trees--and my barn--all most satisfying to look upon. Then I returned to
the sweat and heat of the open field, and to the steady swing of the
sowing.

[Illustration: "OFTEN I STOOD A MOMENT BY THE FENCE"]

Joy of life seems to me to arise from a sense of being where one
belongs, as I feel right here; of being foursquare with the life we have
chosen. All the discontented people I know are trying sedulously to be
something they are not, to do something they cannot do. In the
advertisements of the country paper I find men angling for money by
promising to make women beautiful and men learned or rich--overnight--by
inspiring good farmers and carpenters to be poor doctors and lawyers. It
is curious, is it not, with what skill we will adapt our sandy land to
potatoes and grow our beans in clay, and with how little wisdom we farm
the soils of our own natures. We try to grow poetry where plumbing would
thrive grandly!--not knowing that plumbing is as important and
honourable and necessary to this earth as poetry.

I understand it perfectly; I too, followed long after false gods. I
thought I must rush forth to see the world, I must forthwith become
great, rich, famous; and I hurried hither and thither, seeking I knew
not what. Consuming my days with the infinite distractions of travel, I
missed, as one who attempts two occupations at once, the sure
satisfaction of either. Beholding the exteriors of cities and of men, I
was deceived with shadows; my life took no hold upon that which is deep
and true. Colour I got, and form, and a superficial aptitude in judging
by symbols. It was like the study of a science: a hasty review gives one
the general rules, but it requires a far profounder insight to know the
fertile exceptions.

But as I grow older I remain here on my farm, and wait quietly for the
world to pass this way. My oak and I, we wait, and we are satisfied.
Here we stand among our clods; our feet are rooted deep within the soil.
The wind blows upon us and delights us, the rain falls and refreshes us,
the sun dries and sweetens us. We are become calm, slow, strong; so we
measure rectitudes and regard essentials, my oak and I.

I would be a hard person to dislodge or uproot from this spot of earth.
I belong here; I grow here. I like to think of the old fable of the
wrestler of Irassa. For I am veritably that Anteus who was the wrestler
of Irassa and drew his strength from the ground. So long as I tread the
long furrows of