A week on the Rivers Concord and Merrimok (2023)

Where are you who were with me,
Even if you now climb up on higher mountains,
And more beautiful rivers will be born,
Be my muse, my brother -.

I'm engaged, I'm engaged, for a distant coast,
Of a desert island, from a distant açor,
There is that is the treasure I am looking for,
On the dry sand in a deserted creek.

I came out of a river with a pleasant wind,
New countries, new people and new thoughts to find.
Many rows and fair covers appeared,
And there were many dangers to fear.
But when I remember, where I was,
And the beautiful landscapes I saw,
It looks like the only permanent coast,
The cover rounded or wandered never.

And the rivers surrounded the slopes of the banks.
What different places are partly painful in themselves.
At sea to arrive partially, campus
There is no water on the shores of the beach.

Ovid, Matt.I.39

Limit rivers to their sloping banks,
As different places are absorbed by the ground,
A part when the sea and led on the plain
From its freer waters, defeat the coast to the banks.

Rio Concord

“Under low hills in the long room
Through which in our Indian river
Wind that is aware of Sannup and Squaw,
If the tube and arrow of the plow dig,
Here in pine trees, built of new trees,
Representatives of the tribe, the peasants inhabit.'

- mem.

The Muskethaquid River or Grass Base, although probably as old as the Nile or Euphrates, did not start to get a place in civilized history until the reputation of grassy meadows and fish attracted settlers from England in 1635 when it took control.Another relative, but relative of Concord, from the first plantation to its shores, which seems to have begun in a spirit of peace and harmony.It gets river grassed as the grass grows and the water flows here.To bring peaceful life to its shores.An extinct race were the grass where they hunted and fished, and it is still a perennial grass for the peasants who own the large meadows and get hay from year to year."A branch of," according to Concord's story, because I would like to quote such a good power: "It rises in the southern part of Hopkinton, and another of a lake and a great cedar in Westborough" and flows between Hopkinton andSouthborough via Framingham, and between Sudbury and Wayland, where it is sometimes called the Sudbury River, it enters Concord in the southern part of the city, and after receiving the Nordic or River Assabeth, which has its origin a little further north and west, leaving it to the northeast corner and floating between Bedford and Carlisle, and through Billerica, it results in Merrimack at Lowell.At Concord it is in the summer from four to fifteen foot deep and from hundred to three hundred feet wide, but in the spring, when it flows over its banks, it is in some parts almost a mile wide.Between Sudbury and Wayland, Meadows gets its longest width, and when covered with water, they form a fine chain of source lakes that have fled many gulls and ducks.Soberly purple or normally stringent tobacco, resembles a smaller lake and is very pleasant and exciting for a host or candle.The coast is flat on the Wayland side and this city is most defeated by floods.Your peasants tell me that thousands of hectares have now flooded since the dams were erected, where they remember to have seen white hone honeysuckle or clover grow once and could only dry with shoes in the summer.Now there is nothing but Blue-Brim and Sedge and the piece cut there, sitting in the water all year round.For a long time they utilized the dry season best to get their hay, sometimes they worked for nine in the evening and unfolded with their rings in the twilight around the juices from the ice.But now it is not worth taking when they can get to it, and unfortunately they look around in their forests and mountains as a last resort.

It's worth a trip to that stream if you don't go further than Sudbury, just to see how much land there is on the shore. everywhere, Sudbury, that is, Southborough Men and Wayland, and of nine wharves, and Bound Rock, where four towns bound to a rock in the river, Lincoln, Weyland, Sandbury, Concord. Many waves are there weary of the wind, keeping nature fresh, the spray blowing in your face, reeds and impulses to wave. Ducks by the hundred, all worried about the surf, in the rough wind, as soon as they are ready to rise, and now they go with a click and a whistle like armor straight to the Labrador, flying against the stiff storm with wings with wings with wings with wings with wings or wings with wings with wings. With all his veins moving, just above the surf, to recognize him before they left these places. Seagulls moving overhead, muscles swimming through life, wet and cold, no warmer than you know. Their workhouses are created here and there as nuisances. and innumerable rats and moles and winged kelp along the windy sunny shore, sky plunging between the kelp; - as a healthy natural unrest proves that the last day is not yet near.with Cranberry Island, only a few bells from last year's grass above the water, to show where the risk is and stop, as well as everywhere on the northwest coast. men you've never heard of before, whose names you don't know, down through the meadows with long duck guns, with waterproof boots, walking on bird grass, in winter, winter, distant shores, with guns in the middle - Rifles, and they you want see turquoise, turquoise, green wings, shells, whistles, black ducks, fishers, and many other wild and noble sights before night, for those who sit in halls never dream of it. castles or want to join the summer forest or dotted alone in the forest, people full of rare conversations and adventures in the sun, air and rain, than a chestnut. meat; which came out not only in 75 and 1812, but were out all the days of their lives. People older than Homer, Coser or Shakespeare, they just never had to say it. They could never write. Look at their fields and imagine what they could write if they had to put pen to paper. that they have not yet written on the surface of the earth, cleaning and burning and scratching and plowing and underground, inside and inside, and outside and outside, and again and again and again and again, to erase what they had already written on due to a lack of parchment.

Like time yesterday and the story has gone by, just as today's work is present, some adventurous perspectives and semi-life experiences that are in nature, in the past, are really future, no, out of time, eternal, youthful, divine, in the wind.and rain that never dies.

The respectable people, -
Where do they live?
Whispers for oak trees,
And they sigh in the hay;
Summer and winter, night and day,
Outside in Livadi they live there.
They never die
No evil, no shouting,
You also don't ask for our shame
With a wet eye.
A sonic property that never be repaired
They easily lend to anyone asking.
In the wealth of the sea,
In the health of the meadows,
To measure its length,
In the power of the rocks,
In starlight,
In the tired night,
On the busy day,
Idle games;
And then your good joy never ends,
Because everyone is your debtors and all your friends.

The Concord River is remarkable for the softness of its current, which is almost imperceptible, and some referred to its influence on the proverbing moderation of the inhabitants of Concord, as shown in the revolution and on subsequent occasions. It was suggested that the city was adopting a green farmLike a coat of arms with agreed nine times. I read that a fall of one eighth empty in a mile is sufficient to create a stream. Our river probably has the slightest supplement very close. The story is nevertheless current, though I think thatStrict history does not confirm it that the only bridge that crossed the main arm within the borders of the city has been carried by the wind. But where it suddenly turns, it is lower and faster and claims the title to be called rio. Compared to the other merrimok -Side elf it seems to have been called by the musketaquid -Indians or Meadow River.Oggest searched it by large meadows, decorated with scattered oak trees, where the blueberries abound, covering the soil like moss.one or both sides, while the meadow is a longer distance surrounded by boundaries, friends and other trees in the river, crowded with the vine, fruit in the season, purple, red, white and other grapes.nuding further from the stream on the edge of the countrythe inhabitants' gray and white houses are seen.Previous years, grasslands are not back as fast as forests are knocked down.

Let's read here what old Johnson says about these prairies in his "Wonder-Working Providence," which gives a story about New England from 1628 to 1652, and see what the situation looked like to him.He says of the reunited Twelfth Church of Christ in Concord: "This city is on the banks of a beautiful fresh river whose rivers are full of fresh moss and its streams with fish, which is a branch of the great merrimack—flod. In this city they climb everywhere and shade in their season but the salmon and dance cannot climb, because of the rocky waterfalls that make their meadows very much covered with water that these people have with the neighboring town. Several times triedI to cut it, but I can't, but it can be turned for a tax of a hundred pounds, it seems. 'As for their breeding, he says, “After leaving their wealth in cattle from 5 to 20 pounds per day.cow, when they wintered on hay inland, and fed a wild bull that had never been cut before, they couldn't stand.In winter, but usually within the first year or two after coming to a new plantation, many of their pets would die. 'And this from the same author "do plantio dos 19ºChurch under the Mattachuset -Government called Sudbury ":" This year [which means [which means in 1654] the city and Church of Christ in Sudbury began to put the first foundations of Stones and took their place in the country, as their older sister Concord didIn the past in the past, which is above the same river, equipped with lots of fresh but very low swamp, is very damaged by the floods on the ground, to the extent that in the summer they are fluid, they lose part of the hay.They are so sufficiently equipped that they bring cattle from other cities to winter."

The slow artery of Concord Meadows goes on like this without being observed by the city without a deaf or vibrant beat, where its general course is from southwest to northeast and its length of about eighty kilometers. A huge mass of substance, increasing incessant by the plains andvalleys on the significant soil with the mocked moccasin of an Indian warrior who rushes from the high places of the earth to its former reservoir. The tummies of many famous rivers on the other side of the globe come here, in their most remote inhabitants of their banks are manyPoets who flow the heroes and shields of heroes on their chest Xanthus or Scamander are not only dry channel and pray Mountain, but fed with the famous fame sources;

"And your Simoi, that as an arrow, very
Through Troy to the Sea ';

And I think I can associate the muddy but very abused, Rio agrees with the most famous in history.

"There are certainly poets who have never dreamed
After porn I didn't even prove the current
Of Helicon? So we can assume
They did not make poets, but the poets."

Mississippi, Ganges and the Nile, the individuals traveling from Rocky Mountains, Himalayas and Moon's Mountains, have a kind of personal meaning in the world's annals.The sky has not yet exhausted their sources, but the Moon's mountains still send their annual tribute to the pasha, as they did to the Pharaohs, even if he has to collect the rest of their revenue at the tip of the sword.The rivers must have been the guides that traced the steps of the first travelers.They are the constant attraction as they flow from our doors to distant ventures and adventures, and by a natural impulse, the inhabitants of their banks will long follow their streams through the planet's plains or will explore the interior of their invitation.of continents.They are all nations' natural highways that not only level the earth and remove obstacles from the path of traveler, quench his thirst and hold him to their breasts, but lead him through the most interesting landscapes, to the most populous parts of the globe., and where the animal and vegetable kingdom reaches their highest perfection.

Many times I had stood on the banks of Concord and observed the current delay, an emblem of all progress, according to the same law with the system, with time and with everything that has been done.The weeds at the bottom bend gently under the stream, shaken by the aqueous wind, planted quietly where their seeds had sunk, but before they died and fell.The past that fulfilled their fate was the objects of unique interest in me, and eventually I decided to throw myself into the bosom and flow as they would bring me.


"Come on, come my beautiful, and let's try
These rural delicacies."

Christ's invitation to the soul.CLACKS

Saturday, the last day of August 1839, we two brothers and natives in Concord, we traveled anchor in this river port. For Concord is also under the sun, a harbor with entrance and exit to the bodies as well as men's souls. At least a beach is dismissed from allduties, but from an honest man it will be happily dismissed. A hot rain covered the morning and threatened to delay our journey, but largely the leaves and grass are dried up and a mild afternoon, as calm and fresh as if nature matured a largerthe form of its own.After this long gray long, and removed himself from all pores, he began to breathe healthier than ever. So with a quick walk we launched our banking boat while the flags and masts proclaimed the speed of God and fell silently down.

Our boat, which cost us a week's work in the spring, had the shape of a fisherman, fifteen meters long with three and a half wide in the widest part, painted green under, with a blue edge, with reference to the two elements ofAs it should pass its existence. It had been carried the night before our door, half a mile from the river, with potatoes and melons from a flower bed we had grown, and some tools, and had the wheels to run around in cataracts;As with two sets of veins and several thin inserts to push in shallow places and two masts, one of which served as an effort at night; for a buffalo skin would be our bed and a cotton tent our ceiling. It was sturdy but heavyand almost a better than normal model. If a boat properly built, a boat would be a kind of amphibious animal, a two -element creature related to half its structure in some quick and modeled fish and from the other toA strong and graceful bird.trimmers the candles and how to give the bow that can balance the boat and better divide the wind and water. The tip we had, but partly obey. But even though the eyes are not sailors, will never be satisfied with any model, but modern, thatIt does not respond to all the requirements of the arts. When the art is the whole ship but wood, and only wood serves for a ship, so our vessel that is of wood takes advantage of the old law that the heaviest will flow the lighterAnd even though a dull waterfly turned out to be enough to flow for our purpose.

“If it was the will of heaven, a branch of arrow
It was safe enough from the boat out to sea to paint. "

Some friends from the village were on a nose below the river to wave one last goodbye to us.Talk quietly in addition to the Concord Fastland, both Cape Popular and Lonely Summer Meadow, with fixed cost.And yet we do not leave until we have let our weapons speak for us when we are faded with sight, and then the forests again let the forests of their echoes, and there may be many Russia -covered children lurking on these wide meadows,With Bitter and Woodcock and Rail, even though they were hidden by brakes and Duras and meadows, we heard our greeting that afternoon.

Soon we passed the first regular battlefield of the Revolution, resting our oars between the still visible buttresses of the "north bridge," over which, in April, 1775, he threw the first flood of light of the never-ceasing war. as we read on the stone to our right, "he gave peace to these United States."

'Next to the rude bridge that boasted the flood,
Its flag in April the breeze was appointed,
Here first the peasants fought,
And he shot the hedge shot around the world.

“The enemy for a long time since the silence slept.
While the conqueror sleeps in silence.
And time swept the broken bridge
Beneath the dark current crawling towards the sea. "

Our reflections had already acquired a historical distance from the scenes we had left and we tried to sing ourselves.

Ah, it is in vain the peaceful noise
It awakens the unstoppable city,
How to won it
A patriot's reputation.

There is a field next to this river,
Where no foot falls,
But it brings to my dream
A harvest richer than everyone.

Let me believe in a dream so dear,
Some heart beat loudly that day,
About the little province here,
And Britain is far away.

Some hero of an old form,
Some values hand chivalrous,
Of power he did not have little, and the faith rejected,
This place on earth is honorable.

There sought the prize described by their hearts,
And he did not ask for release,
If free value did not become the cutlery
With view of peace.

The men stand in height
This day has passed.
It's not the same hand that controls the battle
And the memorial stone.

You were then the Greek cities,
The Romans of modern birth,
Where the New England farmers
Showed a Roman value.

I look in vain in a foreign country
To find our tray,
And Lexington and Concord remain
No laconic groove.

With such thoughts, they gently examined the now peaceful pasture, on Concord's waves, where the war noise was long overdue.

But when we rescued
Some things failed,
And many dreams
He fell under the stream.

Here lived an old priest,
That in his barbed wire was facing his essence,
And he steered them with a powerful cheating,
By order of the Holy Book.
But Pierless Bridge passed O's,
And the lonely left the coast.

Anon came a young priest,
If cheating was not unknown to fame,
His lamb saw them with a gentle look,
Spread the large flat of the earth,
And they live off "Mosses da Manse".
Here was our Hawthorne in the palace,
And here the priest told his story.

This axis of light now dipped behind the hills, and we floated through the neighboring bend and under the new north bridge between the Ponkawtaset and the poplar hill in the large meadows, which like a wide moccason were leveled with the ground into a fertile field and we are in nature.

In the Ponkawtasset, by our way,
Down flows to father Billericay,
A wise poet established himself if thin radius
Skinner ofte i Twilight of Concord.

As the first stars whose silver rays tall,
It shines stronger during the day,
Most travelers can't take off at the beginning,
But the eyes that used to vary from the night sky,

And know the heavenly lights, see clearly,
And with joy they rejoice, counting two or three.
For the knowledge that is deep must be studied deeply,
As in deep wells, men read star poetry.

These stars are never pale even if they don't appear,
But like the sun, they are shining forever.
Oh,the theThey are sunshine even if the earth should be on their flight
Take your eyes so that he can see his light.

Who would neglect the least heavenly sound,
Or lighter light that falls to the floor of the earth,
If he could figure it out one day he would find it
This star in Cygnus where we are connected,
And pale our sun with heavenly shining?

Slowly, the village of the village disappeared and seemed to have entered the tranquil stream of our dreams flowing from the past to the future as quiet as you wake up in fresh morning or evening tanks.Or a bream from the pillowcase, and the smallest bitter we left with sluggish wings from a recess on the coast or the biggest rose from the long grass as we approached, from the away to put them in a safe place, they also fell quickly inThe water, while our boat foamed the surface among the arrows, cracked the trees.The banks passed the top of their beauty, and some of the brightest flowers showed in their faded nuances that the season was approaching in the afternoon.This melancholic skin strengthened its sincerity and in the unscrupulous heat it looked like the molten lip of a cool well.The Straitheyed Willow (Salix Purshiana) Place along the surface of the water in light green foliage, scattered with the large button balls. The small polygonal rose raised the head proud of the water in each hand and flourished this season, and in these places, in front of white materials with white wandering on the shoreof the stream so its little stick looked very rare and precious. The clean white flowers of the tip of the arrow were in the lowest parts, and some cardinals on the bank were still proud of me that reflected in the water if and theLast as well as Pickerel-Meed was now almost out of the flower.The snake's head,Chelone Glabra, grew near the coast, while a species of coreopsis turned its bronze face against the sun, full and stem, and a tall dull red flower,lilla eupatory, or the trumpet, formed the later order of the river series.The bright blue soap flowers were sprayed here and here in the adjacent meadows, like the flowers that the prisoner had fallen and still further into the fields or higher on the shore so Purple Gerardia, Virginian Rhexia and Droopingneottia or Ladies;In short, by our departure, nature seemed to have adorned with an infinity of edges and curls, mixed with the light shades of the flowers, which mirror itself in the water.From the river, this is your river, your last reign for this season.It makes your journey too late maybe from a real water clock that is so late.From sunrise to summer morning among the lily fields that are still closing sleep.And then, for a large part, the sun flakes across the shore fell on the surface of the water, whole fields of white flowers seemed to blink in front of me as I collapsed, like the release of a banner, so reasonable that it is self -influenced by the sun's rays.

As we float in the last of these well -known meadows, we observed the large and distinct hibiscus flowers that covered the dwarves and mingled with the grape leaves and want to inform one of our friends back to this place. The Sea and unavailable flower before it isToo late to have sex.But we just averted ourselves from the village's point of view before we think that the farmer in the next meal would go to church the next day and bring us this news.And then in the second - fair, while we had to flow in Merrimok, our friend arrived to annoy this flower on the bank.

After a break in Ball's Hill, St.ann's from Concord Voyageurs, not to ask for success with our trip, but to harvest the few benches still left in the hills, hanging from very thin strands, we raised the anchor again, andSoon our hometown was not in sight. The soil seemed to be clearer as it moved. Well, the southwest was the quiet village that was left alone during their jumps and buttons in the middle of the afternoon. And the hills, despite their blue and essential faces, seemed to launch a sad eye on their old funny companions. But when we turn to the north, we sink Adie to its family contours and go to new scenes and adventures. Discreet was well known, but heaven, during which journey never passes, never. ButBy its appearance and our knowledge of the river and the forest, we still trust to arrive well.

From this point, the river flows just a mile or more to the Carlisle Bridge, which consists of twenty wooden columns, and when I looked back, its surface was reduced to the width of a line and looked like a twinkle in a line.spider.Sun.Here and here he could see a rod erected to mark the place where a fisherman had been unusually lucky and in turn dedicated his rod to the deities that presided over these low waters.It was twice as long as before, deep and peaceful, with a muddy bottom and angular with willow trees, beyond which stretched wide basins covered with pillows, reeds and flags.

Late in the afternoon we passed a man on the fishing coast with a long birch rod, his silver bark on the left side and a dog by his side, so close to shaking the plug with our veins and removing happiness for a while?When we had rolled a mile just like an arrow, with our faces facing him and the bubbles in our time still visible to the calm surface, the fisherman was still with his dog, like the statues below on the other side of the tourists, the unique objects forTo ease your eyes in the extensive meadow.And there he would stay to continue his luck until he came home for the night with his fish.So in one or the other bait, nature fits the inhabitants of all its recesses.This man was the last of our houses we saw, and silently pearl through him goodbye to our friends.

The characteristics and hopes of different ages and breeds in men are always the epitome of every neighborhood.Not confuse him much knowledge and did not seek many inventions, but how to catch many fish before the sun sets itself, with the slim birch polo and linen line, this is a sufficient invention for him.Summer and winter.Some men are judges today in August sitting on the seats until the court is born.They sit there honor there, between the seasons and between meals, creates a political life, arbitration in case of spa woolContraCummings can be, from the highest dinner, until the red nights sink in the west.Meanwhile, the fisherman stays in the three meters of water, under the sun that summer, arbitrarily in other cases among worms and brilliant -cut diamonds, among the perfume of refineries, mint and port wine that leads its life to many reeds.to Lands.An rod length, from which the larger fish swim.Human life is much like a river for him,

- "Go down to the sea."

This was his observation.Han's honor made a great discovery in bail.

I remember an old coffee pot, which was this chain Walton, who came from Newcastle, England, with his last son, a cruel and wealthy man who had weighed anchor in his time.An old heterosexual was who quietly passed through the meadows after passing the contact period with his colleagues.His tanned, old coat hangs on for a long time, straight and brown, like yellow bark, shiny by so much drowned sunlight, if he came close enough, not a work of art, but it was extensive naturalized.I always discovered him unexpectedly among the pillows and the gray arrows when he moved, fished with some old land method - for youth and age they went with fishing, thoughts, poor in his tyne and Northumberland.Did he need a hat or clothing after earning his time and seeing such subtle disguises?I have already seen how his ancient fates have rewarded him with the yellow perch, and yet I thought his luck was not in accordance with his years.And I have seen as he disappeared slowly and heavily with older thoughts with the fish under the low -tied house in the village's skirts.I don't think others saw him.No one remembers him anymore now, because he died soon and migrated to the new Tyne-ås.His fishing was not a sport and not exclusively a lifestyle, but a kind of official mystery and withdrawal from the world, just as the elderly read their Bibles.

Let's be beside the sea or the lakes and rivers or prado, we are concerned about observing the nature of the fish as they are not limited to certain places but forms and phases of life in nature. This has placed on the back ofEurope, and America is not so interesting for the student of nature annually as the most fruitful law that submits his spawning at the top of the mountains and internal plains. It shows that it is found in water in water in so many places, in number of largeror less.The natural historian is not a fisherman who asks for cloudy days and good luck, but since fishing is "a fun recreation style", introduces profitable forests and water so that the fruits of normal observations are not young or species but in newThoughts and science are just a more useful recreation of people. The seeds of fishing life spread everywhere, or the winds they lay them, floating their waters or their deep land holding them where a lake explodes, they are kept immediately with this living race.The province of the province of pots or in hollow fees or in the waters that were birds to lead them to the mountain and inner lakes. There are fish where there is a medium fluid, even in clouds and melted mineral winter, you can dive oneline in a grazing through snow and ice and pulling a light, smooth, stupid, underground, silver or goldfish! It's also weird to reflect how they make a family, from the largest to the largest and greatest. Even though infinity expected much more.

Increases the feeling of great security and peace in nature and observes the still undisturbed economy and content of the fish in this century, its happiness a normal summer fruit. The sunfish with fresh water, bonnet or ruff,Data vulgaris, as if we said, without offspring, without children, it still represents the sun of the sun Throughout the coast, beaten in the sand, over which it is firmly hugged in summer with wavy fins. Sometimes there are twenty or thirty nests in the room on some bars, two meters wide and half a meter deep, and made with little effort, weeds are removed and sand is pushed to the sides like a bowl. Here you can see it in early summer climbing and pushing fish and fish, and even your own species that disturb your eggs, chase them few legs and come back to its Nest: Minosy, like small sharks that immediately enter the void in the meantime , the nest and swallows the egg attached to weeds and in the background, on the sunny side. The children are exposed to so many dangers that a very very small percentage can become fish, because in addition to the constant prey of birds and fish, many nests so close to the shore, in shallow waters, become dry. A few days when the river goes down. The only fish I noticed , although the eggs of certain species seem to float on the surface. Solen Lounge is so carefully charged that you can be close to the water and examine them at your leisure. So I stayed for half an hour each time, stroking them intact without scaring them, letting them squeeze their harmless fingers and watching them raise their dorsal fins in anger as my hand approached the eggs and even caught them. Reached with a sudden movement, no matter how skilled they are, because your immediate warning is Transmitted through your closer element, but only let your fingers gradually close around you, as they are above the Palm and with the maximum courtesy to raise them slowly to the surface . Although they are still, they maintain a constant movement of sculpting or rippling with their fins, which is extremely cute and expresses their humble happiness. Because unlike ours, the element in which they live is a current in which it must constantly resist. From time to time they adjust the weeds in the background or project their nest, Or fly after a fly or worm. Keep the fish vertical because in shallow waters where there is no cover they will fall to the sides. While leaning, leaning over the barest of the sea in your nest, the edges of the back and tail Fins have a golden reflection reflection unique dust and their eyes that stand out from the head are transparent and colorless. He looks in their original element, is a very beautiful and compact fish, perfect in all their places and looks like a wonderful fresh mint coin. Perfect from the river, the green, red, bronze and gold reflections on their sprouting sides are the concentration of such rays that fight for the floating cushions and flowers at the bottom of the sandy sea and in harmony with sunny coffee. He lives far from many accidents inevitable of human life.

There is also another type of gold located on our river without the red spot on the back, which according to M. Agassiz is not described.

The ordinary perch,Perca Flavescens, whose name well describes the shining golden mirrors of its dandruff as it emerges from the water, its red gills in vain in the flimsy element, is one of the most beautiful and regularly formed of our fish, and thus for a moment just like thatreminds us of the fish in the picture that he wanted to restore to his original element until it grew up.And in fact, most of the species caught are not semi -waxed.In the lakes there is a pale and delicate species that swims in flocks of hundreds in the sunny water along with sunfish that does not measure more than six to seven inches, while there are only a few larger specimens in the deeper water, and attacks and attacksHis weaker brothers.Little perch to the beach at night, rippling water with my fingers, and sometimes they can be caught trying to get past your hands.It is a cool and fiery fish that bites shock, without beating, and by removing the shock into the bite and stumbling no matter.It probably prefers clear water and sandy bottom, even if you don't have many options here.It is a real fish that the fisherman loves to put in his basket or hang at the top of his branches, in the shady afternoons along the banks of the river.So many undoubted fish he counts, and as many brilliant fish as he counts and then throws away.Old Josselyn in his "Rarities of New England", published in 1672, mentions the perch or the river hen.

Chivin, Dace, Roach, Trout Cousin, or whatever it is called,Lefkisko is beautiful, white and red, always an unexpected price, which is, however, every fisherman happy to link to his rarity. A name reminds us of many failed rides of the fast streams as the wind rose to disappoint the fisherman. It is usually oneSoft and silverfish, sweet, academic and classic, like many photos in an English book. It loves a quick chain and true background and bites involuntarily, but not without appetite through the bait.peixinhos is used as a Pickerel -Nag in winter.Red Chivin is according toSome still the same fish, but older or with their darker tones because they think of the darker water than residents as red clouds swim at dusk atmosphere .Trisy the red chivin is not yet a complete fisherman.hand fish being studied isa little amphibious, but this is a resident exclusively of water. Cork dances down into the chain with quick repetition, between weeds and sand, when suddenly, for a coincidence that should never be remembered, the wonderful inhabitant of another element arises, one thing,It is heard, but does not look as if it was time to create a hot tub, a true product of the stream. He was born and spent his life below the level of the feet in his homeland.I heard about mackerel visiting the copper banks in a particular season. This fish, perch, has his habitat on the CopperMine River. I took a large white chivin in aboljacknagesic, where he flows into the penobscot, at the base of Mount Ktaadn,But there are no reds there. The last variety seems not to have adequately observed.

Convenience,Leuciseus silver, is a slightly silver -colored little fish, usually located in the middle of the river where the current is faster and often confused with the surname.

illuminatoren,Leuciscus chrysoleucas, is a soft, scaly, sore fish, prey for its stronger neighbors, is found everywhere, deep and shallow, clear and cloudy.Usually the first nip on the bait, but with its little mouth and trends it is not easy to catch.It is a piece of gold or silver that passes power in the river, its tail, sports surface or escape.I have seen the pot when it is frightened by something thrown into the water, it jumps in dozens with the dance and they destroy themselves on a floating board.It is the little light of the river, with an armor of gold or silver, sliding, sliding with a movement of the tail, half in the water, half in the air, upward and always towards the top with the most crystalline tidal, but still aware of our residents onthe coast.It has almost dissolved since summer a brighter and brighter black eye is found in one of our lakes.

the voter,Esox reticulatus, The faster, more cautious, more noisy fish, which Josselyn calls the freshwater or river wolf, is very common in the shallow, weed ponds along the banks of the river.It is a solemn, impressive ruminant fish that lurks under the shade of a pillow at noon, with a quiet, gently, vacant look, motionless as a jewel in the water, or moves slowly to take its place, crashing from side topage.Time to other over the unfortunate fish, seeds or insects that come within reach, and swallow it into a sip.I caught someone who swallowed a pike that was half as big, with the tail still visible in the mouth while the head had already been digested in the stomach.Sometimes a striped snake ends up tied in green pastures along the river bank, its rolling course in the same boat.They are so foolish and hoarse that they are often caught in filtering the line together while thrown.Fishermen also distinguishes Brook Pickerel, a smaller and fatter fish than the first.

Hornet,Pimelodus nebulosus, sometimes called a minister because of the peculiar wine noise that does when it is taken from the water, it is a stupid and confused guy, with habits that look like eel and mud lover.Heen intentionally bite as if it was your account. They are taken at night with a dough of worms tied to a thread attached to their teeth, sometimes three or four, with an eel, with a tug.hour after being decapitated. A race with bloodthirsty and scary rankers who live the fertile beds in rivers, with a spear at rest and ready for battle with his closest neighbor. I saw them in the summer when each had a long, bloodyScars on the back where the skin had disappeared, perhaps a sign of some wild meeting. Sometimes puppies are seen less than an inch long, darker coast in their countless.

the clowns,Catostomi Bostoniensesetuberculosis, rhinoceros and rhino birds, perhaps on average the largest of our fish, can be seen in shoals of a hundred or more coming from the stream to the sun, in their mysterious walks, and sometimes the bait that the fisherman is allowed to flow.Chivins, which sometimes grow to a large size, are often hand -caught in streams or, like the red chivin, taken from a hook attached tightly to the end of a rod and placed under their jaws.However, almost known by the ordinary fisherman, they are not the habit of taking their bait, although the spearman home bakes many stacks in the spring.

Also plain eel,Boston Ål, only knew eel species in the state, a thin, cracked being, conscious of the mud, still stumbling in the pot, striking and associated with several successes.Methinks also appear in the picture, left behind after the flood, on many high dry meadows.

In the shallow parts of Ribeira where the current is fast and the bottom is rocky, the curious circular nests of lamprey can sometimes be observed,Petromyzon Americanus, the American stone swallow, about the size of a wheel, a foot or two high, and sometimes rises half a feet above the water surface.They collect these stones, the size of a chicken egg, with the mouth, as the name suggests, and is said to make them in circles with the tail.They develop falls by adhering to stones that can sometimes be lifted and lift the fish in the tail.Since they are not seen on their way under the streams, the fishermen believe they will never return, but will wither and die, clustering to stones and tree stumps for an indefinite period.A tragic feature of the river rental landscape worth remembering with Shakespeare's description of the seabed.Rarely is seen in our waters these days due to dams, even though they are trapped in large numbers at the estuary at Lowell.Their nests, which are very visible, look more like art than anything else in the river.

If we had free time this afternoon, we could turn our streams to look for classic trout and fish. Only the latter, according to M. Agassiz, many of the species found in this city are still unacceptable. They can complete the list of our Finny comments on Waters Concord.

Salmon, Shad and Alevives were previously plentiful here, and were drawn into the fences by the Indians who taught this method of the whites, by whom they were used as food and fertilizer for the dam and then to the canal at Billerica, and the factories in Lowell,put an end to their forward migrations.Although it is believed that some more thriving nuances may occasionally occur in this part of the river.It is said, to explain the destruction of fishing that those who at that time represented the interests of the fishermen and fish, remembering between the dates when they used to take the cultivated shade, decided that the dams should remain only open on itpoint in time., and the fry that came down a month later, was consequently stopped and destroyed by countless.Others say the fish passages were not built properly.Maybe, after a few thousand years, if the fish are patient and spend their summers somewhere else, nature will meanwhile destroyed the Billerica dam and the Lowell factories, and the river of grass will be cleared again, will be exploited by the newmigrating flocks., even as far as to Hopkinton Pond and Westborough Swamp.

We would like to learn more about the already extinct tribe if chimneys rot in their children's bars that openly confess the fisherman's craft, and even reliably feed their inhabitants, without rising meadows for a rainy afternoon with sports. We still have vague visions of miraculousStreams of countless fish and bunker on riverbank shade, the other with wolves. At least a memory of these days may still exist in the memory of this generation in the familiar name of a famous train band in this city whose uncultivated ancestors remained faithful at Concord North Bridge.Han's captain, a man of good taste, after warning his company properly to leave a given day, participated, as obedient soldiers, at a planned time, but unfortunately they do not hollow, except for maneuvers of intelligence and jokes from aSoldier without permission that Maj. For his captain, forgot his meeting and warned only about the favorable aspect of heaven that he used to do before went to fish that afternoon, and his company was known for old and young, serious and happy,such as "The Shad" and of the youth in this neighborhood this long was considered the right name of all the irregular militias in Christianity. But unfortunately! There is no registration of the life of these fishermen we know except a small side of hard,But undeniable story that is in the book daily # 4, of an old deceased old grocer who very clearly shows what constituted the stock of fishermen in trade at that time. It is supposed to be a stream of a fisherman's report,Probably for 1805 fishing season where he bought rum and sugar, sugar and rum daily, N. E. and W. I., "A cod line", "" "A brown mug" and "a line to the flu"? Room and sugar, sugar and rum, "Good Sugar Loaf "and" Good Café ", W. I. and N. E., in short and uniform inputs at the bottom of the page, all in Libras, Xelins and Pence, March 25ºUntil June 5thº.grocery store.Probably an overweight of the floating elements.But it is the nature of the fisherman.I remember watching that I saw the same fishermen in my youth, still as close to the river as he could come, with uncertain steps in cages after so many things fell.The snake was hiding in the grass ...

Destinations are certainly always friendly, although the laws of nature are more unchangeable than anyone everywhere, but in the daily life of man they rarely seem stiff but allow him to relax with summer mood. Do not matter. She is very friendly and liberal with all men with evil habitsand certainly do not condemn their quarter.The do not die without priest. They still keep life on the course and keep this side of Styx, still rich, still resolute, "never better in their lives." Again, after twelve years of passing they travelbehind a fence and asking for work and wages for men who suffered a lot. Who did not know that

'A beggar on the road,
Who could a gang?….
It didn't care about the wind or moisture,
In the areas that "passed?"

"This bold adopts all the houses he sees. His;
Do all his wrist and with pleasure
He goes forth and charges the whole world, like Caesar "· -

As if it was the consistency of the secret of health, while the poor inconsistent hopeful man trying to live a pure life, feeding on the air, shared against himself, not supporting, but pine trees and dies after a disease life, in fallingBeds.

The unreasonable people often speak as if they were not ill. But the difference between men in health is not big enough to cause much pressure. Some are notoriously ill and others do not. It often happens that the most ill is the nurse forthe driver.

The shadows are still taken in the Concord River Basin in Lowell, where it is said that it is a month before Merrimok Shad due to the heat of the water.LongfulI love their old habitats again, as if their strict degrees were withdrawing and still found the business with its barrier.Long shade!Where is your restoration?When nature gave you instinct, gave your heart to create your fate?Is still wandering sea in her protection to humbly ask at the mouth of the river if the man releases her to enter.With countless flocks bordering the middle, they just come in from the tide, at risk of sea enemies, despite their light protection, waiting for further instructions, on the sand, on the water itself, whether it is or not.noare resident where there isnofactories today.Armed without sword, no electric shock, but only Shad, only armed with innocence and fair cause, with silly, sore mouths only forward and slightly loosened weights.I am with you and who knows what a cup can do against this beetlerica dam?- I am not desperate as all myriads went to feed these sea hires under their torment, but still brave, indifferent, with the lightweight wing there, as a shade determined to higher fates.Willing to be decimated by human behavior after the spawning season.Far from superficial and selfish philosophersSensorOf men - who knows the admirable virtue of fish that may be under the signs of shallow water to endure a cruel destination, not admired by the one who is the only one who can appreciate him! Who is listening to the fish when they cry? It won't be forgotten by any memory we were modern. Defining you go up the rivers, all rivers on the planet if I'm not wrong. Yes, even your monotonous and aqueous dream will be more than a reality. If not itWas it, but at the beginning and eventually they had to ignore you, so I wouldn't take their sky. Yes, I say, who I think know better than you. Then hold a stiff fine and stop all the tides you find.

Generally, it seems that the interests, not only for the fish, but also for the people of Weyland, Sandbury, Concord, require smoothing of this dam.Countless acres of meadows are waiting to be dry and wildly native grass to give their English place.Peasants stay at the lee and wait for the water to be seized, from gravity, evaporation or other, but sometimes their eyes do not rest, their wheels do not roll, on the meadow that trembles during the meat season.So many sources of wealth insurmountable.They appreciate that the loss caused in precisely Weatland's single town is equal to the cost of maintaining a hundred beef pads all year round.The water showed no signs of falling.No new feature from the sky, no fresh or visible cause, still stagnant.at an unprecedented height.All watermelometers were to blame. The unnatural secret, in the new floating table, a foot width, added to its already high privileges of dam owners., without cuts, but for the long time of the lawn that cuts such a wide strip, without wrapping the horns.

It was a long attraction of the ball on the hill on the Carlisle Bridge, sitting with faces to the south, a light breeze rose from the north, but the water is still running and the grass is growing, so far the bridge between Carlisle and Bedford, we show men passing byto the meadow, their heads waves like the grass they mow.In the distance, the wind seemed to bend the same.Kommetos' blade seemed to be full of life.The oily clouds began to reflect on the water, and the cows are astonishing higher along the coasts, as we, like the evil water, stole closer to the coast and looked for a place to put our camp.

In the end, as we made about seven kilometers, for Billerika, we anchor our boat on the west side of a slightly high land that forms an island in the spring.Here we found that Huckleberries is still hanging in bushes where they seemed to have matured for our special use.Papo, sugar and cocoa boiled in Rio's water, we were happy, and while we drank all day from the river's perspective, so now we got a water with the night's meal to wake the river gods and open our vision for the points tourism you had toto see.The sun went on one side while our expertise offered us its shadow at night, on the other.It was not conceivable to get clearer when the night ended and a distant and Lonely Farm was revealed that it was hidden in the shadows of the middle -there was no other house, no field cultivated.To the right and left, until the horizon was pressed into the sky and over the river, which were sturdy trays, covered with thick oak trees, tangled with vineyards and Eføy, with a gray cliff here and there a maze of gray rock.The sides of these rocks, though a quarter of the thousands, almost heard each other when we looked like such a wooded desert.For fanatics and satires, and where the bats hung all day on the stones, and at night they flew over the water, and the fireballs glow their lights under the grass and their leaves against those night.Hill Slope, some rods of the coast, we sat down and looked at your triangular door in the dusk of our lonely mast on the coastal land.There was our harbor, our Ostia.This direct geometric line against water and the sky represented the last improvements to civilized life, and everything that exists in history was symbolized there.

For the most part there was no acknowledgment of human life at night, no human breathing to be heard, only the wind.As we remained awake with the novelty of our situation, we occasionally heard foxes walking on the dead leaves and brushing the fresh grass near our tent, and once an alli -Muddy rat that played among potatoes and melons in our boat, but when we run To the beach we can only register a ripple in the water that disturbs a star's album. From time to time we heard the corner of a sparrow , who dreamed or the cry of an owl, but after every sound that broke the silence of the night, every crack of branches or buffer between the leaves, there was a sudden pause and a deeper and more conscious feeling. Silence, as if the invader knew that there was no fair life abroad at that time. There was a fire in Lowell, as we thought this evening, and saw the horizon on fire, and heard the distant alarms as if they were a faint song played in this forest. But the most constant and memorable sound of a summer evening, which we still hear every evening later, though never so incessant and so favoring as now, was the barking of the dogs in the house, the loudest and the shortest bark. To the fainter pulse of air beneath silenced by the patient, the patient but restless dogs, to the shy and alarmed terrier, first and fast, then weak and slow, to be imitated only in whispers. Wow-UAU-UAU-UAU-UAU. Even in an isolated and uninhabited neighborhood as it was, it was sound enough to the ear of the night, and more impressive than any song. I heard the voice of a dog, just before the dawn of day, while the stars were shining, over the forest and the river, away on the horizon, when it sounded sweet and melodious like an organ .Hunting a dog chasing a fox or some other animal on the horizon may have first suggested the hunting horn notes to change and relieve the dog's lungs.This natural trumpet resounded for a long time in the forests of the ancient world before the horn was invented.The dogs, who snores to the terrace on these nights, awakens more heroism in our breasts than all the political admonitions or sermons of the time."I prefer to be a dog and define the moon" than many Romans I know. The night is also due to the singing of the rooster with vigilance hope from the sunset that opened too early in the dawn. All these sounds, the crowing of cocks, the barking of dogs and the tinnitus of insects at noon, are evidence of the health of nature orasdisease. This is the uninterrupted beauty and the accuracy of language, the most perfect art in the world. The thousand -year -old chisel retouches him.

Eventually, the penultimate and sleepy hour continued, and all sounds did not enter our ears.

That sleeps during the day and goes at night,
You don't find any spirit, but a little sprite.


“The river flows quietly,
Across shining shores, across Lonely Glen,
Where the owl screams even if it is not the joy of men
Shaking your silent rest,
Still, if you have to go there you will go there again. ”


"The Indians tell us about a beautiful river to the south, which they call Merrimok."

Sieur de Monts,Jesuit relationship, 1604.

In the morning the river and neighboring countries were covered with a thick fog through which the smoke from our fire was blowing like a subtle fog, but before we had lowered many piles, the sun came forward and the fog disappeared quickly, leaving one in the light steam just curved along the surface ofThe water.It was a quiet Sunday morning, with more pomegranate dominant and white light than yellow, as if it is dating back to before human fall and still retained a pagan integrity:-

A irrelevant saint, too early,
Free from noon or night,
Viral without accusation,
This was during the Citizen Invasion,
And since he was born
He had stepped to the end of the earth.

But the impressions he makes in the morning disappears with his tablecloth, and not even the most "sustained deadly" can maintain the memory of his freshness until noon we crossed the various islands, or what were islands in the spring, row with back under the backChain gave them names.What we had camped was called the island of Fox and a thin density island surrounded by deep and flooded waters, similar to a lot of green and flowers thrown in the waves, we call from Uva.de Island.de Ball's Hill to Billerica's House, the River wasStill twice as wide than Concord, a deep, dark and dead stream that rolled between soft hills and sometimes rocks and well -wooded all the time.It was a big sibling -clad with arrow.Distances, we could not see a field or a cultivated field, no signs of proximity to man.Now we played along a low coast at the dense gate of burks, containing the straight water as if the art cut that reminded us of Juncos of the Eastern Indians we read.And now the coast was slightly raised with sweet vegetables and different types of brakes whose thick stems were grouped and naked as in a jar, while the head spread several meters on both sides.The dead members of the arrow were rounded and adorned by the Mikania climbing,Mikania climbed, which fills all the cracks in the leafy rim, in contrast to its gray bark and brown balls.Salix PurshianaWhen it is big and whole, it is the most graceful and essential of our trees. The light green pillows, stacked over the others at twenty or thirty meters, seemed to float on the surface of the water, while the slightly gray stems and coast were poorly visible betweenthem.The wood is then attached to water and so well set to the chains. It is even more graceful than the arrow or any pending tree sinking their branches in the chain rather than strengthened by it. It bounds curved over the surface, as if hewas attracted to it. He did not have a New England but an Oriental character that reminded us of the Persian gardens, Haroun Alraschid and the artificial lakes in the east.

As we dived down among lots of fresh foliage filled with grapes and smaller vines, the surface was so calm and the air and the water so transparent that an alkiona's escape or reddish reflected in the water below as in the air above.down to the sprayers that came out and their clear tones fell.We did not know if the water flowed on the ground or whether the soil held the water against the chest.In short, it was for a moment, like what one of our Concord poets sailed its river and sang its quiet glory.

“There is an inner voice flowing
He sends his spirit to the attentive ear,
And in quiet streams of content,
Like Sophia, be good with your own respect.
Of course in your chest all these beautiful thoughts are found,
Accepts green and sweet trees,
And the gray rocks smile in your peaceful embrace. "

And more he sang, but very serious for our side. For every oak and Bjørk that grows high in the hill, and for these ferns and arrows, we knew that there was a graceful essential and ideal tree from the roots and sometimes nature on high tide, it brings its mirror to the foot and makes it visible. The ability was intense and almost conscious, as if it were a natural Saturday, and we imagined the morning was the dusk in a heavenly day. The air was so elastic and crystalline that ithad on the landscape the same effect that a glass has in a picture to give it an ideal distance and perfection. The landscape carried a soft, smooth light where the forest and hedges were tempered and separated with new regularity and rough and irregular fields,that extends with soft grass to the horizon, and the very different and picturesque clouds and clouds they looked like a suitable curtain to hover over the fairy country. The world seemed full of some holiday or ridiculous, with silk ribbons,There flies, and the course of our lives takes place in front of us like a green path in a rural maze, in the season when the fruits are blooming.

Why should all our lives and landscape not be fair and clear? All of our lives need an appropriate background.The should at least like Anacorea's life be so impressive that it sees the objects in the desert, a broken axis or collapsed landfill against aunlimited horizon. The character always provides for this advantage and is therefore separated and not related to dense or insignificant objects, whether they are. In this same stream a girl fell in my boat, so without supervision, but with invisible guardians, and when sheSitting on the wing, there was nothing but her own between the membrane and the sky. I could say with the poet:

“The summer air is cute
About your painting that sails with me.
Your path is therefore pretty free,
His nature much rarer,
And that is the constant heart of the virus unit. "

At night the stars themselves are still visible, but broadcasters from this girl and the reporters in her progress.

Low in the eastern sky
His gaze is firm.
And even if the polite light of
Ne came to my sight,
However, every star that rises up
About mal -humorous members
In the ground there,
He conveys his goodwill.

Believe I knew your mindset,
And where did the zephyrs take
Your wishes you wish,
How my brings you,
A cautious cloud
break in the crowd
Over my head
While the soft things were said.

Believe in the gums that are sung,
And where the flowers of the flowers played,
That the herbs breathed their perfume,
And the animals knew what he meant,
The trees waved welcome,
And the lakes ran their banks,
When your mind is free
To my retreat he made wind.

It was a summer socket,
The wind rose gently
While still a cloud of low waves
Its covered eastern sky.
Lightning of Lightning,
Surprisingly my dream dress,
It looked like the flash
Under your dark light.

I will still try to be
As if you were with me.
Whatever path I take,
It will be for your good,
Gently inclined and wide,
When you were by my side,
Travel with it wearing foot.

I will go at a leisurely pace,
And choose the smoothest part
And immerse carefully the row,
And avoid the winding coast,
And gently guided my boat
Where the water flows,
And the basic flowers
Stay in your drawers.

It took some rudeness that by our boat, disturbing the mirror surface of the water, in which each branch and grass straw were so faithfully reflected.Too true that art can emulate, for only nature can exaggerate.The lowest quiet water is unfathomable.Where trees and sky are reflected, there is more depth than the Atlantic Ocean, and there is no imaginary danger of going.We noticed that it required a distinctive eye -catching, a freer and more abstract vision, to see the trees and the sky reflected than simply to see the bottom of the river.And so there are diverse views against each object, and even the most opaque reflects the sky from their surface.Some men have their eyes naturally aimed at one object and others on another.

"A man looks in the mirror,
On it must your eye rest,
Or, if he wants to go through it,
And the espy sky."

Two men in a bees through which we walked hit, floated, between the reflexes of the trees, such as a feather in the air, or a leaf that blasts gently from their branch in the water without turning still looked in their element; and having the benefitBy natural laws very friendly.Hans float was a beautiful and successful experiment in natural philosophy and served to regret in our eyes the art of navigation. For when the birds fly and the fish swim, they fell. He reminded us of how more fair and noble canbe all of people's actions and that our lives in all his finances can be as beautiful as the most beautiful works of art or nature.

The sun deposited the old gray stones and looked at each pillow. The balls and flags looked to enjoy the delicious light and the air.In short, after his week with an eye outside the golden sun and a finger on a palette and looked at the wonderful universe where they play in their role. Golden and silverfish flags rose on the surface to see the sky and then fell in darker corridors., As if they were still embraced by the transparent membrane that held the spawning. Young band of brothers and siblings trying their new wings.nu turned, now fired up, and as we took them to the coast and cut them,If they dug the skill, the boat was not crossed by the old wooden walls, neither the river nor the fish were avoided to slip between ups and low.

Here, a village was not far behind the Billeric Forest founded for a long time, and the children still carry the names of the first settlers in this late "late desert" .Mantua, an old gray city where men grow up and sleep under moss -coveredMonuments - They survive their tools. This is the old Billerica (village?) Now in his senility, named after Billerica, and whose Indian name was shawshine. I have never heard he was young. See, nature will not decay, all exhausted farms, the meeting cultivated gray and plagued by age? If you knew your youth, ask the old gray mower in the grass. He has a bell that sometimes sounds as tall as unity forest. I heard, listen now. No weird aSuch sound scared the dreamer Indian, and he feared his game as the first bells touched the trees and touched the forest over the white plantations. But today I like the echo of these cliffs and forests. It is not a weak imitation, butThe original, or as if some Orpheus farmers are playing on the stalk to show how it should sound.

Dong, sounds bronze in the east,
As a funeral
But I like this sound best
Uden for WAST WEST.

The bell tower plays a bell,
But the Feeen's silver bells
It's this noble people's voice,
Or the horizon that spoke.

Its metal is not bronze,
But air, water and glass,
And underneath a cloud is distorted,
And from the wind is a step.

When the tower stands at noon,
That doesn't sound too early,
However, he attacks much earlier,
And the sun did not reach its tower.

On the other hand, the road arrives to Carlisle, Skovbyen, who although smaller urban is also more natural. Holding the earth well united. It is ridiculed because it is a small town I know, but it is still a place where big mencan be born every day because the wind and dirt blow over it without difference. It has a meeting room and horses shelters, an inn and a ferraria as a center and a lot of wood to cut and tie. and

Bedford, Noble Bedford,
I won't forget."

The story remembered you.Especially the meek and humble appeal of its old plants, as the lament from the Lord's own people, "To the gentlemen, the chosen" by Concord, who asks to be erected in a separate parish.We can hardly believe that such a mournful hymn only resists just over a century before these Babylonian waters."In the extremely harsh seasons of warmth and cold," they said, "we were ready to say about the Sabbath, see it is tiring."present, the venerable priest or the Christian society that we have taken such sweet advice with and horizontally in the house of God in company, so do not listen to us today, but we very much want if God wants to be freed from ourAbout the Sabbath, the journey and the fatigue so that the Word of God can be close to us, close to our homes and in our hearts so that we and our little ones can serve the Lord.We hope that God, who uplifted the spirit of Cyros to begin work on the temple, has inspired us to ask and will encourage you to answer our request prayer.So your humble prayers will always pray, as thanks ... ”and thus the temple work continued here to a happy ending.There, in Carlisle, the building of the temple was delayed for many tired years, not because there was a lack of Sittim's tree or ofir's gold, but in a suitable place for all the believers.Either in "Buttrick's Plain" or rather in "Poplar Hill".- It was a boring question.

In this Billerica must have lived solid men, selected from year to year?A number of city officials at least?And there are old records you can search in. Some came to the white man, built him a house and made a clearing here, stepped out into the dry sun on a farm, stacked the old gray stones into fences, chopped the pine trees downaround his residence, planted fruit seeds that brought old land and persuaded the urban apple to bloom beside the maritime pine and the harbor and threw its perfume in the desert.Your old stocks are still back.He broke the graceful elm of the forest and river side and in this way soften his village.He dug the river and brought his team to the river, cut the wild grass and established beaver's, Odderens, Bisamrotten's houses and became with whitening from his servant horror of the Hear and Bear.He set up a mill, and the fields of English grain sprang up from the virgin soil ... and with his grain he sowed the seeds of his dandelion and wild clover over the meadows, mixed his English flowers with the wild natives."Freedom to worship God" in his own way.And then he plants a city.The white man's Mullein soon reigns over the Indian cornfields, and fragrant English weeds cover the new earth.Where could the red man step?The honey flowed through the forests of Massachusetts and pushed wild flowers around the Indian tent, perhaps unnoticed when the Red Child's Hand with prophetic warning burst, the precursor to the abrasive race that would be the flower of their races from root ..

The white man comes, pale as dawn, with a lot of thought, with intelligence, like a fire, knows what he knows he does not guess, but calculates. Strong to the community that attributes obedience to power. The experienced race., but talented, slow, but perseverance, serious, but simply with a little humor, but real. An employee who despises the game and the sport. Then he buys his hunting areas and forgets where he is buried and painted his bones.Comes with a list of old, Norman and Celtic names and delivers them above and under the Western Saxons called Red Men, not singing or English, but Yengee, and then they are finally known by Yankees.

When we were in front of Billerica, the fields on either side having a smooth and cultivated English look, the block of country over the body that arose, our course in this middle seemed the wildest part of our journey. Men seemed to make a quiet and very political life there. The inhabitants were clearly cultivated by the country and lived under an organized political government. The school stood with a look and prayed for a long truce in war and wildlife. It discovers its own experience as well as history, that the time people grow apple and garden facilities is essentially different from the hunter and forest life, and no one can replace it without loss. All we had our dreams, as well as a more prophetic night vision. But with regard to agriculture , I am convinced that my genius goes together with one earlier than the agricultural era. For less, I hit my shovel on the ground with such careless freedom, but exactly as pica -stop on your account on a tree. I think there is a unique desire for the entire desert. I do not know redeeming qualities in myself, but sincere love for some things, and when they scold me, I return to this terrain, what have I to do with plows? I cut a different pace in what you see. Failure and what is dry and rain for me? Sometimes the rude pioneer of the Saxons looks for this sophisticated and artificial beauty, who is English and loves to hear the sound of sweet and classical names like Pentland and Malvern Hills, Dover Penhados and Trosachs, Richmond, Derwent and Winandermere., which are now in the site of the Acropolis and Parthenon, Balar and Athens with shellfish of the walls, Arcadia and Tempi.

Greece, who am I to remember you,
Your marathon and its thermopist?
My life is disgusting, my luck is bad,
In which of these golden memories can he support himself?

We are quite able to be happy with books like Sylva, Evenry's Wait and Calendarium, but they indicate a loose nerve for the reader. Garden work is political and social, but wants firmness and freedom in the forest and illegal. So as well as everything else, untilCulture becomes unhappy. A very cultured man, all the bones they can double! In the maize fields from year to year it is a refreshing event for me. We talk about Indian culture, but this is not the name of its improvement. The local godsand is accepted from time to time in a rare and strange society with nature. He has an overview of the recognition of stars where our lounges are strange. And flames of short candles.God decided the night, or nocturnal gods." It is true that there are the innocent pleasures of country life, and it is sometimes pleasant to make the land produce its growth and gather its fruit in its season, but the heroic spirit will not cease to dream of more remote and more rugged paths... He wants the minerals from the garden andflower bedIn addition to the earth and harvest walking and berries for their livelihoods or fruits of orchards with such indifference as berries. We would not always be soothing and tempered nature, the temper the horse and the ox, but sometimes we set up the wild horse and chased the steak. Indian's relationshipTo nature is at least that it admits the greatest independence of each one. If he is a stranger in her midst, the gardener is very well known. There is something rude and repulsive near the latter with his lover, something noble and clean in the distance ofThe first.In civilization, as in a southern latitude, degenerates man together and gives way to the invasion of several northern races,

“Some nations are still locked down
Med Ice Hills. ”

There are other wild and more primitive aspects of nature than our poets already have song. It's just the white man's poetry.Homer and Ossian can never be revived in London or Boston. And anyway, how these cities are updated by the simple tradition or aromaAnd taste unreasonably transferred by these wild fruits. If we could only hear a moment of view of the Indian Muse, we would understand why he does not exchange his wild for civilization. The nations are not fantastic. Steel and blankets are strong temptations, but the Indian isGood to continue the Indian.

After many days of sitting in my room and reading the poets, I went out early on a foggy morning and heard an owl's screams in a neighboring forest, as if it were by a nature behind the public, unexplored by science or literature.None of the winged breeds noticed my youthful insight from the depths of the forest.I had seen the voters' red bird brought from its recesses in the ranks of my companions, and I thought its plumage would assume strangers and more dazzling colors, such as the nuances of the night as I jerked into the darkness and loneliness of the forest.Even less I have seen such intense and desolate shades in the thread of every poet.

These modern intelligent sciences and arts do not affect me as much as the more venerable hunting and fisheries and even agriculture in its primitive and simple form.Man's abilities were invented when they were invented.We know no John Gutenberg or Richard ArkWright, although poets eventually made them learn and teach.According to Gower,-

"And Iadahel, as Boke says,
First he made nets and fish.
Of Hunngyg Eke he loved to hunt,
Which nose is known in many places.
A dress scene with wire and effort,
At first he fell, and he did. "

Lydgate also says:

"Jason said first, in the story it is said,
For mattresses, for wynne the golden fleas,
Ceres, the goddess first, loved Londe's Londe's Tilthe?
** ** ** **
In addition, ARISTUS first founded the use
From Mike, Crussis and Honey Sword.
Periods for a good success,
From infection of Flynt, my love at the roots."

We read that Aristotle's "obtained by Zeus and Poseidon, that the loving heat of dog days, where there was great mortality, should be moderate of the wind." Although we still find some resemblance to them in our dreams where we have aMore liberal and more fair concern for things that are not embarrassed by the habit, we are still exposed and intimidated we are still a more liberal and more fair concern for things that are not embarrassed by the habit.

According to the legend, when the island of Aegina was abandoned by disease, according to Aakio, Zeus made ants into men, that is, as some believe, he made people from the inhabitants who lived poorly as ants. This is probably the most complete story of those early days.

The myth, which is natural and truly complex, to satisfy the imagination, aims to understand, beautiful but strange as a wild flower, is a wise man and a stock and admits his most generous interpretation.When we read Bacchus, the cheese cookers drove to madness so that they jump into the sea, confuse it with a meadow full of flowers and turn into dolphins, then we are not preoccupied with its historical truth, but of a higher poetic truth.It seems to listen to the music of a thought and does not care if the understanding is not satisfied.For their beauty, think of the myths of Narcissus, Endymion, Memnon, Morning Son, the representative of all promising young men who died prematurely, and whose memory is melodic lingered until the last morning.And the sirens whose island shone white with the bones of men intact.Civilized people's languages and the right names are common or essential - Silylyl, evmonides, parnes, helicopters, muses, enemy, etc.

It is interesting to observe with what singular unanimity the remotest nations and generations agree in giving fullness and roundness to an ancient myth, which undoubtedly values ​​beauty or truth. With a light and dreamy effort, but only with the voice of a scientific body, the most delicious genetics slowly appeals to the myth. As when astronomers call the newly discovered planet Neptune. Or the asteroid astræa, which the Virgin Mary led from the earth to the end of the sky. Your local abode in heaven is clearer—for the slightest recognition of poetic value is important. With an aggression so slow that it has mythology cultivated by the former. Prime Minister Game. They transcend from east to west, again from west to east. It now expanded to the "divine tale" of bards now shrinking into a popular gay. This is an approach to the universal language, that this pleasant repetition of the oldest expressions of truth from the last generations, the somewhat religious content retouched from the old material, is the most impressive proof of a common humanity.

All nations love the same animals and stories, the Jews, the Christians and the fighting, and the same translation is sufficient for everyone.All men are children and a family.The same story sends them to bed and wakes them in the morning Joseph Wolff The missionary was handed copies by Robinson Crusoe, translated into Arabic among the Arabs and that made good sense, Hodyeda and Loheya, and they admired and believed!"When the Arabs read the book, exclaimed," Oh that Robinson Crusoe should have been a great prophet!"

To some extent, mythology is just the oldest history and biography. So far from being false or wondrous with common sense, it contains only constant and meaningful truth, the ego and you, here and there, occasionally omitted. The rare wisdom writes. Before the invention of the printing press, a century equaled a thousand years. The poet is the one who can write some pure mythology today without the help of generations. With how few words would the Greeks, for example, tell the story of Abelard and Heloise, who did a punishment for our classical dictionary - and then randomly pin their names to shine in some corner to the page. To serve for a history," which is only the very material to serve for a mythology. How many volumes would have been filled with the life and work of Prometheus, had the percentage fallen, as it first did, in the cheap days of printing! know what the myth of Columbus forms, he would assume too much to be confused with the mission of Jason and the Argonauts. And Franklin, he may be a line for him in the future classical dictionary that records what this demigod did and referred -o for a new genealogy. "His son -e -he helped the Americans gain their independence, ordered humanity in the economy and threw the lightning out of the clouds."

The hidden meaning of these fables, sometimes believed to have been traced, is the morality that runs parallel to poetry and history, not as remarkable as the readiness that they can be obtained to express a number of truths. Even older and universal truthsthan any flesh and blood is for the time they are made.It is as if we are trying to get the sun or wind or symbols of the sea denoting special thoughts of our time exclusively. But what does it mean? In the myth, a superhuman intelligence is using men'sUnconscious thoughts and dreams such as hieroglyfik to confront non -born men.

As we said before, the Concord is a dead stream, but its background is more implied to the thoughtful traveller, and to-day its waters were full of musings, even on our sides. It becomes faster and shallower, with yellow pebbles, difficult to navigate in the channel, leaving the section wider and more stagnant at the top as a lake between the hills of its stream, except for a tributary, -

Some busy little rill,
Spinning around its historic tile,
Ringing in the same tune,
From September to June,
Where no drought is weak.

Flowing quietly the mother stream,
And if the rocks lie below,
She drowns the noise with her waves,
As if it were a sin of youth,
The same property and the same slow.

But now we finally hear the middle and clock river flowing to its downfall, like any creek.We left its channel here, just above Billerica's fall, and went into the channel that runs, or rather takes, six miles through the forest at Merrimack in Middlesex, and since we didn't mind playing in that part of while oneRun along the stite cover and pulled the boat with a string, the other pulled it off the coast with a rod, so we traveled the entire route in just over an hour.This channel, which is the oldest in the country, and even has an ancient air next to the most modern railways, is fed by Concordia, so we still flow in its familiar waters.It is so much water that the riverarkfor the benefit of trade. There seemed to be a certain lack of harmony in its surroundings, not being of the same period as the woods and meadows through which it is led, and lacking the reconciling effect of time on land and water. but as the years go by, nature will catch up and compensate, eventually planting suitable shrubs and flowers along its edges. Already the kingfisher was sitting on a pine tree above the water, and the bream and bream were swimming below. Thus all works go directly from the hands of the architect to the hands of nature, to be perfected.

It was a retired and comfortable route without a home or travelers, except for some young people, that there was some peculiar effectiveness in our eyes, but a feeling of shame that let him disarm.

It is a very true and expressive phrase, "look at the knives in me," for the first standard and prototype of all knives must have been a glance. First there was a flash of Jupiter's eye, then his ray of fire, then gradually hardening materials were invented, tridents, javelins, javelins, and finally, for the convenience of individuals, knives, krisis, and so on. , a man can swing his rapier so hard or unnoticed that it carries it around ad infinitum. However, it is rare that you look serious.

As we passed under the last bridge over the canal, just before we reached Merrimack, the people who left the church stopped to look down on us, and obviously, so strong is custom and use, he amused himself over some pagan comparisons.the true observers of this sunny day.According to Hesiod,

'Seventh is a holy day,
For then Laton Apollo brought to the world with golden rays."

And in our opinion it was the seventh day of the week, not the first one.The enclosed among the papers from a former peace judge and councilor in the city of Concord is this unique memorandum, which deserves to be preserved as a remnant of an old custom.After spelling and grammatical reform, it sounds like this: “The men who traveled in a bunch on Saturday, December 18º, 1803, was Jeremiah Richardson and Jonas Parker, both from Shirley. They had a team with such an accessory that used to wear Tønder and traveled west. Richardson was challenged by Hon.ephraim Wood, to the left and said Jonas Parker was hispartner, and he also said that Mr.Longley was his employer who promised to bring him out.“We were the men who slipped north on September 1st.F, 1839, with motionless group, and the armor is not the most convenient to wear barrels, which is not disputed by any church estate or diakon and ready to resist if necessary. In the second part of the 17th century, according to the historian of Dundable,"The cities were under construction".and bur"Near the meeting-house, and there all offenders against the sanctity of the Sabbath were confined."religionThan before. IfplasterShe is found loose in one place, just close to another.

One cannot convince a man of mistakes all his life, but one has to settle for the reflection that the progress of science is slow.If he is not convinced, his grandchildren may be.Geologists tell us that it took a hundred years to prove that the fossils are organic, and another hundred and fifty years to prove that they should not be referred to Noah's flood.I'm not sure, but I have to put myself to the utmost with the liberal gods in Greece, not with the god of my homeland.Although Jehovah has gained new features with us, he is more absolutely and unapproachable, yet almost more divine than Jupiter.He is not so much a master, he is not so kind and universal, he does not exert such a gentle influence on nature as the gods of many Greeks.Should I fear the infinite power of the mortal Almighty and inflexible justice, which was not yet dressed, so male, without sister Juno, without Apollo, without Venus or Minerva, to intercession for me, thym-philetsat, "ksemm.The Greeks are young and wandering and fallen gods with the loads of men, but in many important respects mainly of the divine race.In my Pantheon, Pan still prevails in his pristine glory, with his elastic face, his fluid beard and his spoiled body, his pipe and his fraud, his echo and her chosen daughter Iambe.for the great God is not dead, as one says.No God ever dies.Maybe of all the gods in New England and ancient Greece I am most firm in his shrine.

It seems to me that the God who is generally cultivated in civilized countries is not at all divine, even though he has a divine name, but is the overwhelming power and dignity of humanity combined.Men respect each other, not yet God.I thought I could talk to discrimination and impartiality of the Christian nations, I have to praise them, but also with duty.Trees."I think we can do without it as we don't go up quite high. Among them, a man could make himself the god of a piece of wood in a few minutes, which would scare his mind.

I imagine that someone tirelessly scalded by the old school who had the supreme happiness to be born in "days when they experienced people's souls" when they hear this can say with nestor, another school of the old school,"But you are younger than I am. For that was the time I was talking to people who were older than you. And when Apollo now rolls six times to the west, or resembling role, and now for the seventh time he shows his face to the east, with polished eyes, with long glasses that vary only between lamb wool and flan, exploring a good preaching book. For six days you wear yourself and knit but the seventh to your reading. Tired, not without a sense of gratitude. IfLife is so impeccable, no matter how remarkable, on the only day of the Lord and on his rude day.

There are several amazing beliefs. Why should we care about any of them? What man will believe, God believes. While I live, and many blasphemies that I heard and saw, I never heard or witnessed respect. But the indirect and ordinary, enough. Where is the man guilty of direct and personal bravery for those who did it?

An unforgettable addition to ancient mythology is due to this age - the Christian myth. With pain, tears and blood weaving these ages and adding to the mythology of humanity. The new promised. How miraculous consent, patience and endurance this myth has been sealed in the memory of the fight!It seems that it was in progress in our mythology that Dehron Jehovah, and Christ crowned in his place.

If that's not a tragic life we ​​live, I don't know what to call it. A story like that of Jesus Christ - the story of Jerusalem is, so to speak, part of world history. Jerusalem's naked, embalmed, unburied death among its desolate hills—think of it. In Tasso's poem I think some things are sweetly buried. Consider the incredible tenacity with which they still preach Christianity. What is the time and place for Christianity, eighteen hundred years and a new world? - that the humble life of a Jewish farmer had the power to make a New York bishop so bigoted. Forty-four lamps, gifts from kings, now burn in a place called the Holy Sepulchre; - Church bells count; - some unaffected tears shed by a pilgrim on Mount Calvary during the week.

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, when I forget you, let my right hand forget your list."

"Next to Babylon's waters, we sat down and cried when we remember Zion."

I think some can be so close and loved with Buddha, Christ or Suendenburg that they lack the palanity of their churches.It requires a non-Christian to appreciate the beauty and importance of Christ's life.I know some people want harsh thoughts about me when they hear their Christ named next to my Buddha but I'm sure I'm willing to love their Christ more than my Buddha because love isThe most important thing, and I like and suffer and suffer and suffer and suffer and like and like and I like and I like and him. "God is the letter that Ku, like Khu." Why should Christians still be prejudiced and superstitious?Simple seafarers were unwilling to throw Iona into the sea of their own operation.

“Where does this love happen later in life?
Unfortunately back on endless pilgrimage
From here, and never to get back I doubt
To the revolution wheel at these times. ”

A man says: -

“The popular disease in the world that prevails
Inside the heart and the hectic brain
Poor mortals with confusion. '

Another, that

-“The whole world is a scene,
And all men and women are just players."

The world is a strange place for a playground.old Dayton thought that a man who lived here and, for example, was a poet, should have certain "brave and hesitant things" in him, and a "good madness" should be in hisBrain.He was definitely also to be up to the apartment. This is an unnecessary wonder that Dr.Johnson expressed in Sir Thomas Brown's statement that "his life was a wonderful of thirty years, as to tell them was not astory, but a piece of poetry and would sound like myth. "All men do not claim so much.This would be a rare compliment, if true, aimed at Francis Beaumont: "The spectators share their tragedies."

Think of what miserable, miserable place this world is?That half the time we need to turn on a lamp can see to live in it.That's half of our lives.Who would take on the business if it was all?And please, what else has the day off to offer?A lighter lamp, a cleaner oil, they say, make wintering so we can pursue our vacancy with fewer obstacles.Bring bribe with some sunlight and some prismatic shadows, we bless our creator, and we ward off his anger with hymns.

I'll give you an offer,
Gods, hear the spotter,
The plan won't hurt you,
If you find kindness I find virtue.
Even though I am your being,
And the son of his nature,
I'm still proud
And the blood did not fall,
A certain free independence,
And my descendants.
I can't act blindly,
Even if you act friendly,
And I swear at Rood,
I don't want to be a slave to any God.
If you just manage,
I will primarily try,
If you find out,
Amazing designs for your lover,
And give him a bullet
A little bigger than here.

"Really, my angels! I was ashamed because of my servant who had nothing but me. So I forgive him."AndSadis Gulistan.

Most people I talk to, men and women, even with some originality and genius, have their plan for the universe, all cut and dry - a lotSeco, I assure you, flax, dry enough to burn, dry and throw dust, study that you put between you and these in the shortest contact.A bold, antique frame with all its dangling planks.Don't go without your bed.Some, for me, seemingly very insignificant and unfounded actions and relationships are for them to be established forever - as father, son and Holy Spirit and the like.These are like the eternal high for them.But in all my walks I never found the slightest trace of authority for these things.They have not left as clear traces as the fine bloom from a distant geological period on the coals in my fireplace.The wisest man does not preach doctrines.He has no plans.He sees no beam, not even a spider, towards the sky.It's a clear sky.If I ever look clearer at one point than on another, it's medium I look through is clearer.To look from earth to sky, and to see there is still a fixed element, the old Jewish design!What right do you have to maintain this barrier to my understanding of you, for your understanding of me!You didn't find it on.In you.Examine your authority.Even Christ, we fear, had his plan, his conformity with tradition, making his teachings easier.He did not swallow all the formulas.He preaches some simple doctrines.As for me, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are now only the finest imaginary drugs that will not stain the morning sky.Your plan should be the structure of the universe.All other plans will be destroyed soon.The perfect God in his revelations of himself never reached the length of a phrase like you, His prophets, the state.Have you learned the sky alphabet and can you count three?Do you know the number of God's family?Which geographer are you talking about the topography of heaven?What friend are you talking about God's personality?Do you think Miles Howard he made you his confidant?Tell me about the height of the Moon's Mountains, or the Diameter of the Room, and I can believe you, but the secret story of the Almighty, and I will declare you madly.From the History of Our Family - that is, his Tahitates - and the great imagination of the old poet is imposed on us as the clumsy eternal truth and the Word of God!Pythagoras completely says, "A true demand for God is a requirement for God."But we can doubt whether there are examples of this in the literature.

The New Testament is a priceless book, though I admit I was a little put off by church and Sabbath school in my early days, so it seemed like the yellowest book on the list before I read it. her eyes. difficulty deciding his comments and trying his true taste. - I think Pilgrim's Progress is the best preaching that this text has claimed, Almost every other sermon I have heard or heard have been poor imitations. - It would be bad history to be prejudiced against the life of Christ because the book was curated by Christians. In fact, I rarely love this book, although it is a kind of castle in the air for me, which I am allowed to dream about. arrived so recently and fresh, it has the greatest charm that I can find no one to talk about it. I have never read a novel they have so little real life and thought in them. , though I know those of the Hindus, Chinese, and Persians better than the Jews, as I concluded. Give me one of these Bibles and you've got me sailing for a while. with new proposals. But they usually cannot see that there is intelligence in them. This was my experience with the New Testament. I haven't gotten to the crucifixion yet, I've read it so many times. they are serious. It's so good, and I'm sure they've never heard it, it fits their case exactly, and we're going to enjoy it very much together, but instinctively we pull their ears. to be wrong, which is inexplicably tiring. I do not mean to imply that I am better than my neighbors.

It is remarkable that, notwithstanding the universal favor with which the New Testament is received abroad, and even the fanaticism with which it is defended, there is no hospitality, nor appreciation of the order of truth in which it deals. It has so few readers. There is nothing so strange, heretical, and unpopular. To Christians, no less than to Greeks and Jews, it is a folly and a hindrance. There are serious things indeed, which no man ought to read aloud but once.— "Search first in the kingdom of heaven."- "We are not to you treasures on earth."- "If you are perfect, go and sell this, give it to the poor and have treasure in heaven."-"For man benefits of man to gain the whole world and lose his soul? A man in exchange for his soul?"- Think of it, Yanks!- "Truly I tell you, if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain , get you out of this place? And it will remove? And nothing will be impossible for you." Things for a New England audience! Third, fourth, fifth, till there are three barrels of sermons! Who can without beating read them loud? Who can without beating hear them and not leave the meeting? They nevereraRead, nevereraI only heard one of these suggestions to read correctly, from any pulpit on earth and will not be left a stone at this meeting to another.

However, the New Testament is also exclusively about man and man's so-called spiritual affairs and is constantly too moral and personal to satisfy me, who is not exclusively interested in the religious or moral nature of man. They do not have the most specific plans for the future. Absolute speech , to do unto others what they would do unto you is not a golden rule, but the best of the silver of the day. An honest man would have little chance of it. It is gold to have no rule in such a case. No book was ever written that must be accepted without permission. Christ was a great actor on the world stage. He knew what he meant when he said, "Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away." I am drawing near me such a moment. However, he taught mankind, but endlessly, how to live? His thoughts were directed to another world.... Even here we have a kind of life to lead, and we should beat it a little more. There are several difficult problems to solve, and we must change between spirit and matter, a life as human as we can.

A healthy man with permanent employment, who timber delivering 50 cents cable, and a camp in the forest will not be a good problem for Christianity.The New Testament can be an optional book for him in some, but not all or most of his days.He prefers to fish in his spare time.Although the apostles were fishermen, they were the official breed of seafish and never ran for a river leather in inner streams.

Men have a unique desire to be good without being good at anything because they probably think indefinitely that this will be good for them at the end.People are successfully governed by them as police.It is not worthwhile to let our imperfections always bother us.Consciousness does not and should not monopolize all life, more than the heart or the head.How much elsewhere.I have seen some of whose consciousness, without a doubt because of the previous goals, had become as angry as they spoiled children and eventually not quiet.

Conscience is a homemade instinct,
Feel and think spread the sin
With a complete non-natural reproduction.
I say, turn the doors,
Within Mauritius.
I love a life whose plot is simple,
And it does not thicken every pimple,
A soul so healthy that it is not attached to a sick conscience,
This does not make the universe worse than it finds it.
I love a serious soul,
If mighty joy and regret
They do not drown in a bowl,
And brought the morning.
Where a tragedy is alive,
And not seventy.
An awareness that is worth holding,
Don't laugh crying.
A wise and firm conscience,
And forever ready;
It doesn't change with events,
Deals with congratulations;
A conscience that trains approx.
Great things where youit coulddoubt.
I love a soul not only for wood,
He preferred to be good,
But true to the spine
It's fake for someone;
He was born into his own affairs,
Your own joys and your own concerns.
Whence the work which God began
It turned out and not overturned.
Started where you left off,
To worship or deceive.
If not good, for so bad,
If not a good god, a good devil.
Kindness!- hypocrisy, get out of it,
Live your life, do your work, and then take off your hat.
I have no patience
Such conscientious cowards.
Give me simple workers,
who love their work,
whose virtue is a song
To please God together.

Once I was recurring of a minister who was running a poor beast for a horses -meeting between the new Humsire Hills because my footprints on a mountain on Saturday instead of a church as I had gone further than listening to listening toA true word that talks about this or every day. He says he "broke his fourth command" and began to list in a sad tone, the disasters that suffered him every time he did some common work on Saturday. A Godwere in the clock to travel to the people who followed all the cosmic work on this day and did not see that it was the bad conscience of the workers who did. The country is full of this superstition so when someone enters aVillage, is the church, not only of the Union, the worst building because it is one where human nature rises bottom and is more frustrated. More frustrating and disgusting things than when you walk on the streets of a strange village on Saturday, to listen toA predicate who shouts like a boat in a wind winding and thus the silent atmosphere of the day is bloated.

If I have to ask the Minister of Middlesex to let me talk to his pulpit on Sunday he will oppose because I don'tI prayLike he does, or why I am nottidy.What under the sun are these things?

Yes, today there is no infidelity as great as praying and keeping the Sabbath and rebuilding the churches. The South Pacific in Phocia preaches a truer doctrine. The church is a kind of hospital for male souls and as full as the hospital for its corpses. he can occupy a wing there. As long as he remembers their sick, let us not seek his aim. Someone is sick at the heart of this ice worship. It's like the gong gong in an underground Hindu temple. In dark places and dungeons, the word of the preacher may take root and grow, but not in the light of day in any part of the world that I know of his racket to humble his meditated unusual mood. It is like the sound of many catechisms and religious books that twist the earth, seem to come out of an Egyptian temple and ring along the banks of the Nile, next to the palace of Pharaoh and Moses in the hills and surprised they sank in the sun.

Everywhere, "good men" sound like a refuge, and the word evolves to fall back into innocence.Rather, they fall to the existing one.Christianity is just waiting.He has hung his harp in the arrows and can't sing a song in a foreign country.She had a sad dream and still does not greet the morning with joy.His mother is lying to his son, but thank goodness the son does not grow up in the shadow of his parents.Our mother believes she did not grow with her experience ... Her experience was too much for her.The lesson of life was very difficult for her to learn.

It is remarkable that almost all speakers and writers feel it their duty sooner or later to prove or recognize the personality of God. A bridge number thinking that he is too late than ever, foretold it in his will. It is a sad mistake. Run A work of agriculture, we must skip the author's moral reflections and the words "Providence" and "he" scattered on the page to reach the lucrative level of what he has to say. What he calls religion is chiefly offensive to the nostrils. He should know better than to postpone and keep dirt covered until they are fully healed. There will be more religion in men's science than science in their religion. Let's speed up the Pig Commission report.

A man's true faith is never contained in his religion, nor is his faith an article in his faith.The latter will never be adopted.This is what allows you to always smile and even live right away as him.And yet he clings anxiously to his dogma, as a straw, thinking he is doing good service because his blade anchor does not pull.

In most men's religion is the connection, which must be the umbilical cord that connects them to divinity, more or less as the wire that cylon members held in their hands as they left Minerva's temple, the second tip connected to the statueby the goddess. But many times, as in their case, the cord is broken, and they regret.

"A good and godly man laid his head within the contemplation and was admitted to the sea by a daydream. The moment he woke up from his vision, one of his friends with joy said: which rare gift he brought us from this garden,How do you recreate? I answered, I imagined and said when I can reach the rose I will fill my arms with the flowers and take them as a gift to my friends. But when I got there, the smell of the roses drunk me, forto leave it he fell from my hands. Learn the warmth of the mill's love. For this burned creature gave up the ghost and did not sigh: these vain candidates ignore the one they are looking for? Why we never knew again: - You! Over the flights of supporters, statements and understandings. All you are reported by you, we hear and read. The church is rejected and life ends ... and we still rest in our first compliment! " - -on.

At noon, we were failed from Merrimack through the Middlesex locks, just above Pawtucket Falls, by a quiet liberal man who quietly escaped his book, even though his duties we suspected did not require him to open the locks.Sundays.With him we had a fair and equal eye meeting, as between two honest men.

The eye movements express the eternal, unconscious politeness of the parties. They say a swindler doesn't look at you in the mud, not even an honest man looks at you as if to cement his reputation. eyes that know yours. A true Trust and great spirit is wiser Than to claim sovereignty in such gatherings Only snakes defeat the stability of your eyes My friend looks at me and sees me, that's all.

The best conditions were immediately established between us and this man, and although a few words were said, he could not hide a visible interest in us and our excursion. He liked advanced math we found out, and in the midst of atremendously sunny problem as we passed him and whispered our guess. This man introduced us to Merrimack's freedom.nu we felt like we were thrown in the sea stream on our trip and were happy to find out that our ship would flow inThe water in Merrimack.We start with a lot of work to practice these old rooting, row and root art. It seemed strange to us that the two rivers mixed their waters so easily as we had never connected them with our thoughts.

As I slipped across Merrimack's wide rent, between Chelmford and Dracut, at noon, here a quarter of a mile wide, our years echoed over the water to these villages and their easy sounds.Fe like Lido, or Syracuse or Rhodes, in our imagination, while, like some strange ships, we flew behind, on an eminence, or hovered on a tide that reached the peasants' lap.Over the water we clearly heard some children repeating their catechism in a hut near the coast, while a bunch of cows in the wide streak between them beat their flanks and waged war with the flies.

Two hundred years ago, another catechism took place here.For here came the Sachem Wannalance and his people, and sometimes Tahatawan, our Concord Sachem, who afterwards had a house church, to fish at the waterfalls.And here, too, John Eliot came with his Bible and Catechism and Baxter's calling to the uncomfortable and other treaties, made on the Massachusetts language, and taught them Christianity in the meantime."This place," Gookin says with reference to Wamesit,

"Being old and the capital of the Indians they come to fish. And this good man takes the opportunity to spread the gospel network to fish his souls."-"May 5º, 1674," he continues, "according to our usual custom, Mr. Eliot and I took our journey to Wamesit or Pawtuckett. and arriving there that night, Mr. Eliot preached to as many of them as possible from Matt. xxii. 1–14, the parable of the marriage of the king's son. We met at the tent of one called Wannalancet, about two miles out of town, near Pawtuckett Falls and bordering the Merrimak River. This person, Wannalancet, is the eldest son of old Pasaconaway, the oldest sachem of Pawtuckett. He is a sober and serious person aged between fifty and sixty. He was always loving and kind to the English." Hitherto, however, they had not persuaded him to embrace the Christian religion. "But at this time," says Gookin, "6. May 1674," - "after some consideration, and after a serious pause, he arose and made the following speech: 'I must confess that I have spent all my days in an old canoe (meaning that you frequently cross the river in a canoe ), and now you are urging me to change and leave. my old canoe and embark in a new canoe, which I have not wanted until now? but now I commit myself to your advice, get into a new canoe, and pray to God hereafter. A gentleman. Richard Daniel, a gentleman living in Billerica," who with other "persons of high quality" were present, "desired brother Elliott to tell him the sachem, lest, while he was going in his old canoe, should calm down. operation? but its end was death and destruction of soul and body. But now he entered a new canoe, he might meet storms and trials, yet he was to be encouraged to persevere, for the end of his journey would be eternal rest. Persist, and he is a constant and diligent hearer of the word of God, and keeps the holy Sabbath, though he journeys to Wamesit, which he meets every Sabbath, which is above two miles. and though many of his people have forsaken him, he continues and perseveres since he has submitted to the gospel.Gookin.Coll.'s Hist.of Indians in New England, 1674.

Already, as shown in the records, "In a regular court held in Boston, New England, on the 7ºof the first month, 1643-4. " -" Wassamequin, Nashoonon, Kutchamamamin, Slaugh and Squaw Sachem, who voluntarily submitted "to English work on the day on Saturday, especially in gates in Christian cities," they replied, "it'sEasy for them.The don't have much to do any day and can rest that day. "-" So, "says WinThrop, in his diary," We force them to understand the articles and all the Ten Commandments of God, and they stayedfree consent to everyone they received solemnly and then presented to the court twenty -six understandable more than more than Wampom. And the court gave each of them a layer of two feet cloth and his dinner. And for them and their men, all together, a cup of bagin the match. Then they said goodbye and went. "

What goes and horses in the desert to preach the gospel to this vision and muscles!It undoubtedly heard with their red hospitality and courtesy and after curiosity or even interest until there were "Indians as they prayed" and, and, as the court wrote in Cromwell, "The project has reached the work. This perfection so some Indians canpray and prophesy in a pleasant way. "

In fact, it was an old battlefield and hunting that we float, the old home to a tribe of hunters and fighters. Its stone fence, arrows and axes, its pylons and pilos, as they painted corn before the white man tasted him, was hidden inThe mud at the bottom of the river. The tradition also points to the places where the fish fished in the largest number of the art they had. It is a quick story that the historian will have to compile.Miantony, –Winthrop, —webster. It will soon come from Montau to Bunker Hill, from bearskin, toasted corn, arches and arrows, to roofs, wheat fields, weapons and sword.pawtucket and wamesit, which the Indians bull at at the time of fishing, is Lowell today, City of Spindles and Manchesterof America, sending their cotton fabrics around the world. Select American young travelers had passed part of our lives in the village of Chelmford when the current city, whose bells we heard was only its dark northern block, and the giant weaver was notbeen born properly.The are the big ones. He is so young.

Thus, we entered the state of New Hampshire in the embrace of the flood formed by the tribute of its countless valleys.The river was the only key that could unlock its maze and present its hills and valleys, its lakes and streams in their natural order and position.The Merrimack River, or Sturgeon River, is formed by the confluence of the Pemigewasset, which rises near the white mountains, and Winnipiseogee, which drains the lake of the same name, which means "the smiles of the great spirit."From the intersection, it runs south 78 miles to Massachusetts, then east of 35 miles to the sea.I have traced its current from the point where it bubbles on the rocks of the white mountains over the clouds, where it is lost in the sea salt on Plum Island Beach, first mumbles from the bottom of pristine and retracted mountains, through the damp clock, ifjuice it receives where the bear still drinks it, and the new builders' cabins are far away and there are few who cross its river?To enjoy in solitude their yet unknown becomes fame.With large sandwich chains and mountain banks, vibrant as titanic masses, with the peaks of moosehillock, marsh and kearsarge reflected in its waters, long and full of significance, some, but unchanging as its name the pemigewasset, of many paschal's pilion and ossa, whereNameless Muses haunted, used to oreads, Dryads, Naiads, and receive tribute from many irreconcilable hippocrenes, fire and water - well done, this is water and it goes down.

This water the gods distill,
And pour each tray
For men in New England.
A plan for this wild nectar brings,
And I don't want to taste spring
Helicon again.

Falling down completely, and yet not frightened by the lowest fall.According to the law of his birth, he never stood still, because he came out of the clouds and down the river -worn rock sides, through the beaver damps he broke, not torn, but repaired and repaired until he found a breath in this.Lowland.Now there is no danger of the sun stealing it back to heaven before it reaches the sea, as he has an order to even get his own tablecloth in his bosom again with interest every night.

It was already the waters of Squam and Newfound Lake and Winnipiseoge and White Mountain Snow where we flow, and Baker's and Mad Rivers, and Nashua and Souhegan and Piscataquoag, proportions, still flowing, yellowish, restless, with a slope old and inadequate to the sea .

Thus, it flows under Lowell and Ha Hahill, in whose last place suffers from a change in the sea, and some web condemns the oat region. Between the towns of Amsbury and Newbury there is a large commercial river, a third to a mile width; it is no longer shroudedin yellow and crumbled margins, but is cut by tall green hills and grasslands with frequent white beaches where fishermen expand their nets. I walked through this part of the river in a steam, and it was a pleasant view of its deck, the fishermen pulled their dinnersto the distant coast, as in the pictures of a foreign beach.The breaks you can find a tree -less schooner, rise to hashish or anchor or force, wait for the wind or tide. Until finally you slide under the famous chain bridge and land inNewburyport.So, she was, who at first was "bad, naked water in the hemmene", after receiving so many fair side elves as she is said to forward,

“The bigger it gets, the lowest it becomes.
Until he abounds with power and fame,
He works hard to name the sea. ”

Or, if not her name, in this case, at least the driving force by her power.From Newburyport Bell Towers, you can see this river that extends very high in the country, with many white candles looking at him as an inner sea, and here, as someone born in its waters, "in the mouth, mix the darkness of darknesswith blue from the top. It broke a lot of high, inclined, inclined,yet, towards the sky."

Merrimack, which raises at the same height as Connecticut, when the sea of only half a course and therefore does not have time to form large and fertile meadows, such as the previous one, but runs through rapids and many falls without a major delay. The margins are usually steepand tall with a narrow range that reaches the hills, which are currently slightly or partially flooded and much appreciated by farmers. Between Chelmford and Concord in New Hampshire it varies from twenty to seventy -five rods wide. It is probably wider than it wasearlier in many places due to crashes of trees and the resulting wear in their banks. The influence of the Pawtucket -Dam is felt for Cromwell Falls, and many believe that the margins eroded and the river fills again because of it.Rivers are subject to renewal, and it is known that the Pemigewasset increases eight meters in a few hours. It can be navigated by cargo lovers about twenty miles. For channel containers, through closures, to agree on New Hampshire, about seventy Miles of the mouth and for smallervessels for Plymouth, a hundred and thirteen miles. A small steamboat has worked between Lowell and Nashua, before the construction of the railway, and one now goes from Newburyport to Haverhill.

To some extent, to some extent, for the purpose of trade from sand to mouth, see how this river was dedicated to the first to manufacturers.Granite Salmus, with plates and Winnipiseogee, and new, and Massabesic Lakes for Sin Magles, falling over a number of natural dams, wherever it offersPrivilegesvain for centuries until finally the Yankee -Racing cameto improvefrom them. In the mouth, look at its sparkling current to its source - a silver waterfall that falls from the white mountains to the sea and contemplates a city on any successive plateau, an abundant colony of human beazers around each waterfall. Too not that not tomention Newburyport and Ha Hahill, see Lawrence, Lowell, Nashua, Manchester and Concord shining on each other. When he finally escaped under the last factories, he has a smooth and hindered passage to the sea, a simplesewage, so to say, who brought only little with his fame?Its pleasant course was revealed by the morning fog that hung over it, and the sails from the few small ships sailing Haverhill and Newburyport.But their actual ships are railway cars, and their true and main stream, which runs from an iron duct further south, can be traced by a long steam pline through the hills, never spread by the morning wind, where it opens into the sea.In Boston.It is the most powerful murmur now, instead of the scream of a fish that scares the fish, one hears the flute of the steam engine that makes a country progress.

This river was widely discovered by the white man, "has a tendency to the earth", did not know to what extent, possibly an entrance to the South Sea. The valley of Winnipise, was examined for the first time in 1652. Its first settlersIn Massachusetts, Connecticut, in part of his course, ran to the northwest, "so close to the big lake when the Indians pass their canoe to the car. This came as assumed, all that all came with the negotiated beebetween Virginia and Canada - and Potomac thought I was coming out or very close to him. So Connecticut came so close to the Merrimok railway that with, with, with few pain must be redirected from the flow of trade in the last river andIts excess from its Dutch neighbors in the pockets.

Unlike Concord, Merrimack is not a dead creek, but a living, even though it has less life in its waters and on its banks.It has a fast stream and in this part of its course clay bottom, almost no weeds and relatively few fish.We looked at its yellow water with more curiosity that was already used to the variety of the old river similar to the Nile.Shads and Alevive are caught here in the season, but salmon, although more numerous than Shad, is now more sparse.Bass is also occasionally used;But locks and dams proved to be more or less devastating to fishing.The shadows show up in early May, at the same time as the fire flowers, one of the first most visible flowers, which is why it is called the shade flower.At the same time, an insect called the shadow fly emerges that covers houses and fences.We are told that “its best course is when the apple trees are in full bloom.The old Shad returns in August.The young, three or four centimeters long, in September.These are very fond of flies. 'A very picturesque and luxurious way of fishing was previously practiced in Connecticut at Bellows Falls, where a large boulder shares the river."On the steep slopes of the island's rock," says Belnap, "Hanges many armchairs, attached to ladders and attached to a balcony where fishermen sit to catch salmon and protect themselves with nets."The remains of Indian fences, made of large stones, can still be seen on Winnipiseogee, one of the outlet of this river.

It cannot fail to favor our philosophy favorably remember the wandering fish, salmon, saber, saber, gorge and others who penetrate the many rivers in our coast in the spring and even interior lakes.Soen. Time once, from the bay,There was even more in the sea. "And it's not a beautiful sport," wrote Captain John Smith, who had been on this coast since 1614, "Take two pence, six pence and twelp, as fast as you can pull a line?"-" And this sport offers more comfortable content and less damage or strain than fishing with a hook and crossing the island's sweet air on the silent streams in a quiet sea. "

At Sandy Coast, in front of the village of Glass House in Chelmford, Great Bend, where we landed to rest and get some wild plums, we found outRound Biancaula, a flower new to us, the poets' harebell, which is common to both hemispheres, grows near water.Here, in the shady branches of an apple tree on the sand, we took our dinner where there was no Zephyr to disturb the rest of this wonderful Saturday day, and we reflected quietly over Latona's long past and successful work.

'So silent is the air from the bottom of the ocean,
That every shout and call,
The hills and valleys and the forest fair
Again he repeats everything.

“The crews under some leaf trees,
Inside the flowers that lie,
The fixed ships on the seas
They lift their candles to dry. "

As we looked back into the shade or ran loose, from time to time we turned to Gazetteer, which was our navigator, and from his bald natural facts we excited the joy of poetry. Team of Pilgrim, Windham and Londonderry Prairies.Scottish colonists in this last city, according to this authority, were the first to introduce the potato in New England as well as the production of linen fabrics.

What is printed and tied in a book contains some resonance, at least among the best in the literature. In fact, the best books have the best books, such as sticks and stones that are over or next to its design, not foreseen inthe preface, nor is it derived from the supplement. Even Virgil's poetry serves me today in a very different way than its contemporaries. Often it has acquired and unintentional value simply by proving that man is still a man in the world. It is nice tofind lines as solid as,

"They are already climbing with joy in the jewel's palm";
Now the buttons are swelling in the happy stalk.


"Chrinky is random and apple."
Apples are scattered everywhere, each under its tree.

In an old and dead language, every recognition of the living nature attracts us.It is suggestions written while the grass was growing and the water was running.It is not a small composition when a book resists the test of single, unobstructed sunlight and bright daylight.

What we would not give to a long poem to read now, which was in harmony with the landscape - for men to read that they will never read anything other than poems. No. History or Philosophy can deliver their place.

The wisest definition of poetry that the poet will prove to be wrong immediately, neglecting his demands.Therefore, we can only publish our message.

There is no doubt that the highest written wisdom is in rhyme or some musical metric way - it is both in form and substance poetry.And a volume that should contain the condensed wisdom of humanity does not have to have a line without rhythm.

However, poetry, although the last and best result, is a natural fruit. So natural as its own producer and the vine of a kalebas, the man produces a poem, whether spoken or executed. It is the most important and most memorable success becauseThe story is just a prose story about poetic actions. What otherwise did the Hindus, the Persians, the Babylonians, the Egyptians who can be saidstyle and methods. The poet sings how blood runs in his veins. It performs its functions and is so good that it needs such a stimulus to only sing as plants to sprout leaves and flowers. He would try to shape itRemote and short -lived music he sometimes hears, as his song is an important feature of breathing and an integrated effect as weight. It is not the flood of life, but its sedimentation and leaving under the poet's feet. It is enough for Homer to saythat the sun goes down. He is as calm as nature and we can hardly discover Bard's enthusiasm. It is as if nature had spoken. It gives us the simplest images of human life, so the child understands them himself, and man does not have toThink twice to appreciate his naturalness. Each reader discovers by himself that later poets in terms of the simplest properties of nature did nothing more than copying their similes. The most memorable passages are as naturally bright as sunlight in the fog. The nature gives you not only words but also stereotyped lines and phrases of your coin.

“As a full moon appears from the clouds,
Everything shines and then returns behind the dark clouds,
Thus, Hector appeared once they are among the most important,
And in another back, command?And all with bronze
Shone, like the radius of the eggs carrying Zeus."

It transfers the slightest information, even at the time of the day, with such a majesty and a large output of natural images, as if it were a message from the gods.

'While Dawn and the Holy Day went on,
Through that space both of their weapons flew quickly and the people fell.
But when the logger now made his morning meal,
In the recesses of the mountain and tired the tired hands
He fell tall trees, and in his mind came saturation,
And the desire for sweet food took over his thoughts.
Then the Danes broke with their skill the Falanxes,
Shout up to your peers from class to class. ”

When the Trojan Army spent the night in arms so you saw, so the enemy would not refine under the cloak of darkness,

"They think great things. With the neutral territory of war
He sat all night; And many fires burn for them.
As when the stars are in the sky around the bright moon
You look beautiful and the air is out of the air.
And all extreme heights and peaks,
And the wooded sides of the mountains appear.And from the sky diffusing an endless ether,
And all the stars look and the shepherd rejoices in his heart.
So among Xanthus' ships and chains
Trojan -Fires appeared before Ilium.
A thousand bonfires burn on the plain, and from each
He sat fifty, in the light of the flaming fire.
And horses eating white barley and corn,
Standing next to the carriages Aurora waited with beautiful prey."

The "white goddess Juno", sent by the father of the gods and man of the Iris and Apollo,

“He went under the mountains in the idy for the distant Olympus,
As when the mind of a man who came from far lands,
Salis leaves and thinks with quick thoughts,
It was me and there and he remembers many things.
So fast August Juno rushed wing through the air,
And he reached all the Olympus."

Your scenario is always real and not invented.Does not jump into the imagination of Asia to Greece, in the air,

The following long time in between
Skiopa, mar.
Why are they too much
Dark mountains and sound sea in the middle.

If their messengers notice themselves, but at the Achilles stage, we do not wonder how they got there, but they accompany them step by step along the coast of the open sea. Nestor's tale of Pyli's course towards the sides is extremely alive:

“Then they raised candy in the Pestle rhetoric Tsiro, up in front of them,
And honey -sweet words fell from his tongue. "

This time, however, he is only on his way to the sponsor: "A river, the name of Minnia, leaps towards the sea near Areni, where the Peeliots await the dawn, horse and foot. Hurry, we set off the next day it Was not in the middle, focused on the race, to the sacred source of Alfios, etc. until they are controlled at the end of a tired route by the sources of the Lady.

There are few books fit to remember in our wisest hours, but the Iliad is clearest in the calm days and still embodies all the sunlight that fell on Asia Minor. Its height or diminishes its brilliancy, but there it is east of literature, as it was the first and last production of the mind. And fell on linen. The death of what he never lived. But the rays of Greek poetry fight for us and mingle with the solar substances of recent days. On your climb.

"Homer is gone. and where is Jove? and where
The seven rival cities?Your song surpasses
Time, Tower and God, all these were then, except heaven. '

Moreover, Homer undoubtedly had his Homer and Orpheus Hans Orpheus in the unclear antique that preceded them. The ancient mythological system and is still the modern mythology, the poem of mankind, so wonderfully intertwined with their astronomy, and fits Majesty and Harmony ArchitectureIn the sky itself, it seems to indicate a time when a genius most powerful lived on earth. But after all, the man is the great poet and no Homero or Shakespeare. And the same is our language and the ordinary art of life his work.Poetry is so universal true and independent of the experience that it does not need any special biography to illustrate it, but we soon refer to any Orpheus or Lino, and after centuries to the ingenious humanity and the gods themselves.

It is worth choosing our reading, for books is the community we keep.again or maybe write more.Instead of another victim, we could offer our perfect thoughts (pointing) to the gods daily, in hymns or hymns.Because we have to be behind the wheel at least once a day .. there should be an hour, if not more that the day has not brought out.Researchers are used to selling their primary rights to a chaos of learning.Or inert reading of the Russian literature and the Chinese, or even French philosophy and much of the German criticism.Read the best books first, otherwise you may not have the opportunity to read them.and pilgrims with slaughter.Again, the pilgrims with enthusiastic dedication.So there are those if reading wisdom is their worship, people with slow passions and strict manners;- It's not for those who don't love it.And where, Oh Argum, is there another one?"Of course they don't have to reassure us and they always have fun as kids. Whoever resorted to easy romance because he is an atheist does not make him better than taking a nap. The front of big thoughts can only be appreciatedof those who are on the page they come from. Books not that they give us a shocking pleasure, but where every thought has an unusual daring existing - they tell me good books.

Everything that is printed and bound is not books. They do not necessarily belong to letters, but are often more classified as the second luxury and pendant of civilized life. Staples are old under a thousand disguises. As the oldest told me once:"This issump"Regardless of what has been agreed.

'You who your wisdom is acting with you
Where the light did not throw its golden radius. ”

With skilled writing and pen, books are waterfalls and have their journey and success, even among students, as if they were the result of a young man's thinking, and his birth was observed with some natural walks.But at some point Will's front pages will come off as no compromises will benefit and it seems they are not books or books.or oak leaves, or locomotive, or kitchen spectrum and biblical truths.

'Dealers, Levante -se,
And we mix conscience with its goods. "

The article is cheap, and writers now do not have to delete a book until they write another one.Instead of cultivating the soil for wheat and potatoes, they cultivate literature and fill a place in the letter republic, for others really cultivate cereal crops to be deprived of spirits.Books are written and written in a hurry, as parts of a system, to give a real or imagined.Natural history books are generally intended to be busy, or stores of God's property, by an official.Not least, they learn the divine view of nature, but the popular vision, or rather the popular method of studying nature, and they hurry to realize the discipline's persistence in the dilemma in which the dilemal tiles always dwell.

“In Athens she was gone, and that school
He comes back unhurried, a more informed fool.

They learn the elements that truly of ignorance, not of knowledge, to speak on an willingness and considering higher truths, it is not easy to distinguish elementary knowledge. There is a gap between knowledge and ignorance that the bows of science can neverexpand.A book must contain clear discoveries, blinking ofSignature, though by shipwreck and not by the art of sailing by those who were never far from the country's eyes.The theIt should not give wheat and potatoes, but should be the unlimited and natural culture in the author's life.

"What I learned is mine. I thought
And I learned noble truths. ”

We do not learn much from learned books, but from true, honest, human books, of honest and sincere biographies.Violation as in observance, and our lives are maintained by an almost equal expense of virtue of some kind.The decaying wood while it lives, requires sun, wind and rain no less than the green.It secretes juice and performs health functions.If we choose, we can only study Alburnum Stubben has a tender bud like a bubble.

We will at least have healthy books, a wrong, and a kitchen that is not cracked.Let the poet but trap tears for public welfare.It should be as intense as a sugar, with as much juice to keep his own green, next for what runs in cavities, and not as a vine cut in the spring without fruit but bleeds to death whenIt tries to heal.your wounds.The poet is the one who has fat enough, like bears and jams, to suck his nails all winter.He is in this world and feeds his own marrow.We like to think of winter as we walk through snow -capped pastures, the happy dreamers under the hook and all the inactive creatures that have an exaggeration of life surrounded by thick sides of cold fur.Unfortunately, the poet is also in a way it comes from the farthest experience.Other men lead a hunger, meanwhile, like hawks that would give to keep the wing and confidence in getting a sparrow for a long time.

There are already essays and poems, the growth of this country, which is not in vain, but we could all conveniently accumulate in relation to our chests. If the gods allowed their own inspiration to breathe in vain, they might be ignored in the crowd, but the notes of truth will surely be heard on earth as in heaven. They already look old and to some extent have lost the traces of their modern birth. Here they are

- "Ask what is the light of our life,
For a perpetual, sand and clear view. "

I remember some suggestions that opened as basketball in its original pastures, where its roots were never disturbed, and not as if they were spreading in a sandy violence.Answering the Poet's Prayer,

'Let's define so right
A percentage of knowledge where the world can trust
The poet's sentence and is not yet average
All art is flattering in itself. ”

But above all, in our native port, we did not visit the peaceful Lyceum games, from which a new era will be dated in New England, as in the Greek games. For if Herodotus brought his history to Olympia to be read, after Kestos and the battle, have we not heard such stories recited there, as since our countrymen read it, how they sometimes made Greece forget? Grove and Portico, which are not entirely unexpected these days.

Recently, the victor, with whom all Pindars were celebrated, got another palm tree that fought with

"Olympics, the sang
Divine ideas below,
Where we always meet young,
And always hold us like that. ”

What land or sea, mountain or stream, or spring or grove of the Muses, secured from his burning eye, which, straying from its beaten track of Philbus, visits unpredictable zones, makes Supernat gelatinous. And many young people flow back and hide their heads!

This cane of our time,
Who would make another galaxy,
And burn the world with its radius.

For us an undisputed oracle, -
Where would he drive his burning car so close
In our quivering deadly ball,

Embarrassing all our good value,
And burning the living earth,
To prove your heavenly birth.

Silver rays, golden tire,
They shine with unexpected fire,
And closer and closer rolls closer;

The pins and axes they melted are,
The silver radius flies away,
Oh he wants to break his father's car!

Who let him have the steps he can't drive?
In the future, the sun will not shine for a year.
And all the Ethiopians will emerge.


“The evil lips fell
Delphi Fascinerende Oracle. "

And yet sometimes

We should not care if our ears fell there
Some less cunning, more than Oracle.

It is Apollo that shines in his face.Rarely modern, let's have a long warmth.Give us the finest, the most heavenly, though fleeting, beauty that goes inward and inward and lives in the back.Tones that wine uses on its wheat.Let the worst eposes frame and stop these rollers.Have we lost a thousand meteorites from heaven if the depths of skyyy if the foggy youth remain?But what do we lose a thousand wise answers to the oracle if we can have a few natural acres of ionic country?

Although we know well,

“This is not in the power of kings [or presidents]
A spirit of the unlimited verse,
Nor are they born in every princess of every princess. ”

But despite what they sang to praise "Elisa's kingdom", we have evidence that poets can be born and singosDay, in the presidency of James K. Polk,

"And may English rim's utmost powers",
Was not"withinaboutLimited peaceful reign."

The poet Daniels prophecy is much more than fulfilled!

“And who with time knows where we can get air
The treasure of our language? What weird back
This gain of our best glory will be sent,
Do we enrich unknown nations with our supplies?
What are the worlds of the West?
It can be refined with accents that are our own."

A lot has been said today about the charm of incredible writings.We hear that they complain about some brilliant works that they have good thoughts but are irregular and have no flow., parts of a mountain range.We must remember that the stream of thought is more like a tidal wave than a river on its face and is the result of a heavenly influence, not some deviation in its channel.The river flows because the hill, it goes down and flows faster, the faster it goes down.The reader, waiting to float under the river all the way, may well complain about seafarers and seashells as their fragile boat enters between the sea flow flowing towards the sun and the sea, moon and moon and moon and moon less streams. In it.But if we appreciate the flow in these books, we must expect to feel it as an exhale from the side and flush our critical brain as a millstone flowing to higher levels above and beyond us.There are many books that touch as if refreshed and float as smooth as a mill that sucks up a path.And when their authors are on the wave of their speech, Pythagoras and Plato and Jamblich stop next to them.Strings and visible have this context that they naturally flow and run together.They read as if they were written about military, businessmen who are a mission in them.Compared to them, thinkers and burial philosophers do not seem to have had their childhood.That a Roman army on the way, at the bottom of the camp tonight, when the truck camped last night.The sage Jamblichus spins and shines like a watery.

“How many thousands have never heard the name
Of Sidney or Spenser or from his books?
And still brave comrades and conjecture of fame,
And they seem to unite everyone with appearance. ”

The clever writer takes the pen and shouts, forward! Alamo and Fanning! And then the tide of war. The own walls and fences seem to travel. But the most immediate attraction is the lack of flow. I will not follow in the least.

It is true that a completely healthy suggestion is extremely rare.Most of the time we don't have the shade and aroma of thought.As if we could fill the cold freshness or night without its colors, or the sky without the blue.Attractive may not be the wisest, but the most confident and round. They are said stable and finally as if the speaker has the right to know what he is saying, and if not wise, they would at least have learned well.Sir Walter Raleigh could very well be studied even for the excellence of his style, for he is remarkable among so many teachers.Modern authorship does not.Its backgrounds are similar to English parks, no, like a western forest, where the greatest growth contains underground wood and one can go through holes. Modern writers - because we can bother our time - and when we read a quote from one of them amongA modern author, it seems to have reached a larger green ground, a greater depth and strength.It's like spreading a green branch over the side and we feel rejuvenated by the sight of fresh grass in the middle of winter or early spring.You always have life eligibility and experience in what you read.The few who are said are neutralized by the many who have happened.-Green and flowers because they are in reality and experience, but our false and flowering suggestions have only the nuances of the flower without their juice or roots.All men are really more attracted to the beauty of the simple reason, and even write in a strong style they would rather be misunderstood than the lack of their abundance.Hussein praised Ibrahim Pasha's letter to the French traveler's boot because of "the difficulty of understanding it. There was," he said, "but one person in Ginta who was able to understand and explain Pasha's correspondence. Of a typical person? The word best said does not approach to be said because it is a cousin of an action the speaker could have done better. Accident, so the truest author is a knight of prisoners and maybe had the degrees such a plan when they, after that they, after that theyHaving kept Raley so rich in the essence of life and experience, quickly captured him and forced him to come up with his words and convey to his expressions the weight and honesty that his was. Action.

Men respect the purse and learning very disproportionate to the use they generally earn.We have fun when we read how involved Ben Johnson was that the boring masks with which the royal family and aristocracy should be entertained should "rely for antiquity and in constant learning".Could there be a greater indictment than an inert apprenticeship?At least learn to chop wood.The need for work and discussion with many people and things the scholars rarely remember well.Also awakens attention, it is arguably the best method of removing the paleness and emotions from one's style, both speech and writing, his thoughts at that moment, but the few hasty lines that detect his daily experience will be more musical and moretrue than The Freer, but The Inert Fantasy could have been assumed.its own discipline.He will not dance to his work, someone who has wood to chop and a leash before nights in the short winter days.But every bump will be cut and sound sober through the forest.Pen, which at the night's record story of the day, sounds sober but happy in the reader's ear, long after the echo of his ax has been lost.The learned can write the hardest truth about hard skin on his palms.Give stability for the purpose.Yes, the mind never makes a great and successful effort without the corresponding bodily energy., is easily achieved when required to make an effort.As if simplicity, acting and honesty, the style of the style was better learned on the farm and in the workshop than in schools.Hard, like stiffened ropes, deer nails or pine trees.As for the grace of the expression, a big thought is never in a bad dress.But even though it comes from Golov's lips, they conspired nine muses and the three to dress her in the right sentence.Her education was always liberal and her implied intelligence can provide a faculty.The world, which the Greeks called Beauty, was as gradually removing any ornament that was not suitable for carrying."Achane speaks with the inspiring mouth., Adorned and unpainted, passing centuries of the power of God."The learned could often emulate the correctness and emphasis on the farmer's call to his employees and admit that if written, it would surpass his tiring proposal.Who is the realtungProposals?Of the weak and delicate periods for the political and literary man, we are happy to turn ourselves to the description of the work, to the simple list of the month's work in the farmer's almanac, to restore our mood and spirits. A phrase must be read asAbout its author, if he had held a plow instead of a pen could pull a deep and straight groove to the end.The scholars need hard and serious work to give a boost to his thinking. He will learn to keep the sentencefirmly and dealing with the graceful and effective, like an EACS or a sword.The huge victim of muscles and tendons.What! these proportions - these bones - and their work! Hands that could have cut an ox went through this fragile case that would not have dominated the fingers of the lady! Can this be humanWork that has a marrow on his back and a late of Achilles in the heel? Those who created Stonehenge's blocks did something if they even set their strength for the first time and stretched.

But in the end, the really effective worker will not fill his day with work, but will do away with his duty surrounded by a wide range of convenience and leisure, and then, but what he loves most.grain of time.Although the chicken had to sit all day, she could only lay one egg, and besides, she would not have material for another.Let a man set aside enough time for the most insignificant act, although it is only the cleavage of his claws, the buds swell imperceptibly, with no haste or trouble, which in the short days of spring was an eternity.

So take an age to stimulate your desire,
you don't needaccelerateIf you arebe strong.

A few hours does not seem to be an opportunity for any action, but to solve the breath.We do not go directly to the performance of the purpose that moved us, but we close the doors behind us and wander with a prepared mind as if they were already half -finished.Our determination takes root or rooted in the ground as the seed first sends a shot down fed by its own album before it sends one out in the light.

There is a kind of homemade truth and naturalness in some books that are very rare to find, but it seems quite cheap.There is nothing loud in emotion or good expression, but it is a careless reason for the country.A book how much in a house if the reader remained there.It is close to beauty and a very tall art.Some have this value only.Nature, for example with any truth.They exceed their modesty, somehow, and they do not offer it.They don't say good words to her.Most people cry better than you talk about and you can get it - more when them than for them.Stupidity, as the woodenover talks about his forest, who deals with as much indifferent as his ax is better than the enthusiasm of nature.To be a yellow primula and nothing less than being something less.I told Thomas Fuller that he was "a very hard -working head, to the point of walking and meditating before dinner, ate a crown, unaware that he was doing. Natural memory was very great as he added to the art of memory. It would repeat you back and forth all the signs of Ludgate to CHARING CROSS. ”He says from Mr.John Hales that he "loved the channel" and was buried "under a black marble thermonation - - with a very long epitaph. He said he thought he was a brave man." For William Holder who wrote a book about the treatment ofA deaf and mute popham: "He saw no writer. He just consulted nature." Most of the time, a writer only consults for everyone who wrote before him about a subject and his book is nothing but the advice of many.But a good book will never have been avoided, but the subject itself will be in a new sense and its author, in consultation with nature, will not only consult those who have been before, but also with those who can follow.There is enough space and opportunity for a true book on any topic.Since there is room to get more light on the brightest day and more rays will not interfere with the first one.

Then we go up this river, gradually adapts our thoughts to the innovations, seeing from the quiet bosom a new nature and new human beings, and which with increasing confidence find nature still habitable, intelligent and favorable to us?Do not follow any trampled path, but the turn of the river, as always the path closest to us.Fortunately, we had no business in this country.Concord was rarely a river, orRio, but onlythe river, or betweenthe riverelagos.This Merryck was not evenRionothe rivernoTank, but maybethe riverHere a slightly growing and impressive flood is approaching the sea. We can even sympathize with its spiritual tide, seek its fate in the sea and predict the time when "taken in the plain with free water" must "hit back to benches" -

“Campoque received that
To get freer water they reach margins instead of the banks.

For the most part, we rounded a low Holm, called Rabbit Island, which was exposed to sun and waves, then deserted, as if there were some championships in the frozen sea, and found us in a narrower part of the river, near the sheds and meters atTheir Choice Stone, known as Chelmford Granite, which is smuggled into Westford and the surrounding cities.We cross the island of Wicasuck, which contains 70 acres or more, on our right side, between Chelmford and Skyderborough.With the story of Dunstable., "Around 1663, the eldest son of Passaconaway [leader of Penacooks] was thrown in prison for a debt of £ 45, which was due to John Tinker, from one of his tribes, and promised to be paid. To exempt him from hisimprisonment, Brother Wannancet and others who owned the island of Wicasuck, sold it and paid off debt. "However, it was restored to the Indians by the ordinary court in 1665. After the Indians traveled in 1683, it was given.Jonathan heaviness as payment for his services at The Colony by keeping a guard in his home.The House of Graves is not far from Wicasuck Falls.Gookin, who in his letter dedicated to Robert Boyle apologizes for the presentation of "case that fell on a wild dress", says that during the war in Philips War in 1675 they were led by the Christian Indians and the English to Marlborough and sentSeven "Indians from Narraganstt, Long Island and Pequod to Cambridge, who worked for about seven weeks with a fucking Jonathan heaviness on the Merrimack River. And when they heard the war, they counted their master and received their wages, they turned awayWithout their appropriation, and, afraid of going secretly through the forest, they planned to go to their country. "However, they were released shortly after.Those were the rented men at the time.Weight was the first permanent settlement of Dunstables, which at that time included what is now heavily drilling and many other cities.In the winter of 1675, in Philip's War, every other settler left the city, but "he," says the Dunstable historian, "strengthened his house. And although he was" obliged to send Boston after his food, "he sat in the middle of his wild. enemies, alone in the desert, to defend his home. When he heard his important position to defend the border, in February 1676 he asked for help with the colony, "humbly appears while his reference sounds that while he was alive" in itHighest House on the River Merrimac, his enemy lies lying down, but he is as seated as he was like a guard in the neighboring towns, "he could do an important favor in his country, if only he had a little help," there was, "saidhe, "" never a resident of the city but me. "That's why he asks their" pricesThree or four menTo help protect from your home what they did.But he thinks this guard would be weakened by adding a man.

'Bandog your detector barking on a thief,
To make life for life you need to be head of Capitain.
Make the trap your fortress, press the clock to start,
Make the gun and arrow for whoever is inside.”

Then he won the title of the first permanent resident.In 1694, a law was approved "that any settler who left a city with fear of the Indians should lose all its rights."But now, as I noticed, a man it can give up the fruitful territories of the boundary of truth and justice, which are the best territories in the state, for fear of much more insignificant enemies, without losing any of its politicians rights there.No, municipalities are awarded to the deserts and the General Court, as they sometimes tend to consider it, it is just a field in the desert.

When we were close to the shore of the Isle of Wicasuck, who was then wooded to keep the stream out, thought two men who seemed to have just left Lowell, where they had been since Saturday, to go to Nashua and nowbe in strange, natural part, uncultivated and disturbed by the middle planet, full of walls and obstacles, a harsh and unusual place for them, to see our ship move so evenly up the river, called from the tall bank over our heads forTo find out if we would take them as passengers, as if it were the way they lost that they could sit and talk and pass the time, and finally they are in Nashua.But our vessel was filled with necessary furniture and sunk in the water, and in addition, work on it still had to be done as it stilloHe was not against the current effortless.them away over the water, running along the coast and climbing the rocks and falling trees. Like insects - for they didn't know better than we were on an island - the unpleasant river that always runs in the opposite direction. Until reachingThe entrance to the Østrøm, which was probably gone to the locks below, found a more effective obstacle to their progress. They seemed to learn a lot in a short time. They ran like ants on a lit and tested the river again here, and once againThere, to see if one should not actually go on the water, as if a new thought had inspired them, and a strange mood in the mind. The members they could control. Endlessly, common sense seemed to take care of it again, andThey concluded that what they had heard for so long should be true and decided to cross the lowest power. When they were almost a mile away, we could see them take off their clothes and prepare us for the experiment. But it seemedProbably a new dilemma would show up, they threw so thoughtlessly their clothes on the wrong side of the stream, as in the event of the farmer with his corn, his fox and his goose, which had to be worn at once. If they managed to passSure or went through the locks we never found out. We couldn't fail to be impressed with the apparent, although innocent, indifference to nature to the needs of these men, while other places also served others.As a real charity isThe secret to her service unchanging. The busiest trader, although his visible Lowell, is placed in the pilgrims and will soon reach the staff and shell of Shell and Vieira.

We too, who stayed in the middle of the river, came close to the experience of a pilgrim when we were tempted to follow what looked like a sturgeon or a larger fish because we remembered that this was the sturgeon's river, its darknessand darkness.Monstrous back rises and falls alternately in the middle of the chain.We continued to fall back, but the fish held our backs well and we did not dive and it seemed to prefer to swim against the flow so that in any case it would not escape the great distance when it had come so closeAs it was convenient, and seeks to take a blow from her tail, now the bow tower unloaded his cargo while the stern held its position.But the monster in the halibut skin, in one of these pregnant moments, meant without stopping fluttering up and down that it was best, without a blow or other foreplay, to proclaim oneself as a huge vessel trapped, placed there as abend, to warn the sailors from submerged cliffs.So each one thrown with some responsibility on the other, they quickly withdrew to safer waters.

The director who changes here to close the drama today, no matter what sections we appreciate deadly. If it may have become a tragedy, a comedy or a tragic comedy or a pastoral, we cannot say. This Sunday ended with the passage of the passage ofthe sun and left us standing in the waves, but those in the water enjoy a longer and more light dusk than on the ground, for here water as well as the atmosphere absorbs and reflects the light of the atmosphere and some of the day they appear to have sunken stew.Eyes and tear.Eva had already sunk into many dark and aqueous chapels below, where weed shadows stretched for a long time on the sandy bottom. The afternoon put had already begun to fall into Leathern Fine, and the Finnish gossip pulled tides in their dreams. In the meantime, like a darkSky at night, we were sunk over the face of the sky and elaborated the shadows in their fields.

When we reached a withdrawn part of the river, where it spread sixty stems wide, we pitched our tent on the east side of the heavier drill, just above some spots of the coastal flower, which were now almost mature, where the width sloped properly, and with the bustleFrom the seafarers who made the land, we wore these stores we needed from the boat to the stage and hung a lantern on stage, and that was it.With a buffalo that spread to Grama and a blanket for her, our bed was soon covered.There merrily a fire broke up before the entrance, so close that we could fit without moving outside, and as we passed, we struck the fire and closed the door, and with the appearance of homely comfort they sat down toRead Gazetteer, to learn our latitude and length and write the Journal of Traveling or listen to the wind and the river's swells until I fall asleep.Power, near the farmer's grain, to sleep and forget where we were a great blessing that we are obliged to forget our business every twelve hour.Mines, Muskrates, Prarias, Wood Cutting, Squirrel, Skunk, Rabbits, Rabbits, Tenants All Nearby, but stay very close while you are there.The river is abyss and runs all night towards Martes E Costa, a great wash and freshness, and there is no small business to think about.Scythian expanses of the Billerica night and its wild musical sounds, we kept awake from the miserable sports of some Irish railway workers they gave us over the water until unconditional and arousal this seventh day, what would they like to do with the ever -accumulates speed,And they still revive the screams until late at night.

A sailor visited in his dreams this night by the evil fates and all the forces that are hostile to human life that restricts and suppresses human minds and makes their way to act difficult and narrow and full of dangers so that they entered into more enterprisesInnocent and worthy seems rude and defies fate, and the gods do not go with us.But the other spent a peaceful and even ambrosial or immortal night happy, and his sleep was dreamless, or only the atmosphere of pleasant dreams remained, a happy natural sleep for the morning.And her cheerful spirit reassured and reassured her brother, because every time they meet, good mood will certainly triumph.


"I stir too
The world that renews every day,
As I can, how I maie."


'The Hye Sheyfe de Notynghame,
Husk. "

Robin Hood Ballads.

"His shot was loose,
Jet flame arrow not in vain,
Because he met one of the sheriff's men,
E William, um Trent, era Slaine. "

Robin Hood Ballads

"Look at the sky to what he has lost on earth."

British priest

When the first light reached the land and the birds woke up, and the wild river sounded confident, and morning rapidly rising wind rattled the oak leaves to our tent, all people fortified their bodies and souls with sleep and then doubt and fear., was invited to unexpected adventures.

'All you brave knickers
It's a sunny day again
The Breest Plade he breaks,
To fight their fare.
The petrified printed horse
Take courage and cramp,
Wonderful earth lamp?
The night is Neir."

One of us took the boat to the opposite, flat and affordable margin, a quarter of a thousand away, to empty it with water and wash the clay while the other lit the fire and prepared breakfast. In the early hours of the morning we were again on the wayAnd messed through the fog as before, the river was already awake and a million crispy waves that went on to find the sun when it was looking. The compatriots who were recruited on their rest day had already resided and began to cross the ship for the week'sbusiness.This ferry was as busy as a damn dam, and the whole world seemed eager to cross the Merrimack River at this specific point in hope - the children with their two cents cut off on paper, the destroyed prisoners and the policeman with an order, travelerof countries far away from distant lands, men and women for which the Merrimack River was a bar. There is a concert about the gray morning, the fog, the impatient traveler goes down the wet coast with the whip in hand and yells in the fog behindthe indifferent President and his Ark, who goes away, as if he could throw this passenger into the sea and return immediately. To himself; compensates for it. He must break his permanent somewhere invisibly on the opposite side. Itcan be ledyard or the wandering Jew. How did he get out of the night improved? And where does he go on the sunny day? We just observe your passage. Important to us, forgotten by him, crosses all day. There are two of them.Is it Virgil and Dante.But as they passed Styx, no one was seen tied above or under the stream so I can remember. It's just oneDuration, a short -term journey, like life itself, none of the long long -long gods up or down. Many of these men on Monday are ministers without a doubt who gathers their parish in rented horsepower, with sermons in the valves for themTo read and avoid, the day after always with them. They cross the tracks apart all over the country about Woof and Warp and create a loose structure of structure. Fair now for six days. They stop to take walnuts and fruits and harvest apples on the road to theirLeisure.good religious, with people's love in their hearts, and the means to pay their taxes in their pockets. We passed this chain of ferries without a scratch that messed the tide on the trip - no toll for us that day.

Lost was dissolved and loose paddling along Tingersboro, with a clear sky and a soft atmosphere, leaving men's houses and penetrating even more into the old Dunstble.With their company, they marched in the search for Indians at.18ºIn April, 1725. He was the son of "one of the hands of the army of Oliver Cromwell, who came to this country and settled at Dunstable, where he died at the advanced age of one hundred and twenty years." In the words of the old children's tale, sung about a hundred years ago, - -

“He and his brave soldiers tense the forest full of width.
And the difficulties passed to suppress the pride of the Indian. '

In Pequawket's loose pine forest they found the "rebel Indians" and prevailed after a bloody battle and a residue came home to enjoy the fame of his victory. A municipality called the city of Lovewell, but now for some reason or maybe not without reason, isPembroke has been given them by the state.

“Of all our English brave there were only thirty -four,
And the Rebellion The Indians were there about four degrees.
And sixteen from our English they returned safely home,
The rest were killed and wounded, which we all have to mourn.

"Our worthy Captain Lawell, among them, died,
They killed Lieutenant Robbins and wounded a good puppy,
Who was our English chaplin? Killed many Indians,
And some of them dug while the balls around them played."

Our brave ancestors eradicated all Indians, and their degenerate children no longer live in guard houses, nor do war cries in their way.. of his bravery, as well as "good young fry".We have to be pioneers as bold as Miles standish or the church or Lovewell.We have to go another way, it's true, but an equally convenient for ambush.What happens if the Indians are eradicated, they are not wild, as dark as today's cleansings?-

'And we fight against many dangers and difficulties on the way,
They probably reached the Dunstable the Thirteenth (?) May."

But not everyone arrived "Safe to Dunstable the Thirteenth", or the fifteenth or the thirty "May day".Dunstable and Jonathan Frye from Andover, all of whom were wounded, were left behind and crawled against the settlements."After traveling several kilometers, Frye and died," even though a newer poet entrusted him the company in his last hours..

'A man who was in good shape,
Polite and brave, well educated and friendly.
The halls taught old Harvard are gone
Far away in the jungle, a grave to find.

“Oh, now your blood -red hand is rising.
Your closure caps are trying to rise.
And talk again before he dies,
In praise and praise.

'He offered the good sky to succeed,
Lovewell's brave men to guide and bless,
And when they have shed their true hearts,
To lift them all up in happiness. "...

“Lieutenant Farwell took his hand,
He hit his arm around his neck,
And he said, 'Brave Chapel, I want to
This sky made me die for you. ”

Farwell lasted eleven days. "A tradition says," as we learned in the history of Concordia, "that we come to a lake with the lieutenant. Coloring, Davis took one of his moccasins, cut him in laces where he arrested a hook,fired some fish, roasted them and ate them. They revived him but injured Farwell, who died shortly after.phis had a ball stuck in his body and his right arm kicked. But in general he seems to have a little less harm than hisPartner.He came to Berwick after fourteen days. Jones also had a ball in his body, but he ended up himself to Sacco after fourteen days, though not under the best imaginable conditions. "He had survived," says an old diary, "withThe spontaneous vegetables in the woods. And the cranberries he ate came out of the wounds he received in his body.'This is what happened to Davis. The last two finally came healthy and saved home, but not well, and lived for many years as invalid to enjoy their pension.

But unfortunately!of the imprisoned Indians and their adventures in the woods, -

“Because as we are up to date, they fell and fast they fell.
Almost twenty of their numbers reached that night safely home, ''-

How many balls they brought with them, how their cranberries managed, which Berwick or Saco they came into, and finally what pension or county they got, there is no diary to tell.

It is mentioned in the history of Dunstable that just before March, Lovewell warned that he saw enemy patients but "replied" that they don't care "and fold a small eye next to a bow. He was dealing with the Indians. In the same way. "This olm is still [in nashua], a respectable and wonderful tree."

Meanwhile, after passing the Libras Square in the heaviness drill, where the river suddenly diminishes to the northwest - because our reflections predicted our progress a little - we move more in the country and on the day, which turned out to be the last. And the light size and theSecond annual activity seemed to penetrate this landscape. From time to time we had to gather all our energy to bypass a point where the river broke ripple on rocks and the edges pushed their branches on the chain, but there was usually awater on the back or whirlwind that we took. The river had about forty bars and fifteen meters deep.While the other followed the flow windings just to find his partner at a distant point and hear the referral to his adventures.Wasn't observed any house by us, it was closed among the benches that the sunny day we had to travel a lot to find out where the men lived as wanted to bees, and we had immersed wells in the loose sand andMerrimack's tissue. It is said of humanity, the inhabitants of the upper Nile and Sundbunds and Timbuctoo and Orinoko, was the experience here. Every race and male class was represented.60 years old and here it was inhabited "new lights" and men with free thinking.wise manwho pretends to reject it; But they have not yet been able to replace him with a better one. '

The other traveler maybe saw a brown hauk or a notch or a rotten rat that crawled under the friends.

Occasionally we rested in the shade of an edge or arrow and assembled a melon to update ourselves as we believed easily in the passage of the river and in human life. And like that stream, with its floating branches and leaves, so all thingsWent in front of us, while far, in the cities and fields of the same current, the old routine still continued. In fact, there is a stream and reversal in men's business, as the poet says, and yet, as things flow, they circulate and the flow balancesAlways the flow. All currents are only side elves of the sea that do not flow for themselves, and the margins are unchangeable, but for longer periods than man can measure. HAVE WEAR WHERE WE WILL, WE DO ONLY INFPECTIVE CHANGES IN DETAILS, NOTin generalities. When I go into a museum and see the mummies wrapped up in their bandages, I see that people's lives began to need reform as they walked on the ground. I walk out of the streets and meet men who declare thatThe time of redemption of the race is close. But when men lived in Thebes, they live in Dunstable today. "And we are aware that planners are repeatedly returning to common sense and work. This is the facts of history.

“Still, I don't doubt that it has worked through the ages of increasing purposes,
And men's thoughts are expanded by the sunshine process.'

There are secret articles under our relationship with the gods, more importantly than anything else that the historian can never learn.

There are many qualified apprentices, but few gentlemen. In each hand we observe a truly wise practice, in education, ethics and life art, the integrated wisdom of many old philosophers. You do not have that heresy prevailed for some time that the reforms are alreadyhas been performed? All this cosmic wisdom could be considered as the once unconditional sect of a wise man.The defined interests have a base on the ground that we did not make up enough grants. Even those who first built these chargers and they cleaned the earth,As it had suffered against. Lords of the art of life.

Now that we throw these melon seeds, how can we stop feeling refusal? Those who eat from the fruit should at least plant the seed. Yes, if possible, a better seed than the one whose fruit he enjoyed.! There are enough seeds that should only be moved on the ground where they by an inspired voice or feathers to produce fruits of divine taste.o garbage! Pay your debt to the world.Spis not seeds of institutions that the rich do butPlant it, devour the mass and the tuber to survive. A number may finally be considered a preservation worthy.

There are times when all the stress and work referred to have been tried in the endless time and the rest of nature.All workers must have their noon, and this season of the day we are all, more or less, Asians, and give our everything to work and reforms.While we lay by the oars by the creek, in today's heat, our boat held a braid out through the stapler in its wing and cut melons, which are fruits from the East, turned our thoughts to Arabia, Persia, and Hindustan, the ruminant nations of the countries forContemplation and places of residence.In this noon experience we can find some forgiveness, even for the instinct to chew opium, betel and tobacco.According to French travelers and natural scientist Botta, Mount Sabér is celebrated to produce the Kát tree whose "sore twigs and sore leaves are eaten," says its critic, "producing a pleasant and relaxing excitement, restitution from fatigue, sleep.and the mood of entertaining conversation. "We thought we could create a decent oriental life along this river, and maple and elm trees would be our cat trees.

It is a great pleasure to sometimes escape the reformers. What if these complaints exist? Well, you and me.To you do you that the sitting chickens are worried about anger over these long summer days that are sitting all the time in the gap of a hacker withoutAn active job? At the weak beats of distant chargers, I think Mrs. Natural is still interested in knowing how many eggs your chickens lay.drain swamp.væk from cytia, away from india, she makes butter and cheese.Antag all farmsit isIt runs out and we young people have to buy old countries and bring them hit, but everywhere the relentless opponents of the reform have a strange resemblance to us. And listen to the kettle song. "Oracles often give victory to our choices, not only with the order ofworldly periods. Like, for example, when they say that voluntary grief harms us in the United States as the development of private life we lead. ”As you speak can be done every morning before our miserable doors.We need not call convention.When two neighbors start eating corn bread that once ate wheat, the gods smile from ear to ear because it is very comfortable for them.You not? Don't let me stop you.

There are theoretical reformers at all times and around the world that live in expectation. Wolff traveling through the deserts of Bokhara says, "Another company with Dervixes came to me and commented:" There will be time when therewill be any difference between rich and poor, between ups and downs where the property will be ordinary. Even women and children."Derixes in the deserts of Bokhara and the Reformers in the Marlboro Chapel sing the same song."It's a good time, personal, "But one of the viewers asked humorously," can you set the date?"I said," Do you want to help? "

Indifference andTwelve-fun-ninthThe air of nature and society suggests for endless periods in human progress.The United States have free time to laugh from Maine to Texas with a joke in the newspapers, and New England is disturbed in the double circles of the Australian circles, while the poor reformers cannot hear.

People usually do not fail due to lack of knowledge, but due to the lack of caution to give preference to wisdom.What we need to know in both cases is very simple.It is very easy to create another durable and harmonious routine.Consent.Make something just to replace something and men will behave like they were exactly what they wanted.he shallIn any case, build up and process any material. There is always a current and existing life, whether better or worse that everyone combines to support. We must be slow with arranging, my friends, so slow to demand repairs, "not throwing a transcendent foot to piety according to Oracle. "At best, the tension language is just graphic. You must be calm to throw oracles. What was the enthusiasm of the priest in Delphi compared to Socrates' quiet wisdom?- or the one that was wise."Enthusiasm is a supernatural calm. ”

'Men believe that action is something else
Than in different documents they read;
Global affairs require leadership
More art than those where the employees go. "

As in geology, we can also discover the causes of all previous changes in the current unchanging social order in social institutions.The biggest remarkable natural revolutions are the work of light air, secret water and underground fire.Aristotle said, "When time never fails, and the universe is forever, neither Tanais nor the Nile could have flowed forever."We are independent of the change we discover.The longer the handle, the less noticeable its movement.It is the slower pulse that is the most vital.The hero will then know how to wait and how to hurry.All well stays with the one who waitswise; We prefer to beat dawn stay here than to run through West Hills.Sørg that each man's success is proportional to his ownaverageability. The meadow flowers open and bloom where the water annually deposits their mud, not where they reach just a little cool. A man is not your hope or your despair or your past performance. We still don't know what we've done, let alone what we're doing. Wait till night, and other parts of our day's work will shine brighter than we thought at noon, and we will discover the true purpose of our work. As when the farmer has come to the end of the furrow and looks back, he can best see where the pressed soil shines brightest.

For someone who generally tries to reflect on the true state of things, the political state can hardly be said to have any existence.It is unreal, incredible and insignificant to him, and to try to get the truth out of so lean is like making linen from the linen cloth when you can have a cane.In general, political news, domestic or foreign, can be written today for the next ten years with sufficient precision. Most revolutions in society do not have the power to interest us, even less to worry.But tell me our rivers are drawing or that the pine family is disappearing in the country and I can participate.Most events recorded in history are more notable than significant, such as the sun and lunar eclipses from which everything is drawn.But if results no one bother calculating.

But is the government ever being so well -run, someone asked that we ordinary citizens will not hear about it?"The king replied: In any case, I need a cautious and talented man who is able to administer state affairs in my kingdom. The Ek Minister said: The criterion, Mr.! For a wise and skilled man is that he does not. mingle in such cases. 'Unfortunately, the Ek Minister was almost right!

In the short experience of the short human lifeexternallyThe obstacles, if any, were not living people, but the institutions of the dead.It is gratifying to go through this last generation as fresh grass.Men are as innocent as the morning of the careless.

'And around you tomorrow, flight,
How to learn humanity day. "

He is not in this county,

“The first pilgrim greeted,
That the hills were seduced,
And many early farmers,
As he met on the road ”;And

yet all thieves and robbers. I did not foresee with so much certainty that some Cossack or Chippeway would disturb the honest and simple commonwealth, as that some monstrous institution would embrace and crush its free limbs in its scaly folds. for it must not be forgotten that although the law keeps the thief and the murderer, he is nevertheless set free. When I didn't pay the tax the government asked for the protection I didn't want, it was stolen from me. when I claimed the freedom it should have proclaimed, it imprisoned myself. Poor creature! if he doesn't know better, I don't blame him. If he cannot live, but with these means, I can. As it happens, I do not wish to be associated with Massachusetts, either in the slave trade or in the conquest of Mexico. I am slightly better than her in these respects. - As for Massachusetts, the vast confederacy of Briareus, Argus, and the Dragon of Colchis, which was to partake of the heifer and the golden skin of the constitution, we would not apologize for our respect for it. , like some compounds, to maintain their properties in all climates. "So it came to pass, not that the archdevil himself stood in my way, but the works, as lore says, were the first to stop him. They are cobwebs and trifles in an honest man's way, it is true, and at last is one caught even by his coarse and dull dress. I love man — kindly, but I hate the institutions of dead animals. Men carry out nothing so faithfully as the will of the dead, down to the last code and letter.The thereTo rule this world and the living, but its artists.Funds also have our lectures and sermons, usually.they are allDudleiano;And piety comes from exploring thatfrom, who brought his father, Anch, to the shoulders of the ruins of Troy. Or probably, like some Indian tribes, we bring ourselves relics from our ancestors on our shoulders. If, for example, a man claims his personal freedom value of the simple political public, travelinghis neighbor still him, the one who islive close bySometimes he supports him, but never the state. jail key or his staff. Here is the tragedy. Let men who outrage their proper nature, even those who are called wise and good, voluntarily perform the office of inferiors and brutes. Hence the war and slavery within? And what else cannot come of that openness? But there are certainly ways in which a man can put bread in his mouth that does not harm him as a companion and neighbor.

"Now turn again, turn again, said Pinter,
You took the wrong way,
Why did you forsake the king's way,
And he took a way over corn. ”

Doubtless innumerable reforms are needed, for society has no vitality or instinct in life, but in the state of some snakes I have seen in the early spring, with changing parts of their bodies noisy and flexible, so that they can twist . no case. All men are partially buried in the usual grave, and some of us see only the crown of the head above the ground. It is better to be physically dead because they rot more alive. Even virtue is no longer so if it is stagnant. of a man must be as constantly as fresh as this river, it must be the same channel, but new water every moment.

“Virtues like Rivers run,
But he remains the virtuous man he was."

Most men do not have slopes, nor rides or waterfalls, but swamps, crocodiles and miasma.We read that Onesicritus, when he was at Alexander's campaign, was sent to meet some members of the Indian sect of gymnosophists and talked to them about the new philosophers of the West, Pythagoras, Socrates and Diogenes, and their doctrines, one ofThese.As was called Dandamis, replied that "they seemed to him to be brilliant men, but live with a very passive respect for the laws."Philosophers in the West are still subject to this criticism."They say that Lieou-Hia-Hoei and the Chao-Lien did not make their decisions to the last and dishonor their character. His language was in harmony with reason and justice. While his actions were in harmony with the feelings of the people."

Chateaubriand said, "There are two things that strengthen the human breast, proportionate when it goes over the years: Love of the home country and religion. Encourage our hearts to a tailor correctly because of its beauty."It can be so.But even this weakness in noble mind marks the gradual deterioration of hope and youth's faith.It is the permitted infidelity of the age."Whoever was born first has the largest number of old clothes," so M. Chateaeaubriand has more old clothes than me.It is relatively a weak and reflected beauty that admires, not significant and native.Mortality and believe that they measured human power.They will not boast.They will be honest and humble.Well, let them get the few poor facilities they can have.Humility is still a very human virtue.They look at life and not to see the future.The perspective of young people is frontal and unlimited, combining the future with the present.In the day it falls, the thoughts are busy resting in the dark and hardly anxious the next morning.Preparation for the night and lethargy.The same hope and perspectives are not for those in the pink mountain peaks of life and to wait for the stage for their earthly day.

I must conclude that consciousness, if it is its name, was not given to us for any purpose or obstacle.How flattering order and convenience than seems, it is only the rest of a sleep, and we would rather be awake, no matter how stormy, and keep us on this earth and in this life as best we can, without signing our death.-guarantee.Let's see if we can't stay here where he has placed us on his own terms.When your law isn't your light?The tools of the nations bump into each other, only the absolute right is everyone's suitability.

There are some passages in Sofokles' Antigone known by scientists that I remember from this context.To perform the service that the Greeks considered so important to the enemy of their country.But the ice creams who are less resolute and kind are reduced by his sister in this work and say - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Therefore I ask those who consider me underground that I am obliged to do so. They will obey those who are placed in office. To do extreme things that are not wise."


"I wouldn't ask you, nor would you, if you still wanted to make you happy with me. That's how it seems good to you. But I will bury it. It's wonderful to do this todie., after he, as a criminal, made the sacred. Considering that time is longer than it is necessary for me to thank them below, those here because it will always lie. But if you think it is good then keep theythings that have been honored by the gods. ”


"I'm not actually considering them asky. But acting contrary to the citizens, I'm by nature unable."

Antigone brought before King Creon for a long time she asks:

"So you dare to break these laws?"


"For it was not Zeus who declared to me, Nor that justice that dwells with the gods below. It was not they who established these laws among men. Nor did I think their utterances so mighty as a mortal's, that could overcome the Unwritten and immovable laws of the gods. For they are nothing now and yesterday, but forever they live, and no one knows it from the moment they appeared. I was not ready to pay the penalty for violating them to the gods, fear the conjecture of any man. Why did I know that I should die, and why not? Even if you had not declared him."

This involved the burial of a corpse.

The wisest conservatism is Hindu." Immemorial Custom is a transcendent law," says menu. That is, it was the custom of the gods before men used it. The fault of our New England custom is that it is a monument. What is morality , but an immemorial custom? Consciousness is the leader of the conservatives."Perform the functions that are arranged," says Kreeshna in the Bhagvat-Geta."Action is better than inaction. The journey for its deadly structure may not be successful through the indolence .""The very calling of man with all his failures should not be abandoned. Every venture is involved in his shortcomings like fire in his smoke.""The man who knows that all should not deviate from his works, those who are slow from the understanding and less experienced than him.”—“Why this, O Arjun, resolve to fight,” is God's counsel to the irresolute soldier who is afraid of killing his best friends. It is a high level of conservatism. As big as the world and monotonous as time. The universe with Asian emphasis on the state that appeared in his mind. These philosophers focus on the inevitability and immutability of laws, the power of temperament and the constitution, the three atakas or qualities, and during birth and kinship. Huge comfort. Eternal absorption in Brahma. His speculations never go beyond his own plateaus, however high and vast flatness, free Tung as it were. And who can say that his conservatism was not effective? "Certainly," says a French translator, speaking of the antiquity and durability of the Chinese and Indian nation Remains of the eternal laws that govern the world. "

Christianity, on the other hand, is humane, practical and, in a broad sense, radical. So many years and ages of gods have the Eastern sages sat in contemplation of Brahma, silently saying the mysterious "om," absorbing the essence of the Supreme Being, never going out of themselves, but withdrawing deeper and deeper into themselves himself, so infinitely wise. , however infinitely stagnant. Until at length, in Asia itself, but in the western part of it, a youth appeared, quite undefined by them, — not to be swallowed up by Brahm, but to bring Brahm back to earth and mankind. For whom Brahm awoke from his long sleep and fought, and the day began - a new Avatar. Brahman never believed to be a brother of mankind as well as a son of God. Christ is the prince of reformers and radicals. Many expressions in the New Testament come naturally to the lips of all Protestants and provide the richest and most practical texts. There is no harmless dream in it, no clever speculation in it, but a substratum of common sense throughout.reflect, menhe regrets. There is no poetry in it, we can say nothing in the light of pure beauty, but moral truth is its object. All mortals are condemned by their conscience.

The New Testament is known for its pure morality.The best of Hindu writings, for its pure intellectuality.The reader is nowhere to be lifted and held to a higher level, pure electricityrarerArea of thought rather than bhagvat-geeta.Warren Hastings states in his rational letter, which constitutes the translation of this book to the President of East India Company, that the original is "of an almost unmatched superiority, reasoning and reasoning" and that the writings of the Indian philosophers "will survive when British dominionIn India, will cease to exist for a long time and when the sources of wealth and power it attributed will be lost in memory. "to us.Books must be distinguished from the greatness of their problems, even more than the way they are treated.Eastern philosophy is easily approaching higher questions than modern philosophy seeks.And it's not strange if it sometimes talks to them.OIt only attributes its proper attitude to action and contemplation or rather fully accepts the last. Western philosophers did not understand the importance of contemplation in their vision. When we talk about the spiritual discipline that Brahman's submitted to, and the wonderful abstraction power,They obtained if examples came to their knowledge, Hastings says:

"For those who have never used to separate the mind from the perception of the senses, it may not be easy to conceive when such power can be obtained. Even the greatest men in our hemisphere will find it difficult to restrain their attention, but they Will wandering to a or Removal of thought, which began in the first period of youth, and continued through many even ages of maturity, each adding a portion of knowledge to the stock accumulated by his predecessors. It does not assume much to conclude, since the mind always gains Strength, like the body, by exercise, so that in this exercise they acquired the school they aspire to, and their collective studies have led them to discover new paths and combinations of feelings, quite different from the doctrines known to other nations. Teaching , that though speculative and subtle, as they have the advantage of coming from such a free source of all accidental mixture, may be based on both the simplest and the simplest.'

'Abandoning works' was taught by Kreeshna to the oldest people and handed over from time to age,

“Until strong art loses strong art.

"In wisdom all work lies without exception," he says

“Though you are the greatest of all transgressors, you
To be able to cross the abyss of sin with the pram of wisdom. "

“There is nothing in this world that can compare with wisdom
for the purity ”.

“The action is at a distance less than its implementation
Sofia. "

The wisdom of a Moonee "is confirmed when, like the Tortoise, it can attract all its members and prevent them from their common purpose."

"Only children, not lessons, talking about speculative and practical doctrines as two. They are only one. For both, both get themselves the end of themselves, and the place obtained by supporters of one is obtained by supporters of theother."

"Man does not enjoy freedom of action, not to begin what he must do. Nor does he derive happiness from complete inactivity. No one is idle for a moment. Every man is involuntarily compelled to act in accordance with the principles inherent in him. i his nature. The man who controls his active faculties and sits with his mind attentive to his senses is called a deluded soul and a deceitful ascetic. All the functions of life, indifferent to the fact.'

"May it be motivated in practice and not in fact. Not one whose motivation for your action is the hope of reward. Do not spend your life in inactivity."

"Because the man who does what he has to do, without devotion, acquires the Supreme".

"Whoever can see how he was inactive in action and action in inactivity is wise among humanity. He is a perfect performer of all duties."

“The sages call himCandy shop, if venture is free from the idea of desire and if actions are consumed by the fire of wisdom. He gives up the desire for rewarding his actions. He is always happy and independent. And although he may be involved in a business, he does nothing.'

"He is a yogi and a sannysee who does what to do whatever its fruits. Not the one who lives without victims fire and without action."

"He who enjoys beyond the Amreeta remaining from his transmigrations obtains the eternal spirit of Brahm, the Supreme."

What in the end is the practice of the life of life? I hope to do but a passing thought or vision or dream I had. I will give all the wealth of the world and all the actions of all heroes to a true vision. How can I communicate with the gods who are pencil on earth and not crazy?

"I'm the same in all humanity," says Kreeshna, "no one deserves my love or my hate."

This doctrine is not practical in the sense of the New Testament.It doesn't always make sense in practice.Brahman never bravely sets out to attack the evil, but it patients patiently.Your active skills are paralyzed by the idea of role crew, insurmountable boundaries, fate and tyranny of the time.Kreeshna's argument, it must be admitted, is deficient.There is no sufficient reason why Arjoon should fight.Arjoon may be convinced but it's not the reader, for the verdict is hisno“He is formed with his speculative doctrinesOf. ”“ SEARCH ONLY WITH ASLY ASLY. ”But what is the wisdom of a western mind? The duty he is talking about is arbitrary. When was it established? Brahman's virtue consists of doing things not right but arbitrary. What” mustA man do "? What is" action "? What is" pure functions "? What is" a man's religion "which is so much better than another's religion? What is" a man's special calling "? What duties are assigned byBirth? It is a defense of the caste institution, for what is called Kshetree's "natural duty" or soldier, "to stick to discipline", "don't leave the field" and the like. But those who don't care about the consequences of their actions,Therefore, do not care about their actions.

See the difference between Eastern and WesternThe vest.But it is relatively weak; here it is conservatism. He says not abandon his calling, not overcoming any institution, do not use violence, do not break any bond. The state is your father.In virtue or masculinity is completely branch.Thereis a battle between East and West in all nations.Some who will always consider the sun and others running toward sunset. The first class tells the second: When you reach the sunset you won't be closer to the sun. As the last respondson but we extend the day.The first 'only goes the night when everyone will rest in their nightagain.The thoughtful moonee sleeps but his dayagain, when everything wakes up. ”

To complete these excerpts I can say, in Sanjay's words: "As, mighty prince! I remember again and again this holy and wonderful dialogue between Kreeshna and Arjoon, I continue more and more to be happy. I remember in my memory,Much more than a form of miraculous hambida, my surprise is great, and I admire and enjoy it over and over again! Wherever Kreeshna can be the god of affection wherever Arjoon the mighty Bowman can also be no doubt, it is luck, wealth,victory and good behavior. It's my firm conviction. "

I would say to the readers of Scripture, if they want a good book that reads Bhagvat-Beta, an episode of Mahabharat, allegedly written by Kreeshna Dwypayen Veias, known to have been written by ——, more than before four thousand years, - It doesn't matter if three or four, or when - translated by Charles Wilkins. It deserves to be read with reverence, even by Yanks as part of a godly people's holy writings. And the intelligent Jew will gladly find aMagnificent and moral expertise similar to their own writings.

To an American reader who can with the advantage of his position see over this strip of the Atlantic coast of Asia and the Pacific, which, so to speak, sees the coast ascend to the Alps in the Himmaleh Mountains, the relative Europe's recent literature often works partially and sectional oriented, and despite the limited series of his own sympathies and studies, the European author, who intends to speak for the world, is perceived by him as being only speaking to the corner he inhabits.Scientists and critics condemn in their classification of the world's values the narrowness of its European culture and the exclusivity of its reading.None of his sons did justice to poets and philosophers in Persia or India.They were still known by their commercial scholars rather than their professional poets and thinkers.You may want to search in vain through English poetry after a single memorable line inspired by these themes.Nor should Germany be excluded, although its philological industry indirectly serves the cause of philosophy and poetry.Even Goethe wanted the brilliant universality that could have appreciated India's philosophy if he had come closer.His genius was more practical, lived far more in the regions of understanding and was less native to contemplation than the geniuses of these sages.It is noteworthy that Homer and some Hebrews are the most oriental names, such as modern Europe, whose literature emerged from the decline of the Persians has admitted its list of merits and maybemost worthymankind and the fathers of modern thought,—for the reflections of the Indian sages influenced and still influence the spiritual development of mankind,—whose works, though they survive in wonderful integrity, are for the most part unrecognized as they ever were. If lions were painters, it would be different. In everyone's youthful dreams, philosophy is still vague, but inseparable, and with a singular truth, bound to the East, not even after years of discovering its local home in the Western world. In comparison with the philosophers of the East, we can say that modern Europe has not yet given birth to anyone. Beyond the vast and cosmogonic philosophy of the Bhagvat-Geeta, even Shakespeare strikes us as jovial and merely practical at times. Some of these wonderful sentences, like the Chaldean oracles of Zoroaster, which still survive after a thousand revisions and translations, alone make us doubt whether poetical form and dress are not transitory and necessary to the most effectual and lasting expression of thought.Ex oriente luxIt may still be the motto of the learned, for the Western world has not yet taken from the East all the light it is destined to receive there.

It would be worth time to print the collected writings or holy writings from the various nations, the Chinese, the Hindus, the Persians, the Jews and others, such as the writing of humanity. The New Testament is still very much on the lips and hearts of the people to be calledWriting in this regard.A such confrontation and comparison can help free men's faith.This is a project that time will surely process, intended for cluster for printing. It was the Bible or Book of Books that let missionaries communicate to theabsolute parts of the earth.

As we deal with these reflections, remember that we are the only ocean, suddenly a canal boat with their candles, glided round a point in front of us, like a great river animal, changing the scene at a time. And then Another and another slipped into view, and we meet back to the stream of commerce. So we throw our husks into the water to squeeze the fish and add our breath to the lives of living people. We did not think of the distant Garden where we had planned the seed, and we diverted this fruit where they ate. Our melons were at home in the sandy background of the Merrimack and our potatoes in the sun and water in the bottom of the boat seemed a fruit in the land. And we congested the river in solitude, again constantly messy until noon, between the areas of Nashua, on the one hand, and the Hudson, once not at Nottingham, on the other. Summer flies the first with intense impulses instead of a Steady wheel with this short rudder and plays its rattle along the river.

Soon another bubble in sight crawling downstream?Hands far away from between the hills, which took this remedy to reach the coast and see the world.And visit the Falkland Islands and the Chinese Sea before they see the Merrimack water again, otherwise they will not come back this way forever.They had already initiated Landsman's private interests in the larger business of the match and were ready to lose with humanity, retaining only the breast shield for themselves.Our way.Which complaint does its roots have in the hills of New Hampshire?Do we ask?What does human life here want these men to rush with the antidote?We pray that your bright expectations will not be crushed.

Although all destinations must be bad,
Don't leave your homeland.
The ship, quiet, stops.
The step should be below ground.
But our luck continues with rapid steps
To meet us everywhere.

The boat, even if its tissue is firm,
During her copper, she wears a worm.
Around the cover, at the other end of the line,
Even the ice fields are limited.
As smooth as the breeze,
How low or deep the seas,
Whether you wear manilla yarn,
Or in its amplifiers the wine of the tree,
Or China tea or Spanish skins,
In port or quarantine he goes for walks.
Far from the charming coast of New England,
The New England worm will bring,
And lower her in the sea of India,
Topic, wine and skin and porcelain.

We passed through a small desert here on the east bank, between heaviness drill and Hudson, which was interesting and even refreshing to our eyes in the almost worldwide world.This sand was actually quite impressive and beautiful for us.Mark on the Nashua side, told us he remembered when maize and cereals grew there, and it was a grown field.But finally, the fishermen lifted because it was a place to fish, the bushes to the coast, and they were easier to drag the fruits, and as the coast broke, the wind began to swell up the sand from the coast until it had covered around fifteen Acres along its length.In the depth of several legs, on an old surface, the basis of a exposed Indian wig, a perfect circle of burnt stones, four or five feet in diameter, mixed with fine charcoal and bones of small animals that had been held in the sand, others burned stones on which their fire was built, as well as with an arrow stone girl, and we found a perfect arrow tip.One place we noticed where an Native American had been sitting to make arrows of quartz, and the sand was sprinkled with a quarter of small pieces that look like glass as large as a quadrop as he had cut in his work.The Indians have been fishing before the whites arrived.There was another similar sand area about half a mile above it.

But noon prevailed, and we turned the bow to swim and lay under some buds, near a ledge of cliffs, in a distant meadow running down to the water's edge, and of pine trees and hazel in the town of Hudson..He still had India and the old dinner philosophy the best part of our thoughts.

It is always unique but encouraging to find common sense in very old books like Veeshnoo Sarma's hetopadas.After the experience of recent years.This promise of logic cannot be stored in a book, which sometimes reflected comfortably.A desert, and it is as vague as the camel's path between Mouzouk and Darfour.It is a comment on the flow and so -called modern books as the flow of history sinks into the past.Of the great poems, they will give their feeling in each percent to the rushed and conscious reader.For practice, wisdom will be common.The traveler can rain his lips or an army can complete his work in a complete stream.

One of the most attractive of the old books I met is the menu.According to Sir William Jones, "Viasa, son of Paasara, decided that he seals with his arsa or six compositions derived from it, Discovery Medicine System, Puree or Holy Stories and the Menu Code, there were four top power projects that should never be shakenhuman arguments. "grandson of Brahma" and "The first of the built beings." And Brahma says "he taught his laws in the menu in a hundred thousand verses, as the menu explained to the primitive world with the very word in the book that isbeen translated now ". which has been subjected to successive abbreviations to ease mortals," while the gods from the lower sky and the group of heaven musicians are involved in the study of the primary code.They are Dherma Sastra, in a collective sense or a law body.“Bhatta was one of the most modern of them.

Each holy book in order was accepted with the belief that it should be the rest of the living soul.But in the end, it was just a caravan that gave the traveler a soda and directed him to Isfahan or Bagdat.No Hindu tyranny prevailed in the world's context, but we are free from the universe and are not doomed to anyone throwing.

I know no book that comes to us with greater intentions than this one, and it is so impersonal and honest that it is never offensive or ridiculous.Compare the ways in which modern literature is advertised with the prospectus of this book and think about what the reading public says what criticism awaits.It seems to have been pronounced from some East Summit with a sober morning prophecy at the beginning of the times, and you can't read a sentence without it being lifted up as on Ghauts Plateau ... It has a rhythm that the desert wins, atides as a Ganges, and is as superior to criticism as the Himmaleh Mountains.His tone is of such a substance that he even on this late, timeless day does not use English and Sanskrit dress.And their firm phrases keep their fire in check, like the stars, from whose crushed rays this underworld are informed.The whole book with noble gestures and bends makes many words unnecessary.English sense involved but Hindu wisdom never provoked.Although the sentences unfold as we read them, unknown and initially almost countless, like the petals of a flower, they sometimes surprise us with the rare form of wisdom that could only be learned from the slightest experience.But it comes to us as refined as porcelain soil sinking to the bottom of the sea.They are pure and dry as petrified truths that have been exposed to the elements for thousands of years, so unexpected and scientifically true that they are adorned in the room and the closet.ethicalPhilosophy is extremely rare. This menu covers more of our privacy than most. It is a more private and well-known word and at the same time a more public and universal word than is spoken in the living room or the pulpit today. domestic fowls have their original in the wild pheasant of India; therefore our domestic thoughts have their original thoughts in the thoughts of their philosophers. We deal with the elements of our own conventional and real life. It was like the primordial monastery where the questions to be decided were how to eat, drink, sleep and maintain our life with proper dignity and honesty. He is later and more intimate with us, even as the tips of our closest friends. And yet it is true of the wider horizon, and reading out of doors is related to the dark mountain, and is inherent and native there. Most books belong only to the house and the street, and in the fields their leaves look very thin. They are naked and clear, and have no halo or mist upon them. good and just behind it all But this, as it comes, faces, Man's deepest and most lasting spring, Its truth still speaks fresh in our experience. It helps the sun to shine and its rays fall on its side to reflect it. and his influence lingers around us like a fragrance at the end of the day. He carries a new glow to meadows and forest depths, and his spirit, like a finer ether, seeks with land winds. and a summer day jackets are only later or earlier gloss on the Dherma Sastra of Hindus, a continuation of the sacred code. As we have said, there is an Orientalism in the most ardent pioneer, and the farthest west is only the farthest east. These proposals, this modern world looks like a reprint of the menu laws with the gloss of Culluca. Tested by a New England eye, or the simple practical wisdom of modern times, they are the oracles of a race already in its stage, but held up to heaven, which is the only impartial and incorruptible test, is a piece depth and its serenity, and I am sure they will have a place and importance as long as there is heaven to experience them.

Tell me a sentence that no intelligence can understand.There must be some kind of life and pulsation, and under your words a kind of blood should circulate forever.It is wonderful that this sound has come down to us from such a long distance when man's voice can be heard so little and we are now not in contact with anyone contemporaries.Lawyers fell here an old pine forest and brought in these distant hills a beautiful lake to the southwest.And now, in a moment, it is clearly seen in this forest, as if its image had been raised here from eternity.Maybe these old stumps remember on the hill as this lake once shone on the horizon.One wonder if the bare soil did not even experience a tension by seeing such a beautiful view again.This beautiful water lies in the sun, thus revealed, so much the more proud and more beautiful because its beauty was not to be seen.It still seems lonely, sufficient for itself and superior observation.- Thus, these old claims, like quiet lakes in the southwest, are revealed in the long run for us, which so long reflects our own sky in their breasts.

The great plain in India is a lime between the Himalayas and the North and South Ocean and Brahmapotra and Indo to the East and West, where the original race was fought. We do not dispute the story. We are happy to read in the country's natural history, "Pine, Larch, Spruce and Silver Fir ", which covers the southern side of the Himmaleh -mountain range.from" gooseberries, raspberries, strawberries ", which from an experienced zone overlook the plains. So it was with the active modern life, in the midst of the greatness and difficultiesBy these Oriental plains. In another time, "Lily of the Valley, Primula, dandelions had to" work on the plain and bloom at a level of levels around the ground. The season of the experienced zone has arrived, Pinheiro and Carvalho Station,Because Palmeira and Banian do not satisfy wishes this season. The lows of the rocks play their level.

As for the doctrines of the Brahmines, we are not so much interested in knowing what doctrines they had, but whether they were complied with by anyone.We can tolerate all philosophies, atomists, spiritualists, atheists, theists, - Plato, Aristotle, Leucippus, Democrit, Pythagoras, Zoroaster and Confucius.It is the attitude of these men, more than any kind of communication that attracts us.Between them and their commentators, there is an endless polemics.But if that's what it's all about comparing notes, then you're wrong.As it is, each us transports us to the peaceful sky, where the smallest bubble rises as safely as the greatest and paints the earth and sky for us.Any sincere thought is irresistible.The Freightness of the Brahmines itself is attractive to the devoted soul, as a finer and nobler luxury.Desires that are so easily and gracefully fulfilled seems like a more refined pleasure.Your perception of creation is as peaceful as a dream."When that power is awakened, this world has its full extent. But when he sleeps with a calm spirit, the whole system disappears."In the actual ambiguity of his teogoni, an extremely truth has been hinted at.It hardly allows the reader to rest on any first highest case, but directly suggests an even higher, which created the last one., and the creator is still behind the climb.

We will also not interfere with the ancient writing."From fire, air and sun" had "fallen".One can also examine the chronology of light and heat.Let the sun shine.Best when he said, "They better know the parts of days and nights that understand that Brahma's Day, which lasts at the end of a thousand of such ages, [endless ages, however, according to the deadly competition] creates virtuous enterprises.and that their night lasts as their day. "In fact, the Muslim and tartaric dynasties are beyond all dating.I seem to have lived under them.In every man's brain is Sanskrit.The Vedas and their Andes are not as old as peaceful thinking.Why should they be imposed on seniority?Is the baby young?When I see him, he looks more venerable than the older man.He is older than the Nestor or the Sibylls and wears his father Saturn's wrinkles.And we live, but in the present?What is the breadth?Now I'm sitting on a suitcase whose poor counts centuries of growth.If I look around, I see that the earth consists of the remains of these tree trunks, of ancestors in it.The soil is covered with mold.I praised this rod in many eons deep in its surface, and with my heel I cut a furrow deeper than the elements have cut here for a thousand years.Egypt, and a farm hens remove drumming on a tree trunk, which was the pulsation of the summer air.I grow my freshest and most beautiful flowers in the old mold.What we would do in the new is not superficial.The soil is not yet colored by it.It is not the fertile soil we walk on, but the leaves that waves over our heads.The youngest is the oldest who has become visible to our senses.When we dig the ground a thousand feet below the surface, we call it Nova and the plants that extend from it.And when our vision penetrates deeper into the room and discovers a more distant star, we call it a nova.The place where we sit is called Hudson, - once was Nottingham, - just

We must read the story as little as we consider the landscape and interest more in the atmospheric nuances and the different lights and shadows created by the intervening spaces than in their foundations and composition., the same sun, but a new light and atmosphere. Its beauty is like sunset. It is not a mural on the wall, flat and outlined, but atmospheric and wandering or free. In fact, history stretches like the face of the landscape from morning to night. What is the moment is your shadow and your color. Time does not hide taxes. We don't want itafter, But it isnot.The do not complain that the mountains on the horizon are blue and unmistakable, they look more like heaven.

What moment are the events that can miss - which should be mentioned?The monument over death will survive the memory of the dead.The pyramids do not tell the story they trust.The living event remembers itself.Why look for darkness to light?Strictly speaking, historical communities have not regained an event from oblivion, but rather the event that has been lost is the same.The researcher is more memorable than the researcher.The audience admired the fog and the weak contours of trees that looked through it as one of the many began to explore the phenomenon and with new wonder, turned all eyes to his shady figure.It's amazing how little collaborative associations remember from the past.His story really had a different muse than she had been awarded her.There is a good example of the way the whole story began in the Arabian Chronicle of Alwákidis: 'I was informed byAhmed Al -Matin Al -Jarhmi, of whom he hadIbn qais slope to me, of whom he hadSaiph ebn Fabalah Alchâtquarmi, of whom he hadThabet Ibn Al Qamathat said he was present in the action. ”These parents in history were not eager to preserve, but to learn the fact. And therefore it was not forgotten. The critical dimension exercises in vain to reveal the past.pastIt can notintroduced; We can't know what we aren't. But a veil hangs over the past, the present and the future, and it is up to the historian to find out what it was but what it is. How fought for a battle,Would you like to find nothing but bones of men and animals. Where there is battle, the hearts hit. HAVE US SITE AGE A MUCH AND GET A BAD MODS, DON'T TRY TO SET THESE SKILLS STANDING AGAIN. Natural remembers, he thinks, he thinks,that theyeramen or not likely that theyit isBones?

The ancient story has an atmosphere of antiquity.It should be more modern.It is written as if the viewer thinks behind the picture of the wall, or as if the author expects the dead to be his readers and will tell his own experience in detail.People seem impatient to take a regular retreat throughout the centuries, and the reconstruction works mighty while being hit by the waves of time.But as they roam, they and their works fall sacrifices for the upside -out enemy.Neither is the freshness of the mother.It makes it as if it were at the beginning of things, something that natural history could reasonably assume what it does.But think of world history and then told us: When sprouted College and Platani first?, Mostly wrote that the stations he describes is named with remarkable decencyDark years.The darkness, as mentioned, because we are very dark over them.The sun rarely shines in history what happens to dust and confusion.And when we find some applause that involves the presence of this luminaire, we distracted it.We read in the Saxon History that Edwin Da Northubria "caused the bunkers to arrest highways where he had seen a pure spring," and "the bronze dishes were indicted for them to rejuvenate the tired host whose tired host experienced himself himself. ”.This is also worth the twelve strokes in Arthur.

“Through the world shade we examined the younger day:
Better 50 years in Europe than a return in Catai.
Better than fifty years of Europe a damned New England!

Biography is also subject to the same objection.It must be autobiography.Let's not, as the Germans advise, try to go abroad and stop our gut so we can be someone else to explain it.If not me who will be??

But it is appropriate that the past is dark.Although darkness is not so much a trait of the past as tradition.It is not a distance of time, but a distance of conditions that makes its memorials dark.It's fair and bright.Greece spreads beautifully and sunny in a stream of light because there is sun and daylight in her literature and art.Homer doesn't let us forget that the sun was shining, neither Phidias nor Parthenon.However, no time was completely dark, nor will we hurry to the historian and congratulate ourselves with a flame of light If we could penetrate the darkness of these distant times, we had to find it easy enough.bladeIt is not our day. Some beings are created to look in dark. There have always been the same amount of light in the world.New and lost stars, comets and eclipses do not affect the overall lighting because only our glasses appreciate. The earliest fossilsEyes tell us, show that the same Light Laws then prevailed as now. The light laws are always the same, but the shapes and degrees they see varies. The gods are few at all times but constantly shining their lights in the sky while the observer's eyeturns into stone.There was only the sun and the eye from the beginning. The age did not add a new radius to one, nor did they change one fiber of the other.

If we accept the time in our thoughts, the mythologies, these remains of ancient poems, shipwreck of poems, so to speak, the world's legacy, which still reflects some of its original greatness, as fragments of clouds colored by its rays the sun leaving;Arriving on the last summer day and allies this hour with the morning of creation.As the poet sings:

“Fragments of the high -performing
They flow by the year water in the years,
How is flowing in the Stormy Center
A separate shipwreck appears. "

These are the materials and suggestions for a story about the breed's emergence and progress.How it came from the state of the ants to the state of the people and the art was gradually invented.Thousands of speculation have shed some light on this story.Historical and even geological periods that would allow us to doubt progress in human affairs.If we stand above this wisdom for the day, we will hope that this morning of the breed where it received the simplest essential things, with corn, wine, honey, oil, petroleum and fire and articulated speech and agricultural and other art, which is gradually created from human state of ants, will succeed with a day of equally progressive brightness.And divine people will help raise the breed far above its current situation, but we don't know much about it.

Then a traveler daydreams while his partner slept on the coast.Suddenly, a boatman's horn from coast to coast sounded to warn that he was approaching the peasant wife with whom he was going to eat, even though he seems to hear musk and alkies.The flow of our pondering and our sleeping sleep weighs once again.

As we followed on our way in the afternoon, the western margin became lower or dropped more than the channel in some places, leaving some trees just for a walk through the edge of the water.American Tilia, Also called Tilia or Tilia, which was a new tree for us, hovering over the water with its wide, rounded leaf, possessed with small -berries -curls that were now almost ripe and formed a pleasant shade for us sailors. The inner shellOf this genre is Rattan, Fisherman's Treadmill material and peasant strings and shoes so used by the Russians and of nets and a rude cloth in some places. According to the poets it was philyra, one of oceanids. It is said that theyOld uses their peel to cover straw houses, baskets and a type of paper called philyryr.the also made buckles with their wood, "because of their flexibility, ease and elasticity." It has been widely used to sculpt and still sought to strongPiano plates and wagon panels, and for various uses where hardness and flexibility are needed. Curve and cribs are made with the branches. Its juice produces sugar and honey made of its flowers is considered preferred to any other. Its leaves are indicated in some countriesFor cattle, a kind of chocolate was produced from its fruits, a medicine was made from an infusion of its flowers, and finally the coal in its tree is much appreciated as a crutter.

The appearance of this tree reminded us that we had reached a strange country for us. When we throw this summit of the leaves, we saw the sky through its flaps and, as it was, the meaning and idea of the tree sealed in a thousand hieroglyfik in heaven.The universe is so appropriately placed in our organization that the eyes roam and reinstall at the same time. On all sides there is something to reassure and update that feel.dit work there. See how the pine trees push without a higher and higher margin and a sweet margin onThe Earth.

In all her products, nature only develops its simplest bacteria.You would say that creating birds was no big invention.The hawk, which now hovers over the forest, was perhaps only a leaf that swayed in its times.

Salmon Brook comes in west below the railroad, a mile and a half below the village of Nashua. We paddled enough that the meadow around you can learn your fishing story with a scarecrow on your banks. He told us the silver eel used to be plentiful here. and pointed to some stones which were sunk in his mouth. This man's memory and imagination were fertile in the fishermen's stories of floating islands in back islands and mysteriously full of fish, and they would have kept us up late at night to hear, but we had cannot afford to think luxury. In that ., and then we parted again in our sea. Though we have never set foot on these meadows, but just played their banks with our hands, we still hold a pleasant memory of them.

Salmon Brook, whose name is said to be a translation of the Native American, was a favorite hangout for the Aborigines.Here, too, the first white settlers planted from Nashua, and some lows in the country where their homes once lay, and the remains of old apple trees are still visible.About a mile up of this river lay the house of the old John Lovewell, who was a Fenrik in Oliver Cromwell's army and father of "The famous Captain Lovewell".He settled here before 1690 and died around 1754, one hundred and twenty years old.He is believed to have participated in the famous Narragansett Swamp Fight held in 1675 before coming here.It is said that the Indians spared him from several wars because of his kindness against them.Even in 1700 he was so old and gray that his scalp was worthless, as the French governor no reward for it.I was standing in the cave in his basement on the shores of the river and talked to someone whose grandfather had spoken whose father might have spoken to Lovewell.Here he also had a mill in his old days and a small shop.Some recently alive remembers him as an old man chasing the boys from his orchard with his cane.Think of the deadly man's triumphs, and what poor trophies to show, to say as follows: - He made shoes without glasses on a hundred, cutting a beautiful strip of a hundred and five!It is said that the Lovewell house was the first thing that Mrs.Dustan caught up with his escape from the Indians.Here the hero from Pequawket was probably born and raised.Nearby can be seen Joseph Hassell's basement and tombstones, who, as recorded elsewhere, with his wife Anna and their son Benjamin and Mary Marks, "were killed by our Indian enemies on September 2 [1691] in the afternoon".Like Gookin, on a previous occasion, "The Indian stick on the back of the English had not yet made God's will."Salmon Brook near its mouth is still a lonely creek that winds through forests and meadows, while Nashua's then uninhabited mouth echoed with the rumbling from an industrial city.

A brook from Otternic Pond on the Hudson passes just above Salmon Brook on the opposite side. bridge up. Just after passing the village of Nashua, on the river of the same name, where there is a covered bridge over the Merrimack. The Nashua, which is one of the largest tributaries, flows from Wachusett Mountain, through Lancaster, Groton, and other towns, where it has formed noted meadows, but near its mouth it is blocked by falls and factories, and we are not tempted to to explore it.

Away from here, in Lancaster, with another companion, I spent the wide valley nashua that we have seen west so long ago Concord Colinas without seeing the blue mountains on the horizon. So many streams, so many meadows and forests and quiet men's homeswas hidden between us and the charming mountains; - From the hill on the road to the heaviness drill you can have a good view of them. There the uninterrupted forest looked like our young eyes, between two nearby pine trees on the horizon, placed the Nashua valley, and itPower was then at the bottom, and then, as now, it was calm to mix the water with the Merrimck. Skyers floated over their meadows and was born there, so far in the west, golden by the landscape's rays, had adorned a thousand night sky to us.. In the summer and winter, our eyes had landed on the much overview of the mountains where distance and indifference gave foreign greatness so that they interpreted all reports of poets and travelers. So in our minds: -

At the strength of the border you remain firm,
With good content you circulate,
Turbulent silence for all sounds,
You are a distant nursery with streams,
Monadnock and as Colinas de Peterborough;-
Constant argument that never moves,
Overcome the philosophers, -
As a huge fleet,
Sails in rain and hail,
Through the cold of winter and summer heat.
You still keep your high experience,
Until you find a shore between the skies.
I don't scrape close to the ground,
With lots of contraband,
Because those who sent a venture from you
They set the sun down so you can see
Your honesty.

Ships of the line, each one,
You run to the west,
Which clung in their lanterns,
Always before the storm,
During a click of the candle,
By weight of metal, - -
It seems that I feel in my permanent position here,
Depth of immense detention,
And the width of the beam and the length of the drive mechanism

Wax up, you get luxurious enjoyment
In his western leisure novel.
So cold eyebrows and fresh blue,
Over time, you didn't have to do it.
Located at its length,
Insufficient strength,
Primitive wood not sawed,
At the knees so stiff, for the masts so elastic.
The stock from which new soil is made,
One day you will be oursvestreplacement,
Suitable for builders of a world
Which through the ocean of space is launched.

While we enjoy a prolonged radius,
You are still on the western day,
Rest there, in the mouth of God
Like solid piles of hay.
A line as bold as NE's were written
On any side of the human spirit.
The forest just shines
An enemy's fires shone
Langs Horisonten,
Or today's funeral pyre
Were they turned on there?
Cut with silver and gold,
Clouds hover in the apricot fold,
And with amber so deep
The west is ready,
Where even some rays slant,
That even the sky looks exaggerated.
Hill Watatic
Placed on the horizon's frame
As a joke of a juicy child,
And other mistakes left and right,
At the edge of the earth, the mountains and the trees
Stay as it was on busy air,
Or as both in a shelter
Wait for the morning breeze.
I still imagine
Through your villains you climb to the sky.
And anyway, in spite of the side of the story,
Delay the times of yellow and silver.
in suffering
The news of the future centuries is being treated,
And the dynasties of the new tanks,
Between remote is worth.

But I especially remember you,
WACUATTH which I like
Alone without society.
Your eye very blue,
A remnant of heaven,
Looking through release or Canyon,
Or the writer's windows,
Fermented all that is going on.
Nothing is true
But stand between me and you,
Your western pioneer,
Who knows no shame or fear,
with a risk spirit
Under the sky's roof cut.
And you can extend you there,
And do you breathe enough air?
Even beyond the West
You migrating
In unauthorized areas,
Without the pilgrimage sow,
Burning you up
With good metropathy, the eyebrow,
And make a brilliance in the sky.
Support the sky, holding the earth,
His hobby since birth.
It is not fixed by one or bent by another,
I can approve myself my worthy brother!

Like Russella and other residents of happy valleys, we decided to climb up the blue wall that limited the western horizon, although there was no doubt that there would be no fairy in sight for us. But it would be forlong to say.Our's adventure, and this afternoon we do not have time that performs us imaginatively for this obscurity in the Nashua valley, to overcome this pilgrimage again. Since then we have made many similar excursions on the most important mountains in New England andNew York, Desert, and spent an evening at the top of many of them. And now that we looked again west of our native hills, Wachuske and Monadnock are again pulled back between the blue and lovely mountains on the horizon, even though our eyeslands in our own cliffs where we set our tent for one night and we cook our rushed lips in the clouds.

Until 1724 there was no house on the north side of Nashua, but only wigwams scattered and dark woods between this border and Canada. In September of that year two men who were working in the manufacture of Terebintina on that side, when this was the first operations in the wilderness, captured and taken to Canada by a party of thirty Indians. Ten of the inhabitants of Dunstable, who went to them, found their cut barrel-rims and Terebintina scattered on the floor. I was told by an inhabitant of Tyngsboro, who had the story of his ancestors, that one of these prisoners, when the Indians were about to overturn his barrel of Terebintina, took a pine tree and blossomed him, swearing so firmly that he would he Kill the first that touched him, which they avoided , and when he finally returned from Canada, he found him standing. There was perhaps more than one barrel. In any case, the scouts knew by the marks in the trees, made with charcoal mixed with tallow, that men were not killed, but captured. A of the group named Farwell, realizing that the Terebintina had not spread, concluded that the Indians had left for some time and therefore immediately chased them. Contrary to Farwell's advice, following their trail directly to the Merrimack, they were ambushed near Thornton's Ferry in the present town of Merrymack, and nine were killed, only one, Farwell, escaped after a pursuit. Dunstable's men left and took their bodies and carried them to Dunstable and buried them. It is almost word for word as in the ballad of Robin Hood:

'They took these forests to Nottingham's law,
As many knew,
They dug their graves in the courtyard of their church,
And they buried them all in a row. "

Nottingham is on the other side of the river and it wasn't exactly set up.You can read in the cemetery in Dunstable under 'Memento Mori' and the name of one of them how they 'left this life' and

'This man with seven others who are in
This grave was killed in a day
Indians ”.

Around the mass grave are the stones from some other companies with their separate inscriptions, eight were buried here, but nine were killed, according to the best authorities.

“Running river, gentle river,
Yes, your streams are dirty with mud,
Many brave and noble captains
It flows along the slender coast.

'All next to your soluble water,
All next to your bright sand,
IndianChristian leaders and fighters
They participated in a tough and deadly battle."

It is stated in the history of Dunstable that the Indians in the return of the Farwell were engaged by a new group which they forced to retreat and pursued to Nashua, where they fought through the stream on their mouths. After the Indian departure became the figure of aIndian head sculpture in a large tree by the sea found, giving its name to the part of the village of Nashville, "Indian Head." "It was observed by some cautious people," Gokin says, referring to Philips War, "that the English soldiers inThe beginning of the war did nothing for the Indians and many said words in this respect: that English was enough to chase ten Indians many thought it was nothing butI came, I saw, I conquered.But we can conclude that the sane would have made a different observation now.

Farwell seems to have been the only one who studied his subject and understood what it was with chasing Indians.He lived to fight another day, for the next year he was Lovewell's lieutenant at Pequawket, but this time, as we tell, he left his bones in the desert.Its name still reminds us of twilight days and forest scouts on Indian paths with troubled scalp;A absolutely necessary in New England.As Lovewell's last fighting poet sang, stopping, but still courageous:-

“So they made the purple streams flowing
It looks like the water of water,
This glamorous glow, this mighty panel,
Far below the Ayochuk cliffs."

These matches look incredible.I think that later will doubt if there was anything.If our bold ancestors who inhabited this land would probably not have fought against the shadows of the forest and not a naughty race of people.It was the vapors, the fever and dawn of unstable forests.Now only a few arrowheads are lifted from the plow.In Pelasgias, Etruscan or British history, there is nothing so dark and unreal.

It is a wild and outdated, shrub -covered cemetery on the road, about a quarter kilometer and overlooking Merrimok, with a desert factory bordering on three or four miles below.You can read the names of Lovewell, Farwell and many others whose families were characterized in the Indian War.Square, lying on the floor of relics from the first shepherd and his wife.

It is noteworthy that the dead are everywhere under the stones, -

“The lie shrinked by accidentofand all below ”plate-

bodies, we could say if the measure allowed it.When the stone is light, it does not suppress the traveler's mind when it meditates with it.But these seemed to us a little pagan.And all the major monuments on human bodies, from the pyramids downwards.A memorial should at least be "pointed to by a star" to show where the spirit disappeared from, not lying down like the body it left behind.There were some nations that could do nothing but build graves, and these are the only traces they left behind.They are Gentiles.But why do these stones, so straight and emphatic, like exclamation points?What was so remarkable that he lived?Why should the monument be so much more lasting than the fame it is meant to immortalize - a stone in the bone?"Here lies" - "here lies";- Why do they sometimes write: It goes up?Is a monument over the body all that is intended?“After reaching his mandatenaturallife'; - wouldn't it be more true to say, having achieved his mandateunnaturalZoe? The rarest quality of an epitaph is the truth. If any character is given, it must be as strict as the decisions of the three judge and not the partial testimony of friends. Friends and contemporaries should only give the name and date and leave posterwrite the epitaf.

Here's an honest man,
Vice of.


Believe, so you have
Two in a grave,
And here's the recorder.

Fame itself is just an epitaph. So late, so false, so true. But it's only the real epitaphs that old mortality retouches.

A man may well pray so that it is not taboo or curse any part of nature and bury himself in it. Most of the time the spirit of The Godfather makes a terrifying con to haunt his grave and so to Little John's credit, the famous successor of Robin Hood, reflecting positively on his character that his grave was "long". Famous for producing excellent limestone. "I confess that I have a little love for such collections as the Catacombs, Père La Chaise, Mount Auburn, and even in this Dunstable Cemetery. Anyway, nothing less than great antiquity can make cemeteries interesting to me. I have no friends there. I am possibly unable to write the poetry of the grave. The farmer who cleared his field can leave his body to nature Arar and to some extent restore his fertility. We should not be delayed but promote their economies.

Soon the village of Nashua was out of sight, and the forests were taken over again and we sank late before sunset and were looking for a lonely place to spend the night.Some night clouds began to reflect on the water and the surface was just etched here and there by one by one by one by one and one and there.Muska runs through power.We camped near Penichook Brook, the border of Nashville, in a deep gorge, under the skirts of a pine where dead pine leaves were our blanket, and its broken branches stretched over our heads.But the fire and the tobacco died quickly on the spot.The rocks agreed to be our walls and our pine trees.A forest was already the most suitable place for us.

The desert is close and dear to all men. Even the oldest villages owe the boundary of the wild forest around them rather than human gardens. There is something indescribably inspiring and beautiful in the aspect of the care of the forest and occasionally thrown in the middle of new cities, such asLike the sand of new foxes burst into their midst. The integrity of pine trees and boundaries attests nature's ancient integrity and strength. Our life needs the relief of such a background where the pine tree blooms and gaio still screams.

We had found a safe harbor for our boat, and when the sun went down he lifted our furniture, and we soon had our house on the beach in order, and while the kettle boiled in the tent door we talked with friends far away and the sights seen, see and wondered how far apart the cities were. Our cocoa was soon boiled, and our supper smeared on our breasts, and we prolonged this meal, like travelers of old, with our conversation. Meanwhile we spread the map on the ground and read in the Gazetteer when the first settlers arrived here and took possession of a township. So when dinner was over and we wrote our journal of travel, we curled our buffaloes about us and lay with our heads on pillows in our hands and listened for a while to the distant bark of a dog or the murmur of the river or the wind. , which had not calmed down:-

The west wind came suddenly,
It has a little your pacific,
Our night post, quick on the call
by the Director General of Mail.
Filled with news from California,,,
What has happened since the morning,
How this shakes the world with brake and brake
Since then at Lake Athabasca · -

Or half -awake and half sleeping, we dreamed of a star that shone on our cotton ceiling.Maybe at midnight, one would be awakened by a mutton chicken that chirping crazy on one's shoulder, or a hunting spider in the eye and lulled to sleep of some river that chuckles at the bottom of a wooded and rocky gap in our neighborhood.It was nice to lie with your head so low on the grass and listen to what noisy and always busy laboratory it was.A thousand small craftsmen hammered on their anvil all night.

Much at night as we slept on the banks of Merrimack, we heard a little Tyon reached an incessant drum, prepared for a holiday meeting that we learned and thought of the line-

"When the drum beats in the murk of the night and dark."

We could assure him that his pace will be answered and the forces will be concentrated. You are not afraid, you are a drummer for the night and we will be there. And he still wrapped it up in silence and in darkness. In our ears From time to time, long and sweet and important, And we hear it with as unexpected a feeling As if we had heard it. We felt like we were in for a while. These simple sounds were related to the stars. As if the plow was suddenly deepening in its pace through the world's crust. You are cruel - and the news was good. This ancient universe is in such health that I believe it will doubtless never die. You are spoiling yourselves, doctors. God, live.

So the free time flew
And he left me with only eternity.
I hear outside the reach of sound,
I look beyond the limits of the vision,-

I can see, smell, I prove, hear, I feel the eternal something that we are allies at the same time our creator, our home, our fate, our own being. The only historical truth, the most notable event that canbecome the different and unwanted subject of our thinking, the true glory of the universe.The only fact that a man cannot fail to recognize, or somehow forget or avoid.

Expand my personal data
To everyone, and let me be single in the crowd.

I saw how the world's basic elements come in and I have no doubt that this will last long.

Now is the most time for my birthday,
And now my life.
I don't want to doubt the unspeakable love,
Which is not worth it and I will not buy it,
Who bewitched me young and bewitched me old,
And even tonight brought me.

What are ears?What time is it that this particular series of sounds, called musical excitement, an invisible and adventurous squad that never found the freshness of any mead could be transferred to me through Homer's time and knew the same airy and mysterious charm asI am burning so much now?What beautiful communication from generation to generation, with the most beautiful and noblest thoughts, are the hopes of the past, even those who were never communicated with speech, music!It is the flower of the language, colorful and curved by thought, fluid and flexible, its crystalline source colored by the sun's rays and the mugs that reflect the grass and clouds.A musical chord reminds me of a passage from the Vedas, and I associate with the thought of great distance, as well as beauty and peace, for the senses that are the most distant from us and relate to what is deepest in us.It teaches us again and again to trust the farthest and the best as a divine instinct, and makes the dream our only real experience.We feel sad joy when we hear it, perhaps because we who hear are not one with what is heard.

Therefore a stream of deep pain,
Through the bars of your triumph you are heard.

The grief is ours.Indian poet Calidas says to Sacontala: "Maybe men's sadness arises when they see beautiful forms and hear sweet music, from some vague memory of past joys and the traces of connections in a previous state of existence."Just as Polish expresses veins in marble and veins in wood, music brings out the heroic everywhere.The hero is the only patron of music.The harmony that naturally exists between the hero's moods and the universe, which the soldier will mimic a little with the drum and trumpet.When we're healthy, everything sounds like a pentagram to us.We hear the tones of music in the air or catch its dying echoes when we wake up at dawn.March is when the hero's heart rate strikes in line with the heart rate of nature and marches in line with the universe.Then there is true courage and invincible force.

Plutarco says that "Plato believes the gods have never given music to men, the science of melody and harmony, by mere spontaneous abort or reach the ear. And what is running to the body and often because it has no tone and air erupted a lot of exaggerationAnd exaggeration can be revoked and has discovered sweets and overwhelmed their past consent and appointment perfectly. "

Music is the sound of universal laws emitted. It is the only safe tone.This is all

Rumors of a wind harp.

There is a valley that nobody has seen,
Where no man's foot has ever been,
As here he lives with pain and conflict,
A troubled and sinful life.

There every virtue has its birth,
Before you go down to the ground,
And that returns every action,
This burns in generous bays.

There is love warm and the youth is young,
And poetry is still unseen,
For virtue still adventure there,
And breathes the open open.

And always if you listen well,
You can still hear the bell of vespers,
And the tread of high guarded men pass by,
Your thoughts speak to heaven.

According to Jamblichus, "Pythagoras did not achieve for himself such a thing by means of instruments or voice, but by using a certain inevitable and difficult to understand divinity, he expanded his ears and fixed his intellect on the world's beautiful symphonies, hearing only andUnderstand as it seems, the universal harmony and coexistence of the spheres, and the stars moving through them, and producing a melody that is more full and intense than anything else that is affected by deadly sounds. '

Traveled on foot early one morning east here, about twenty miles, from Caleb Harriman's tavern in Hampstead to Haverhill, when I reached the railway at Plaistow, I heard at a distance a weak music in the air like a whole harp that I immediately suspectedabout.That it emerged from the telegraph thread that fluttered in the wind that had just woken up in the morning and placed my ear in one of the positions, I was convinced that it was so.It was the telegraph harp who sang his message to the earth, its message sent not by humans, but by the gods.Rather, like the statue of Memnon, it only resonates in the morning when the first sun rays fall on it.It was, like the first lire or conch, heard on the beach, the string that vibrated in the air across the shores of the country.Thus, all things have their highest and lowest uses.I heard more fair news than magazines ever printed.He talked about things worthy of being heard and worthy of the electric fluid to bring the news, not the price of cotton and flour, but hinted at the price of the world itself and about things that are priceless, absolute truth and beauty.

Still the drum rolled and stirred our blood to a new frenzy that evening. The sound of the branches and click of Corshele and Buck was heard by many a settlement of souls, and many knights were armed for the battle behind the encamped stars.

“Before each truck
Draw the knights and cover their spears
For the thicker legions nearby; with weapon feats
From the two ends of heaven burns Belkin. ”


Away! Away! Away! Away!
You didn't keep your secret well,
I'll stay another day,
The other countries are you saying.

He has no free time for them,
The actions you try?
Eternity is not a lease
For acts better than verses?

It's sweet to hear the dead heroes,
To find them still alive,
But sweet if we overcome their bread,
And they survive inside us.

Our life must feed the fame sources
With eternal wave.
While the sea feeds the faucets
Found in this grave.

The sky falls softly around my chest,
And be my blue cross,
Your earth receives my spear in silence,
My loyal charger?

You are stars my spears in the sky,
Are you arrows?
I see confused enemies fly,
My lightsabers are stable.

Give me an angel as an enemy,
Correct the place and time now,
And right to you I will go
About the starry touch.

And with beating our conflicting porters
The heavenly spheres will attack,
While that is clear, the Northern Lights will hang
Next to our tournaments.

And if truth loses its master,
Tell the sky for not despairing,
Because I want to be your new master,
Your reputation is repaired.

There was a strong wind tonight, which we then learned that it was even more violent elsewhere and had greatly damaged the nearby and removed cornfields. But we only heard him sigh from time to time, as if he had no licenseTo shake the foundation of our tent. Pinheiros mumbled, the water mugged, and the tent shook a little, but we only put our ears closer to the ground as the explosion swept the other men, and long before the sunrise we were ready to resume our journey as usual.


“The river is on both sides
Long fields with barley and rye,
Where to carry the world and find the sky.
And the road crosses the fields
Camelot Tower.


Long before the day dawn we traveled abroad, of sledge hammer in hand, in search of fuel and got the sleeping tree and dreamy resonance with our strokes. Then we burned with our fire a part of the night while the boiler sang his homemade melody to the morning star.We went down the waterfront, woke up all the muskets and scared hedgehogs and birds that slept in the chickens. We rose us and turned our boat and washed it and washed the mud, spoke as loud as it was day until we finally finished our preparationsAnd was ready to continue on our journey as usual. Then shake the feet of our feet, we went on in the fog.

Although we were, as usual, shrouded in fog, we thought there was a clear day behind.

Pass the years!Absent!Absent!
Every morning
Is resident the promise of a day.

East rivers flow,
With the cold morning.
Travelers win time FAZ series,
Free dinner or sunset, you know,
Never once with Dawn.

Belknap, the historian of this state, says that "Near fresh rivers and lakes, a white mist in the morning hovering over the water is a sure sign of good weather for that day. and when there is no mist, it is expected rain before night.” What seemed to us to enclose the world was but a narrow, shallow rim of vapor, stretching across the Merrimack Canal from sea to mountains. However, more extensive nebulae have their limits. I once saw the dawn from the top of Saddle-back Mountain in Massachusetts, above the clouds. Since we cannot see objects through this thick fog, let me tell this story in more detail.

I had crossed the hills on foot and alone on mild summer days, pushing raspberries from the road and occasionally buying a loaf of bread from a farm, with a knapsack on my back with some travel books and a change of clothes, and I had staff in hand. That morning I had looked down from Hoosack Mountain, where the road runs through it, to the village of North Adams, in the valley three miles away, if it were flat and convenient for the feet of man. rice and sugar and a tin cup in my knapsack at this village, I started in the afternoon to ascend the mountain, the summit of which is three thousand six hundred feet above the sea-level, and was seven or eight miles out of the country. and a spacious valley called the Bellow, because the winds rise or fall violently in storms, and rise to the clouds between the main range and a lower mountain. There were individual properties scattered at different heights, each commanding a fine view of the mountains to the north, and a brook ran in the middle of the valley, above which stood a mill near the head. It looked like a way for the pilgrim to enter and ascend to the gates of heaven. now I crossed a hayfield, now over the stream over a little bridge, still gradually rising all the time with a sort of awe and full of vague expectations of what sort of inhabitants and what sort of nature I should find in Now, some Advantage it seemed that the Country was uneven, for no nobler position could be imagined for a farm than this valley afforded, further or nearer its head, a valley-like seclusion with a view of the country at a great height between these two mountain walls.

It reminded me of the Huguenot homes on Staten Island off the coast of New Jersey. The interior hills of this island, though comparatively low, are pierced in different directions by similar sloping valleys of modest scale, which gradually narrow and rise towards the centre, and at the head of these the Huguenots, who were the first settlers, placed their houses inland, in rural and sheltered places, in leafy corners where the breeze played with poplars and eucalyptus trees, from which with equal safety in calm and storm they contemplated a vast view, besides miles of forest and salt flats, to Huguenot tree, an old elm tree on the shore, at the root of which they had landed, and across the broad outer bay of New York to Sandy Hook and the Neversink Highlands, and thence across leagues across the Atlantic, probably with a faint ship on the horizon, nearly a day's sail in their journey to the Europe from which they came. As I entered the country there, through a rural landscape, where there was as little to remind me of the sea as there was among the hills of New Hampshire, suddenly through a hole, a ravine, or "seam road," which De Dutch colonists called it a name, they saw a ship in full sail, over a cornfield, twenty or thirty miles out to sea. The effect, as I had no means of measuring distances, was like watching a painted ship pass back and forth by a magic lantern.

But to return to the mountain.I would go that it was the tallest man and paradise whose house was taller in the valley.Thunder Thunder Thunder in my heels all the time, but shower went in a different direction, though if he didn't do, I thought I had to overcome it.I chose the last house except one where the path to the top turns right, while the top itself rose right in front.But I decided to follow the valley to her head and then find my own journey to the shortest to the shortest and most adventurous route.I was thinking about returning to this house, which was well preserved and so kindly placed, the next day, and maybe I'll be there for a week if I could have fun.Honest and hospitable young who was in front of me with a disability, combed her long tired and indifferent black hair as she spoke, giving her head the necessary flight with her comb, lively and bright eyes and eyes full of interest in the underworld,From where I came from, always talked as well as if he knew me for years and reminded me of a cousin of me.In the beginning he took me to a student in Williamstown because they were going to a party, he said and went or walked almost every day comfortable, and it was a set of very wild classmates.But they were never as I went.While I spent the last house shouting a man to find out what I had to sell because he saw my backpack I thought I could be a little man who followed this unusual route on the valley to the southern partby Adams.He told me they were still four or eight miles from the top of the road I was back, even though no more than two in a straight line where I was, but no one ever went that way.There was no way and I had to find it as steep as taken by a house.But I knew it was most common in forests and mountains than him, and I walked through his backyard while he saw on the sun, shouting behind me that I shouldn't have reached the top that night.I got to the head of the valley, but when I couldn't see the top from this point, I climbed on a low mountain on the opposite side and held it with my compass.I immediately started in the woods and started climbing up the steep side of the mountain in a diagonal direction, to take the bearings of a tree in each tree.The rise was not difficult or unpleasant and it took much less time than would be necessary to follow the road.At the province's, I noticed, to expand the difficulty of traveling to the forest and especially between the mountains.They do not seem to have their common sense usual in him.To find obstacles in this world that the humble man has no ability to overcome.It is true that we can reach a vertical rock, but we do not have to jump or throw our heads towards it.A man can jump from his wineries or reach his mind on his chimney if he is crazy. Traveler usually exaggerates the difficulties of the routes.Like most diseases, the difficulty is great.Why the speed?If a loser concludes that he is not lost in the end, he is not alone, but he gets his old shoes with his shoes in the same place and that he will live there for now.But the places that knew him,the theThey are lost - how much anxiety and danger will disappear.I'm not alone if I'm alone.Who knows where in the room planet is moving?He does.

I went firmly upward through a densely eerie vegetation of the mountain until the trees began to take a dark and creepy look, as if I was fighting ice cream niches and eventually reaching the top, just as the sun was composed. More acres here were clean and covered with stonesand suitcases and there was a rustic look in the middle overlooking the forest. I had a good overview of the country before sunset, but I was very thirsty to lose light considering the perspective and began to find water directly.down in a well -introduced way by half a mile through a low wood cleaning until it arrived where the water was on the horse tracks that carried the travelers, I laid and they drank dry after another, a clear, cold water, like source,But still I couldn't fill my trough, even though I made small grass siphons and intelligent aqueducts in small scale. It was a very slow process.I remember I had passed a damp place near the top, on the climb I went back to meet it, and here, with sharp stones and my hands in dusk, I did about two feet deep deep, which soon filled with coldAnd clean water, and the birds also came and drank it. That's why I filled my background and returned to the guard house, took some dry twigs and made a lot of fire on some dull stones that had been placed on the floor for this purpose, and thereforeI looked for my dinner on the rice that had already hit a wooden spoon to eat it.

I sat at night and read by the fire the newspaper stumps that some had wrapped their lunch in. The prevailing prices in New York and Boston, the unique advertisements and leadership articles that some have found it appropriate to publish, without predicting, under whichCritical circumstances they would be read.I read these things with great advantage there, and found the ads, or what one calls the commercial part of a newspaper, to be the best, most useful, natural and respectable.Almost all the opinions and feelings that were expressed were so little considered, so superficial and weak that I thought that the texture of the paper itself had to be weaker in this part and more easily torn.Messages and current prices were more related to nature and were somewhat respectable, as were tidal and weather tables.But the reading material that I remembered was more valuable below, unless it was a humble record of science or a piece from an old classic, seemed to me strangely quirky, rough and an idea, as a student's topic that the young people write and then burnthe.The opinions were of the kind that will definitely look different tomorrow, just like last year's fashion.As if humanity is really very green and is ashamed of itself in a few years when it has been through this green period.In addition, there was a unique outline of wit and humor, but rarely the slightest real success.And the apparent success was a terrible satire over the effort.The evil genius of man laughed highest of his best jokes.Ads, as I said, serious, and not from the fashionable charlatan, hinted at pleasant and poetic thoughts.Because trade is really as interesting as nature.The names of the goods were poetic and just as evocative as if they had been placed in a charming poem: wood, cotton, sugar, hides, guano, jerk.Some sober, private, original thought would be read there grateful and in harmony with the circumstances, as if it were written on a mountain top.For it is a fashion that never changes and is as respectable as leather and wood or any natural product.What invaluable companion this piece of paper would be, containing some of the fruits of a mature life.What a remnant!What a recipe!It seemed like a divine invention, noting a shining coin, but bright and current thoughts, could be brought in and stored there.

When it was cold, I gathered a pile of wood and lay on a plank on the side of the building, without a blanket to cover me, with my head in the fire, to look after what is not the Indian domain.At midnight, I got completely involved in surfboards, even steering a board over me, with a large stone on, held it up, so I slept comfortably.I remembered it is true, Ireland's children who asked what their neighbors didn't have a door to put them into winter nights they had.But I am convinced that there was nothing too strange in the search.blanket, to make it comfortable.We do up with the chickens that you get from the chicken and put them in a cotton basket in the corner of the chimney, they often pour until they die, but if you put a book or something heavy he will push the cotton he feels like the chicken, theygoes directly to bed.My only friends were the mice who came to collect the crumbs back on these pieces of paper., and not unnecessarily improve the high path to their residence.They pressed what was for them.I chopped what was for me.All the story.

This observatory was a significant building built by Williamstown College students whose buildings could be shown in the light of the day shine in the valley.It would not be a small advantage if each college was at the bottom of a mountain, as good as at least one teacher well brought.I had trained both in the shade of a mountain and in more classic tones.Some, without a doubt, will remember that they went to college but went to the mountain.Overall below and would undergo more universal tests.

I got up early and was at the top of this tower to see dawn for some time to read the names that were recorded there before I could see more distant items.An "inexplicable fly" exploded in my elbow with the same caution it in a slim pork at the end of Long Wharf.Even there I have to pay attention to your curse.But now I come to the depth of this long interference. Vragon of a world, in my sculpted table, on the cloudy.A situation that did not require the help of the imagination to make it impressive.To the extent that the light in the east constantly increased, he revealed more clearly to me the new world I climbed up the night, the newLand signatureOpportunities for my future life.There wasn't a crack left to see the insignificant places we call Massachusetts or Vermont or New York, while still inhaling the fresh air from a Christmas morning - if it really was July there.Below me stretched for a hundred miles on all sides as far as the eye could see, a rolling area of clouds that in its surface's varied swelling corresponded to the terrestrial world it covered.It was a country that one sees in a dream, with all the glories of paradise.There were large snow -covered pastures, seemingly trimmed and firm, and bleak valleys between the smoldering mountains.And far out on the horizon, I could see where a lush foggy forest was out on the prairie, and traced the curvature of a stream, some invisible Amazon or Orinoco, from the foggy trees at the edge.Since there was the desire of the symbol, there was also no essence of impurity, neither the spot nor the lying.It was a grace to remain silent forever that he showed me this vision.The country below had become an equally crazy thing of light and shadows as the clouds had been before.He was not only blurred to me, but had passed away as the ghost of the shadow, σᾶς ὄναρ, and this new platform was achieved.As I had risen across the storm and the clouds, so I could know for the following days' travels reach the area of eternal day, beyond the Earth's narrow shade.Yes,

“The sky itself will escape,
And roll away like melted stars that slip
Throughout your fat hair."

But when her own sun began to stand up in this pure world, I found myself in Aurora's dazzling halls, where poets only glimpse the eastern hills, wandering between the saffronous towns and playing with Aurora's rosy fingers, on the path of the trail to the sun's carriage, and sprinkled withIts dew powder, enjoy the benevolent smile, and close to the glance of the god sharply.Earth residents generally see the dark and shadow side of the pavement of heaven.It is only when you look at the horizon at a favorable angle, morning or evening that a few weak bands of rich cloud cover are revealed.But my muse failed to convey an impression of the wonderful tapestry that I was surrounded by, which men see slightly reflected in the eastern halls.Here, as on earth, I saw the friendly god

"Ligle Mountain Tops with dominant eyes,


Gilding pale chains with heavenly alchemy. '

But "the sun from heaven" never appeared here.

But unfortunately, because, as I think, some usuality of myself, my particular sun was dirty and

'Anon allows basic clouds to run
With ugly trauma to your heavenly face » -

for before the god reached the zenith, The heavenly dam rose and embraced my faltering virtue, nay, I sank again into the "troubled world," from which the heavenly sun had hid his face,

'As a worm can crawl along the dust,
See the mountains of Azure, thrown so high,
And from there I bring your real idea,
That in these sunny courts are hidden, lie,
Wearing so much light that it dazzles the eye of the angel?
How can the feeble mortal hope to testify
Your sloppy language and frustrating style?
Oh, get up from your corpse now buried exile!"

The night before, I had seen the top of new and even higher mountains, Catskills, so I could hope to rise again to the sky, and had set my compass to a beautiful lake to the southwest that was in the way that I now wentDown to the mountain on my own route, on the opposite side of what I had climbed, and I soon found myself in the cloudy and rainy area, and the inhabitants claimed that it was constantly a cloudy and rainy day.

But now we have to hurry before the fog is spread out over the Merrimack water.

From the first "Away! Away!"
We paddled many long distances,
Spray i spray
He is in a hurry to start the day
With his simple trip.

We passed a channel before sunrise and tumbled down the path to the shore, and though we could not see it because of the fog, the few dull, pounding, harsh sounds we heard overwhelmed us with a sense of heaviness and a lot of movement. A small commercial groove is already waking up on this remote New Hampshire river. It is little visible, it even results in the usual currents, from a unique mirage, to the cannons of the sea or inland lakes. In the present case, it was even aromatic and refreshing, and we liked it as a sort of past sun, or cold, fern candle.

Make anxiety coast,
Air of the new country,
The source and source of the rivers,
Dugsklud, Dream Curtain,
And a napkin spread by FAIS?
Pulling the meadow from the air,
Where daisies bloom benches and violets,
And where Fenny Labyrinth
Bitern Booms e Heron Wades.
Spirit of lakes and sea and rivers,
They only have perfume and scent
Medicinal herbs in the male fields!

The same pleasant and attentive historian quoted above says that "in the mountainous parts of the country is the ascension of fumes and their formation to clouds a strange and funny object. Fumes are seen ascending in small columns like smoke from manychimneys. Height, spread out, meet, denser and attract by the mountains where they are molded in soft tablecloths and fill the sources, or descend into showers accompanied by thunder. Repeated several times during a summer day, giving travelers a living illustrationof what is noticed in Job's book, "They are wet of the rain from the mountains."

Fog and clouds that hide the overshadowing mountains give the breadth of the plains to the mountain cavity. Even a small country gets some magnificence in stormy climate when the clouds see the viewer and the nearby hills. Hamill via Hampstee in this state, at the height of the countryBetween Merrimack and Piscataqua or the sea, you start down to the east, the view of the coast is so distant and unexpected, even if the sea is invisible. First of all, you assume that the unobstructed atmosphere is a fog of the plains that hide hills from the corresponding study in it, you are. But it is just fog of prejudice that the wind will not be spread. With other words of a mountain or waterfall is always ridiculously small. We have favorable miracles, such as the landscape of our home.

The fog along this river was so hard that we generally had to leave our tent stretched over the bow of the boat until the sun dried it, to avoid mildew. in the fog, unseen. For the most part the rays of the sun struggled through the mist, and showed us the pines on the shore dripping with dew, and the fountains running from the wet shores,—

"And now the tallest sons that Titan Basques,
To hear mountains blowing in light wind,
Beat the morning's childhood in your arms,
And if the most proud pine trees slide, slip
Under the bodies caught their shine,
To brown your leaves. ”

We lingered a few hours among the bright shores, before the sun dried the grass and leaves, or the day established its character, swift and the scenery more pleasant than before. The banks were steep and clayey and ran with water, and where a spring rose a few feet above the river, the boats had dug a bottom and filled their jugs accordingly. river, a source of the Merrimack. So near the stream of life are the fountains of innocence and youth that make its sandy shore fertile. And the traveler would do well to refill his ships often from these unpolluted sources. Some young fountain by chance still spouts its sharp music into the oldest river, even when it falls into the sea, and we imagine that its music is separated by the river-gods from the common stratum of the stream, and falls sweetest on their ears in that proportion, as it is closer to the sea. As the vapors feed the river, so these unsuspecting springs filter from its banks, so our expectations fall upon the springs on the edge of the stream of life to renew and purify. The warm yellow river may float its dross and fix your gaze with reflections and its ripples, but the boat quenches its thirst only on this little stream. It is this purest and freshest element that primarily sustains your life. The breed will survive for a long time, therefore subtle.

Our march this morning was between the Merrimack territories in the west, and Litchfield once called the Brenton farm in the east, which counties were originally the Indian Naticook.Brenton was fur among the Indians and the areas they were awarded in 1656. The last Township contains about five hundred inhabitants, of which we have not seen some of their homes.Much more foolish and primitive than the traveler in the neighboring cads.The river is by far the most attractive path, and those who have spent twenty or twenty -five years must have had a much more fair, wilder and unforgettable experience than the dusty and at the same time hit one of the teams that led in the streets runningalong the river.Corn or potatoes, rye or oats or English grass longer rows, a farm.The earth, except for the best space, is generally as light and sandy as a patriot could wish for.Sometimes this land appeared in its pristine state, and as if the Indians even lived in it, again, as if many new free settlers were occupying it, its clearest fence ran to the end of the water.Tobacco was considered to rise from some fireplace, and the coasts were divided into pastures, cutting, growing and forest patterns.But when the river spreads wider, with an uninhabited holm, or a long, low sandy beach that, on the contrary, ran to simple and annoying, but outside, as if they were a single sea or coast, and the land was now in the river in its armsBut they spoke as peers were the rusty leaves with rippling waves and few fences observed, but the forests with tall oak on one side and large flocks of beat and all cod behind some state forests - we imagine the river fell through a comprehensivePalace and that the few inhabitants were limited to a gentleman and a feudal state prevailed.

When there was a suitable range, we saw Goffstown's mountain, the Indian Uncannuc, rise in front of us on the west side.It was a quiet and beautiful day, with only a small zephyr to ripen the surface of the water and sweep the forest to the beach, and merely warm to prove nature's goodwill to his children.With lungs and strong impulses, we accelerated our boat in the middle of this perspective.The hawkfish fell and screamed over his head.Chips or striped squirrels,squirrel grooves(Tamias Lysteri, Aud.), She sat on the edge of some living fence or rider of Virginia, stretching over the river and spinning a green walnut with one foot, as in a lathe while the other held her tight in her horny borders.Like an independent stain blade, rattling, wherever you could.nu under the fence, sometimes over it, sometimes they see travelers through a slot with only visible tail, sometimes eating lunch at the bottom of the irregular core, sometimes a palette,There plays hiding chops in the middle, where there were half a dozen more, his cheeks opened in a ridiculous width - as if he was planning through a safe magazine or Somerset - the valve let his life unnecessary escape., with constant electric flashes on the tail.And now with a laugh she throws herself into the root of a redneck and we don't see her anymore. Or the biggest red squirrel, sometimes called Hudson's Bay Squirrel (Scriurus hudsonius), warned of our approximation of the peculiar alarm of it, as if some noisy clock knocked, on top of a pine and evaded behind his trunk or jumping from wood to wood with such care and dexterity, as if much dependent on hisScout's belief that runs in the branches of the white pine sometimes twenty sticks next to us, at such a speed and for such infallible paths as if it were a familiar way for him. And now as we pass, he turnsBack to his work of cutting the pine trees and letting them fall on the floor.

We passed Cromwell's Falls, the first thing we found on this river, this prophecy, with locks, without using our wheels.These waterfalls are the Nesenkeeav of the Indians.The large Nesenkeeag stream comes to the right just above, and the little nesenkeeag a bit down, both in Litchfield.We read in Gazetteer, under the heading Merrimack, that "the first house in this city was erected on the shores of the river [shortly after 1665] to a house in traffic with the Indians."For some time, a Cromwell ran a lucrative trade in them and weighed their hides with their foot until, furious at his supposed or actual mistake, decided to murder him.This intention informed Cromwell, he buried the wealth and did it."At the top of the high shore here near the river you could still see its basement, now overgrown with trees. It was a convenient place for such a movement, at the foot of the first falls over the villages, and commanded a pleasantViews of the river where you could see the Indians coming down with their hides. The locksmith told us that his shovel and seaweed were arranged here, and also a stone with his name on. But we will not stand for the truth of this from the story.In the New Hampshire Historical Collections of 1815, he says: “Some time later, tin was found in the well and an iron pot and a trolley in the sand.The last preserved."It was the White Merchant's Track. On the opposite bank where there was a nose across the river, we took four arrowheads and a small Indian stone tool, just as we had come up where there was once an Indian wigwam with which the cromwellAnd chased here before he came.

As usual, gossip has not been muted about Cromwell's buried wealth, and it is said that a peasant's plow, not far from here, a few years ago slid on a flat stone which gave a hollow sound, and when it was lifted, a small discoveredhole six inches in diameter, stoned from which a sum of money was drawn.The locksmith told us another similar story of a farmer in a neighboring town who was poor but suddenly bought a good farm and was doing well in the world, and when asked did not give a satisfactory account of the case - how few, alas, could!This reminded his mercenary that one day as they plowed together, the plow struck something, and his Lord, who turned to see, decided not to return, saying that the sky looked pretty low, and thereforethe team left.Similar urgency caused many things to be remembered that never happened.The truth is that there is money buried everywhere and you just have to work to find them.

Not far from these waterfalls there is an oak tree in the room, about a quarter of a mile from the river, on the yard of an Mr.Lund, who has appointed us as the place where the French, the leader of the party that went out in search of the Dunstable Indians, was killed.Farwell avoided them in the dense forest nearby.It did not appear that men should flee for their lives in this now open and peaceful space.

And here was another great vacant terrain by the road in Litchfield, visible on the riverbank.Thirty or forty years ago, they told us, it was the grassy area, but the sheep, afraid of the fleas, began to step on the floor until they broke the grass and thus began to blow the sand so far. It stretched with forty or fifty acres. ThisEvil could have been easily remedied, first scattered bits with their leaves in the sand and held them with piles to break the wind. The fleas the sheep sheep, and the sheep bit the floor, and the plague spread to the point. It is astonishing the large wound thatA little scratch can cause. Maybe is Sahara, where caravans and cities are buried, started with the bite of an African flea? This poor globe, how to scratch in many places! Will no God kind of be kindness of spreading a bear calf in their wounds?And here we observed where the Indians had collected a lot of stones, perhaps for the fire of the council, which, because their weight prevented the sand under them from being carried by the wind, was left at the top of a hill. We were told that the ends of the arrow were.Found here as well as lead and iron balls. We noticed many other sandy areas of our trip.and Merrimack course can be pulled from the nearest mountain for its yellow sand, although the river itself is almost invisible. In some cases we heard in some cases of these causes. Railways were made through some irritable districts, broken their territory and thus cause the sand to blow until it turns the fertile farms into deserts and the company had to pay the damage.

This sand seemed to connect and connect between the soil and the water.It was the kind of water you could walk on and you could see the rippling patterns on the surface, produced by winds, as well as those at the bottom of a stream or lake.We had read that Muslims, according to the Qur'an, were allowed to play out their frustrations in the sand when they cannot get water, a gentleness needed in Arabia, and we now understand the decency of that layout.

Plum Island, in the mouth of this river, in the formation that may have sent these margins their contributions is a similar desert from the sand to the driving of different colors that appeared in sweet wind curves. It is a simple stool that stretchesSay, stretch nine miles next to the coast and besides the swamp inside, rarely over 800 meters wide.. Many, which the parties at the same time come from the central country and during Merrimack in September, put their tents and collect the plums, likeare good at eating raw and maintain. It grows abundantly between the sand and many strange, moss and juicy plants. Is that all its length is moved by low hills, no more than one and a half height, by the wind and except a light path onThe edge of the swamp, it is as useless as Sahar.tektoids and within hours the wind eliminates all traces of your work.where they can unfold or hide. I went under all its beach length at low tide, so you can only find a fixed reason to walk, and possibly Massachusetts does not give a bigger and more sad walk. On the sea there is only a long cloth andSome courses to break the great monotony. A lonely part, or more intense sand than usual, is remarkable as a milestone per day.Kilometers. Only the continuous sound of the waves and the sad spirit of the coastal birds.

There were several canal boats in the fall of Cromwell that went through the locks, we expect. In front of one of them was a dark man in New Hampshire, resting on his pole, his head uncovered and only in shirt and trousers, a rude man of a man , who came down from the "huge plateau" to the main. Namely age, with blond hair and living and pale face, in whose wrinkles the sun was still, as little touched by corollars and frost and withered laps of life as a rim of the mountain .A naked man, sloppy and rude, with whom we talked little and apart without any real interest in each other.His humanity was real and instinctive, and his rudeness was just a manner.He asked, as we left without a receiver, if we had killed something, and shouted behind him that we had firedFlows, and he could see him for a long time to scratch his head in vain to find out if he had heard correctly.

There is a reason for the distinction of cities and non -nuisance.Sometimes the ways are so rude that we doubt whether they cover some core or no wood.We sometimes find rude men, children of the Amazon who live in the mountains and say to be invaluable to strangers.The Custle greeting is as rude as looking for the urban plain or the sea and reduces their diet correctly with grain fruits, consumes less meat and wild acorns, to become cities.Real courtesy does not come from rushed and artificial polishing, it is true, but of course it develops in certain characters of the right quality and quality, through a long facade of people and events and rubs good and impolsees.Maybe I can say an adventure for this purpose while the lock is full - for our turn in this middle one, just a few important events.

Early in the summer morning, I left Connecticut's coast and towards Livelong Day I traveled to the banks of a river that came from the west.Now, I saw on the river glittering and hovering through the woods a mile away, from the hills, over which the road was lying, and now I sat on its rocky edge and sank my feet into its chains, or swam the adventure in the middle of the canal .. Under the river., so I couldn't finally see where he came from and he was free to imagine the most wonderful Maurities and locations.At noon, I slept on the grass in the shade of a maple where the river found a wider canal than usual and was spread out over the shallow, with frequent sand.In the names of the cities, I recognized some I had read for a long time in Teamsters' wagons, which had come from afar.The locals seemed to use it.And give him some dignity.It was like the trout of the mountain streams in the sea fish, or like the young men on the side of the house who were born far inside, which never heard the sound of the sea burning.The hills got closer and closer to the stream until they finally closed behind me and found me just before night in a romantic, laid -back valley, about half a mile long and almost wide enough to the river at the bottom..There could not be a finer place for a hut among the mountains.You could where you could run in the pelvis on the rocks, and its constant murmur would soothe the passions of mankind forever.Suddenly the road, which seemed to point to the mountainous side, turned to the left and another valley opened, and hid the first and the same character, which was the most notable and pleasant landscape I've ever seen.It arrives and I was impatient to improve the light, kicked me four or five miles against the dwelling of a man named Rice, who held the last and highest of the valleys on my way and who, as they said, wasA rather rude and unusual man.But "What is a foreign country in those who have science? Who is foreign to those who have the habit of talking kindly?"

Finally, when the sun was behind the mountains in an even darker and more lonely valley, I arrived at this man's house.In addition to the narrowness of the plain and the fact that the stones were of compact granite, it was the corresponding refuge in which Belfem brought the wounded thymia,

'In a pleasant nail polish,
With mountains around the environment,
And the powerful forests that made the shadow of the valley,
And like an impressive theater he did,
It spreads over a spacious plain.
And in the middle played a small river
Between the pumon stones that looked flat,
With soft mumbles that his course was actually contained."

I noticed when I approached that he was not as rude as I expected because he held a lot of cattle and dogs to see them and saw where he had made cards on the mountains and over the stream before.Passing his stable, I found what to be a rented man, take care of his cattle and asked if they received travelers in this house. ”Sometimes we do,” he replied, smiling and immediately went to the farthest tentof me and realized it was the rice itself that I had instructed. But thanks to this misery in the landscape of the landscape I turned my steps home. There were no points ahead of him, not even the usual invitations to the traveler, even if I sawThe street that many came and came, but the owner's name was only sent abroad. A kind of silent and noisy invitation, I thought. I sent the room to the bedroom without finding anyone I came to what seemed to be the guest room that wasClean and actually had an air of refinement and I was glad to find a card on the wall to guide me on my journey tomorrow. I went into a distant occasion which was the first one I came in and wentTo see if the owner had come. But it turned out to be just a child, one of those whose voices I had heard, probably his son, and came in and stopped at the door a good watch mumbling for meAnd looked like he was opening today, but the boy didn't do it I don't talk to him. And when I ordered a glass of water, he said gently, "He is running around the corner." So I took a mug from his bench andleft the house and looked around the corner of the house, but I found neither good nor spring or water, but the stream that ran the front. Then I came back and dropped the mug and asked the child if the chain was good to drink. Then he took the mugAnd went to the corner of the room where a fresh source came out of the mountain behind a barrel in the apartment, filled and drank and gave me empty again and call the dog, he ran.And combed their hair in silence and some sat like tired and slept in their seats, but all the time did not see women, even though he sometimes heard a voting in the part of the house from which spring came from.

Rice himself came, because it was dark now, with a bull shock in his hand, breathing heavily, and very soon he had sat down on his seat not far from me, as if his work, his work was over, he had no more. travel, but only to assimilate your dinner at your leisure. When I asked if he could get me a bed, he said there was one ready made, with a tone that suggested I should meet him, and the less he said about the better. Until here. And he kept looking at me as if I was going to say something more like a traveler. ", he said, stealing his men to witness the breadth and normality of his fields, which consisted of short time and the size of his crops. "And if we have any hills," he added, "there are no better pastures. nowhere." I then asked whether this place was what I had heard it called by a name I had seen on the map, or whether it was some other; and he sadly replied that it was neither the one nor the other . And he cultivated and did what it was, and I knew nothing about it. The reason and asked if there was much game in the country, and answered that question more gently, with a look from my guard. But when I asked if there were bears, he replied impatiently that I was in no danger of losing its sheep from the neighbors. And Culture in this area. After a pause, as he thought of my journey during the day and some hours of the day in this cave and mountainous country, which was to be on my way, I noticed that the day should be less than an hour of neighboring plains, in which he unfortunately asked what I knew about it, and affirmed that he had as much daylight as his neighbors .I somehow remained, I could not be expected to understand how, the sun came over the mountains half an hour before and half an hour after the neighboring plains. And more than the species, he said. As rude as a legendary satyr. But he allowed it to go to what he was—why should I protest with nature? And I'd rather have him as he was than I wanted. For I came here not for sympathy or kindness or society, but for innovation and adventure, and to see what nature had created here. I repelled his rudeness, but greeted everything innocently, and knew how to appreciate it as if I were reading a well-preserved piece of an ancient drama. Nature and mankind, I have no doubt, just had no artificial cover on their bandits. It was earthy enough, but there was good reason for it, and even a lingering Saxon integrity at the bottom. If you could make the case against him, he will not let the fight die on him, like a red Indian.

Eventually, I told him he was a lucky man and thought he was grateful for a lot of light.And he got up, he said I would make a lamp and pay him for my stay because I expected to start my journey again and yet the sun came up to his country.But he was in a hurry, and this time courtesy that I shouldn't miss finding some of his home to mix at any time because I wasn't slow and I could eat my breakfast with them before I started if Ichose.And when he turned on the lamp, I found a brightness of real hospitality and old courtesy, a beam of pure and even polite humanity, of his can and wet eyes.Look more intimate with me and more explanatory than it could have been any word if he had tried until the day of his death.He was more important than rice could even understand these places, and the culture of this man waited for a longa way.He was happy to go to my apartment and pass through his men's members who slept on the floor of an intermediate chamber and showed me a clean and comfortable bed.For many hours comfortable after the house was asleep, I sat in the open window because it was a night of asphyxiation and heard the river

“Among the pumy stones that looked flat,
With soft mumbles that his course was actually contained."

But I got up as usual in the starlight the next morning, before my host, or his men, or even his dogs, woke up.And after leaving a Nippenny on the counter, they were already halfway up the mountain with the sun before they broke the fast.

Before I left my host's land while the first sunshine rays beat the mountains as I stopped on the road to harvesting some raspberries, a very old man came, not far from the hundred years, with a dairy in his home. Hand and removal beganTo choose the berries near me:-

"The perist locks
At comelye Curles made a wave;
And in his older temples he grew up
Tomb flowers."

But when I asked the way, he answered with a low, rough voice without seeing or trying to consider my presence, which I attribute in his years. And at the moment he mutters for himself, he began to gather his cows in a neighboring step.And when he returned to the street again, he suddenly stopped while his cows went before and revealed his head, prayed high in the fresh air in the morning, as if he had forgotten this exercise before, for his daily bread and also that his rainonly falls and the fair, and without whom the sparrow does not fall to the ground, it will not neglect the stranger (meaning) and with even more direct and personal uses if and especially according to a long -term formula common to the mountains and inhabitants of the mountains. The samelow and repulsive voice from before, who did not do it and went to milking. It is written: "The stranger moving away from a house with a house of frustrated hopes, leaving his own offenses and sharing, taking all the owner'sgood deeds."

Being now enough in this week's trade stream, we began to meet the boats more often, and hail them from time to time with the freedom of seafarers. Both seemed to lead an easy and contented life, and we thought we had better employ them in many professions which are much more in demand. And freedom. With freedom and pleasant weather, the simplest possession, every indisputable way of life that keeps us in the country, is tempting. Your neighbors. We are as happy as the birds when our good temper allows us to seek some work out of a delicious feeling. Our knife shines in the sun. Our voice is reflected by the tree. Drop it again.

The canal boat is of very simple construction that requires only a little shipping tree, and which we are told, it costs about two hundred dollars.They are led by two men.As they walk up the river, they use rods on fourteen or fifteen foot long, with iron spikes that go about a third of the boat's length from the bow.On the way down, they usually stay in the middle of the river and use a vein at each end.Or if the wind is favorable, they raise the wide sail and have to turn only.They usually load wood or brick - fifteen or sixteen wooden strings and so many thousands of bricks at a time - and bring supplies into the country that spend two or three days at a time between Concord and Charlestown.Sometimes they stack the tree to leave a shelter somewhere where they can seek refuge from the rain.One can hardly imagine a healthier employment or more conducive to the immersion and observation of nature.Unlike sailors, they have the ever -changing panorama across the coast to relieve the monotony of their work, and it seemed to us that while they quietly slipped from city to town with all their furniture around them, for their home is a mobile., could comment on the character of the residents with greater advantage and security for themselves than the traveler in a wagon that could not submit such plenty of wit and humor in such a small vessel for fear of backing.They are not exposed to much exposure, such as Maine Lawyers are, in all climates, but they breathe the healthiest breeze, are easily loaded with clothes, often with their heads and feet.When we found them at noon on the way down the river, their intense trade did not look like wear, but rather by an old Oriental game still played on a large scale, such as chess, for example, was handed over to him.generation.From morning to evening, unless the wind is so strong that his sail does not reach anything but the helm, the boatman goes back and forth along the side of his boat and now rests his shoulder on the mast, and then pulls it.back slowly.To put it again as it steadily moved through an endless valley and ever -changing landscape, now separates its race with a mile or two and now shut off by a sudden bending of the river into a small wooded lake.All the phenomena around him are simple and majestic, and there is something impressive, yes majestic, in the very movement he evokes, which naturally will be brought to his character, and he feels the slow, irresistible movement under him with pride.As if it was your own energy.

The news spread like fire among our young people, as one of these boats in the old days, once every two years, climbed up the Concord River and was stolen by the meadow and out over the village. A cloud, without noise or dust, and witnessed a few. On one summer day, this huge traveler can be seen in an Engeldock, and on another summer day he was not there. How he came from, or who were these men who knew cliffs and better polls than us,there bathing there we would never know. We only knew River Bay, but they had rivers from end to end. It was a kind of wonderful rivers for us. It was unimaginable of the type of mediation that any ordinary man could communicate with them. Would they rise to satisfy their wishes? No, it was advantage enough to know easily your destination or time of your probable return. I saw them in the summer as the chain ran low and cut the weeds in the middle of the channel, and with Hayers -The pigs cut large spots in three feet of water to make a passage to the boat while the grass here was loaded downstream, without being dry of the rarest grass -time. We admire carelessly how their vessel will flow, like a huge chip, holdSo many barrels of lime and thousands of bricks and such piles of iron ore, with wagons, and when we left, it did not give it to our feet. This gave us confidence in the spread of the law of floating, and we imagined that endless usesCould have.men seemed to live a kind of life in this, and it was said they were asleep on board. Some said he wore candles and that such winds were digging here as if they were filling the ships in the sea.Again, others doubt a lot. But unfortunately, others were not there to see. So we can say that our river was navigable - why not? Years later I read in the press with great satisfaction that some thought that with a small expense inRemoving rocks and elaboration of the channel, "There may be a profitable internal navigation."EUThen he lived a little to tell.

Such is the trade that it shakes the coconut and the fruit tree on the farthest island, and sooner or later awakens the darkest and most simple-minded savage. If you will pardon the digression, who can fail to be led to think of the very delicate and light but positive relations in which the wild inhabitants of a remote island find themselves with the mysterious white sailor, the son of the sun? As ifosThey should have to do with an animal that is higher on the scale of existence than we are.It is a somewhat recognized event in the locals that exist and have their house out somewhere and are happy to buy their fresh fruits with their unnecessary ingredients.In his white ship on the peaceful waves in her gentle bays, and the poor wild rage shines in the air.

Man's small actions are great,
Looking from earth to earth,
There as they are in time,
In its original climate
Ships with lunch weight,
And slides before your beam
In some retired trick,
Their hangout,
From which, under the tropical sun,
They run again,
Which brings Senegal and the singer.
Because it meant sea,
This is why the sun was sent,
And the borrowed moon,
And the winds in distant caves remained.

Since our trip, the railway on the coast has been expanded and now there is only a small boat in Merrimack.All types of products and warehouses have been transported earlier with water, but now nothing is transported to the current, and almost only wood and brick are transported down and also transported to the rail.The locks wear out quickly and will soon be impassable as tolls do not pay their repair costs, so the boat will end in this river in a few years.The boat is mainly between Merrimack and Lowell or Hooksett and Manchester.They take two or three trips in a week, depending on the air and climate, from Merrymack to Lowell and Bag, about twenty kilometers at a time.Tying his empty boat and taking dinner and accommodation in a house nearby, again early in the morning, in the star's light, he walks away to the stream and, a scream or music from a song, shows his approach to the lock which he will eat breakfast.If he gets up on the pile of his forest before midfielder, he carries the boat using his unique "hand" and is fixed again before evening.He arrives in Lowell, he discharges his boat and takes the proof of his cargo and after hearing the news in the public house in Middlesex or elsewhere, returns with his empty boat and proof in the pocket of the owner and to get a newload.We are now advertised by their approach to a slight sound behind us and looking around, we saw a mile away, secretly leaned against the stream as an alligator.And learn the news that was released with them.We intended that the sun shone in its naked heads caught a liberal and public character in its most special thoughts.

The sunny open space still extends away from the river sometimes with two or more terraces, to the distant hill, and when we ascended the coast we usually found a rough stones forest around the river, with the primitive liquid in the stream before from a long time to -- - "King's Navy".Sometimes we saw the river a quarter or a half mile away and the colorful scene in Concord, with the dust from the cloud, the truck with the honest faces and the part of the back with dusty dust that reminds us that the land had its places.For restless Yankee men.There he lived long distances at this time, a quiet rural and pastoral people, where every house was good, as we have sometimes proven, and every family, though never so quiet and remote, appeared at noon., their dinner.For these seasons.There lived these New England people, the peasants' lives, father, grandfather and grandfather, who continued effortlessly, held tradition, and hoped, besides good weather and abundant crops, we did not know what.They were satisfied to live as they were invented for them and where their lines fell.

Our imperceptible corpses are further down
For the curiosity of our lives, this goes.

Still, these men did not have to travel to be as wise as Solomon in all his glory, so that is the life of men in all countries and filled with the same domestic experiences.I am awarehow the other half live.

Around noon, with its cabin, it was on the opposite or eastern margin, near where a thick crying bearing Bosque of boundaries defined the coast.Strange for us, as the palm of the palm would be if fruit we saw. Our course now bent comfortably to the north, leaving a low and flat coast next to Merrimok, which forms a kind of port for canals. We observe some beautiful and especially largeAnd beautiful white boundaries prominently in this space.And the opposite margin, a quarter of a thousand below, was covered with 15 -centimeters -high youth and edges, which probably jumped from the seeds they washed.

Some carpenters worked here, repairing a crack in the Banco Verde and prone. The episodes of their vibrational brain responded from shore to shore and beyond and down the river, and its tools shine in the sun for a quarter of us, and the construction of ships was as old and honored as agriculture, and that there can be a fleet and a pastoral life. The whole history of trade became evident in this scarcity that devastated the coast. Then men began to come down to the sea in ships.And who have been in the High Mountains for a long time, they have been infected with unknown waves."And the Karins, who have been on high mountains, have long made an offensive career (attack) over unknown waves. "(Ovid, Met. I. 133.) We think it is good for the traveler to build his boat on the banks of a river, instead of finding a raft or bridge. In Henrik theGunner's adventure It is pleasant to read that when he and his Indians reached the Ontario coast, they spent two days making two Elmebark canos in which they were transported to Fort Niagara. It is a remarkable incident on a journey, a delayAs good as a quick journey. Of our interest in the story of Xenophon's retreat lies in the maneuvers to get the army safely across the rivers, whether on raft or flint or blown ramskin, and where they could rather afford to stay in the meantime.than at the shores of a river?

As we missed, these field workers seemed to have added some dignity to their work because of their own advertising.It was part of the nature industry, such as drones and mud work.

The waves are beating slowly,
Just to keep dinner cute,
And no sound flowed,
Save the hammer to the coast,
It seems to soften the sky.

The fog, the dust from the sun's journey, affected the earth and its inhabitants, and all creatures gave up to float on the unwanted tides of nature.

Woof do Sol, Gaze Etérea,
The richest natural materials are tissue,
Visible heat, water and dry sea,
Last achievement of the eye;
Dage toal showed en sadness of the sun,
Air surfing on the shores of the earth.
Ethereal ejendom, Frith of Light,
Air switches, heat blowing
Nice summer spray in the inner sea.
Sunbird, transparent
Dinner owl with soft equipment,
Of heath or straw that rises without music.
Create your tranquility in the fields

The Sun's routine and the most beautiful days, such as the one who has conquered and triumphed, are complimented by its own antique and apparent solidity and necessity.Thus, weakness and our power use it.We cannot project our boots without trusting her.If there was only a high vertical tree in the woods, all creatures would rub on it and secure their press.In the many hours we spent in this waking sleep, the index remains in front of the clock and grows like corn at night.Men are as busy as the streams or bees and expose everything in their business.To the extent that carpenters discuss politically, the hammer blows while he is lying a ceiling.

This dinner was the right opportunity to make a nice harbor, and there he read the journal about a journey like us, not very moral or strange, and it would not bother at noon.Or also an old classic, the flower of each reading that we exposed to that time

"From Syrian peace, immortal of rest."

But unfortunately, our coffin, like the cabin in a roller coaster, contained only its benevolent "navigator" for all literature, and we were forced to turn to the memory of these things.

Of course we remember Alexander Henry's adventure here as a kind of classic among American travel books. He has a rough landscape and sketch of men and enough events to inspire poets for many years, and for my imagination there is full of names like any story of the page,- Lake Winnipeg, Hudson Bay, Ottaway and carry several. With chains of lakes and rivers, covered with snow, dolls and spruce in an intense heart. He has truth and moderation worthy of the father of history, which belongs only to a family experienceand is of no use in the literature. Like the scholars. And he can talk about the stars because he may see them shoot when the astronomer doesn't., for science and history. That story is called good faith and direction as a reference to Hudson BayCompany -Merchants or Leaders and is properly dedicated to Sir Joseph Banks.Han reads an argument in a large poem about the country's primitive state and its inhabitants and the reader imagine what he had to follow. In what school was this inflatable trained? Heseems to be traveling to the enormous snowland with this goal only as the accompanying reader, and in the last fantasy as it was, was immediately created to be the scene of his adventure. Interesting and valuable to this, however, they are not the materials forPontiac or Braddock's story or the northwestern one it provides. It is nottimesof the country, but natural facts, orperennial plants, which is always outdated. When the story will be exported to the truth, it will have removed its dates like the withered leaves.

Souhegan, orDishonestRiver, as some translate it, comes from about one and a half kilometers over Thornton's ferry.Babboosuck Brook empties inside him near his mouth.They say there are some of the best water privileges in the country that have not yet improved in the old current, a short distance from Merrimok.A spring breakfast, March 22, in 1677, took place on the banks of the river here, which is interested in a small memory of an interview between two old male tribes, one of which disappeared and the other, even though he is still represented byA miserable residue, he has long disappeared from his former hunters.A James Parker, in "Mr.O Hinchmanne Farmer, Meremack," he wrote "to the honorary governor and Boston Council,Hast, Post Hast":-

"Sagamore Wanalance came this morning to inform me and then went to Mr. heaviness to inform you that your son is on the other side of the Meremack River opposite Souhegan on 22nd at this moment around ten o'clock. In the morninghe discovered 15 Indians on this side of the river that he thought was Mohawks from there. He called them. They responded, but he couldn't understand the warning. And when he had a cone there on the river he went to crack his canoe,So they shouldn't get it. Meanwhile, about thirty guns were fired at him, and he, scared, fled and immediately returned to Nahamcock [Pawtucket Falls or Lowell] where the Wigowams are now.

Penacooks and Mohawks!Are there people everywhere?In the year 1670, a Mohawk Warrior hit an original girl Naamkeak or Wamesit near where Lowell is now. But she recovered. Stadig in 1685, John Hogkins, an Native American of Penacook describing her grandfather as having lived "at the place thereis called Malamake Review, another Natukkog and Panukkog chef who respects many names, "wrote the governor like this:

"15. majº, 1685.

“Honor Commander, my vein, -

"You, my friend, I want your worship and power because I hope you can do big things. I'm poor and naked and I have no men in my place, because I'm always afraid that mohogs will killme every day and night ... your worship when you pray, don't help me not to kill me mohogs in my position at the Malamake River called Pannukkog and Natukkog, I will send your worship and power. And now I will go and suchAlminis sat and weapons because I have in front of my house and plant them.

“This Indian hand, but you ask to think of your humble servant,

John Hodgkins."

It was also signed by Simon Detogkom, King Hary, Sam Linis, Jorge Rodunnonukgus, John Owamosimmin and nine other Indians, with their brands against their names.

But now, a hundred and seventy -four years ago the date of this letter, we are still wordlessly on the way without "breaking" our "Conow", reading The New England Gazetteer and not seeing no trace of "mohogs" on church benches.

Although it is a quick river, Souhegan seemed to borrow his character from noon.

Where the bright fields of unclear
Know the look of the trip,
And above, the hot air
Seems to make a river there,
Pinheiros is created with pride
Next to Souhegan,
And appeared and λ o
With your triumphal arch
They wav their river
Not the sea.
No wind touches its waves,
But the spirits of the courage
If old -fashioned graves
Its impeccable water is the lives
Give coast
With a secret foot of an Indian
Sleep in your bed,
Without joy and sadness,
Or the armor of a sheet,
Without a ripple or a run,
Or sigh of an arrow,
by The Hills Lyns Lyndboro
Em Merrimack Mill.
Your flow has begun,
When the snow melts
On top of the distant mountain,
And the drops came together
In this rainy weather.
tempered river,
Do you have fluid forever?
Sugan looks old,
But the half is not said,
What names do you bring,
In distant ages,
When Xanthus from a Mederder
He started wandering,
Before the black bear is haunted
Your red forest,
Nature planted
The pine trees on your coast?

In the heat of the day we rested on a large island a mile above the mouth of this river, pastured by a herd of cattle, with steep banks and scattered elms and oaks, and a channel sufficient for boats on both sides. noon, the flames spreading among the dried vegetables, and the smoke curling quietly and casting grotesque shadows on the ground, it seemed noon, and we imagined ourselves as natural as natural, when the air and tide fell, without annoy the quiet days with unworthy noise or impatience. The forests on the neighboring coast lived on pigeons, moving south and looking for poles, but now, like us, they spent dinner in the shade. We could hear the sound bright, nervous and exciting of their wings, as they changed from rustic from time to time, and their soft, quivering hum. They stayed with us at noon, older travelers from us. lower boughs of white pine in the depths of the forest, at this time of day, so still and lonely, and with a hermit-like appearance, as if they had never been dragged beyond his skirts, While the acorns gathered in Maine's forests are still unstoppable in their crops. We took one of these beautiful birds which had been on its perch for a long time, and we set it up and fried it here with another hunt to carry it along for our dinner, mainly in the river and the forest for our supply. It is true that it did not seem to use this bird properly to remove its wings, remove its entrails and roast its charcoal kernels. But we heroically insisted, but awaited more information. nature, exciting our sympathy for her creatures, moved our hands to continue what we started. Because we would be honored by the party we left.

'Too quick solutions make the solution wrong,
What, leaves so early in so much time?
The things that need to be done are too long to discuss.
Heaven is not day, regret has no date. "

We are two-edged, and every time we take back our virtue, our thongs return Where is the skilled swordsman who can give clean wounds and not tear his work with the other edge?

Nature itself has not given the most beautiful ending to her creatures.And what about all the birds that humans are the air and the forest of our comfort?Sparrow is always seenlively, never interfere. We don't see their bodies lying around. However, there is a tragedy at the end of each of their lives. Unfortunately they have to lose. None of them translate. It is true that "the sparrow does not fall to the ground without the knowledge of our heavenly father," but they fall nevertheless.

But the bodies of some poor squirrels, just those who were so happy in the morning as we had peeled and incorporated into our dinner, we left them in disgust, with a backward humanity, as a very miserable resource for every human being except hungry.It was to maintain practice in a barbaric age.If they were older, our crime was less.Their little red bodies, the little beams of red cloth, the simple mugs of deer would not have "thicker the fire." On a sudden push we throw them out and wash hands and cook some rice for our night. "See the difference between the carnivor, and where he belonged to! The former has an instant pleasure, and the latter it is deprived of life! ""Who would commit such a great crime against a poor animal that lives only on herbs that grow crazy in the forest and whose stomach is burnt by hunger?"And oxen are only larger squirrels whose skins are preserved and their flesh is salted, if souls are probably not so great compared to their bodies.

There must always be some blooming and ripening of nature's fruits in the cooking process. Some simple dishes are proposed in our imagination, but also for the palate. In dry corn, for example, there is an obvious sympathy between pop-up seeds and the most perfect development in the life of herbs. It is a perfect flower with their petals, like anemone or anemone. In my warm fireplace these cornflowers spread. Always present for a simple and healthy dinner.

Here was the "pleasant harbor," we sigh, Where the weary traveler could read the diary Of another sailor whose boat was plowed, Vagada, more famous and classic sea. At the tables of the gods, after the banquet, Follow the music and the song let us now lie under these trees on the island and to our so-called minstrel


"He did not even stop his charming music, because this is still a lyre,
Although he is dead, he does not sleep in Hades."

Epigram by Simonides and Anacreon.

I recently encountered an old volume in a bookstore in London, which contained the less Greek poets, and it was a pleasure to read once again just the words Orpheus, Linus, Musos - the weak poetic sounds and echoes of a dying name.Far in the ears of modern men.And those who are not the most important sounds, Mimnus, Ibycus, Alceus, Stesichorus, Menander.They did not live in vain.We can talk to these silent without reservation or personality.

I do not know studies as synthetic as those from the classic scholars.When we sit, life seems as quietly as if it was far, and I think it usually doesn't look like any common platform so really and without exaggeration in terms of that literature light.The serene, we consider the trip to Greeks and Latin writers as more joy than the traveler the most beautiful landscapes in Greece or Italy.We will find a more sophisticated society?.eling classics or talking to these ancient Greeks and Latinos in their surviving works are like the storm and darkness.

But if we pass these Bard rumors, let's stop for a moment for the poet Teian.

There is something strangely modern about him.It is very easy to convert to English.Is this what our lyrical poets have heard, but which lyre who will only sound light matters and which Simonides tells us he is not sleeping in Hades?Oder is like gems of pure ivory.They have an essential and phenomenal beauty as summer nights, ὅ ὅ or or noennonyy ἀἀthat must be perceived with the flower of the mind,- and show how a beauty could be expressed.You have to consider them small stars, with the side of the eye and look from the side to see them.They fascinate us with their serenity and their freedom from exaggeration and passion and with a certain beauty like a flower that does not accept themselves, but which must be approached and studied as a natural object. But perhaps its greatest advantage lies in the ease of mat andsecurity.

“The young man and sore
Not see the curve whenthe thego for a walk "

It is true that our nerves are never wounded by them. It is very constant the sound of the lyre and never the character of the trumpet. But it is not rude, as is supposed, but always rises above the sensual.

These are some of the best ones that have come down to us.

In your lyre.

I would sing atridæ,
And Cadmus I want to sing.
But my lira sounds
Just love with your strings.
I recently changed the strings
And all the money?
And i started singing about jobs
Of Hercules but my lyre
They repeated love.
Goodbye, forward for me,
Heroes! for my lyre
He only sings lover.


You really, dear swallow,
Every year that comes and goes,
Summer weaving its nest,
And the winter disappears
Either on the Nile or in Memphis.
But love always weaves
Your nest in my heart...

In a silver bay.

Turning to the meadow,
Vulcano, do it for me,
It's not really armor,
For what are matches for me?
But a hole glass,
so deep you can
And do it for me
No stars, no chariots,
Not even a sad Orion.
What is pleiades for me?
What about shiny boots?
Make me vines,
And groups of grapes,
And golden and deep love
wandering grapes
With the Lyæus Law


You sing thebes affairs,
And he the fighting at Troy,
But I'm one of my own defeats.
No horse missed me,
No feet, no ships.
But a new and different been, been,
They hit me in the eye.

I in Due.

Lovely Due,
Where do you fly from?
Where, running in the air,
unfortunately it is widespread
So many cute ointments?
What art?And you?-
Anacreon BK me
In a boy in Vathi,
Who is ultimately sovereign and tyrant over all.
I want to sell myself a cythe
For a little song,
And I do this service
For Anacreon.
And now, as you see,
I bring letters from him.
And he says that straight
He wants to break me free
But even if it sets me free,
Your slave stays with him.
Why should I fly?
Over mountains and fields,
And sit in the trees,
Are you eating something crazy?
Now I'm like Bread,
Pulling him out of his hands
The applicant himself;
And give me a drink
That wine, he tries,
And drink, dance,
And shadow my master
Face with my wings.
and goes to rest,
On the lyre itself I sleep.
That's it?
You made me more talkative,
Face, of a crow.


I love to go fast,
With Hyacinth employees,
He asked me to run with him.
And whispers through fast streams,
And wooded places and over rocks,
A water hose bit me.
And my heart jumped to
My mouth and I should be passed out.
But they love my eyebrows
With his soft wings he said,
You are definitely not able to love.


Nature provided horns
On bulls and hooves on horses,
The speed of the hares,
In yawning dandelions,
For fish to swim,
Birds in flight,
For the wisdom of men.
For a woman he had nothing close to him.
So what gives? Beauty,-
Instead of all shields,
Instead of all spears.
And still conquering iron
And fire, which is beautiful.

To the lovers.

The horses have labeled
fire on your sides,
And some stood out
Men born from their tinder.
So I see lovers,
Meet them now,
Because they have some small ones
Take heart.


What do you want me to do with you
What, little swallow?
Would you like to take you
Are your light gears stuck?
Or rather said to eradicate
Your tongue inside,
How did Tereus do that?
Why with your notes at dawn
You looted Bathyllus
Of my beautiful dreams?


Potro traffic, for me
Looking sideways with the eyes,
You get hard,
And you think I don't know something wise?
Knowing that I can
put your brakes on
And hold the reins, turn
Within the limits of the course.
But now browse the melons,
And jokes easily,
Because you don't have a skilled knight
Placed on the back.

Hurt love.

Love sometime among roses
I have not seen
A sleeping bee, but stabbed.
And he hurts his finger
From his hand she shouted with pain.
The race but also the flight
On beautiful Venus,
They kill me, mother, he said,
I am dead and I die.
A little snake bit me,
Wings they say that
A bee, - the breeders.
And he said if the brooding
A bee stings you
Like you think you're offended,
Love, for who sad?


Late in the afternoon, after a long stay on the island, we set sail for the first time, and for a short time the south-west wind was our ally. but it did not please Heaven to support us. With a sail hoisted, we went slowly up the east side of the stream, away from the rocks, while some woodcutters from the top of a hill, which formed the opposite bank, rolled through the timber to go down the stream. We could see their axes and crowbars shining in the sun, and the logs fell with a dust and a thud that echoed in the forest beyond us, beside us, like the roar of artillery. But the Zephyr soon took us out of sight and hearing of this trade. After passing Reed's Ferry, and another island called McGaw's Island, we come to some rapids called Moore's Falls, and enter that part of the river, nine miles long, which by law has been converted into the Union Canal, which in this interval comprises six distinct falls.; at each of them, and at many points between, the work was done.' After passing through the locks of Moor Falls, we seized our oars and went on merrily, drifting the little sandpiper from rock to rock before us, and sometimes paddling very close to a cabin on the bank, though they were few and far between. , to see the sunflowers and poppy seed pots, like little glasses full of Lethe water, in front of the door, but not disturb the lazy house behind. So we went on, sailing or plunging with the oars in the broad, gentle, placid river, which runs over hidden rocks, where we could see the brine low in the clear water, eager to bend a distant promontory, to make some great turn in man's life. , And see what new perspective it will open up. overlooking a new country, wide and peaceful, the settlers' houses are seen at first in the distance, but with a century's worth of moss on their roofs, and third or fourth generations in their shadows. It was strange to think how the sun and summer, the buds of spring and the withered leaves of autumn, related to these cottages along the coast. how all the rays that paint the landscape radiate from them, and the flight of the crow and the movements of the hawk have reference to their roofs. They were still accompanied by the ever-rich and fertile banks, full of vines and home to birds and squirrels, the edge of a farmer's field or grove, or rather wilder, where nutmeg, river-weed, stealthily creeps over alder-leaves and musk-shells, and man and man's memory is banished away.

Finally, the incessant coast that never sinking tried still held nonstop, with its fresh corpses and peaceful meadows, to land. And we adventured that we drove out of this remote coast to examine it without knowledge of any man, probably until inday. But we still remember the oak trees that grew there for our fun and they were not strange to us, the lonely horse in their grassland and the patient cows, whose path to the river was so wise to overcome the difficulties of the path. We followand interferes with your jerking in the shade. And above all the fresh and free appearance of wild apples that generously offer us their fruits, though still green and immature - the hard, round and light fruit that, if not mature, wasn't yetMarried, but also the new English has brought its ancestors to our time since. Those milder trees gave a kind of civilized and dusk aspect to Barbar.Jumped from cliff in cliff through tangled forests, to the bottom of a gorge that became darker and increasingly hay murmur. From the stream until we reached the ruins of a mill where the Eføy now grew and the trout stared at the broken well.And there we imagined what were dreams and speculation about any of the first colonizers. But the nearby day forced us to start over and compensate for lost time with long and powerful scan over the wave flow.

It was still wild and lonely, except that at intervals of a mile or two the roof of a hut could be seen over the bank. He claims the invention in these places. And now and then -such straw as she appeared, and stayed a little to look at the inferior travelers and pick up the piece of a song we made, floated over the abdomen.

Thus perchance, the Indian hunter,
Many years ago,
Gliding in its wavy waters,
A natural song hums softly.

Now the sun is behind the arrows,
Now shining along the waves,
Dear Tired Weights
Let's get angry spirits.

Just before sunset we arrived in several waterfalls in the city of Bedford, where some craftsmen repaired the locks on a remote part of the river. They were interested in our adventure, especially a young man of our age who first asked if we were engaged in "SKAG”.And when he heard our story and examined our dress, he asked us other questions, but he restricted the property and always returned to his work, even if it was his duty.It was clear that he wanted to go with us, and as he looked out over the river, many distant cloaks and a forest bank in his eyes as well as in his thoughts.When we were ready, he left his work and helped us through the locks with a calm feelings and said we were in Coos Falls and still could see his small touches through many napkins after we left him.

We wished to encamp to-night on a large rock in the middle of the stream, just above these falls, but the want of fuel and the difficulty of fixing our tent prevented us. We then made our bed on the central ground on the west bank of the town of Bedford, on an isolated place where we assume there was no home.


"Man is the enemy of man and destiny."


Early this morning, as we packed our buffaloes and loaded our boat in the cold, while our embers were still smoldering, the masons at work on the locks, whom we had seen crossing the river in their boat the night before, looking at the rock, we fell upon us while they were doing their work, and found that we had pitched our tent directly on the way to their boat. This was the only time we were noticed in our camp. So away from the beaten roads and the dust and noise of the journey, we saw the country privately, but freely and at ease. Other paths violate nature and make the traveler look at it, but the river steals the landscape, which it traverses without intrusion, creates and adorns it silently, and is as free to come and go as the zephyr.

As we flew away from this rocky coast, before the sunrise, the little servant swept, the coastal genius, his edge or stood and sought in the mud his food, and always kept an eye on us, but then humbly worked. Or he ran over the wet stones like aCastaway in his snowfall and looked for remnants of snails and bones.nu he leaves on a guide flight without knowing where he will land until a sand beam cleans between friends waves at his feet. And now our constant approach is forced you to looknew refuge.He is a bird from the former Talesian school and undoubtedly believes in the priority of water about the other elements. The relics of an antediluvian dusk still inhabiting these brilliant American rivers with us, yankee.This is somewhat honest in this racewith tacit and tacit birds that may have stepped on the ground while still in a viscous and imperfect state. Obviously, their traces are still visible on the stones. He still remains in our amazing summers, tapping by enduring his fate without sympathy forman, as if it is looking forward to another coming from whereheHe is not sure.It is wondered if he has already unlocked the secret of nature's secret from his patient's patient and sandy caps.What rich experience he must have gained, to stand on one leg and look with his matte eye so long into the sun and the rain, the moon and the stars!What could he say about stagnant basins and reeds and damp night fogs!It would be worthwhile to look attentively to the eye that was open and see, at such hours and in such loneliness, the opaque, yellowish and greenish eye.Growing my own soul must be a light, invisible green.I have seen these birds together about a dozen in the shallow water along the coast, with their beak pushing the mud into the water.

Cohass Brook, the outlet of Massabesic Pond, which is six or six miles distant, and contains fifteen hundred acres, which is the largest body of fresh water in Rockingham County, comes close from here on the east. Rowing between Manchester and Bedford, we went early , a ship and some falls, called Goffs Falls, the Indian cowshed, where there is a small village and a beautiful green islet in the middle of the stream. From Bedford and Merrimack were heavy the bricks of which Lowell is made. About twenty years ago were we informed of, a certain Moore, of Bedford, having clay on his farm, eight million bricks to the founders of this city in two years. He fulfilled his contract in one year, and since then bricks have been the chief export of these cities .The farmers thus found a market for their wood, and when they brought a load to kilns, could cover a lot of bricks on land and thus make a profit for the day. Thus all parties distributed. It is worth seeing the place where Lowell " dug".Manchester is thus built with even taller bricks in Rio in Bookst.

We may see here, on the banks of the Merrimack, near Goff's Falls, in the present town of Bedford, famous "for its hops and good domestic ales," some graves of the aborigines. The country still bears that scar, and time slowly dissolves the bones of a race. Yet without fail every spring since they first fished and hunted here the brown woodpecker has ushered in the morning with a branch of birch or alder, and the immortal race of reeds still whispers through the dry grass. But these bones don't rattle. These elements of formation are gradually being prepared for another transformation, to serve new masters, and what was the will of the Indian will one day be the neurosis of the white man.

We learn that Bedford is not as famous for hops as it once was, the price fluctuates, and poles are now in short supply. But if the traveler returns a few miles from the river, the hop kilns will still pique their curiosity.

There were few incidents on our journey this afternoon, although the river was now more stony and fell more frequently than before. It was a pleasant change, after we had been rowing continuously for many hours, to lock ourselves up in some secluded place—as there was usually no locksmith available—one sitting in the boat, while the other, sometimes without a little trouble, and stroke. , opened and closed the gates and waited patiently to see the locks filled. Not once did we use the wheels we were given. Taking advantage of the hot tub, we were sometimes taken to the locks almost in front of the falls. and for the same reason all driftwood was carried round in a circle, and repeatedly drawn through the rapids, before finally being brought downstream. These old gray edifices, with their placid arms outstretched over the river in the sun, looked like natural objects in the landscape, and the kingfisher and the sandpiper descended upon them as easily as upon stilts or rocks.

We rowed slowly up the river for several hours until the sun was high in the sky, our thoughts monotonously ticking the time on the oars. For external variety there was only the river and the receding banks, a vista constantly opening behind and closing before us as we sat with our backs to the stream. and deep down thoughts that the muses have grudgingly lent us. We always passed a low, inviting shore, or some projecting shore, on which we never landed, however.

We had such close aspects
Of the landscape of our lives.

One can see from which official right men held the land.The smallest power isMediterranean SeaThe sea, a smaller entrance to the sea in the ground, where men can navigate from the borders of the farm and the lights in their homes.For me, but for geographers, I would hardly know how much of our globe is water and my life was mostly spent in such a deep abyss.However, I dared sometimes to the mouth of my snug Harbor.From an old destroyed fort on Staten Island I loved all day to see a vessel whose name I had read that morning through the Telegraph Glass when she first went ashore and her hull got up and shone in the sun from time to time toThe most adventurous pilot and news boats found her, passed the hook and up the narrow canal in the large outer bay until she was tableed by the health officer and brought to her post in quarantine or held on the undisputed course towards New York.It was also interesting to see the less adventurous journalist who attacked as the ship crossed the strait, despite the plague and the quarantine law, and by attaching his small pod to the huge flank, climbing up and disappearing into the cabin.And then I could imagine what important news was conveyed by the captain that no American ear had ever heard that Asia, Africa, Europe - all had sunk.For which he finally pays the price and seems to go down the ship's side with his papers, but not from where he first came up, for these newcomers do not stop gossip.And he rushes with regular costs to dispose of his goods to the highest bidder, and we once read something astonishing: "Until the last coming", "with the good ship -".Sunday I saw from some hill inland the long procession of boats reaching the sea, coming from the city's dock over the strait and past the hook, out to the stream of the sea, as far as the eye reached, with majestic course and sails, silky, everythingtogether based on lucky trips, but each time some of them were undoubtedly destined to go into Davy's closet, to never return to this coast.And again, a good day night, it was my amusement to measure the sails ahead.But as the steady down sun brought more and more light, further into the horizon, the last count always had the upper hand until, as the last rays went over the sea, I had doubled and tripled my first number.Although I could no longer classify them all under the many heads of ships, boats, brigger, schooners and swim feet, but most were generally weakworejust. And then the tempered light of twilight revealed instead the houseboat of a sailor whose thoughts had already turned away from this American shore and towards the Europe of our dreams. I was on the same hilltop when a thunderstorm rolling down from the Catskills and Highlands passed over the island and flooded the land. and when it suddenly left us in the sun, we saw the boats in the bay pass by in succession, with their enormous shadow and dark wall of falling rain. Its bright sails suddenly bent and darkened, like the sides of barns, and seemed to shrink before the storm. while they were still far beyond those on the sea, through the dark veil shone the sunlit sails of the ships which the storm had not yet reached. And at midnight, when it was dark all around and above, I saw a field of glittering silver light far out on the sea, the reflection of moonlight on the sea, as if it were beyond the range of our night, where the moon crossed the horizon. sky, and sometimes with a dark spot in the middle, where some merry ship went on its merry voyage in the night.

But to us river sailors the sun never rose from the waves of the sea, but from a green hole and set behind a dark line of mountains. We were also just beach dwellers, like the bitters of the morning. and our hunt, wrecked by snails and bones. However, we were happy to know the best and fair concrete coast.

My life is like a walk on the beach,
As close to the sea edge as I can go,
My retard puts his waves sometimes O'ERREACH,
Sometimes I get let them flood.

My only work is and careful care,
To place my earnings beyond the tide,
Each smoother stone and rarer shell,
What an ocean gently in my hand entrusts.

I have only some partners on the coast,
They despise the branch that sails the sea,
I find only the sea that traveled
I'm more familiar with beach.

The middle sea contains no karmosin red,
Its deepest waves cast no pearls to see,
Along the shore my hand lies on your wrist,
And I talk to many castaways.

The little houses scattered along the river at intervals of a mile or more were generally invisible, but sometimes, as we rowed close to the bank, we heard the irritable crowing of a hen, or a faint domestic sound, which gave them away . The locksmiths' houses were especially well situated, secluded and high, always by falls or rapids, dominating the more pleasant banks of the river, as it is generally wider and more like a lake just above a fall, and there they waited for the boats. . These humble, homely, honest dwellings, where the hearth was still the essential part, were more pleasing to our eyes than palaces or castles would have been. On these days, at noon, as we have already said, from time to time we would go up to the banks and approach these houses to drink a glass of water and meet their occupants. High on the green bank, usually surrounded by a little patch of corn and beans, pumpkins and melons, sometimes with a pretty hop farm on one side, and a little vine over the windows, looked like beehives ready to gather honey for a summer. I have read of no Arcadian life that surpasses the regal luxury and tranquility of these New England dwellings. For the outer gilding, the age is at least gilded enough. As you approach the sunny door and wake the echo of your footsteps, still no sound is heard from these resting quarters, and you fear that the slightest knock may seem rude to the dreamers of the East. The door may be opened by some Yankee Hindu woman, whose small but hearty hospitality, through the unfathomable depths of a silent nature, has traveled far on the opposite side, and is only afraid to hinder her kindness. One walks across the white wooden floor to the dimly lighted "dresser," as if afraid to disturb the family worship—for the dynasties of the East seem to have died out since supper was last served here—and thence to the curb. you see his forgotten, unshaven face in the background, juxtaposed with new butter and trout in the well. "Perhaps you'd like some molasses and ginger," suggests the faint midday voice. Sometimes the sea companion, its representative, sits. who only know the distance from the nearest port, no other distances, all else is sea and distant capes, — pat the dog or pat the kitten in hands outstretched with cable and oar, drawn by the North or the trade winds. He looks at the stranger, half pleased, half surprised, with sailor's eyes, as if he were a dolphin in plaster. If men believeYours truly, Norid, there are no calmer temperatures, no more poetic and mysterious life than can be lived in these New England housing.We thought that its inhabitants' employment during the day would be to take care of the flowers and flocks and at night, like old shepherds, to gather and name the stars at the shores of the river.

We passed a large and dense wooded island this afternoon, between short and Griffith Falls, the best we could find, with a fine Elmelund in the head.If it was night we would like to camp there.A little later, one or two more came by.The boatmen told us that the power had made significant changes here recently.An island always stirs my imagination, even the smallest, like a small continent and an integral part of the planet.I have a fantasy of building my hut on one.Even a bar, grassy island, which I can see completely with a look, has a certain indeterminate and mysterious charm.There is usually one at the confluence of two rivers whose currents lead down and defeat their respective sand in the vertebrae of their confluence, as if it were the abdomen of a continent.What subtle and extensive contribution every island makes!What a nature occupation to lay the foundation and build the future continent, from the golden and silver sand and the ruins of the forests, with the ant industry!Pindar gives the following account of Thera's origin, from which the Cyrene in Libya was later inhabited by Vatos.Triton, disguised as Eurypylus, presents a stucco to Euphimus, one of the Argonauts as they are returning home.

'He knew our haste,
And immediately pick up a lot of
With the right hand he tried to give him
Like a random gift from a stranger.
Not even the hero ignored him but jumped on the beach,
rows out hand in hand,
Received the mysterious turf.
But I hear sinking from the deck,
Go with brine from the sea
At night after the aqueous sea.
Many times have I admonished the careless
They kept it, but their minds forgot it.
And now on this island the indestructible seed of the spacious Libya
It is poured out before its time. "

It is a beautiful fable, also reported by Pindarus, such as Helios or the Sun, a day looked into the sea - when its rays might first be reflected in a bright and growing dune, and considered his beautiful and fruitful Rods Iceland.

"Sprouting from below,
Able to feed many men and suitable for livestock.

and by Zeus' beckon,

"The island arose from the water
Sea? and the kind father of piercing rays,
The commander of four Spit Horses is with him.

The changing islands!Who would not be willing to have his home undermined by such an enemy!The resident of an island can tell which streams formed the land he cultivates.and your country is still being created or destroyed.There, in front of your door, probably still empty the river that overturned your old agricultural materials, and still knock or flush it away, the gracious and friendly thief!

Soon we saw Piscataquoag, or Sparkling Water, empty our way to the left and heard Amoskeeag Falls above.Large quantities of timber we read in Gazetteer were still transported annually from Piscataquoag to Merrimack, and there is a great privilege of fine mills in it.Just above the mouth of this river, we pass the artificial waterfalls where Manchester's production company's channels run into Merrimack.They are impressive enough to have a name, and seen on the basis of a bashpish they will be visited far and near.The water falls thirty or forty foot over seven or eight steep and narrow stent terraces, probably to break its strength, and turn into a lot of foam.The canal water did not look frayed, but it foamed and steamed so clean, and it fossed wildly and impressive, like a mountain stream, and although it came from under a factory, we saw a rainbow here.These are now amoskeeag Falls, removed a mile down the river.But we were not long to examine them in detail, hurried past the village, which was gathered here, and heard the hammer lay the foundation for another lowell on the shore.At the time of our journey, Manchester was a village with about two thousand inhabitants, where we left for a moment to pick up fresh water and where a inhabitant told us he had the habit of crossing the river to Goffstown to get his water..But now, as I was told and I saw, it has fourteen thousand inhabitants.From a hill on the road between Goffstown and Hooksett, four miles away, so I saw a rain overturning and the sun rises and shining across a city where I had landed nine years earlier in the fields.And there the flag of his museum flew, where "the only perfect skeleton of a Greenland whale or riverbun in the United States", and also read in the catalog of "Manchester Athenæum and Gallery of the Fine Arts".

According to Gazetteer, the descent of Soumkeag waterfall, the most important in Merrimack, is 50 meters 800 meters.We were locked here with a lot of noise that surpasses the successive water stages in this river's staircase, among a number of residents who jumped on the canal to have fun, save our fracture boat and consume a lot of water in the river.Service.It is said that Soumkeag or Namamkeeak means "a lot of fishing."When he was at war with Mohawks, he has hid his rocks supplies at the top of these waterfalls.The Indians who hid their supplies in these holes and confirmed "that God cut them for this purpose" understood their origin and use better than the company real, that in their transactions in the last century speaking. For these holes they say that they say that"They seem to be artificial.""Similar pots in kitchen utensils can be seen in stone currents in this river, Ottaway, Bellows' Falls, Connecticut and Limestone Rock in Shelburne, Cai at Deerfield River River, in Massachusetts, and more than usual for everything., Rounded lip full of cold and transparentand green water. In Amskeag, the river is divided into many separate torrents and streams, dripping from the rocks, and its volume is greatly reduced by draining channels that do not fill their bed. There are many vases in pots here on a rocky island where the riverwashed with high fresh. As in Shelburne Waterfall, where I first noticed them, they have a diameter on one foot four or five and much deeper, perfect around and usually with smooth and sweet curved lips, such as cyclists. It is clear to itmost careless observer. A stone that the chain was washed found obstacles, rotating as an axis where it is located, gradually sinking along the centuries for centuries for centuries in the cliff and in new frescoes that received the help of fresh stone, drawn to thistrap, and they are doomed to rotate there for an indefinite period, make regret for stone sins until they are used or used at the bottom of the prison or released from a revolution of nature.There are stones of different sizes, from a stone to one foot or two in diameter, some of which are only in the spring of spring and others higher that were left and dry for centuries - we observe some here at least sixteen meters above the current water level -While others still turn and dislike rest at any time.In a case, in Shelburne Waterfall, they used a little of the rock, so that part of the river delicious for the fall fall.Some of these holes in amoskeg, on a very hard brown stone, had a stretched cylindrical stone made of the same material that applied guard.A depth of up to fifteen meters and seven or eight in diameter, which was used in water had a huge cut of the same material, smooth but irregular.In all places, the foundation or waste was of a varnish in the rock.Example and sympathy for so many lessons, rocks, the hardest material, tried to turn or roll in the form of the most fluid.The best stone workers are not bronze or steel tools, but the soft touches of air and water that work in your free time with liberal time.

Not only are some of these basins formed over countless centuries, there are also others that must have been completed in an earlier geological period. In the dredging of the Pawtucket Canal in 1822, workmen found ledges with holes in them, where the bed of the river probably once was, and they exist, we are told, in the town of Canaan in this condition, with the stones still in them, at the height of ​​the country between the Merrimack and the Connecticut, and nearly a thousand feet above those rivers, proving that the mountains and rivers have changed places. There are the stones that completed their revolutions, perhaps before thoughts began to circulate in the human brain. The periods of Indian and Chinese history, though dating back to the time when the race of mortals was mixed with the race of gods, are nothing compared to the periods recorded by these stones. What started a stone when time was young will end a stone in uneven running. With so much cost in time and physical effort, our own plates are produced. They teach us lessons, these stupid workers. Yes, there are "sermons on stones and books on streams". It was in the same holes that the Indians hid their provisions. but now there is no bread, but only its old neighboring stone at the bottom. Who knows how many matches they served like this? By a simple law, an accidental law, nay, our own system was ready for its inhabitants.

These and others must be our antiquities, in the absence of human remains. The monuments of the heroes and the temples of the gods that once stood on the banks of this river are now, in any case, returning to dust and primeval soil. The murmur of uncommon nations has died along these shores, and once more Lowell and Manchester are on the Indus track.

The fact that it was inhabited by Romans does not reflect any dignity in nature itself. that the Roman from a certain hill once looked out over the sea. She need not be ashamed of her children's remains. With what joy the antiquary tells us that his ships entered that dam, or went up the river from a distant island! Its military monuments still stand on the hills and under the grass in the valleys. The oft-repeated Roman history is written in characters still legible in every corner of the ancient world, and to-day perhaps a new coin will be unearthed whose inscription repeats and confirms its fame. some"Judea was captured"With a woman in mourning under a palm tree, the silent arguments and demonstrations confirm the pages of history.

"Life in Rome was the only jewel in the world.
And the dead man is now the only monument in the world.
** ** ** **
With its own weight it is now
And from his mountains he testifies to his greatness."

If any one doubts that Greek valor and patriotism are not a fiction of the poets, he may go to Athens, and still see on the walls of the temple of Minerva the circular marks made by the shields taken from the enemy in the Persian war, which were suspended there. We have little to look for in living indisputable evidence. The dust itself takes shape and confirms a story we had read. As Fuller said, commenting on Camden's zeal, "A broken urn is full proof. Or an old gate, Which still remembers, the city has run out." When Solon tried to prove that Salamis formerly belonged to the Athenians and not the Megarians, he had opened the tombs and showed that the inhabitants of Salamis turned the faces of their dead to the same side as the Athenians. The Megaking on the opposite side. There they would be interrogated.

Some minds are as illogical or argumentative as nature. They may give no reason or "guess," but present the solemn and indisputable fact. If a historical question is raised, they sprout the graves. His silent and practical sense convinces speech and understanding at the same time. This type is always the only relevant question and the only satisfactory answer.

Our own country offers antiques as old, durable and useful as everyone else.At least the rocks are covered with low and soil, which, if it is virgin, is only virgin mold, nature's own dust.What if we can't read Rome, Greece, Etruria or Carthage or Egypt or Babylon in them.Are our stones naked?Low on rocks is a rough and simple shell where the principle and imperfect nature are suspended.The bulky trophy is still hanging.And here too, the poet's eye can still trace the traces that fix the inscriptions of the time and, if he has the gift, interpret them by this track.built byruins.What are the rivers and the ancient winds that have long lost their names looking for our forests; of Jai and the bird's blue and its tinnitus

“Flying bees
About Sallowy's floral laugh."

Here is the gray dawn of antiquity, and the future of our morning must at least be Paul post on our own, as we left behind. There are red maples and birch leaves, ancient races not yet deciphered. Cats, pines, vines, oak leaves and acorns. The same things, not their older and more respected stone forms. And even in summer, the tradition of a master craftsman of all arts reached, who once filled every field and grove with statues and thermal architecture. tradition of a master's master, with all the projects that Greece has recently copied. If ruins are now mixed with dust, and there is not a single square in the other. The sun of the century and its endless rain were wasted, till now not a piece remains of this quarry, and the poets will probably pretend that the gods sent the substance down from heaven.

Whatever the traveler tells us about the ruins of Egypt, are we so sick or idle that even today we should sacrifice our America to one man's lazy, forgotten history? Carnac and Luxor are just names, or if their skeletons remain, it will take even more desert sand and finally a wave from the Mediterranean to wash away the dirt associated with their greatness. Karnak! Karnak! here is Carnac for me. I see the pillars of a larger and cleaner temple.

This is my Carnac, whose innumerable dome
Houses the art of measuring and the Metro's house.
Here are these flowers we are ready in time,
I haven't dreamed in three thousand years,
We define ourselves and let these columns rest,
No bending to lift the blade to the sky.
Where is that time spirit, if not inside
Today, maybe today's line?
Three thousand years ago it didn't work,
Still stay in this summer morning,
And Memnon's mother greets us now, now,
Wearing her youthful glow on her forehead.
If the Carnac columns remain on the plain,
To seize our options remains.

In these parts lived the famous Sachem Pasaconaway, whom Gookin saw "at Pawtucket when he was about one hundred and twenty years old." He was known to be a wise man and a stranger, and he forbade his people to go to war with the English. They believed "that he could make water burn, rocks move, and trees dance, and transform into a burning man. that in winter he could raise a green leaf from the ashes of a dry leaf, and bring a living serpent from a dead man's skin and many similar miracles.' In 1660, according to Gookin, at a great feast and ball he made his farewell speech to his people, in which he said that as he was not likely to see them again, he would leave them with this advice, to take care how they quarreled with their neighbours, the English, for though they might at first do them much harm, it would prove the means of their own destruction. He himself, he said, had been as much the enemy of the English on his first arrival as the others and had used all his arts to destroy them, or at least to prevent their establishment, but he could by no means accomplish it. Gookin thought that 'perhaps he might have a spirit upon him, as it was in Balaam, as in xxiii .Numbers 23 said, “Surely there is no sorcery against Jacob, nor divination against Israel.” Wannalancet's son followed his advice carefully, and when Philip's war broke out, he drew his followers at Penacook, now Concord in New Hampshire, back from the theater of war On his return he visited the minister at Chelmsford and, as the history of the town states, 'desired to know if Chelmsford had suffered much during the war. and being told that it was not, and that God was to be thanked for it, Wannalance answered, "I next."

Manchester was the home of John Stark, a hero of two wars and survivor of a third, and at his death the penultimate of the American generals of the Revolution. He was born in the neighboring town of Londonderry, later Nutfield, in 1728. As early as 1752, he was captured by the Indians while hunting in the wilderness near Baker River. He did notable service as captain of the Rangers in the French War. He commanded a regiment of New Hampshire militia at the battle of Bunker Hill... And he fought and won the battle of Bennington in 1777. He had previous service in the last war and died here in 1822, aged 94. His monument stands on the other bank of the river, about a mile above the falls, and offers a perspective several miles up and down the Merrimack. the dwellings of the living intact Who is the deadest, a hero whose monument you stand, or whose descendants you have never heard of?

The Passaconaway and Wanalandset graves are not marked by any monuments on the banks of their original river.

Every city we came through, if one is to believe Gazetteer, was housing for some great man.But even though we knocked on many doors and even asked specific questions, we couldn't find anyone alive right now.Under Litchfield's head we read:

Wyseman Complained ended his life in this city.According to another: "He was a classic scholar, a good lawyer, wise and a poet."We saw his old gray house just below the great Nesenkeeag stream.-Under Head of Merrimack: "Hon. Matthew Thornton, one of the signers of the American Declaration of Independence, lived in this city for many years."We also saw his house from the river.- "Dr. Jonathan Gove, a man excellent for his courtesy, talents and business skills, lived in this city [Goffstown]. He was one of the oldest doctors in the county. He was an active member of the legislative power for many years. ”- "S. Robert Means, who died January 24, 1823, 80 years old, was a long resident of Amherst. He was originally from Ireland. In 1764 he came to this country where he acquired large estates by his industry and application to business to business.and great respect. "- "William Stinson [an early settler of Dunbarton], born in Ireland, came to Londonderry with his father. He was respected and a useful man. James Rogers was from Ireland and father of Major Robert Rogers. He was shot in the woods becauseHe was confused with a bear .- "Rev.Matthew Clark, other minister of Londonderry, was a native in Ireland, was an officer in the army of early life and distinguished himself in the defense of the city of Londonderry when it was besieged by the army of King James II.1688-9 ADHe then gave up the military life of the spiritual profession.He possessed a strong mind, characterized by a considerable degree of eccentricity.He died on January 25, 1735, and was carried to his grave of his former combat companions after his special request, of which there were a significant number among the early settlers of this city.Several of them were exempt from taxation in all British dominion of King William, for their bravery in the memorable siege. '- Colonel George Reed and Captain David M'Clary, also citizens of Londonderry, were "distinguished and gallant" officers.Some of these heroes, like the famous Romer, were plowing when the news of the Lexington massacre reached them, and they immediately left their plows in the furrow and went to the place of action.A few miles from where we were now, there was a guidebook on which it was "3 miles from Squire Macgaw's."

But in general, the Earth is now in any way very sterile of men, and we doubt there are as many hundreds as we read. We may have been very close.

Uncannunuc Mountain at Goffstown was visible from Amoskeag five or six miles to the west. It is the most northeastern on the horizon as we see it from the house, but from there it is too ethereal blue to be the same as the one we have already ascended. Its name is said to mean "The Two Breasts," where there are two eminences at some distance. The highest, which is about 400 feet above the sea, probably affords a wider view of the Merrimack valley and the neighboring country than any other hill, though somewhat obstructed by forest. Only a short distance of the river is visible, but you can follow its course downstream from the sandy shores.

A little south of Uncannunuc, about sixty years ago, the story tells that an old woman who went out to pick corn stumbled with the foot of the bucket of a small brass boiler in the dead grass and weeds.Some say flint and coal were found, and some remains of a camp were also found.This boiler, about four -quarters filled, is still preserved and used for dyeing yarn.It is supposed to have belonged to an old French or Indian hunter who was killed on one of his hunting or reconnaissance excursions and therefore never returned to fit his kettle.

But we were more interested in hearing about pennyroyal, it is a comfort to remember that nature produces everything that is ready for use by man. men know itsomethingit is well. One says it is yellow dock, another bittersweet, another elm bark, burdock, catnip, disaster, ellicampane, lemongrass or pennyroyal. A man may consider himself happy when what is his food is also his medicine. There is no such herb, but someone says it is good. I'm really happy to hear that. It reminds me of the first chapter of Genesis. But how do they know it's good? That's the mystery to me. I am always pleasantly disappointed. it's amazing they figured it out. As all things are good, eventually people cannot tell which is the curse and which is the antidote. There are definitely two diametrically opposed recipes. Catching a cold and starving to death are only two ways. Both are practical and always in full swing. However, you must follow the advice of one school as if there were no other. As regards religion and the healing arts, all nations are still in a state of barbarism. In more civilized countries the priest is just a Powwow and the doctor a wonderful medicine. Consider the respect everywhere given to a doctor's opinion. Nothing betrays humanity's credulity more spectacularly than medicine. Bragging is a universally successful thing. In that case it becomes literally true that no compulsion is too great for the credulity of men. Priests and doctors must never see face to face. They have nothing in common, nor is there anyone to mediate between them. When one comes, the other goes. They could not come together without laughter or considerable silence, for one's trade is another's satire, and one's success would be another's failure. It is wonderful that the doctor dies and the priest lives. Why is the priest never asked to consult the doctor? This is because people practically believe that matter is independent of spirit. But what is vaping? It is usually an attempt to cure a person's ailments by addressing only their body. There is a need for a doctor who at the same time takes care of the soul and the body, that is, the human being. Now he falls between two souls.

After passing through the locks, we had passed through the canal here, about half a mile long, in the boat that can sail on the river.Above amoskeeag the river runs into a lake reaching a mile or two without a turn.There were several sofas here connected to Hooksett, about eight miles, and when they arrived empty with a nice wind, a boatman offered to tug if we waited.But when we arrived, we found that they intended to take us on board, otherwise we had to greatly prevent their journey.But when our boat was too heavy to be lifted on board, we walked as before up the river while the boats ate, and came to a wide anchorage under some or on the opposite shore where we could have lunch.Although far to one side, all the sounds came to us from the opposite bank and the channel of the canal, and we could see everything that passed by.And there were several channels, with quartz spaces that rose up to Hooksett in a light breeze, and one by one disappeared around a point above.With their widest sail, they slowly moved upstream of the soft, crispy breeze, as they winged birds in Antediluvian, and as if they were emerging from a mysterious cross stream.It was a great movement, as slow and impressive that "sensed" as the phrase is, expressed the gradual and constant progress of a ship as if it were merely decorum and disposal, without moving.Her sail, which was so quiet, was like tiles thrown in the airflow to show which way she went.For the most part, the ship we were talking about came and held in the middle of the river, and when it was talking, the helmsman ironically said that if we were together he would take us tow.But regardless of his provocation, we still remained in the shade until we finished our lunch, and when the last boat had disappeared around the fines, for the wind had now sunk into a Zephyr, with our own sails and looked at our veins, I shot, I quickly went to the stream of persecution, and as I slipped close, while in vain called Aeolus to help them, we greeted their greeting and suggested if they threw a rope to us that we could get aTowing, "To which these Merrimack sailors had no adequate answer ready. So I overtook and gradually passed every boat in turns until we were back in our river."

Our course this afternoon was between Manchester and Goffun.


As we float hit, far from the tax flow on the shore that our friends and family live, our thoughts like the stars still come out of their horizon.Because there is a thinner blood than Lavaiier has discovered their laws - not blood, not just relatives, but of kindness whose heart rate still reaches some distance and forever.

True goodness is a pure divine affinity,
It is not based on human affinity.
It is spirit, not blood,
Superior in relation to family and position.

After years of vain intimacy, a distant gesture or unconscious behavior, remembered, speaks to us with more weight than the wisest or kindest words.Sometimes we perceive a long past kindness and realize that there were times when our friends' thoughts about us were of such pure and high character that they passed us as the wind of heaven unnoticed.When we were not treated as we were but as we strive to be.It may have just come to us, thanks to some silent behavior, so as not to be forgotten, not to be remembered, and we shudder by thinking about how cold we are, even though we in a true but delayed hour tryto sweep these scores away..

In my experience, people are when they become the subject of conversation, even with a friend, usually the most prophetic and insignificant events.The universe seems bankrupt when we begin to discuss the character of individuals.Our discourse is all about slander, and our boundaries narrow as we go.How does it bother us to treat our old friends so badly when we get new?The housekeeper says: I've never got new dishes in my life, but I began to break the old ones.I say, let's talk more about mushrooms and forest trees, but sometimes we remember them especially.

Lately I unfortunately met a friendly boy,
If drag all were molded in the shape of virtue,
As one he had designed for the beauty game,
But after leading it to your own fort.

From every page that opened it was like a day,
So that you do not see a lack of strength in yourself,
To walls and doors they always do
To pretend weakness and sin.

Don't say that Caesar won,
With the toal and strife that defined the Fame House,
In another way this youth was glorious,
Even a kingdom wherever he went.

No power has entered to bring you victory,
When everything was income in itself;
For where he went, there was no one left to see,
But all were a parcel from their noble master.

Presented as summer's subordinate fog,
This shows a new scenario in our eyes,
And revolutions work without a murmur,
Or the rattle of a leaf under the sky.

So I was ignored by him,
I completely forgot my tribute to confess.
But now I am forced to learn even if it is difficult,
I could love him if I loved him less.

Every moment we approach each one,
A strict respect kept us further apart,
So we look beyond each other's hand,
And less known than when we met.

We two were one when we sympathized,
So couldn't we make trading simpler?
And what good is it now that we are wise,
If this absence is this double success?

Eternity may not repeat the apartment,
But I have to go alone,
In the sad memory we once met,
And know that happiness is gone forever.

Bullets from now on and my meter will sing,
Because the elegy has no other subject.
Every musical thrill in my ears plays
Double of deture of this other.

Hurry and celebrate my tragedy.
With the right pressure, the forests and fields reverberate.
My sadness is more expensive in such a case
Of all the joys that another occasion brings.


Isn't it too late to repair the damage?
The distance, in fact of my weak view, returned himself
The empty shell and fill the worthless weed,
But in my hands, the wheat and the grain are gone.

If I love this virtue, i.
Though scented in the morning air,
We will yet be truly known,
Not even mortals know a rarer sympathy.

Friendship burns out in every man's experience and is remembered as a warm flash of past summer. Beautiful and seductive as a summer cloud; - there is always steam in the air, no matter how long the drought lasts. There is even rain in April. from time to time, as its remains never disappear, it floats in our atmosphere. It arises, like vegetation in so many materials, because there is such a law, but always without permanent form, though they are old and familiar as the sun and the moon, and as surely they will return. The heart is eternally infinite. They gather silent as if by magic, those who never fail, never deceive the sight, like the bright, winged clouds on the calmest, clearest days. The friend is a beautiful floating island of palm trees that escapes the navigator in the Pacific Ocean. Many are the dangers to be faced, the equatorial strains and the coral reefs he can sail before the persistent trade winds. But who will not sail through mutiny and storm, even over the waves of the Atlantic, to reach the fair shores of some continental man? The imagination still clings to the smallest tradition of


The strangled love chains that flow
Brighter than phylegon, lower,
Always our island, like the sea,
In an atlantic mystery.
Our sad shores that never reach
No sailor has found our beach,
Our mirage is barely visible now,
And nearby waves with liquid green,
Older graphics, however, contains
Some dashed outlines of our master;
In the old days of the summer
In sight of the western islands,
On the Tenerife and the Azores,
They showed the dark, cloud-like margins.

But sink not yet, deserted islands,
Anon your coast with smiles of trade,
And richest shipping you will give
From Africa or malabar.
Be righteous, always bear fruit,
You rumored, but unexplored coast,
Princes and monarchs will be confronted
Who will you send to your country first,
And pawn the crown jewels
To call your distant land.

Columbus sailed west from these islands with a naval compass, but neither he nor his successors found them.We are not closer than Plato was.The sincere seeking and hopeful discovering of this new world always wonders about the surroundings of his time and goes incessantly and as in a straight line through the closest crowd.

Sea and land are only their neighbors,
And comrades in their problems,
Who knows the end of the sea and dry land
He really wants and really looks for his friend.
Many men live far from the country,
But he alone sits on the branch.
If he wonders about men or books,
Always watching the sea,
Maritime news he always reads,
And the slightest gaze notes,
He feels the sea breeze on his cheek,
In every word the earthlings speak,
In the eyes of each partner
A sailboat.
In the noisy roar of the sea
Of a distant gate he hears,
Wreck on a distant coast,
And previous years' business.

Who does not walk in the plain as among the pillars of Tadmor in the desert? There is no institution on earth that Amity has established. It is not taught by any religion. no scripture contains their offices. It has no temple, not even a single pillar. Rumor has it that the land is inhabited, but no trace of the shipwreck was seen on land. The hunter found only fragments of pottery and monuments of inhabitants.

However, our destiny is at least social. Our courses do not differ. but as the web of fate is woven, it fills, and we play more and more at the center. Humans naturally, however weakly, seek this alliance, and their actions vaguely foreshadow it. We tend to emphasize similarity over difference, and in foreign bodies we assume that there are many degrees of warmth below the warmth of blood, but no coldness above it.

Mencius says: "If a man loses a bird or a dog, he knows well how to look for them again. If someone loses the feelings of the heart, he does not know how to look for them again... Tasks of Practical Philosophy consists only in searching for the feelings of the heart which we have lost. that is all."

One or two people come to my house from time to time and the vague possibility of sexual intercourse is suggested to them. They are as drunk as they are silent, waiting for my mail to strike the strings of their lyres. If they could reach the length of a sentence, or listen to one, they dream on that basis! They speak softly and do not fumble. They heard some news that no one, not even they, can convey. It is a wealth that they can bring and that can be used in many ways. What did they set out to find?

No word is more on men's lips than friendship, and no thought is more familiar with their aspirations. All men dream, and their drama, which is always a tragedy, is played out daily. It is the secret of the universe. You can screw the city, you can wander around the country and no one will ever talk about it, but he believed that everywhere is busy with this, and the idea of ​​​​what is possible in this regard affects our behavior towards everyone the boys and girls and a very old one. However, I can only remember two or three essays on this topic in the entire literature. No wonder mythology and the Arabian Nights and Shakespeare and Scott's novels amuse us - we ourselves are poets, fables, dramatists and novelists. they constantly play a part in a drama more interesting than any other writing. We dream that our friends are oursThe friendsAnd that we are our friends ”The friends. Our true friends are only distant relatives of those we are committed to. We have never exchanged more than three words with a friend in our lives at the level to which our thoughts and feelings normally rise. Someone will be ready to say, "Sweet friends!" and the salutation reads, "Cursed be thy eyes!" But it doesn't bother; Swooning never got a true friend. O my friend, let it be once that when you are my friend, I may be yours.

What good is the nicest humor, though no hours are given to friendship, if it is forever postponed to petty duties and relationships? Friendship is first, friendship last. But it is equally impossible to forget our friends and make them respond to our ideal. When they say goodbye, we start hanging out with them. How often do we turn our backs on our true friends to meet their ideal cousins. I want to be worthy to become every man's person.

What is usually honored by the name of Friendship is not a very deep or strong instinct. After all, men don'tamorpretty much your friends.I do not often see peasants becoming viewers and sages on the verge of insanity because of their friendship with each other.They are not often transformed and translated from love to each other's presence.I do not see them cleansed, refined and exalted by one man's love.If someone lowers the price of his tree a little, or gives a neighbor his voice in the city assembly or a barrel of apples or often lends him his wagon, this is considered a rare case of friendship.Even peasant wives do not live life devoted to friendship.I can't see the couple of male and female farmer friends ready to take the world.There are only two or three pairs in history.To say that a man is your friend usually means more than that he is not your enemy.Most people only think about what would be the random and insignificant benefits of friendship, as the friend can help in the moments of distress with his drug, influence or his advice.But the one who foresees such benefits in this relationship turns out to be blind to its real benefit, or even quite inexperienced in the relationship itself.Such services are special and humble compared to the lasting and extensive service it is.Even absolute goodwill, harmony and practical goodness are not enough for friendship, for friends live not only in harmony, as some say, but in melody.We do not want friends to feed and dress our bodies - it is neighbors kind enough - but to perform the same office in our mood.To this is a few rich enough, but willing enough.Most of the time we foolly confuse one man with another.Fools distinguish only tribes or nations, or highest classes, but show men, individuals.For his friend, a man's peculiar character appears in every aspect and action, and it is thus planned and improved by him.

Consider the importance of friendship in the training of men.

“The one who also has love and judgment,
She sees more than any other can. ”

That will do an honest man. That will make him a hero. It will make him a saint. It is the state of dealing only with the just, the great with the great, the honest with the honest, man with man.

And another poet says well,

"For love among the virtues is not known,
Is it love that happens in one."

All the abuses corrected with the philanthropist, the statesman and the economist are unconsciously corrected in the fraternity of friends.Friend is the one who constantly praises us, expect all the virtues from us and understand how to appreciate them in us.It takes two to tell the truth, one to speak and one to listen.How to treat wood and stones with a magnanimity?If we only deal with the fake and the dishonest, we will end up forgetting how we speak true.Only lovers know the value and magnificent of truth, while merchants value cheap honesty and neighbors and acquaintances cheap courtesy.In our daily intercourse with men, our most important abilities are unemployed and rusty.No one will greet us and expect courtesy from us.Although we have gold to give, they only ask for copper.We ask the suffering neighbor to be treated with truth, sincerity, kindness.But he answers no with his deafness.He doesn't even hear this prayer.He says practically: I will be satisfied if you treat me as "no better than I should be", as fraudulent, malicious, dishonest and selfish.Most of the time, we are happy to act and be treated, and we do not believe that there is a more sensitive and nobler relationship possible for the mass of men.A man can haveBomNeighbors, the so-called and known, even comrades, spouses, parents, brothers, sisters, children, who find each other and only each other on that ground. The state does not demand justice from its members, but believes that it does. fine. at least almost more than scammers. The same applies to neighborhood and family. What you normally call friendship is just a slightly higher price among villains.

But sometimes they tell us thatamoranother, that is, to maintain a true relationship with him, so that we can give him the best and receive the best from him. Among which there is sincere truth, there is love. and according to our honesty and trust in each other, our lives are divine and miraculous and correspond to our ideal. There are flashes of affection in our dealings with mortal men and women, such as no prophecy has taught us to expect, which transcend our earthly lives and anticipate heaven for us. What is this love that can appear right in the middle of a pedestrian day in Goffstown, like any of the gods? who discovers a new world, just, fresh, and eternal, that takes the place of the old, when to the common eye dust has fallen in the universe? to which the world cannot reach elsewhere and does not exist. What other words, we might almost ask, are more memorable and worthy of repetition than those which love inspired? It is wonderful that they were said. They are few and far between, but like a line of music they are endlessly repeated and shaped by memory. All other words collapse with the mass covering the heart. We mustn't dare repeat them out loud now. We are not competent to listen to them all the time.

Children's books say a lot about thisselectionby friends;It's because they really have nothing to sayThe friends.They simply mean partners and confidential."Know that the contradiction between enemy and friend comes from God."Friendship arises between those who have an affinity for each other and are a completely natural and inevitable result.No profession or advancement counts.Even speech at first necessarily has nothing to do with it.But it follows the hibernation, as the shots on scion first come out in leaves long after scion is taken off.It is a drama where the parties have no role to play.We are all Muslims and fatalists in that regard.Impatient and insecure lovers feel that they have to say or do something neat when they meet.They must never get cold.But who is a friend doesn't do what he doesI think yesmust, but what theyhe shall. Even their friendship is to some extent a wonderful phenomenon for them.

The true and not desperate friend will address his friend in certain terms.

"I have never asked for your permission to let me love you. I'm right. I don't love you as something private and personal, which isFROM, but as something universal and worthy of love,As I found.Oh, where I think of you!You are pure good - you are infinitely good.I can trust you forever.I didn't think humanity was so rich.Give me a chance to live. ”

"You are fact in a fiction, you are truly stranger and more admirable than fiction. Just agree to be who you are. Only I will never stand in your way."

"This is what I want—to be as intimate with you as our spirit is—to respect you as I respect my ideal. Never defile each other by word or deed, nor by thought. Between us, if necessary , let there be no knowledge."

"I discovered you. how can you hide from me?'

The vein does not ask for a return, but let the friend accept and use religiously and not ashamed of his apotheosis.They love each other.They are kind to each other's dreams.

Though the poet says, "It is the excellence of friendship to impute excellence," we can never praise our friend, nor hold him worthy of praise, nor let him think that he can please us with anything.the behavior, or alwaystreatmentus very well. The kindness which elsewhere is so reputed may at least subsist in this relation, and no insult can be offered to a friend, as a deliberate good will, a friendship which is not a necessity of the friend's nature.

The sexes are naturally more strongly attracted to each other, with constant constitutional differences, and are usually and definitely each other's complements. How natural and easy it is for a man to draw a woman's attention to what interests him. Men and women of equal culture, placed together, will certainly have some value to each other, more than men to men. There is already a natural indifference and freedom in such a society, and I think every man will certainly bring his favorite books to read in a circle of intelligent women, and not in one of his own sex. Male-to-male visits are often an interruption, but the sexes naturally expect each other. But friendship does not respect sex. And it is perhaps less common between the sexes than between two people of the same sex.

Friendship is, in any case, a relationship of perfect equality. It can spare no outward mark of equal obligation and benefit. The noble can never have a friend among his servants, nor the king among his subjects. Not that the parties are equal in all respects, but they are equal as far as their friendship is concerned or affected. The love of the one is exactly balanced and represented by the love of the other. Faces are merely the vessels that contain the nectar, and the hydrostatic paradox is the symbol of the law of love. It finds its level and rises to its source in every breast, and its slenderest backbone balances the sea.

“And love and pastor can
Like the mighty noble. '

One gender in this regard is no more tender than the other.
The love of a hero is as thin as the virgin.

Confucius said, "Never befriend a man who is not better than you." It is the value and maintenance of Friendship that it takes place on a higher plane than the actual characters of the parties seem to warrant. The beams of light come towards us in such a curve that every man we meet appears to be taller than he really is. Such an institution has kindness. My friend is the one I can relate to in my best thoughts. I always give him better work in my absence than I have ever been busy with him. and I imagine that the hours he appropriates to me have been usurped by a superior society. The worst insult I ever received from a friend was when he behaved with that license which only an old and cheap acquaintance allows, in my presence, without shame, and still addressed me in a friendly accent. Take care that your friend does not learn to tolerate your weakness and thus create an obstacle to the progress of your love. There are times when we are tired of even our friends, when we inevitably begin to desecrate each other and must religiously retreat into solitude and silence, the better we can prepare for higher intimacy. Silence is the ambrosial night in the fellowship of friends, where their sincerity manifests itself and takes deep root.

Friendship is never established as an understandable relationship. Do you want me to be less of your friend for knowing that? But what right do I have to think that someone else loves such a rare feeling for me? It is a miracle that requires constant proof. It is an exercise of the purest imagination and rarest faith. He says, with quiet but eloquent demeanor, "I will be as much kin to you as you can imagine. still you can believe. I will spend the truth,—all my wealth on you,'—and the friend answers silently through his nature and life and treats his friend with the same divine kindness. He literally knows everything about us. He never asks for a token of love, but he can feel the features he carries naturally. We never have to stand on ceremony with him about his visit. Do not wait until I invite you, but please note that I am glad to see you when you come. It would be too expensive for your visit to ask for this. Where my friend lives, there are all riches and all attractions, and no little hindrance can keep me from him. May I never tell you what I shall not say. May our fellowship be entirely upon us and draw us to it.

The language of friendship is not words, but meanings. It is an intelligence above language. One imagines endless conversations with the friend, where language will loosen up and thoughts will be expressed without hesitation or end. but the experience is often very different. Acquaintances can come and go and have a ready-made motif for every occasion. but what insignificant word will he say, if the breath itself is thought and meaning? Suppose you have to say goodbye to your friend who is going on a trip. what other outward sign do you know besides shaking his hand? So you pulled a prank on him? no box of salve to put in your pocket? Any specific message to send? Are there any statements you forgot to make? - as if you could forget something. - No, it took a long time for you to take his hand and say goodbye. which could easily be skipped; hitherto the custom prevailed. It's even painful if he goes, it takes so long. If he must go, let him go quickly. You have somespanWords? Unfortunately, that's just the reason for the words that you searched so much and have not found.ofthey don't have onefirstone more word. There are few whom I would honestly dare to call by their truest names. A spoken name is recognition of the person to whom it belongs. Whoever can pronounce my name correctly can call upon me and is entitled to my love and service. The warning, however, is freedom and abandonment of lovers. It is the reserve of that which is hostile or indifferent in nature, to make room for that which is equal and harmonious.

The violence of love is as terrible as that of hate. When durable, it is peaceful and even. Even his famous pains begin only with the ebb and flow of love, for few are true lovers, though all are impossible. It is a testament to a man's capacity for friendship that he can do without what is cheap and passionate. A true friendship is as wise as it is tender. The parties involved implicitly yield to the guidance of his love and know no other law or goodness. It's not outrageous and crazy, but what he's saying is kind of established as of now and will stand up to being typecast. It is truer truth, it is better and fairer news, and it will never be shamed or proven false. This is a plant that develops best in a temperate zone where summer and winter alternate. friend is onenecessary, and finds his friend at home. not on blankets and cushions, but on the earth and stones, they will sit and obey natural and primitive laws. They will meet without fuss and part without much regret. Their relationship involves such qualities as the prizes of warriors. for it takes courage to open the hearts of men as well as the gates of castles. It is not merely a passive sympathy and mutual comfort, but a heroic sympathy for ambition and effort.

'When the male age must fit
This fear cannot take on a position,
After tiredprojectsmake warriors
to hug each other. "

The friendship which Wawatam witnessed to Henry the Gueneboro, as described in the latter's "Adventures," as almost bare and leafless, yet neither flourishing nor barren, we remember with satisfaction and assurance. The austere and imperturbable warrior arrives after fasting, solitude and destruction of the body at the white man's shelter and claims to be the white brother he saw in his dream and adopts him henceforth. He buries the ax for his friend and they hunt and feast and make maple sugar together. "Metals are united by flexibility. birds and beasts by convenience. fools by fear and stupidity. and only men in sight." If Wawatam tasted the "white man's milk" with his tribe, or took his bowl of human broth from the merchant's countrymen, he would first find a safe place for his friend whom he had saved from a similar fate. Finally, after a long winter of peaceful and happy association with the chief's family in the desert, hunting and fishing, they return in the spring to Michilimackinac to shed their skins. and it becomes necessary for Wawatam to leave his friend at Isle aux Outardes, as the latter, in order to avoid his enemies, proceeded to Sault de Sainte Marie, supposing they would only be separated for a short time. "We have exchanged farewells before," says Henry, "with a feeling entirely mutual. I did not leave the Lodge without the most grateful Feeling for the many Acts of Kindness I had experienced in it, nor without the sincerest Respect for the Virtues I had seen among its Members. The whole family followed me to the beach. and the canoe was delayed just as Wawatam began a speech to Kichi Manito, asking him to look after me, his brother, until we meet. We had come a long way to hear his voice before Wawatam ceased to offer his prayers.' We never heard from him again.

Friendship is not as friendly as we imagine. It does not have much human blood, but it consists of a certain contempt for men and their erections, Christian duties and the humanities, while it clears the air like electricity. There may be the greatest tragedy in the relationship between two more innocent than usual and true to their higher instincts. We may call it an essentially pagan community, free and irresponsible by nature, and exercising all virtues unjustly. It is not only the highest sympathy, but a pure and exalted society, a fragmentary and divine communion of antiquity, still maintained at intervals, which, remembering itself, does not hesitate to ignore the humble rights and duties of mankind. It requires fully developed perfect and divine qualities and exists only for the sake of indulgence and anticipation of the remotest future. We do not love anything that is just good and not fair, if that is even possible. Nature puts a kind of flower before every fruit, not just a chalice behind it. When Philos comes out of his idolatry and superstition and breaks his idols, being converted by the commandments of a new covenant. when he forgets his mythology and treats his friend as a Christian or as he can afford it. then Friendship ceases to be Friendship and becomes Charity. This principle of established alms now begins with your charity at home and establishing alms relations with the poor.

With regard to the number this society admits, it must necessarily begin with one, the noblest and greatest we know of, and if the world ever leads it, also, as chaucer claims,

"There's Mo Sterres on a pars ski,"

It's back to see;

"And it certainly went well.
Out of a thousand who find one."

We will not give ourselves hot at any time we realize that the other is more deserving of our love. However, friendship does not support numbers. A friend does not count his friends on his fingers. They are not numeric. The more they are included in this bond, if it is included at all, the less often and more they share the quality of love that unites them. I am ready to believe that such a private and intimate relationship can exist, whereby the three are embraced, between two. We can't actually have many friends. That virtue which we consider to be in some measure sufficient, so that we are at last made fit for all the affairs of life. A friendship is close and exclusive, but a noble friendship is not exclusive. The most exalted and diffused love is humanity, which sweetens society and sympathizes with foreign nations, for, though its foundation is private, it is truly a public cause and a public benefit, and worth the friend more than the father, the family, the state. .

The only danger of friendship is that it ends. It is a delicate plant, even though it is native. The least indignity, though unknown to him, injures her. Let the friend know that the faults he sees in his friend attract his own faults. There is no more immutable rule than that we are paid for our suspicions by discovering what we suspect. With our narrowness and prejudices we say: I don't want so-and-so any more, my friend. Perhaps there is no one charitable, indifferent, wise, noble and heroic enough for true and lasting friendship.

Sometimes I hear my friends complain that I don't appreciate their thinness. I won't tell them if I do or not. As if they expected a thank you for every good thing they said or did. Who knows, but it was much appreciated. His silence might have been the better of the two. There are some things a man never talks about that are much better kept secret. For superior communication, we provide only a silent ear. Our best relationships aren't just silent, they're buried under a positive depth of silence never to be revealed. We may not know each other yet. In human relationships, the tragedy begins not when words are misunderstood, but when silence is misunderstood. So there can never be an explanation. What's the point of someone loving you if they don't understand you? Such love is a curse. What kind of partners are they who always assume their silence is more expressive than yours? How foolish, careless and unfair to act as if you were the only one affected! Doesn't your friend always have the same reason to complain? No doubt my friends sometimes talk to me in vain, but they do not know what I hear, and they do not know that they have spoken. I know that I have often disappointed you by not giving you words when you expected them or as you expected them. When I see my friend, I talk to him. but the man waiting, the man with ears, is not him. They will also complain that you are harsh. Oh you who wanted cocoa inside out, next time I cry I'll let you know. They ask for words and actions when a true relationship is words and actions. If they don't know about these things, how can they know? Many times we refuse to confess our feelings, not out of pride, but out of fear of not being able to continue loving the one who asked us to give such proof of our affection.

I know a woman who has an eager and intelligent mind is interested in her own culture and serious about enjoying the highest possible benefits, and I like to meet her as a natural person who doesn't cause me a bit and I think,You stimulate on your own account.But it knew that we do not reach the degree of self -confidence and feelings that women that everyone actually loves.I'm glad to help her just as she helped me.They usually visit her, just like her other friends.My nature ceases here, I don't quite know why.May not make the greatest demands on me, a religious requirement.It inspires with confidence, and I think they trust at least like religious Gentiles, at least as a good Greek.I also have the principles that were also founded as yours.If that person could hold it without will, I am tied to him with his fate.Since our good geniuses allow us and still enjoyed this sexual intercourse, it would be a grateful insurance from me that he knew I made an endless demand for myself, as well as for everyone else that he would see that thisTrue conditions, although incomplete, relationship, are infinitely better than a more unconditional, but false, without basis, without the principle of development in it.For a partner, I require someone who will make equal demands on me with my own genius.One will always be quite tolerant.He is suicidal and destroys good manners to receive less than that.My ambition and not my performance.If you don't stop looking at me but see where I look and on, then my upbringing couldn't get rid of your company.

My love must be so free
Like an eagle's wing,
Flying on land and on water
And all of it.

I must not blind my eye
In your living room,
I must not leave my heaven
And the moon at night.

Don't be the bird network
Where is my flight
And it is set up frantically
To be captivated by the spectacle.

But let it be the favorable slice
It worries me,
And it still fills my screen
When you go.

I can't leave my sky
To your whim,
True love would soar so high
Just like Heaven.

The eagle would not explode
Your partner thus won,
Who trained his eye to see
Under the sun.

Few things are harder than helping a friend in cases that does not require friendship assistance, but only a cheap and insignificant service if your friendship wants the basis of complete practical knowledge.Social and intellectual reasons, for someone who is not aware of what practical ability I have, but when he seeks my help in such cases, he is completely unaware of the one he is dealing with.He does not use my skill, as in such cases is far greater than his, but only my hands.I know of another who, on the other hand, is remarkable for its distinction in this regard.Who knows how to use other people's talents when he doesn't have the same.know when she shouldn't worry or monitor and stop her husband.It is a rare pleasure to serve you, which all workers know.I'm not a little smart with the other form of treatment.It is as if your friend, after the friendliest and most viable relationships, would use you as a hammer and hit a stitch with your head, all in good faith.Despite being a tolerable carpenter, just as your good friend is and he would like to use a hammer in your service.This lack of perception is a defect that all the virtues of the heart cannot deliver:-

The good, how can we trust?
Only the wise are righteous.
The good we use,
The sage cannot be chosen.
Are these not listed above?
The good they know and love,
But they are not known again
Of them from the smallest ken.
Not pleases us with the eyes,
But they are transported with their tips.
No partial sympathy they feel,
With private sorrow or private well-being,
But with the joy and sigh of the universe,
If knowledge is your sympathy.

Confucius said, "to fill the bond of friendship with someone means to make a friendship with their virtue. There must be no other motivation in friendship." But men will make friends with their vitio. I have a friend who wants me to see that something I know is wrong is Right. But if friendship is to steal my eyes, if it tans the day, I want nothing. It must be expansive and unmistakably liberating in its effects. True friendship can give true knowledge. It does not depend on darkness and ignorance. The lack of discrimination cannot be your component. If I can see my friend's virtues more distinctly than another's virtues, his faults also become more obvious than contrast. We have no good right to hate someone like our friend. Defects are no less defects because they are always balanced by the corresponding virtues, and for a fault there is no excuse, even though it may appear greater than it is in many ways. They could flatter who would not bribe his Judge, or were glad that truth was always loved better than he.

If two travelers walk harmoniously together, one must have the same true and plain vision of the things of the other, or their way will not be covered with roses. However, you can travel in a profitable and pleasant way, even with a blind man , if he exercises common courtesy and, when discussing the scenario, will remember that he is blind but can see. And you will not forget that your sense of hearing is probably sharp for your lack of vision. Otherwise, you will not go out long. A blind man and a man in whose eyes there was no spot were walking together when they arrived at the edge of a cliff. "Watch out! My friend," said the latter, "here is a steep cliff . Go no further.”- “I know better,” said the other, and left.

It is impossible to say everything we think, even to our best friend.We can say goodbye to him forever before we complain, as our complaint is too well -founded to be expressed.There is not so good an understanding between two, but exposure to one of a serious mistake in the other will create a misunderstanding that is reasonable to its cruelty.Constitutional differences that always exist and are obstacles to a perfect friendship are forever prohibited in friends' mouths.They advise with all their behavior.Nothing can unite them except love.They are fatally slow when trying to explain themselves and treat each other as enemies.Who will apologize for a friend?They must apologize like dew and frost that disappears again with the sun, and which all people know in their hearts are beneficial.The very need for explanation - what explanation will compensate it?

True love defends not trivial reasons, faults that ordinary acquaintances can explain, but alas, how small the obvious reason, only for sufficient and fatal and eternal reasons, which can never be neglected Your struggle, if any, is always repeated, despite of the rays of love that always gild your tears. Like the rainbow, so beautiful and unmistakable, it does not promise good weather forever, but only for a while. I have never learned useful tips but in trivial and passing matters. One may know what the other does not, but absolute kindness cannot convey what is needed to make the advice useful. We have to accept or deny each other as we are. I could bite a hyena more easily than my friend. It is a material that no tool of mine will work with. A naked savage will fell an oak with a refractory material, and use an ax from a stone because of friction, but I cannot cut the smallest splinter of my friend's character, to embellish him or to deform him.

The lover finally discovers that no person is transparent and trustworthy enough, but everyone has a demon inside, capable of any long-term crime. But as an Oriental philosopher said: "Though the friendship of good men is broken, its principles remain unchanged. The lotus stem may break, and the fibers remain trapped.'

Ignorance and confusion with love is better than wisdom and skill without it. There may be kindness, there may even be temper, intelligence, talent, and brilliant conversation, there may even be good will, and yet the most human and divine faculties crave exercise. Our life without love is like coke and ashes. Men may be pure as alabaster and Parisian marble, elegant as a Tuscan villa, magnificent as Niagara, and yet if there is no milk mingled with wine in their amusements, the better will be the hospitality of the Goths and Vandals.

My friend is not of another race or family of men, but flesh of my flesh, bone of bone. He is my real brother. I see your nature groping there, as well as mine. We don't live far. Didn't the destinations connect us in many ways? It says in the Vishnu Purana: "Seven steps together are enough for the friendship of the virtuous, but you and I remain together." Does it not matter that for so long we eat of the same bread, drink from the same fountain, breathe the same air in summer and winter, feel the same heat and the same cold? that the same fruits were delicious to refresh us, and we had never thought of different fibers from each other!

Nature dawns every day,
But mine is far away.
I wait, I cry to say the least,
My smartest is me.

For when my sun will rise,
Even if it's your dinner,
Your fairest field in the shade lies,
I can't stand the light either.

Sometimes I rest in your day,
Talking with my partner,
But if we exchange a lightning,
Immediately its heat is reduced.

At your word I rise and see,
As from an eastern hill,
A brighter tomorrow dawns beside me
From what she says to her skill.

Like two summer days in one,
Two Sundays meet,
Our united rays create a sun,
With the best summer weather.

As sure as the sunset of my last November Will translate me to the ethereal world And I will remember the ruddy morning of youth As sure as the last chord of music falling in my autumn Will make me forget my age, or in short , the manifold influences of nature they survive in the course of our natural life, so my friend will be my friend, And they reflect a ray of God to me, and time will encourage, adorn, and sanctify our friendship, no less than the ruins of the temple. How I love nature, how I love singing birds and shining swamps and flowing rivers, morning and evening, and summer and winter, I love you, my friend.

But all that can be said about friendship is like the botany of the flower.How can understanding take into account your sympathy?

Even the death of friends will inspire us as much as their lives. They will leave comfort to the mourners, as the rich leave money to cover funeral expenses, and their memories will be permeated with wonderful and pleasant thoughts, as the monuments of others are covered with moss. because our friends have no place in the cemetery.

That to our cis-Alpine and cis-Atlantic friends.

Also this second word of prayer and counsel to the great and venerable nation of the Gnorimians beyond the mountains; - Greetings.

My most peaceful and irresponsible neighbors, let's see that we have all the benefits of each other.We will be useful, at least, if not admirable, for each other.I know that the mountains that separate us are tall and covered with eternal snow, but I do not despair.Improve mild winter weather to climb them.If necessary, soak the stones with vinegar.For here, Italy's green plains are ready to welcome you.For me, I also don't have to long to penetrate your Provence.Then bunch bravely in the head, in the heart or in any vital part.Therefore, the tree is well spicy and hard and can withstand hard use.And if you have to crack it, there's much more where it came from.I am not a right that cannot be knocked against my neighbor without the danger of being cracked by clashes, and it must call false and shocking until my days end where it will crack me.But on the other hand, one of the old -fashioned wooden rings, one of which is at the front of the table, and the other is a milking stool and another a highchair, and finally goes down in his grave not unkind with marks and not dead.Until he is dead, runs out.Nothing can shock a brave man more than lethargy.Think about how many rejections every man has experienced in his time.Maybe he fell in a horse pond, ate freshwater mussels or had a shirt for a week without washing it.In fact, you cannot receive a shock unless you have an electrical affinity with what is bumping you.Use me then, because I am useful in my own way and I remain one of many candidates, from toad and hen to Dahlia and Violin, and ask you to make use of me if you find me useful in any way.Whether it is for medical drink or bath, such as conditioner and lavender.or for scents like love and geranium.or for the sight, like a cactus;or to thoughts, as stepmother flowers.These lower uses, at least, if not these higher uses.

Oh, my dear aliens and enemies I will not forget you.I can receive them.Always let me and true inscribe myself - your grateful servant.We have nothing to fear from our enemies.God maintains a standing army for this service ... but we have no ally against our friends, these ruthless vandals.

Once again all,

"Friends, Romans, Countries and Lovers".

Let this pure hate still support
Our love, to be
The conscience of the other.
And count on our support
Mainly from there.

We will make each other like gods,
And all the faith we have
To virtue and truth, give
Both of you, and the suspicion is gone
To the gods below.

Two lonely stars, -
Numerous distance systems
Between or us roll,
But of our conscious light we are
Determined in a rod.

What necessity baffles the sphere, -
Love can afford to wait,
Because no time is too late
This marks the end of a task,
Or he starts lending to someone else.

Will not use,
More than flowers tones,
Only the independent guest
Oft their bows,
He inherits his inheritance.

No reason, though the species has none,
Mas Kinder Silence Doles
to your companions,
With night consoles,
Happy day.

What does the language say in the language?
What does the ear of the ear hear?
By the decrees of fate
From year to year,

Stylously yawns the abyss of the senses, -
No insignificant word bridge,
Or arch with bolder opening,
He can jump the pit he lives in
The honest man.

No screws and rods are shown
Can keep the enemy at bay,
Or escape your secret
Who entered with doubt
This pulled the line.

No guard at the gate
He can shut in friends in,
But like the sun, everyone
He will win the castle,
And it shines on the wall.

I don't know anything in the world
Who can escape love,
As each depth descends,
And every height above.

He expects as heaven expects,
Until the clouds pass by,
Still, it shines quietly
With an eternal day,
Like when you are missing
And when they stay.

Retainless is love,-
Enemies can be purchased or provoked
Of your hostile intention,
But he will rejoice
Who is in goodness bent.

After rowing five or six miles up the Amoskeag before sunset, and reaching a pleasant part of the river, one of us went ashore in search of a farm where we could replenish our provisions, while the other remained to cross the river and explore the country. . opposite shores to find a suitable harbor for the night. Meanwhile, as the canal boats began to round a point behind us and approached the shore, the wind had died. This time there was no offer of help, but one of the boatmen only called out to say, in true revenge for the losers of the race, that he had seen a wood-water, which we had frightened, sitting down. A tall white pine, half a mile downstream. and he repeated the statement several times, and seemed genuinely distressed at the evident suspicion with which this information was received. But there the summer duck lay motionless, undisturbed by us.

The other traveler returned from his expedition into the interior, brought with him one of the natives, a fair-haired little boy, with some version of Robinson Crusoe on his head, who was delighted with the account of our adventure, and he asked his father's permission to join us. He examined, first from the top of the bank, our boat and furniture with shining eyes, and already he wanted his own man. He was a lively and interesting boy, and we would have been glad to send him. but Nathan was still his father's son, and had not reached the estimation of many years.

We had home-baked bread, veal and watermelon for dessert. For this farmer, an intelligent and benevolent man, he raised a large rent of melons for the Hooksett and Concord markets. He received us hospitably the next day, showed us his hop fields, his oven, and his melon, and warned us not to step over the tight rope which surrounded him at arm's length from the ground, while he pointed to a little bow in a corner. , where it connected with the lock of a gun that swung with the line, and where, he announced, it sometimes sat pleasant evenings to defend its precincts against thieves. We climbed in line, sympathizing with our host's interest in the success of his experience. That night, thieves in particular were expected, from rumors in the atmosphere, and the priming was not wet. He was a Methodist who lived between the river and Mount Uncannunuc. who belonged there, and settled there, and by the encouragement of distant political organizations and by his own persistence, kept a fortune in his melons and continued to plant. We suggested that melon seeds of new varieties and foreign-flavored fruits be added to your inventory. We were here among the hills to learn the impartial and irresistible charity of nature. Strawberries and melons grow as well in one man's garden as in another, and the sun lies gently beneath its slope—when we wished, more suited to some serious and faithful souls we know.

We found a practical harbor for our ship on the opposite or eastern shore, still in Bookst, at the mouth of a small stream flowing into Merryck, where it would be free of any night -passing vessel. With the stream, eitherTo avoid the flow or to touch the bottom with its rods - and where it was available without stepping on Barro Beach.We put one of our greatest melons to cool in the water among the friends at the mouth of this stream,But when our tent was ready and we went to pick it up, it had flowed downstream and was nowhere.-Disk, which gently flowed towards the sea with many branches and sheets in the mountains that night. And so perfectly balanced that it had no keel, and not water dripped into the tap that had been removed to speed up cooling.

As we sat on the bank and ate our dinner, the clear light of the western sky fell on the eastern trees and reflected in the water and enjoyed a night so peaceful that it left nothing to describe. Most of the time we believe thereare a few degrees of basements and that the highest is a little higher than what we see now.But we are always deceived. Visions of underpopulation appear and the previous pale and disappear. We are grateful when we are remembered by internal evidence of the permanenceof universal laws. For our faith is just a bit that we remember, in fact it is not a security that it remembers but a use and pleasure of knowledge. It is when we do not have to believe it but come inreal contact with the truth and relate to it in the most direct and intimate way. Serens Life's Waves passes us from time to time, such as sunlight flakes over cloudy time fields. At a happier time when the juice flows into our withered stalk to life, stretching Syria and India away from the present, as in the story. All the events that make Annals of Nations are just the shadows of our private experiences. Outlordable and silently waking up the ages we call the story and shining inside us, andbladeit is a space for Alexander and Hannibal to march and conquer. In short, the history we read is only a faint memory of events that happened in our own experience. The tradition is a fading memory.

This world is only a canvas for our imagination. I see people in infinite pain trying to achieve in their bodies what I, in at least as much pain, would achieve in my imagination, their abilities. for certainly there is a life of the mind above the needs of the body and independent of it. Often the body warms up, but the imagination storms. the body is fat, but the imagination is thin and shriveled. But what is the point of all other riches if that is what he wants? "Imagination is the air of the mind" in which it lives and breathes. All things are as I am. Where is the House of Change located? The past is as heroic as we see it. It is the canvas on which our idea of ​​heroism is painted, and therefore, in a sense, the bleak prospect of our future dominance. Our circumstances respond to our expectations and the demands of our nature. I have observed that if a man thinks he needs a thousand dollars and cannot be persuaded that he does not, he will usually meet with them. if you live and think you will get a thousand dollars, even to buy shoelaces. A thousand mills will take the same time to reach one who has so much difficulty in convincing himself that he needs it.from them.

Men are born right into this, into this given
They and your situation are the same.

I am impressed with the unique purpose and robustness of our lives.The miracle is what it isit is, when it is equally difficult, if not impossible, for anything else to be; that we travel our private roads so far before we fall into death and fate, simply because we have to go one way or another. That all people can live, and so few can do anything else. As much as I can complete ERE's health and strength, but that's enough. The bird is now sitting next to the shot. I am never rich in money and I am never poor. If debts are incurred, then debts were forgiven under events as they were by the same law in which they were incurred. I heard that a bond was formed between a certain youth and a virgin, and then I heard that it was broken, but I did not know the reason and in two cases. We are compensated, we think, by chance and circumstance, now we crawl as in a dream, now we run again as if there was a destiny for it, and all thwarted or helped. I can't change clothes, but when I do, I still change them and the floor is new. It is wonderful that this has been done, when some admirable works I could mention have not been done. Our special lives are demonstrated by as much luck, confidence and resilience as pillars of solid rock tossed forward by the tide of opportunity. When all other paths fail, we move forward with singular vague confidence on our particular course. What risk we run! Hunger and fire and amateurs and the thousand forms of cruel fate—and yet every man lives until he does. How did he do it? Is there no immediate danger? We wonder unnecessarily when we hear about a hypoglycaemia that goes away safely - we walk a plank all our lives on the very piece of string we are on. My life will not wait for anyone, but ripens yet without delay, as I walk through the streets, and trade with this man and that for good. It is so unimportant and easy Meanwhile As a poor man's dog, and familiarity with his kind. He will cut his own channel like a mountain, and on the highest peak he will not be held back at last by the sea. I have found that all things hitherto, men and inanimate matter, elements and seasons, are strangely adapted to my resources. Never mind the futile rush into my career. I can be a drain. The golfers came together in a moment, as if carrying the invisible layers of baggage for my convenience, and as I sweep from the heights the beguiling but unexplored Pacific of the Future, the ship is little by little borne over the mountains. the back of the berries and the llamas, whose keel will paint its waves and carry me to India. The day will not rise if it were not for

the inner morning

All clothes are in my mind
What outer nature bears,
And with the changing times of fashion
Everything else is repaired.

In vain seek change abroad,
And I can't find the difference,
Until a new ray of peace opens
It lights up my innermost mind.

What gilds trees and clouds,
And paints the sky so happy,
More there, however, fast continuous light
With your unchangeable radius?

Yes when the sun rolls through the forest,
On a winter morning,
Where "its silent rays invade,
The dark night is gone.

How could the sick guy know
The morning wind would come,
Or humble flowers await
Tinnitus at the insect

Until the new light with morning joy
From afar it flows in the halls,
And he spoke swiftly to the trees of the forest
For many kilometers long?

I heard in my soul
The good morning news,
On the horizon of my mind
I saw such oriental overtones,

Som i Twilight of the Dawn,
When the first birds wake up,
They sound in a quiet forest,
Where the small branches break,

Or in the eastern sky they are seen,
Before the sun appears,
Harbinger of summer heat
It brings it far.

All weeks and months of my summer life slip off in thin lumps like fog and smoke until it's a hot morning you come, I see a fog rug wave in the river in the marsh and I hover so loudly over the fields with I can remind meIn the summer hours, when the grasshopper sings over the mulleins, and there is a value in that season, if bare memory is an armor that can laugh at every one of a good luck.For our lives, the chords call in a harp that alternately swells and dies, and death is "the break when the explosion remembers itself."

We lay awake a long time listening to the murmur of the brook, in the angle formed by the bank and the river our tent was pitched, and there was a kind of human interest in its history, which neither ceases with coolness nor dryness in the lively summer, and the deeper course of the river was quite muffled by its noise. But the track if

"The silver sand and the pebbles sing
Spring Loaded Eternal Balls."

choked by the first frost of winter, while the strongest streams, on whose bed the sun never shines, choked with sunken rocks, and the ruins of the forest, from whose surface no murmur comes, are strangers to the icy bonds that fast bind a thousand contributing furrows . .

I dreamed last night about an event that happened a long time ago. It was a difference with a friend who never failed to cause me pain, though I had no reason to blame myself. But in my dream ideal justice finally freed me from her suspicions, and I received the compensation I never received in my waking hours. I was indescribably calm and happy, even after waking, for in dreams we are never deceived, nor are we deceived, and it seemed to have the power of final judgment.

We bless and curse. Some dreams are divine, as are some waking thoughts. Donne sings one

"Who dreamed more godly than most to pray."

Dreams are the trial stones in our grades.We do not suffer less when we remember some insult to our behavior in a dream than if it was real, and the intensity of our pain, which is our reconciliation, measures the degree in which it is separated from an actual unworthiness.Because in dreams we play only a role that we must have learned and tried in the waking hours, and no doubt we can discover an agreed consent to it.If this evil did not have its foundation in us, why are we so hurt by it?In dreams we see ourselves naked and play our real characters even more clearly than we see others waking.But an unwavering and dominant virtue would force even your smartest and weakest dreams to respect your always waking authority.As we carelessly say, never shouldI dreamedsomething similar. Our truest life is when we are awake in dreams.

"And more to lull you into your sweet sleep,
A stream from a high cliff,
And it always rains in the attic,
Shake with a murmuring wind as it sowed
With bees he launched him into a swing.
There is no noise, no more disturbing screams of men,
I will not yet disturb the walled city,
Can it be heard? but careless quiet lies
Turn to eternal silence from enemies. "


“Step on the barren forest floor where
The all-seeing sun has not shone for centuries,
Where he feeds the alley and walks through the crazy bear,
And even the tall mast runs the pickaxe.
** ** ** **
Wherever the darkness found him, he lay happy at night.
There the red morning touched him with its light.
** ** ** **
Go where you will, the wise man is at home,
Its hearth is the earth, its hall is the blue dome.
Where your pure spirit drives you that is your way,
For God's light is enlightened and intended."


When we woke up this morning, we heard the faint, deliberate, menacing sound of raindrops on our cotton roof. The rain had fallen all night, and now the whole country wept, the drops fell on the stream and on the alders and meadows, and instead of any bow in the sky the songbird trilled. in the morning. The happy faith of this little bird atoned for the silence of the entire choir in the nearby forest. When we first set out, a flock of sheep, led by their rams, descended from a ravine behind us, with careless haste and unreserved whispering, as if unobserved by men, from a higher pasture which they had passed over in the morning. , Try the grass by the river. but when their leaders saw our white tent through the mist, suddenly startled, with outstretched forepaws, they held the current at their backs, and the whole pack stood still, trying to solve the mystery in their cowed minds. Finally coming to the conclusion that no harm was in store for them, they spread out across the field in silence. Later we learned that we had pitched our tent on the same spot that a few summers before had been occupied by a party of Penobscotts. Through the mist we could see a dark conical hill called Hooksett Pinnacle, a landmark for boatmen, and Uncannunuc Mountain, broad on the west side of the river, looming before us.

This was the limit of our journey, as a few more hours in the rain would have brought us to the last of the locks, and our boat was too heavy to be dragged along by the long and numerous rapids that would follow. On foot, however, we continued along the bank, groping with a stick through the glade and mist, and climbing our way with as much pleasure and buoyancy as in the brightest sun. Perfume the scent of pines and the damp clay beneath our feet, and we shout from the tones of invisible waterfalls, with visions of breadcrumbs and wandering toads, and festive moss hanging from the fir trees and burning, silently pressing in under the leaves. Our path is still kept through him in the wettest weather, just like faith as we confidently followed his example. However, we managed to keep our minds dry and only our clothes were wet. It was a bitterly cloudy day with occasional glimmers of mist when the chirping of the sparuan tree seemed to usher in the hours of sunshine.

“Nothing that happens naturally to humans candamageEarthquakes and storms are not exempt from this”, said a brilliant man who at the time lived a few kilometers from our road. When we are forced by a downpour to seek shelter under a tree, we can take the opportunity for a little inspection of some of nature's works. I stood under a tree in the forest for half a day at a time, under a heavy summer rain, and yet I worked happily and profitably, looking with a searching eye at the cracks in the bark, or the leaves, or the fungus on my feet. "Wealth is the companion of the miser. and the sky rains heavily on the mountains." I can imagine what a luxury it would be to laze in some secluded swamp for a whole summer's day, smelling of wild honeysuckle and blueberries, and be shaken by the nose of gnats and gnats! A day spent in the company of these Greek sages, as described in Xenophon's feast, could not compare with the dry liquor of rotten blackberry vines and the fresh Attic salt of mosses. Say twelve hours of generous and intimate conversation with the leopard frog. for the sun to rise behind alder and dogwood, and rise mightily to the length two hands broad, and at last sink to rest behind a daring western lock. To hear the gnat's evening song from a thousand green chapels, and the bitter hum of a fortress hidden like the setting sun! "You can certainly soak in the juice of a swamp for a day, as long as the path is dry. covered over the sand. . Cold and wet, isn't it just as rich an experience as heat and dryness?

Currently drops the drops fall under the straw as we lay wet on a seen wild oat, on the slope of a thick hill, and the clouds meet, with the last gust of wind and last sigh of the wind and then, and then, regularly drip branches andLeaving the field beyond, increasing the feeling of inner comfort and care., if we had them here? We still have to sing as we used,

I threw away my books, I don't know how to read,
“I turn every page, my thoughts escape me
In the meadow, where there is richer food,
And he won't mind hitting the right target.

Plutarch was good, so was Homer,
Shakespeare's life was rich for us to relive,
What Plutarch read was neither good nor true,
Not even the books from Shakespeare unless his books were men.

Here while lying under this hickory branch,
What do I worry about the Greeks or the city of Troy,
If more fair fights are initiated now
Among the ants in the crown of this Hummock?

I ask Homer to wait until I know about the case,
If it is red or black, the gods prefer more,
Or further down in Ajax the phalanx will turn,
Struggling to lift every stone toward the host.

Ask Shakespeare to take part in some free time,
I am currently dealing with this dew drop,
And I can't see you, the clouds are preparing a rain,-
I will meet soon when the sky is blue.

This bed of grass and wild oats has been spread
Last year, with better skills than monarchs use,
A tuft of clover is a pillow for my head,
And the violets over my shoes.

And now the hot clouds are closed
And gently blowing the wind to say it's all
Scattered drops fall fast and fine,
Some in the pool, some in the flower bell.

I am soaking wet in my bed of oatmeal.
But watch the globe roll under the stalk
Now as a lonely planet floats,
And now it sinks into the edge of my clothes.

Falling in trees across the country,
And wealth is seldom distilled from every branch,
The wind alone makes all the sounds,
Stirring of crystals on lower leaves.

For shame the sun will never appear,
Who could not with his rays melt me ​​thus,
My dripping hair would become an elf,
Who in a pearl coat goes happy.

Pinnacle is a small wooded hill that rises steeply to a height of about two hundred feet close to the coast at Hooksett Falls.Since the Uncannunuc Mountain is perhaps the best vantage point to see the Merrimack Valley, this tray offers the best view of the river itself.I sat on top, a rugged cliff only a few meters long, in milder weather when the sun was about to go down and filled the river with a stream of light.You can see Merrimack from top to bottom for miles at a time.The river wide and straight, full of light and life, with its sparkling glittering waterfalls, Holmen, who divides the river, the village of Hooksett on the coast almost just below your feet, so close that you can talk to its inhabitants, or shoot a stone inTheir farms, the Lake of the Forest at its western base and the mountains to the north and northeast, are a scene of rare beauty and fullness that the traveler should strive to see.

We were hospitably received in Concord, New Hampshire, at which we insisted on callingUngConcord, as we used to do, to distinguish it from our native town, whence we learn it was named and at first partially inhabited. This would have been a fitting place to end our journey joining Concord to Concord along these winding rivers, but our ship lay at anchor a few miles below its harbor.

The wealth of rum in Penacook, now Concord, New Hampshire, was noted by explorers and according to the Haverhill historian in

"In the year 1726, considerable progress was made in the settlement, and a road was opened in the wilderness from Haverhill to Penacook. In the fall of 1727, the first family, Captain Ebenezer Eastmans, moved to the place. His team was led by Jacob Shute, who was a French by birth, and would have been the first person to lead a team into the wilderness.Soon after, according to tradition, one Ayer, a boy of 18, led a team of ten oxen to the Penacook, swam across the river, and cultivated a tract of land . He is believed to have been the first to cultivate the land at that place. Having completed his task, he began his return at sunrise, drowned a team of oxen in recrossing the river, and reached Haverhill about midnight. The first sawmill cranks were made at Haverhill and transported by horse to Penacook.

But we found that the limit was no longer like that. This generation arrived fatally late for some companies. go where we gosurfaceMen were there before us.We now cannot have the pleasure of lifting itspanHouse? This was established long ago in the suburbs of the city of Astoria, and our boundaries were literally held in the South Sea, according to the old patents. But the people's lives, though more laterally expanded in their territory, are still as shallow as ever. Surely, as one Western speaker said, "Men generally live for the same surface. Some live long and narrow, and others live wide and short"? But everything is superficial. A worm is as good a traveler as a grasshopper or cricket, and a far wiser inhabitant. With all their activity, these do not move away from the drought or advance until summer. We avoid evil not by fleeing from it, but by rising or sinking under its plan. As the worm escapes drought and frost, it burrows a few centimeters deeper. Borders are not east or west, north or south, but wherever a man istrya fact, though this is its neighbor, there is an unstable desert between it and Canada, between it and the setting sun, or still more, between it and Canada.o. Let him build a log house of the bark wherever he is,RancorTen, and make an old French war there for seven or seventy years, with Indians and rangers, or something else that may come between him and reality, and save his scalp if he can.

Τώρα δεν είχαμε πλέον πλεύσει ή επιπλέει στον ποταμό, αλλά έτρεξε την άκαμπτη γη σαν προσκυνητές.Ο Sadi λέει ποιος μπορεί να ταξιδέψει.Μεταξύ άλλων, "ένας κοινός μηχανικός, ο οποίος μπορεί να κερδίσει μια διαβίωση από τη βιομηχανία του χεριού του, και δεν θα πρέπει να στοιχηματίσει τη φήμη του για κάθε ψωμί ψωμιού, όπως είπαν οι φιλόσοφοι".Μπορεί να ταξιδέψει που μπορεί να υφίσταται στα άγρια φρούτα και το παιχνίδι της πιο καλλιεργημένης χώρας.Ένας άνθρωπος μπορεί να ταξιδέψει αρκετά γρήγορα και να κερδίσει τη ζωή του στο δρόμο.Έχω εφαρμοστεί μερικές φορές για να κάνω δουλειά όταν σε ένα ταξίδι.Για να κάνω τα ρολόγια και τα ρολόγια επισκευής, όταν είχα ένα σακίδιο στην πλάτη μου.Ένας άνδρας κάποτε εφαρμόστηκε σε μένα για να πάω σε ένα εργοστάσιο, δηλώνοντας συνθήκες και μισθούς, παρατηρώντας ότι κατάφερα να κλείσω το παράθυρο ενός σιδηροδρομικού αυτοκινήτου στο οποίο ταξιδεύαμε, όταν οι άλλοι επιβάτες απέτυχαν."Δεν ακούσατε για ένα σουφί, ο οποίος σφυροκοπούσε μερικά νύχια στο σόλα του σανδάλι του.Ένας αξιωματικός του ιππικού τον πήρε από το μανίκι, λέγοντας: Ελάτε μαζί και παπούτσι μου το άλογό μου. "Οι αγρότες μου ζήτησαν να τους βοηθήσω στο Haying, όταν περνούσα τα χωράφια τους.Ένας άνδρας κάποτε υπέβαλε αίτηση σε μένα για να επιδιορθώσω την ομπρέλα του, με πήρε για μια ομπρέλα, γιατί, σε ένα ταξίδι, έφερα μια ομπρέλα στο χέρι μου, ενώ ο ήλιος έλαμψε.Ένας άλλος ήθελε να αγοράσει ένα κασσίτερο φλιτζάνι μου, παρατηρώντας ότι είχα ένα συνδεδεμένο στη ζώνη μου, και ένα σάλτσα σάλτσας στην πλάτη μου.Ο φθηνότερος τρόπος για να ταξιδέψετε και ο τρόπος για να ταξιδέψετε το πιο μακρινό στη συντομότερη απόσταση, είναι να προχωρήσετε, να μεταφέρετε ένα βουτιά, ένα κουτάλι και μια γραμμή ψαριών, κάποιο ινδικό γεύμα, κάποιο αλάτι και κάποια ζάχαρη.Όταν έρχεστε σε ένα ρυάκι ή μια λίμνη, μπορείτε να πιάσετε τα ψάρια και να τα μαγειρέψετε.Ή μπορείτε να βράσετε ένα βιαστικό pudding.Ή μπορείτε να αγοράσετε ένα ψωμί ψωμιού στο σπίτι ενός αγρότη για τέσσερα, να το υγραίνει στο επόμενο ρυάκι που διασχίζει το δρόμο και να βυθιστεί σε αυτό τη ζάχαρη σας, - αυτό θα σας κρατήσει μια ολόκληρη μέρα · ή, αν είστε συνηθισμένοιΓια να ζήσετε πιο αδιέξοδο, μπορείτε να αγοράσετε ένα τετράγωνο γάλα για δύο σεντς, το ψωμί το ψωμί ή το κρύο πουτίγκα σε αυτό και το τρώτε με το δικό σας κουτάλι από το δικό σας πιάτο.Οποιοδήποτε από αυτά τα πράγματα εννοώ, όχι όλα μαζί.Έχω ταξιδέψει έτσι μερικές εκατοντάδες μίλια χωρίς να πάρω κανένα γεύμα σε ένα σπίτι, να κοιμάται στο έδαφος όταν είναι βολικό, και το βρήκα φθηνότερο, και από πολλές απόψεις πιο κερδοφόρα, από το να μένω στο σπίτι.Έτσι ώστε ορισμένοι να έχουν ρωτήσει γιατί δεν θα ήταν καλύτερο να ταξιδεύουν πάντα.Αλλά ποτέ δεν σκέφτηκα να ταξιδεύω απλά ως μέσο για να πάρει ένα βιοπορισμό.Μια απλή γυναίκα κάτω στο Tyngsborough, στο σπίτι του οποίου κάποτε σταμάτησα να πάρω ένα σχέδιο νερού, όταν είπα, αναγνωρίζοντας τον κάδο, ότι είχα σταματήσει εκεί εννέα χρόνια πριν για τον ίδιο σκοπό, ρώτησε αν δεν ήμουν ταξιδιώτης, υποθέτονταςΌτι από τότε ταξίδευα από τότε και τώρα είχα ξαναγυρίσει.Αυτό το ταξίδι ήταν ένα από τα επαγγέλματα, περισσότερο ή λιγότερο παραγωγικά, τα οποία ο σύζυγός της δεν ακολούθησε.Αλλά η συνεχιζόμενη ταξίδια δεν απέχει πολύ από την παραγωγική.Ξεκινά με τη φθορά των πέλματος των παπουτσιών, και κάνοντας τα πόδια πληγή, και Erelong θα φορέσει έναν άνδρα να καθαρίσει, αφού έκανε την καρδιά του πληγή στην συμφωνία.Έχω παρατηρήσει ότι η μετά τη ζωή εκείνων που έχουν ταξιδέψει πολύ είναι πολύ αξιολύπητη.Το αληθινό και το ειλικρινές ταξίδι δεν είναι χόμπι, αλλά είναι τόσο σοβαρό όσο ο τάφος ή οποιοδήποτε μέρος του ανθρώπινου ταξιδιού και απαιτεί μια μακρά δοκιμασία να σπάσει σε αυτό.Δεν μιλάω για εκείνους που καθόταν το ταξίδι, τους καθιστικούς ταξιδιώτες των οποίων τα πόδια κρέμονται να κρέμονται από την ώρα, απλά αδρανή σύμβολα του γεγονότος, περισσότερο από ό, τι όταν μιλάμε για κάθονται κότες εννοούμε εκείνους που κάθονται, αλλά εννοώ εκείνους στους οποίους ταξιδεύουνείναι η ζωή για τα πόδια, και ο θάνατος και επιτέλους.Ο ταξιδιώτης πρέπει να γεννηθεί ξανά στο δρόμο και να κερδίσει διαβατήριο από τα στοιχεία, τις κύριες δυνάμεις που είναι γι 'αυτόν.Θα βιώσει επιτέλους ότι η παλιά απειλή της μητέρας του εκπληρώθηκε, ότι θα είναι ζωντανό ζωντανό.Οι πληγές του θα εμβαθύνουν σταδιακά ότι μπορούν να θεραπευτούν προς τα μέσα, ενώ δεν ξεκουράζεται στο πέλμα του ποδιού του και τη νύχτα η κούραση πρέπει να είναι το μαξιλάρι του, ώστε να μπορεί να αποκτήσει εμπειρία ενάντια στις βροχερές μέρες του. - έτσι ήταν μαζί μας.

Sometimes we spent the night at an inn in the bush, where trout fishermen from distant villages had arrived before us, and where, to our surprise, the settlers appeared at night to talk and hear news, although there was only one road. ; and not another house was seen, - as if they had come out of the ground. There we sometimes read old newspapers, which they never read new ones before, and in the rustling of the pages they heard the noise of the surf along the Atlantic coast, instead of the wind among the pines. But then walking gave us an appetite for even the least tasty and nutritious food.

Some hard, dry book in a dead language, which you found impossible to read at home, but which you appreciate anyway, is the best thing to take on a trip. In a country inn, in the midst of the barren community of oyster farmers and travelers, I could confidently follow the authors of the Silver or Bronze Age. Almost the last regular service I did to literature was to read its works.


If you have imagined what divine work is in store for the poet, and you also approach this author in the hope of finding the field fair, you will scarcely disagree with the words of the preface,

"He is a half-heathen
Not sacred poem. "

I'm kind of pagan
Bring my verses to the poets' urn.

Here there is not the inner dignity of Virgil, or the elegance and liveliness of Horace, nor does it need a sibyl to remind you that of these older Greek poets there is a sad descent in Persius. You can hardly sense a harmonious sound in this voiceless struggle with the absurdity of men.

It can be seen that music has its place in thought, but almost still in language. When Musa arrives, we expect her to overtake the language and give it her own rhythm. Even now the verse groans and toils with its burden and does not go gently, singing as it goes. The best ode can be parodied, yes it is a parody, and it sounds poor and trivial, like a man stepping on a ladder. Homer and Shakespeare and Milton and Marvel and Wordsworth are only the rustling of leaves and the creaking of branches in the forest, and not yet the sound of a bird. Musa never raised his voice to sing. For the most part, satire will not be sung. Juvenal or Persius do not unite the music with their verse, but they are measured critics at best. they are just outside the faults they condemn, and are therefore more concerned with the monster they escaped than with the righteous prospect before them. Let them live for a time, and they will have risen from its shadow and found other objects to consider.

As long as there is satire, the poet, you say,partner in crime. It is not seen, but it is better to let evil take care of itself and only deal with that which is beyond suspicion. If you kindle the smallest remnant of truth, and it is the weight of the whole body that seals the smallest trace, an eternity will not be enough to glorify you, although no evil is so great, but you resent giving it a moment . . The truth never rebukes a lie. your own righteousness is the severest correction. Horatio would not have written satire so well, if he had not been inspired by it, as by a passion, and had loved his vein with love. In his odes love always overcomes hate, so that the sternest satire still sings itself, and the poet is satisfied, even if the madness is not corrected.

A kind of order needed in the development of genius is, firstly, complaint.Secondly, the complaint.Third, love.Complaint, which is the condition of the Persian, is not within the field of poetry.changed their disgust to sadness.We can never sympathize too much with the applicant.Because after examining the species, we conclude that he must be both a plaintiff and the defendant, and therefore it is better that they decide without consultation.Whoever receives injury is to some extent accomplice in the error.

It is perhaps more true to say that the peak voltage of the mouse is essentially a phenomenon. The saints are silenttearsof happiness. Who has heardInnocentsynge?

But the most divine poem, or the life of a great man, is the gravest satire. as impersonal as nature itself and as the sigh of the forest winds, which always conveys a small reproach to the listener. The greater the genius, the sharper the edge of satire.

So we have to do only with those rare and fragmentary features which belong to Persius in a lesser degree, or, shall we say, are the proper expression of his muse. since what he says best at any time is what he can say best at any time. Spectators and wanderers did not fail to extract a few sentences from this garden, so pleasant is it to find even the most familiar truth in a new dress, when, if our neighbor had spoken it, we would have ignored it like spoiled children. Out of these six satires one may perhaps select about twenty lines which adapt themselves so well to many thoughts that they return to the student almost as easily as a physical image. though, when translated into a familiar language, they lose the insular accent which fitted them for quotation. Lines like the following the translation cannot become ordinary. Comparing the man of true religion to those who, in jealous privacy, would not be able to enter into secret commerce with the gods, he says:

“There is nothing easily accessible to anyone, and mumbles and make whispers
To remove from the temples; and I will live openly."

It is not easy for everyone to stay down and out
It whispers outside the temples and you live by an open oath.

For the virtuous man, the universe is the only thingThe Holy, and the penetration of the temple is the broad dinner of its existence. Why would he sink into an underground crypt as if it were the only holy ground in the whole world he left unscathed? The docile soul would discover and become acquainted with things, and escape more and more into the light and into the air, as henceforth in secret, so that the universe should not seem open enough to her. Finally, she herself neglects that silence which is consistent with true modesty, but because of her independence of all confidence in her revelations, she makes what she conveys so privately to the hearer, that this modesty becomes the care of the whole world. not to be violated.

For the man who keeps a secret in his chest, there is an even bigger secret to discover. Our most indifferent actions may be a matter of secrecy, but whatever we do with the utmost sincerity and integrity, because of its purity, must be transparent as light.

In the third satire he asks:

"Is there something you are leaning towards and are heading towards in the future?
Or randomly follow crows, test, Lutove,
How easy is it to carry the foot and live out of time?'

Is there something you tend to aim your bow at?
Or do you hunt crows at random with pottery or clay,
Careless where your feet lift you and you liveagain?

The bad feeling is always secondary. The language does not seem to have done it justice, but it is obviously limited and narrow in its meaning when describing any vice. The truest construction is not laid upon it. That which might easily be turned into a rule of wisdom, is here thrown into the teeth of the slow, and forms the front part of his offence. Universally speaking, the innocent man will emerge from the sharpest examination and lectures, from the combined tumult of rebuke and praise, with a faint sound of praise in his ears. Our vices are always in the direction of our virtues, and are at best only fair imitations of the latter. A lie never attains the dignity of all lies, but is only an inferior form of truth. if it were more false, it would risk becoming true.

"Easy where the foot can be worn and out of time."he's alive»,

is the motto of a wise man. First, as the fine distinction of language would teach us, with all his carelessness he is still safe. but the night, in spite of your carelessness, is uncertain.

A sage's life is above all improvised, since he lives from an eternity that encompasses all times. The evil mind travels further than Zoroaster in every moment and arrives in the present with its revelation. Maximum economy and the thought industry do not value any man's life. Your faith in the inner world is not better, your capital is not greater. He must try his luck again today as yesterday. All questions are based on this for your solution. Time measures nothing but itself. The written word can be postponed, but not that of the lips. If the occasion calls for it, let the occasion call for it. All the world is eager to make him who rises live without his creed in his pocket.

In the fifth satire, which is the best, I find:

"He opposes reason and whispers a secret in your ear,
Let him not be allowed to do that which by doing it would hurt someone.

Reason opposes and whispers in the hidden ear,
That it is not lawful to do what is spoiled by doing.

Only those who cannot see how anything could be better are ready to try. Even the chief of labor must be encouraged by the thought that his ineptitude will be unable to do the evil which his skill may not do justice to. There is no excuse here for failing to do many things from a sense of our powerlessness—for what action does not fall mutilated and imperfect from our hands? - but just a warning to worry less.

Persio's satires are as far from inspiration as possible. apparently a theme chosen, not imposed. Maybe I gave him credit for being more serious than he appears. but it is certain that what we alone can call Persia, which is forever independent and consistent,eraseriously, and therefore sanctions the sober examination of all. The artist and his work must not be separated. The most stupid man can't willfully stay away from his madness, but the act and the performer together always make for a sobering event. There is only one scene for the farmer and the actor. The buffoon cannot bribe you to always laugh at your grimaces. they will be carved out of Egyptian granite, to be as heavy as the pyramids on the floor of your character.

The suns rose and set, and still found us on the green forest path winding through the Pemigewasset, now more like an otter or a ferret trail, or where a beaver followed his trap, than where the traveling wheels raise dust. where cities begin to serve as mud, just to hold the earth together. The wild pigeon was safely above our heads, high in the dead branches of the threshing-floor maritime pines. The very yards of our cabins sloped into the sides of the mountains, and as we passed we looked up at a sharp angle to the maple stalks rippling in the clouds.

Far out in the country—for we would be true to our experience—at Thornton we might find a young soldier in the woods, who must muster whole regiments and keep in the middle of the road. in the depths of the forest, with shoulder musket and military step, and thoughts of war and honor for himself. It was a painful trial for the youth, harder than many battles, to defeat us by merit and by military conduct. Poor man! Yes, he was shaking like a reed in his fine military breeches, and when we rose with him all the proper sternness of a soldier had left his face, and he went by as if he were leading his father's sheep under the sword. -receipt of helmet. It was too much for him to wear any extra armor, so he couldn't easily get rid of his natural arms. And at his feet they were like heavy artillery in marshy places. better cut your tracks and give up. Their stingers were crushed and fought each other for lack of other enemies. But he made it and went down with all his ammunition and lived to fight another day. and I do not record this as a suspicion of his honor and royal prowess in the field.

Wandering in the notches the streams had made, beside and over the summits of hills and mountains, through all the truncated, rocky, wooded, and grassy country, we at last crossed the lying trees above the Amonoosuck, and breathed the open air. unsuitable terrain. So both on fair days and on wet days we had traced the river, to which our original stream is tributary, until the Merrimack became the Pemigewasset, which leaped to our side, and when we passed its head, the Wild The Amonoosuck, which a small channel was crossed in one step, which led us to its distant source among the mountains, and at last, without his guidance, we succeeded in reaching the summit of AGIOCOCHOOK.

"Sweet days, so fresh, so calm, so clear,
The breach of earth and sky,
Sweet dew will mourn your fall tonight,
Why must you die."


When we returned to Hooksett a week later, Melton, in whose barn we had hung the tent and buffaloes and other things to dry, was already collecting his hops, with many women and children to assist him. We bought a watermelon, the biggest in the garden, to carry with us as ballast. It was Nathan's, which he could sell if he wanted, as it had been brought to him in the green state, and he saw it daily. After due consultation with "the father," the deal was struck—to buy it from a venture on wine, green or ripe, at our expense, and pay "what the gentlemen would." Turned out to be ripe. because we had honest experience in choosing this fruit.

Finding our vessel safe in its harbour, under Mount Uncannunuc, with fair wind and current in our favour, we started our homeward journey at noon, sitting comfortably talking or in silence, watching the last trace of every approach. the river like a curve hid it from our sight. As the season progressed the wind now blew steadily from the north, and with furled sails we could occasionally cast the oars without loss of time. Loggers dropped logs from the top of the high bank, thirty or forty feet above the water, to be dropped downstream, stopping in their work to watch the receding sail. Back then we were actually known by boatmen and hailed as the river's revenue cutter. As we raced down the river, wedged between two mounds of earth, the sound of this forest hovering on the bank enhanced the silence and expanse about noon, and we imagined that only the primal echoes were waking. The sight of a distant goa just looking around in a cloak also contributed to the loneliness on the contrary.

Through the hum and crackle of dinner, even in the easternmost city you see the fresh, pristine, wild nature, inhabited by Scythians, Ethiopians and Indians. What is echo, what is light and shadow, day and night, sea and stars, earthquake and eclipse? The works of man are absorbed everywhere in the infinity of nature. The Aegean Sea is only Lake Huron to the Indians. In addition, there is all the sophistication of civilized forest life under a drawer. The wildest scenes have an air of domesticity and homeliness even to the citizen, and when the flicker is heard in the clearing he is reminded that civilization has not changed much there. Science is welcome in the deepest recesses of the forest, because even there nature obeys the same old city laws. The little red bug on a pine stump, - then the wind changes and the sun breaks through the clouds. In the wildest nature there is not only the material for the most cultivated life and a kind of foretaste of the final result, but already a greater perfection than has ever been achieved by man. There is papyrus on the banks of the river And it runs to the light, and the goose flies just above, years before the birth of scholars, or letters invented, And the literature that the first propose, And indeed from the beginning served rudely, It may be the man, he still doesn't use them to express himself. Nature is ready to receive the best human work of art into her scene, for she is such a cunning art that the artist never appears in her work.

Art is not tame, and nature is not wild in the usual sense. A perfect artwork of humans would also be wild or natural in a good way. Man tames nature only to eventually make her freer than he found her, though he may never succeed.

With this favorable breeze, and aided by our oars, we soon reached the falls of the Amoskeag, and the mouth of the Piscataquoag, and recognized, as we rapidly passed, many shores and islets upon which our eyes rested in the ascending passage. Our boat was like that described by Chaucer in his dream in which the rider left the island,

"To travel to your wedding,
And came back with such a host,
This marriage can be minimum and maximum......
Which barge was like a man's thought,
Having brought you your joy,
The queen used to do it herself
In the same boat to play,
Didn't need web or anything else,
I have not heard of another such
No master to rule,
He said with thought and pleasure,
No work east and west,
Everything was one, calm or storm.

So we left this afternoon thinking of the saying of Pythagoras, though we had no particular right to remind him: 'It is beautiful when prosperity is present with the intellect, and when we sail like a prosperous wind, actions become done with an eye for an eye virtue? just as a pilot observes the movements of the stars.' The whole world rests in beauty on him who maintains balance in his life and walks his path calmly, without hidden violence. like one sailing across a stream, he has only to steer, hold his bark in the middle, and carry it over the falls. The waves rippled in our wake like the tinkling of a child's head as we held our steady course and looked under the bow.

"The gentle bend,
Made of the thin wave that breaks ahead,
How we move through the soft element
Like shadows that slide through unpredictable dreams."

The forms of beauty naturally fall in the way of him who does his proper work. as the curled chips fall from the plane and the holes collect around the screw. Waving is the smoothest and most ideal of motions produced by the fall of one liquid over another. Undulating is a more graceful flight. From the top of a hill, bird feathers can be seen endlessly. BothwaveThe lines representing the flight of the birds seem to have been copied from the ripple.

The trees formed an admirable fence in the landscape, enclosing the horizon on all sides. The isolated trees and groves left in the ravine seemed naturally disposed, though the farmer had only consulted for convenience, as he too falls under nature's design. Art can never match the luxury and extravagance of nature. In the first, everything is visible. He cannot afford hidden riches and is miserly in comparison. but Nature, even when outwardly strict and delicate, still satisfies us with the assurance of a certain generosity in the roots. In the swamps, where there is only an evergreen tree here and there among the mosses and quivering cranberries, nudity is not a sign of poverty. The single spruce, which I had hardly noticed in the gardens, draws me to these places, and now I understand for the first time why men try to grow them in their homes. But though there may be very perfect specimens in garden plots, their beauty is largely ineffectual there, as there is not so much assurance of similar wealth under and around them as to make them look advantageous. As we said, nature is a greater and more perfect art, the art of God. But referring to herself, she is a genius. and there is a resemblance between its actions and the art of man, even in details and trifles. When the towering pine falls into the water, from the sun and the water, and the wind rubs it against the shore, its branches are worn away in fantastic shapes and white and smooth, as if they had been turned in a lathe. The art of man has wisely imitated the forms into which all matter is most willing to run, as foliage and fruit. A hammock swinging in the forest is exactly shaped like a canoe, wider or narrower, and higher or lower at the ends, as there are more or fewer people in it, and it rolls in the air with the movement of the body, like a canoe in water . Art leaves us its shavings and dust. Her art is even exposed in the shavings and powders we make. She perfected it with an eternity of practice. The world is well maintained. no debris accumulates. the morning air is clean to this day, and no dust has settled on the grass. See how the night now creeps over the fields, the shadows of the trees creep farther and farther across the meadow, and soon the stars come to bathe these receding waters. His appointments are sure and never fail. If I had awakened from a deep sleep, I would know on which side of the meridian the sun might be by the appearance of nature and the chirping of the grasshoppers, but no painter can paint that difference. The landscape contains a thousand dials that indicate the natural divisions of time, the shadows of a thousand styles show the time.

"Not only on the face of the disc,
This silent ghost day by day,
In a slow, invisible, ceaseless rhythm
It steals away moments, months and years.
Of stony stone and old wood,
From Palmyra's proud walls,
From Tenerife, open sea,
From every blade of grass it falls."

It is almost the only game the trees play, this track, now this side in the sun, now that, the drama of the day. In deep clefts beneath the eastern sides of the rocks the knight sets foot even at noon, and when the day recedes she enters her trenches and climbs from tree to tree, from fence to fence, until at last she sits in the citadel. him and plans to drive his forces to the plain. It may be that noon is brighter than afternoon, not only because of the greater transparency of the atmosphere, but because naturally we look more to the west, as before the day, and so at noon we see the sunny side of things. ... but in the afternoon the shade of every tree.

It is late afternoon and a cool, slow wind is blowing across the river, creating great jets of bright ripples. The river has run its course and does not seem to run, but lies along its length reflecting the light, and the mist over the forest seems the invisible breath, nay, the gentle sweat of nature at rest, emerging from myriads of resources in the midst of the weakened atmosphere.

On the thirty-first of March, one hundred and forty-two years before, probably about that time in the afternoon, two white women and a boy, who had left an island at the mouth of the Contocook before dawn. They were lightly dressed for the season, in the English fashion, and swung their oars ineptly, but with nervous energy and determination, and at the bottom of their canoe were the still bleeding scalps of ten of the aborigines. It was Hannah Dustan and her nurse, Mary Neff, both of Haverhill, eighteen miles from the mouth of this river, and a boy from England, named Samuel Lennardson, who escaped from captivity among the Indians. at 3 p.mofLast March, Hannah Dustan was forced to rise from her son's bed, and half-dressed, with one foot bare, accompanied by her nurse, began an uncertain march, still in bad weather, through the snow and desert. She had seen her seven eldest children leave with their father, but had not known their fate. She had seen her baby's brain hit an apple tree and leave her and her neighbors' house in ashes. Arriving at her captor's tent, situated on an island in the Merrimack, more than twenty miles above where we now are, she was told that she and her nurse were soon to be removed to a distant Indian settlement, and it happened that running the naked challenge. This Indian's family consisted of two men, three women, and seven children, besides an English boy, who found a prisoner among them. Determined to try to escape, she asked the boy to ask one of the men how he would most quickly dispatch an enemy and take his scalp. "Hit them there," he said, putting his finger to the temple and also showing him how to remove the scalp. On the morning of the 31stStshe rose before dawn, roused the nanny and boy, and took the axes of the Indians, killing all in their sleep, except a favorite boy and a pumpkin, who ran wounded with him into the woods. The boy from England hit the Indian who gave him the information in the temple as he had been instructed. They then collected what provisions they could find, took their master's ax and gun, and sweeping away all the canoes but one, began their flight to Haverhill, about sixty miles up the river. But after walking some distance, fearing that her story would not be believed if she failed to tell it, they returned to the silent tent, and took the scalps of the dead and put them in a sack as evidence, what they had done. . . they had done so, and then they returned to the beach in the twilight and resumed their journey.

This morning this deed was accomplished, and now these weary women and this boy, their clothes stained with blood and their minds torn by alternate determination and fear, eat a hasty meal of roasted corn and moose meat, while their canoe slips beneath the pines of stumps are still on the bank. They think of the dead they left behind on the lonely island upriver and the tireless warriors who live in the hunt. Each withered leaf left by winter seems to know its story and in its rustle it repeats and betrays them. An Indian hides behind every rock and every pine tree, and his nerves cannot withstand beating a lumberjack. Or they forget their own dangers and exploits by speculating on the fate of their relatives, and whether, if they escape the Indians, they will find the first one still alive. They do not stop to cook on the bank or on land, except to carry the canoe to the falls. The stolen birch forgets its owner and does them good service, and the strong current carries them swiftly with little need for the rowing, except to guide them and keep them warm with exercise. Why does ice float in the river? spring opens; the muskrat and the beaver emerge from their river holes. The deer look at them from the shore. Some forest birds, singing softly, may fly along the river to the northernmost bank. The osprey flies and screams overhead, and the geese fly overhead with a terrifying scream. but they do not notice these things or quickly forget them. They don't smile or speak all day. Sometimes they pass an Indian grave surrounded by its clearing on the bank, or the frame of a tent, with a few coals left, or the withered stalks still rustling in the middle Indian's lonely cornfield. The birch stripped of its bark, or the charred stump where a tree was burned to make a canoe, these are the only traces of man, a wonderful wild man to us. On both sides primeval forest stretches uninterrupted into Canada or the 'South Sea'. to the white man a gloomy and howling desert, but to the Indian a home adapted to his nature and happy as the smile of the Great Spirit.

As we linger here this autumn night, looking for a secluded place where we can rest peacefully tonight, such a one, the cold March night, a hundred and forty-two years before us, with wind and current, has already disappeared. out of sight, not to camp, as we will, at night, but while two sleep, one steers the canoe, and the current carries them to settlements, it may be, even to old John Lovewell's house at Salmon Brooke that night.

According to the historian, all bands of wandering Indians miraculously escaped and arrived safely at their homes with their trophies, for which the Court paid them fifty pounds. Hannah Dustan's family were again reunited alive, except the child whose brain fell on the apple tree, and there were many who in later times lived to say that they ate of the fruit of that apple tree.

It seems a long time ago, but it is since Milton wrote his Paradise Lost. But its antiquity is not so great for that, because we do not regulate our historical time by the English standard, nor the English by the Roman, or the Romans by the Greek. "We must look back," says Raleigh, "to find the Romans giving laws to the nations, and their consuls bringing chained kings and princes to Rome to triumph. to see men go to Greece for wisdom, or Ophir after gold. when nothing now remains but a poor paper memory of its former state.' And yet, in a sense, not so far away we find Penacooks and Pawtuckets, by means of bows and arrows and stone axes, on the banks of the Merrimack. On this September afternoon, and among these more cultivated shores, those times seemed more remote than the dark ages When I look at an old photo of Concord as it was seventy-five years ago, with an open perspective and light on the trees and the river as if it were noon, I find that I had not thought that the sun shone down on them. days, or that men then lived in the light of day. Still less do we imagine the sun shining on the hills and dales during Philip's war, on the church or Philip's warpath, or later on Lovewell or Paugus, in a mild summer climate , but they must have lived and fought in a twilight. Dark or night .

The age of the world is long enough for our imagination, even according to the Mosaic narrative, without borrowing years from the geologist. From Adam and Eve in one leap to the flood, and then through the ancient monarchies, through Babylon and Thebes, through Brahma and Abraham, to Greece and the Argonauts. Where we could start over with Orpheus and the Trojan War, the Pyramids and the Olympic Games, and Homer and Athena, for our scenes. and after a break from building Rome we continue our journey through Odin and Christ in America. It is a tiring time. And yet the life of mere sixty old women, when they live under the hill, e.g. a century each, bound together, enough to reach the whole terrain. Hand in hand they would cover space from Eva to my mother. Just a respectable tea party whose gossip would be world history. My fourth eldest nursed Columbus, the ninth was nanny to the Norman Conqueror, the nineteenth was the Virgin Mary, the twenty-fourth was the Cumean Sibyl, the thirtieth was in the Trojan War, and Helen was she. name,—the thirty-eighth was Queen Semiramis, the sixtieth was Eve, the mother of mankind. So much for this

"Old woman who lives under the hill,
And if it's not gone, it's still there'.

It doesn't take a great-great-grandchild to be in Time's death.

We can never safely go beyond actual events in our narratives. There is no such thing as pure invention as some assume. Writing even a true work of fiction is simply taking the time to describe some things more precisely as they are. A true description of the real is the rarest of poetry, for common sense always has a hasty and superficial view. Although I am not very familiar with Goethe's works, I must say that it was one of his greatest excellences as a writer that he contented himself with giving an exact description of things as they appeared to him, and their effect upon him. Most travelers do not have enough self-respect to do this simply and place objects and events around them as the center, but they always imagine more favorable positions and relationships than they really are, and therefore we get no valuable references from them. . . On his travels through Italy, Goethe runs at a snail's pace, but always aware that the earth is below and the sky is above him. Your Italy is not only the home of lazzaroni and virtuous, and the scene of magnificent ruins, but a solid country covered with turf, shining daily by the sun and every night by the moon. Even the few rains are faithfully recorded. He speaks as a disinterested spectator whose aim is to faithfully describe what he sees, and mostly in the order in which he sees it. Even his reflections do not interfere with his descriptions. In one place he says of himself that he gives so glowing and true a description of an old tower to the villagers who had gathered round it, that those born and brought up near it must look over their shoulders, " that, to use his own words, "they could see with their eyes what I had sung in their ears", "and I added nothing, not even the ivy that for centuries adorned the walls". inestimable value, if not precisely that moderation was a proof of superiority. for the wise are not so much wiser than others as those who respect their own wisdom. Some, poor in spirit, complain only of what has happened to them. but others, just as they happened in the universe , and the judgment they bestowed upon the circumstances. Above all, he possessed a good will towards all men, and never wrote a cross or even a careless word. On one occasion the postman who said "Signor pardon, quésta è la mia patria" , he confesses that "for me, poor man from the north, something like a tear came to my eye".

Goethe's entire education and life was that of the artist. He lacks the unconsciousness of the poet. In his autobiography, he describes Wilhelm Meister's writing life precisely. For, as there is in this book, mixed with a rare and serene wisdom, a certain pettiness or exaggeration of detail, wisdom is used to make a man limited and partial and only good-natured—an extension of the theater until he himself changes. , life on a stage, for which it is our duty to study our parts well, and to behave properly and precisely, - thus in the autobiography the blame for his training is, so to speak, only his artistic fullness. Nature takes its toll, though she finally prevails by making an unusually universal impression on the boy. It is the life of a city boy whose toys are paintings and works of art, whose wonders are the theater and royal processions and crowns. Just as the young man studied in detail the order and positions of the imperial procession and let none of its results be lost on him, so the man intended to secure an order in society that would satisfy his conception of propriety and dignity. He was betrayed a lot, which the wild boy likes. In fact, he himself has occasion to say in this very autobiography, when he finally escapes into the gateless forest: "Thus it is certain that only the vague and scattered feelings of youth and unlearned nations are adapted to the high which, when it can be excited in us by means of external objects, since, whether formless or formed into incomprehensible forms, it must surround us with a greatness which we find above our hand.' He also says about himself: "I lived among painters from my childhood and was used to looking at objects as they did, with reference to art." And that was his practice to the end.well behavedto be fully created. He says he has had no contact with the lower class boys in his town. The child must have the benefit of ignorance as well as knowledge, and he will be lucky if he gets his share of neglect and exposure.

"The laws of nature break with the rules of art."

The genius can at the same time be, indeed usually is, an artist, but they must not be confused. The Genius, referring to humanity, is an inspirer, an inspired or demonic man, who produces a perfect work in obedience to still unexplored laws. The artist is the one who discovers and applies the law from the observation of the works of Genius, be it man or nature. The craftsman is someone who simply applies the rules that others have identified. He was not a man of pure genius. as there has been no one entirely devoid of Genius.

Poetry is the mystery of humanity.

The poet's expression cannot be analyzed. your sentence is a word whose syllables are words. They don't really existordmusic worthy. But what if we don't always hear the words if we hear the music?

Many lines are not poetry because they are not written in quite the right sense, although they may have been unimaginably close to it. Only by miracle is poetry written. It is not a recoverable thought, but a nuance captured by a broader thought of retreat.

A poem is an undivided and uninhibited expression matured in literature, and it is undivided and uninhibited accepted by those for whom it is matured.

If you can say what you never want to hear, if you can write what you never want to read, you have done rare things.

The work we choose must be ours,
God let it be.

Man's unconscious is God's consciousness.

Deep is the foundation of honesty. Even stone walls have their foundation below frost.

What is produced by a free stroke fascinates us, as do the shapes of lichen and leaves. There is a certain perfection in accident that we never consciously achieve. Draw a blunt wing full of ink on a sheet of paper, and before the ink is dry, fold the paper across this line, and a finely shaded and regular figure will be produced, in some respects more pleasing than an elaborate drawing.

The talent of composition is very dangerous - to strike the heart of life with a blow, like an Indian scalp. I feel that my life has become more external when I can express it.

On his journey from Brenner to Verona, Goethe writes:

“Tees now flow more smoothly and make wide sand in many places. In the country, by the water, on the slopes, everything is planted so close that you think you will suffocate, vines, corn, blackberries, apples, pears, quinces and walnuts. The old dwarf throws himself hard against the walls. The ivy grows with strong stems over the rocks and spreads far over them, the lizard slips through the gaps, and what wanders to and fro looks like one of the most beautiful paintings of art. The women's hair tied up, the men's bare chests and light jackets, the excellent oxen returning home from the market, the donkeys with their loads - all this makes up a lively and lively drawing by Heinrich Roos. And now that it is night, in the mild air a few clouds settle over the mountains, in the sky they are more still than moving, and just after sunset the chirping of the grasshoppers begins to grow louder. then you feel at home in the world, not like someone in hiding or exile. I am just as satisfied as if I were born and raised here and now returning from a trip to Greenland or whaling. Even the dust of my country, which often whirls round the chariot, and which I have not seen for so long, is met. The clock and bell on the grasshoppers are beautiful, piercing and pleasant. It looks brave when rogue boys whistle and imitate a field of such singers. They are actually thought to reinforce each other. Besides, the night is as perfectly mild as the day."

“If someone who lived in the south and came here from the south heard about my rapture, they would think I was very childish. Unfortunately! What I express here I have long known while I suffered under a joyless sky, and now I can happily feel that joy as an exception, which we must always enjoy as the eternal necessity of our nature.'

Thus we "speak with thought and pleasure," as Chaucer says, and all seems to flow with us. The very shore and the distant rocks were dissolved by the insoluble air. The hardest material seemed to obey the same law as the most liquid, and it does in the long run. The trees were merely rivers of lips and woody fibers flowing from the atmosphere and discharged into the soil by their trunks as their roots rose to the surface. And in the sky there were rivers of stars, and milky, already beginning to shine and wave over our heads. There were rivers of stone on the surface of the earth and rivers of ore in its bowels, and our thoughts ebbed and flowed, and that part of time was just present time. Let us roam where we will, the universe is built around us and we are still centered. If we look at the sky, it is concave, and if we consider a chasm to be infinite, it would also be concave. The sky is curved towards the earth on the horizon, as we are on the plain. Pull up your skirts. The stars so low seem to go, But with a winding path to remember me and go back.

At daylight we had already passed our tent at Coos Falls, and finally pitched our camp on the west bank, on the north side of the Merrimack, nearly opposite the large island we had passed in the morning. To the river.

There we lay down to sleep that summer night, on a sloping ledge on the bank, a few poles from our boat, which lay on the sand, and just behind a narrow bank of oaks bordering the river. without having disturbed any of the inhabitants, except the spiders in the grass, which came out of our lamp-light, and crawled over our buffaloes. As we looked out of the tent the trees were dimly seen through the mist, and a fresh dew hung over the grass, which seemed to rejoice in the night, and with the moist air we breathed a hearty fragrance. After eating our supper of hot chocolate, bread, and watermelon, we soon grew tired of talking and writing in our diaries, and when we extinguished the lantern hanging on the tent pole, we fell asleep.

Unfortunately, many things were left out that should have been noted in our diary. for although we have made it a rule to record all our experiences there, this resolution is very difficult to maintain, as important experiences seldom allow us to remember such obligations, and therefore unimportant things are recorded, while this is often neglected. It is not easy to write in a diary what interests us all the time, because writing is not what interests us.

Every time we woke up in the middle of the night, still prolonging our dreams with half-awake thoughts, it was only after a while when the wind blew harder than usual, hitting the tent curtains and making its ropes vibrate, he recalled. that we were lying on the banks of the Merrimack and not in our bedroom at home. With our heads so low in the grass we listened to the eddies and hisses of the river and fell, kissing the bank as it went, sometimes rippling harder than usual, and again its strong current made only a faint, clear dripping sound, as if Our bucket of water was leaking and the water was dripping onto the grass next to us. The wind, rustling in oaks and hazels, struck us like a watchful, careless man who gets up at midnight, walks up and down and puts things in order, now and then through whole drawers full of things, sheets. There seemed to be great haste and preparation in all nature, as for a distinguished visitor. all its halls had to be swept at night, so that a thousand maidens and a thousand pots were to boil for tomorrow's feast; — such a whispering tumult, as if ten thousand fairies were playing with their fingers, as they silently sewed together the new carpet with which the earth was to be clothed, and the new curtain which was to adorn the trees. And then the wind laid down and died down, and we liked him to sleep again.


"Varkaris direkte
He held his course with constant steadfastness,
I never shrunk, I never tried to cling
Your tried and tested weapons against toy fatigue.
But with his oars he swept the wet desert."


“The cloak of summer grows
Dark in color and resembling an often dyed garment.'


As we lay awake long before dawn, listening to the trickle of the river and the rustle of the leaves, and worrying whether the wind was blowing or going down the stream, favorable or unfavorable to our journey, we already suspected a change of climate, an autumnal freshness of these days.sounds. The wind in the forest sounded like an incessant waterfall rushing and roaring between the rocks, and we were even encouraged by the unusual activity of the elements. He who hears the swells of the rivers in these degenerate days will not entirely despair. That night was the turning point of the season. We had gone to bed in the summer and woke up in the fall. for summer passes into autumn in some unimaginable moment, like the turning of a leaf.

We found our boat at dawn as we had left it, and as if waiting for us there on the shore, in autumn, cool and dripping with dew, and our footprints still fresh in the wet sand around, the fairies were all gone or hidden. Before five o'clock we pushed it into the mist, and leaping with a push out of sight of the banks, began to descend with the raging river, looking keenly at the rocks. All we could see was yellow bubbling water and a solid bank of fog on either side that formed a small courtyard around us. Soon we passed the mouth of the Souhegan and the village of Merrimack, and as the mist gradually approached, and we were relieved from the trouble of looking for stones, we saw the first tint of the floating clouds in the hills by the movement of the river, in the houses of the coast and on the beach itself, so fresh and bright with dew, and at the end of the day, in the shade of the vine, the goldfinch on the willow, the glimmers flying in flocks, and as we passed very close to the shore, as we imagine, by the faces of men , that the fall had begun. The houses seemed warmer and more comfortable, and their occupants were seen only for a moment, and then they entered silently, closed the door, and retired to their summer homes.

"And now the cold autumn dew can be seen
For every green cobweb;
And from the low cuts, lines appear
The year of rapid decline".

We heard the sigh of the first autumn wind, even the water had taken on a grayer hue. The sumac, grape and maple had already changed and the milkweed had turned a rich, intense yellow. In all the forests the leaves were rapidly ripening for autumn. for its full veins and bright luster mark the ripe leaf, and not that served by poets. and we knew that the maples, stripped of their first leaves, would soon rise like a wreath of smoke at the edge of the meadow. Cattle could already be heard rumbling wildly in the pastures and on the roads, running restlessly from one side to the other, as if they sensed the dryness of the grass and the approach of winter. Our thoughts also began to whisper.

As we pass through the streets of our village of Concord on the day of our annual cattle show, when the elm leaves and buds usually begin to spread to the ground under the weather of the October wind, the spirits alive in their sap seem to rise up. as high, as high as every plow he drops that day. and I direct my thoughts to the rustle of the forest, where the trees prepare their winter campaign. This autumn festival, when men throng the streets as regularly and with as much natural law as the leaves gather and rustle by the roadside, is naturally connected in my mind with the fall of the year. The loss of cattle in the streets sounds like a husky symphony or a bass in the rustling of leaves. The wind rushes across the land, picking up all the loose chaff left in the fields, while every ploughman, too, seems to climb up before it, having donned his best pea-and-salt-and-pepper waistcoat, his breeches undone, excellent duckling or velvet or velvet and her fur hat together - at country fairs and cattle fairs, in that Rome among the villages where the year's treasures are collected. Across the country they go over the fences With their stiff, lifeless palms, which they never learned to hang by, Amidst the loss of calves and the flourishing of ewes, — Amos, Abner, Elnathan, Elbridge,

"From the steep pine-clad mountains to the plain."

I adore these sons of the earth, each the son of their mothers, with their big, warm hearts, running tumultuously in herds from sight to sight, as if they fear there is time between sunrise and sunset to see them all, and the sun waits no further than on the grass.

"Beloved of wise nature, they live in the world
They don't get confused about how it's released."

Running hither and thither with a taste for today's rough pastime, now with roaring speed on the heels of the inspired laryngeal negro, whose melodies from all over the Congo and Guinea burst into our streets. now to see the procession of a hundred yoke of oxen, all as graceful and heavy as Osiris, or the herds of orderly cattle and milch cows as irrefutable as Isis or Jo. Since I had no love for nature

"no way,
Devotees have returned home from this great festival."

They may bring their fattest cattle and their richest fruit to the fair, but they are all overshadowed by the appearance of men. These are busy autumn days, when men sweep through the crowds like wandering finches among rustling leaves. This is the true harvest of the year, when the air is only the breath of men, and the rustling of leaves is like the trampling of multitudes. We now read of the ancient festivals, contests, and processions of the Greeks and Etruscans, with a little incredulity, or at least a little sympathy. but how natural and irresistible to all peoples is a warm and tangible greeting from nature. The Corivantes, the bacchae, the rude primitive tragedies, with their tragic processions and songs, and all the remedies of the Panathenaes, which seem so old-fashioned and strange, now have their parallel. The peasant is always a better Greek than the scholar is willing to appreciate, and the old custom still survives, while antiquarians and scholars grow gray before his memory. Peasants throng the fair today and obey the same old law, not issued by Solon or Lycurgus, for bees naturally swarm and follow their queen.

It's worth watching the country people flock to town, the sober peasants, now all stressed, with shirts and collars turned forward, with collars as wide as if they'd put their shirts on backwards around the above, for mother always tends to the point of being superfluous, and with an unusual agility in their gait, they quarrel seriously with each other. Even the most malleable vagabond is sure to appear at the slightest rumor of such a meeting, and the next day he disappears into his hole like the seventeen-year-old grasshopper, in an ever-worn coat, though thinner than the farmer's. better, but never dressed. come and watch the sport and be a part of what is going on - to find out "what is the order", possibly. Be where some men are drunk, some horses race, some girls fight. I can't wait to shake the props out from under a table, and especially to see the "striped pig". It is especially the essence of the apartment. He empties his pockets and his character into the stream and swims one day. He is very fond of social mud. There are no reservations about sobriety in him.

I love to see the herd of men heartily subsisting on coarse, juicy delicacies, like cattle in skins and vegetable stalks. Though there be many crooked and wrinkled specimens of mankind among them, reduced to thorns and husks, and twisted with adversity, like the third chestnut in the furrow, so that you wonder when you see some heads with full hats, fear not that the race will fail or waver in them. Like crabs growing in hedgerows, they still produce sweet, frugal fruits. This is how nature mobilizes from generation to generation, while beautiful and delicious varieties disappear and have their period. This is humanity. How cheap it must be, so many men are made of.

The wind was constantly blowing downstream, so we kept the sails unfurled and did not waste a noon minute in delays, but from early morning to noon they continued to wither. With our hands on the tiller-oar, which was thrown deep into the stream, or bent over the oar, which indeed we rarely gave up, we felt every quick pulse in our horse's oars, and every stroke of wing that drew us up. . . . The current of our thoughts made sudden bends like the river, constantly opening new perspectives to the east or south, but we know that rivers run faster and shallower in these places. The fixed back has never turned on us, but it is still in fashion as it was made. why should we always stand aside for them?

A man cannot pursue or underestimate his genius. He must be content with nobler conduct than the world demands or can appreciate. These winged thoughts are like birds and will not be controlled. even chickens won't let you touch them like a quadruped. Nothing was ever so unknown and surprising to a man as his own thoughts.

For the rarest genius, it costs more to bend and conform to the ways of the world. Genius is the worst tree if the poet floats on the breeze of popularity. The bird of paradise is obliged to fly constantly against the wind, so its cheerful snares, tight against its body, impede its free movement.

He is the best sailor who can ride in the least windy places and draw power from the biggest obstacles. Most begin to spin and cling as soon as the wind shifts from behind, and since in the tropics it does not blow from all points of the compass, there are some ports they never reach.

The poet is not a tender wretch, requiring strange institutions and ordinances for his defence, but the strongest son of earth and heaven, and for his greater strength and endurance his fainting companions will recognize God in him. After all, it is beauty lovers who have done the real pioneering work in the world.

The poet will win to be popular in spite of his faults, and in spite of his beauties too. He wants to hit hard and we don't know the shape of his hammer. He frees us from his home and heart, which is greater than offering someone the freedom of a city.

Great men, unknown to their generation, have their fame among the great who have gone before, and all true worldly fame fades from their high esteem beyond the stars.

Orpheus does not hear the chords that his lyre emits, but only those that are blown on it. For the original chord precedes the sound, even the echo after. The rest is the prerogative of rocks, trees and animals.

When I find myself in a library where all the recorded humor of the world is but none of the recordings, merely a collected treasure and not really cumulative, where immortal works lie side by side with anthologies that have not survived their month, and cobwebs and Mold has already spread from them to your binding. and fortunately I remember what poetry is—I realize that Shakespeare and Milton did not foresee the company in which they would fall. Alas! that so soon the work of a true poet should be dragged into such a dust hole!

The poet will write only for his peers. He will remember only that he has seen the truth and beauty in his place, and will look forward to the time when such a wide view will cover the same field freely.

We are often called upon to express our thoughts to our neighbors or the solitary travelers we meet on the road, but poetry is a communication of our home and solitude addressed to all intelligence. He never whispers in a private ear. Knowing this, we can understand the sonnets which are said to be addressed to particular persons, or "to the lover's brow." Let no one feel flattered by them. For poetry, write love and it will be just as true.

No doubt it is an important difference between men of genius or poets and men of no genius, that the latter are unable to understand and deal with the thought that visits them. But that is because it is too weak for expression, or even conscious impression. That which only makes or retards the blood in their veins, and fills their afternoons with pleasures they know not whence, gives distinct assurance of the best organization of the poet.

We speak of genius as if it were a mere faculty, and the poet could only express what others have conceived. But compared to his work, the poet is the least talented of all. the prose writer has more skill. See what talent Smith has. Its material is flexible in your hands. When the poet is most inspired, he is stimulated by someoneaurawhich never colors even ordinary people's afternoons, then his talent is lost and he is no longer a poet. The gods don't give you one skill more than another. They never place their gifts in your hands, but envelop and sustain you with their breath.

To say that God has given a man many and great talents often means that he has placed his heaven within the reach of his hands.

Seized by a poetic frenzy, we run and scratch with our pen, aim only at the worms, call our companions around us, like the rooster, and enjoy the dust we make, but we do not trace where the jewel is, as we perhaps in the meantime throwing away or reasonably covering again.

Even the poet's body is not nourished like others, but sometimes it tastes the true nectar and ambrosia of the gods and lives a divine life. With the healthy and refreshing feelings of inspiration, your life is preserved until a peaceful old age.

Some poems are only for the holidays. They're polished and sweet, but that's the sweetness of the sugar, not the way labor yields sour bread. The breath with which the poet utters his verse must be the breath with which he lives.

Great prose, equally exalted, deserves our respect more than great verse, for it implies a more permanent and even height, a life more imbued with the greatness of thought. The poet often gives but a burst, like a Parthian, and runs off again as he retreats. but the prose writer conquered like a Roman and established colonies.

The true poem is not what the public reads. There is always a poem not printed on paper that coincides with its production, stereotyped in the life of the poet. it iswhat was done through your work. The question is not how the idea is expressed in stone, canvas or paper, but to what extent it has taken shape and expression in the artist's life. Your true work will not remain in any princess's gallery.

My life was the poem I wanted to write,
But I couldn't live it and say it.


In vain I see the morning rise,
In vain see the western fire,
Who stares lazily at other skies,
Expect life in other ways.

Within such boundless wealth,
I'm still poor inside
The birds sang their summer,
But my spring still doesn't start.

So wait for the autumn wind,
Forced to seek a milder day,
And leave no strange nests behind you,
No forest still echoes in my people?

The cloudy, stormy day and the creaking of oaks and pines on the beach reminded us of skies further north than Greece and seas more wintry than the Aegean.

The genuine remains of Ossian, or the ancient poems which bear his name, though of less fame and length, bear in many respects the same stamp as the Iliad itself. He claims the dignity of a bard no less than Homer, and in his time we hear of no other priest but him. It is no use calling him a heathen, since he personifies the sun and addresses him. what if your heroes "worship the ghosts of their fathers," their thin, airy, irrelevant forms? we only worship the ghosts of our parents in more substantial forms. We cannot but respect the firm faith of the heathen, who strictly believed in something, and are apt to say to critics, offended by their superstitious rites: — Do not interrupt the prayers of these men. As if we knew more about human life and a God than the pagans and the ancients. English Theology Contains the Latest Discoveries!

Ossian reminds us of the more refined and coarser times of Homer, Pindar, Isaiah and the American Indian. In his poetry, as in Homer, only the simplest and most enduring features of humanity are seen, as essential parts of a man as Stonehenge are the display of a temple. we see the stone circles and only the vertical axis. The phenomena of life take on an almost unreal and gigantic dimension seen through its fog. Like all older and greater poetry, it is remarkable for the few details of its heroes' lives. They lie on the heath, between the stars and the earth, wrinkled to bones and claws. The earth is a vast plain for your works. They live such a simple, dry, eternal life, as needs hardly disappear with the flesh, but are passed down from generation to generation. There are few objects to distract them, and their lives are as boundless as the course of stars they watch.

"The wrathful kings, separated,
Look forward from behind your shields,
And feel the wandering stars,
This glorious movement westward.'

It doesn't cost much for these heroes to live. they don't want a lot of furniture. They are forms of men seen far off through the mist, and they have neither dress nor dialect, but for language there is language itself, and for clothing there is always animal skin and tree bark. They live out their years with the power of their constitutions. They survive the storms and spears of their enemies and do some heroic deeds, and then

"The mountains will answer your questions,
For many years to come.”

Blind and helpless, they spend the rest of their days listening to the bard people and feeling the weapons that felled their enemies, and when they finally die, through a spasm of nature, the bard gives us a brief, hazy glimpse of the future, but just as clear, in all probability, as their lives were. When Mac-Roine was killed,

"His soul departed to his warring fathers,
To follow misty boar forms,
It's gloomy on the stormy islands.'

The hero's corpse is raised and the bard sings a short, important stanza which will suffice for epitaph and biography.

"The weak will find his bow in the dwelling,
The weak will try to bend it.”

Compared to this simple and stilted life, our civilized history seems to be a chronicle of weakness, fashion and luxury. But civilized man loses no real refinement in the poetry of the rudest age. She reminds him that culture dresses men. Makes shoes, but does not harden the soles of the feet. It makes fabric with a finer texture, but does not touch the skin. Within civilized man, the savage remains in the place of honor. We are the blue-eyed, yellow-haired Saxons, the gaunt, dark-haired Normans.

The bard profession at that time attracted more respect than the importance attached to fame. It was his province to record the exploits of heroes. When Ossian hears the story of the lesser bards, he exclaims:

"I understand vain tales at once,
And send them in faithful verse.'

His philosophy of life is expressed in the opening of Ca-Lodin's third Duan.

“Where did the stuff come from?
And where are the years that go?
Where time hides its two heads,
In the dense impenetrable darkness,
Is its surface scarred only by the deeds of heroes?
I see the generations that have passed.
The past seems unclear.
As objects of the moon's faint rays,
Reflected in a distant lake.
I truly see the lightning of war,
But there dwell the helpless without joy,
All those who do not submit their shares
So far successful times.”

Incredible warriors die and are forgotten.

"Strangers come to build a tower,
And throw your ashes above.
A pair of rusty swords appear in the dust.
One leaning forward says:
"Weapons belonged to deceased heroes.
We never hear their praise in song."

The greatness of similes is another characteristic of great poetry. Ossian seems to speak a gigantic and universal language. Pictures and photographs still occupy much of the landscape, as if they could only be seen from the hillsides and from the plains with a long horizon or from the shores of the sea. The mechanism is so extensive that it cannot help but be natural. Oivana says to her father's spirit: "Grey-haired Thorkil of Tornay", seen in the sky,

"You drift away like retreating ships."

So when the hosts of Fingal and Starne approach the battle,

"With loud murmurs, like distant rivers,
The race for thorns has come this far.

And when he was forced to retire,

"Withdrawing your spear,
Cudulin sank in the distant forest,
Like a fire that kindles before it dies."

Nor did Fingal want a proper audience when he spoke.

“A thousand eloquent speakers
Hearing the people of Fingal.

Threats would also have deterred a man. Revenge and terror were real. Trenmore threatens the young warrior he knows in a foreign limb,

"Your mother will find you pale on the beach,
As he stoops to the waves, he spies
The clothes of whoever killed your son."

If Ossian's heroes weep, it is of excessive strength, not of weakness, victims or slayers of fertile natures, like the sweat of stone in the heat of summer. Little do we know what tears were shed and it seems that crying was only for babies and heroes. Your joy and sorrow consist of one thing, like rain and snow, rainbows and fog. As Phelan grew worse in the match and was ashamed in Fingal's presence,

"He immediately left,
And bent in sorrow over a brook,
Her cheeks were decorated with tears.
From time to time the gray thistles
He closed it with his spear on his head."

Crodar, blind and old, receives Ossian, son of Fingal, who comes to help him in the war.

“My eyes have failed,” he says, “Crondar is blind,
Is your strength like your parents?
Stretch out your hand, Ossian, to the taciturn'.
I gave my hand to the king.
The old hero took my hand.
He let out a heavy sigh.
Tears flowed continuously down her cheeks.
"You are strong, son of the strong,
Although not as formidable as the Prince of Morven.

May my feast be scattered in the hall,
Let every sweet speaker sing.
Great is he that is within my walls,
Sons of Croma, echoing the waves."

Even Ossian himself, the bard-hero, celebrates the superior power of Fingal's father.

"What a handsome and strong man was his mind,
Why did he succeed Osian without her power?


As we sailed swiftly downwind, with the river gurgling under our stern, thoughts of autumn passed constantly through our minds, and we paid less attention to what happened on land than to the timeless associations and impressions which the season evoked and in some degree anticipated the progress of the year.

I hear voices that had no ears
And sight, which before had only eyes,
I live moments that I only lived this year,
And discern the truth that only knew the knowledge of learning.

Now sitting facing upstream, we studied the landscape little by little, unfolding a map, rock, tree, house, hill, and meadow, taking up new and different positions as wind and water changed the scene, and there were plenty of variety. for our imagination fun in the transformations of the simplest objects. Seen from this side, the landscape seemed new to us.

The most familiar layer of water seen from the top of a new hill produces a new and unexpected joy. After we have traveled a few miles we do not even recognize the contours of the hills which dominate our native town, and perhaps no man is sufficiently familiar with the horizon as seen from the nearest hill to his home, and can distinctly remember its outline when in field OK. We do not generally know, beyond a short distance, in what direction the hills which occupy our homes and farms extend. It is as if our birth first tore things apart and pushed us out into nature like a wedge, and only when the wound is healed and scarred away do we begin to discover where we are and that nature is one and connected in all ways. . . It is an important time when a man who has always lived on the east side of a mountain and seen it in the west, travels around it and sees it in the east. However, the universe is a sphere whose center is where there is intelligence. The sun is not as central as a man. On the top of a secluded hill, in an open field, we seem to be standing on the top of a huge shield, the immediate scene seemingly sunk below the more distant one and gradually rising to the horizon, which is the edge of shield. , the villages, the towers, the forests, the mountains, on top of each other until they were swallowed up by the sky. The farthest mountains on the horizon seem to rise directly from the shore of this lake into the forest where we happen to be, while from the top of the mountain, not only that, but also a thousand nearer and larger lakes are ignored.

Through this pure atmosphere the farmer's work, his plowing and harvesting, had before our eyes a beauty that he had never seen. How lucky we were not to own an acre of these beaches, not to have surrendered our title entirely. He who knew how to acquire the true value of this world would be the poorest man in it. The poor rich man! all he has is what he bought. What I see is mine. I am a big owner of the Merrimack ranges.

Men dig and dive, but they cannot use my riches,
Who is not yet a proper parts store,
That no armed ship in India sends,
To steal my property from the east.

He is the rich man, and he enjoys the fruits of wealth, that summer and winter may forever find joy in their own thoughts. Buy a farm! How much should I pay for a farm that a farmer takes?

When I revisit a haven from my youth, I'm happy to discover that nature dresses so well. The scenery is indeed something real, solid and honest, and I have not yet placed it. There is a pleasant course on the bank of Concord, called Conantum, which I have in mind; — the desolate old farm, the desolate pasture with its dark rocky slope, the open woods, the stream's head, the green meadow between, and the orchard of wild apples cultivated with moss — places where one can think much and decide nothing. It is a scene I can not only remember as a vision might be, but when I want I can physically revisit it and still find it inexplicable but modest in its pleasant sadness. When my thoughts perceive the change, I like to look and sit on the stones thereI haveknown, and pierce their bogs and see the immutable established. I am not yet gray in the forever gray stones, I am no longer green under the evergreens. There is even something in the passage of time that time demands.

As we have said, the day was cool, but cool, and until we reached Penichook Creek we had to sit suffocated in our cloaks while the wind and current carried us away. We quickly sketched the undulating surface moving away from the many cultivated fields and the edges of the fences that separated countless farms, not thinking of the many lives they separated. now through long rows of alders or groves of pines or oaks, now into some little house, where women and children stood outside to watch us till we had hidden them and beyond the limits of further wandering on Saturday. We passed the mouth of the Nashua, and a little later, Salmon Brook, without more respite from the wind.

Sweet water in my brain,
when will i look
Or drop the hook,
Back on your waves?

silver eel,
wooden rollers,
The lures that still fascinate
and goldsmiths
there went
Can they still last?

The shadows chased each other quickly over forest and meadow, and their alternation suited our mood. We could make out the clouds that cast each of them, though never so high in the sky. When a shadow falls across the landscape of the soul, where is the substance? If we were wise enough, we would rather see to what virtue we owe every happiest moment we enjoy. No doubt we conquered it at some point. because heaven's gifts are never completely free. The constant wear and tear of our lives turns the soil into our future growth. The wood we now mature, when it becomes virgin mold, determines the nature of our second growth, be it oak or pine. Each man casts a shadow. not only her body, but her imperfectly blended spirit. This is your pain. Let him turn where he will, he will land before the sun. short at noon, long at night. Have you never seen him? — But with reference to the sun, it is wider at its base, which is not greater than its own opacity. The divine light is diffused almost entirely around us, and through refraction or otherwise of our own light, or, as some would call it, transparency, if we keep ourselves untainted, we can illuminate the dark side. In any case, our darkest sorrow overshadowed that bronze moon. There is no disease that cannot be dispelled like darkness if you shine a brighter light on it. The shadows that refer to the source of light are pyramids whose bases are never greater than those of the substances that cast them, but the light is a spherical set of pyramids whose vertices are the sun itself, and therefore the system shines continuously. light. . But if the light we're using is just a narrow, insignificant funnel, most objects will cast a wider shadow than they are.

The places where we had stopped or spent the night on our way to the river had already acquired a bit of historical interest for us. for many days of upward travel unfolded in this rapid downward passage. When any descended to stretch their limbs by walking, they soon found that they fell behind their companion, and had to take advantage of curves and hastily cross streams and ravines to regain ground. The shores and distant meadows were already of a sober and deep color, for the September wind had robbed them of their summer pride.

"And what is life?" the blooming matrix
From the proud summer meadow, like today
She has her green velvet on and tomorrow is hay.

Air was indeed the "subtle element" described by the poets. It had a finer, sharper grain that showed through the rusted pastures and meadows than before, as if it had been cleansed of the impurities of summer.

After crossing the New Hampshire line and reaching the horseshoe at Tyngsborough, where there is another high, level bank, we hurried to get a closer look at the fall flowers, asters, goldenrods, and yarrows and blue curlews (dichotom trichom), humble roadside flowers, and motionless the hare andRhexia Virginica. The latter, growing in patches of bright pink flowers at the edge of the meadows, looked almost too gay for the rest of the landscape, like a pink ribbon on a Puritan woman's hat. Stars and gold bars were the meadow that nature used at this time. Only the latter expressed all the ripeness of the season and cast their sweet splendor over the fields, as if the now waning summer sun had bequeathed to them its tones. It is the floral solstice just after midsummer, when particles of golden light, the dust of the sun, fell like seeds to the earth and created these flowers. On every hillside and in every valley there were innumerable asters, crocuses, journeys, golden rice, and the whole race of yellow flowers, which devout Brahmans constantly turned with their lamps from morning till night.

"I see the golden rod shining,
Like sunlight at dawn,
A golden plume of yellow light,
This robs the God of the Day of his wonderful ray.

"The violet rays of the star are divided
The bank with many stars for me,
And the yarrow in shades of white is dyed,
Like moonlight floating on the sea.

“I see the emerald grove preparing
To take your clothes off again,
And distant elms trace the wind
With images yellow evenly.
** ** ** **
"The Åkan's pride is gone
In the white circles of milk, the content of swimming,
No more clumps of blue weed
And mock the element of heaven.
** ** ** **
“Autumn, your crown and mine are mixed
In the same colors, for me
Borrow a heaven richer than all others,
When my dream company disappears.

“Our sky glows purple, but the wind
Hiccup cools through green trees and bright grass,
Today it shines nicely and hides behind
The times that enter winter pass.

"As fair as we seem, as cold as we are,
So fast we run into decay,
But during our night many stars shine,
It will still claim its sunny day.”

So once sang a poet from Concord.

There is a peculiar interest which belongs to still later flowers, which remain with us as winter approaches. There is something frenetic about the appearance of witch hazel, which blooms in late October and November with its jagged, edgy spray and petals like crazy hair or little serpentines. Its flowering, even in this irregular season, when other shrubs have lost their leaves as well as their flowers, looks like the work of a witch. It is sure to flourish in everyone's garden. There is a whole wonderland on the slope where it grows.

It has been thought by some that storms at the present time do not convey to the traveler the natural and original fragrance of the country, as described by early navigators, and that the loss of many fragrant native plants, fragrant herbs, and medicinal herbs, which formerly sweetened the atmosphere and made the hygienic, grazing of cattle and rooting of pigs is the source of many diseases which are now prevalent. The earth, they say, having long been subjected to highly artificial and luxurious modes of cultivation to satisfy the appetite, has been turned into a path and warm bed, where men for profit increase the common corruption of nature.

According to the record of a former resident of Tyngsboro, now deceased, over whose farm we now glide, one of the greatest floods on this river occurred in October, 1785, and its height was marked by a nail cut in an apple . tree behind your house. One of his descendants showed me this, and I estimated it to be at least seventeen or eighteen feet above the river at that time. According to Barber, the river rose 21 feet above the ordinary flood mark in Bradford in the year 1818. Before the Lowell and Nashua Railroad was built, the engineer polled the inhabitants along the banks to find out how high it was. . knew that the river is rising. When he arrived at this house, he was led to the apple tree, and as the nail was not visible then, the lady of the house placed her hand on the trunk, where she said she remembered the nail from her childhood. Meanwhile the old man put his hand on the tree, which was hollow, and felt the point of the nail, and it was right in front of his hand. The location is now clearly marked with a notch in the bark. But as no one else remembered that the river had risen so high, the engineer ignored this claim, and I learned that since then there has been a stream that has risen within nine inches of the tracks at Biscuit Brook, and a stream like this. from 1785 would have covered the railway with a depth of half a metre.

The revolutions of nature tell beautiful stories and give as interesting revelations on the banks of this river as on the Euphrates or the Nile. This apple tree, which stands a few yards from the river, is called "Elisa's Apple," after an Indian friend, who was formerly in Jonathan Tyng's service, and with another man here was killed by his tribe in one of the Indian wars,— the details of which we were told on the spot. He was buried nearby, no one knew exactly where, but in the flood of 1785, such a heavy weight of water on the grave caused the earth to settle where it had been disturbed before, and when the flood broke, somewhere, exactly that shape and the size of the grave revealed its location. but now it is lost again, and no future flood can trace it. However, nature will undoubtedly know how to point it out in due time, if necessary by even more insightful and unexpected methods. Thus, there is not only the crisis when the spirit ceases to inspire and expand the body, marked by a fresh mound in the cemetery, but also the crisis when the body ceases to occupy space as such in nature, which is marked by a deeper depression weakened on earth.

We sat for a while to rest here on the edge of the west bank, surrounded by the bright leaves of the red variety of mountain laurel, just above the tip of Wicasuck Island, where we could observe some pike carrying mud from the opposite side of the island. the coast, and also to look at the fields of the farmer of whom I have already spoken, who was once hospitable to us for a night. In addition to lots of beach plums, he had on his cozy farmPrunus littoralis, which grew wild, the Canadian plum in cultivation, fine Porter apples, some peaches, and large patches of musk and watermelon, which he raised for Lowell's market. Elisha's apple tree also produced a native fruit that was prized by the family. He cultivated the blood peach, which, he showed us with satisfaction, more closely resembled the oak in the color of its bark and the position of its branches, and was less liable to break under the weight of fruit or snow than other varieties. It grew more slowly and its branches strong and hard. There was also his nursery of native apple trees, planted on the banks, which cost little care, and which he sold to neighboring farmers when they were five or six years old. Seeing a single peach on the stem evokes an impression of heavenly fertility and luxury. It even reminds us of an ancient Roman farm, as described by Varro: - Caesar Vopiscus Ædilicius, when pleading before the censors, said that Rosea's grounds were the garden (to addlittle) from Italy where a post would not be visible the next day due to weed growth. This ground may not have been remarkably fertile, but at this distance we thought this anecdote might be told of Tyngsborough Farm.

As we passed the island of Wicasuck, there was a pleasure craft containing a young man and maiden in the creek of the island, which we were glad to see, as it proved that there were some points in which our excursion would not be altogether strange. Before that a canal master, to whom we asked some questions about Wicasuck Island, and who told us that it was a disputed property, suspected that we had a claim to it, and though we assured him that it was all news for us , and explained as well as we could why we came to see him, he did not believe a word of it, and earnestly offered us a hundred dollars for our title. The only other small boats we found were used to collect driftwood. Some of the poorest strata along the stream gather in this way all the fuel they need. While one of us landed not far from this island to look for provisions among the farmhouses whose roofs we saw, our provisions being already exhausted, the other, who was in the boat anchored on the beach, was left behind alone with his worries. . .

If there is nothing new on earth, the traveler always has a resource in heaven. They constantly turn a new page to see. The wind defines types on this blue background, and the questioner can always read new truth there. There are things written there in tones so fine and subtle, paler than lime juice, that daylight leaves no trace, and only the chemistry of night reveals them. The vault of every man's daylight corresponds in his mind to the brightness of vision in its most starry hour.

These continents and hemispheres are soon destroyed, but an eternally unexplored and infinite region escapes the mind on every side beyond the setting sun, and we can cut no road or make tracks in it, but grass immediately springs up in the way, for there we travel mostly with our wings.

Sometimes we see things through a fine mist, in their eternal relationship, and they remain like Palenque and the pyramids, and we wonder who built them and for what purpose. If we look at the reality of things, at what moment are they superficial and seemingly greatest? What is the earth and all its interests, if not deep speculations that pierce and spread them? As I sit here listening to the waves crashing and crashing on this shore, I am freed from all obligations to the past, and the councils of nations can reconsider their promises. Rubbing a stone cancels them. I still occasionally remember the trickling water in my dreams.

Often, when turning the pillow,
I hear the waves lapping on the shore,
Clear, as if it were dinner,
And I came down from Nashua.

With a bent sail we hurried out of Tyngsborough and Chelmsford, each with half the apple pie we had bought to celebrate our homecoming in one hand, and in the other a piece of newspaper it was wrapped in, and devoured them with gusto. and the joy was shared. . to learn the news that has spread since we sailed. The river here opened into a broad, straight stretch of great length, which we gladly narrowed in the face of a strong breeze, with an expression of diabolical caution on our faces, and our boat a white bone in the mouth, and a speed which quite surprised us boatmen, we know The wind on the horizon rolled like a flood over the valley and the plain, and all the trees bent to the gust, and the mountains turned their faces towards it like schoolgirls. They were great, flowing movements, the sail moving, the current flowing, the tree swaying, the wind moving. The north wind easily entered the harness we had provided and willingly pulled us along. Sometimes we sail as smoothly and steadily as the clouds above, watching the receding shores and the movements of the sail. His sleight of hand is so like our own life, so delicate and yet so full of life, so silent when he works most, so noisy and impatient when he is least effective. now it bends to a generous thrust of gas, and then it quivers and thrashes with a kind of human agony. It was the scale by which the varying temperature of distant atmospheres was judged, and it was an attraction to us that the breeze it played with was so much outdoors. So we sailed, unable to fly, but as the next best thing, and made a long furrow across the Merrimack fields to our home with outstretched wings, never lifting our heels from the ditch. Plowing gracefully home with our merry, eager band, Wind and current, united, the former but a wild ox, Clings to his calmer companion. It was very close to flying, as when a duck plunges into the water with a flap of its wings and throws the spray around it before it can rise. How quickly we would be caught if they were written only a few meters from the beach!

When we reached the great bend just above the Middlesex, where the river runs eastward thirty-five miles towards the sea, we finally lost the assistance of the favorable wind, though we managed to make a long and judicious turn to bring us almost to the locks of the canal.. We was locked up here at noon by our old friend, the lover of advanced mathematics, who seemed glad to see us safe again through so many locks. but we did not stop to inquire into any of his troubles, though we might happily have spent a whole autumn in this manner on another occasion, and never inquired what his religion was. It is so rare to find a man outside who entertains a worthy thought in his mind, independent of the work of his hands. Behind every man's occupation there must be a level of undisturbed calm and industry, for within the reef surrounding a coral island there is always an area of ​​still water where the sediments remain which will eventually lift it above the surface.

The gaze capable of appreciating the naked and absolute beauty of a scientific truth is much rarer than that attracted by a moral. Few discover ethics first or science last. Aristotle defined art as being the basis of work without material,The principle of working without wood; but most men prefer to have some of the wood with the principle; they demand that the truth be clothed in flesh and blood and the warm colors of life. They prefer the partial declaration because it fits and measures better for them and their products. But at least science is still everywhere as a sealer of weights and measures.

We hear much about the poetry of mathematics, but very little of it has yet been sung. The ancients had a fairer conception of its poetic value than we do. The most distinct and most beautiful statement of any truth must finally take mathematical form. We could simplify the rules of moral philosophy and arithmetic so that one formula expressed both. All moral laws are easily translated into natural philosophy, since we have often only to restore the primitive meaning of the words by which they are expressed, or to consider their literal instead of their figurative sense. Alreadysupernaturalphilosophy. The whole body of what is now called moral or ethical truth existed in the Golden Age as an abstract science. Or, if we prefer, we can say that the laws of nature are the purest morality. The tree of knowledge is a tree of knowledge of good and evil. He is not a true scientist, bringing no sympathy to his studies and hoping to learn something as much by conduct as by application. It is childish to rest upon the discovery of mere chance or partial and strange laws. The study of geometry is a paltry and idle exercise of the mind, if not applied to any system greater than the star. Mathematics must be mixed not only with physics, but also with ethics,whatit ismixedmathematics. What interests us most is the life of the naturalist. The purest science is still biographical. Nothing will value and exalt science while it is so completely divorced from the moral life of its devotee, and professes a different religion than that which he learns and worships in a foreign shrine. In ancient times, a philosopher's belief was identical with his system, or in other words, with his view of the universe.

My friends are wrong to report such painful events to me. Their presence, even their exaggerations and loose statements, is as good proof to me. I have no respect for facts except when I use them and for the most part I am independent of what I hear and can afford to be inaccurate or in other words replace them with more current and pressing facts. position.

The poet uses the results of science and philosophy and generalizes their broader conclusions.

The discovery process is very simple. A ceaseless and systematic application of the known laws of nature causes the unknown to be revealed. almost anyonestiobservation will finally succeed, for what is most in demand is the method. Let only something be defined and fixed upon which observation may be concentrated. How many new conditions a single rule of foot will reveal, and how many things it has yet to be applied to! What wonderful discoveries have been made, and may still be made, with a barrel, a level, a surveyor's compass, a thermometer, or a barometer! Where there is an observatory and a telescope, we expect all eyes to see new worlds at the same time. I must say that the most eminent scientists in our country, and perhaps in this age, serve art rather than pure science, or do faithful but rather inferior work in certain departments. They do not make consistent and systematic approaches to the central event. A discovery is made, and immediately the attention of all observers is drawn to it, and it draws many similar discoveries in its wake. as if they did not yet have their work laid out for them, but rowed. There is a desire for continuous and precise observation with enough theory to guide and discipline it.

But above all, genius is needed. Our scientific books, as they improve in accuracy, are in danger of losing the freshness, vigor, and readiness to appreciate the real laws of nature, which is perceptible in the often false theories of the ancients. I am attracted by the little pride and satisfaction, by the emphatic and even exaggerated style in which some of the oldest naturalists speak of the workings of nature, though it is better to judge than to discern facts. Their claims are worthless when refuted. If they are not facts, they are suggestions that nature itself can act. "The Greeks," says Gesner, "had a common proverb (Lagos katheudon) a sleeping hare, for analyst or counterfeiter." for the hare sees when he sleeps. for this is an admirable and rare work of nature, that all the remains of her body parts are at rest, but the eye stands constantly as a watchman'.

Observation is so awakened, and facts so rapidly added to the sum of human experience, that it seems that the theorist would always be late, and forever condemned to arrive at imperfect conclusions. but the power of perceiving a law is equally rare in all ages of the world, and depends little on the number of facts observed. The senses of the savage will give him sufficient evidence to define him as a philosopher. The ancients can still speak to us with authority, even in matters of geology and chemistry, although these studies are believed to have originated in modern times. Much is said about the progress of science in these centuries. I must say that the useful results of science have been accumulated, but there has been no accumulation of knowledge, strictly speaking, for posterity. for knowledge must only be acquired through corresponding experience. How can weI knowwhat we arehe saidSimply? Each person can only interpret another's experience from their own. We read that Newton discovered the law of gravity, but how many who heard of his famous discovery recognized the same truth that he did? It might not be one. The revelation given to him then was not superseded by the revelation to any successor.

we see itplanetcair,
And that's all.

In a review of Sir James Clark Ross's Antarctic Voyage of Discovery there is a passage which shows how often a group of men are impressed by an object of excellence, and which is also a good example of the step from the sublime to the ridiculous. . . Having described the discovery of the Antarctic continent, which first appeared a hundred miles away above the ice-fields—amazing ranges of mountains from seven and eight to twelve and fourteen thousand feet in height, covered with perpetual snow and ice, in lonely regions and inaccessible grandeur when the weather was beautifully clear and the sun shone on the frozen landscape. a continent from which only the islands are accessible, and these did not show "the least trace of vegetation," only in some places the rocks jutted out through its frozen cover, to convince the observer that the earth formed the nucleus, and that it was not an iceberg? - continues the practical British critic, sticking to his last: “On January 22 in the afternoon the expedition reached latitude 74° 20' and at 7 p.m. after having landed (landed! where did they come from?) to think that they were then in a higher southern latitude than that reached by the enterprising seaman, the late Captain James Wendell, and therefore higher than all his predecessors, got the crews an extra allowance of grog as a reward for your endurance. »

May we sailors of the latter times not take wind because of our Newtons and Cuviers. we deserve an extra allowance just grog.

We tried in vain to get the wind to blow through the long course of the canal, which here cuts directly through the forest, and were forced to resort to our old device of pulling with a rope. When we reached Concord we were forced to paddle in earnest once more, with neither wind nor current in our favour, but by then the harshness of the day had vanished and we were experiencing the warmth of a summer afternoon. This change of climate was favorable to our contemplative frame of mind, and made us dream still deeper in our veins, while in imagination we floated farther on the stream of time, as we had floated on the stream of the Merrimack, for poets of a softer nature.. period. since he employed us in the morning. Chelmsford and Billerica looked like old English towns compared to Merrimack and Nashua, and many generations of political poets may have lived and sung here.

What a contrast between the austere and desolate poetry of Ossian and that of Chaucer, even Shakespeare and Milton, still more of Dryden, Pope and Gray. The summer of our English poetry, like the Greek and Latin before it, seems too advanced for autumn, and full of season's fruits and foliage, with bright autumnal hues, but soon winter will spread the countless curls and their shadowy leaves. , and left only a few desolate and stringy branches to preserve snow and root and crackle in the gusts of time. One cannot avoid getting the impression that the Mouse has retreated a little in flight when we come to the literature of the civilized age. Now we first hear about different eras and styles of poetry. It is pastoral, lyrical, narrative and didactic. but the poetry of the runic monuments is of one style and for each epoch. The bard has largely lost the dignity and sanctity of his office. used to be calledprophet, but now it is believed that one man sees as much as another. He no longer has bardic rage and only takes the action he was previously ready to take. Hosts of battle-hardened warriors could neither mistake nor deny the ancient bard. Their songs were heard during the breaks in the match. He was in no danger of being forgotten by his contemporaries. But now the hero and the bard have different professions. When we come to the neat English verse, the storms are gone, and it will never thunder or clear again. The poet entered through the doors and exchanged the forest and the rock for the hearth, the Gael's hut, and Stonehenge with its stone circles for the Englishman's house. No hero stands at the door ready to break out into song or heroic deed, but a simple Englishman practicing the art of poetry. We see the cozy fireplace and hear the crazy food along the verse.

Notwithstanding Chaucer's abundant humanity, and the many social and domestic comforts we find in his verse, we must narrow our view a little to regard him as occupying less space in the landscape, and not extending over hills and dales like himself . does Ossian. But regarded by posterity as the father of English poetry, before a long silence or confusion in history, not revived by any thrill of pure melody, we easily come to respect him. Apart from earlier continental poets, as we are caught up in English poetry, Chaucer is the first name of the misty climate in which Ossian lived, which may long hold us back. Although he represents such a different culture and society, he can in many ways be considered the Homer of the English poets. Perhaps he is the youngest of all. We return to it as the purest well, the source farthest from the path of wretched life. He is so natural and cheerful compared to later poets that we can almost consider him a personification of spring. For the faithful reader, their muse has even given a glimpse of their time, and fresh out of their study, they seem to relate to the Golden Age. It is still the poetry of youth and life, more than thought. and though the moral vein is clear and firm, it has not yet driven the sun and daylight from his verse. The mouse's highest chords are most wonderful complaints, and not so free a song as nature's. What content the sun shines to celebrate from morning to night is unknown. The mouse is comforted and not enchanted, but comforted. There is an implicit condemnation and a tragic element in all our lines, and less of the lark and the morning dew than of the nightingales and the evening shadows. But in Homer and Chaucer there is more youthful innocence and serenity than in the most modern and moral poets. The Iliad is not a Sabbath but a morning reading, and men cling to the old song because they still have moments of unbaptized and unbound life that give them an appetite for more. For the innocent there are no cherubim or angels. At rare intervals we rise above the need for virtue to an unchanging morning light, where we have only to live and breathe the ambrosial air. The Iliad does not represent any creed or opinion, and we read it with a rare sense of freedom and irresponsibility, as if we had stepped on original soil and were native to the soil.

Chaucer was very much of literary and academic habits. There have never been moments so emotional that some sitters weren't involved. He was surrounded by the roar of cannons. The battles of Hallidon Hill and Neville's Cross, and the still more memorable battles of Cressy and Poictiers, were fought in his youth. but these were not so much about our poet Wycliffe and his reformation so much more. He always considered himself privileged to sit and talk with books. He helped found the literary class. His character as one of the fathers of the English language would only make his works important, even those of little poetic value. He was as simple as Wordsworth in preferring his native Saxon language, but powerful when it was neglected by the court and had not yet attained the dignity of a literature, and he did his country a service similar to that which Dante had done Italy. . If Greek is sufficient for Greek, and Arabic for Arabic, and Hebrew for Hebrew, and Latin for Latin, then English will be sufficient for him, for each of them will serve to teach the truth "right ways, lead divers, in the right way to Rome." In the Testament of Love he writes: "Therefore let the scribes write in Latin, for they have the quality of science and knowledge in that school, and let the French in their French also name their queinte termes, for it is madness in their mouths... ." , and let us show our fancies in such words when we learn our women's language.'

He will know how best to appreciate Chaucer, who came to him naturally through the lean pastures of Saxon and pre-Chaucerian poetry. and yet he looks so human and wise after such a diet that we can still misjudge him. In the extant Saxon poetry, in older English and modern Scottish poetry, there is less to remind the reader of the roughness and vigor of youth than the weakness of a waning age. It is mostly only an imitative translation, with an occasional faint whiff of poetry, often the falsity and exaggeration of myth, without its imagination to redeem it, and we seek in vain to find antiquity restored, humanized, and made melancholy again by a or other natural sympathy between him and the present. But Chaucer is still fresh and modern, and no dust falls on his true passages. It shines along the line and we are reminded that flowers bloomed, birds sang and hearts beat in England. Before the honest gaze of the reader, the rust and moss of time gradually disappear, and the original green life is revealed. He was a domestic and domestic man, and he breathed like modern men.

There is no wisdom that can replace humanity, and we find thatwhatin Chaucer. We can finally expand its breadth and believe that we could be known by this man. He was worthy to be a citizen of England, while Petrarch and Boccaccio lived in Italy, and Tell and Tamerlane in Switzerland and Asia, and Bruce in Scotland, and Wycliffe and Gower, and Edward III, and John of Gaunt and the Black Prince, were his countrymen as well as contemporaries. all strong and moving names. Roger Bacon's fame came from the previous century, and Dante's name still had the influence of a living presence. On the whole, Chaucer appears to us greater than his reputation, and not a little like Homer and Shakespeare, for he would have held his head high in their company. Among early English poets he is the proprietor and host and authority for such. The affectionate reference to him by early and later poets, who associate him with Homer and Vergil, must be remembered in estimating his character and influence. King James and Dunbar of Scotland speak of him with more love and reverence than any contemporary writer of his predecessors in the last century. That same childhood relationship has no parallel now. For the most part we read him uncritically, for he speaks not for his own cause, but for his readers, and has the grandeur of self-confidence that popularity demands. He trusts the reader and speaks to him secretly, without hiding anything. And in return, the reader has great confidence in him, for he does not lie and reads his story indulgently, as if it were a child's journey, but often finds afterwards that he has spoken with more openness and sparing of words than a sage. He is never insensitive,

"For first things think in the heart,
Get some word of mouth.”

And so new was his whole subject in those days, that he need not invent it, but only tell it.

We admire Chaucer for his strong English spirit. The easy height of which he speaks in his preface to the Canterbury Tales, as if he were equal to any of the companies assembled there, is as good as any special excellence in him. But though it is full of common sense and humanity, it is not transcendental poetry. For the graphic description of men there is perhaps no equal in English poetry. however, it is essentially humorous as it is never the greatest genius. Humor, broad and gentle as it is, is narrower than enthusiasm. In his own finer spirit he added all the common intelligence and wisdom of his time, and in all his works his remarkable knowledge of the world and excellent sense of character, his rare common sense and proverbial wisdom are evident. His temper is not so high as Milton's, but it is friendly and familiar. It shows great tenderness and delicacy, but not the heroic feeling. It is just a larger part of humanity with all its weaknesses. He is not heroic, like Raleigh, nor pious, like Herbert, or philosophical, like Shakespeare, but he is the son of the English muse, the child who is the father of man. The charm of his poetry often consists only in an exaggerated naturalness, a perfect sincerity, with the behavior of a child and not of a man.

Gentleness and delicacy of character are evident everywhere in his verse. The simplest and most humble words fall easily from your lips. No one can read Priota's tale and realize the spirit in which it is written and in which the child singsO dear Mother of the Redeemer, or the account of Constance's departure with her son to the sea, in the tale of the Lawman, without noticing the author's innate innocence and refinement. Nor can we go wrong respecting the essential purity of his character, never mind the excuse of the customs of the age. A simple passion and feminine gentleness, which Wordsworth only occasionally approaches but does not equal, is peculiar to him. We are tempted to say that his genius was female, not male. It was the kind of femininity that is rarer to find in a woman, though not in his estimation. Maybe it doesn't exist in the woman, but it's just the feminine in the man.

Such pure, genuine, childlike love for nature is hardly to be found in any poet.

Chaucer's extremely trusting and tender character is shown in the familiar but innocent and reverent manner in which he speaks of his God. It enters his thought without false bows and without more pomp than the zephyr in his ear. If nature is our mother, then God is our father. There is less simple, practical love and trust in Shakespeare and Milton. How rarely do we find in our English language any devotion to God expressed. There is certainly no emotion as rare as the love of God. Herbert almost expresses himself: "Oh, my God!" Our poet uses similar words with propriety. and whenever he sees a beautiful person or other object, he boasts of the "property" of his God. He even recommends Dido to be his bride,-

"If the God who made the heavens and the year,
He would love beauty and goodness,
And female fury, honesty and modesty."

But to justify our praise we must refer to his own works. in the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, the Account of Gentilesse, the Flower and the Leaf, the stories of Griselda, Virginia, Ariadne, and Blanche the Dutchwoman, and many more of less distinguished merit. There are many poets of more taste and better manners who knew how to air their dullness. but such a negative genius cannot hold us back for long. we will return to Chaucer still fondly. Some natures, really rough and ill-developed, have an even greater degree of perfection than others refined and well-balanced. Even the clown has tastes whose dictates, though he ignores them, are higher and purer than those obeyed by the artist. If we are to wander through many dull and prosaic passages in Chaucer, we shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing that it is not an artificial dullness, but very easily compatible with many passages in life. We admit that we tend to collect sweets and collect pleasures. but it may be considered that the poet always speaks as a traveler who leads us through varied scenes, from one eminence to another, and perhaps it is after all more agreeable to find a beautiful thought in its natural surroundings. Fate had surely reserved him under these circumstances for some purpose. Nature scatters her nuts and flowers and never gathers them in heaps. It was the soil in which it grew, and it was the time in which it bloomed. If the sun, the wind, and the rain came here to worship and expand the flower, did we not come here to pluck it?

A true poem is distinguished not so much by a pleasant expression, or by whatever thought it suggests, as by the mood which surrounds it. Most have only the beauty of the outline and are impressive as the shape and quality of an outsider. but true verse comes to us at random, like the very breath of all friendship, and envelops us in its spirit and fragrance. Much of our poetry has the best manners but no character. It is just an unusual accuracy and elasticity of speech, as if its author had taken, not a rushing current, but a choice. It has the characteristic contour of sculpture and tells the story of the early hours of the morning. Under the influence of passion all men speak plainly, but the wrath is not always divine.

There are two classes of men called poets. One cultivates life, the other art - one seeks food, the other tastes. one satisfies the hunger, the other the palate. There are two types of writing, excellent and rare. the one of genius or inspiration, the other of intellect and taste, within the range of inspiration. The first is beyond criticism, always right, allows criticism. It vibrates and pulsates with life forever. It is sacred and should be read with reverence, just as the works of nature are studied. There are very few examples of a preserved style of this type. Perhaps every man has spoken words, but the speaker is careless with the register. Such a style removes us from personal relations with its author. we do not take his words on our lips, but his feeling in our hearts. It is the stream of inspiration that escapes, now here, now there, now to this man, now to that. It does not matter through which ice crystals it is seen, now a fountain, now the current of the sea flowing underground. It is in Shakespeare, in Alpheus, in Burns, in Arethus. but always the same. The other is suicidal and clever. They are reverent of genius and eager for inspiration. It is conscious in the highest and lowest degree. It consists in the most perfect control of the faculties. He dwells in a desert repose, and objects are as different in him as oases or palm trees on a sandy horizon. The train of thought moves with a moderate and measured step, like a caravan. But the pen is just an instrument in your hand, not a life instinct like a long arm. It leaves a nice varnish or glaze on all your work. Goethe's works provide remarkable examples of the latter.

There is still no fair and peaceful criticism. Nothing is taken for granted as it is in the lap of eternal beauty, but our thoughts, like our bodies, must be dressed in the latest fashion. Our palate is very delicate and special. Say no to the poet's work, but never yes to his hope. It invites you to decorate your deformities and not to expel them by expansion, like the bark of a tree. We are a people who live in bright light, in pearl houses and china, and drink only light wines, whose teeth are easily cut by unnatural acidity. If we had been consulted, the backbone of the earth would have been made, not of granite, but of Bristol spar. A modern writer would have died as a child at a rough age. But the poet is more than a scold, "a smoother and polisher of the tongue." it is the Cincinnatus of literature, and occupies no western end of the world. Like the sun he will choose his rhymes with indifference and with liberal taste he will weave the planet and the straws into his verses.

In these old books the stucco has long since crumbled, and we read what is carved into the granite. They are rough and bulky in their proportions, rather than smooth and delicate in their finish. Workmen only polish the ornaments of their chimneys, but their pyramids are crude. There is a sobriety in a rough face, like dull granite, that appeals to a depth within us, but a polished surface only reaches the eyeballs. True finishing is the work of time and the use of a thing. The elements are still polishing the pyramids. Art can polish and gild, but it can do nothing else. A work of genius is rough from the start because it anticipates the passage of time and has an ingrained polish that still shows when the fragments are cut, an essential quality of its essence. Its beauty is at the same time its strength and breaks with brilliance.

The great poem must have the stamp of greatness as well as its essence. The reader enters easily into the most superficial modern poetry and informs it with all the life and promise of the day, as the pilgrim enters the temple and hears the faintest chords of the pilgrims. but it will have to speak to posterity, crossing these deserts, through the ruins of its outer walls, in its grandeur and beauty.


But here on Concord's stream, Where we were always corporeal, Nature, who is superior to all styles and times, now, with thoughtful face, composes her poetic harvest, with which no human work will endure. must be compared.

In summer we live in the open and have only impulses and feelings, all of which are for action, and together we must wait for the silence of autumn and winter and longer nights before any thoughts are gone. We know that behind the rustling leaves, the heaps of grain and the bare bunches of grapes, lies the field for a brand new life that no human has lived. that even this country was made inhabitants more mysterious and noble than men and women. In the shades of the October sunset, we see the gates to other mansions than our own, not far geographically distant,-

"There is a place behind this burning hill,
Where the stars fall with their delicate aspect,
A place beyond all places where he never got sick,
No impure thought was ever reserved."

Sometimes a mortal feels within himself Nature, not his Father, but his Mother mingled in him, and he becomes immortal by her immortality. From time to time she claims to be related to us, and a small pellet from her veins seeps into ours.

I am the autumn sun,
With autumn storms my race runs.
When does hazel bloom,
Or are the grapes ripening under my bottles?
When will the harvest or the hunter's moon come,
Will you make my midnight midnight?
I am completely calm and yellow,
And ripe to my core.
The pole falls in my forest,
Winter lurks in my mood,
And the rustle of the withered leaf
It is the constant music of my sorrow.

In a simple rhyme the mouse thus spoke in prose:

The moon no longer reflects the day, but rises into her absolute domain, and the farmer and the hunter recognize her as their mistress. Stars and bars of gold rule the race, and eternal life does not wither. The fields are harvested and cut from their pride, but an inner vegetation still crowns them. The thistle spreads its bottom in the pond, and yellow leaves cover the vine, and nothing disturbs the serious life of men. But behind the shields and under the sods is a ripe fruit, gathered by the reapers, the true harvest of the year, yielding eternal yield, watering and ripening every year, and man never cuts the stalk that bears it. delicious fruit.

Men nowhere, east or west, still livenaturallife that the vine clings to and that the elm willingly shades. Man would pollute her with his touch, and so the beauty of the world remains veiled in her. It must not only be spiritualized, butnaturalized, on earth's soil. Who will imagine what kind of ceiling heaven may extend over him, what seasons serve him, and what work will value his life! Only the convalescent lifts the veil of nature. An immortality in your life would give immortality to your abode. The winds must be his breath, the seasons his mood, and he must convey his calmness to nature itself. But, as we know it, it is ephemeral like the landscape that surrounds it, and does not aspire to a lasting existence. As we descend to the distant village visible from the top of the mountain, the noblest inhabitants with whom we inhabited it have already departed, leaving only worms in its deserted streets. It is the imagination of the poets that puts these brave words into the mouths of their heroes. They can pretend that Cato's last words were

“I know the earth and the air and the seas and everything
The joys and terrors of its peace and wars.
And now we shall see the state of the gods and stars."

but these are neither the thoughts nor the fate of ordinary men. What is this heaven they are waiting for, if not better than what they are waiting for? Are they prepared for something better than they can imagine right now? Where is heaven for the one who dies on a stage, in a theater? Here or nowhere is our paradise.

“Although we see celestial bodies moving
Over the land, the land we work and love.”

We cannot imagine anything fairer than what we experience. "Remembering youth is a sigh." We live into adulthood to tell our childhood dreams, and they are half-forgotten before we learn the language. We must be born both on earth and in heaven, natives, as they said of the Titans of old, or in a better sense than them. There were heroes for whom this world seemed expressly prepared, as if creation had finally gone right. whose daily lives were the stuff our dreams are made of, and whose presence enhanced the beauty and abundance of nature itself. where did they go

“This wide field is coated with ether and light
In purple: they know their sun and stars.

"Here more abundant air gives the fields and clothes purple light. and they know their own sun and their own stars.' We like to hear some men talk, though we do not hear what they say. The very air they breathe is rich and fragrant, and the sound of their voices reaches the ear like the rustling of leaves or the crackling of fire. They are very deep . They have the heavens as their associates, like those who were never beneath them, and they look to the stars with a answering beam. Their eyes are like fireflies, and their movements are graceful and fluid, as if a place had already been found for them, like rivers flowing through valleys. The distinctions between morality, between right and wrong, sense and folly are senseless and meaningless beside these pure primal natures. When I think of the clouds strewn in overwhelming masses across the sky , frowning with darkness, or gleaming with thick light, or gilded with the rays of the setting sun, like a city in heaven's parapet, their majesty seems thrown into mischief. . of my job; the curtain is too rich for such poor play .I am not worthy to be a suburb outside these walls

“Unless he knows about himself
Arise, how poor is man!'

With our music we would be unable for a moment to evoke another kind of relationship more subtle than our daily toils allow us. The chords come back to us modified in the echo, as when a friend reads our verse. Why did they color the fruit and fill it with so much perfume that they could satisfy a more than animal appetite?

"I asked the student, your advice was free,
But it marked me in a very complicated way.'

These things indicate, on the contrary, that we live on the edge of another purer realm, from which these smells and sounds are transmitted to us. The edges of our land are covered with flowers whose seeds were blown from several Elysian fields beside. They are the herbs of the gods. Some fairer fruits and sweeter perfumes bestowed upon us betray the neighborhood of another realm. Echo also resides, and there is support from the bow of the rainbow.

Better running and better food
Party and party in our heads,
And we title lists are just talented
Pick up leftovers from your table.
Theirs is the scent of fruit,
While we consume the pulp and roots.
What moments are we in?
Surprise on Olympic land!

We need no prayer for any higher heaven than the pure senses can offer, onerentsensual life. Our present senses are only the rudiments of what they should be. We are relatively deaf, dumb and blind and without smell, taste or sense. Every generation finds that its divine power has disappeared, and all senses and faculties have been abused and corrupted. Ears were not made for trifling use, as men tend to suppose, but to hear heavenly sounds. Eyes were not made for tiresome use, as they are now used and used, but to see beauty now unseen. I do not wantI seeGod? Are we to be disappointed and amused in this life as if it were a simple allegory? Is not Nature, properly read, that of which she is generally regarded only as the symbol? When the common man looks up to heaven, which he has not so much profaned, he considers it less vulgar than the earth, and speaks reverently of "the heavens," but the diviner will speak in the same sense of the "earths" and their Father, who is in them. . “He that made that which is notwithin, makes it what it isWhich onetoo?" What then is education but to develop the divine germs called senses? But where is the authorized teacher? Where isnormalschools;

A Hindu sage said: "Just as a dancer who has exposed herself to the spectator ceases to dance, so nature ceases, having manifested herself in her soul -. Nothing, in my opinion, is kinder than nature. Once he realizes that he has seen, he is not again exposed to the gaze of the soul.'

It is easier to discover another world as new as Columbus, than to go to a part of what we seem to know so well. The earth disappears from our view, the compass varies and humanity riots. and yet history piles up like rubbish before nature's gates. But it only takes a moment of reason and common sense to teach us that there is a nature behind the commons to which we have only vague Western privileges and reservations. We live on the edge of this area. Carved wood, swaying branches and sunset sky are all we know about it. We will not be forced for a long time. Let us not be led astray, my friends, and let us not be fooled by good behavior to add salt to our eternal gruel, whoever tries. Let's wait a bit and not buy any breakouts here as we think richer bottoms will be made soon. It is nothing but thin soil where we are. I felt my roots in a richer before that. I have seen a bunch of violets in a glass vase, tied loosely with a straw that reminded me of myself.

I am a bundle of vain strife strung together
From a random tape,
Hanging here and there, your links
They were made so loose and loose,
I think yes
For a milder climate.

A bunch of rootless violets,
And the mixed acid,
It is surrounded by a straw
Once they are wound to their weft,
To her
To which I am directed.

A nose that time was ripping off
These beautiful Elysian fields,
With weeds and broken stalks, hastily,
It is noisy
this waste
During the day it rains.

And here I bloom for an unprecedented time,
Drinking my juices,
No roots in the ground
To keep my branches green,
but stand up
In an empty glass.

A few sore shoots remained on my stem
In imitation of life,
But oh! the kids don't know
Until your time fades,
the misery
Which they are full of.

But now I see that I was not picked for nothing,
And then in the jar of life
Of glass, as long as I survive,
But from a gentle hand brought
In a strange place.

This thus diluted stock will soon redeem its hours,
And another year,
As God knows, with freer air,
More fruits and more beautiful flowers
Will last
As I lean here.

This world has many rings, just like Saturn, and we now live on the edge of all of them. No one can willfully say that he dwells in the same sphere, or that he is contemporary with the flower which his hands plucked, and though his feet seem to crush it, unfathomable spaces and ages separate them, and there is probably no danger of to get hurt. Hi M. What do botanists know? Our lives must fluctuate between lichen and bark. The eye can see through the hand, but not through the mind. We are still born, but we have a dim view of sea and land, sun, moon and stars, and we won't see clearly until nine days at least. This is a pathetic question among travelers and geographers for the site of ancient Troy. They are nowhere near where they think they are. When a thing is worn out and gone, how indistinct must be the place it occupied!

The anecdotes of modern astronomy affect me in the same way as the tenuous revelations of the Real that are given to men from time to time, or rather, from eternity to eternity. When I remember the story of the dim light in our firmament, which we call Venus, which the ancients believed, and which most modern people still think of, as a bright spark attached to a hollow sphere orbiting our earth, but which we discovered to beanother world, in itself,—as Copernicus, long and patiently considering the subject, confidently foresaw, even before the telescope was invented, that if men ever saw it more clearly than then, they would find that it had phases like our moon, and that a century after his death the telescope was invented, and this prediction was confirmed by Galileo,—I am not without hope that, even here and now, we may obtain some accurate information about the OTHER WORLD which the instinct of mankind created. so long ago. In fact, everything we call science, like everything we call poetry, is part of this information, no matter how accurate it is, how much it limits the truth. If we can reason so correctly, and with such wonderful confirmation of our reasoning, respecting so-called material objects and events infinitely beyond our natural sight, that the mind hesitates to trust its calculations, even when confirmed by observation, why can we do not our speculations penetrate so far into the immaterial star system, of which the former is only the external and visible type? In fact, we are equipped with senses suited to penetrate the real, the essential, the eternal, just as our external senses are to penetrate the material universe. Vener, Menu, Zoroaster, Socrates, Christ, Shakespeare, Swedenborg - these are some of our astronomers.

There are disturbances in our orbits caused by the influence of distant spheres, and no astronomer has ever calculated the elements of this unexplored world which produce them. I perceive in the common course of my thoughts a natural and uninterrupted sequence, each implying the next, or, if an interruption occurs, caused by some new object presented to my mind.senses. But an abrupt, sudden, and therefore inexplicable transition is that from a comparatively narrow and partial view, what is called the ordinary view of things, to an infinitely expanded and liberating view of seeing things as men see them. describe, to see. those as men cannot be described. It implies a feeling not common, but rare in the experience of the wisest man. who are sensitive or sensitive to something more than usual.

In what regions does the astronomer wander! Its skies are flocks, and the imagination wants like a thirsty traveler through its desert. The wandering mind eagerly breaks the bonds of astronomical orbits, like cobwebs in a corner of its universe, and lines where distance does not follow, and the law discovered by science grows weak and tiresome. The mind knows a distance and a space, of which all these sums together do not form a unit of measure - the space between itPop up, and whatit is. I know there are plenty of stars, I know they are far enough away, bright enough, stable enough in their orbits, but what is it all worth? It is a very desolate country in the West, - star territory, - to become slave states if we colonize them. I am only interested in a six-foot star, and that interest is fleeting. So goodbye to all bodies how I met you.

Every man, if he is wise, will stand on a bottom that will support him, and if one is pulled down harder than the other, he will not venture into the meadows where the latter walks safely, but will leave the blueberries. that grows there in an inelegant way. the same. In some spring, a higher freshness will rather float them near her, although they may be watery and frozen at that time. These withered berries I have seen in many a poor man's ornament, yea, in many a church and treasure box, and with a little water and heat they swell again to their original and fair size, and add enough sugar instead of humanity. gravy on this world's plate.

What is called common sense is excellent in its department, and as invaluable as the virtue of submission in the army and navy, for there must be obedience, but common sense, that common sense only to the wisest, is so much more exceptional, rarer. Some strive for excellence in the lower division, and God help them. What Fuller says about university masters is universally applicable, that "a little indolence in a university master makes him better able to manage worldly affairs."

“He who will believe, and conceives a sorrow
Because he wants to, he has true faith.
And he who weeps because his grief is so small,
He has real grief and the best faith of all."

Or be encouraged by the pressure of the other poet, -

"Fido the field marshal walked past them:
His mother was weak when she gave birth to him.
And he was at first a sick and weak child,
As with tears they received the sunbeam.
But when more years bring more growth and strength,
He was a husky master and mighty knight,
As usual he came to the field, or shone in shining armor.

"The mountains fly to the sea with a strong hand.
He stops and reverses the sun's violent course.
Nature breaks the laws of nature at your command.
No power in hell or heaven can withstand its power.
Events that will follow many ages yet,
This gift does that, with wonderful awareness;
Proving that the senses are blind because they are blind to the senses."

“Yesterday at dawn,” says Hafiz, “God delivered me from all worldly sorrow. and in the darkness of the night he gave me the water of immortality."

In the life of Sadi by Dowlat Shah this sentence occurs: "The eagle of the immaterial soul of Shaikh Sadi shook the dust of his body from his plumage."

So we cautiously head home to find some fall work to help revolutionize the seasons. Perhaps nature would deserve to use us even without our knowledge, as when we helped spread her seeds on our walks and carried burrs and bones in our clothes from field to field.

All things are current
Ground floor,
spirits and elements
Have your origin.

Night and day, year after year,
High and low, far and near,
These are our aspects,
These are our own regrets.

coast gods,
where they stay forever
I see your distant cloak,
Stretch both arms.

I hear the sweet sounds of the night
Of your unbroken lands.
You mustn't fool me anymore with time
Take me to your mood.

As the late afternoon wore on, and we paddled slowly up the river, closing in between the fragrant and flowery banks where we had first pitched our tent, and approaching the fields where our lives had passed, we seemed to discover shadows from the sea. native american sky on the southwest horizon. The sun was setting behind the edge of a wooded hill, a sunset so rich it would never end, but for some reason unknown to men it would be marked with brighter colors than usual on the scroll of time. Although the shadows of the hills began to hide over the stream, the whole river valley rippled with a soft light, clearer and more memorable than noon. For thus the day bids farewell even to lonely valleys uninhabited by men. two herons,ardea heroine, with their long slender limbs lifted skyward, have been seen flying high above our heads—their flight loud and silent as they made their way in the night, certainly not to land in any swamp on the face of the earth, but , perhaps, from beyond our atmosphere, a symbol for the study of the ages, whether emblazoned in the sky or carved among the hieroglyphs of Egypt. Bound to some northern meadow, they maintained their stately, stationary flight, like the storks in the picture, and finally disappeared behind the clouds. Dense flocks of blackbirds flitted along the course of the river as if on a short nocturnal pilgrimage to their sanctuary or to celebrate such a beautiful sunset.

“Therefore, like the pilgrim who at night
rushing darkly to prison on its way,
Think of your home, my soul, and think well
Of what remains of the lost day of life:
Your sun is in the west, your morning is spent,
And you cannot be born twice.”

Sunset was supposed to be when all the men were single and in a contemplative frame of mind. but the farmer's son whistled even more thoughtfully as he led his cows home from the pasture, and the mate refrained from cracking his whip and directed his team in a low voice. The last remnants of daylight disappeared, and as we rowed silently with our backs home in the dark, only a few stars visible, we had little to say but were lost in thought or listened silently to the rumbling sound of the oars. , a kind of rudimentary music suited to Night's ear and the acoustics of its half-lit halls.

"The impulses refer to the valleys of the stars"

and the valleys echo the sound of the stars.

As we gazed in silence at these distant lights, he reminded us that it was a rare imagination that first taught that the stars are worlds and greatly benefited mankind. It is recorded in the Chronicle of Bernaldez that on Columbus's first voyage the natives "pointed to heaven and signified that they believed there was all power and holiness." We have reason to be grateful for celestial phenomena because they primarily correspond to the human ideal. The stars are distant and subtle, yet clear and persistent as our most beautiful and memorable experiences. "Let the immortal depth of thy soul guide thee, but lift up thy eyes sincerely."

As the truest society moves closer and closer to solitude, the most excellent speech eventually falls into silence. Silence is heard by all people, at all times and in all places. It is when we listen internally, sound when we listen externally. Creation has not displaced it, but its frame and blade are visible. All the sounds are her servants and suppliers, proclaiming not only that she is his lover, but that she is a rare and truly sought-after lover. They are so reminiscent of the Silence that they are just bubbles on its surface bursting all at once, a testament to the undercurrent's power and productivity. a light expression of silence, and so only satisfactory to our auditory nerves when contrasted with the first and relieved. As long as they do this, and are amplifiers and amplifiers of Silence, it is the purest harmony and melody.

Silence is the universal refuge, the continuation of every dull talk and every foolish act, a balm for all our sorrows, as welcome after satiety as after disappointment. The background which the painter cannot draw, whether master or craftsman, and which, however clumsy the figure we make in the foreground, always remains our inviolable asylum, where no humiliation can disturb us, no personality.

The speaker postpones his individuality and is therefore most eloquent when he is silent. He listens as he speaks and is a listener along with his audience. Who has not heard his mighty roar? It is the Trumpet of Truth, the only oracle, the true Delphi and Dodona, whom kings and courtiers do well to consult, nor be daunted by an equivocal answer. For through her all revelations were made, and when men consulted her oracle within themselves, they received a clear vision, and their age was called enlightened. But however they traveled to a strange Delphi and its mad priestess, its age was dark and heavy. Such were the strange and noisy ages Which no longer make any sound, But the Grecian or silent and melodious Age Ever rings and resounds in the ears of men.

A good book is the grid upon which our other mute lyre is played. It is not uncommon for us to refer the interest that belongs to our own unwritten continuity to the written and relatively lifeless body of the work. Of all the books, this sequel is the most necessary part. The author's aim should be to say once and with emphasis: "He said", ἔφη, ἔ. This is the maximum that the book creator can achieve. If you make your bulk a pier over which the waves of silence can break, that's fine.

It was useless for me to try to break the silence. It cannot be done in English. For six thousand years men have translated it with the faith that belonged to each, and it is still little better than a sealed book. A man may run confidently for a while, believing that he has her in his grasp and will one day wear her out, but he too must at last be silent, and men notice how bravely he has started. for when he dives into it, the disproportion between what is said and what is not said is so great that the bubble will only be seen on the surface where it disappeared. However, we will continue, like the Chinese swallows on the rocks, to build our nests with the foam, which may one day become the bread of life for those who live by the sea.

We sailed about eighty miles to-day by sail and oars, and now, late in the evening, our ship tore through the hills in her harbor, and her keel recognized the mud at Concord, where some hint of her outline was still preserved in the flattened flag , that have been raised since our departure. and we gladly sprang to the shore, dragged him up, and fastened him to the wild apple-tree, the trunk of which still bore the mark which its chain had worn away with the cool friction of spring.

Top Articles
Latest Posts
Article information

Author: Amb. Frankie Simonis

Last Updated: 05/08/2023

Views: 6340

Rating: 4.6 / 5 (76 voted)

Reviews: 83% of readers found this page helpful

Author information

Name: Amb. Frankie Simonis

Birthday: 1998-02-19

Address: 64841 Delmar Isle, North Wiley, OR 74073

Phone: +17844167847676

Job: Forward IT Agent

Hobby: LARPing, Kitesurfing, Sewing, Digital arts, Sand art, Gardening, Dance

Introduction: My name is Amb. Frankie Simonis, I am a hilarious, enchanting, energetic, cooperative, innocent, cute, joyous person who loves writing and wants to share my knowledge and understanding with you.