Green fields and whispering woods; or, The recreations of an American "country gentleman"; embracing journeys over his farm and excursions into his library . CHAPTEE 11. HE kind but conceited readerof this most veracious historyshould not for one momentdeem that he has now mas-tered the whole mystery ofI my success in convincing theladies of my household ofthe sanity of the views I heldwith regard to the farm, andin winning their consent tomake the much half can neer be told. I have in the preceding chap-ter said never a word of longdiscussions of the importantquestion
Green fields and whispering woods; or, The recreations of an American "country gentleman"; embracing journeys over his farm and excursions into his library . CHAPTEE 11. HE kind but conceited readerof this most veracious historyshould not for one momentdeem that he has now mas-tered the whole mystery ofI my success in convincing theladies of my household ofthe sanity of the views I heldwith regard to the farm, andin winning their consent tomake the much half can neer be told. I have in the preceding chap-ter said never a word of longdiscussions of the importantquestion with Malvina upon •our rides and walks, when no ear heard, no eye beheld us, we two alone under the smiling sun, or Looked at by the silent stars. In these high debates T sometimes grew passionateand rhetorical; she always remained gentle but firm: theimpetuous flood of eloquence, as the tide of a strong riverflowing against a solid, verdure-cushioned bank, beat againsther unyielding but reason-controlled will ineffectually. 37 38 PRETTY I drew pictures for her of a tree-embowered cottage remotefrom the dusty highway, with hroad verandah vine-entwined, conservatory,verdant lawnswith walksflower-border-ed, sinuousand shadydrives, rusticseats in leafynooks, thewhole sur-round d bybroad green fields of waving grain and grass, with pastures where cowsgrazed, colts frolicked and young lambs gambolled. Andmindful that Not rural sights alone, but rural soundsExhilarate the spirit, I spoke of the mingled voices of the country home, begin-ning with The breezy call of incense-breathing morn;The swallows, twittering in the straw-built shed;The cocks shrill clarion, and dwelling upon the neighing of horses, the bleating ofthe tender lambkins, the songs of wild birds in the orchardand the woods, — the real woods which man never plantednor pruned, as Beechers description is,—the murmuring ofall insects, and in particular the music of That flying harp, the honey bee; the swe
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