the complete writings-3-第11章
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in the wilds of the Adirondacks。 Sometimes it is a love of adventure and freedom that sends men out of the more civilized conditions into the less； sometimes it is a constitutional physical lassitude which leads them to prefer the rod to the hoe； the trap to the sickle； and the society of bears to town meetings and taxes。 I think that Old Mountain Phelps had merely the instincts of the primitive man； and never any hostile civilizing intent as to the wilderness into which he plunged。 Why should he want to slash away the forest and plow up the ancient mould； when it is infinitely pleasanter to roam about in the leafy solitudes； or sit upon a mossy log and listen to the chatter of birds and the stir of beasts？ Are there not trout in the streams； gum exuding from the spruce； sugar in the maples； honey in the hollow trees； fur on the sables； warmth in hickory logs？ Will not a few days' planting and scratching in the 〃open〃 yield potatoes and rye？ And； if there is steadier diet needed than venison and bear； is the pig an expensive animal？ If Old Phelps bowed to the prejudice or fashion of his age （since we have come out of the tertiary state of things）； and reared a family； built a frame house in a secluded nook by a cold spring； planted about it some apple trees and a rudimentary garden； and installed a group of flaming sunflowers by the door； I am convinced that it was a concession that did not touch his radical character； that is to say； it did not impair his reluctance to split oven…wood。
He was a true citizen of the wilderness。 Thoreau would have liked him； as he liked Indians and woodchucks； and the smell of pine forests； and； if Old Phelps had seen Thoreau； he would probably have said to him； 〃Why on airth； Mr。 Thoreau； don't you live accordin' to your preachin'？〃 You might be misled by the shaggy suggestion of Old Phelps's given nameOrsoninto the notion that he was a mighty hunter； with the fierce spirit of the Berserkers in his veins。 Nothing could be farther from the truth。 The hirsute and grisly sound of Orson expresses only his entire affinity with the untamed and the natural； an uncouth but gentle passion for the freedom and wildness of the forest。 Orson Phelps has only those unconventional and humorous qualities of the bear which make the animal so beloved in literature； and one does not think of Old Phelps so much as a lover of nature；to use the sentimental slang of the period；as a part of nature itself。
His appearance at the time when as a 〃guide〃 he began to come into public notice fostered this impression；a sturdy figure with long body and short legs； clad in a woolen shirt and butternut…colored trousers repaired to the point of picturesqueness； his head surmounted by a limp； light…brown felt hat； frayed away at the top； so that his yellowish hair grew out of it like some nameless fern out of a pot。 His tawny hair was long and tangled； matted now many years past the possibility of being entered by a comb。
His features were small and delicate； and set in the frame of a reddish beard； the razor having mowed away a clearing about the sensitive mouth； which was not seldom wreathed with a childlike and charming smile。 Out of this hirsute environment looked the small gray eyes； set near together； eyes keen to observe； and quick to express change of thought； eyes that made you believe instinct can grow into philosophic judgment。 His feet and hands were of aristocratic smallness； although the latter were not worn away by ablutions； in fact； they assisted his toilet to give you the impression that here was a man who had just come out of the ground； a real son of the soil； whose appearance was partially explained by his humorous relation to…soap。 〃Soap is a thing；〃 he said； 〃that I hain't no kinder use for。〃 His clothes seemed to have been put on him once for all； like the bark of a tree； a long time ago。 The observant stranger was sure to be puzzled by the contrast of this realistic and uncouth exterior with the internal fineness； amounting to refinement and culture； that shone through it all。 What communion had supplied the place of our artificial breeding to this man？
Perhaps his most characteristic attitude was sitting on a log； with a short pipe in his mouth。 If ever man was formed to sit on a log； it was Old Phelps。 He was essentially a contemplative person。 Walking on a country road； or anywhere in the 〃open；〃 was irksome to him。 He had a shambling； loose…jointed gait； not unlike that of the bear： his short legs bowed out； as if they had been more in the habit of climbing trees than of walking。 On land； if we may use that expression； he was something like a sailor； but； once in the rugged trail or the unmarked route of his native forest； he was a different person； and few pedestrians could compete with him。 The vulgar estimate of his contemporaries； that reckoned Old Phelps 〃lazy；〃 was simply a failure to comprehend the conditions of his being。 It is the unjustness of civilization that it sets up uniform and artificial standards for all persons。 The primitive man suffers by them much as the contemplative philosopher does； when one happens to arrive in this busy； fussy world。
If the appearance of Old Phelps attracts attention； his voice； when first heard； invariably startles the listener。 A small； high… pitched； half…querulous voice； it easily rises into the shrillest falsetto； and it has a quality in it that makes it audible in all the tempests of the forest； or the roar of rapids； like the piping of a boatswain's whistle at sea in a gale。 He has a way of letting it rise as his sentence goes on； or when he is opposed in argument； or wishes to mount above other voices in the conversation； until it dominates everything。 Heard in the depths of the woods； quavering aloft； it is felt to be as much a part of nature； an original force； as the northwest wind or the scream of the hen…hawk。 When he is pottering about the camp…fire； trying to light his pipe with a twig held in the flame； he is apt to begin some philosophical observation in a small； slow； stumbling voice； which seems about to end in defeat； when he puts on some unsuspected force； and the sentence ends in an insistent shriek。 Horace Greeley had such a voice； and could regulate it in the same manner。 But Phelps's voice is not seldom plaintive； as if touched by the dreamy sadness of the woods themselves。
When Old Mountain Phelps was discovered； he was； as the reader has already guessed； not understood by his contemporaries。 His neighbors； farmers in the secluded valley； had many of them grown thrifty and prosperous； cultivating the fertile meadows； and vigorously attacking the timbered mountains； while Phelps； with not much more faculty of acquiring property than the roaming deer； had pursued the even tenor of the life in the forest on which he set out。 They would have been surprised to be told that Old Phelps owned more of what makes the value of the Adirondacks than all of them put together； but it was true。 This woodsman； this trapper； this hunter； this fisherman； this sitter on a log； and philosopher； was the real proprietor of the region over which he was ready to guide the stranger。 It is true that he had not a monopoly of its geography or its topography （though his knowledge was superior in these respects）； there were other trappers； and more deadly hunters； and as intrepid guides： but Old Phelps was the discoverer of the beauties and sublimities of the mountains； and； when city strangers broke into the region； he monopolized the appreciation of these delights and wonders of nature。 I suppose that in all that country he alone had noticed the sunsets； and observed the delightful processes of the seasons； taken pleasure in the woods for themselves； and climbed mountains solely for the sake of the prospect。 He alone understood what was meant by 〃scenery。〃 In the eyes of his neighbors； who did not know that he was a poet and a philosopher； I dare say he appeared to be a slack provider； a rather shiftless trapper and fisherman； and his passionate love of the forest and the mountains； if it was noticed； was accounted to him for idleness。 When the appreciative tourist arrived； Phelps was ready； as guide； to open to him
