and I shall never comfort myself for having spent so many days of blessed
sunshine there. It is my opinion that a man's soul may be buried and
perish under a dung-heap, or in a furrow of the field, just as well as
under a pile of money.

Mr. George Bradford will probably be here to-day, so that there will be
no danger of my being under the necessity of laboring more than I like
hereafter. Meantime my health is perfect, and my spirits buoyant, even
in the gold-mine.


August 12th.--. . . . I am very well, and not at all weary, for
yesterday's rain gave us a holiday; and, moreover, the labors of the farm
are not so pressing as they have been. And, joyful thought! in a little
more than a fortnight; I shall be free from my bondage,--. . . . free to
enjoy Nature,--free to think and feel! . . . . Even my Custom-House
experience was not such a thraldom and weariness; my mind and heart were
free. O, labor is the curse of the world, and nobody can meddle with it
without becoming proportionably brutified! Is it a praiseworthy matter
that I have spent five golden months in providing food for cows and
horses? It is not so.


August 18th.--I am very well, only somewhat tired with walking half a
dozen miles immediately after breakfast, and raking hay ever since. We
shall quite finish haying this week, and then there will be no more very
hard or constant labor during the one other week that I shall remain a
slave.