the whole body is one sense,
and imbibes deligh a
strange liberty in Nature, a part of he
stony s-sleeves, t is cool as
o attract me,
all ts are unusually congenial to me. trump
to us, and te of the whip-poor-will is borne
on ter. Sympathe
fluttering alder and poplar leaves almost takes a,
like ty is rippled but not ruffled. these small
e from storm as the
smooting surface. t is noill
bloill dash, and some
creatures lull t es. the repose is never
complete. t animals do not repose, but seek their prey
no, nohe fields and woods
fear. tures c the
days of animated life.
urn to my visitors here
and left th of
evergreen, or a name in pencil on a yello leaf or a chip.
to take some little piece of the
forest into to play hey leave,
eitentionally or accidentally. One has peeled a willow wand,
into a ring, and dropped it on my table. I could always
tell if visitors he bended
t of t
sex or age or quality t trace left, as a
flower dropped, or a bunchrown away, even as
far off as tant, or by the lingering
odor of a cigar or pipe. Nay, I ly notified of the
passage of a traveller along ty rods off by t
of his pipe.
t space about us. Our horizon is
never quite at our elbo just at our door,
nor t somew is always clearing, familiar and worn by
us, appropriated and fenced in some ure.
For , some square
miles of unfrequented forest, for my privacy, abandoned to me by
men? My nearest neigant, and no house is visible
from any place but tops hin half a mile of my own. I
o myself; a distant view of
t touche
fence for t
part it is as solitary w is as
muc were, my own sun
and moon and stars, and a little o myself. At night
traveller passed my my door,
more t or last man; unless it he
spring, ervals some came from to fish
for pouts -- the alden Pond of
tures, and baited t they
soon retreated, usually baskets, and left quot;to
darkness and to me,quot; and t was never
profaned by any men are
generally still a little afraid of tches are
all ianity and candles roduced.
Yet I experienced sometimes t t s and tender, the
most innocent and encouraging society may be found in any natural
object, even for t melancholy man.
to
of Nature and ill. t such a
storm but it o a ear.
Notly compel a simple and brave man to a vulgar
sadness. rust t
noto me. tle rain wers
my beans and keeps me in today is not drear and
melanc good for me too. t prevents my hem,
it is of far more sinue so
long as to cause to rot in troy the
potatoes in t ill be good for the grass on
t would be good for me.
Sometimes, w seems as if I
s t I
am conscious of; as if I and surety at their hands
w, and were especially guided and guarded.
I do not flatter myself, but if it be possible tter me. I
lonesome, or in t oppressed by a sense of
solitude, but once, and t er I came to the
he near neighborhood of man
essential to a serene and o be alone was
somet. But I time conscious of a
sligy in my mood, and seemed to foresee my recovery. In
t of a gentle rain ws prevailed, I was
suddenly sensible of suc and beneficent society in Nature, in
ttering of t around
my e and unaccountable friendliness all at once
like an atmospaining me, as made tages of
, and I of them
since. Every little pine needle expanded and shy
and befriended me. I inctly made ahe presence
of someto me, even in scenes womed
to call t of blood to me
and a person nor a villager, t I t no
place could ever be strange to me again.
quot;Mourning untimely consumes the sad;
Fehe living,
Beautiful daugoscar.quot;
Some of my pleasantest orms in
to ternoon
as heir ceaseless roar and
pelting; ushered in a long evening in which
many ts ime to take root and unfold those
driving nort rains he
maids stood ready entries to keep the
deluge out, I sat betle house, which was all
entry, and ts protection. In one heavy
tning struck a large pitche
pond, making a very conspicuous and perfectly regular spiral groove
from top to bottom, an inch or more deep, and four or five inches
ick. I passed it again the
otruck
mark, noinct terrific and resistless
bolt came do of t years ago. Men
frequently say to me, quot;I shink you would feel lonesome down
t to be nearer to folks, rainy and snowy days and
nig; I am tempted to reply to suchis whole
eart is but a point in space. ,
t distant inants of yonder star,
t be appreciated by our instruments?
our planet in this
o me not to be t important question.
sort of space is t wes a man from his fellows
and makes ary? I no exertion of the legs
can bring t do
most to do? Not to many men surely, t, the
post-office, ting-he
grocery, Beacon s, e,
but to the perennial source of our life, whence in all our
experience o issue, as tands near
ter and sends out its roots in t direction. this will vary
natures, but the place where a wise man will
dig ook one of my townsmen, who
ed ;a yquot; -- though I
never got a fair vie -- on the alden road, driving a pair of
cattle to market, wo
give up so many of ts of life. I ans I was very
sure I liked it passably joking. And so I home
to my bed, and left o pick he
mud to Brig-town -- which place he would reach some
time in the morning.
Any prospect of ao life to a dead man makes
indifferent all times and places. t may occur is
al to all our senses. For
t part lying and transient circumstances to
make our occasions. t, the cause of our
distraction. Nearest to all t power which fashions
t to us t lainually being
executed. Next to us is not th
alk, but the workman whose work we are.
quot; and profound is tile powers of
;
quot;e seek to perceive t see to
ified ance of
t be separated from t;
quot;t in all tify
ts, and clots to
offer sacrifices and oblations to tors. It is an ocean
of subtile intelligences. they are everywhere, above us, on our
left, on our rig;
e are ts of an experiment tle
interesting to me. Can do ty of our gossips
a little o
cruly, quot;Virtue does not remain as an
abandoned orp must of necessity ;
ithinking we may be beside ourselves in a sane sense. By a
conscious effort of tand aloof from actions and
things, good and bad, go by us like a
torrent. e are not he
driftream, or Indra in t. I
may be affected by a trical exion; on ther hand, I may
not be affected by an actual event wo concern me much
more. I only knoy; to speak,
of ts and affections; and am sensible of a certain doubleness
by e from myself as from another. however
intense my experience, I am conscious of ticism
of a part of me, a part of me, but
spectator, s taking note of it, and t is
no more I t is you. may be tragedy, of
life is over, tator goes ion,
a ion only, so far as his
doubleness may easily make us poor neigimes.
I find it er part of time.
to be in company, even , is soon wearisome and
dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found t
ude. e are for t part more
lonely way in our
c him be
measured by t
intervene between a man and
student in one of the crowded hives of Cambridge College is as
solitary as a dervis. the farmer can work alone in
t feel
lonesome, because he
cannot sit do ts, but
must be ; and recreate, and, as he
te ude; and hence he
can sit alone in t and
most of t ennui and quot;t;; but
realize t tudent, till at work in
he farmer in his, and in
turn seeks tion and society t tter does,
t may be a more condensed form of it.
Society is commonly too c at very s intervals,
not ime to acquire any new value for eacher. e
meet at meals times a day, and give eacaste of
t old musty c we are. e o agree on a
certain set of rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this
frequent meeting tolerable and t come to open war.
e meet at t-office, and at t the
fireside every nighers way, and
stumble over one anot
for one anotainly less frequency would suffice for all
important and y communications. Consider the girls in a
factory -- never alone, ter
if t one inant to a square mile, as where I live.
t in we souch him.
I in the woods and dying of famine and
exion at t of a tree, whose loneliness was relieved by
tesque visions o bodily weakness, his
diseased imagination surrounded o be
real. So also, oo bodily and mental rength, we
may be continually c more normal and natural
society, and come to kno we are never alone.
I deal of company in my he
morning, a fe
some one may convey an idea of my situation. I am no more lonely
t laughan alden Pond
itself. company lonely lake, I pray? And yet it has
not t t, in tint of
its ers. t in there
sometimes appear to be t one is a mock sun. God is alone --
but t deal of
company; han a single mullein or
dandelion in a pasture, or a bean leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly,
or a bumblebee. I am no more lonely the Mill Brook, or a
ar, or th wind, or an April
s spider in a new house.
I s in ter evenings, whe
sno and ttler
and original proprietor, o have dug alden Pond,
and stoned it, and fringed it ells me stories
of old time and of neernity; and beto pass a
c viehings,
even apples or cider -- a most wise and humorous friend,
han ever did Goffe
or to be dead, none can show where
oo, dwells in my neighborhood,
invisible to most persons, in wo
stroll sometimes, gatening to her fables; for
sility, and her memory runs back
fartell me the original of every
fable, and on every one is founded, for ts
occurred wy old dame, who
deligo outlive all
.
ture -- of sun
and er -- such, such cheer,
th our race,
t all Nature ed, and tness fade,
and tears, and
t on mourning in midsummer, if any
man s cause grieve. S have
intelligence partly leaves and vegetable
mould myself?
is tented?
Not my or t-grandfat our great-grandmother
Natures universal, vegetable, botanic medicines, by which she has
kept lived so many old Parrs in her day,
and fed ness. For my panacea,
instead of one of ture dipped from Acheron
and t of those long shallow
black-scimes see made to carry
bottles, let me of undiluted morning air. Morning
air! If men drink of t tainhe day,
tle up some and sell it in the shops, for
t of t tion ticket to
morning time in t remember, it keep quite
till noonday even in t cellar, but drive out topples
long ere t and folloeps of Aurora. I am no
old or
AEsculapius, and s
in one of w
sometimes drinks; but rato Jupiter, who was
ter of Juno and tuce, and whe power of
restoring gods and men to the
only tioned, young lady
t ever was spring.