there were moods when the classics failed to satisfy him, when nature alone could bring happiness. Every one has such occasional cravings; Thoreau was possessed by them until they became potent influences of each day, perennial sources of inspiration With this sentiment he wrote that delicate, whimsical stanza in his first volume,
"Tell Shakespeare to attend some leisure hour,
For now I've business with this drop of dew,
And see you not, the clouds prepare a shower,—
I'll meet him shortly when the sky is blue."
Thoreau's delight in the wild, in bogs and marshes, in fierce rains and drifting snows, was due, in part, to his indigenous love for all forms of outdoor life; in part, to his craving especially for those forms which ministered to his sturdiness and sense of freedom. On "imported sods" he disliked to walk, since here his thoughts became "heavy and lumpish as if fed on turnips"; when he could walk on woodland path or stubbed pasture land, he felt a tonic, as if he "nibbled ground nuts."
There has been a tendency to overestimate Thoreau's delight in the uncultivated. It has been suggested that he might have spent his life happily in the caves of the aboriginal settlers. As his retirement from Walden proved, he found in seclusion in nature the best opportunities for study and ex-
