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" I have lived half a century in this world, fifty years
complete on the 4th of December last: that is a solemn fact
for me! Few and evil have been the days of the years of
thy servant,--few for any good that was ever done in them.
_Ay de mi!_
Within late weeks I have got my Horse again; go riding through
the loud torrent of vehiculatory discords, till I get into the
fields, into the green lanes; which is intrinsically a great
medicine to me. Most comfortless riding it is, with a horse of
such _kangaroo_ disposition, till I do get to the sight of my old
ever-young green-mantled mother again; but for an hour there, it
is a real blessing to me. I have company sometimes, but
generally prefer solitude, and a dialogue with the trees and
clouds. Alas, the speech of men, especially the witty-speech of
men, is oftentimes afflictive to me: "in the wide Earth," I say
sometimes with a sigh, "there is none but Emerson that responds
to me with a voice wholly human!" All "Literature" too is become
I cannot tell you how contemptible to me.


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