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Baker Farm

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    coloredcrystal.Itwasalakeofrainbowlight,inwhich,forashortwhile,Ilivedlikeadolphin.Ifithadlastedlongeritmighthavetingedmyemploymentsandlife.AsIwalkedontherailroadcauseway,Iusedtowonderatthehalooflightaroundmyshadow,andwouldfainfancymyselfoneoftheelect.OnewhovisitedmedeclaredthattheshadowsofsomeIrishmenbeforehimhadnohaloaboutthem,thatitwasonlynativesthatweresodistinguished.BenvenutoCellinitellsusinhismemoirs,that,afteracertainterribledreamorvisionwhichhehadduringhisconfinementinthecastleofSt.Angelo,aresplendentlightappearedovertheshadowofhisheadatmorningandevening,whetherhewasinItalyorFrance,anditwasparticularlyconspicuouswhenthegrasswasmoistwithdew.ThiswasprobablythesamephenomenontowhichIhavereferred,whichisespeciallyobservedinthemorning,butalsoatothertimes,andevenbymoonlight.Thoughaconstantone,itisnotcommonlynoticed,and,inthecaseofanexcitableimaginationlikeCellini’s,itwouldbebasisenoughforsuperstition.Beside,hetellsusthatheshowedittoveryfew.Butaretheynotindeeddistinguishedwhoareconsciousthattheyareregardedatall? Isetoutoneafternoontogoa-fishingtoFair-Haven,throughthewoods,toekeoutmyscantyfareofvegetables.MywayledthroughPleasantMeadow,anadjunctoftheBakerFarm,thatretreatofwhichapoethassincesung,beginning,— “Thyentryisapleasantfield, Whichsomemossyfruittreesyield Partlytoaruddybrook, Byglidingmusquashundertook, Andmercurialtrout, Dartingabout.” IthoughtoflivingtherebeforeIwenttoWalden.I“hooked”theapples,leapedthebrook,andscaredthemusquashandthetrout.Itwasoneofthoseafternoonswhichseemindefinitelylongbeforeone,inwhichmanyeventsmayhappen,alargeportionofournaturallife,thoughitwasalreadyhalfspentwhenIstarted.Bythewaytherecameupashower,whichcompelledmetostandhalfanhourunderapine,pilingboughsovermyhead,andwearingmyhandkerchiefforashedandwhenatlengthIhadmadeonecastoverthepickerel-weed,standinguptomymiddleinwater,Ifoundmyselfsuddenlyintheshadowofacloud,andthethunderbega
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