THE EXHILARATIONS OF THE ROAD. 43 



and more along the shores of Walden Pond. The 

 former, as it were, has merely time to glance at the 

 headings of the chapters, while the latter need not 

 miss a line, and Thoreau reads between the lines. 

 Then the walker has the privilege of the fields, the 

 woods, the hills, the by-ways. The apples by the 

 roadside are for him, and the berries, and the spring 

 of water, and the friendly shelter; and if the weather 

 is cold, he eats the frost grapes and the persimmons, 

 or even the white meated turnip, snatched from the 

 field he passed through, with incredible relish. 



Afoot and in the open road, one has a fair start in 

 life at last. There is no hindrance now. Let him 

 put his best foot forward. He is on the broadest 

 human plane. This is on the level of all the great 

 laws and heroic deeds. From this platform he is eli- 

 gible to any good fortune. He was sighing for the 

 golden age ; let him walk to it. Every step brings 

 him nearer. The youth of the world is but a few 

 days' journey distant. Indeed. I know persons who 

 think they have walked back to that fresh aforetime 

 of a single bright Sunday in autumn or early spring. 

 Before noon they felt its airs upon their cheeks, and 

 by nightfall, on the banks of some quiet stream, or 

 along some path in the wood, or on some hill-top, 

 aver they have heard the voices and felt the wonder 

 and the mystery that so enchanted the early races 

 of men. 



I think if I could walk through a country I should 

 QOt only see many things and have adventures that 1 



