_Last of October_.--Now mellow, crisp, Autumn days, bright moonlight
nights, and gathering the corn--"cutting up," as the farmers call it.
Now, or of late, all over the country, a certain green and brown-drab
eloquence seeming to call out, "You that pretend to give the news, and
all that's going, why not give us a notice?" Truly, O fields, as for the
notice,
"Take, we give it willingly."
Only we must do it our own way. Leaving the domestic, dietary, and
commercial parts of the question (which are enormous, in fact, hardly
second to those of any other of our great soil-products), we will just
saunter down a lane we know, on an average West Jersey farm, and let the
fancy of the hour itemize America's most typical agricultural show and
specialty.
Gathering the Corn--the British call it Maize, the old Yankee farmer
Indian Corn. The great plumes, the ears well-envelop'd in their husks,
the long and pointed leaves, in summer, like green or purple ribands,
with a yellow stem line in the middle, all now turn'd dingy; the sturdy
stalks, and the rustling in the breeze--the breeze itself well tempering
the sunny noon--The varied reminiscences recall'd--the ploughing and
planting in spring--(the whole family in the field, even the little
girls and boys dropping seed in the hill)--the gorgeous sight through
July and August--the walk and observation early in the day--the cheery
call of the robin, and the low whirr of insects in the grass--the
Western husking party, when ripe--the November moonlight gathering, and
the calls, songs, laughter of the young fellows.
Not to forget, hereabouts, in the Middle States, the old worm fences,
with the gray rails and their scabs of moss and lichen--those old rails,
weather beaten, but strong yet. Why not come down from literary dignity,
and confess we are sitting on one now, under the shade of a great walnut
tree? Why not confide that these lines are pencill'd on the edge of
a woody bank, with a glistening pond and creek seen through the trees
south, and the corn we are writing about close at hand on the north?
Why not put in the delicious scent of the "life everlasting" that yet
lingers so profusely in every direction--the chromatic song of the one
persevering locust (the insect is scarcer this fall and the past summer
than for many years) beginning slowly, rising and swelling to much
emphasis, and then abruptly falling--so appropriate to the scene, so
quaint, so racy and suggestive in the warm sunbeams, we could sit here
and look and listen for an hour? Why not even the tiny, turtle-shaped,
yellow-back'd, black-spotted lady-bug that has lit on the shirt-sleeve
of the arm inditing this? Ending our list with the fall-drying grass,
the Autumn days themselves,
Sweet days; so cool, so calm, so bright,
(yet not so cool either, about noon)--the horse-mint, the wild carrot,
the mullein, and the bumble-bee.
How the half-mad vision of William Blake--how the far freer, far firmer
fantasy that wrote "Midsummer Night's Dream"--would have revell'd night
or day, and beyond stint, in one of our American corn fields! Truly, in
color, outline, material and spiritual suggestiveness, where any more
inclosing theme for idealist, poet, literary artist?
What we have written has been at noon day--but perhaps better still
(for this collation,) to steal off by yourself these fine nights, and
go slowly, musingly down the lane, when the dry and green-gray
frost-touch'd leaves seem whisper-gossipping all over the field in
low tones, as if every hill had something to say--and you sit or lean
recluse near by, and inhale that rare, rich, ripe and peculiar odor
of the gather'd plant which comes out best only to the night air. The
complex impressions of the far-spread fields and woods in the night, are
blended mystically, soothingly, indefinitely, and yet palpably to you
(appealing curiously, perhaps mostly, to the sense of smell.) All is
comparative silence and clear-shadow below, and the stars are up there
with Jupiter lording it over westward; sulky Saturn in the east, and
over head the moon. A rare well-shadow'd hour! By no means the least of
the eligibilities of the gather'd corn!