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Chapter XI 



THE HEART OF THE WOODS 



HERE are certain moods 

 in which my feet turn, 

 as by instinct, to the 

 woods. I set out upon the wind- 

 ing road with a zest of anticipa- 

 tion whose edge no repetition 

 of the after -experience ever dulls; 1 loiter 

 at the shaded turn, watched often by the 

 bright, quick eye of the squirrel peering 

 over the old stone wall, and sometimes 

 uttering a chattering protest against my 

 invasion of his hereditary privacy. Here 

 and there along the way of my familiar 

 pilgrimage a great tree stands at the road- 

 side and spreads its far-reaching shadow 

 over the traveller ; and these are the places 

 where I always throw myself on the ground 

 and wait for the spirit of the hour and the 

 scene to take possession of me. One needs 

 preparation for the sanctities and solemnities 

 of the woods, and in the slow progress 

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