SOLITUDE. 
149 
appear to be two, but one is a mock sun. God is 
alone, —* but the devil, he is far from being alone; he 
sees a great deal of company; he is legion. . I am no 
more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pas¬ 
ture, or a bean leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a hum¬ 
ble-bee. I am no more lonely than the Mill Brook, or a 
weathercock, or the north star, or the south wind, or an 
April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in 
a new house. 
I have occasional visits in the long winter evenings, 
when the snow falls fast and the wind howls in the 
wood, from an old settler and original proprietor, who 
is reported to have dug "Walden Pond, and stoned it, 
and fringed it with pine woods; who tells me stories 
of old time and of new eternity; and between us we 
manage to pass a cheerful evening with social mirth 
and pleasant views of things, even without apples or 
cider, — a most wise and humorous friend, whom I love 
much, who keeps himself more secret than ever did 
Gofie or Whalley; and though he is thought to be dead, 
none can show where he is buried. An elderly dame, 
too, dwells in my neighborhood, invisible to most per¬ 
sons, in whose odorous herb garden I love to stroll some¬ 
times, gathering simples and listening to her fables; 
for she has a genius of unequalled fertility, and her 
memory runs back farther than mythology, and she 
can tell me the original of every fable, and on what 
fact every one is founded, for the incidents occurred 
when she was young. A ruddy and lusty old dame, 
who delights in all weathers and seasons, and is likely to 
outlive all her children yet. 
The indescribable innocence and beneficence of Na- 
