"Stat contra ratio, et secretam garrit in aurem,
Ne liceat facere id, quod quis vitiabit agendo."
Reason opposes, and whispers in the secret ear,
That it is not lawful to do that which one will spoil by doing.
Only they who do not see how anything might be better done are
forward to try their hand on it. Even the master workman must be
encouraged by the reflection, that his awkwardness will be
incompetent to do that thing harm, to which his skill may fail to
do justice. Here is no apology for neglecting to do many things
from a sense of our incapacity, - for what deed does not fall
maimed and imperfect from our hands? - but only a warning to
bungle less.
The satires of Persius are the furthest possible from inspired;
evidently a chosen, not imposed subject. Perhaps I have given
him credit for more earnestness than is apparent; but it is
certain, that that which alone we can call Persius, which is
forever independent and consistent, _was_ in earnest, and so
sanctions the sober consideration of all. The artist and his
work are not to be separated. The most wilfully foolish man
cannot stand aloof from his folly, but the deed and the doer
together make ever one sober fact. There is but one stage for
the peasant and the actor. The buffoon cannot bribe you to laugh
always at his grimaces; they shall sculpture themselves in
Egyptian granite, to stand heavy as the pyramids on the ground of
his character.
- - -
Suns rose and set and found us still on the dank forest path
which meanders up the Pemigewasset, now more like an otter's or a
marten's trail, or where a beaver had dragged his trap, than
where the wheels of travel raise a dust; where towns begin to
serve as gores, only to hold the earth together. The wild pigeon
sat secure above our heads, high on the dead limbs of naval
pines, reduced to a robin's size. The very yards of our
hostelries inclined upon the skirts of mountains, and, as we
passed, we looked up at a steep angle at the stems of maples
waving in the clouds.
Far up in the country, - for we would be faithful to our
experience, - in Thornton, perhaps, we met a soldier lad in the
woods, going to muster in full regimentals, and holding the
middle of the road; deep in the forest, with shouldered musket
and military step, and thoughts of war and glory all to himself.
It was a sore trial to the youth, tougher than many a battle, to
get by us creditably and with soldierlike bearing. Poor man! He
actually shivered like a reed in his thin military pants, and by
the time we had got up with him, all the sternness that becomes
the soldier had forsaken his face, and he skulked past as if he
were driving his father's sheep under a sword-proof helmet.
