I resume my journey where I stopped short in my last, namely, on reaching
Benson, in Vermont, among the highlands west of Lake Champlain. We went on
through a pastoral country of the freshest verdure, where we saw large
flocks of sheep grazing. From time to time we had glimpses of the summits
of a long blue ridge of mountains to the east of us, and now and then the
more varied and airy peaks of the mountains which lie to the west of the
lake. They told me that of late years this part of the country had
suffered much from the grasshoppers, and that last summer, in particular,
these insects had made their appearance in immense armies, devouring the
plants of the ground and leaving it bare of herbage. "They passed across
the country," said one person to me, "like hail storms, ravaging it in
broad stripes, with intervals between in which they were less numerous."
At present, however, whether it was the long and severe winter which did
not fairly end till the close of April, or whether it was the uncommonly
showery weather of the season hitherto, that destroyed these insects, in
some early stage of their existence, I was told that there is now scarce a
grasshopper in all these meadows and pastures. Everywhere the herbage was
uncommonly luxuriant, and everywhere I saw the turf thickly sprinkled with
the blossoms of the white clover, on the hill, in the valley, among rocks,
by streams, by the road-side, and whenever the thinner shade of the woods
allowed the plants of the field to take root. We might say of the white
clover, with even more truth than Montgomery says of the daisy: -
"But this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,
Peeps o'er the fox's den."
All with whom I spoke had taken notice of the uncommon abundance of the
white clover this year, and the idea seemed to prevail that it has its
regular periods of appearing and disappearing, - remaining in the fields
until it has taken up its nutriment in the soil, and then giving place to
other plants, until they likewise had exhausted the qualities of the soil
by which they were nourished. However this may be, its appearance this
season in such profusion, throughout every part of the country which I
have seen, is very remarkable. All over the highlands of Vermont and New
Hampshire, in their valleys, in the gorges of their mountains, on the
sandy banks of the Connecticut, the atmosphere for many a league is
perfumed with the odor of its blossoms.
I passed a few days in the valley of one of those streams of northern
Yermont, which find their way into Champlain. If I were permitted to draw
aside the veil of private life, I would briefly give you the singular, and
to me most interesting history of two maiden ladies who dwell in this
valley. I would tell you how, in their youthful days, they took each other
as companions for life, and how this union, no less sacred to them than
the tie of marriage, has subsisted, in uninterrupted harmony, for forty
years, during which they have shared each other's occupations and
pleasures and works of charity while in health, and watched over each
other tenderly in sicknesss; for sickness has made long and frequent
visits to their dwelling. I could tell you how they slept on the same
pillow and had a common purse, and adopted each other's relations, and how
one of them, more enterprising and spirited in her temper than the other,
might be said to represent the male head of the family, and took upon
herself their transactions with the world without, until at length her
health failed, and she was tended by her gentle companion, as a fond wife
attends her invalid husband. I would tell you of their dwelling, encircled
with roses, which now in the days of their broken health, bloom wild
without their tendance, and I would speak of the friendly attentions which
their neighbors, people of kind hearts and simple manners, seem to take
pleasure in bestowing upon them, but I have already said more than I fear
they will forgive me for, if this should ever meet their eyes, and I must
leave the subject.
One day I had taken a walk with a farmer of the place, over his extensive
and luxuriant pastures, and was returning by the road, when a well-made
young fellow in a cap, with thick curly hair, carrying his coat on his
arm, wearing a red sash round his waist, and walking at a brisk pace,
overtook us. "Etes-vous Canadien?" - are you a Canadian? said my companion.
"Un peu" - a little - was the dry answer. "Where are you going?" asked the
farmer again, in English. "To Middlebury," replied he, and immediately
climbed a fence and struck across a field to save an angle in the road, as
if perfectly familiar with the country
"These Canadian French," said the farmer, "come swarming upon us in the
summer, when we are about to begin the hay-harvest, and of late years they
are more numerous than formerly. Every farmer here has his French laborer
at this season, and some two or three. They are hardy, and capable of long
and severe labor; but many of them do not understand a word of our
language, and they are not so much to be relied upon as our own
countrymen; they, therefore, receive lower wages."
"What do you pay them?"
"Eight dollars a month, is the common rate. When they leave your service,
they make up their packs, and bring them for your inspection, that you
may see that they have taken nothing which does not belong to them. I have
heard of thefts committed by some of them, for I do not suppose that the
best of the Canadians leave their homes for work, but I have always
declined to examine their baggage when they quit my house."
A shower drove us to take shelter in a farm-house by the road.
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