man; there was still a wholesome red spot in his
cheek, and a gleam of youth in his eye. His movements were so deliberate
and slow that it was impossible that he could ever have worn himself out
with work. He would pause between every hill that he hoed and make some
remark, or look up at the sun for the time of the day. He could not mow
a straight swath because he was always nicking in and out for some straw
left by other mowers. When he harnessed his aged horse, as reliable as
an ox to drive, and not much faster, he would go over and over every
buckle and strap to make sure that all was safe, in the meantime talking
to him in a soothing voice as if he expected every moment that he would
run away. If Jim had a strong point it was in standing still. When he
sneezed he used to say, "I guess I am good for another day," and like
his wife he had a ready proverb for everything. Seldom could I catch the
whole of it, for he sputtered in his speech and had a falsetto voice. It
was evident that he had acquired his property by exceeding thrift,
rather than labor, by that ancient all-pervading custom of the New
England farmer of doing without and making things last another year.

I had promised myself to do some studying during the summer, but found
that the long hours of labor and fatigue at their end unfitted me for
anything save rest and sleep. I scarcely opened a book of any kind. I
had a volume of Macauly's Essays with me in which I read a little on the
Sabbath. On rainy days I stole away to the hay mow and read one of Jane
Porter's novels which I found in the house. I attempted to commit to
memory the whole of the Lady of the Lake, but got no farther than the
first canto, and the songs interspersed through the others. These songs
I recited in the field, and they were a great comfort to me. Little do
the poets know in what strange, obscure places, and in what lonely,
unknown hearts their verses find lodgment. It is not necessary that one
should contend that Scott is the greatest of poets, who thought so for a
single summer.

With thirty dollars in my purse and a blue camlet suit made of a cloak,
which had been my father's best outer garment, I returned to Worcester
Academy. I made a resolution, which I kept, to have no more intimacies
with the Oreads, and to devote myself to study. I still cherished the
idea of college, although it seemed as distant as ever. I began to be
interested in public affairs and attended the first co