September 8, 2025 • 22 mins
15 - Chapter 10. Walden by Henry David Thoreau.
Walden, series of 18 essays by Henry David Thoreau, published in 1854. An important contribution to New England Transcendentalism, the book was a record of Thoreau’s experiment in simple living on the northern shore of Walden Pond in eastern Massachusetts (1845–47). Walden is viewed not only as a philosophical treatise on labour, leisure, self-reliance, and individualism but also as an influential piece of nature writing. It is considered Thoreau’s masterwork.
Walden, series of 18 essays by Henry David Thoreau, published in 1854. An important contribution to New England Transcendentalism, the book was a record of Thoreau’s experiment in simple living on the northern shore of Walden Pond in eastern Massachusetts (1845–47). Walden is viewed not only as a philosophical treatise on labour, leisure, self-reliance, and individualism but also as an influential piece of nature writing. It is considered Thoreau’s masterwork.
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Speaker 1 (00:03):
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. Or more information, please visit LibriVox dot
o r G. This reading by Gordon mackenzie Walden by
Henry David Thoreaux, Chapter ten, Baker Farm. Sometimes I rambled
(00:29):
to pine groves standing like temples, or like fleets at sea,
full rigged with wavy boughs, and rippling with light so
soft and green and shady that the druids would have
forsaken their oaks to worship in them. Or to the
(00:49):
cedar wood beyond Flint's Pond, where the trees covered with
hoary blue berries spiring higher and higher, are fit to
see stand before Valhalla, and the creeping juniper covers the
ground with wreaths full of fruit. Or to swamps, where
(01:11):
the Usnea lichen hangs in festoons from the white spruce trees,
and toadstools round tables of the swamp gods cover the ground,
and more beautiful fungi adorn the stumps like butterflies or
(01:31):
shells vegetable winkles. Where the swamp pink and dog wood grow.
The red alderberry glows like eyes of imps. The waxwork
grooves and crushes the hardest woods in its folds, and
(01:53):
the wild holly berries make the beholder forget his home
with their beauty, and he is dazzled and tempted by
nameless other wild, forbidden fruits too fair for mortal taste.
Instead of calling on some scholar, I paid many a
(02:17):
visit to particular trees of kinds which are rare in
this neighborhood, standing far away in the middle of some pasture,
or in the depths of a wood or swamp, or
on a hill top, such as the black birch, of
which we have some handsome specimens two feet in diameter.
(02:40):
Its cousin, the yellow birch, with its loose golden vest,
perfumed like the first, the beech, which has so neat
a bowl, and beautifully like and painted perfect in all
its details, of which, excepting scattered specimens, I know but
(03:06):
one small grove of sizeable trees left in the township,
supposed by some to have been planted by the pigeons
that were once baited with beech nuts near by. It
is worth the while to see the silver grain sparkle
when you split this wood. The bass, the horn beam,
(03:30):
the Celtis occidentalis or false elm, of which we have
but one well grown, some taller mast of a pine,
a shingle tree, or a more perfect hemlock than usual,
standing like a pagoda in the midst of the woods.
(03:53):
And many others I could mention. These were the shrines
I visited, both summer and winter. Once it chanced that
I stood in the very abutment of a rainbow's arch,
which filled the lower stratum of the atmosphere, tinging the
(04:15):
grass and leaves around and dazzling me as if I
looked through colored crystal. It was a lake of rainbow light,
in which, for a short while I lived like a dolphin.
If it had lasted longer, it might have tinged my
(04:37):
employments and life. As I walked on the railroad causeway,
I used to wonder at the halo of light around
my shadow, and would fain fancy myself. One of the
elect one who visited me, declared that the shadows of
some irishman before him had no halo about them, that
(04:59):
it was only natives that were so distinguished. Benvenuto Cellini
tells us in his memoirs that after a certain terrible dream,
or vision, which he had during his confinement in the
castle of Saint Angelo. A resplendent light appeared over the
(05:21):
shadow of his head at morning and evening, whether he
was in Italy or France, and it was particularly conspicuous
when the grass was moist with dew. This was probably
the same phenomenon to which I have referred, which is
especially observed in the morning, but also at other times
(05:42):
and even by moonlight. Though a constant one, it is
not commonly noticed, and in the case of an excitable
imagination like Celini's, it would be basis enough for superstition. Beside,
he tells us that he showed it to very few,
(06:02):
But are they not indeed distinguished? Who are conscious that
they are regarded at all? I set out one afternoon
to go a fishing to fair Haven, through the woods,
to eke out my scanty fare of vegetables. My way
led through pleasant Meadow, an adjunct of the Baker farm,
(06:25):
that retreat of which a poet has since sung. Beginning
thy entry is a pleasant field which some mossy fruit
trees yield partly to a ruddy brook. By gliding musquash
undertook and mercurial trout darting about. I thought of living
(06:47):
there before I went to Walden. I hooked the apples,
leaped the brook, and scared the musquash and the trout.
It was one of those afternoons which seem indefinitely long
before one in which many events may happen a large
portion of our natural life. Though it was already half
(07:11):
spent when I started why the way, there came up
a shower which compelled me to stand half an hour
under a pine, piling boughs over my head and wearing
my handkerchief for a shed. And when at length I
had made one cast over the pickerel weed, standing up
(07:31):
to my middle in water, I found myself suddenly in
the shadow of a cloud. And the thunder began to
rumble with such emphasis that I could do no more
than listen to it. The gods must be proud, thought I,
with such forked flashes to rout a poor, unarmed fisherman.
(07:52):
So I made haste for shelter to the nearest hut,
which stood half a mile from any road, but so
much the newarer to the pond, and had long been uninhabited.
And here a poet builded in the completed years for
behold a trivial cabin that two destruction steers, so the
(08:16):
muse fables. But therein as I found dwelt now John Field,
an irishman, and his wife and several children, from the
broad faced boy who assisted his father at his work,
and now came running by his side from the bog
to escape the rain, to the wrinkled, sybil like cone
(08:38):
headed infant that sat upon its father's knee as in
the palaces of nobles, and looked out from its home
in the midst of wet and hunger, inquisitively upon the
stranger with the privilege of infancy, not knowing, but it
was the last of a noble line, and the hope
(09:00):
and cynosure of the world, instead of John Field's poor
starveling brat. There we sat together under that part of
the roof, which leaked the least while it showered and
thundered without. I had sat there many times of old,
before the ship was built that floated his family to America.
(09:24):
An honest, hard working, but shiftless man, plainly was John Field,
and his wife, she too was brave to cook so
many successive dinners in the recesses of that lofty stove,
with round, greasy face and bare breast, still thinking to
(09:45):
improve her condition one day with a never absent mop
in one hand, and yet no effects of it visible anywhere.
The chickens, which had also taken shelter here from the rain,
stalked about the room like members of the family. Too
humanized me thought to roast well. They stood and looked
(10:07):
in my eye or pecked at my shoe significantly. Meanwhile,
my host told me his story how hard he worked
bogging for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with
a spade or bog hoe at the rate of ten
dollars an acre and the use of the land with
manure for one year, and his little broad faced son
(10:31):
worked cheerfully at his father's side, the while, not knowing
how poor a bargain the latter had made. I tried
to help him with my experience, telling him that he
was one of my nearest neighbors, and that I, too,
who came a fishing here and looked like a loafer,
was getting my living like himself. That I lived in
(10:54):
a tight, light and clean house which hardly cost more
than the annual rent of such a ruin as his
commonly amounts to, and how if he chose, he might
in a month or two build himself a palace of
his own. That I did not use tea, nor coffee,
nor butter, nor milk, nor fresh meat, and so did
(11:17):
not have to work to get them again. As I
did not work hard, I did not have to eat hard,
and it cost me but a trifle for my food.
But as he began with tea and coffee, and butter
and milk and beef, he had to work hard to
(11:38):
pay for them. And when he had worked hard, he
had to eat hard again to repair the waste of
his system. And so it was as broad as it
was long. Indeed it was broader than it was long,
for he was discontented and wasted his life into the bargain.
(11:58):
And yet he had rated it as a gain in
coming to America, that here you could get tea and
coffee and meat every day. But the only true America
is that country where you are at liberty to pursue
such a mode of life as may enable you to
(12:19):
do without these, and where the state does not endeavor
to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and
other superfluous expenses which directly or indirectly result from the
use of such things. For I purposely talk to him
(12:42):
as if he were a philosopher, or desired to be one.
I should be glad if all the meadows on the
earth were left in a wild state, if that were
the consequence of men's beginning to redeem themselves. A man
will not need to study history to find out what
(13:05):
is best for his own culture. But alas the culture
of an irishman is an enterprise to be undertaken with
a sort of moral bog hoe. I told him that,
as he worked so hard at bogging, he required thick
boots and stout clothing, which yet were soon soiled and
(13:28):
worn out. But I wore light shoes and thin clothing,
which cost not half so much. Though he might think
that I was dressed like a gentleman, which however was
not the case. And in an hour or two without labor,
but as a recreation, I could, if I wished, catch
(13:52):
as many fish as I should want for two days,
or earn enough money to support me a week. If
he and his family would live simply, they might all
go a huckle burying in the summer for their amusement.
John heaved a sigh at this, and his wife stared
with arms akimbo, and both appeared to be wondering if
(14:16):
they had capital enough to begin such a course with,
or arithmetic enough to carry it through. It was sailing
by dead, reckoning to them, and they saw not clearly
how to make their port. So therefore I suppose they
still take life bravely after their fashion, face to face,
(14:41):
giving it tooth and nail, not having skill to split
its massive columns with any fine entering wedge and rout
it in detail, thinking to deal with it roughly as
one should handle a thistle. But they fight at an
(15:02):
overwhelming disadvantage, living John Field alas without arithmetic and failing.
So do you ever fish? I asked, Oh yes, I
catch a mess now, and then when I'm lying by
(15:22):
good perch, I catch what's your bait? I catch shiners
with fishworms and bait the perch with em. You'd better
go now, John, said his wife, with glistening and hopeful face,
But John demurred. The shower was now over, and a
(15:43):
rainbow above the eastern woods promised a fair evening, so
I took my departure when I had got without I
asked for a drink, hoping to get a sight of
the well bottom to complete my survey of the premises.
But there alas are shadows and quicksands, and rope broken
(16:04):
withal and bucket irrecoverable. Meanwhile, the right culinary vessel was selected,
water was seemingly distilled, and after consultation and long delay,
passed out to the thirsty one, not yet suffered to cool,
not yet to settle. Such gruel sustains life here, I thought, so,
(16:29):
shutting my eyes and excluding the moats by a skillfully
directed undercurrent, I drank to genuine hospitality, the heartiest draft
I could. I am not squeamish in such cases when
manners are concerned. As I was leaving the Irishman's roof
(16:49):
after the rain, bending my steps again to the pond,
my haste to catch pickerel, wading in retired meadows, in
slaps and bog holes, in forlorn and savage places appeared
for an instant trivial to me, who had been sent
to school and college. But as I ran down the
(17:13):
hill toward the reddening west, with the rainbow over my
shoulder and some faint tinkling sounds borne to my ear
through the cleansed air from I know not what quarter.
My good genius seemed to say, Go fish and hunt
(17:35):
far and wide, day by day, farther and wider, and
rest thee by many brooks and hearth sides without misgiving.
Remember thy creator, in the days of thy youth, rise
free from care before the dawn and seek adventures. Let
(18:00):
the noon find thee by other lakes, and the night
overtake thee. Everywhere at home. There are no larger fields
than these, no worthier games than may here be Play'd
grow wild according to thy nature, like these sedges and breaks,
(18:24):
which will never become English bay. Let the thunder rumble,
what if it threaten ruin to farmer's crops that is
not its Errand to thee take shelter under the cloud
while they flee to carts and sheds. Let not to
(18:46):
get a living, be thy trade but thy sport. Enjoy
the land, but own it nought through want of enterprise
and faith. Man are where they are buying and selling
and spending their lives like serfs O Baker farm landscape
(19:15):
where the richest element is a little sunshine, innocent, No
one runs to revel on thy rail fenced lee debate
with no man hast thou with questions art never perplexed
as tame at the first sight, as now in thy
(19:40):
plain russet gabardine dressed, Come, ye who love, and ye
who hate, children of the holy dove and guy fowl
of the state, and hang conspiracies from the tough rafters
of the trees. Men come tamely home at night only
(20:05):
from the next field or street, where their household echoes haunt,
and their life pines, because it breathes its own breath
over again. Their shadows morning and evening reach farther than
their daily steps. We should come home from far from
(20:28):
adventures and perils and discoveries, every day, with new experience
and character. Before I had reached the pond, some fresh
impulse had brought out John Field with altered mind, letting
(20:49):
go bogging ere this sunset. But he, poor man, disturbed
only a couple of fins while I was catching a
fair string, And he said it was his luck. But
when we changed seats in the boat, luck changed to
seats too, Poor John Field. I trust he does not
(21:14):
read this unless he will improve by it, thinking to
live by some derivative old country mode in this primitive
new country to catch perch with shiners. It is good bait,
sometimes I allow, with this horizon all his own. Yet
(21:39):
he a poor man, born to be poor, with his
inherited Irish poverty or poor life, his Adam's grandmother and
boggy ways. Not to rise in this world he nor
(21:59):
his posterity till their wading, webbed bog trotting feet get
tillaria to their heels. End of Chapter ten
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. Or more information, please visit LibriVox dot
o r G. This reading by Gordon mackenzie Walden by
Henry David Thoreaux, Chapter ten, Baker Farm. Sometimes I rambled
(00:29):
to pine groves standing like temples, or like fleets at sea,
full rigged with wavy boughs, and rippling with light so
soft and green and shady that the druids would have
forsaken their oaks to worship in them. Or to the
(00:49):
cedar wood beyond Flint's Pond, where the trees covered with
hoary blue berries spiring higher and higher, are fit to
see stand before Valhalla, and the creeping juniper covers the
ground with wreaths full of fruit. Or to swamps, where
(01:11):
the Usnea lichen hangs in festoons from the white spruce trees,
and toadstools round tables of the swamp gods cover the ground,
and more beautiful fungi adorn the stumps like butterflies or
(01:31):
shells vegetable winkles. Where the swamp pink and dog wood grow.
The red alderberry glows like eyes of imps. The waxwork
grooves and crushes the hardest woods in its folds, and
(01:53):
the wild holly berries make the beholder forget his home
with their beauty, and he is dazzled and tempted by
nameless other wild, forbidden fruits too fair for mortal taste.
Instead of calling on some scholar, I paid many a
(02:17):
visit to particular trees of kinds which are rare in
this neighborhood, standing far away in the middle of some pasture,
or in the depths of a wood or swamp, or
on a hill top, such as the black birch, of
which we have some handsome specimens two feet in diameter.
(02:40):
Its cousin, the yellow birch, with its loose golden vest,
perfumed like the first, the beech, which has so neat
a bowl, and beautifully like and painted perfect in all
its details, of which, excepting scattered specimens, I know but
(03:06):
one small grove of sizeable trees left in the township,
supposed by some to have been planted by the pigeons
that were once baited with beech nuts near by. It
is worth the while to see the silver grain sparkle
when you split this wood. The bass, the horn beam,
(03:30):
the Celtis occidentalis or false elm, of which we have
but one well grown, some taller mast of a pine,
a shingle tree, or a more perfect hemlock than usual,
standing like a pagoda in the midst of the woods.
(03:53):
And many others I could mention. These were the shrines
I visited, both summer and winter. Once it chanced that
I stood in the very abutment of a rainbow's arch,
which filled the lower stratum of the atmosphere, tinging the
(04:15):
grass and leaves around and dazzling me as if I
looked through colored crystal. It was a lake of rainbow light,
in which, for a short while I lived like a dolphin.
If it had lasted longer, it might have tinged my
(04:37):
employments and life. As I walked on the railroad causeway,
I used to wonder at the halo of light around
my shadow, and would fain fancy myself. One of the
elect one who visited me, declared that the shadows of
some irishman before him had no halo about them, that
(04:59):
it was only natives that were so distinguished. Benvenuto Cellini
tells us in his memoirs that after a certain terrible dream,
or vision, which he had during his confinement in the
castle of Saint Angelo. A resplendent light appeared over the
(05:21):
shadow of his head at morning and evening, whether he
was in Italy or France, and it was particularly conspicuous
when the grass was moist with dew. This was probably
the same phenomenon to which I have referred, which is
especially observed in the morning, but also at other times
(05:42):
and even by moonlight. Though a constant one, it is
not commonly noticed, and in the case of an excitable
imagination like Celini's, it would be basis enough for superstition. Beside,
he tells us that he showed it to very few,
(06:02):
But are they not indeed distinguished? Who are conscious that
they are regarded at all? I set out one afternoon
to go a fishing to fair Haven, through the woods,
to eke out my scanty fare of vegetables. My way
led through pleasant Meadow, an adjunct of the Baker farm,
(06:25):
that retreat of which a poet has since sung. Beginning
thy entry is a pleasant field which some mossy fruit
trees yield partly to a ruddy brook. By gliding musquash
undertook and mercurial trout darting about. I thought of living
(06:47):
there before I went to Walden. I hooked the apples,
leaped the brook, and scared the musquash and the trout.
It was one of those afternoons which seem indefinitely long
before one in which many events may happen a large
portion of our natural life. Though it was already half
(07:11):
spent when I started why the way, there came up
a shower which compelled me to stand half an hour
under a pine, piling boughs over my head and wearing
my handkerchief for a shed. And when at length I
had made one cast over the pickerel weed, standing up
(07:31):
to my middle in water, I found myself suddenly in
the shadow of a cloud. And the thunder began to
rumble with such emphasis that I could do no more
than listen to it. The gods must be proud, thought I,
with such forked flashes to rout a poor, unarmed fisherman.
(07:52):
So I made haste for shelter to the nearest hut,
which stood half a mile from any road, but so
much the newarer to the pond, and had long been uninhabited.
And here a poet builded in the completed years for
behold a trivial cabin that two destruction steers, so the
(08:16):
muse fables. But therein as I found dwelt now John Field,
an irishman, and his wife and several children, from the
broad faced boy who assisted his father at his work,
and now came running by his side from the bog
to escape the rain, to the wrinkled, sybil like cone
(08:38):
headed infant that sat upon its father's knee as in
the palaces of nobles, and looked out from its home
in the midst of wet and hunger, inquisitively upon the
stranger with the privilege of infancy, not knowing, but it
was the last of a noble line, and the hope
(09:00):
and cynosure of the world, instead of John Field's poor
starveling brat. There we sat together under that part of
the roof, which leaked the least while it showered and
thundered without. I had sat there many times of old,
before the ship was built that floated his family to America.
(09:24):
An honest, hard working, but shiftless man, plainly was John Field,
and his wife, she too was brave to cook so
many successive dinners in the recesses of that lofty stove,
with round, greasy face and bare breast, still thinking to
(09:45):
improve her condition one day with a never absent mop
in one hand, and yet no effects of it visible anywhere.
The chickens, which had also taken shelter here from the rain,
stalked about the room like members of the family. Too
humanized me thought to roast well. They stood and looked
(10:07):
in my eye or pecked at my shoe significantly. Meanwhile,
my host told me his story how hard he worked
bogging for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with
a spade or bog hoe at the rate of ten
dollars an acre and the use of the land with
manure for one year, and his little broad faced son
(10:31):
worked cheerfully at his father's side, the while, not knowing
how poor a bargain the latter had made. I tried
to help him with my experience, telling him that he
was one of my nearest neighbors, and that I, too,
who came a fishing here and looked like a loafer,
was getting my living like himself. That I lived in
(10:54):
a tight, light and clean house which hardly cost more
than the annual rent of such a ruin as his
commonly amounts to, and how if he chose, he might
in a month or two build himself a palace of
his own. That I did not use tea, nor coffee,
nor butter, nor milk, nor fresh meat, and so did
(11:17):
not have to work to get them again. As I
did not work hard, I did not have to eat hard,
and it cost me but a trifle for my food.
But as he began with tea and coffee, and butter
and milk and beef, he had to work hard to
(11:38):
pay for them. And when he had worked hard, he
had to eat hard again to repair the waste of
his system. And so it was as broad as it
was long. Indeed it was broader than it was long,
for he was discontented and wasted his life into the bargain.
(11:58):
And yet he had rated it as a gain in
coming to America, that here you could get tea and
coffee and meat every day. But the only true America
is that country where you are at liberty to pursue
such a mode of life as may enable you to
(12:19):
do without these, and where the state does not endeavor
to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and
other superfluous expenses which directly or indirectly result from the
use of such things. For I purposely talk to him
(12:42):
as if he were a philosopher, or desired to be one.
I should be glad if all the meadows on the
earth were left in a wild state, if that were
the consequence of men's beginning to redeem themselves. A man
will not need to study history to find out what
(13:05):
is best for his own culture. But alas the culture
of an irishman is an enterprise to be undertaken with
a sort of moral bog hoe. I told him that,
as he worked so hard at bogging, he required thick
boots and stout clothing, which yet were soon soiled and
(13:28):
worn out. But I wore light shoes and thin clothing,
which cost not half so much. Though he might think
that I was dressed like a gentleman, which however was
not the case. And in an hour or two without labor,
but as a recreation, I could, if I wished, catch
(13:52):
as many fish as I should want for two days,
or earn enough money to support me a week. If
he and his family would live simply, they might all
go a huckle burying in the summer for their amusement.
John heaved a sigh at this, and his wife stared
with arms akimbo, and both appeared to be wondering if
(14:16):
they had capital enough to begin such a course with,
or arithmetic enough to carry it through. It was sailing
by dead, reckoning to them, and they saw not clearly
how to make their port. So therefore I suppose they
still take life bravely after their fashion, face to face,
(14:41):
giving it tooth and nail, not having skill to split
its massive columns with any fine entering wedge and rout
it in detail, thinking to deal with it roughly as
one should handle a thistle. But they fight at an
(15:02):
overwhelming disadvantage, living John Field alas without arithmetic and failing.
So do you ever fish? I asked, Oh yes, I
catch a mess now, and then when I'm lying by
(15:22):
good perch, I catch what's your bait? I catch shiners
with fishworms and bait the perch with em. You'd better
go now, John, said his wife, with glistening and hopeful face,
But John demurred. The shower was now over, and a
(15:43):
rainbow above the eastern woods promised a fair evening, so
I took my departure when I had got without I
asked for a drink, hoping to get a sight of
the well bottom to complete my survey of the premises.
But there alas are shadows and quicksands, and rope broken
(16:04):
withal and bucket irrecoverable. Meanwhile, the right culinary vessel was selected,
water was seemingly distilled, and after consultation and long delay,
passed out to the thirsty one, not yet suffered to cool,
not yet to settle. Such gruel sustains life here, I thought, so,
(16:29):
shutting my eyes and excluding the moats by a skillfully
directed undercurrent, I drank to genuine hospitality, the heartiest draft
I could. I am not squeamish in such cases when
manners are concerned. As I was leaving the Irishman's roof
(16:49):
after the rain, bending my steps again to the pond,
my haste to catch pickerel, wading in retired meadows, in
slaps and bog holes, in forlorn and savage places appeared
for an instant trivial to me, who had been sent
to school and college. But as I ran down the
(17:13):
hill toward the reddening west, with the rainbow over my
shoulder and some faint tinkling sounds borne to my ear
through the cleansed air from I know not what quarter.
My good genius seemed to say, Go fish and hunt
(17:35):
far and wide, day by day, farther and wider, and
rest thee by many brooks and hearth sides without misgiving.
Remember thy creator, in the days of thy youth, rise
free from care before the dawn and seek adventures. Let
(18:00):
the noon find thee by other lakes, and the night
overtake thee. Everywhere at home. There are no larger fields
than these, no worthier games than may here be Play'd
grow wild according to thy nature, like these sedges and breaks,
(18:24):
which will never become English bay. Let the thunder rumble,
what if it threaten ruin to farmer's crops that is
not its Errand to thee take shelter under the cloud
while they flee to carts and sheds. Let not to
(18:46):
get a living, be thy trade but thy sport. Enjoy
the land, but own it nought through want of enterprise
and faith. Man are where they are buying and selling
and spending their lives like serfs O Baker farm landscape
(19:15):
where the richest element is a little sunshine, innocent, No
one runs to revel on thy rail fenced lee debate
with no man hast thou with questions art never perplexed
as tame at the first sight, as now in thy
(19:40):
plain russet gabardine dressed, Come, ye who love, and ye
who hate, children of the holy dove and guy fowl
of the state, and hang conspiracies from the tough rafters
of the trees. Men come tamely home at night only
(20:05):
from the next field or street, where their household echoes haunt,
and their life pines, because it breathes its own breath
over again. Their shadows morning and evening reach farther than
their daily steps. We should come home from far from
(20:28):
adventures and perils and discoveries, every day, with new experience
and character. Before I had reached the pond, some fresh
impulse had brought out John Field with altered mind, letting
(20:49):
go bogging ere this sunset. But he, poor man, disturbed
only a couple of fins while I was catching a
fair string, And he said it was his luck. But
when we changed seats in the boat, luck changed to
seats too, Poor John Field. I trust he does not
(21:14):
read this unless he will improve by it, thinking to
live by some derivative old country mode in this primitive
new country to catch perch with shiners. It is good bait,
sometimes I allow, with this horizon all his own. Yet
(21:39):
he a poor man, born to be poor, with his
inherited Irish poverty or poor life, his Adam's grandmother and
boggy ways. Not to rise in this world he nor
(21:59):
his posterity till their wading, webbed bog trotting feet get
tillaria to their heels. End of Chapter ten
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