114 EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
March 11, 1856. When it is proposed to me 
to go abroad, rub off some rust, and better my 
condition in a worldly sense, I fear lest my life 
would lose some of its homeliness. If these 
fields, and streams, and woods, the phenomena 
of nature here, and the simple occupations of 
the inhabitants should cease to interest and in¬ 
spire me, no culture or wealth would atone for 
the loss. I fear the dissipation that traveling, 
going into society, even the best, the enjoy¬ 
ment of intellectual luxuries, imply. If Paris 
is much in your mind, if it is more and more to 
you, Concord is less and less, and yet it would 
be a wretched bargain to accept the proudest 
Paris in exchange for my native village. At 
best, Paris could only be a school in which to 
learn to live here, a stepping-stone to Concord, 
a school in which to fit for this university. I 
wish so to live ever as to derive my satisfactions 
and inspirations from the commonest events, 
every-day phenomena, so that what my senses 
hourly perceive in my daily walk, the conver¬ 
sations of my neighbors, may inspire me, and I 
may dream of no heaven but that which lies 
about me. A man may acquire a taste for wine 
or brandy, and so lose his love for water, but 
should we not pity him ? The sight of a marsh 
hawk in Concord meadows is worth more to 
me than the entry of the allies into Paris. In 
