168 WASTE-LAND WAXDERIXGS. 



a wilderness of weeds ; tlie other, a tall asli, a dwarfed 

 maple, and a garden that, excluding all else, grows in 

 wildest luxuriance a golden bloom, tlie beautiful Ile- 

 lenium aiitumnale. 



Whenever I come down the creek, I am tempted to 

 draw up to the lone willow of the upper island, for to 

 tarry there an hour, ay or for a day, is no hardship. 

 For me, it is not to be 



"Under the shade of melancholy boughs," 



but rather in the shadow of joyous branches, glittering 

 with light and tremulous with the airy steps of many 

 birds ; nor, once here, do I 



"Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time." 



I may, perhaps, neglect to mechanically count the 

 hours as they pass, but then, why should I ? Tarrying 

 here can never be accounted a loss of time. I always 

 bear hence something to con over in the years to come 

 — reap a fair harvest of food for thought. 



Is there not much idle talk about losing time ? "Who 

 is appointed among us to say this of his fellows ? 



He who, as the result of a meditative life, gives a 

 single useful hint to his fellows, has accomplished more 

 than any mere accumulator of a fortune. Surely it was 

 better for us that Thoreau ceased to be a pencil-maker, 

 and gave to the world " Walden " and " The Week." 



To the poor toilers of the crowded town, who could 

 not come hither without bringing thoughts of their ledg- 

 ers and the state of trade, it might be a loss of time, 

 but even such unfortunates should place some value on 



