" Or, in writing of work on the farm, especially
stone-fence making, he speaks of clearing the fields of the stones
that are built into boundaries: "If there are ever sermons in
stones, it is when they are built into a stone wall--turning your
hindrances into helps, shielding your crops behind the obstacles
to your husbandry, making the enemies of the plough stand guard
over its products." But do we find such sermonizing irksome?
Just as "all architecture is what you do to it when you look upon
it," so is all nature. Lovers of Nature muse and dream and invite
their own souls. They interpret themselves, not Nature. She
reflects their thoughts and minds, gives them, after all, only
what they bring to her. And the writer who brings much--much of
insight, of devotion, of sympathy--is sure to bring much away for
his reader's delectation. Does not this account for the sense of
intimacy which his reader has with the man, even before meeting
him?--the feeling that if he ever does meet him, it will be as
a friend, not as a stranger? And when one does meet him, and
hears him speak, one almost invariably thinks: "He talks just
as he writes." To read him after that is to hear the very tones
of his voice.
We sometimes hear the expression, "English in shirt-sleeves,"
applied to objectionable English; but the phrase might be applied
in a commendatory way to good English,--to the English of such a
writer as Mr.
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