border life； on the confines of a world into which I make
occasional and transient forays only； and my patriotism and
allegiance to the state into whose territories I seem to retreat
are those of a moss…trooper。 Unto a life which I call natural I
would gladly follow even a will…o'…the…wisp through bogs and
sloughs unimaginable； but no moon nor firefly has shown me the
causeway to it。 Nature is a personality so vast and universal
that we have never seen one of her features。 The walker in the
familiar fields which stretch around my native town sometimes
finds himself in another land than is described in their owners'
deeds； as it were in some faraway field on the confines of the
actual Concord； where her jurisdiction ceases； and the idea which
the word Concord suggests ceases to be suggested。 These farms
which I have myself surveyed； these bounds which I have set up；
appear dimly still as through a mist； but they have no chemistry
to fix them； they fade from the surface of the glass； and the
picture which the painter painted stands out dimly from beneath。
The world with which we are commonly acquainted leaves no trace；
and it will have no anniversary。
I took a walk on Spaulding's Farm the other afternoon。 I saw the
setting sun lighting up the opposite side of a stately pine wood。
Its golden rays straggled into the aisles of the wood as into
some noble hall。 I was impressed as if some ancient and
altogether admirable and shining family had settled there in that
part of the land called Concord； unknown to meto whom the sun
was servantwho had not gone into society in the villagewho
had not been called on。 I saw their park； their pleasure…ground；
beyond through the wood； in Spaulding's cranberry…meadow。 The
pines furnished them with gables as they grew。 Their house was
not obvious to vision； the trees grew through it。 I do not know
whether I heard the sounds of a suppressed hilarity or not。 They
seemed to recline on the sunbeams。 They have sons and daughters。
They are quite well。 The farmer's cart…path； which leads directly
through their hall； does not in the least put them out； as the
muddy bottom of a pool is sometimes seen through the reflected
skies。 They never heard of Spaulding； and do not know that he is
their neighbornotwithstanding I heard him whistle as he drove
his team through the house。 Nothing can equal the serenity of
their lives。 Their coat…of…arms is simply a lichen。 I saw it
painted on the pines and oaks。 Their attics were in the tops of
the trees。 They are of no politics。 There was no noise of labor。
I did not perceive that they were weaving or spinning。 Yet I did
detect； when the wind lulled and hearing was done away； the
finest imaginable sweet musical hum；as of a distant hive in
May； which perchance was the sound of their thinking。 They had no
idle thoughts； and no one without could see their work； for their
industry was not as in knots and excrescences embayed。
But I find it difficult to remember them。 They fade irrevocably
out of my mind even now while I speak； and endeavor to recall
them and recollect myself。 It is only after a long and serious
effort to recollect my best thoughts that I become again aware of
their cohabitancy。 If it were not for such families as this； I
think I should move out of Concord。
We are accustomed to say in New England that few and fewer
pigeons visit us every year。 Our forests furnish no mast for
them。 So； it would seem； few and fewer thoughts visit each
growing man from year to year； for the grove in our minds is laid
wastesold to feed unnecessary fires of ambition； or sent to
milland there is scarcely a twig left for them to perch on。
They no longer build nor breed with us。 In some more genial
season； perchance； a faint shadow flits across the landscape of
the mind； cast by the WINGS of some thought in its vernal or
autumnal migration； but； looking up； we are unable to detect the
substance of the thought itself。 Our winged thoughts are turned
to poultry。 They no longer soar； and they attain only to a
Shanghai and Cochin… China grandeur。 Those GRA…A…ATE THOUGHTS；
those GRA…A…ATE men you hear of！
We hug the earthhow rarely we mount！ Methinks we might elevate
ourselves a little more。 We might climb a tree； at least。 I found
my account in climbing a tree once。 It was a tall white pine； on
the top of a hill； and though I got well pitched； I was well paid
for it； for I discovered new mountains in the horizon which I had
never seen beforeso much more of the earth and the heavens。 I
might have walked about the foot of the tree for threescore years
and ten； and yet I certainly should never have seen them。 But；
above all； I discovered around meit was near the end of
Juneon the ends of the topmost branches only； a few minute and
delicate red conelike blossoms； the fertile flower of the white
pine looking heavenward。 I carried straightway to the village the
topmost spire； and showed it to stranger jurymen who walked the
streetsfor it was court weekand to farmers and lumber…dealers
and woodchoppers and hunters； and not one had ever seen the like
before； but they wondered as at a star dropped down。 Tell of
ancient architects finishing their works on the tops of columns
as perfectly as on the lower and more visible parts！ Nature has
from the first expanded the minute blossoms of the forest only
toward the heavens； above men's heads and unobserved by them。 We
see only the flowers that are under our feet in the meadows。 The
pines have developed their delicate blossoms on the highest twigs
of the wood every summer for ages； as well over the heads of
Nature's red children as of her white ones； yet scarcely a farmer
or hunter in the land has ever seen them。
Above all； we cannot afford not to live in the present。 He is
blessed over all mortals who loses no moment of the passing life
in remembering the past。 Unless our philosophy hears the cock
crow in every barnyard within our horizon； it is belated。 That
sound commonly reminds us that we are growing rusty and antique
in our employments and habits of thoughts。 His philosophy comes
down to a more recent time than ours。 There is something
suggested by it that is a newer testament；the gospel according
to this moment。 He has not fallen astern； he has got up early and
kept up early； and to be where he is is to be in season； in the
foremost rank of time。 It is an expression of the health and
soundness of Nature； a brag for all the world；healthiness as of
a spring burst forth； a new fountain of the Muses； to celebrate
this last instant of time。 Where he lives no fugitive slave laws
are passed。 Who has not betrayed his master many times since last
he heard that note？
The merit of this bird's strain is in its freedom from all
plaintiveness。 The singer can easily move us to tears or to
laughter； but where is he who can excite in us a pure morning
joy？ When； in doleful dumps； breaking the awful stillness of our
wooden sidewalk on a Sunday； or； perchance； a watcher in the
house of mourning； I hear a cockerel crow far or near； I think to
myself； 〃There is one of us well； at any rate；〃and with a
sudden gush return to my senses。
We had a remarkable sunset one day last November。 I was walking
in a meadow； the source of a small brook； when the sun at last；
just before setting； after a cold； gray day； reached a clear
stratum in the horizon； and the softest； brightest morning
sunlight fell on the dry grass and on the stems of the trees in
the opposite horizon and on the leaves of the shrub oaks on the
hillside； while our shadows stretched long over the meadow east…
ward； as if we were the only motes in its beams。 It was such a
light as we could not have imagined a moment before； and the air
also was so warm and serene that nothing was wanting to make a
paradise of that meadow。 When we reflected that this was not a
solitary phenomenon； never to happen again； but that it would
happen forever and ever； an infinite number of evenings； and
cheer and reassure the latest child that walked there； it was
more glorious still。
The sun sets on some retired meadow； where no house is visible；
with all the glory and splendor that it lavishes on cities； and
perchance as it has never set beforewhere there is but a
solitary marsh hawk to have his wings gilded by it； or only a
musquash looks out from his cabin； and there is some little
black…veined brook in the midst of the marsh； just beginning to
meander； winding slowly round a decaying stump。 We walked in so
pure and bright a light； gilding the withered grass and leaves；
so softly and serenely bright； I thought I had never bathed in
such a golden flood； without a ripple or a murmur to it。 The west
side of every wood and rising ground gleamed like the boundary of
Elysium； and the sun on our backs seemed like a gentle herdsman
driving us home at evening。
So we saunter toward the Holy Land； till one day the sun shall
shine more brightly than ever he has done； shall perchance shine
into our minds and hearts； and light up our whole lives with a
great awakening light； as warm and serene and golden as on a
bankside in autumn。
End