In the Shadow of St. Helena [pp. 366-372]

IN THE SHADOW OF ST. HELEN/A.
burning by the way-side, suggests enough
of prosy realism to neutralize all the sentiment which it can inspire on a hot September-day.
Will the juice of these grapes enrich the blood, and add any essential quality to the tone and fibre of
a race which is giving so many signs of
physical decadence? This conglomerate which you call society is hanging
out a great many flags of distress. It
babbles incoherently of perfectibility,
and goes straightway to the bad. Are
those reformers going to save the world,
who, either through intemperance of
speech or drink, must needs be moderated by a padlock put upon their mouths?
Nor is it safe, just now, to calculate the
results of this feminine gospel of vituperation. The backs of the body politic
may be the better for having a political
fly-blister laid on; and it might, perhaps, as well be done by feminine hands
as any other. But there are some evils
too deep-for surface remedies. If, for
instance, vineyards are going to curse
the people, as my moralizing friend insists, then humanity hereabout is in a
bad way, and needs reconstructing from
the nethermost parts to the bald crown
of the head. Why, a little generous wine
ought to enrich the blood and inspire
nobility of thought. If it does more
than this-if it becomes a demon to
drive men and hogs into the sea-then
it is evident that both were on too low a
plane of existence for any safe exaltation. But shall the vineyards be rooted
up for all this? It is better to drown
the swine, and let the grapes still grow
purple upon the hill- sides.
Some day these mountains will be
wreathed and festooned with vines. One
may see this culture now climbing to
their tops. Oh, my friend, with thin
and impoverished blood! do not pinch
this question up in the vise of your mo rality. No doubt there was a vineyard
in Eden, and there were ripe clusters
close by the fig-leaves. You can not
prove to me that sinless hands have not
plucked the grapes, and that millions
will not do it again. What we need is
not a greater company of wailing prophets, but men who will reveal to us the
higher and nobler use of things. If one
could not live comfortably in this Vale
of Paradise and ripen from year to year,
opening his soul to all enriching influences, without an everlasting protest,
there would be small chance for his
comfort in any more etherealized place.
Looking northward, or from the back
side of St. Helena, is Lake County, the
centre of which can be reached by the
daylight of a summer day fromn San
Francisco. It is a wild, isolated, and
mountainous region, containing a harnmless population, who are much addicted
to salt pork, and needing all the more,
perhaps, the medicinal and renovating
qualities of the various thermal springs
which abound. A Pike, with the wilderness at his back, and civilization advancing in front, is sometimes a ridiculous, and oftener a pitiable, specimen of
humanity. When the school-house overtakes him, there is a crisis in his affairs.
He must elect to hustle half a score offrouzy-headed children into his covered wagon, hang a few pots and kettles at the rear,
and plunge farther into the wilderness,
or let civilization go past him, closing in
upon all sides, and, in spite of impotent
protests, narrowing perhaps his own horizon, but making it broader and brighter for his children. If the horizon is
too bright, this blinking Pike will turn
his back to the light, and make a break
for Egypt. So long as there is bacon
and hominy, and free territory, with a
modicum of whisky within easy reach,
you can not summon this stolid, retreat ing animal to a better condition. Nat-,
ure has made a botch of him, else he
would now be running on four feet, in stead of two. A border man, running
away from civilization, who can not bark
I872.]
367