yadefenceagainsttherain,withoutplasteringorchimney,thewallsbeingofrough,weather-stainedboards,withwidechinks,whichmadeitcoolatnight.Theuprightwhitehewnstudsandfreshlyplaneddoorandwindowcasingsgaveitacleanandairylook,especiallyinthemorning,whenitstimbersweresaturatedwithdew,sothatIfanciedthatbynoonsomesweetgumwouldexudefromthem.Tomyimaginationitretainedthroughoutthedaymoreorlessofthisauroralcharacter,remindingmeofacertainhouseonamountainwhichIhadvisitedtheyearbefore.Thiswasanairyandunplasteredcabin,fittoentertainatravellinggod,andwhereagoddessmighttrailhergarments.Thewindswhichpassedovermydwellingweresuchassweepovertheridgesofmountains,bearingthebrokenstrains,orcelestialpartsonly,ofterrestrialmusic.Themorningwindforeverblows,thepoemofcreationisuninterruptedbutfewaretheearsthathearit.Olympusisbuttheoutsideoftheeartheverywhere.
TheonlyhouseIhadbeentheownerofbefore,ifIexceptaboat,wasatent,whichIusedoccasionallywhenmakingexcursionsinthesummer,andthisisstillrolledupinmygarretbuttheboat,afterpassingfromhandtohand,hasgonedownthestreamoftime.Withthismoresubstantialshelteraboutme,Ihadmadesomeprogresstowardsettlingintheworld.Thisframe,soslightlyclad,wasasortofcrystallizationaroundme,andreactedonthebuilder.Itwassuggestivesomewhatasapictureinoutlines.Ididnotneedtogooutdoorstotaketheair,fortheatmospherewithinhadlostnoneofitsfreshness.ItwasnotsomuchwithindoorsasbehindadoorwhereIsat,evenintherainiestweather.TheHarivansasays,“Anabodewithoutbirdsislikeameatwithoutseasoning.”Suchwasnotmyabode,forIfoundmyselfsuddenlyneighbortothebirdsnotbyhavingimprisonedone,buthavingcagedmyselfnearthem.Iwasnotonlynearertosomeofthosewhichcommonlyfrequentthegardenandtheorchard,buttothosewilderandmorethrillingsongstersoftheforestwhichnever,orrarely,serenadeavillager,—thewood-thrush,theveery,thescarlettanager,thefield-sparrow,thewhippoorwill,andmanyothers.
Iwasseatedbytheshoreofasmallpond,aboutamileandahalfsouthofthevillageofConcordandsomewhathigherthanit,inthemidstofanextensivewoodbetweenthattownandLincoln,andabouttwomilessouthofthatouronlyfieldknowntofame,ConcordBattleGroundbutIwassolowinthewoodsthattheoppositeshore,halfamileoff,liketherest,coveredwithwood,wasmymostdistanthorizon.Forthefirstweek,wheneverIlookedoutontheponditimpressedmelikeatarnhighuponthesideofamountain,itsbottomfarabovethesurfaceofotherlakes,and,asthesunarose,Isawitthrowingoffitsnightlyclothingofmist,andhereandthere,bydegrees,itssoftripplesoritssmoothreflectingsurfacewasrevealed,whilethemists,likeghosts,werestealthilywithdrawingineverydirectionintothewoods,asatthebreakingupofsomenocturnalconventicle.Theverydewseemedtohanguponthetreeslaterintothedaythanusual,asonthesidesofmountains.