." "Come ye who love, And ye
65who hate, Children of the Holy Dove, And Guy Faux of the state, And hang conspiracies From the tough rafters of the
66trees!" Men come tamely home at night only from the next field or street, where their household echoes haunt, and their
67life pines because it breathes its own breath over again; their shadows morning and evening reach farther than their
68daily steps. We should come home from far, from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day, with new experience
69and character. Before I had reached the pond some fresh impulse had brought out John Field, with altered mind, letting
70go "bogging" ere this sunset. But he, poor man, disturbed only a couple of fins while I was catching a fair string, and
71he said it was his luck; but when we changed seats in the boat luck changed seats too. Poor John Field!--I trust he does
72not read this, unless he will improve by it,--thinking to live by some derivative old country mode in this primitive new
73country,--to catch perch with shiners. It is good bait sometimes, I allow. With his horizon all his own, yet he a poor
74man, born to be poor, with his inherited Irish poverty or poor life, his Adam's grandmother and boggy ways, not to rise
75in this world, he nor his posterity, till their wading webbed bog-trotting feet get talaria to their heels.
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