II.
MY HOME RETURN.
When the stage-coach had gained the summit of the hill, I alighted to
perform the small remainder of my journey on foot. There had not been
a more delicious afternoon than this in all the train of summer, the air
being a sunny perfume, made up of balm and warmth, and gentle
brightness. The oak and walnut trees over my head retained their deep
masses of foliage, and the grass, though for months the pasturage of
stray cattle, had been revived with the freshness of early June by the
autumnal rains of the preceding week. The garb of autumn, indeed,
resembled that of spring. Dandelions and butterflies were sprinkled
along the roadside like drops of brightest gold in greenest grass, and a
star-shaped little flower of blue, with a golden centre. In a rocky
spot, and rooted under the stone walk, there was one wild rose-bush
bearing three roses very faintly tinted, but blessed with a spicy
fragrance. The same tokens would have announced that the year was
brightening into the glow of summer. There were violets too, though few
and pale ones. But the breath of September was diffused through the
mild air, and became perceptible, too thrillingly for my enfeebled
frame, whenever a little breeze shook out the latent coolness.
"I was standing on the hill at the entrance of my native village, whence
I had looked back to bid farewell, and forward to the pale mist-bow that
overarched my path, and was the omen of my fortunes. How I had
misinterpreted that augury, the ghost of hope, with none of hope's
bright hues! Nor could I deem that all its portents were yet
accomplished, though from the same western sky the declining sun shone
brightly in my face. But I was calm and not depressed. Turning to the
village, so dim and dream-like at my last view, I saw the white houses
and brick stores, the intermingled trees, the footpaths with their wide
borders of grass, and the dusty road between; all a picture of peaceful
gladness in the sunshine.
"'Why have I never loved my home before?' thought I, as my spirit
reposed itself on the quiet beauty of the scene.
"On the side of the opposite hill was the graveyard, sloping towards the
farther extremity of the village. The sun shone as cheerfully there as
on the abodes of the living, and showed all the little hillocks and the
burial-stones, white marble or slate, and here and there a tomb, with
the pleasant grass about them all. A single tree was tinged with glory
from the west, and threw a pensive shade behind. Not far from where it
fell was the tomb of my parents, whom I had hardly thought of in bidding
adieu to the village, but had remembered them more faithfully among the
feelings that drew me homeward. At my departure their tomb had been
hidden in the morning mist. Beholding it in the sunshine now, I felt a
sensation through my frame as if a breeze had thrown the coolness of
September over me, though not a leaf was stirred, nor did the thistle-
down take flight. Was I to roam no more through this beautiful world,
but only to the other end of the village? Then let me lie down near my
parents, but not with them, because I love a green grave better than a
tomb.
"Moving slowly forward, I heard shouts and laughter, and perceived a
considerable throng of people, who came from behind the meeting-house
and made a stand in front of it. Thither all the idlers in the village
were congregated to witness the exercises of the engine company, this
being the afternoon of their monthly practice. They deluged the roof of
the meeting-house, till the water fell from the eaves in a broad
cascade; then the stream beat against the dusty windows like a thunder-
storm; and sometimes they flung it up beside the steeple, sparkling in
an ascending shower about the weathercock. For variety's sake the
engineer made it undulate horizontally, like a great serpent flying over
the earth. As his last effort, being roguishly inclined, he seemed to
take aim at the sky, falling short rather of which, down came the fluid,
transformed to drops of silver, on the thickest crowd of the spectators.
Then ensued a prodigious rout and mirthful uproar, with no little wrath
of the surly ones, whom this is an infallible method of distinguishing.
The joke afforded infinite amusement to the ladies at the windows and
some old people under the hay-scales. I also laughed at a distance, and
was glad to find myself susceptible, as of old, to the simple mirth of
such a scene.
"But the thoughts that it excited were not all mirthful. I had
witnessed hundreds of such spectacles in my youth, and one precisely
similar only a few days before my departure. And now, the aspect of the
village being the same, and the crowd composed of my old acquaintances,
I could hardly realize that years had passed, or even months, or that
the very drops of water were not falling at this moment, which had been
flung up then. But I pressed the conviction home, that, brief as the
time appeared, it had been long enough for me to wander away and return
again, with my fate accomplished, and little more hope in this world.
The last throb of an adventurous and wayward spirit kept me from
repining. I felt as if it were better, or not worse, to have compressed
my enjoyments and sufferings into a few wild years, and then to rest
myself in an early grave, than to have chosen the untroubled and
ungladdened course of the crowd before me, whose days were all alike,
and a long lifetime like each day. But the sentiment startled me. For
a moment I doubted whether my dear-bought wisdom were anything but the
incapacity to pursue fresh follies, and whether, if health and strength
could be restored that night, I should be found in the village after
to-morrow's dawn.
"Among other novelties, I had noticed that the tavern was now designated
as a Temperance House, in letters extending across the whole front, with
a smaller sign promising Hot Coffee at all hours, and Spruce Beer to
lodgers gratis. There were few new buildings, except a Methodist chapel
and a printing-office, with a bookstore in the lower story. The golden
mortar still ornamented the apothecary's door, nor had the Indian Chief,
with his gilded tobacco stalk, been relieved from doing sentinel's duty
before Dominicus Pike's grocery. The gorgeous silks, though of later
patterns, were still flaunting like a banner in front of Mr.
Nightingale's dry-goods store. Some of the signs introduced me to
strangers, whose predecessors had failed, or emigrated to the West, or
removed merely to the other end of the village, transferring their names
from the sign-boards to slabs of marble or slate. But, on the whole,
death and vicissitude had done very little. There were old men,
scattered about the street, who had been old in my earliest
reminiscences; and, as if their venerable forms were permanent parts of
the creation, they appeared to be hale and hearty old men yet. The less
elderly were more altered, having generally contracted a stoop, with
hair wofully thinned and whitened. Some I could hardly recognize; at my
last glance they had been boys and girls, but were young men and women
when I looked again; and there were happy little things too, rolling
about on the grass, whom God had made since my departure.
"But now, in my lingering course I had descended the bill, and began to
consider, painfully enough, how I should meet my townspeople, and what
reception they would give me. Of many an evil prophecy, doubtless, had
I been the subject. And would they salute me with a roar of triumph or
a low hiss of scorn, on beholding their worst anticipations more than
accomplished?
"'No,' said I, 'they will not triumph over me. And should they ask the
cause of my return, I will tell f hem that a man may go far and tarry
long away, if his health be good and his hopes high; but that when flesh
and spirit begin to fail, he remembers his birthplace and the old
burial-ground, and hears a voice calling him to cone home to his father
and mother. They will know, by my wasted frame and feeble step, that I
have heard the summons and obeyed. And, the first greetings over, they
will let me walk among them unnoticed, and linger in the sunshine while
I may, and steal into my grave in peace.'
"With these reflections I looked kindly at the crowd, and drew off my
glove, ready to give my hand to the first that should put forth his. It
occurred to me, also, that some youth among them, now at the crisis of
his fate, might have felt his bosom thrill at my example, and be emulous
of my wild life and worthless fame. But I would save him.
"'He shall be taught,' said I, 'by my life, and by my death, that the
world is a sad one for him who shrinks from its sober duties. My
experience shall warn him to adopt some great and serious aim, such as
manhood will cling to, that he may not feel himself, too late, a
cumberer of this overladen earth, but a man among men. I will beseech
him not to follow an eccentric path, nor, by stepping aside from the
highway of human affairs, to relinquish his claim upon human sympathy.
And often, as a text of deep and varied meaning, I will remind him that
he is an American.'
"By this time I had drawn near the meeting-house, and perceived that the
crowd were beginning to recognize me."
These are the last words traced by his hand. Has not so chastened a
spirit found true communion with the pure in Heaven? "Until of late, I
never could believe that I was seriously ill: the past, I thought, could
not extend its misery beyond itself; life was restored to me, and should
not be missed again. I had day-dreams even of wedded happiness. Still,
as the days wear on, a faintness creeps through my frame and spirit,
recalling the, consciousness that a very old man might as well nourish
hope and young desire as I at twenty-four. Yet the consciousness of my
situation does not always make me sad. Sometimes I look upon the world
with a quiet interest, because it cannot, concern me personally, and a
loving one for the same reason, because nothing selfish can interfere
with the sense of brotherhood. Soon to be all spirit, I have already a
spiritual sense of human nature, and see deeply into the hearts of
mankind, discovering what is hidden from the wisest. The loves of young
men and virgins are known to me, before the first kiss, before the
whispered word, with the birth of the first sigh. My glance comprehends
the crowd, and penetrates the breast of the solitary man. I think
better of the world than formerly, more generously of its virtues, more
mercifully of its faults, with a higher estimate of its present
happiness, and brighter hopes of its destiny. My mind has put forth a
second crop of blossoms, as the trees do in the Indian summer. No
winter will destroy their beauty, for they are fanned by the breeze and
freshened by the shower that breathes and falls in the gardens of
Paradise!"
