Before yet any woodchuck or squirrel had run across the road， or the sun had got above the shrub oaks， while all the dew was on，though the farmers warned me against it ―― I would advise you to do all your work if possible while the dew is on ―― I began to level the ranks of haughty weeds in my bean-field and throw dust upon their heads.  Early in the morning I worked barefooted， dabbling like a plastic artist in the dewy and crumbling sand， but later in the day the sun blistered my feet.  There the sun lighted me to hoe beans， pacing slowly backward and forward over that yellow gravelly upland， between the long green rows， fifteen rods， the one end terminating in a shrub oak copse where I could rest in the shade，the other in a blackberry field where the green berries deepened their tints by the time I had made another bout.  Removing the weeds， putting fresh soil about the bean stems， and encouraging this weed which I had sown， making the yellow soil express its summer thought in bean leaves and blossoms rather than in wormwood and piper and millet grass， making the earth say beans instead of grass―― this was my daily work.  As I had little aid from horses or cattle， or hired men or boys， or improved implements of husbandry， I was much slower， and became much more intimate with my beans than usual.  But labor of the hands， even when pursued to the verge of drudgery， is perhaps never the worst form of idleness.  It has a constant and imperishable moral， and to the scholar it yields a classic result.  A very agricola laboriosus was I to travellers bound westward through Lincoln and Wayland to nobody knows where；they sitting at their ease in gigs， with elbows on knees， and reins loosely hanging in festoons； I the home-staying， laborious native of the soil.  But soon my homestead was out of their sight and thought. It was the only open and cultivated field for a great distance on either side of the road， so they made the most of it； and sometimes the man in the field heard more of travellers' gossip and comment than was meant for his ear： "Beans so late！ peas so late！" ―― for I continued to plant when others had begun to hoe ―― the ministerial husbandman had not suspected it.  "Corn， my boy， for fodder； corn for fodder."  "Does he live there？" asks the black bonnet of the gray coat； and the hard-featured farmer reins up his grateful dobbin to inquire what you are doing where he sees no manure in the furrow，and recommends a little chip dirt， or any little waste stuff， or it may be ashes or plaster.  But here were two acres and a half of furrows， and only a hoe for cart and two hands to draw it ―― there being an aversion to other carts and horses ―― and chip dirt far away.  Fellow-travellers as they rattled by compared it aloud with the fields which they had passed， so that I came to know how I stood in the agricultural world.  This was one field not in Mr. Coleman's report.  And， by the way， who estimates the value of the crop which nature yields in the still wilder fields unimproved by man？  The crop of English hay is carefully weighed， the moisture calculated，the silicates and the potash； but in all dells and pond-holes in the woods and pastures and swamps grows a rich and various crop only unreaped by man.  Mine was， as it were， the connecting link between wild and cultivated fields； as some states are civilized， and others half-civilized， and others savage or barbarous， so my field was，though not in a bad sense， a half-cultivated field.  They were beans cheerfully returning to their wild and primitive state that I cultivated， and my hoe played the Rans des Vaches for them.

　　Near at hand， upon the topmost spray of a birch， sings the brown thrasher ―― or red mavis， as some love to call him ―― all the morning， glad of your society， that would find out another farmer's field if yours were not here.  While you are planting the seed， he cries ―― "Drop it， drop it ―― cover it up， cover it up ―― pull it up， pull it up， pull it up."  But this was not corn， and so it was safe from such enemies as he.  You may wonder what his rigmarole，his amateur Paganini performances on one string or on twenty， have to do with your planting， and yet prefer it to leached ashes or plaster.  It was a cheap sort of top dressing in which I had entire faith.

　　還在任何土撥鼠或松鼠竄過大路，或在太陽升上橡樹矮林之前，當時一切都披著露珠，我就開始在豆田里拔去那高傲的敗草，并且把泥土堆到它們上面，雖然有些農民不讓我這樣做，――可我還是勸你們盡可能趁有露水時把一切工作都做完。一清早，我赤腳工作，像一個造型的藝術家，在承露的粉碎的沙土中弄泥巴，日上三竿以后，太陽就要曬得我的腳上起泡了。太陽照射著我鋤耨，我慢慢地在那黃沙的岡地上，在那長十五桿的一行行的綠葉叢中來回走動，它一端延伸到一座矮橡林為止，我常常休息在它的濃蔭下；另一端延伸到一塊漿果田邊，我每走一個來回，總能看到那里的青色的漿果顏色又微微加深了一些。我除草根又在豆莖周圍培新土，幫助我所種植的作物滋長，使這片黃土不是以苦艾、蘆管、黍粟，而是以豆葉與豆花來表達它夏日幽思的。――這就是我每天的工作。因為我沒有牛馬，雇工或小孩的幫助，也沒有改良的農具，我就特別地慢，也因此我跟豆子特別親呢了。用手工作，到了做苦工的程度，總不能算懶惰的一種最差的形式了吧。這中間便有一個常青的、不可磨滅的真理，對學者而言，是帶有古典哲學的意味的。和那些向西穿過林肯和魏蘭德到誰也不知道的地方去的旅行家相比，我就成了一個agricola laboriosu s了；他們悠閑地坐在馬車上，手肘放在膝蓋上，疆繩松弛地垂成花飾；我卻是泥土上工作的、家居的勞工。可是，我的家宅田地很快就落在他們的視線和思想之外了。因為大路兩側很長一段路上，只有我這塊土地是耕植了的，自然特別引起他們注意；有時候在這塊地里工作的人，聽到他們的批評。那是不打算讓他聽見的，“豆子種得這樣晚！豌豆也種晚了！”――因為別人已經開始鋤地了，我卻還在播種――我這業余性質的農民想也沒想到過這些。“這些作物，我的孩子，只能給家畜吃的；給家畜吃的作物！”

　　“他住在這里嗎？”那穿灰色上衣戴黑色帽于的人說了；于是那口音嚴厲的農夫勒住他那匹感激的老馬詢問我，你在這里干什么，犁溝中怎么沒有施肥，他提出來，應該撤些細未子的垃圾，任何廢物都可以，或者灰燼，或者灰泥。可是，這里只有兩英畝半犁溝，只有一把鋤代替馬，用兩只手拖的，――我又不喜歡馬車和馬，――而細未子的垃圾又很遠。駕車轔轔經過的一些旅行者把這塊地同他們一路上所看見的，大聲大氣地作比較，這就使我知道我在農業世界中的地位了。這一塊田地是不在柯爾門先生的報告中的。可是，順便說一說，大自然在更荒涼的、未經人們改進的地面上所生產的谷物，誰又會去計算出它們的價值來呢？英格蘭干草給小心地稱過，還計算了其中的濕度和硅酸鹽、碳酸鉀；可是在一切的山谷、洼地、林木、牧場和沼澤地帶都生長著豐富而多樣的谷物，人們只是沒有去收割罷了。我的呢，正好像是介乎野生的和開墾的兩者之間；正如有些是開化國，有些半開化國，另一些卻是野蠻國，我的田地可以稱為半開化的田地，雖然這并不是從壞的意義上來說。那些豆子很快樂地回到了我培育它們的野生的原始狀態去，而我的鋤頭就給他們高唱了牧歌。

　　在附近的一棵白樺樹頂有棕色的歌雀――有人管它叫做紅眉鳥――歌唱了一整個早晨，很愿意跟你作伴。如果你的農田不在這里，它就會飛到另一個農夫的田里去。你播種的時候，它叫起來，“丟，丟，丟了它，――遮，遮，遮起來，――拉，拉，拉上去。”

　　可這里種的不是玉米，不會有像它那樣的敵人來吃莊稼。你也許會覺得奇怪，它那無稽之歌，像用一根琴弦或二十根琴弦作的業余帕格尼尼式的演奏，跟你的播種有什么關系。

　　可是你寧可聽歌而不去準備灰燼或灰泥了。這些是我最信賴的，最便宜的一種上等肥料。

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