It was finely remarked by an Indian, that the white man has not so
deep and intimate a sense of his dependence upon God as the Indian.
He owes more, apparently, to himself and his fellows. Entrenched
in his palaces of stone, he can smile at the pitiless storm, and
defy the blasts of winter. The great business of his early life, is
to provide against its decline. He has artisans to administer to
every want, and to alleviate every pain. Hence his own importance is
magnified in his view; and he thinks less frequently of the great
Being, from whom all his comforts spring. The Indian, on the other
hand, leads a life of privation and adventure. He wanders alone
through the forest; and seeks companionship and communion with
nature. He looks abroad on the majesty of creation, and feels that
there must be a Deity. In the uncertainty of his supplies of food,
he knows that he is at the mercy of an invisible Protector; and the
feeling of gratitude for unexpected relief, is more vivid than can
enter into the heart of the civilized man.
Without stopping to inquire into the justice of the Indian's
remark, I shall go on to observe, that there is a like difference
between the occupations of the city and country. Every thing in a
great metropolis is artificial. As the division of labour is the
great secret of national wealth, so it is carried to its greatest
extent in the capital. The members of the community are there more
interlocked with each other, more helpless by themselves, than
is the case with us. Accordingly they look to each other for the
principal part of their enjoyments. To begin with the most necessary
things of life, a citizen is dependant upon a dozen tradesmen,
perhaps, for those articles of food and clothing, which a farmer
works up at home. He accomplishes himself for one object of pursuit;
and although profoundly ignorant of all others, is enabled thereby
to fill his station, to keep his place as a key-stone in the arch of
society. It never occurs to him how helpless and impotent he would
be by himself. He is accommodated to things around--the artificial
creature of an artificial system. Nor is it only in this dependence
upon his fellows, that, the citizen differs from the countryman.
His contrivances against the unavoidable evils and calamities of
life, are more numerous, and cast a veil, in some degree, between
him and his Creator. The overruling of that hand, which dispenses
and withholds the rain and the harvest, affect him, as it were, but
at a distance.--His merchandise is the product of art. His system
of credit equalizes, if I may use the expression, the dispensations
of Providence. The tempest may bury his wealth in the bosom of the
deep; but an insurance office repairs the ravage of the elements.
Every means in his power is used to thwart the original decree, "By
the sweat of thy brow," &c.--He looks into futurity, and calculates
the unfruitfulness of the seasons--not as a motive to humble
dependence--not as an incentive to prayer and repentance--but that
he may build his fortune upon the wants and the casualties of his
fellow creatures. He even grapples with death itself--calculates
with unfeeling selfishness the days and the infirmities of his
neighbours, and wagers upon the length of his life. All his
arrangements are predicated upon this artificial system. The
thought, if it ever occur to him, of the great God of nature, is as
much shut out by it, as the fair face of creation from the alleys
and courts of the city. And in proportion as he becomes impressed
with a deep sense of that overruling Providence, will these things
become hateful in his eyes. No doubt the mind is, as Milton has it,
"its own place," and can transform the natural aliment of vice into
a medicament of virtue. The noblest examples of active goodness are
generally to be found in a large metropolis; for it must be virtue
of a superior cast that can resist the temptations which are there
presented.--But minds of a contemplative turn may be allowed to shun
the combat which they find it so hard to sustain, and to seek for
aids to their good resolutions in external circumstances.
To all such I may venture to recommend the pursuits of a country
life as eminently salutary. Every month and week has there its
appropriate labours, which cannot be neglected; and it is from
this cause a life of activity and variety. The events of the
season are full of interest, and it is peculiarly delightful to
observe how Providence still delights to bless. Shortsighted and
presumptuous that we are, we are constantly auguring this or that
misfortune--lamenting the unpropitiousness in some respect or
another of the year; and yet from harvest to harvest are our barns
filled, and our granaries laden. The labours of the country do
not, like those of the city, deform the body, and undermine the
constitution; and there is in its clear atmosphere, and silent
serenity, an influence as invigorating to the soul as the touch of
earth to Antæus. In the country, the silent and manifest workings
of the Deity are constantly before us, and meet our eyes in every
phase of organized life: The mind must be worse than insensible that
does not feel and respond to the voice of praise, which seems to be
constantly ascending, as from one great altar.
Some philosophers have placed virtue in a state of lofty
contemplation; and others, of continued activity. The truth seems
to be, that they are both essential to the perfect character.--He
who gives himself up to indolent meditation, will become a prey to
the enemies of his own household, and will fall by a servile foe. He
who never retires to "plume his feathers, and let grow his wings,"
will find himself less and less able to sustain his flight; and
discover, perhaps, when it is too late, that he has lost the energy
of virtue, and the love of moral beauty.
But as the temptations of the more selfish passions are the
strongest, that state of society in which we are the most exposed
to them, is the most dangerous; and we have more need of having
our eyes and our hearts fixed upon pure and lofty objects, than of
having excessive stimulants applied to that activity, of which every
condition in life requires a steady and vigorous application. To
reflecting minds, therefore, the labour and the relaxation which
the country holds out, are both more salutary and invigorating,
than that which is required amid the smoke, and bustle, and jarring
interests of a great metropolis.