May 22. 
COUNTRY GENTLEMAN’S COMPANION. 
133 
determination to eschew every conceivable form of labour; 
but, however dignified this trait may appear when set off by 
an imposing hauteur and an elegant costume, it makes but 
a sorry figure in the woods, where the prevailing tone is far 
different. Yet these kindred souls are as incorrigible as 
their betters; and like them will often perform as much 
labour, and exert as much ingenuity in avoiding work, as 
would, if differently directed, suffice to place them in an 
independent and honourable position. 
It must be owned that this land of hard work presents a 
thousand temptations to idleness. Not to mention the 
sacrifice with which we begin, the giving up of all that gave 
life a rosy or a golden tint in the older world, there may be 
other excuses for a longing after amusement, in minds of 
a certain class. There is an aspect of severe effort grinding 
care in the general, of closeness, of constitution of society ; 
the natural consequence of the fact that poverty, or at least 
narrow circumstances at home, was the. impetus that drove 
nine-tenths of the population westward; and this aspect 
being in striking opposition to the free, glowing, and abun¬ 
dant one which characterizes unworn nature in this scarcer 
trodden region, suggests and connects with labour a certain 
idea of slavery, of confinement; and creates a proportionate 
desire for all the liberty that so narrow a fate will permit. 
He who possesses abundant leisure for amusement, will 
perhaps be heard to complain that it is hard to find; but 
he who is every hour spurred on by necessity to the most 
toilsome employments, cannot but snatch with delight every 
available form of recreation; and will be apt to devote to the 
coveted indulgence, hours which must be dearly purchased 
by the sufferings of the future. Let us judge him with a 
charity which we may hardly be disposed to exercise towards 
his prototype in high places. 
So unpopular, as we have said, so contrary to the prevail¬ 
ing spirit, is this desire for amusement, those among us who 
are so unfortunate as to be born with something of a poetical 
temperament, which delights in quiet musings, long rambles 
in the woods, and other forms of idleness, generally disguise 
to themselves and try to disguise to others the true nature 
of this propensity, by contriving many new and ingenious 
ways of earning money, though all agree in one point, a 
determined avoidance of everything that is usually called 
work. 
In the early spring time, while a thin covering of very 
fragile ice still incrusts the marshes, there may be seen 
around their borders a tangled fringe of seemingly bare 
bushes. On nearer approach, these bushes are found 
stripped indeed as to them upper branches, but garnished 
at the water’s edge with berries of the brightest coral, each 
shrined separately in a little ring of crystal. These are the 
most delicate and highly prized cranberries; mellowed, not 
wilted, by the severest frosts, and now peeping through their 
icy veil, and glowing in the first warm rays of approaching 
spring. 
These are an irresistible temptation to our fashionable of 
the woods. Armed in boots, not seven-leagued, but thick 
as the seven-fold shield of Ajax, he plunges into the crack¬ 
ling pool; and there, as long as a berry is to be found, he 
stands or wades; snatching, perhaps, a shilling’s worth of 
' cranberries, and a six month’s rheumatism. No matter, 
this is not work. 
You may see him next, if you are an early riser, setting 
off, at peep of dawn, on a fishing expedition. He winds 
through the dreary woods, yawning portentously, and 
stretching as if he were emulous of the height of the 
hickory trees. Dexterously swaying his long rod, he follows 
the little stream until it is lost in the bosom of the woodland 
lake; if unsuccessful from the bank, he seeks the frail 
skiff, which is the common properly of laborious idlers like 
himself, and, pushing off shore, sits dreaming under the 
the sun’s sweltering beams, until he has secured a supply 
for the day. Home again, an irregular meal at any time of 
day, and he goes to bed with ague; but he murmurs not, 
for fishing is not work. 
Here is a strawberry field, well may it claim the name ! 
It is a wide fallow which has been ploughed late in the last 
autumn, and is now lying in ridges to court the fertilizing 
sunbeams. It is already clothed, though scantily, with a 
luxuriant growth of fresh verdure, and among and through 
and over all glows the rich crimson of the field strawberry, 
i the ruby-crowned queen of all wild fruits. Here,—andjwho 
| can blame him ?—will our exquisite, with wife and children, 
if he be the fortunate proprietor of so may fingers, spend 
the long June day ; eating as many berries as possible, and 
amassing in leafy baskets the rich remainder, to be sold to 
the happy holders of splendid shillings, or to dry in the 
burning sun for next winter’s “ tea-saase.” Ploughing would j 
be more profitable, certainly, but not half so pleasant, for ; 
ploughing is work. 
Then come the whortleberries; not the little, stunted, 
seedy things that grow on dry uplands and sandy commons; 
but the produce of towering bushes in the plashy meadow ; 
generous, pulpy berries, covered with a fine bloom; the 
“ blaeberry ” of Scotland ; a delicious fruit, though of humble 
reputation, and, it must be confessed, somewhat enhanced 
in value by the scarcity of the more refined productions of 
the garden. We scorn thee not, oh ! bloom-covered neigh¬ 
bour ; but gladly buy whole bushels of thy prolific family 
from the lounging Indian, or the still lazier white man. 
We must not condemn the gatherers of whortleberries, but 
it is a melancholy truth that they do not get rich. 
Wild plums follow closely in the wake of whortleberries, 
and these are usually picked when they are so sour and j 
bitter as to be totally uneatable; because the rush for them i 
is so great, among the class alluded to, that each thinks I 
nobody else will wait for them to ripen ; and whoever 
succeeds in stripping all the trees in his neighbourhood, even ! 
though he can neither use or sell a particle of his treasure, | 
deems himself the fortunate man. This seems ridiculous, 
truly; but is it not exactly the spirit of the miser? What 
matters whether the thing be gold or green plums, if they 
are really useless ? This blind haste to secure anything 
bearing the form of fruit, is only an extreme exemplification 
of the desire to snatch a precarious substance from the lap 
of Nature, instead of paying the price which she ever 
demands for a due and full enjoyment of all her bounties. 
Baiting for wild bees beguiles the busy shunner of work 
into many a wearisome tramp, many a night-watch, and 
many a lost day. This is a most fascinating chase, and 
sometimes excites the very spirit of gambling. The stake 
seems so small in comparison with the possible prize, and 
gamblers and honey-seekers think all possible things 
probable—that some, who are scarcely ever tempted from 
regular business by any other disguise of idleness, cannot 
withstand a bee-hunt. A man whose arms and axe are all- 
sufficient to insure a comfortable livelihood for himself and 
family, is chopping, perhaps, in a thick wood, where the 
voices of the locust, the cricket, the grasshopper, and the I 
wild bee, with their kindred, are the only sounds that reach 
his ear from sunrise to sunset. He feels lonely and listless ; 
and, as noon draws on, he ceases from his hot toil, and, 
seating himself on the tree which has just fallen beneath his 
axe, he takes out his lunch of bread-and-butter, and, musing 
as he eats, thinks how hard his life is, and how much better 
it must be to have bread-and-butter without working for it. ; 
His eye wanders through the thick forest, and follows, with 
a feeling of envy, the winged inhabitants of the trees and ! 
flowers, till at length he notes among the singing throng ! 
some half dozen of bees. 
The lunch is soon despatched ; a honey tree must be near; 
and the chopper spends the remainder of the daylight in en- ! 
deavouring to discover it. But the cunning insects scent the 
human robber, and will not approach their home until night- ! 
fall. So our weary wight plods homeward, laying plans for 
their destruction, 
The next morning’s sun, as he peers above the horizon, 
finds the bee-liunter burning honey-comb and old honey 
near the scene of yesterday’s inkling. Stealthily does he 
J watch his line of bait, and cautiously does he wait until the 
; first glutton that finds himself sated with the luscious feast 
sets off in a “bee-line" — “like arrow darting from the 
bow,” blind betrayer of his home, like the human inebriate. 
This is enough. The spoiler asks no more; and the first 
moonlight night sees the rich hoard transferred to his 
cottage; where it sometimes serves, almost unaided, as food 
for the whole family, until the last drop is consumed. Ono 
hundred and fifty pounds of honey are sometimes found in 
a single tree, and it must be owned the temptation is great; 
but the luxury is generally dearly purchased, if fhe whole 
cost and consequences be counted. To be content with 
