His Humanity Was Genuine And
Instinctive, And His Rudeness Only A Manner.
He inquired, just
as we were passing out of earshot, if we had killed anything, and
we shouted after him that we had shot a _buoy_, and could see him
for a long while scratching his head in vain to know if he had
heard aright.
There is reason in the distinction of civil and uncivil. The
manners are sometimes so rough a rind that we doubt whether they
cover any core or sap-wood at all. We sometimes meet uncivil
men, children of Amazons, who dwell by mountain paths, and are
said to be inhospitable to strangers; whose salutation is as rude
as the grasp of their brawny hands, and who deal with men as
unceremoniously as they are wont to deal with the elements. They
need only to extend their clearings, and let in more sunlight, to
seek out the southern slopes of the hills, from which they may
look down on the civil plain or ocean, and temper their diet duly
with the cereal fruits, consuming less wild meat and acorns, to
become like the inhabitants of cities. A true politeness does
not result from any hasty and artificial polishing, it is true,
but grows naturally in characters of the right grain and quality,
through a long fronting of men and events, and rubbing on good
and bad fortune. Perhaps I can tell a tale to the purpose while
the lock is filling, - for our voyage this forenoon furnishes but
few incidents of importance.
Early one summer morning I had left the shores of the
Connecticut, and for the livelong day travelled up the bank of a
river, which came in from the west; now looking down on the
stream, foaming and rippling through the forest a mile off, from
the hills over which the road led, and now sitting on its rocky
brink and dipping my feet in its rapids, or bathing adventurously
in mid-channel. The hills grew more and more frequent, and
gradually swelled into mountains as I advanced, hemming in the
course of the river, so that at last I could not see where it
came from, and was at liberty to imagine the most wonderful
meanderings and descents. At noon I slept on the grass in the
shade of a maple, where the river had found a broader channel
than usual, and was spread out shallow, with frequent sand-bars
exposed. In the names of the towns I recognized some which I had
long ago read on teamsters' wagons, that had come from far up
country; quiet, uplandish towns, of mountainous fame. I walked
along, musing and enchanted, by rows of sugar-maples, through the
small and uninquisitive villages, and sometimes was pleased with
the sight of a boat drawn up on a sand-bar, where there appeared
no inhabitants to use it. It seemed, however, as essential to
the river as a fish, and to lend a certain dignity to it. It was
like the trout of mountain streams to the fishes of the sea, or
like the young of the land-crab born far in the interior, who
have never yet heard the sound of the ocean's surf. The hills
approached nearer and nearer to the stream, until at last they
closed behind me, and I found myself just before nightfall in a
romantic and retired valley, about half a mile in length, and
barely wide enough for the stream at its bottom. I thought that
there could be no finer site for a cottage among mountains. You
could anywhere run across the stream on the rocks, and its
constant murmuring would quiet the passions of mankind forever.
Suddenly the road, which seemed aiming for the mountain-side,
turned short to the left, and another valley opened, concealing
the former, and of the same character with it. It was the most
remarkable and pleasing scenery I had ever seen. I found here a
few mild and hospitable inhabitants, who, as the day was not
quite spent, and I was anxious to improve the light, directed me
four or five miles farther on my way to the dwelling of a man
whose name was Rice, who occupied the last and highest of the
valleys that lay in my path, and who, they said, was a rather
rude and uncivil man. But "what is a foreign country to those
who have science? Who is a stranger to those who have the habit
of speaking kindly?"
At length, as the sun was setting behind the mountains in a still
darker and more solitary vale, I reached the dwelling of this
man. Except for the narrowness of the plain, and that the stones
were solid granite, it was the counterpart of that retreat to
which Belphoebe bore the wounded Timias, -
"In a pleasant glade,
With mountains round about environed,
And mighty woods, which did the valley shade,
And like a stately theatre it made,
Spreading itself into a spacious plain;
And in the midst a little river played
Amongst the pumy stones which seemed to plain,
With gentle murmur, that his course they did restrain."
I observed, as I drew near, that he was not so rude as I had
anticipated, for he kept many cattle, and dogs to watch them, and
I saw where he had made maple-sugar on the sides of the
mountains, and above all distinguished the voices of children
mingling with the murmur of the torrent before the door. As I
passed his stable I met one whom I supposed to be a hired man,
attending to his cattle, and I inquired if they entertained
travellers at that house. "Sometimes we do," he answered,
gruffly, and immediately went to the farthest stall from me, and
I perceived that it was Rice himself whom I had addressed. But
pardoning this incivility to the wildness of the scenery, I bent
my steps to the house. There was no sign-post before it, nor any
of the usual invitations to the traveller, though I saw by the
road that many went and came there, but the owner's name only was
fastened to the outside; a sort of implied and sullen invitation,
as I thought.
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