1: Introduction
Preface to the Second Edition, 1783 || 2: On The Situation, Feelings, and Pleasures, of An American Farmer >>
Who would have thought that because I received you with hospitality
and kindness, you should imagine me capable of writing with
propriety and perspicuity? Your gratitude misleads your judgment.
The knowledge which I acquired from your conversation has amply
repaid me for your five weeks' entertainment. I gave you nothing
more than what common hospitality dictated; but could any other
guest have instructed me as you did? You conducted me, on the map,
from one European country to another; told me many extraordinary
things of our famed mother-country, of which I knew very little; of
its internal navigation, agriculture, arts, manufactures, and trade:
you guided me through an extensive maze, and I abundantly profited
by the journey; the contrast therefore proves the debt of gratitude
to be on my side. The treatment you received at my house proceeded
from the warmth of my heart, and from the corresponding sensibility
of my wife; what you now desire must flow from a very limited power
of mind: the task requires recollection, and a variety of talents
which I do not possess. It is true I can describe our American modes
of farming, our manners, and peculiar customs, with some degree of
propriety, because I have ever attentively studied them; but my
knowledge extends no farther. And is this local and unadorned
information sufficient to answer all your expectations, and to
satisfy your curiosity? I am surprised that in the course of your
American travels you should not have found out persons more
enlightened and better educated than I am; your predilection excites
my wonder much more than my vanity; my share of the latter being
confined merely to the neatness of my rural operations.
My father left me a few musty books, which his father brought from
England with him; but what help can I draw from a library consisting
mostly of Scotch Divinity, the Navigation of Sir Francis Drake, the
History of Queen Elizabeth, and a few miscellaneous volumes? Our
minister often comes to see me, though he lives upwards of twenty
miles distant. I have shown him your letter, asked his advice, and
solicited his assistance; he tells me, that he hath no time to
spare, for that like the rest of us must till his farm, and is
moreover to study what he is to say on the sabbath. My wife (and I
never do anything without consulting her) laughs, and tells me that
you cannot be in earnest. What! says she, James, wouldst thee
pretend to send epistles to a great European man, who hath lived
abundance of time in that big house called Cambridge; where, they
say, that worldly learning is so abundant, that people gets it only
by breathing the air of the place? Wouldst not thee be ashamed to
write unto a man who has never in his life done a single day's work,
no, not even felled a tree; who hath expended the Lord knows how
many years in studying stars, geometry, stones, and flies, and in
reading folio books? Who hath travelled, as he told us, to the city
of Rome itself! Only think of a London man going to Rome! Where is
it that these English folks won't go? One who hath seen the factory
of brimstone at Suvius, and town of Pompey under ground! wouldst
thou pretend to letter it with a person who hath been to Paris, to
the Alps, to Petersburg, and who hath seen so many fine things up
and down the old countries; who hath come over the great sea unto
us, and hath journeyed from our New Hampshire in the East to our
Charles Town in the South; who hath visited all our great cities,
knows most of our famous lawyers and cunning folks; who hath
conversed with very many king's men, governors, and counsellors, and
yet pitches upon thee for his correspondent, as thee calls it?
surely he means to jeer thee! I am sure he does, he cannot be in a
real fair earnest. James, thee must read this letter over again,
paragraph by paragraph, and warily observe whether thee can'st
perceive some words of jesting; something that hath more than one
meaning: and now I think on it, husband, I wish thee wouldst let me
see his letter; though I am but a woman, as thee mayest say, yet I
understand the purport of words in good measure, for when I was a
girl, father sent us to the very best master in the precinct.—She
then read it herself very attentively: our minister was present, we
listened to, and weighed every syllable: we all unanimously
concluded that you must have been in a sober earnest intention, as
my wife calls it; and your request appeared to be candid and
sincere. Then again, on recollecting the difference between your
sphere of life and mine, a new fit of astonishment seized us all!
Our minister took the letter from my wife, and read it to himself;
he made us observe the two last phrases, and we weighed the contents
to the best of our abilities. The conclusion we all drew made me
resolve at last to write.—You say you want nothing of me but what
lies within the reach of my experience and knowledge; this I
understand very well; the difficulty is, how to collect, digest, and
arrange what I know? Next you assert, that writing letters is
nothing more than talking on paper; which, I must confess, appeared
to me quite a new thought.—Well then, observed our minister,
neighbour James, as you can talk well, I am sure you must write
tolerably well also; imagine, then, that Mr. F. B. is still here,
and simply write down what you would say to him. Suppose the
questions be will put to you in his future letters to be asked by
his viva voce, as we used to call it at the college; then let your
answers be conceived and expressed exactly in the same language as
if he was present. This is all that he requires from you, and I am
sure the task is not difficult. He is your friend: who would be
ashamed to write to such a person? Although he is a man of learning
and taste, yet I am sure he will read your letters with pleasure: if
they be not elegant, they will smell of the woods, and be a little
wild; I know your turn, they will contain some matters which he
never knew before. Some people are so fond of novelty, that they
will overlook many errors of language for the sake of information.
We are all apt to love and admire exotics, tho' they may be often
inferior to what we possess; and that is the reason I imagine why so
many persons are continually going to visit Italy.—That country is
the daily resort of modern travellers.
James: I should like to know what is there to be seen so goodly and
profitable, that so many should wish to visit no other country?
Minister: I do not very well know. I fancy their object is to trace
the vestiges of a once flourishing people now extinct. There they
amuse themselves in viewing the ruins of temples and other buildings
which have very little affinity with those of the present age, and
must therefore impart a knowledge which appears useless and
trifling. I have often wondered that no skilful botanists or learned
men should come over here; methinks there would be much more real
satisfaction in observing among us the humble rudiments and embryos
of societies spreading everywhere, the recent foundation of our
towns, and the settlements of so many rural districts. I am sure
that the rapidity of their growth would be more pleasing to behold,
than the ruins of old towers, useless aqueducts, or impending
battlements.
James: What you say, minister, seems very true: do go on: I always
love to hear you talk.
Minister: Don't you think, neighbour James, that the mind of a good
and enlightened Englishman would be more improved in remarking
throughout these provinces the causes which render so many people
happy? In delineating the unnoticed means by which we daily increase
the extent of our settlements? How we convert huge forests into
pleasing fields, and exhibit through these thirteen provinces so
singular a display of easy subsistence and political felicity.
In Italy all the objects of contemplation, all the reveries of the
traveller, must have a reference to ancient generations, and to very
distant periods, clouded with the mist of ages.—Here, on the
contrary, everything is modern, peaceful, and benign. Here we have
had no war to desolate our fields: [Footnote: The troubles that now
convulse the American colonies had not broke out when this and some
of the following letters were written.] our religion does not
oppress the cultivators: we are strangers to those feudal
institutions which have enslaved so many. Here nature opens her
broad lap to receive the perpetual accession of new comers, and to
supply them with food. I am sure I cannot be called a partial
American when I say that the spectacle afforded by these pleasing
scenes must be more entertaining and more philosophical than that
which arises from beholding the musty ruins of Rome. Here everything
would inspire the reflecting traveller with the most philanthropic
ideas; his imagination, instead of submitting to the painful and
useless retrospect of revolutions, desolations, and plagues, would,
on the contrary, wisely spring forward to the anticipated fields of
future cultivation and improvement, to the future extent of those
generations which are to replenish and embellish this boundless
continent. There the half-ruined amphitheatres, and the putrid
fevers of the Campania, must fill the mind with the most melancholy
reflections, whilst he is seeking for the origin and the intention
of those structures with which he is surrounded, and for the cause
of so great a decay. Here he might contemplate the very beginnings
and outlines of human society, which can be traced nowhere now but
in this part of the world. The rest of the earth, I am told, is in
some places too full, in others half depopulated. Misguided
religion, tyranny, and absurd laws everywhere depress and afflict
mankind. Here we have in some measure regained the ancient dignity
of our species; our laws are simple and just, we are a race of
cultivators, our cultivation is unrestrained, and therefore
everything is prosperous and flourishing. For my part I had rather
admire the ample barn of one of our opulent farmers, who himself
felled the first tree in his plantation, and was the first founder
of his settlement, than study the dimensions of the temple of Ceres.
I had rather record the progressive steps of this industrious
farmer, throughout all the stages of his labours and other
operations, than examine how modern Italian convents can be
supported without doing anything but singing and praying.
However confined the field of speculation might be here, the time of
English travellers would not be wholly lost. The new and unexpected
aspect of our extensive settlements; of our fine rivers; that great
field of action everywhere visible; that ease, that peace with which
so many people live together, would greatly interest the observer:
for whatever difficulties there might happen in the object of their
researches, that hospitality which prevails from one end of the
continent to the other would in all parts facilitate their
excursions. As it is from the surface of the ground which we till
that we have gathered the wealth we possess, the surface of that
ground is therefore the only thing that has hitherto been known. It
will require the industry of subsequent ages, the energy of future
generations, ere mankind here will have leisure and abilities to
penetrate deep, and, in the bowels of this continent, search for the
subterranean riches it no doubt contains.—Neighbour James, we want
much the assistance of men of leisure and knowledge, we want eminent
chemists to inform our iron masters; to teach us how to make and
prepare most of the colours we use. Here we have none equal to this
task. If any useful discoveries are therefore made among us, they
are the effects of chance, or else arise from that restless industry
which is the principal characteristic of these colonies.
James: Oh! could I express myself as you do, my friend, I should not
balance a single instant, I should rather be anxious to commence a
correspondence which would do me credit.
Minister: You can write full as well as you need, and will improve
very fast; trust to my prophecy, your letters, at least, will have
the merit of coming from the edge of the great wilderness, three
hundred miles from the sea, and three thousand miles over that sea:
this will be no detriment to them, take my word for it. You intend
one of your children for the gown, who knows but Mr. F. B. may give
you some assistance when the lad comes to have concerns with the
bishop; it is good for American farmers to have friends even in
England. What he requires of you is but simple—what we speak out
among ourselves we call conversation, and a letter is only
conversation put down in black and white.
James: You quite persuade me—if he laughs at my awkwardness, surely
he will be pleased with my ready compliance. On my part, it will be
well meant let the execution be what it may. I will write enough,
and so let him have the trouble of sifting the good from the bad,
the useful from the trifling; let him select what he may want, and
reject what may not answer his purpose. After all, it is but
treating Mr. F. B. now that he is in London, as I treated him when
he was in America under this roof; that is with the best things I
had; given with a good intention; and the best manner I was able.
Very different, James, very different indeed, said my wife, I like
not thy comparison; our small house and cellar, our orchard and
garden afforded what he wanted; one half of his time Mr. F. B., poor
man, lived upon nothing but fruit-pies, or peaches and milk. Now
these things were such as God had given us, myself and wench did the
rest; we were not the creators of these victuals, we only cooked
them as well and as neat as we could. The first thing, James, is to
know what sort of materials thee hast within thy own self, and then
whether thee canst dish them up.—Well, well, wife, thee art wrong
for once; if I was filled with worldly vanity, thy rebuke would be
timely, but thee knowest that I have but little of that. How shall I
know what I am capable of till I try? Hadst thee never employed
thyself in thy father's house to learn and to practise the many
branches of house-keeping that thy parents were famous for, thee
wouldst have made but a sorry wife for an American farmer; thee
never shouldst have been mine. I married thee not for what thee
hadst, but for what thee knewest; doest not thee observe what Mr. F.
B. says beside; he tells me, that the art of writing is just like
unto every other art of man; that it is acquired by habit, and by
perseverance. That is singularly true, said our minister, he that
shall write a letter every day of the week, will on Saturday
perceive the sixth flowing from his pen much more readily than the
first. I observed when I first entered into the ministry and began
to preach the word, I felt perplexed and dry, my mind was like unto
a parched soil, which produced nothing, not even weeds. By the
blessing of heaven, and my perseverance in study, I grew richer in
thoughts, phrases, and words; I felt copious, and now I can
abundantly preach from any text that occurs to my mind. So will it
be with you, neighbour James; begin therefore without delay; and Mr.
F. B.'s letters may be of great service to you: he will, no doubt,
inform you of many things: correspondence consists in reciprocal
letters. Leave off your diffidence, and I will do my best to help
you whenever I have any leisure. Well then, I am resolved, I said,
to follow your counsel; my letters shall not be sent, nor will I
receive any, without reading them to you and my wife; women are
curious, they love to know their husband's secrets; it will not be
the first thing which I have submitted to your joint opinions.
Whenever you come to dine with us, these shall be the last dish on
the table. Nor will they be the most unpalatable, answered the good
man. Nature hath given you a tolerable share of sense, and that is
one of her best gifts let me tell you. She has given you besides
some perspicuity, which qualifies you to distinguish interesting
objects; a warmth of imagination which enables you to think with
quickness; you often extract useful reflections from objects which
presented none to my mind: you have a tender and a well meaning
heart, you love description, and your pencil, assure yourself, is
not a bad one for the pencil of a farmer; it seems to be held
without any labour; your mind is what we called at Yale college a
Tabula rasa, where spontaneous and strong impressions are delineated
with facility. Ah, neighbour! had you received but half the
education of Mr. F. B. you had been a worthy correspondent indeed.
But perhaps you will be a more entertaining one dressed in your
simple American garb, than if you were clad in all the gowns of
Cambridge. You will appear to him something like one of our wild
American plants, irregularly luxuriant in its various branches,
which an European scholar may probably think ill placed and useless.
If our soil is not remarkable as yet for the excellence of its
fruits, this exuberance is however a strong proof of fertility,
which wants nothing but the progressive knowledge acquired by time
to amend and to correct. It is easier to retrench than it is to add;
I do not mean to flatter you, neighbour James, adulation would ill
become my character, you may therefore believe what your pastor
says. Were I in Europe I should be tired with perpetually seeing
espaliers, plashed hedges, and trees dwarfed into pigmies. Do let
Mr. F. B. see on paper a few American wild cherry trees, such as
nature forms them here, in all her unconfined vigour, in all the
amplitude of their extended limbs and spreading ramifications—let
him see that we are possessed with strong vegetative embryos. After
all, why should not a farmer be allowed to make use of his mental
faculties as well as others; because a man works, is not he to
think, and if he thinks usefully, why should not he in his leisure
hours set down his thoughts? I have composed many a good sermon as I
followed my plough. The eyes not being then engaged on any
particular object, leaves the mind free for the introduction of many
useful ideas. It is not in the noisy shop of a blacksmith or of a
carpenter, that these studious moments can be enjoyed; it is as we
silently till the ground, and muse along the odoriferous furrows of
our low lands, uninterrupted either by stones or stumps; it is there
that the salubrious effluvia of the earth animate our spirits and
serve to inspire us; every other avocation of our farms are severe
labours compared to this pleasing occupation: of all the tasks which
mine imposes on me ploughing is the most agreeable, because I can
think as I work; my mind is at leisure; my labour flows from
instinct, as well as that of my horses; there is no kind of
difference between us in our different shares of that operation; one
of them keeps the furrow, the other avoids it; at the end of my
field they turn either to the right or left as they are bid, whilst
I thoughtlessly hold and guide the plough to which they are
harnessed. Do therefore, neighbour, begin this correspondence, and
persevere, difficulties will vanish in proportion as you draw near
them; you'll be surprised at yourself by and by: when you come to
look back you'll say as I have often said to myself; had I been
diffident I had never proceeded thus far. Would you painfully till
your stony up-land and neglect the fine rich bottom which lies
before your door? Had you never tried, you never had learned how to
mend and make your ploughs. It will be no small pleasure to your
children to tell hereafter, that their father was not only one of
the most industrious farmers in the country, but one of the best
writers. When you have once begun, do as when you begin breaking up
your summer fallow, you never consider what remains to be done, you
view only what you have ploughed. Therefore, neighbour James, take
my advice; it will go well with you, I am sure it will.—And do you
really think so, Sir? Your counsel, which I have long followed,
weighs much with me, I verily believe that I must write to Mr. F. B.
by the first vessel.—If thee persistest in being such a foolhardy
man, said my wife, for God's sake let it be kept a profound secret
among us; if it were once known abroad that thee writest to a great
and rich man over at London, there would be no end of the talk of
the people; some would vow that thee art going to turn an author,
others would pretend to foresee some great alterations in the
welfare of thy family; some would say this, some would say that: Who
would wish to become the subject of public talk? Weigh this matter
well before thee beginnest, James—consider that a great deal of thy
time, and of thy reputation is at stake as I may say. Wert thee to
write as well as friend Edmund, whose speeches I often see in our
papers, it would be the very self same thing; thee wouldst be
equally accused of idleness, and vain notions not befitting thy
condition. Our colonel would be often coming here to know what it is
that thee canst write so much about. Some would imagine that thee
wantest to become either an assembly-man or a magistrate, which God
forbid; and that thee art telling the king's men abundance of
things. Instead of being well looked upon as now, and living in
peace with all the world, our neighbours would be making strange
surmises: I had rather be as we are, neither better nor worse than
the rest of our country folks. Thee knowest what I mean, though I
should be sorry to deprive thee of any honest recreation. Therefore
as I have said before, let it be as great a secret as if it was some
heinous crime; the minister, I am sure, will not divulge it; as for
my part, though I am a woman, yet I know what it is to be a wife.—I
would not have thee, James, pass for what the world calleth a
writer; no, not for a peck of gold, as the saying is. Thy father
before thee was a plain dealing honest man, punctual in all things;
he was one of yea and nay, of few words, all he minded was his farm
and his work. I wonder from whence thee hast got this love of the
pen? Had he spent his time in sending epistles to and fro, he never
would have left thee this goodly plantation, free from debt. All I
say is in good meaning; great people over sea may write to our
town's folks, because they have nothing else to do. These Englishmen
are strange people; because they can live upon what they call bank
notes, without working, they think that all the world can do the
same. This goodly country never would have been tilled and cleared
with these notes. I am sure when Mr. F. B. was here, he saw thee
sweat and take abundance of pains; he often told me how the
Americans worked a great deal harder than the home Englishmen; for
there he told us, that they have no trees to cut down, no fences to
make, no negroes to buy and to clothe: and now I think on it, when
wilt thee send him those trees he bespoke? But if they have no trees
to cut down, they have gold in abundance, they say; for they rake it
and scrape it from all parts far and near. I have often heard my
grandfather tell how they live there by writing. By writing they
send this cargo unto us, that to the West, and the other to the East
Indies. But, James, thee knowest that it is not by writing that we
shall pay the blacksmith, the minister, the weaver, the tailor, and
the English shop. But as thee art an early man follow thine own
inclinations; thee wantest some rest, I am sure, and why shouldst
thee not employ it as it may seem meet unto thee.—However let it be
a great secret; how wouldst thee bear to be called at our country
meetings, the man of the pen? If this scheme of thine was once
known, travellers as they go along would point out to our house,
saying, here liveth the scribbling fanner; better hear them as usual
observe, here liveth the warm substantial family, that never
begrudgeth a meal of victuals, or a mess of oats, to any one that
steps in. Look how fat and well clad their negroes are.
Thus, Sir, have I given you an unaffected and candid detail of the
conversation which determined me to accept of your invitation. I
thought it necessary thus to begin, and to let you into these
primary secrets, to the end that you may not hereafter reproach me
with any degree of presumption. You'll plainly see the motives which
have induced me to begin, the fears which I have entertained, and
the principles on which my diffidence hath been founded. I have now
nothing to do but to prosecute my task—Remember you are to give me
my subjects, and on no other shall I write, lest you should blame me
for an injudicious choice—However incorrect my style, however
unexpert my methods, however trifling my observations may hereafter
appear to you, assure yourself they will all be the genuine dictates
of my mind, and I hope will prove acceptable on that account.
Remember that you have laid the foundation of this correspondence;
you well know that I am neither a philosopher, politician, divine,
nor naturalist, but a simple farmer. I flatter myself, therefore,
that you'll receive my letters as conceived, not according to
scientific rules to which I am a perfect stranger, but agreeable to
the spontaneous impressions which each subject may inspire. This is
the only line I am able to follow, the line which nature has herself
traced for me; this was the covenant which I made with you, and with
which you seemed to be well pleased. Had you wanted the style of the
learned, the reflections of the patriot, the discussions of the
politician, the curious observations of the naturalist, the pleasing
garb of the man of taste, surely you would have applied to some of
those men of letters with which our cities abound. But since on the
contrary, and for what reason I know not, you wish to correspond
with a cultivator of the earth, with a simple citizen, you must
receive my letters for better or worse.
Preface to the Second Edition, 1783 || 2: On The Situation, Feelings, and Pleasures, of An American Farmer >>
