142 
WALDEN. 
or Africa as New England. I have, as it were, my own 
sun and moon and stars, and a little world all to myself. 
At night there was never a traveller passed my house, 
or knocked at my door, more than if I were the first or 
last man; unless' it were in the spring, when at long in¬ 
tervals some came from the village to fish for pouts, — 
they plainly fished much more in the Walden Pond of 
their own natures, and baited their hooks with dark¬ 
ness, — but they soon retreated, usually with light bas¬ 
kets, and left 66 the world to darkness and to me,” and 
the black kernel of the night was never profaned by 
any human neighborhood. I believe that men are gen¬ 
erally still a little afraid of the dark, though the witches 
are all hung, and Christianity and candles have been 
introduced. 
Yet I experienced sometimes that the most sweet and 
tender, the most innocent and encouraging society may 
be found in any natural object, even for the poor mis¬ 
anthrope and most melancholy man. There can be no 
very black melancholy to him who lives in the midst of 
Nature and has his senses still. There was never yet 
such a storm but it was JEolian music to a healthy and 
innocent ear. Nothing can rightly compel a simple and 
brave man to a vulgar sadness. While I enjoy the 
friendship of the seasons I trust that nothing can make 
life a burden to me. The gentle rain which waters my 
beans and keeps me in the house to-day is not drear 
and melancholy, but good for me too. Though it pre¬ 
vents my hoeing them, it is of far more worth than my 
hoeing. If it should continue so long as to cause the 
seeds to rot in the ground and destroy the potatoes in 
the low lands, it would still be good for the grass on the 
uplands, and, being good for the grass, it would be good 
