CITIZENS RETIRING TO THE COUNTRY. 133 



disgusted with old tottering fences, half drained fields and worn-out 

 pastures, and employs all the laboring force of the neighborhood to 

 put his grounds in good order. 



Now there is no objection to all this for its own sake. On the 

 contrary, good buildings, good fences, and rich pasture fields are 

 what especially delight us in the country. What then is the reason 

 that, as the country place gets to wear a smiling aspect, its citizen 

 owner begins to look serious and unhappy ? Why is it that country 

 life does not satisfy and content him ? Is the country, which all 

 poets and philosophers have celebrated as the Arcadia of this world, 

 is the country treacherous ? Is nature a cheat, and do seed-time 

 and harvest conspire against the peace of mind of the retired citizen ? 



Alas ! It is a matter of money. Every thing seems to be a mat- 

 ter of money now-a-days. The country life of the old world, of the 

 poets and romancers, is cheap. The country life of our republic is 

 dear. It is for the good of the many that labor should be high, and 

 it is high labor that makes country life heavy and oppressive to such 

 men only because it shows a balance, increasing year after year, 

 on the wrong side of the ledger. Here is the source of all the trou- 

 ble and dissatisfaction in what may be called the country life of 

 gentlemen amateurs, or citizens, in this country "it don't pay." 

 Land is cheap, nature is beautiful, the country is healthy, and all 

 these conspire to draw our well-to-do citizen into the country. But 

 labor is dear, experience is dearer, and a series of experiments in 

 unprofitable crops the dearest of all ; and our citizen friend, himself, 

 as- we have said, is in the situation of a man who has set out on a 

 delightful voyage, on a smooth sea, and with a cheerful ship's com- 

 pany ; but who discovers, also, that the ship has sprung a leak not 

 large enough to make it necessary to call all hands to the pump 

 not large enough perhaps to attract any body's attention but his own, 

 but quite large enough to make it certain that he must leave her or 

 be swamped and quite large enough to make his voyage a serious 

 piece of business. 



Every thing which a citizen does in the country, costs him an in- 

 credible sum. In Europe (heaven save the masses), you may have 

 the best of laboring men for twenty or thirty cents a day. Here 

 you must pay them a dollar, at least our amateur must, though the 



