my night when I wander it is still steadfast as the star which the sailor steers by. Whoever has had one thought quite lonely and could contentedly digest that, knowing that none could accept it, may rise to the heights of humanity and overlook, all living men as from a pinnacle. Speech never made man master of men, but the eloquently refraining from it.
April 10, 1853. . . . . The saxifrage is beginning to be abundant, elevating its flowers somewhat, pure trustful white amid its pretty notched and reddish cup of leaves. The white saxifrage is a response from earth to the increased light of the year, the yellow crowfoot, to the increased heat of the sun. . . . .
When the farmer cleans out his ditches, I mourn the loss of many a flower which he calls a weed. The main charm about the lower road, just beyond the bridge, to me has been in the little grove of locusts, sallows, birches, etc., which has sprung upon the bank as you rise the hill. Yesterday I saw a man who is building a house near by cutting them down. Finding he was going to cut them all, I said if I were in his place I would not have them cut for a hundred dollars. "Why," said he, "they are nothing but a parcel of prickly bushes and are not worth anything. I'm going to build a new wall here." And so to ornament the approach
