1876, 77.I FIND the woods in mid-May and early June my best places for composition.1 Seated on logs or stumps there, or resting on rails, nearly all the following memoranda have been jotted down. Wherever I go, indeed, winter or summer, city or country, alone at home or traveling, I must take notes(the ruling passion strong in age and disablement, and even the approach ofbut I must not say it yet.) Then underneath the following excerptacrossing the ts and dotting the is of certain moderate movements of late yearsI am fain to fancy the foundations of quite a lesson learnd. After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, love, and so onhave found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wearwhat remains? Nature remains; to bring out from their torpid recesses, the affinities of a man or woman with the open air, the trees, fields, the changes of seasonsthe sun by day and the stars of heaven by night. We will begin from these convictions. Literature flies so high and is so hotly spiced, that our notes may seem hardly more than breaths of common air, or draughts of water to drink. But that is part of our lesson.
Note 1. Without apology for the abrupt change of field and atmosphereafter what I have put in the preceding fifty or sixty pagestemporary episodes, thank heaven!I restore my book to the bracing and buoyant equilibrium of concrete outdoor Nature, the only permanent reliance for sanity of book or human life.
Who knows, (I have it in my fancy, my ambition,) but the pages now ensuing may carry ray of sun, or smell of grass or corn, or call of bird, or gleam of stars by night, or snow-flakes falling fresh and mystic, to denizen of heated city house, or tired workman or workwoman?or may-be in sick-room or prisonto serve as cooling breeze, or Natures aroma, to some feverd mouth or latent pulse. [back]