THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE
For the genuine lover of nature, as distinct from
the connoisseur of dainty or spectacular “scenery,”
nature has always and everywhere some charm or satisfaction.
He will find it no less—some say more—in
winter than in summer, and I have little doubt that
the great Alkali Desert is not entirely without its
enthusiasts. The nature among which we spent
our childhood is apt to have a lasting hold on us,
in defiance of showier competition, and I suppose
there is no land with soul so dead that it does not
boast itself the fairest under heaven.
I am writing this surrounded by a natural scene which
I would not exchange for the Swiss lakes, yet I presume
it is undeniable that Switzerland has a more universal
reputation for natural beauty than Connecticut.
It is, as we say, one of the show places of the earth.
So Niagara Falls, the Grand Canon, the Rockies, and
California generally lord it over America. Italy
has such a reputation for beauty that it is almost
unfair to expect her to live up to it. I once
ventured to say that the Alps must be greasy with
being climbed, and it says much for such stock pieces
in nature’s repertoire, that, in spite of all
the wear and tear of sentimental travellers, the mock-admiration
of generations, the batteries of amateur cameras,
the Riviera, the English lakes, the Welsh mountains,
the Highlands of Scotland, and other tourist-trodden
classics of the picturesque, still remain haunts of
beauty and joys forever. God’s masterpieces
do not easily wear out.
Every country does something supremely well, and England
may be said to have a patent for a certain kind of
scenery which Americans are the first to admire.
English scenery has no more passionate pilgrim than
the traveller from the United States, as the visitors’
books of its various show-places voluminously attest.
Perhaps it is not difficult, when one has lived in
both countries, to understand why.
While America, apart from its impressive natural splendours,
is rich also in idyllic and pastoral landscape, it
has, as yet, but little “countryside.”
I say, as yet, because “the countryside,”
I think I am right in feeling, is not entirely a thing
of nature’s making, but rather a collaboration
resulting from nature and man living so long in partnership
together. In England, with which the word is peculiarly,
if not exclusively, associated, God is not entirely
to be credited with making the country. Man has
for generations also done his share.
It is perhaps not without significance that the word
“countryside” was not to be found in Webster’s
dictionary, till a recent edition. Originally,
doubtless, it was used with reference to those rural
districts in the vicinity of a town; as one might say
the country side of the town. Not wild or solitary
nature was meant, but nature humanized, made companionable
by the presence and occupations of man; a nature which
had made the winding highway, the farm, and the pasture,
even the hamlet, with its church tower and its ancient
inn, one with herself.
