English
Iweatheredsomemerrysnow–storms,andspentsomecheerfulwintereveningsbymyfireside,whilethesnowwhirledwildlywithout,andeventhehootingoftheowlwashushed.
FormanyweeksImetnooneinmywalksbutthosewhocameoccasionallytocutwoodandsledittothevillage.
Theelements,however,abettedmeinmakingapaththroughthedeepestsnowinthewoods,forwhenIhadoncegonethroughthewindblewtheoakleavesintomytracks,wheretheylodged,andbyabsorbingtheraysofthesunmeltedthesnow,andsonotonlymadeamybedformyfeet,butinthenighttheirdarklinewasmyguide.
ForhumansocietyIwasobligedtoconjureuptheformeroccupantsofthesewoods.
Withinthememoryofmanyofmytownsmentheroadnearwhichmyhousestandsresoundedwiththelaughandgossipofinhabitants,andthewoodswhichborderitwerenotchedanddottedhereandtherewiththeirlittlegardensanddwellings,thoughitwasthenmuchmoreshutinbytheforestthannow.
Insomeplaces,withinmyownremembrance,thepineswouldscrapebothsidesofachaiseatonce,andwomenandchildrenwhowerecompelledtogothiswaytoLincolnaloneandonfootdiditwithfear,andoftenranagoodpartofthedistance.
Thoughmainlybutahumbleroutetoneighboringvillages,orforthewoodman'steam,itonceamusedthetravellermorethannowbyitsvariety,andlingeredlongerinhismemory.
Wherenowfirmopenfieldsstretchfromthevillagetothewoods,itthenranthroughamapleswamponafoundationoflogs,theremnantsofwhich,doubtless,stillunderliethepresentdustyhighway,fromtheStratton,nowtheAlms–HouseFarm,toBrister'sHill.
Eastofmybean–field,acrosstheroad,livedCatoIngraham,slaveofDuncanIngraham,Esquire,gentleman,ofConcordvillage,whobuilthisslaveahouse,andgavehimpermissiontoliveinWaldenWoods;—Cato,notUticensis,butConcordiensis.SomesaythathewasaGuineaNegro.
Thereareafewwhorememberhislittlepatchamongthewalnuts,whichheletgrowuptillheshouldbeoldandneedthem;butayoungerandwhiterspeculatorgotthematlast.
Hetoo,however,occupiesanequallynarrowhouseatpresent.
Cato'shalf–obliteratedcellar–holestillremains,thoughknowntofew,beingconcealedfromthetravellerbyafringeofpines.
Itisnowfilledwiththesmoothsumach(Rhusglabra),andoneoftheearliestspeciesofgoldenrod(Solidagostricta)growsthereluxuriantly.
Here,bytheverycornerofmyfield,stillnearertotown,Zilpha,acoloredwoman,hadherlittlehouse,whereshespunlinenforthetownsfolk,makingtheWaldenWoodsringwithhershrillsinging,forshehadaloudandnotablevoice.
Atlength,inthewarof1812,herdwellingwassetonfirebyEnglishsoldiers,prisonersonparole,whenshewasaway,andhercatanddogandhenswereallburneduptogether.
Sheledahardlife,andsomewhatinhumane.
Oneoldfrequenterofthesewoodsremembers,thatashepassedherhouseonenoonheheardhermutteringtoherselfoverhergurglingpot—"Yeareallbones,bones!"
Ihaveseenbricksamidtheoakcopsethere.
Downtheroad,ontherighthand,onBrister'sHill,livedBristerFreeman,"ahandyNegro,"slaveofSquireCummingsonce—therewheregrowstilltheappletreeswhichBristerplantedandtended;largeoldtreesnow,buttheirfruitstillwildandciderishtomytaste.
NotlongsinceIreadhisepitaphintheoldLincolnburying–ground,alittleononeside,neartheunmarkedgravesofsomeBritishgrenadierswhofellintheretreatfromConcord—whereheisstyled"SippioBrister"—ScipioAfricanushehadsometitletobecalled—"amanofcolor,"asifhewerediscolored.
Italsotoldme,withstaringemphasis,whenhedied;whichwasbutanindirectwayofinformingmethatheeverlived.
WithhimdweltFenda,hishospitablewife,whotoldfortunes,yetpleasantly—large,round,andblack,blackerthananyofthechildrenofnight,suchaduskyorbasneverroseonConcordbeforeorsince.
Fartherdownthehill,ontheleft,ontheoldroadinthewoods,aremarksofsomehomesteadoftheStrattonfamily;whoseorchardoncecoveredalltheslopeofBrister'sHill,butwaslongsincekilledoutbypitchpines,exceptingafewstumps,whoseoldrootsfurnishstillthewildstocksofmanyathriftyvillagetree.
Neareryettotown,youcometoBreed'slocation,ontheothersideoftheway,justontheedgeofthewood;groundfamousforthepranksofademonnotdistinctlynamedinoldmythology,whohasactedaprominentandastoundingpartinourNewEnglandlife,anddeserves,asmuchasanymythologicalcharacter,tohavehisbiographywrittenoneday;whofirstcomesintheguiseofafriendorhiredman,andthenrobsandmurdersthewholefamily—New–EnglandRum.
Buthistorymustnotyettellthetragediesenactedhere;lettimeinterveneinsomemeasuretoassuageandlendanazuretinttothem.
Herethemostindistinctanddubioustraditionsaysthatonceatavernstood;thewellthesame,whichtemperedthetraveller'sbeverageandrefreshedhissteed.
Herethenmensalutedoneanother,andheardandtoldthenews,andwenttheirwaysagain.
Breed'shutwasstandingonlyadozenyearsago,thoughithadlongbeenunoccupied.Itwasaboutthesizeofmine.
Itwassetonfirebymischievousboys,oneElectionnight,ifIdonotmistake.
Ilivedontheedgeofthevillagethen,andhadjustlostmyselfoverDavenant's"Gondibert,"thatwinterthatIlaboredwithalethargy—which,bytheway,Ineverknewwhethertoregardasafamilycomplaint,havinganunclewhogoestosleepshavinghimself,andisobligedtosproutpotatoesinacellarSundays,inordertokeepawakeandkeeptheSabbath,orastheconsequenceofmyattempttoreadChalmers'collectionofEnglishpoetrywithoutskipping.
ItfairlyovercamemyNervii.
Ihadjustsunkmyheadonthiswhenthebellsrungfire,andinhothastetheenginesrolledthatway,ledbyastragglingtroopofmenandboys,andIamongtheforemost,forIhadleapedthebrook.
Wethoughtitwasfarsouthoverthewoods—wewhohadruntofiresbefore—barn,shop,ordwelling–house,oralltogether."It'sBaker'sbarn,"criedone.
"ItistheCodmanplace,"affirmedanother.
Andthenfreshsparkswentupabovethewood,asiftherooffellin,andweallshouted"Concordtotherescue!"
Wagonsshotpastwithfuriousspeedandcrushingloads,bearing,perchance,amongtherest,theagentoftheInsuranceCompany,whowasboundtogohoweverfar;andeverandanontheenginebelltinkledbehind,moreslowandsure;andrearmostofall,asitwasafterwardwhispered,cametheywhosetthefireandgavethealarm.
Thuswekeptonliketrueidealists,rejectingtheevidenceofoursenses,untilataturnintheroadweheardthecracklingandactuallyfelttheheatofthefirefromoverthewall,andrealized,alas!thatwewerethere.
Theverynearnessofthefirebutcooledourardor.
Atfirstwethoughttothrowafrog–pondontoit;butconcludedtoletitburn,itwassofargoneandsoworthless.
Sowestoodroundourengine,jostledoneanother,expressedoursentimentsthroughspeaking–trumpets,orinlowertonereferredtothegreatconflagrationswhichtheworldhaswitnessed,includingBascom'sshop,and,betweenourselves,wethoughtthat,werewethereinseasonwithour"tub,"andafullfrog–pondby,wecouldturnthatthreatenedlastanduniversaloneintoanotherflood.
Wefinallyretreatedwithoutdoinganymischief—returnedtosleepand"Gondibert."
Butasfor"Gondibert,"Iwouldexceptthatpassageintheprefaceaboutwitbeingthesoul'spowder—"butmostofmankindarestrangerstowit,asIndiansaretopowder."
ItchancedthatIwalkedthatwayacrossthefieldsthefollowingnight,aboutthesamehour,andhearingalowmoaningatthisspot,Idrewnearinthedark,anddiscoveredtheonlysurvivorofthefamilythatIknow,theheirofbothitsvirtuesanditsvices,whoalonewasinterestedinthisburning,lyingonhisstomachandlookingoverthecellarwallatthestillsmoulderingcindersbeneath,mutteringtohimself,asishiswont.
Hehadbeenworkingfaroffintherivermeadowsallday,andhadimprovedthefirstmomentsthathecouldcallhisowntovisitthehomeofhisfathersandhisyouth.
Hegazedintothecellarfromallsidesandpointsofviewbyturns,alwayslyingdowntoit,asiftherewassometreasure,whichheremembered,concealedbetweenthestones,wheretherewasabsolutelynothingbutaheapofbricksandashes.
Thehousebeinggone,helookedatwhattherewasleft.
Hewassoothedbythesympathywhichmymerepresence,implied,andshowedme,aswellasthedarknesspermitted,wherethewellwascoveredup;which,thankHeaven,couldneverbeburned;andhegropedlongaboutthewalltofindthewell–sweepwhichhisfatherhadcutandmounted,feelingfortheironhookorstaplebywhichaburdenhadbeenfastenedtotheheavyend—allthathecouldnowclingto—toconvincemethatitwasnocommon"rider."
Ifeltit,andstillremarkitalmostdailyinmywalks,forbyithangsthehistoryofafamily.
Oncemore,ontheleft,whereareseenthewellandlilacbushesbythewall,inthenowopenfield,livedNuttingandLeGrosse.ButtoreturntowardLincoln.
Fartherinthewoodsthananyofthese,wheretheroadapproachesnearesttothepond,Wymanthepottersquatted,andfurnishedhistownsmenwithearthenware,andleftdescendantstosucceedhim.
Neitherweretheyrichinworldlygoods,holdingthelandbysufferancewhiletheylived;andthereoftenthesheriffcameinvaintocollectthetaxes,and"attachedachip,"forform'ssake,asIhavereadinhisaccounts,therebeingnothingelsethathecouldlayhishandson.
Onedayinmidsummer,whenIwashoeing,amanwhowascarryingaloadofpotterytomarketstoppedhishorseagainstmyfieldandinquiredconcerningWymantheyounger.
Hehadlongagoboughtapotter'swheelofhim,andwishedtoknowwhathadbecomeofhim.
Ihadreadofthepotter'sclayandwheelinScripture,butithadneveroccurredtomethatthepotsweusewerenotsuchashadcomedownunbrokenfromthosedays,orgrownontreeslikegourdssomewhere,andIwaspleasedtohearthatsofictileanartwaseverpracticedinmyneighborhood.
ThelastinhabitantofthesewoodsbeforemewasanIrishman,HughQuoil(ifIhavespelthisnamewithcoilenough),whooccupiedWyman'stenement—Col.Quoil,hewascalled.
RumorsaidthathehadbeenasoldieratWaterloo.
IfhehadlivedIshouldhavemadehimfighthisbattlesoveragain.Histradeherewasthatofaditcher.
NapoleonwenttoSt.Helena;QuoilcametoWaldenWoods.AllIknowofhimistragic.
Hewasamanofmanners,likeonewhohadseentheworld,andwascapableofmorecivilspeechthanyoucouldwellattendto.
Heworeagreatcoatinmidsummer,beingaffectedwiththetremblingdelirium,andhisfacewasthecolorofcarmine.
HediedintheroadatthefootofBrister'sHillshortlyafterIcametothewoods,sothatIhavenotrememberedhimasaneighbor.
Beforehishousewaspulleddown,whenhiscomradesavoideditas"anunluckycastle,"Ivisitedit.
Therelayhisoldclothescurledupbyuse,asiftheywerehimself,uponhisraisedplankbed.
Hispipelaybrokenonthehearth,insteadofabowlbrokenatthefountain.
Thelastcouldneverhavebeenthesymbolofhisdeath,forheconfessedtomethat,thoughhehadheardofBrister'sSpring,hehadneverseenit;andsoiledcards,kingsofdiamonds,spades,andhearts,werescatteredoverthefloor.
Oneblackchickenwhichtheadministratorcouldnotcatch,blackasnightandassilent,notevencroaking,awaitingReynard,stillwenttoroostinthenextapartment.
Inthereartherewasthedimoutlineofagarden,whichhadbeenplantedbuthadneverreceiveditsfirsthoeing,owingtothoseterribleshakingfits,thoughitwasnowharvesttime.
ItwasoverrunwithRomanwormwoodandbeggar–ticks,whichlaststucktomyclothesforallfruit.
Theskinofawoodchuckwasfreshlystretcheduponthebackofthehouse,atrophyofhislastWaterloo;butnowarmcapormittenswouldhewantmore.
Nowonlyadentintheearthmarksthesiteofthesedwellings,withburiedcellarstones,andstrawberries,raspberries,thimble–berries,hazel–bushes,andsumachsgrowinginthesunnyswardthere;somepitchpineorgnarledoakoccupieswhatwasthechimneynook,andasweet–scentedblackbirch,perhaps,waveswherethedoor–stonewas.
Sometimesthewelldentisvisible,whereonceaspringoozed;nowdryandtearlessgrass;oritwascovereddeep—nottobediscoveredtillsomelateday—withaflatstoneunderthesod,whenthelastoftheracedeparted.
Whatasorrowfulactmustthatbe—thecoveringupofwells!
coincidentwiththeopeningofwellsoftears.
Thesecellardents,likedesertedfoxburrows,oldholes,areallthatisleftwhereoncewerethestirandbustleofhumanlife,and"fate,freewill,foreknowledgeabsolute,"insomeformanddialectorotherwerebyturnsdiscussed.
ButallIcanlearnoftheirconclusionsamountstojustthis,that"CatoandBristerpulledwool";whichisaboutasedifyingasthehistoryofmorefamousschoolsofphilosophy.
Stillgrowsthevivaciouslilacagenerationafterthedoorandlintelandthesillaregone,unfoldingitssweet–scentedflowerseachspring,tobepluckedbythemusingtraveller;plantedandtendedoncebychildren'shands,infront–yardplots—nowstandingbywallsidesinretiredpastures,andgivingplacetonew–risingforests;—thelastofthatstirp,solesurvivorofthatfamily.
Littledidtheduskychildrenthinkthatthepunyslipwithitstwoeyesonly,whichtheystuckinthegroundintheshadowofthehouseanddailywatered,wouldrootitselfso,andoutlivethem,andhouseitselfintherearthatshadedit,andgrownman'sgardenandorchard,andtelltheirstoryfaintlytothelonewandererahalf–centuryaftertheyhadgrownupanddied—blossomingasfair,andsmellingassweet,asinthatfirstspring.
Imarkitsstilltender,civil,cheerfullilaccolors.
Butthissmallvillage,germofsomethingmore,whydiditfailwhileConcordkeepsitsground?
Weretherenonaturaladvantages—nowaterprivileges,forsooth?
Ay,thedeepWaldenPondandcoolBrister'sSpring—privilegetodrinklongandhealthydraughtsatthese,allunimprovedbythesemenbuttodilutetheirglass.Theywereuniversallyathirstyrace.
Mightnotthebasket,stable–broom,mat–making,corn–parching,linen–spinning,andpotterybusinesshavethrivedhere,makingthewildernesstoblossomliketherose,andanumerousposterityhaveinheritedthelandoftheirfathers?
Thesterilesoilwouldatleasthavebeenproofagainstalow–landdegeneracy.Alas!
howlittledoesthememoryofthesehumaninhabitantsenhancethebeautyofthelandscape!
Again,perhaps,Naturewilltry,withmeforafirstsettler,andmyhouseraisedlastspringtobetheoldestinthehamlet.
IamnotawarethatanymanhaseverbuiltonthespotwhichIoccupy.
Delivermefromacitybuiltonthesiteofamoreancientcity,whosematerialsareruins,whosegardenscemeteries.
Thesoilisblanchedandaccursedthere,andbeforethatbecomesnecessarytheearthitselfwillbedestroyed.
WithsuchreminiscencesIrepeopledthewoodsandlulledmyselfasleep.
AtthisseasonIseldomhadavisitor.Whenthesnowlaydeepestnowandererventurednearmyhouseforaweekorfortnightatatime,butthereIlivedassnugasameadowmouse,orascattleandpoultrywhicharesaidtohavesurvivedforalongtimeburiedindrifts,evenwithoutfood;orlikethatearlysettler'sfamilyinthetownofSutton,inthisState,whosecottagewascompletelycoveredbythegreatsnowof1717whenhewasabsent,andanIndianfounditonlybytheholewhichthechimney'sbreathmadeinthedrift,andsorelievedthefamily.
ButnofriendlyIndianconcernedhimselfaboutme;norneededhe,forthemasterofthehousewasathome.TheGreatSnow!Howcheerfulitistohearof!
Whenthefarmerscouldnotgettothewoodsandswampswiththeirteams,andwereobligedtocutdowntheshadetreesbeforetheirhouses,and,whenthecrustwasharder,cutoffthetreesintheswamps,tenfeetfromtheground,asitappearedthenextspring.
Inthedeepestsnows,thepathwhichIusedfromthehighwaytomyhouse,abouthalfamilelong,mighthavebeenrepresentedbyameanderingdottedline,withwideintervalsbetweenthedots.
ForaweekofevenweatherItookexactlythesamenumberofsteps,andofthesamelength,comingandgoing,steppingdeliberatelyandwiththeprecisionofapairofdividersinmyowndeeptracks—tosuchroutinethewinterreducesus—yetoftentheywerefilledwithheaven'sownblue.
Butnoweatherinterferedfatallywithmywalks,orrathermygoingabroad,forIfrequentlytrampedeightortenmilesthroughthedeepestsnowtokeepanappointmentwithabeechtree,orayellowbirch,oranoldacquaintanceamongthepines;whentheiceandsnowcausingtheirlimbstodroop,andsosharpeningtheirtops,hadchangedthepinesintofirtrees;wadingtothetopsofthehighesthillswhentheshowwasnearlytwofeetdeeponalevel,andshakingdownanothersnow–stormonmyheadateverystep;orsometimescreepingandflounderingthitheronmyhandsandknees,whenthehuntershadgoneintowinterquarters.
OneafternoonIamusedmyselfbywatchingabarredowl(Strixnebulosa)sittingononeofthelowerdeadlimbsofawhitepine,closetothetrunk,inbroaddaylight,Istandingwithinarodofhim.
HecouldhearmewhenImovedandcronchedthesnowwithmyfeet,butcouldnotplainlyseeme.
WhenImademostnoisehewouldstretchouthisneck,anderecthisneckfeathers,andopenhiseyeswide;buttheirlidssoonfellagain,andhebegantonod.
Itoofeltaslumberousinfluenceafterwatchinghimhalfanhour,ashesatthuswithhiseyeshalfopen,likeacat,wingedbrotherofthecat.
Therewasonlyanarrowslitleftbetweentheirlids,bywhichhepreservedapennisularrelationtome;thus,withhalf–shuteyes,lookingoutfromthelandofdreams,andendeavoringtorealizeme,vagueobjectormotethatinterruptedhisvisions.
Atlength,onsomeloudernoiseormynearerapproach,hewouldgrowuneasyandsluggishlyturnaboutonhisperch,asifimpatientathavinghisdreamsdisturbed;andwhenhelaunchedhimselfoffandflappedthroughthepines,spreadinghiswingstounexpectedbreadth,Icouldnotheartheslightestsoundfromthem.
Thus,guidedamidthepineboughsratherbyadelicatesenseoftheirneighborhoodthanbysight,feelinghistwilightway,asitwere,withhissensitivepinions,hefoundanewperch,wherehemightinpeaceawaitthedawningofhisday.
AsIwalkedoverthelongcausewaymadefortherailroadthroughthemeadows,Iencounteredmanyablusteringandnippingwind,fornowherehasitfreerplay;andwhenthefrosthadsmittenmeononecheek,heathenasIwas,Iturnedtoittheotheralso.
NorwasitmuchbetterbythecarriageroadfromBrister'sHill.
ForIcametotownstill,likeafriendlyIndian,whenthecontentsofthebroadopenfieldswereallpiledupbetweenthewallsoftheWaldenroad,andhalfanhoursufficedtoobliteratethetracksofthelasttraveller.
AndwhenIreturnednewdriftswouldhaveformed,throughwhichIfloundered,wherethebusynorthwestwindhadbeendepositingthepowderysnowroundasharpangleintheroad,andnotarabbit'strack,noreventhefineprint,thesmalltype,ofameadowmousewastobeseen.
YetIrarelyfailedtofind,eveninmidwinter,somewarmandspringlyswampwherethegrassandtheskunk–cabbagestillputforthwithperennialverdure,andsomehardierbirdoccasionallyawaitedthereturnofspring.
Sometimes,notwithstandingthesnow,whenIreturnedfrommywalkateveningIcrossedthedeeptracksofawoodchopperleadingfrommydoor,andfoundhispileofwhittlingsonthehearth,andmyhousefilledwiththeodorofhispipe.
OronaSundayafternoon,ifIchancedtobeathome,Iheardthecronchingofthesnowmadebythestepofalong–headedfarmer,whofromfarthroughthewoodssoughtmyhouse,tohaveasocial"crack";oneofthefewofhisvocationwhoare"menontheirfarms";whodonnedafrockinsteadofaprofessor'sgown,andisasreadytoextractthemoraloutofchurchorstateastohaulaloadofmanurefromhisbarn–yard.
Wetalkedofrudeandsimpletimes,whenmensataboutlargefiresincold,bracingweather,withclearheads;andwhenotherdessertfailed,wetriedourteethonmanyanutwhichwisesquirrelshavelongsinceabandoned,forthosewhichhavethethickestshellsarecommonlyempty.
Theonewhocamefromfarthesttomylodge,throughdeepestsnowsandmostdismaltempests,wasapoet.
Afarmer,ahunter,asoldier,areporter,evenaphilosopher,maybedaunted;butnothingcandeterapoet,forheisactuatedbypurelove.Whocanpredicthiscomingsandgoings?
Hisbusinesscallshimoutatallhours,evenwhendoctorssleep.
Wemadethatsmallhouseringwithboisterousmirthandresoundwiththemurmurofmuchsobertalk,makingamendsthentoWaldenvaleforthelongsilences.
Broadwaywasstillanddesertedincomparison.
Atsuitableintervalstherewereregularsalutesoflaughter,whichmighthavebeenreferredindifferentlytothelast–utteredortheforth–comingjest.
Wemademanya"brannew"theoryoflifeoverathindishofgruel,whichcombinedtheadvantagesofconvivialitywiththeclear–headednesswhichphilosophyrequires.
Ishouldnotforgetthatduringmylastwinteratthepondtherewasanotherwelcomevisitor,whoatonetimecamethroughthevillage,throughsnowandrainanddarkness,tillhesawmylampthroughthetrees,andsharedwithmesomelongwinterevenings.
Oneofthelastofthephilosophers—Connecticutgavehimtotheworld—hepeddledfirstherwares,afterwards,ashedeclares,hisbrains.
Thesehepeddlesstill,promptingGodanddisgracingman,bearingforfruithisbrainonly,likethenutitskernel.
Ithinkthathemustbethemanofthemostfaithofanyalive.
Hiswordsandattitudealwayssupposeabetterstateofthingsthanothermenareacquaintedwith,andhewillbethelastmantobedisappointedastheagesrevolve.Hehasnoventureinthepresent.
Butthoughcomparativelydisregardednow,whenhisdaycomes,lawsunsuspectedbymostwilltakeeffect,andmastersoffamiliesandrulerswillcometohimforadvice.
"Howblindthatcannotseeserenity!"
Atruefriendofman;almosttheonlyfriendofhumanprogress.
AnOldMortality,sayratheranImmortality,withunweariedpatienceandfaithmakingplaintheimageengraveninmen'sbodies,theGodofwhomtheyarebutdefacedandleaningmonuments.
Withhishospitableintellectheembraceschildren,beggars,insane,andscholars,andentertainsthethoughtofall,addingtoitcommonlysomebreadthandelegance.
Ithinkthatheshouldkeepacaravansaryontheworld'shighway,wherephilosophersofallnationsmightputup,andonhissignshouldbeprinted,"Entertainmentforman,butnotforhisbeast.
Enteryethathaveleisureandaquietmind,whoearnestlyseektherightroad."
HeisperhapsthesanestmanandhasthefewestcrotchetsofanyIchancetoknow;thesameyesterdayandtomorrow.
Ofyorewehadsaunteredandtalked,andeffectuallyputtheworldbehindus;forhewaspledgedtonoinstitutioninit,freeborn,ingenuus.
Whicheverwayweturned,itseemedthattheheavensandtheearthhadmettogether,sinceheenhancedthebeautyofthelandscape.
Ablue–robedman,whosefittestroofistheoverarchingskywhichreflectshisserenity.
Idonotseehowhecaneverdie;Naturecannotsparehim.
Havingeachsomeshinglesofthoughtwelldried,wesatandwhittledthem,tryingourknives,andadmiringtheclearyellowishgrainofthepumpkinpine.
Wewadedsogentlyandreverently,orwepulledtogethersosmoothly,thatthefishesofthoughtwerenotscaredfromthestream,norfearedanyangleronthebank,butcameandwentgrandly,likethecloudswhichfloatthroughthewesternsky,andthemother–o'–pearlflockswhichsometimesformanddissolvethere.
Thereweworked,revisingmythology,roundingafablehereandthere,andbuildingcastlesintheairforwhichearthofferednoworthyfoundation.GreatLooker!GreatExpecter!
toconversewithwhomwasaNewEnglandNight'sEntertainment.Ah!
suchdiscoursewehad,hermitandphilosopher,andtheoldsettlerIhavespokenof—wethree—itexpandedandrackedmylittlehouse;Ishouldnotdaretosayhowmanypounds'weighttherewasabovetheatmosphericpressureoneverycircularinch;itopeneditsseamssothattheyhadtobecalkedwithmuchdulnessthereaftertostoptheconsequentleak;—butIhadenoughofthatkindofoakumalreadypicked.
TherewasoneotherwithwhomIhad"solidseasons,"longtoberemembered,athishouseinthevillage,andwholookedinuponmefromtimetotime;butIhadnomoreforsocietythere.
Theretoo,aseverywhere,IsometimesexpectedtheVisitorwhonevercomes.
TheVishnuPuranasays,"Thehouse–holderistoremainateventideinhiscourtyardaslongasittakestomilkacow,orlongerifhepleases,toawaitthearrivalofaguest."
Ioftenperformedthisdutyofhospitality,waitedlongenoughtomilkawholeherdofcows,butdidnotseethemanapproachingfromthetown.
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