36 THE EXHILARATIONS OF THE ROAD 



make a man kindred to the spot of earth he in- 

 habits. 



The roads and paths you have walked along in 

 summer and winter weather, the fields and hills 

 which you have looked upon in lightness and glad- 

 ness of heart, where fresh thoughts have come into 

 your mind, or some noble prospect has opened be- 

 fore you, and especially the quiet ways where you 

 have walked in sweet converse with your friend, 

 pausing under the trees, drinking at the spring, — 

 henceforth they are not the same; a new charm is 

 added ; those thoughts spring there perennial, your 

 friend walks there forever. 



We have produced some good walkers and saun- 

 terers, and some noted climbers; but as a staple 

 recreation, as a daily practice, the mass of the peo- 

 ple dislike and despise walking. Thoreau said he 

 was a good horse, but a poor roadster. I chant the 

 virtues of the roadster as well. I sing of the sweet- 

 ness of gravel, good sharp quartz-grit. It is the 

 proper condiment for the sterner seasons, and many 

 a human gizzard would be cured of half its ills by 

 a suitable daily allowance of it. I think Thoreau 

 himself would have profited immensely by it. His 

 diet was too exclusively vegetable. A man cannot 

 live on grass alone. If one has been a lotus-eater 

 all summer, he must turn gravel-eater in the fall 

 and winter. Those who have tried it know that 

 gravel possesses an equal though an opposite charm. 



