Part 5

But I am no sneerer, my gentle hostess. If I could, I would contract my roving vision and desires; like yourself, make my most desired object of attainment, _comfort_, and rustic health; confine my thoughts to my own neighborhood; study and fall in love with Nature; grow wise in that wisdom which is from within--and be happy. I have been _trying_ to do so; but there is something in me that rebels. It cannot be, and I must go restlessly and sorrowfully wandering on. And when I am gone, and you forget the wayfarer, he will not forget you, nor the heart-felt benediction, 'May it remain with you forever!' which he leaves with your household.

ODE TO BEAUTY.

'A THING OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOR EVER.'--KEATS.

SPIRIT of Beauty! thou whose glance Doth fill the universe with light Which is the shadow of thy might, Whose fair, immortal countenance Transcends all human sight! O where, Within what calm and blessed sphere Of earth, or air, or heaven, doth dwell The glory of thy presence? Now All things repose beneath thy spell. Bright essence, pure, invisible, Blest spirit! where art thou?

Beyond stern Boreas' crystal throne Dost hold thy court with meteors dancing, And phantom gleams mid shadows wan, Like thought from earth to heaven glancing? Art sphered in light within the glorious Sun When upward on his burning course he hies, Or in the golden west when day is done, Weaving his gorgeous robe of thousand dyes? Hast thou thy home far in yon silvery star, Aye twinkling silently, As fondly struggling to reveal The secret of its mystery; Whose radiance floating from afar, Like music o'er the heart doth steal, Making the listening soul to be Part of its own deep melody? Dost dwell in the trembling moonbeam's smile, When, wakened by the midnight spell, Light fairies trip through each silent dell, Their dewy ringlets dancing, while Beneath the shadowy mountain's base The vales lie steeped in loveliness, And the breathing lawns afar do seem The soft creation of a dream?

Thy spell is abroad on the Ocean's breast When the Sun awakes from his dreamless rest, And the crimsoned waves leap exultingly Beneath the glance of his golden eye. Thou reignest in the glowing haze Of noontide, like a presence brooding Above the fields in radiance dressed, When amber gleams the woods are flooding, And insects sport mid the quivering rays; And the flowers their trembling zones unbind To the soft caress of the wooing wind. Thou com'st on airy footsteps, blest With a spirit-power in the twilight hour, When the dreaming lake lies hushed below, And the heavens above with looks of love Keep watch as the shadows come and go.

All hours, all worlds, thy spell obey; Yet not alone within the circling pale Of universal Nature's wide domain Extends thy sovereign reign; The Soul hath beauty of her own Which oft doth penetrate the mortal veil That shrouds the spirit's viewless throne, Winning to something of celestial ray The charms that blossom only to decay. It lives in all the nameless grace Of wreathed line and shifting hue, (That speak the pent soul shining through,) It sleeps in the unruffled face Of holy, smiling infancy, Wherein, as in a lake of blue, Lies mirrored heaven's own purity.

But most in Woman's soul-lit eye, Within whose depths lies eternity! And in those smiles that gleam and tremble Through the veil that seems to shroud Their full effulgence, and resemble Lightnings hovering in a cloud; And in the light serene and clear Of her own vestal purity, Which surrounds her like an atmosphere. Spirit of Beauty! here confess Thy divinest dwelling-place!

Yet not the kindling dawn, Nor breathless summer noon, nor soft decline Of eve, nor stars, nor moon-lit lawn, Nor 'human face divine,' Nor aught that greets our earthly sight Of most surpassing loveliness, Thy full divinity express; These are but symbols of thy might. High throned above all mortal state, Enrapt, serene, owning nor death nor change, Nor time, nor place, thou hast thy seat In that calm world wherein the Soul doth range, Where Thought and Wisdom do abide, Beside immortal Truth, thy sister and thy bride!

Supreme immunities are thine, Eternal Beauty! glorious giver Of light, and joy, and blessedness! And they are blest who on thy face divine Gaze and repose for ever. Such guerdon high do those possess, The star-like souls, who dwell apart,[A] Above our dim and common day Shining serene. To these thou art Immortal light and strength, and they By virtue led, and contemplation high, Partake with thee thine own eternity!

H. M. G.

[A] 'THY soul was like a star, and dwelt apart.'--WORDSWORTH'S SONNET TO MILTON.

MEADOW-FARM: A TALE OF ASSOCIATION.

BY THE AUTHOR OF 'EDWARD ALFORD AND HIS PLAYFELLOW.'

CHAPTER SEVENTH.

'BECAUSE there dwells In the inner temple of the holy heart The presence of the spirit from above: There are His tabernacles; there His rites.'

SCHOOL OF THE HEART.

THE next day after the events narrated in our last chapter, was the Sabbath. 'How shall it be employed?' No preconcerted plan of worship had been agreed upon; this Rufus chose to leave to the inspiration of the moment. In this small number of persons there were various religious impressions; that is, they had been brought up under different denominations. The widow Stewart and her sons called themselves Baptists; Rufus Gilbert and his wife were Unitarians; Philip and his mother were Calvinists; but no one of all these could be said to have opinions upon religion. Chance, accident, had determined their position; and if any one had been asked why he bore this or that name, he would have said, because I go to this or that church, rather than give any reason for his presumed faith.

With Rufus the case was rather different. An ignorant person in talking with him would have said he was inclined to infidelity; for he had no faith in the saving power of the church, and did not believe that church-membership was necessary to salvation; he maintained that virtue was the key to Heaven, and obedience to conscience the sure passport to eternal happiness; that worship and all the ordinances of religion were the means of cultivating the virtue and obedience, and so far they were sacred.

Philip Wilton had been educated a Calvinist. The splendid intellectual system of orthodoxy had blinded him to the fundamental errors upon which that noble superstructure rests; for grant their premises, and what scheme of faith is so consistent? Of an ardent temperament, he loved to lose himself in religious agitation; and surrounding himself with gloom, and picturing the despair of hell, the agony of the lost, the terrors of the law, to pass in imagination to the foot of the cross and feel his sins forgiven, his stains washed out, by the cleansing blood dripping from the body of the Lord. Then would he mount to Heaven, a purified saint, and veil his face before the ineffable glory of the Father, to thank him, to praise him forever.

Such was the action of his early piety, exhausting, fruitless, and delusive; for every thing was to be done for him, and by simply believing certain facts he was to be entitled to this blissful state. Time has sobered his views, as he felt the power of reason in his mind, and his experience of life had banished this physical form of worship, and substituted a more spiritual religion in his heart.

The sun shone brightly on this their first Sabbath morning together in their new home. The notes of birds, the rushing streams, the shooting grass was the voice of Spring. The cattle and flocks in the fold cast wistful glances to the pastures on the hillsides; every thing that had power of motion seemed to have come out to welcome the voice, and to be filled with tranquil happiness. It was surprising to see how perfectly all these persons united in their religious service as they met together in the library to thank God for their blessings. All idea of sect was lost or forgotten in the common feeling of thankfulness. Sheltered by the same roof, fed at the same table, and happy and contented in the same scene, they were led to acknowledge in their hearts that they had a common Father and one faith in Him. All those circumstances of going to different places, having different forms and different names, the rivalry of preachers, and the temporal success of their various churches, were absent, and in the fervor of their gratitude all causes of separation were forgotten, and every thing disuniting was merged in a common sense of dependence, as they confessed their sins and prayed for guidance and light from the one Source of all benefits.

Philip conducted the meeting, and the mother's heart was satisfied with seeing her son even in that humble pulpit. Forgetting himself, and making no special effort to be eloquent and fine, he extemporized a better sermon than he could have written, from the text, 'But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith.' Music, a kind of devotion itself, was not wanting to complete the beauty of their simple worship; and when the sun went down on that Sabbath evening, each felt that he had never truly worshipped before; so cold, tame, and meaningless did the almost compelled services of the churches seem to them, when compared with this spontaneous, social outpouring of the heart.

As the sun was declining, John Stewart and Clara had separated from the others in their walk, and stood beside the lake. They were discussing the sermon of Philip: 'And then how beautifully he portrayed the effects of true religion on the life,' said Clara, in reply to some remark of his. 'He has so much feeling that he makes others feel. He does not say such remarkable things, but all he does utter you are sure comes from the bottom of his heart.'

'And do people always produce such effects when they speak from their hearts?' asked John.

'I believe so,' answered Clara; and then there was a long silence, and they sat down on a fallen trunk by the side of the lake, looking at the budding trees reflected in the clear water.

Religion and love are close companions. When the heart is touched by devotion, when we have made our peace with Heaven, and formed resolutions to lead purer and better lives, all the finer parts of our nature are roused into action, and we are prepared to love, to assist, and sympathize with our fellow creatures. A bad man cannot love; he may feel passion, but not love.

John Stewart, with a rough exterior, had a sensitive heart. He had long in secret worshipped the fair Clara, but the sense of his own deficiencies had hitherto kept him silent. His connection with Rufus Gilbert had drawn him often to her mother's house, where he was considered an odd sort of young man; for as we have before remarked, he would sit for hours watching the movements of the younger sister, who regarded him almost like a brother.

'You know, Clara,' at length began John, 'that we are all under a solemn agreement with Mr. Gilbert to have no secret plan, to make no bargain of any kind, and to conceal no grief, while members of the family, but to be perfectly open and trusting in all our dealings with each other.'

'Yes, John; and have you broken the agreement?'

'No, but I am like to, unless you help me out of a difficulty.'

'Oh, any thing, John; you know I would do any thing in my power for you.'

'But if it is not in your power now, will you try to help me?'

'Certainly.'

'Then you must try to love me; you must be my wife, Clara.'

'And the wedding shall take place when you have earned a thousand dollars by your own labor,' said a voice behind them, which they knew to be Rufus Gilbert's.

'And,' added another voice, 'I am an ordained minister, and can legally marry you.'

Turning, they became aware that their friends had come up as they were talking together, and unintentionally heard their conversation.

Clara said nothing, but gave her hand to John, then ran to embrace her mother and sister, while her lover half bewildered with delight and happiness so unexpected, was shaking hands with his brothers and friends.

'We heard what you said about the 'solemn agreement,' to divulge all secrets; we have saved you the trouble,' said Rufus. 'This honesty alone makes you worthy of any woman, and I congratulate myself as well as you upon this plighting.'

The parties returned to the house and spent the evening in singing sacred music together; and if, as some one has observed, happiness is the true atmosphere of devotion and of virtue, John and Clara both were better on that evening than ever before.

* * * * *

CHAPTER EIGHTH.

'O THAT the newspapers had called me slave, coward, fool, or what it pleased their sweet voices to name me, and I had attained not death but life!'

CARLYLE'S 'PAST AND PRESENT.'

IT must not be supposed that the Meadow-Farmers gained their position without other struggle than the labor of arranging and cultivating their domain. Fortunately for them they had enemies, or rather opponents, who talked against them and wrote against them, and by these means compelled them to look carefully to their own principles. These attacks taught them their own strength, and gave steadiness and manliness to their efforts. The strong ship never sails so steadily as when she stems an opposing current.

A man can hardly introduce a new kind of plough upon his farm, without being called upon for his reasons; much less can a body of men start a new project of society, unquestioned and unnoticed. Although every freeman may plough and reap as he please, yet may I call him to account for the implied slander which he utters upon the usual and common plough of the country, by throwing it aside and adopting a new one. So when men promulge new doctrines of society, and establish new forms of business and domestic economy, may we not rightfully question them closely, for their attempt to unsettle the established order of things, which they virtually do by such a course? For by no means is it true, that men have the right--the moral right--to plunge recklessly against old institutions and habits, with no other reason than that such is their pleasure. Such crusades may be more safely allowed in monarchical countries, whose heavy and ponderous forms are little moved by them; but in a country where public sentiment is law and government much more than the statute-book, it is not only our right but our duty to watch narrowly every innovation, and to question, with a voice of authority, him who comes to remove the old landmarks planted by our fathers.

This curious and, as it is called, meddlesome spirit, which Americans show in the affairs of their neighbors, is in fact the instinct of self-preservation in our people. It is a better habit than an idle curiosity, however it may be denominated. It matters little who comes or goes, or what the habits and opinions, of people who live in countries where a military power is ever ready to support the established authority of the land. Not so with us. We require no passports in passing from village to village, from state to state; every man is free to move as he pleases; but there is constantly over every man a jealous scrutiny, and not so much over his personal movements, as over the most important part of him, his opinions and habits. Hence the thousand staring eyes which greet every stranger as he passes through our villages and towns. Is any one desirous of being conspicuous among his fellow men, he has only to quietly take up his abode in any of our country towns; preserve a mysterious silence respecting his business; say no more than is absolutely necessary for his wants, and in a week's time he will become the theme of every tea-table in the neighborhood; and should he incline to go to meeting on the Sabbath, he will find that he will more than equally divide attention with the preacher. As we live and move and have our being as a nation by the action of this public sentiment, is it not a necessary consequence that we are curious and meddlesome, and often annoying, toward those who come among us to see the strange anomaly, a self-governed people? And we ask such persons seriously, if, having considered the case, our prying, Yankee questioning is a proper subject of their ridicule?

For the same reason, too, all secret societies are deemed dangerous to the community, and our people will not endure them because they are foreign to the character of our government. And how are they foreign, it is asked? Each voter being a part of the government, he wants all the facts of the country before him in order to form his opinion, which he cannot have if secret societies exist. In a despotism the power being in one head, that head alone has need of the facts we refer to; the governed have no interest except to obey, no duty but to submit. To refer to an almost forgotten question, the rights of Free Masons, the opposition and abuse they received was far less against them as Masons, than as asking for protection and privilege, without being willing to yield any thing to that public sentiment which they were opposing by their very existence as a secret society.

Let us draw here one other inference from what has been said, and then to work: a free and untrammeled press is as essential to a free government as air is to life. If the art of printing had been known by the ancient republics they might still have existed. And, moreover, we may demand, as a right, to know any and all of the affairs of others which may, by possibility, act upon this public trust, of which each man is part keeper. And the advantage of this supervision is mutual, for it is well for every one to know that the whole country has an interest in what he does, in his acts, his habits, and especially in his opinions.

Rufus Gilbert courted this scrutiny, and took pains to open his views to all who visited him; but he became unpopular at first with the church in his neighborhood, because he did not come under its wing and ask its influence--an influence always to be obtained by paying for it. Both political parties called him a fool and fanatic, because he did not immediately set down his political opinions and promise his vote for or against men he had never seen or heard of before.

To the Whig committee-man who called to ask his support for that party, he propounded first the question, 'Is your candidate a temperance man?'

'Really, Sir, we have little to do with such narrow questions; I can't answer you.'

'Is he for or against slavery?' next proposed Rufus.

'That, too, is beyond my instructions.'

'What then, may I ask,' said Rufus, 'are the grounds upon which you ask my vote for your candidate?'

'Grounds, Sir!--zounds!' said the emissary, looking about for a convenient stump, 'grounds, did you say? Sir, he is a Whig; he was born a Whig; he has lived a Whig, and will die a Whig. What more can you ask? He never opposes his party; he is a man we can rely upon; we know where to find him; he is a man to stick to the party, if the party go to the d--l; and that's what I call being a patriot.'

A little ruder in speech, but quite as honest in his views, was the friend of the opposing party, who called to solicit the name of Mr. Gilbert on his paper, whose inquiries respecting the opinions of the candidate upon what he conceived to be vital questions, namely, temperance and slavery, he answered thus:

'I'll tell you what, friend, you're a stranger to me and I'm a stranger to you, but I have heard that you are a friend to the poor; now if such be the case, you hate the Whigs, you hate the rich, the aristocrats that they be; this is as natural as for hens to cackle. Now we don't meddle with temperance, because some of our men can only be brought forward by the drink; we don't touch slavery, because, you see old Hickory may own slaves himself. These are, in polite way of talking, subjects for the straddle. The fence, Sir, the fence, is our only and our tee-total safety on these p'ints.'

'But,' said Rufus, 'because I am a friend to the poor, how does it follow that I must hate the rich? I must love all men, for every man is my brother. I shall not vote at all at the coming election, for I have not had time to inform myself as to the respective merits of the men that are up.'

'That's right, Sir, I must confess,' said the young man, with an entirely different tone and manner, for he was the son of an honest man, and had had early instruction in his youth; 'that's right; I respect you, Mr. Gilbert; it's just what father said; and I must tell you, I've seen better days than getting a dollar a day for crying 'Hurrah for old Hickory!' So, re-cocking his hat and falling again into the part he was paid for playing, off he rode.

'A pretty fellow this,' said the Whigs, 'to show no colors; I'll bet a cow he will sneak in and vote for Hickory. What right has he to come into our county and play dark till the game turns? We'll fix him!'

'Did you try to buy him?' said the Jackson men to their emissary.

'No; I didn't dare do it; I'll wager drinks all round he is not to be bought.'

'This is a noble fellow,' sighed the Whig candidate himself, when he heard what Rufus had said; 'I must seek him out; a man after my own heart. Would to God I were free to act myself! Oh! this slavery of party; this slavery of the soul! How much meaner and baser is it than any bonds of the body!'

'Saddle me a horse,' said the other candidate; 'I'll ride over and promise him he shall be post-master.'

'That's promised three times already,' said some one; 'promise him the judge of probate, for that's only promised twice.'

'Ah! that will do.' But Rufus was proof against promises and bribes.