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.