LIFE AT SEVEN GATES 353 



was nothing to tease him out of the repose he so much needed, 

 and gradually refreshment came to body and mind from the 

 night's sound sleep untortured by the noise of bells or street- 

 cars, and from the long morning's walk with hoe in hand over 

 the bare fields, where he made war upon the thistles. In these 

 hours of quiet and solitude life was to him a serene delight. 

 In the afternoon, after some writing, there was another tramp, 

 not companionless now, on the beach, or over the peaceful hills; 

 lingering perhaps until the young moon was first seen mirrored 

 in the waters of the little pond at the foot of the hill, or until 

 the lamps in the laborers' windows emitted light enough to 

 keep the feet straight in the narrow paths the sheep had made. 

 On the way home Mr. Shaler would often stop at the spring, 

 beneath the tupelo tree, for a draught of its sweet waters; or 

 again, he would go out of his way to select with fastidious care 

 a hickory log that it might give the last touch of perfection to 

 the evening fire. 



He liked to putter over the fire, having, as always, a theory 

 to put into practice, a method which involved the proper 

 arrangement of the logs and the right amount of ashes to be 

 guarded as a store of heat, details about which in Cambridge 

 he was comparatively indifferent. Even in summer both here 

 and in Cambridge he kept a little fire burning, not so much for 

 the heat, but, it was suspected, that he might frequently light 

 his unsteady pipe with a live coal, a Kentucky habit which 

 he cherished. To do this was undoubtedly a pleasure, but over 

 and above its ministration to the smoker's tranquil joy, a fire 

 on the hearth excited his poetic fancy. In one of his letters he 

 writes : 



By a fire I am never altogether alone, but have strange company in the 

 beings that pass as shadows are said to do in the magician's mirror; indeed 

 the fireplace becomes as it were another window which admits our vision to 

 the scenes of days gone by or into that dark profound we call the future. . . . 

 Eras ago these few black lumps were the gorgeous vegetation of the tropical 

 forests, plants stretching their luxurious foliage high towards the heavens, 



