174 
WALDEN. 
according to Virgil's advice, by a faint tintinnobulum 
upon tbe most sonorous of their domestic utensils, were 
endeavoring to call them down into the hive again. 
And when the sound died quite away, and the hum 
had ceased, and the most favorable breezes told no tale, 
I knew that they had got the last drone of them all 
safely into the Middlesex hive, and that now their 
minds were bent on the honey with which it was 
smeared. 
I felt proud to know that the liberties of Massachu¬ 
setts and of our fatherland were in such safe keeping; 
and as I turned to my hoeing again I was filled with an 
inexpressible confidence, and pursued my labor cheer¬ 
fully with a calm trust in the future. 
When there were several bands of musicians, it 
sounded as if all the village was a vast bellows, and 
all the buildings expanded and collapsed alternately 
with a din. But sometimes it was a really noble and 
inspiring strain that reached these woods, and the 
trumpet that sings of fame, and I felt as if I could 
spit a Mexican with a good relish, — for why should we 
always stand for trifles?—and looked round for a wood¬ 
chuck or a skunk to exercise my chivalry upon. These 
martial strains seemed as far away as Palestine, and 
reminded me of a march of crusaders in the horizon, 
with a slight tantivy and tremulous motion of the elm- 
tree tops which overhang the village. This was one 
of the great days; though the sky had from my clearing 
only the same everlastingly great look that it wears 
daily, and I saw no difference in it. 
It was a singular experience that long acquaintance 
which I cultivated with beans, what with planting, and 
hoeing, and harvesting, and threshing, and picking over, 
