l8o FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 



Whether is better the mean tawdry life of 

 vulgar commonplace, high or low, gilded or 

 unvarnished, or the life that rests on a word, 

 a Hash, a blow, good-night ! Say rather, 

 which is worse ? 



At least this is to be said, while there 

 is life there is hope, and it takes so small 

 an aperture for the soul to creep through ! 

 &quot;Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide 

 as a church door ; but tis enough, twill 

 serve.&quot; Our vulgarisms are the meanest of 

 the mean, and we have enough of them, 

 Heaven knows. But if &quot; There is some soul 

 of goodness in things evil,&quot; as Shakespeare 

 says, we have a right to hope that in the 

 coining days there may be ever more of the 

 sweet and wholesome growing therefrom, as 

 the richest flowers spring from the soil where 

 we have buried most of that which was 

 noisome and vile. 



While I have been writing, we have had 

 another shower, and again the sunlight lies 

 upon the freshened fields. The contribution 

 has not been large, but perhaps the charm 

 of the evil eye has been broken, and better 

 days are in store for us. 



JULY 4, 1894. 



