128 EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
neath, a few blackish huckleberry bushes scat¬ 
tered about, and bright, white patches of snow 
here and there in the ravines, the hill running 
east and west, and seen through the storm from 
a point twenty or thirty rods south. 
March 13, 1841. How alone must our life 
be lived. We dwell on the sea-shore, and none 
between us and the sea. Men are my merry 
companions, my fellow-pilgrims, who beguile 
the way, but leave me at the first turn in the 
road, for none are traveling one road so far as 
myself. Each one marches in the van. The 
weakest child is exposed to the fates henceforth 
as barely as its parents. Parents and relatives 
but entertain the youth. They cannot stand 
between him and his destiny. This is the one 
bare side of every man. There is no peace. It 
is clear before him to the bounds of space. 
What is fame to a living man ? If he live 
aright the sound of no man’s voice will resound 
through the aisles of his secluded life. His life 
is a hallowed silence, a pool. The loudest sounds 
have to thank my little ear that they are heard. 
March 13, 1842. The sad memory of de¬ 
parted friends is soon incrusted over with sub¬ 
lime and pleasing thoughts, as their monuments 
are overgrown with moss. Nature doth thus 
kindly heal every wound. By the mediation of 
a thousand little mosses and fungi the most 
