not lived in vain, your works, and above all, your brave and truthful life, will become a precious treasure to those whose happiness it has been to have known you, and who will continue, though with feebler hands, the fresh and instructive philosophy you have taught them.
"But I cannot yet resign my hold upon you here. I will still hope, and if my poor prayer to God may be heard, would ask that you may be spared to us awhile longer at least. This is a lovely spring day here,—warm and mild,—the thermometer in the shade at 62° above zero (3 p. m.). I write with my shanty door open and my west curtain down to keep out the sun,—a red-winged blackbird is regaling me with a querulous, half-broken song, from a neighboring tree just in front of the house, and the gentle wind is soughing through my young pines. . . . I wish at least to devote the remainder of my life, whether longer or shorter to the cause of truth and humanity,—a life of simplicity and humility. Pardon me for thus dwelling on myself.
"Hoping to hear of your more favorable symptoms, but committing you (all unworthy as I am) into the tender care of the great Shepherd, who 'tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,'
"I remain, my dear friend and counsellor,
A man of Thoreau's courage of thought and act is sure to win hero-worship from young men of poetic, responsive natures. To Concord came occasional visitors from England, attracted by Emerson's fame. Such often returned impressed by the
