TWICE TOLD TALES

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE

By Nathaniel Hawthorne



It must be a spirit much unlike my own, which can keep itself in
health and vigor without sometimes stealing from the sultry sunshine
of the world, to plunge into the cool bath of solitude. At intervals,
and not infrequent ones, the forest and the ocean summon me--one with
the roar of its waves, the other with the murmur of its boughs--forth
from the haunts of men. But I must wander many a mile, ere I could
stand beneath the shadow of even one primeval tree, much less be lost
among the multitude of hoary trunks, and hidden from earth and sky by
the mystery of darksome foliage. Nothing is within my daily reach
more like a forest than the acre or two of woodland near some suburban
farm-house. When, therefore, the yearning for seclusion becomes a
necessity within me, I am drawn to the sea-shore, which extends its
line of rude rocks and seldom-trodden sands, for leagues around our
bay. Setting forth at my last ramble, on a September morning, I
bound myself with a hermit's vow, to interchange no thoughts with man
or woman, to share no social pleasure, but to derive all that day's
enjoyment from shore, and sea, and sky,--from my soul's communion with
these, and from fantasies, and recollections, or anticipated
realities. Surely here is enough to feed a human spirit for a single
day. Farewell, then, busy world! Till your evening lights shall
shine along the street,--till they gleam upon my sea-flushed face, as
I tread homeward,--free me from your ties, and let me be a peaceful