Log Search Results

  Herbage is drying up; even weeds are wilted, and the corn rolls. Agriculture is a good school in which to drill a man. Successful farming admits of no idling. Now is the haying season. How active must these men be, all the country over, that they may get through their work in season! . . .

  Twenty minutes after seven, I sit at my window to observe the sun set. The lower clouds in the north and southwest grow gradually darker as the sun goes down, since we now see the side opposite to the sun, but those high overhead, whose under sides we see reflecting the day, are light. The small clouds low in the western sky were at first dark also, but, as the sun descends, they are lit up and aglow all but their cores. Those in the east, though we see their sunward sides, are a dark blue, presaging night, only the highest faintly glowing . . .

  I cannot find a single crotalaria pod there this year. Stone-crop is abundant and has now for some time been out at R. Brown’s watering-place; also the water-plantain, which is abundant there. About the water further north the elodea is very common, and there, too, the rhexia is seen afar on the islets,—its brilliant red like a rose. It is fitly called meadow-beauty. Is it not the handsomest and most striking and brilliant flower since roses and lilies began? Blue vervain out some days.

  Pasture thistle, not long . . .

  P.M.—To Walden for hydropeltis . . .

  Saw at Hydropeltis Meadow a small bullfrog in the act of swallowing a young but pretty sizable apparently Rana palustris, such as now hop about, an inch and a half long. He took it down head foremost, and as the legs were slowly taken in,—stuffing himself,—for the legs were often straightened out,—I wondered what satisfaction it could be to the larger to have that cold slimy fellow, entire, lying head to tail within him! I sprang to make him disgorge . . .

  [Mr. Leonard, of Bangor, a sportsman,] said that the horns of a moose would spread four feet, sometimes six ; would weigh thirty or forty pounds (the hide, fifty) ; squirrels and mice ate the horns when shed. (They told me that the horns were not grown at this season.) . . . [Leonard told] also of some panthers which appeared near a house in Foxcroft . . .

  There were two public houses near together, and they wanted to detain us at the first, even took off some of our baggage in spite of us; but, on our protesting, shouted “let them go! let them go!” as if it was any of their business. Whereupon we, thanking them for the privilege, rode on . . .

  Going through Thrush Alley and beyond, I am pestered by flies about my head,—not till now (though I may have said so before). They are perfect imps, for they gain nothing for their pains and only pester me . . .

  I have not written you for a long time—but I am not going to apologize for of course you only wish to hear when & what I wish to write The poor thoughts that have occupied my busy little mind since I last wrote you have been many & often had I seen you should I have inflicted upon your ear the sad narration of them, or at least some of them—& I donot know why I should withhold any of them they were sent by a power above me, at the beck & bidding of another did they come & go—I know that men have but little to do with the affairs of this world—still I feel a responsibility to myself for all things that befall me in life—though to no other. To live this life well I feel a strong desire. I also feel a presentiment that I shall fail in part—if not totally fail to do so. I donot know what it is to live well—or how to do it if I did—between idid and idea I swing like a pendulum—I know ’tis weakness, yet such I am—But I must not disgust you by talking too much of myself. & I know it is not well to afflict myself with my own image. Still it is prety much all I know—I have often repented & as often sinned again—What a succession of falls is life! I wonder if that is the object of it & this that we may know how to stand when it is past—I donot suppose it is of any use to speculate about life—we know but little of it & if it were well for us to know it would be taught us. & I am coming more & more every day to the settled practicable belief that the true mode of life is to live & do from moment to moment the duty or labor before us with no questions about its fitness or end and no thought for the morrow. I sometimes think further—that it is also best to be of men & like them while with them—to love what they love be interested in what they are interested—share their hopes & joys their dejection & sorrows—seek the ends & have the objects of pursuit that they have take their fortunes in life as I must in death & when the curtain shall have fallen—have to think my fortune & fate is & has ever been that of my race—I fear it will be a hard one if it is, but “such is the sovereign doom & such the will of Jove” Of one thing I am certain—My race have an indisputable claim upon my best — all the services I am able to render while I live—I will not withhold from them the pittance due from me—With this thought before me I have endeavoured to join in the reforms of the day—I make Temperance speeches, such as they are—at any rate the best I can—I go to Sabbath School & talk to & endeavour to instruct the children what I can—& where-ever I see an opportunity to do any thing for others I have a kind of general design to lend my aid—though not to interfere with my duties to myself. Whether I am taking the best course to benefit myself & others—that is the question—Yet if I do as well I know—& know as well as I can I shall never accuse myself. After all I am not wholy satisfied with myself or with this view of things I fear there is something beyond & higher I ought to know & seek—Is it given to man in this state of existence to be satisfied? Is not this very dissatisfaction but the breathing of an immortal nature that shipers of eternal progress? Shall not hope change this very dissatisfaction into highest fruition? Say to me in reply what these desultory thoughts suggest to your mind—& as my sheet is nearly full I will say a few words more & fold & forward it for your perusal.

  Your letter of March 14 gave me much pleasure though I need not say that I sympathize with you most deeply in the loss you sustain by the death of your brother—I knew him but little—yet I thought I had never met with a more flowing generous spirit—It was not fitted for a col & hard hearted world like this—in such a nature do I see a strong assurance of a better existence when this is over. Ever will his name float down my memory untainted by those folies & crimes. I am forced to associate with those of so many of my race. And Mr Emerson—how did he endure the loss of his child? It was a cruel stroke—did his philosophy come to his aid as does the Christian Faith to administer consolation to the bereaved? I wish to know what were his feelings. for the consolations that a christian faith offers the bereaved & afflicted is one of its strongest holds upon my credulity. If there is consolation from his philosophy in trials like those—it will do much toward settling my belief—I wish to know minutely on this point. I think much on Death & sometimes doubt if my early impressions upon that subject are ever effaced—The fear of it occasions a thousand folies—I feel it is unmanly—but yet “that undiscovered country” Who shall tell us whether to fear—or desire it?

  As to myself—I am less homesick than at first though I am not satisfied with the west. nor quite with my profession. Perhaps I ought to be I often think my feelings foolish. Do you think engaged in the practice of law the best way of spending ones life? Let me hear from you soon. I will not be so remiss in my future correspondence—

Yours
I. T. Williams