Letters from an American Farmer | Page 9

their true light, as the asylum of
freedom; as the cradle of future nations, and the refuge of distressed
Europeans. Why then should I refrain from loving and respecting a man
whose writings I so much admire? These two sentiments are
inseparable, at least in my breast. I conceived your genius to be present
at the head of my study: under its invisible but powerful guidance, I
prosecuted my small labours: and now, permit me to sanctify them
under the auspices of your name. Let the sincerity of the motives which
urge me, prevent you from thinking that this well meant address
contains aught but the purest tribute of reverence and affection. There
is, no doubt, a secret communion among good men throughout the
world; a mental affinity connecting them by a similitude of sentiments:
then, why, though an American, should not I be permitted to share in
that extensive intellectual consanguinity? Yes, I do: and though the
name of a man who possesses neither titles nor places, who never rose
above the humble rank of a farmer, may appear insignificant; yet, as the
sentiments I have expressed are also the echo of those of my
countrymen; on their behalf, as well as on my own, give me leave to
subscribe myself,
Sir, Your very sincere admirer, J. HECTOR ST. JOHN. CARLISLE IN
PENNSYLVANIA.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER

LETTER I

INTRODUCTION
Who would have thought that because I received you with hospitality
and kindness, you should imagine me capable of writing with propriety
and perspicuity? Your gratitude misleads your judgment. The
knowledge which I acquired from your conversation has amply repaid
me for your five weeks' entertainment. I gave you nothing more than
what common hospitality dictated; but could any other guest have
instructed me as you did? You conducted me, on the map, from one
European country to another; told me many extraordinary things of our
famed mother-country, of which I knew very little; of its internal
navigation, agriculture, arts, manufactures, and trade: you guided me
through an extensive maze, and I abundantly profited by the journey;
the contrast therefore proves the debt of gratitude to be on my side. The
treatment you received at my house proceeded from the warmth of my
heart, and from the corresponding sensibility of my wife; what you now
desire must flow from a very limited power of mind: the task requires
recollection, and a variety of talents which I do not possess. It is true I
can describe our American modes of farming, our manners, and
peculiar customs, with some degree of propriety, because I have ever
attentively studied them; but my knowledge extends no farther. And is
this local and unadorned information sufficient to answer all your
expectations, and to satisfy your curiosity? I am surprised that in the
course of your American travels you should not have found out persons
more enlightened and better educated than I am; your predilection
excites my wonder much more than my vanity; my share of the latter
being confined merely to the neatness of my rural operations.
My father left me a few musty books, which his father brought from
England with him; but what help can I draw from a library consisting
mostly of Scotch Divinity, the Navigation of Sir Francis Drake, the
History of Queen Elizabeth, and a few miscellaneous volumes? Our
minister often comes to see me, though he lives upwards of twenty
miles distant. I have shown him your letter, asked his advice, and
solicited his assistance; he tells me, that he hath no time to spare, for
that like the rest of us must till his farm, and is moreover to study what
he is to say on the sabbath. My wife (and I never do anything without

consulting her) laughs, and tells me that you cannot be in earnest. What!
says she, James, wouldst thee pretend to send epistles to a great
European man, who hath lived abundance of time in that big house
called Cambridge; where, they say, that worldly learning is so abundant,
that people gets it only by breathing the air of the place? Wouldst not
thee be ashamed to write unto a man who has never in his life done a
single day's work, no, not even felled a tree; who hath expended the
Lord knows how many years in studying stars, geometry, stones, and
flies, and in reading folio books? Who hath travelled, as he told us, to
the city of Rome itself! Only think of a London man going to Rome!
Where is it that these English folks won't go? One who hath seen the
factory of brimstone at Suvius, and town of Pompey under ground!
wouldst thou pretend to letter it with a person who hath been to Paris,
to