106 East and West 
most cherished impressions are from the bloom 
on the grape, the tassel on the corn, and the 
sunshine on the wheat. These impressions, so 
cultivated and developed in comparison with 
those yielded by the desert and the wilder- 
ness, reach quite as far back in that ancestral 
mind in us; for some aboriginal men were 
instinctively sowers and reapers, as others 
were nomads and hunters, and the two have 
always existed together—one in spite of the 
other—like the Pueblo Indians and the no- 
madic Apaches of the South-West. There is 
in most men something of the nomad, some- 
thing of the peaceful husbandman, but here 
amid these quiet fields and ripening orchards, 
it is the sower and the reaper who live in us 
and to whom the pastoral landscape makes 
its appeal. In the West an Indian, solacing 
myself with savage and desolate ranges of 
lava and with the mystery of the desert, liking 
no road so well as the solitary trail, I find my- 
self here no longer an aboriginal nomad in 
feeling, but a pueblo man, pleased above all 
with the ripening corn, the waving barley, 
and the bloom on my peaches, and asking 
nothing better of the gods than leisure to 
watch the yellow warbler build her nest, the 
leafcutter bee carrying rose leaves for her 
