Sept. 5, 77.I WRITE this, 11 A. M., shelterd under a dense oak by the bank, where I have taken refuge from a sudden rain. I came down here, (we had sulky drizzles all the morning, but an hour ago a lull,) for the before-mentiond daily and simple exercise I am fond ofto pull on that young hickory sapling out thereto sway and yield to its tough-limber upright stemhaply to get into my old sinews some of its elastic fibre and clear sap. I stand on the turf and take these health-pulls moderately and at intervals for nearly an hour, inhaling great draughts of fresh air. Wandering by the creek, I have three or four naturally favorable spots where I restbesides a chair I lug with me and use for more deliberate occasions. At other spots convenient I have selected, besides the hickory just named, strong and limber boughs of beech or holly, in easy-reaching distance, for my natural gymnasia, for arms, chest, trunk-muscles. I can soon feel the sap and sinew rising through me, like mercury to heat. I hold on boughs or slender trees caressingly there in the sun and shade, wrestle with their innocent stalwartnessand know the virtue thereof passes from them into me. (Or may-be we interchangemay-be the trees are more aware of it all than I ever thought.)
But now pleasantly imprisond here under the big oakthe rain dripping, and the sky coverd with leaden cloudsnothing but the pond on one side, and the other a spread of grass, spotted with the milky blossoms of the wild carrotthe sound of an axe wielded at some distant wood-pileyet in this dull scene, (as most folks would call it,) why am I so (almost) happy here and alone? Why would any intrusion, even from people I like, spoil the charm? But am I alone? Doubtless there comes a timeperhaps it has come to mewhen one feels through his whole being, and pronouncedly the emotional part, that identity between himself subjectively and Nature objectively which Schelling and Fichte are so fond of pressing. How it is I know not, but I often realize a presence herein clear moods I am certain of it, and neither chemistry nor reasoning nor esthetics will give the least explanation. All the past two summers it has been strengthening and nourishing my sick body and soul, as never before. Thanks, invisible physician, for thy silent delicious medicine, thy day and night, thy waters and thy airs, the banks, the grass, the trees, and een the weeds!