Now That We Are Casting Away These Melon Seeds, How Can We Help
Feeling Reproach?
He who eats the fruit, should at least plant
the seed; aye, if possible, a better seed than that whose fruit
he has enjoyed.
Seeds! there are seeds enough which need only
to be stirred in with the soil where they lie, by an inspired
voice or pen, to bear fruit of a divine flavor. O thou
spendthrift! Defray thy debt to the world; eat not the seed of
institutions, as the luxurious do, but plant it rather, while
thou devourest the pulp and tuber for thy subsistence; that so,
perchance, one variety may at last be found worthy of
preservation.
There are moments when all anxiety and stated toil are becalmed
in the infinite leisure and repose of nature. All laborers must
have their nooning, and at this season of the day, we are all,
more or less, Asiatics, and give over all work and reform. While
lying thus on our oars by the side of the stream, in the heat of
the day, our boat held by an osier put through the staple in its
prow, and slicing the melons, which are a fruit of the East, our
thoughts reverted to Arabia, Persia, and Hindostan, the lands of
contemplation and dwelling-places of the ruminant nations. In
the experience of this noontide we could find some apology even
for the instinct of the opium, betel, and tobacco chewers. Mount
Saber, according to the French traveller and naturalist, Botta,
is celebrated for producing the Kat-tree, of which "the soft tops
of the twigs and tender leaves are eaten," says his reviewer,
"and produce an agreeable soothing excitement, restoring from
fatigue, banishing sleep, and disposing to the enjoyment of
conversation." We thought that we might lead a dignified
Oriental life along this stream as well, and the maple and alders
would be our Kat-trees.
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