THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS

One afternoon many years ago two little brothers named Seth and Abner were
playing in the orchard. They were not troubled with the heat of the August
day, for a soft, cool wind came up from the river in the valley over
yonder and fanned their red cheeks and played all kinds of pranks with
their tangled curls. All about them was the hum of bees, the song of
birds, the smell of clover, and the merry music of the crickets. Their
little dog Fido chased them through the high, waving grass, and rolled
with them under the trees, and barked himself hoarse in his attempt to
keep pace with their laughter. Wearied at length, they lay beneath the
bellflower-tree and looked off at the Hampshire hills, and wondered if the
time ever would come when they should go out into the world beyond those
hills and be great, noisy men. Fido did not understand it at all. He
lolled in the grass, cooling his tongue on the clover bloom, and puzzling
his brain to know why his little masters were so quiet all at once.

"I wish I were a man," said Abner, ruefully. "I want to be somebody and do
something. It is very hard to be a little boy so long and to have no
companions but little boys and girls, to see nothing but these same old
trees and this same high grass, and to hear nothing but the same
bird-songs from one day to another."

"That is true," said Seth. "I, too, am very tired of being a little boy,
and I long to go out into the world and be a man like my gran'pa or my
father or my uncles. With nothing to look at but those distant hills and
the river in the valley, my eyes are wearied; and I shall be very happy
when I am big enough to leave this stupid place."

Had Fido understood their words he would have chided them, for the little
dog loved his home and had no thought of any other pleasure than romping
through the orchard and playing with his little masters all the day. But
Fido did not understand them.

The clover bloom heard them with sadness. Had they but listened in turn
they would have heard the clover saying softly: "Stay with me while you
may, little boys; trample me with your merry feet; let me feel the imprint
of your curly heads and kiss the sunburn on your little cheeks. Love me
while you may, for when you go away you never will come back."

The bellflower-tree heard them, too, and she waved her great, strong
branches as if she would caress the impatient little lads, and she
whispered: "Do not think of leaving me: you are children, and you know
nothing of the world beyond those distant hills. It is full of trouble and
care and sorrow; abide here in this quiet spot till you are prepared to
meet the vexations of that outer world. We are for _you_, -- we trees
and grass and birds and bees and flowers. Abide with us, and learn the
wisdom we teach."

The cricket in the raspberry-hedge heard them, and she chirped, oh! so
sadly: "You will go out into the world and leave us and never think of us
again till it is too late to return. Open your ears, little boys, and hear
my song of contentment."

So spake the clover bloom and the bellflower-tree and the cricket; and in
like manner the robin that nested in the linden over yonder, and the big
bumblebee that lived in the hole under the pasture gate, and the butterfly
and the wild rose pleaded with them, each in his own way; but the little
boys did not heed them, so eager were their desires to go into and mingle
with the great world beyond those distant hills.

Many years went by; and at last Seth and Abner grew to manhood, and the
time was come when they were to go into the world and be brave, strong
men. Fido had been dead a long time. They had made him a grave under the
bellflower-tree, -- yes, just where he had romped with the two little boys
that August afternoon Fido lay sleeping amid the humming of the bees and
the perfume of the clover. But Seth and Abner did not think of Fido now,
nor did they give even a passing thought to any of their old friends, -- the
bellflower-tree, the clover, the cricket, and the robin. Their hearts beat
with exultation. They were men, and they were going beyond the hills to
know and try the world.

They were equipped for that struggle, not in a vain, frivolous way, but as
good and brave young men should be. A gentle mother had counselled them, a
prudent father had advised them, and they had gathered from the sweet
things of Nature much of that wisdom before which all knowledge is as
nothing. So they were fortified. They went beyond the hills and came into
the West. How great and busy was the world, -- how great and busy it was
here in the West! What a rush and noise and turmoil and seething and
surging, and how keenly did the brothers have to watch and struggle for
vantage ground. Withal, they prospered; the counsel of the mother, the
advice of the father, the wisdom of the grass and flowers and trees, were
much to them, and they prospered. Honor and riches came to them, and they
were happy. But amid it all, how seldom they thought of the little home
among the circling hills where they had learned the first sweet lessons of
life!

And now they were old and gray. They lived in splendid mansions, and all
people paid them honor.

One August day a grim messenger stood in Seth's presence and beckoned to
him.

"Who are you? " cried Seth. "What strange power have you over me that the
very sight of you chills my blood and stays the beating of my heart?"

Then the messenger threw aside his mask, and Seth saw that he was Death.
Seth made no outcry; he knew what the summons meant, and he was content.
But he sent for Abner.

And when Abner came, Seth was stretched upon his bed, and there was a
strange look in his eyes and a flush upon his cheeks, as though a fatal
fever had laid hold on him.

"You shall not die! " cried Abner, and he threw himself about his brother's
neck and wept.

But Seth bade Abner cease his outcry. "Sit here by my bedside and talk
with me," said he, "and let us speak of the Hampshire hills."

A great wonder overcame Abner. With reverence he listened, and as he
listened a sweet peace seemed to steal into his soul.

"I am prepared for Death," said Seth, "and I will go with Death this day.
Let us talk of our childhood now, for, after all the battle with this
great world, it is pleasant to think and speak of our boyhood among the
Hampshire hills."

"Say on, dear brother," said Abner.

"I am thinking of an August day long ago," said Seth, solemnly and softly.
"It was _so very_ long ago, and yet it seems only yesterday. We were
in the orchard together, under the bellflower-tree, and our little dog -- "

"Fido," said Abner, remembering it all, as the years came back.

"Fido and you and I, under the bellflower-tree," said Seth. "How we had
played, and how weary we were, and how cool the grass was, and how sweet
was the fragrance of the flowers! Can you remember it, brother?"

"Oh, yes," replied Abner, "and I remember how we lay among the clover and
looked off at the distant hills and wondered of the world beyond."

"And amid our wonderings and longings," said Seth, "how the old
bellflower-tree seemed to stretch her kind arms down to us as if she would
hold us away from that world beyond the hills."

"And now I can remember that the clover whispered to us, and the cricket
in the raspberry-hedge sang to us of contentment," said Abner.

"The robin, too, carolled in the linden."

"It is very sweet to remember it now," said Seth. "How blue and hazy the
hills looked; how cool the breeze blew up from the river; how like a
silver lake the old pickerel pond sweltered under the summer sun over
beyond the pasture and broomcorn, and how merry was the music of the birds
and bees!"

So these old men, who had been little boys together, talked of the August
afternoon when with Fido they had romped in the orchard and rested beneath
the bell-flower-tree. And Seth's voice grew fainter, and his eyes were,
oh! so dim; but to the very last he spoke of the dear old days and the
orchard and the clover and the Hampshire hills. And when Seth fell asleep
forever, Abner kissed his brother's lips and knelt at the bedside and said
the prayer his mother had taught him.

In the street without there was the noise of passing carts, the cries of
tradespeople, and all the bustle of a great and busy city; but, looking
upon Seth's dear, dead face, Abner could hear only the music voices of
birds and crickets and summer winds as he had heard them with Seth when
they were little boys together, back among the Hampshire hills.

1885.

End of title

THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS

Eugene Field

Toggle Dropdown