mNature.ForwhatreasonhaveIthisvastrangeandcircuit,somesquaremilesofunfrequentedforest,formyprivacy,abandonedtomebymen?Mynearestneighborisamiledistant,andnohouseisvisiblefromanyplacebutthehill-topswithinhalfamileofmyown.Ihavemyhorizonboundedbywoodsalltomyselfadistantviewoftherailroadwhereittouchesthepondontheonehand,andofthefencewhichskirtsthewoodlandroadontheother.ButforthemostpartitisassolitarywhereIliveasontheprairies.ItisasmuchAsiaorAfricaasNewEngland.Ihave,asitwere,myownsunandmoonandstars,andalittleworldalltomyself.Atnighttherewasneveratravellerpassedmyhouse,orknockedatmydoor,morethanifIwerethefirstorlastmanunlessitwereinthespring,whenatlongintervalssomecamefromthevillagetofishforpouts,—theyplainlyfishedmuchmoreintheWaldenPondoftheirownnatures,andbaitedtheirhookswithdarkness,—buttheysoonretreated,usuallywithlightbaskets,andleft“theworldtodarknessandtome,”andtheblackkernelofthenightwasneverprofanedbyanyhumanneighborhood.Ibelievethatmenaregenerallystillalittleafraidofthedark,thoughthewitchesareallhung,andChristianityandcandleshavebeenintroduced.
YetIexperiencedsometimesthatthemostsweetandtender,themostinnocentandencouragingsocietymaybefoundinanynaturalobject,evenforthepoormisanthropeandmostmelancholyman.TherecanbenoveryblackmelancholytohimwholivesinthemidstofNatureandhashissensesstill.Therewasneveryetsuchastormbutitwas?olianmusictoahealthyandinnocentear.Nothingcanrightlycompelasimpleandbravemantoavulgarsadness.WhileIenjoythefriendshipoftheseasonsItrustthatnothingcanmakelifeaburdentome.Thegentlerainwhichwatersmybeansandkeepsmeinthehouseto-dayisnotdrearandmelancholy,butgoodformetoo.Thoughitpreventsmyhoeingthem,itisoffarmoreworththanmyhoeing.Ifitshouldcontinuesolongastocausetheseedstorotinthegroundanddestroythepotatoesinthelowlands,itwouldstillbegoodforthegrassontheuplands,and,beinggoodforthegrass,itwouldbegoodforme.Sometimes,whenIcomparemyselfwit