Chapters (42)
- Cover Page
- Title Page
- Foreword by Robert D. Richardson Jr.
- NATURE (1836)
- Introduction
- CHAPTER I
- CHAPTER II
- CHAPTER III
- CHAPTER IV
- CHAPTER V
- CHAPTER VI
- CHAPTER VII
- CHAPTER VIII
- EARLY ESSAYS AND LECTURES
- Pray Without Ceasing (1826)
- Ethics (1837)
- The American Scholar (1837)
- Cherokee Letter (1838)
- The Divinity School Address (1838)
- From ESSAYS, FIRST SERIES (1841)
- History
- Self-Reliance
- The Over-Soul
- Circles
- From ESSAYS, SECOND SERIES (1844)
- The Poet
- Experience
- Politics
- From REPRESENTATIVE MEN (1850)
- Uses of Great Men
- Montaigne; or, the Skeptic
- LATER ESSAYS AND LECTURES
- Emancipation in the British West Indies (1844)
- Woman (1855)
- Thoreau (1862)
- POEMS
- Concord Hymn
- Additional Reading
- Note on the Text
- Ask Your Bookseller for these Bantam Classics
- About the Author
- Copyright
It was said of Plotinus that he was ashamed of his body, and ’tis very likely he had good reason for it,—that his body was a bad servant, and he had not skill in dealing with the material world, as happens often to men of abstract intellect. But Mr. Thoreau was equipped with a most adapted and serviceable body. He was of short stature, firmly built, of light complexion, with strong, serious blue eyes, and a grave aspect,—his face covered in the late years with a becoming beard. His senses were acute, his frame well-knit and hardy, his hands strong and skilful in the use of tools. And there was a wonderful fitness of body and mind. He could pace sixteen rods more accurately than another man could measure them with rod and chain. He could find his path in the woods at night, he said, better by feet than his eyes. He could estimate the measure of a tree very well by his eye; he could estimate the weight of a calf or a pig, like a dealer. From a box containing a bushel or more of loose pencils, he could take up with his hands fast enough just a dozen pencils at every grasp. He was a good swimmer, runner, skater, boatman, and would probably outwalk most countrymen in a day’s journey. And the relation of body to mind was still finer than we have indicated. He said he wanted every stride his legs made. The length of his walk uniformly made the length of his writing. If shut up in the house he did not write at all.
He had a strong common sense like that which Rose Flammock the weaver’s daughter in Scott’s romance commands in her father, as resembling a yardstick, which, whilst it measures dowlas and diaper, can equally well measure tapestry and cloth of gold. He had always a new resource. When I was planting forest trees, and had procured half a peck of acorns, he said that only a small portion of them would be sound, and proceeded to examine them and select the sound ones. But finding this took time, he said, “I think if you put them all into water the good ones will sink;” which experiment we tried with success. He could plan a garden or a house or a barn; would have been competent to lead a “Pacific Exploring Expedition;” could give judicious counsel in the gravest private or public affairs.