My Summer With Dr. Singletary
J >>
John Greenleaf Whittier >> My Summer With Dr. Singletary
"One cannot but admire," said the Doctor, "that wise and beneficent
ordination of Providence whereby the spirit of man asserts its power
over circumstances, moulding the rough forms of matter to its fine
ideal, bringing harmony out of discord,--coloring, warming, and lighting
up everything within the circle of its horizon. A loving heart carries
with it, under every parallel of latitude, the warmth and light of the
tropics. It plants its Eden in the wilderness and solitary place, and
sows with flowers the gray desolation of rocks and mosses. Wherever
love goes, there springs the true heart's-ease, rooting itself even in
the polar ices. To the young invalid of the Skipper's story, the dreary
waste of what Moore calls, as you remember,
'the dismal shore
Of cold and pitiless Labrador,'
looked beautiful and inviting; for he saw it softened and irradiated in
an atmosphere of love. Its bare hills, bleak rocks, and misty sky were
but the setting and background of the sweetest picture in the gallery of
life. Apart from this, however, in Labrador, as in every conceivable
locality, the evils of soil and climate have their compensations and
alleviations. The long nights of winter are brilliant with moonlight,
and the changing colors of the northern lights are reflected on the
snow. The summer of Labrador has a beauty of its own, far unlike that
of more genial climates, but which its inhabitants would not forego for
the warm life and lavish luxuriance of tropical landscapes. The dwarf
fir-trees throw from the ends of their branches yellow tufts of stamina,
like small lamps decorating green pyramids for the festival of spring;
and if green grass is in a great measure wanting, its place is supplied
by delicate mosses of the most brilliant colors. The truth is, every
season and climate has its peculiar beauties and comforts; the
footprints of the good and merciful God are found everywhere; and we
should be willing thankfully to own that 'He has made all things
beautiful in their time' if we were not a race of envious, selfish,
ungrateful grumblers."
"Doctor! Doctor!" cried a ragged, dirty-faced boy, running breathless
into the yard.
"What's the matter, my lad?" said the Doctor.
"Mother wants you to come right over to our house. Father's tumbled off
the hay-cart; and when they got him up he didn't know nothing; but they
gin him some rum, and that kinder brought him to."
"No doubt, no doubt," said the Doctor, rising to go. "Similia similibus
curantur. Nothing like hair of the dog that bites you."
"The Doctor talks well," said the Skipper, who had listened rather
dubiously to his friend's commentaries on his story; "but he carries too
much sail for me sometimes, and I can't exactly keep alongside of him.
I told Elder. Staples once that I did n't see but that the Doctor could
beat him at preaching. 'Very likely,' says the Elder, says he; 'for you
know, Skipper, I must stick to my text; but the Doctor's Bible is all
creation.'"
"Yes," said the Elder, who had joined us a few moments before, "the
Doctor takes a wide range, or, as the farmers say, carries a wide swath,
and has some notions of things which in my view have as little
foundation in true philosophy as they have warrant in Scripture; but,
if he sometimes speculates falsely, he lives truly, which is by far
the most important matter. The mere dead letter of a creed, however
carefully preserved and reverently cherished, may be of no more
spiritual or moral efficacy than an African fetish or an Indian
medicine-bag. What we want is, orthodoxy in practice,--the dry bones
clothed with warm, generous, holy life. It is one thing to hold fast
the robust faith of our fathers,--the creed of the freedom-loving
Puritan and Huguenot,--and quite another to set up the five points of
Calvinism, like so many thunder-rods, over a bad life, in the insane
hope of averting the Divine displeasure from sin."