our feelings, was one which he was never weary of attempting
to reproduce in his books. The seeming significance of
nature's appearances, their unchanging strangeness to the
senses, and the thrilling response which they waken in the
mind of man, continued to surprise and stimulate his spirits.
It appeared to him, I think, that if we could only write near
enough to the facts, and yet with no pedestrian calm, but
ardently, we might transfer the glamour of reality direct
upon our pages; and that, if it were once thus captured and
expressed, a new and instructive relation might appear
between men's thoughts and the phenomena of nature. This was
the eagle that he pursued all his life long, like a schoolboy
with a butterfly net. Hear him to a friend: "Let me suggest
a theme for you - to state to yourself precisely and
completely what that walk over the mountains amounted to for
you, returning to this essay again and again until you are
satisfied that all that was important in your experience is
in it. Don't suppose that you can tell it precisely the
first dozen times you try, but at 'em again; especially when,
after a sufficient pause you suspect that you are touching
the heart or summit of the matter, reiterate your blows
there, and account for the mountain to yourself. Not that
the story need be long, but it will take a long while to make
it short." Such was the method, not consistent for a man
whose meanings were to "drop from him as a stone falls to the
ground." Perhaps the most successful work that Thoreau ever
accomplished in this direction is to be found in the passages
relating to fish in the WEEK. These are remarkable for a
vivid truth of impression and a happy suitability of
language, not frequently surpassed.