HENRY THOREAU
have their companions, yea, are practically owned as ancestors; and when a party is found under the greenwood tree no Orlando would say, now, —
“Whate'er you are
That in this desert inaccessible
Under the shade of melancholy boughs
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of Time;
If ever you have looked on better days.
If ever been where bells have knolled to church,” etc.
but, on the contrary, knows that they are trying to preserve or regain their sanity after a season of lecture, party, street-car, and telephone life. “Who laughs last, laughs best.” Was society wrong in his day, or Thoreau?
This rare and happy venture of Thoreau's, — bringing his soul face to face with Nature as wondrous artist, as healer, teacher, as mediator between us and the Creator, has slowly spread its wide beneficence. Look at out-of-door life, and love of plant and tree, and sympa-
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