In October I went a-graping to the river meadows, and loaded myself with clusters more precious for their beauty and fragrance than for food. There, too, I admired, though I did not gather, the cranberries, small waxen gems, pendants of the meadow grass, pearly and red, which the farmer plucks with an ugly rake, leaving the smooth meadow in a snarl, heedlessly measuring them by the bushel and the dollar only, and sells the spoils of the meads to Boston and New York; destined to be jammed, to satisfy the tastes of lovers of Nature there. So butchers rake the tongues of bison out of the prairie grass, regardless of the torn and drooping plant. The barberry's brilliant fruit was likewise food for my eyes merely; but I collected a small store of wild apples for coddling, which the proprietor and travellers had overlooked. When chestnuts were ripe I laid up half a bushel for winter. It was very exciting at that season to roam the then boundless chestnut woods of Lincoln -- they now sleep their long sleep under the railroad -- with a bag on my shoulder, and a stick to open burs with in my hand, for I did not always wait for the frost, amid the rustling of leaves and the loud reproofs of the red squirrels and the jays, whose half-consumed nuts I sometimes stole, for the burs which they had selected were sure to contain sound ones. Occasionally I climbed and shook the trees. They grew also behind my house, and one large tree, which almost overshadowed it, was, when in flower, a bouquet which scented the whole neighborhood, but the squirrels and the jays got most of its fruit; the last coming in flocks early in the morning and picking the nuts out of the burs before they fell, I relinquished these trees to them and visited the more distant woods composed wholly of chestnut. These nuts, as far as they went, were a good substitute for bread. Many other substitutes might, perhaps, be found. Digging one day for fishworms, I discovered the ground-nut (Apios tuberosa) on its string, the potato of the aborigines, a sort of fabulous fruit, which I had begun to doubt if I had ever dug and eaten in childhood, as I had told, and had not dreamed it. I had often since seen its crumpled red velvety blossom supported by the stems of other plants without knowing it to be the same. Cultivation has well-nigh exterminated it. It has a sweetish taste, much like that of a frost-bitten potato, and I found it better boiled than roasted. This tuber seemed like a faint promise of Nature to rear her own children and feed them simply here at some future period. In these days of fatted cattle and waving grain-fields this humble root, which was once the totem of an Indian tribe, is quite forgotten, or known only by its flowering vine; but let wild Nature reign here once more, and the tender and luxurious English grains will probably disappear before a myriad of foes, and without the care of man the crow may carry back even the last seed of corn to the great cornfield of the Indian's God in the southwest, whence he is said to have brought it; but the now almost exterminated ground-nut will perhaps revive and flourish in spite of frosts and wildness, prove itself indigenous, and resume its ancient importance and dignity as the diet of the hunter tribe. Some Indian Ceres or Minerva must have been the inventor and bestower of it; and when the reign of poetry commences here, its leaves and string of nuts may be represented on our works of art.
Already, by the first of September, I had seen two or three small maples turned scarlet across the pond, beneath where the white stems of three aspens diverged, at the point of a promontory, next the water. Ah, many a tale their color told! And gradually from week to week the character of each tree came out, and it admired itself reflected in the smooth mirror of the lake. Each morning the manager of this gallery substituted some new picture, distinguished by more brilliant or harmonious coloring, for the old upon the walls.
The wasps came by thousands to my lodge in October, as to winter quarters, and settled on my windows within and on the walls overhead, sometimes deterring visitors from entering. Each morning, when they were numbed with cold, I swept some of them out, but I did not trouble myself much to get rid of them; I even felt complimented by their regarding my house as a desirable shelter. They never molested me seriously, though they bedded with me; and they gradually disappeared, into what crevices I do not know, avoiding winter and unspeakable cold.
Like the wasps, before I finally went into winter quarters in November, I used to resort to the northeast side of Walden, which the sun, reflected from the pitch pine woods and the stony shore, made the fireside of the pond; it is so much pleasanter and wholesomer to be warmed by the sun while you can be, than by an artificial fire. I thus warmed myself by the still glowing embers which the summer, like a departed hunter, had left.
When I came to build my chimney I studied masonry. My bricks, being second-hand ones, required to be cleaned with a trowel, so that I learned more than usual of the qualities of bricks and trowels. The mortar on them was fifty years old, and was said to be still growing harder; but this is one of those sayings which men love to repeat whether they are true or not. Such sayings themselves grow harder and adhere more firmly with age, and it would take many blows with a trowel to clean an old wiseacre of them. Many of the villages of Mesopotamia are built of second-hand bricks of a very good quality, obtained from the ruins of Babylon, and the cement on them is older and probably harder still. However that may be, I was struck by the peculiar toughness of the steel which bore so many violent blows without being worn out. As my bricks had been in a chimney before, though I did not read the name of Nebuchadnezzar on them, I picked out its many fireplace bricks as I could find, to save work and waste, and I filled the spaces between the bricks about the fireplace with stones from the pond shore, and also made my mortar with the white sand from the same place. I lingered most about the fireplace, as the most vital part of the house. Indeed, I worked so deliberately, that though I commenced at the ground in the morning, a course of bricks raised a few inches above the floor served for my pillow at night; yet I did not get a stiff neck for it that I remember; my stiff neck is of older date. I took a poet to board for a fortnight about those times, which caused me to be put to it for room. He brought his own knife, though I had two, and we used to scour them by thrusting them into the earth. He shared with me the labors of cooking. I was pleased to see my work rising so square and solid by degrees, and reflected, that, if it proceeded slowly, it was calculated to endure a long time. The chimney is to some extent an independent structure, standing on the ground, and rising through the house to the heavens; even after the house is burned it still stands sometimes, and its importance and independence are apparent. This was toward the end of summer. It was now November.
The north wind had already begun to cool the pond, though it took many weeks of steady blowing to accomplish it, it is so deep. When I began to have a fire at evening, before I plastered my house, the chimney carried smoke particularly well, because of the numerous chinks between the boards. Yet I passed some cheerful evenings in that cool and airy apartment, surrounded by the rough brown boards full of knots, and rafters with the bark on high overhead. My house never pleased my eye so much after it was plastered, though I was obliged to confess that it was more comfortable. Should not every apartment in which man dwells be lofty enough to create some obscurity overhead, where flickering shadows may play at evening about the rafters? These forms are more agreeable to the fancy and imagination than fresco paintings or other the most expensive furniture. I now first began to inhabit my house, I may say, when I began to use it for warmth as well as shelter. I had got a couple of old fire-dogs to keep the wood from the hearth, and it did me good to see the soot form on the back of the chimney which I had built, and I poked the fire with more right and more satisfaction than usual. My dwelling was small, and I could hardly entertain an echo in it; but it seemed larger for being a single apartment and remote from neighbors. All the attractions of a house were concentrated in one room; it was kitchen, chamber, parlor, and keeping-room; and whatever satisfaction parent or child, master or servant, derive from living in a house, I enjoyed it all. Cato says, the master of a family (patremfamilias) must have in his rustic villa "cellam oleariam, vinariam, dolia multa, uti lubeat caritatem expectare, et rei, et virtuti, et gloriae erit," that is, "an oil and wine cellar, many casks, so that it may be pleasant to expect hard times; it will be for his advantage, and virtue, and glory." I had in my cellar a firkin of potatoes, about two quarts of peas with the weevil in them, and on my shelf a little rice, a jug of molasses, and of rye and Indian meal a peck each.
I sometimes dream of a larger and more populous house, standing in a golden age, of enduring materials, and without gingerbread work, which shall still consist of only one room, a vast, rude, substantial, primitive hall, without ceiling or plastering, with bare rafters and purlins supporting a sort of lower heaven over one's head -- useful to keep off rain and snow, where the king and queen posts stand out to receive your homage, when you have done reverence to the prostrate Saturn of an older dynasty on stepping over the sill; a cavernous house, wherein you must reach up a torch upon a pole to see the roof; where some may live in the fireplace, some in the recess of a window, and some on settles, some at one end of the hall, some at another, and some aloft on rafters with the spiders, if they choose; a house which you have got into when you have opened the outside door, and the ceremony is over; where the weary traveller may wash, and eat, and converse, and sleep, without further journey; such a shelter as you would be glad to reach in a tempestuous night, containing all the essentials of a house, and nothing for house-keeping; where you can see all the treasures of the house at one view, and everything hangs upon its peg, that a man should use; at once kitchen, pantry, parlor, chamber, storehouse, and garret; where you can see so necessary a thing, as a barrel or a ladder, so convenient a thing as a cupboard, and hear the pot boil, and pay your respects to the fire that cooks your dinner, and the oven that bakes your bread, and the necessary furniture and utensils are the chief ornaments; where the washing is not put out, nor the fire, nor the mistress, and perhaps you are sometimes requested to move from off the trap-door, when the cook would descend into the cellar, and so learn whether the ground is solid or hollow beneath you without stamping. A house whose inside is as open and manifest as a bird's nest, and you cannot go in at the front door and out at the back without seeing some of its inhabitants; where to be a guest is to be presented with the freedom of the house, and not to be carefully excluded from seven eighths of it, shut up in a particular cell, and told to make yourself at home there -- in solitary confinement. Nowadays the host does not admit you to his hearth, but has got the mason to build one for yourself somewhere in his alley, and hospitality is the art of keeping you at the greatest distance. There is as much secrecy about the cooking as if he had a design to poison you. I am aware that I have been on many a man's premises, and might have been legally ordered off, but I am not aware that I have been in many men's houses. I might visit in my old clothes a king and queen who lived simply in such a house as I have described, if I were going their way; but backing out of a modern palace will be all that I shall desire to learn, if ever I am caught in one.
It would seem as if the very language of our parlors would lose all its nerve and degenerate into palaver wholly, our lives pass at such remoteness from its symbols, and its metaphors and tropes are necessarily so far fetched, through slides and dumb-waiters, as it were; in other words, the parlor is so far from the kitchen and workshop. The dinner even is only the parable of a dinner, commonly. As if only the savage dwelt near enough to Nature and Truth to borrow a trope from them. How can the scholar, who dwells away in the North West Territory or the Isle of Man, tell what is parliamentary in the kitchen?
However, only one or two of my guests were ever bold enough to stay and eat a hasty-pudding with me; but when they saw that crisis approaching they beat a hasty retreat rather, as if it would shake the house to its foundations. Nevertheless, it stood through a great many hasty-puddings.
I did not plaster till it was freezing weather. I brought over some whiter and cleaner sand for this purpose from the opposite shore of the pond in a boat, a sort of conveyance which would have tempted me to go much farther if necessary. My house had in the meanwhile been shingled down to the ground on every side. In lathing I was pleased to be able to send home each nail with a single blow of the hammer, and it was my ambition to transfer the plaster from the board to the wall neatly and rapidly. I remembered the story of a conceited fellow, who, in fine clothes, was wont to lounge about the village once, giving advice to workmen. Venturing one day to substitute deeds for words, he turned up his cuffs, seized a plasterer's board, and having loaded his trowel without mishap, with a complacent look toward the lathing overhead, made a bold gesture thitherward; and straightway, to his complete discomfiture, received the whole contents in his ruffled bosom. I admired anew the economy and convenience of plastering, which so effectually shuts out the cold and takes a handsome finish, and I learned the various casualties to which the plasterer is liable. I was surprised to see how thirsty the bricks were which drank up all the moisture in my plaster before I had smoothed it, and how many pailfuls of water it takes to christen a new hearth. I had the previous winter made a small quantity of lime by burning the shells of the Unio fluviatilis, which our river affords, for the sake of the experiment; so that I knew where my materials came from. I might have got good limestone within a mile or two and burned it myself, if I had cared to do so.
The pond had in the meanwhile skimmed over in the shadiest and shallowest coves, some days or even weeks before the general freezing. The first ice is especially interesting and perfect, being hard, dark, and transparent, and affords the best opportunity that ever offers for examining the bottom where it is shallow; for you can lie at your length on ice only an inch thick, like a skater insect on the surface of the water, and study the bottom at your leisure, only two or three inches distant, like a picture behind a glass, and the water is necessarily always smooth then. There are many furrows in the sand where some creature has travelled about and doubled on its tracks; and, for wrecks, it is strewn with the cases of caddis-worms made of minute grains of white quartz. Perhaps these have creased it, for you find some of their cases in the furrows, though they are deep and broad for them to make. But the ice itself is the object of most interest, though you must improve the earliest opportunity to study it. If you examine it closely the morning after it freezes, you find that the greater part of the bubbles, which at first appeared to be within it, are against its under surface, and that more are continually rising from the bottom; while the ice is as yet comparatively solid and dark, that is, you see the water through it. These bubbles are from an eightieth to an eighth of an inch in diameter, very clear and beautiful, and you see your face reflected in them through the ice. There may be thirty or forty of them to a square inch. There are also already within the ice narrow oblong perpendicular bubbles about half an inch long, sharp cones with the apex upward; or oftener, if the ice is quite fresh, minute spherical bubbles one directly above another, like a string of beads. But these within the ice are not so numerous nor obvious as those beneath. I sometimes used to cast on stones to try the strength of the ice, and those which broke through carried in air with them, which formed very large and conspicuous white bubbles beneath. One day when I came to the same place forty-eight hours afterward, I found that those large bubbles were still perfect, though an inch more of ice had formed, as I could see distinctly by the seam in the edge of a cake. But as the last two days had been very warm, like an Indian summer, the ice was not now transparent, showing the dark green color of the water, and the bottom, but opaque and whitish or gray, and though twice as thick was hardly stronger than before, for the air bubbles had greatly expanded under this heat and run together, and lost their regularity; they were no longer one directly over another, but often like silvery coins poured from a bag, one overlapping another, or in thin flakes, as if occupying slight cleavages. The beauty of the ice was gone, and it was too late to study the bottom. Being curious to know what position my great bubbles occupied with regard to the new ice, I broke out a cake containing a middling sized one, and turned it bottom upward. The new ice had formed around and under the bubble, so that it was included between the two ices. It was wholly in the lower ice, but close against the upper, and was flattish, or perhaps slightly lenticular, with a rounded edge, a quarter of an inch deep by four inches in diameter; and I was surprised to find that directly under the bubble the ice was melted with great regularity in the form of a saucer reversed, to the height of five eighths of an inch in the middle, leaving a thin partition there between the water and the bubble, hardly an eighth of an inch thick; and in many places the small bubbles in this partition had burst out downward, and probably there was no ice at all under the largest bubbles, which were a foot in diameter. I inferred that the infinite number of minute bubbles which I had first seen against the under surface of the ice were now frozen in likewise, and that each, in its degree, had operated like a burning-glass on the ice beneath to melt and rot it. These are the little air-guns which contribute to make the ice crack and whoop.
At length the winter set in good earnest, just as I had finished plastering, and the wind began to howl around the house as if it had not had permission to do so till then. Night after night the geese came lumbering in the dark with a clangor and a whistling of wings, even after the ground was covered with snow, some to alight in Walden, and some flying low over the woods toward Fair Haven, bound for Mexico. Several times, when returning from the village at ten or eleven o'clock at night, I heard the tread of a flock of geese, or else ducks, on the dry leaves in the woods by a pond-hole behind my dwelling, where they had come up to feed, and the faint honk or quack of their leader as they hurried off. In 1845 Walden froze entirely over for the first time on the night of the 22d of December, Flint's and other shallower ponds and the river having been frozen ten days or more; in '46, the 16th; in '49, about the 31st; and in '50, about the 27th of December; in '52, the 5th of January; in '53, the 31st of December. The snow had already covered the ground since the 25th of November, and surrounded me suddenly with the scenery of winter. I withdrew yet farther into my shell, and endeavored to keep a bright fire both within my house and within my breast. My employment out of doors now was to collect the dead wood in the forest, bringing it in my hands or on my shoulders, or sometimes trailing a dead pine tree under each arm to my shed. An old forest fence which had seen its best days was a great haul for me. I sacrificed it to Vulcan, for it was past serving the god Terminus. How much more interesting an event is that man's supper who has just been forth in the snow to hunt, nay, you might say, steal, the fuel to cook it with! His bread and meat are sweet. There are enough fagots and waste wood of all kinds in the forests of most of our towns to support many fires, but which at present warm none, and, some think, hinder the growth of the young wood. There was also the driftwood of the pond. In the course of the summer I had discovered a raft of pitch pine logs with the bark on, pinned together by the Irish when the railroad was built. This I hauled up partly on the shore. After soaking two years and then lying high six months it was perfectly sound, though waterlogged past drying. I amused myself one winter day with sliding this piecemeal across the pond, nearly half a mile, skating behind with one end of a log fifteen feet long on my shoulder, and the other on the ice; or I tied several logs together with a birch withe, and then, with a longer birch or alder which had a book at the end, dragged them across. Though completely waterlogged and almost as heavy as lead, they not only burned long, but made a very hot fire; nay, I thought that they burned better for the soaking, as if the pitch, being confined by the water, burned longer, as in a lamp.
Gilpin, in his account of the forest borderers of England, says that "the encroachments of trespassers, and the houses and fences thus raised on the borders of the forest," were "considered as great nuisances by the old forest law, and were severely punished under the name of purprestures, as tending ad terrorem ferarum -- ad nocumentum forestae, etc.," to the frightening of the game and the detriment of the forest. But I was interested in the preservation of the venison and the vert more than the hunters or woodchoppers, and as much as though I had been the Lord Warden himself; and if any part was burned, though I burned it myself by accident, I grieved with a grief that lasted longer and was more inconsolable than that of the proprietors; nay, I grieved when it was cut down by the proprietors themselves. I would that our farmers when they cut down a forest felt some of that awe which the old Romans did when they came to thin, or let in the light to, a consecrated grove (lucum conlucare), that is, would believe that it is sacred to some god. The Roman made an expiatory offering, and prayed, Whatever god or goddess thou art to whom this grove is sacred, be propitious to me, my family, and children, etc.
It is remarkable what a value is still put upon wood even in this age and in this new country, a value more permanent and universal than that of gold. After all our discoveries and inventions no man will go by a pile of wood. It is as precious to us as it was to our Saxon and Norman ancestors. If they made their bows of it, we make our gun-stocks of it. Michaux, more than thirty years ago, says that the price of wood for fuel in New York and Philadelphia "nearly equals, and sometimes exceeds, that of the best wood in Paris, though this immense capital annually requires more than three hundred thousand cords, and is surrounded to the distance of three hundred miles by cultivated plains." In this town the price of wood rises almost steadily, and the only question is, how much higher it is to be this year than it was the last. Mechanics and tradesmen who come in person to the forest on no other errand, are sure to attend the wood auction, and even pay a high price for the privilege of gleaning after the woodchopper. It is now many years that men have resorted to the forest for fuel and the materials of the arts: the New Englander and the New Hollander, the Parisian and the Celt, the farmer and Robin Hood, Goody Blake and Harry Gill; in most parts of the world the prince and the peasant, the scholar and the savage, equally require still a few sticks from the forest to warm them and cook their food. Neither could I do without them.
Every man looks at his wood-pile with a kind of affection. I love to have mine before my window, and the more chips the better to remind me of my pleasing work. I had an old axe which nobody claimed, with which by spells in winter days, on the sunny side of the house, I played about the stumps which I had got out of my bean-field. As my driver prophesied when I was plowing, they warmed me twice -- once while I was splitting them, and again when they were on the fire, so that no fuel could give out more heat. As for the axe, I was advised to get the village blacksmith to "jump" it; but I jumped him, and, putting a hickory helve from the woods into it, made it do. If it was dull, it was at least hung true.
A few pieces of fat pine were a great treasure. It is interesting to remember how much of this food for fire is still concealed in the bowels of the earth. In previous years I had often gone prospecting over some bare hillside, where a pitch pine wood had formerly stood, and got out the fat pine roots. They are almost indestructible. Stumps thirty or forty years old, at least, will still be sound at the core, though the sapwood has all become vegetable mould, as appears by the scales of the thick bark forming a ring level with the earth four or five inches distant from the heart. With axe and shovel you explore this mine, and follow the marrowy store, yellow as beef tallow, or as if you had struck on a vein of gold, deep into the earth. But commonly I kindled my fire with the dry leaves of the forest, which I had stored up in my shed before the snow came. Green hickory finely split makes the woodchopper's kindlings, when he has a camp in the woods. Once in a while I got a little of this. When the villagers were lighting their fires beyond the horizon, I too gave notice to the various wild inhabitants of Walden vale, by a smoky streamer from my chimney, that I was awake.--
Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird,
Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight,
Lark without song, and messenger of dawn,
Circling above the hamlets as thy nest;
Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form
Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;
By night star-veiling, and by day
Darkening the light and blotting out the sun;
Go thou my incense upward from this hearth,
And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame.
Hard green wood just cut, though I used but little of that, answered my purpose better than any other. I sometimes left a good fire when I went to take a walk in a winter afternoon; and when I returned, three or four hours afterward, it would be still alive and glowing. My house was not empty though I was gone. It was as if I had left a cheerful housekeeper behind. It was I and Fire that lived there; and commonly my housekeeper proved trustworthy. One day, however, as I was splitting wood, I thought that I would just look in at the window and see if the house was not on fire; it was the only time I remember to have been particularly anxious on this score; so I looked and saw that a spark had caught my bed, and I went in and extinguished it when it had burned a place as big as my hand. But my house occupied so sunny and sheltered a position, and its roof was so low, that I could afford to let the fire go out in the middle of almost any winter day.
The moles nested in my cellar, nibbling every third potato, and making a snug bed even there of some hair left after plastering and of brown paper; for even the wildest animals love comfort and warmth as well as man, and they survive the winter only because they are so careful to secure them. Some of my friends spoke as if I was coming to the woods on purpose to freeze myself. The animal merely makes a bed, which he warms with his body, in a sheltered place; but man, having discovered fire, boxes up some air in a spacious apartment, and warms that, instead of robbing himself, makes that his bed, in which he can move about divested of more cumbrous clothing, maintain a kind of summer in the midst of winter, and by means of windows even admit the light, and with a lamp lengthen out the day. Thus he goes a step or two beyond instinct, and saves a little time for the fine arts. Though, when I had been exposed to the rudest blasts a long time, my whole body began to grow torpid, when I reached the genial atmosphere of my house I soon recovered my faculties and prolonged my life. But the most luxuriously housed has little to boast of in this respect, nor need we trouble ourselves to speculate how the human race may be at last destroyed. It would be easy to cut their threads any time with a little sharper blast from the north. We go on dating from Cold Fridays and Great Snows; but a little colder Friday, or greater snow would put a period to man's existence on the globe.
The next winter I used a small cooking-stove for economy, since I did not own the forest; but it did not keep fire so well as the open fireplace. Cooking was then, for the most part, no longer a poetic, but merely a chemic process. It will soon be forgotten, in these days of stoves, that we used to roast potatoes in the ashes, after the Indian fashion. The stove not only took up room and scented the house, but it concealed the fire, and I felt as if I had lost a companion. You can always see a face in the fire. The laborer, looking into it at evening, purifies his thoughts of the dross and earthiness which they have accumulated during the day. But I could no longer sit and look into the fire, and the pertinent words of a poet recurred to me with new force.--
"Never, bright flame, may be denied to me
Thy dear, life imaging, close sympathy.
What but my hopes shot upward e'er so bright?
What but my fortunes sunk so low in night?
Why art thou banished from our hearth and hall,
Thou who art welcomed and beloved by all?
Was thy existence then too fanciful
For our life's common light, who are so dull?
Did thy bright gleam mysterious converse hold
With our congenial souls? secrets too bold?
Well, we are safe and strong, for now we sit
Beside a hearth where no dim shadows flit,
Where nothing cheers nor saddens, but a fire
Warms feet and hands -- nor does to more aspire;
By whose compact utilitarian heap
The present may sit down and go to sleep,
Nor fear the ghosts who from the dim past walked,
And with us by the unequal light of the old wood fire talked."
十月中，我到河岸草地采葡萄，满教而归，色泽芬芳，胜似美味。在那里，我也赞赏蔓越橘，那小小的蜡宝石垂悬在草叶上，光莹而艳红，我却并不采集，农夫用耙耙集了它们，平滑的草地凌乱不堪，他们只是漫不经心地用蒲式耳和金元来计算，把草地上的劫获出卖到波士顿和纽约；命定了制成果酱，以满足那里的大自然爱好者的口味。同样地，屠夫们在草地上到处耙野牛舌草，不顾那被撕伤了和枯萎了的植物。光耀的伏牛花果也只供我眼睛的欣赏：我只稍为采集了一些野苹果，拿来煮了吃，这地方的地主和旅行家还没有注意到这些东西呢。栗子熟了，我藏了半蒲式耳，预备过冬天。这样的季节里，倘徜在林肯一带无边无际的栗树林中，真是非常兴奋的，——现在，这些栗树却长眠在铁道之下了，——那时我肩上扛了一只布囊，手中提了一根棍棒来打开那些有芒刺的果子，因为我总是等不到霜降的，在枯叶飒飒声和赤松鼠跟樫鸟聒噪责怪声中漫游，有时我还偷窃它们已经吃了一部分的坚果，因为它们所选中的有芒刺的果子中间，一定有一些是较好的。偶尔我爬上树，去震摇栗树，我屋后也长有栗树，有一棵大得几乎荫蔽了我的房屋。开花时，它是一个巨大的花束，四邻都馨郁，但它的果实大部分却给松鼠和樱鸟吃掉；樫鸟一清早就成群地飞来，在栗子落下来之前先把它从果皮中拣出来。这些树我让给了它们，自去找全部都是栗树的较远处的森林。这一种果实，我看，可以作为面包的良好的代用品。也许还可以找到别的许多种代用品吧。有一天我挖地找鱼饵，发现了成串的野豆（Apios tuberosa），是少数民族的土豆，一种奇怪的食物，我不禁奇怪起来，究竟我有没有像他们告诉过我的，在童年时代挖过，吃过它们，何以我又不再梦见它们了。我常常看到它们的皱的、红天鹅绒似的花朵，给别些植物的梗子支撑着，却不知道便是它们。耕耘差不多消灭了它们。它有甜味，像霜后的土豆，我觉得煮熟了吃比烘来吃更好。这种块茎似乎是大自然的一个默诺，将来会有一天它就要在这里简单地抚养自己的孩子，就用这些来喂养它们。目前崇尚养肥的耕牛，麦浪翻滚的田地，在这种时代里，卑微的野豆便被人遗忘了，顶多只有它开花的藤蔓还能看到，却曾经有一度它还是印第安部落的图腾呢；其实只要让狂野的大自然重新在这里统治，那些温柔而奢侈的英国谷物说不定就会在无数仇敌面前消失，而且不要人的援助，乌鸦会把最后的一颗玉米的种子再送往西南方，到印第安之神的大玉米田野上去，据说以前它就是从那儿把种子带过来的，那时候，野豆这现已几乎灭了种的果实也许要再生，并且繁殖了，不怕那霜雪和蛮荒，证明它自己是土生土长的，而且还要恢复古代作为游猎人民的一种主要食品时的那种重要地位和尊严了。必定是印第安的谷物女神或智慧女神发明了它，以后赐予人类的，当诗歌的统治在这里开始时，它的叶子和成串的坚果将在我们的艺术作品上得到表现。
九月一日，我就看到三两株小枫树的树叶已经红了，隔湖，就在三株岔开的白杨之下，在一个湖角上，靠近着水。啊！它们的颜色诉说着如许的故事。慢慢地，一个又一个星期，每株树的性格都显露了，它欣赏着照鉴在湖的明镜中的自己的倒影。每个早晨，这一画廊的经理先生取下墙上的旧画，换上一些新的画幅，新画更鲜艳或者色彩更和谐，非常出色。
十月中，黄蜂飞到我的住所来，数以千计，好像来过冬的，住在我的窗户里边我头顶上方的墙上，有时还把访客挡了驾呢。每天早晨都冻僵几只，我就把它们扫到外边，但我不愿意麻烦自己去赶走它们。它们肯惠临寒舍避冬，我还引以为荣哩。虽然它们跟我一起睡，从来不严重地触犯我；逐渐地，它们也消失了，我却不知道它们躲到什么隙缝中间，避去那冬天和不可言喻的寒冷。
到十一月，就像那些黄蜂一样，在我躲避冬天之前，我也先到瓦尔登的东北岸去，在那里，太阳从苍松林和石岸上反映过来，成了湖上的炉火；趁你还能做到的时候，曝日取暖，这样做比生火取暖更加愉快，也更加卫生。夏天像猎人一样已经走掉了，我就这样烤着它所留下来的还在发光的余火。
当我造烟囱的时候，我研究了泥水工的手艺。我的砖头都是旧货，必须用瓦刀刮干净，这样我对砖头和瓦刀的性质有了超出一般的了解。上面的灰浆已经有五十年历史，据说它愈经久愈牢固；就是这一种话，人们最爱反复他说，不管它们对不对。这种话的本身也愈经久而愈牢固了，必需用瓦刀一再猛击之，才能粉碎它，使一个自作聪明的老人不再说这种话。美索不达米亚的许多村子都是用从巴比伦废墟里拣来的质地很好的旧砖头造的，它们上面的水泥也许更老，也该更牢啦。不管怎么样，那瓦刀真厉害，用力猛击，丝毫无损于钢刃，简直叫我吃惊。我砌壁炉用的砖，都是以前一个烟囱里面的砖头，虽然并未刻上尼布甲尼撒的名字，我尽量拣。有多少就拣多少，以便减少工作和浪费，我在壁炉周围的砖头之间填塞了湖岸上的圆石，并且就用湖中的白沙来做我的灰浆。我为炉灶花了很多时间，把它作为寒舍最紧要的一部分。真的，我工作得很精细，虽然我是一清早就从地上开始工作的，到晚上却只叠起了离地不过数英寸高，我睡地板刚好用它代替枕头；然而我记得我并没有睡成了硬头颈；我的硬头颈倒是从前睡出来的。大约是这时候，我招待一个诗人来住了半个月，这使我腾不出地方来。他带来了他自己的刀子，我却有两柄呢，我们常常把刀子插进地里，这样来把它们擦干净。他帮我做饭。看到我的炉灶，方方正正、结结实实，渐渐升高起来，真是高兴，我想，虽说进展很慢，但据说这就可以更坚固些。在某种程度上，烟囱是一个独立体，站在地上，穿过屋子，升上天空；就是房子烧掉了，它有时候还站着，它的独立性和重要性是显而易见的。当时还是快近夏末。现在却是十一月了。
北风已经开始把湖水吹凉，虽然还要不断地再吹几个星期才能结冰，湖太深了。当我第一天晚上生了火，烟在烟囱里通行无阻，异常美妙，因为墙壁有很多漏风的缝，那时我还没有给板壁涂上灰浆。然而，我在这寒冷通风的房间内过了几个愉快的晚上，四周尽是些有节疤的棕色木板，而椽木是连树皮的，高高的在头顶上页。后来涂上了灰浆，我就格外喜欢我的房子。我不能不承认这样格外舒服。人住的每一所房子难道不应该顶上很高，高得有些隐晦的感觉吗？到了晚上，火光投射的影子就可以在椽木之上跳跃了。这种影子的形态，比起壁画或最值钱的家具来，应该是更适合于幻觉与想象的。现在我可以说，我是第一次住在我自己的房子里了，第一次用以蔽风雨，并且取暖了。我还用了两个旧的薪架以使木柴脱空，当我看到我亲手造的烟囱的背后积起了烟怠，我很欣慰，我比平常更加有权威、更加满意地拨火。固然我的房子很小，无法引起回声；但作为一个单独的房间，和邻居又离得很远，这就显得大一点了。一幢房屋内应有的一切都集中在这一个房间内；它是厨房，寝室，客厅兼储藏室；无论是父母或孩子，主人或仆役，他们住在一个房子里所得到的一切，我统统享受到了。卡托说，一个家庭的主人（patremfa-milias）必须在他的乡居别墅中，具有“cellam oleariam，vinariam ，dolia multa，uti lubeat caritatem expectare，etrei，et virtuti，et gloriae erit，”也就是说，“一个放油放酒的地窖，放进许多桶去预防艰难的日子，这是于他有利的，有价值的，光荣的。”在我的地窖中，我有一小桶的土豆，大约两夸脱的豌豆，连带它们的象鼻虫，在我的架上，还有一点儿米，一缸糖浆，还有黑麦和印第安玉米粉，各一配克。
我有时梦见了一座较大的容得很多人的房屋，矗立在神话中的黄金时代中，材料耐用持久，屋顶上也没有华而不实的装饰，可是它只包括一个房间，一个阔大、简朴、实用而具有原始风味的厅堂，没有天花板没有灰浆，只有光光的椽木和桁条，支撑着头顶上的较低的天，——却尽足以抵御雨雪了，在那里，在你进门向一个古代的俯卧的农神致敬之后，你看到衍架中柱和双柱架在接受你的致敬；一个空洞洞的房间，你必须把火炬装在一根长竿顶端方能看到屋顶，而在那里，有人可以住在炉边，有人可以往在窗口凹处，有人在高背长椅上，有人在大厅一端，有人在另一端，有人，如果他们中意，可以和蜘蛛一起住在椽木上：这屋子，你一打开大门就到了里边，不必再拘泥形迹；在那里，疲倦的旅客可以洗尘、吃喝、谈天、睡觉，不须继续旅行，正是在暴风雨之夜你愿意到达的一间房屋，一切应有尽有，又无管理家务之烦；在那里，你一眼可以望尽屋中一切财富，而凡是人所需要的都挂在木钉上；同时是厨房，伙食房，客厅，卧室，栈房和阁楼；在那里你可以看见木桶和梯子之类的有用的东西和碗橱之类的便利的设备，你听到壶里的水沸腾了，你能向煮你的饭菜的火焰和焙你的面包的炉子致敬，而必需的家具与用具是主要的装饰品；在那里，洗涤物不必晒在外面，炉火不熄，女主人也不会生气，也许有时要你移动一下，让厨子从地板门里走下地窖去，而你不用蹬脚就可以知道你的脚下是虚是实。这房子，像鸟巢，内部公开而且明显；你可以前门进来后门出去，而不看到它的房客；就是做客人也享受房屋中的全部自由，并没有八分之七是不能擅入的，并不是把你关起在一个特别的小房间中，叫你在里面自得其乐，——实际是使你孤零零地受到禁锢。目前的一般的主人都不肯邀请你到他的炉火旁边去，他叫来泥水匠，另外给你在一条长廊中造一个火炉，所谓“招待”，便是把你安置在最远处的一种艺术。关于做菜，自有秘密方法，好像要毒死你的样子。我只觉得我到过许多人的住宅，很可能会给他们根据法律而哄走，可是我从不觉得我到许多人的什么家里去过。如果我走到了像我所描写的那种广厦里，我倒可以穿了旧衣服去访问过着简单生活的国王或王后，可是如果我进到一个现代宫殿里，我希望我学会那倒退溜走的本领。
看起来，仿佛我们的高雅言语已经失去了它的全部力量，堕落到变成全无意义的废话，我们的生命已经这样地远离了言语的符号，隐喻与借喻都得是那么的牵强，要用送菜升降机从下面送上来，客厅与厨房或工作场隔得太远。甚至连吃饭也一般只不过是吃一顿饭的比喻，仿佛只有野蛮人才跟大自然和真理住得相近，能够向它们借用譬喻。远远住在西北的疆土或人之岛的学者怎么知道厨房中的议会式的清谈呢？
只有一两个宾客还有勇气跟我一起吃玉米糊；可是当他们看到危机接近，立刻退避，好像它可以把屋子都震坍似的。煮过那末多玉米糊了，房屋还是好好的站着呢。
我是直到气候真的很冷了，才开始泥墙的，为了这个缘故，我驾了一叶扁舟到湖对岸去取来更洁白的细沙。有了这样的交通工具，必要的话，就是旅行得更远我也是高兴的。在这期间，我的屋子已经四面都钉满了薄薄的木板条子。在钉这些板条的时候，我很高兴，我能够一锤就钉好一只钉子。我更野心勃勃，要迅速而漂亮地把灰浆从木板上涂到墙上。我记起了讲一个自负的家伙的那个故事。他穿了很好的衣服，常常在村里走来走去，指点工人。有一天他忽然想用实践来代替他的理论了，他卷起了袖子，拿了一块泥水工用的木板，放上灰浆，总算没出岔子，于是得意洋洋地望了望头顶上的板条，用了一个勇敢的动作把灰浆糊上去，马上出丑，全部灰浆掉回到他那傲慢的胸口。我再次欣赏灰浆，它能这样经济，这样便利地击退了寒冷，它平滑又漂亮，我懂得了一个泥水匠会碰到怎样一些事故。使我惊奇的是，在我泥平以前，砖头如何饥渴地吸人了灰浆中的全部水分，为了造一个新的壁炉，我用了多少桶水。前一个冬天，我就曾经试验过，用我们的河流中学名Unio fluviatilis的一种介壳烧制成少量的石灰；所以我已知道从什么地方去取得材料了。如果我高兴的话，也许我会走一两英里路，找到很好的石灰石，自己动手来烧石灰。
这时候，最照不到阳光和最浅的湖凹中已经结起了薄冰，比整个湖结冰早了几天，有些地方早了几星期。第一块冰特别有趣，特别美满，因为它坚硬，黝黑，透明，借以观察浅水地方的水，机会更好；因为在一英寸厚薄的冰上你已经可以躺下来，像水上的掠水虫，然后惬惬意意地研究湖底，距离你不过两三英寸，好像玻璃后面的画片，那时的水当然一直是平静的。沙上有许多沟槽，若干生物曾经爬过去，又从原路爬口来：至于残骸，那儿到处是白石英细粒形成的石蚕壳。也许是它们形成沟槽的吧，因为石蚕就在沟槽之中，虽然由它们来形成，而那些沟槽却又显得太宽阔而大。不过，冰本身是最有趣的东西，你得利用最早的机会来研究它。如果你就在冻冰以后的那天早晨仔细观看它，你可以发现那些仿佛是在冰层中间的气泡，实际上却是附在冰下面的表层的，还有好些气泡正从水底升上来；因为冰块还是比较结实，比较黝黑的，所以你可以穿过它看到水。这些气泡的直径大约从一英寸的八十分之一到八分之一，非常清晰而又非常美丽，你能看到你自己的脸反映在冰下面的这些气泡上。一平方英寸内可以数出三四十个气泡来。也有一些是在冰层之内的，狭小的，椭圆的，垂直的，约半英寸长，还有圆锥形的，顶朝上面，如果是刚刚冻结的冰，常常有一串珠子似的圆形气泡，一个顶在另一个的上面。但在冰层中间的这些气泡并没有附在冰下面的那么多，也没那么明显。我常常投掷些石子去试试冰的力量，那些穿冰而过的石子带了空气下去，就在下面形成了很大的很明显的白气泡。有一天，我过了四十八小时之后再去老地方看看，虽然那窟窿里已经又结了一英寸厚的冰了，但是我看到那些大气泡还很美好，我从一块冰边上的裂缝里看得很清楚。可是由于前两天温暖得仿佛小阳春，现在冰不再是透明的，透山水的暗绿色，看得到水底，而是不透明的，呈现灰白色，冰层已经比以前厚了一倍了，却不比以前坚固。热量使气泡大大扩展，凝集在一块，却变得不规则了，不再一个顶着一个，往往像一只袋子里倒出来的银币，堆积在一起，有的成了薄片，仿佛只占了一个细小的裂隙。冰的美感已经消失，再要研究水底已经来不及了。我很好奇，想知道我那个大气泡在新冰那儿占了什么位置，我挖起了一块有中型气泡的冰块来，把它的底朝了天。在气泡之下和周围已经结了一层新的冰，所以气泡是在两片冰的中间；它全部是在下层中间的，却又贴近上层，扁平的，也许有点像扁豆形，圆边，深四分之一英寸，直径四英寸；我惊奇地发现，就在气泡的下面，冰溶化得很有规则，像一只倒置的茶托，在中央八分之五英寸的高度，水和气泡之间有着一个薄薄的分界线，薄得还不到一英寸的八分之一，在许多地方，这分界线中的小气泡向下爆裂，也许在最大的直径一英尺的气泡底下完全是没有冰的。我恍然大悟了，我第一次看到的附在冰下面的小气泡现在也给冻入了冰块中，它们每一个都以不同程度在下面对冰块起了取火镜的作用，要溶化冰块。溶冰爆裂有声，全是这些小气泡干的花样。
最后冬天热心地来到了；刚好我把泥墙完成，那狂风就开始在屋子的周围吼叫，仿佛它待命已久，这时才获准吼叫。一夜夜，飞鹅在黑暗中隆隆而来，呼号着拍动着翅膀，一直到大地上已经铺了白雪之后，有的停在瓦尔登，有的低飞过森林到美港，准备上墨西哥，好几次，在十点十一点光景，从村里回到了家，我听到一群飞鹅的脚声，要不然就是野鸭，在我屋后，踩过洼地边林中的枯叶，它们要去那里觅食了，我还能听到它们的领队低唤着急行而去。一八四五年里，瓦尔登全面冻结的第一夜是十二月二十二日的晚上，早十多天，茀灵特和其他较浅的湖沼早就全部冻上了；四六年里是十六那一夜冻的；四九年大约是三十一日夜里；五0年大约是十二月二十七日；五二年，一月五日；五三年，十二月三十一日。自十一月二十五日以来，雪已经在地面上积起来了，突然间冬天的景象展现在我的面前。我更加躲进我的小窝里，希望在我的屋子和我的心中都点亮一个火。现在我的户外工作便是到森林中去找枯木，抱在我手中，或者放在我肩膀上，把它们拿回来，有时还在左右两臂下各自挟了干枯松枝，把它们拖回家。曾经在夏令用作藩篱的茂郁松树现在却够我拖的了。我用它们祭了火神，因为它们已经祭过土地之神。这是多么有味的事，到森林中去猎取，或者说，去偷窃燃料，煮熟一顿饭菜！我的面包和肉食都很香。我们大部分的乡镇，在森林里都有足够的柴薪和废木料可以生火，可是目前它何却没有给任何人以温暖，有人还认为它们阻碍了幼林的发展。湖上还有许多漂浮而来的木料。夏天里，我曾经发现了一个苍松的木筏，是造铁路的时候，爱尔兰人钉起来的，树皮都还保留着。我把它们的一部分拖上了岸。已经浸过两年之久，现在又躺在高地有六个月，虽说还饱和着水没法晒干，却是十全十美的木料。这个冬天里的一天，我把木头一根根拖过湖来，以此自娱，拖了半英里路，木头有十五英尺长，一头搁在我肩上，一头放在冰上，就像溜冰似的溜了过来；要不我就把几根木料用赤杨的纤枝来捆上，再用一枝较长的赤杨或桤木丫枝钩住它，钩了过湖。这些木头虽然饱和着水，并且重得像铅，但是却不仅经烧，而且烧的火很热；而且，我还觉得它们浸湿了更好烧，好像浸水的松脂，在灯里烧起来格外经久。
吉尔平在他的英格兰森林中的居民记录里面，写着：“一些人侵占了土地，在森林中就这样筑了篱笆，造了屋子，”在“古老的森林法规中，这是被认为很有害的而要以强占土地的罪名重罚的，因为ad terrorem ferarum——ad nocumentum fore-stae等等”使飞禽恐惧，使森林受损。可是我比猎者或伐木者更关心野味和森林保护，仿佛我自己便是护林官一样；假若它有一部分给烧掉了，即便是我自己不小心烧掉的，我也要大为悲伤，比任何一个森林主本人都要哀痛得更长久，而且更无法安慰。我希望我们的农夫在砍伐一个森林的时候，能够感觉到那种恐惧，好像古罗马人士在使一个神圣森林（lucum conlucare）里的树木更稀些，以便放阳光进来的时候所感觉到的恐惧一样，因为他们觉得这个森林是属于一些天神的。罗马人先赎罪，后析祷，无论你是男神或女神，这森林是因你而神圣的，愿你赐福给我，给我的家庭和我的孩子们，等等。
甚至在这种时代，这新大陆上的森林却还是极有价值的，有一种比黄金更永久更普遍的价值，这真是很惊人的。我们已经发明和发现了许多东西，但没有人能经过一堆木料而毫不心动的。它对我们是非常地宝贵，正如对我们的撒克逊和诺尔门的祖先一样。如果他们是用来做弓箭，则我们是用它来做枪托的。米萧在三十多年前说过，纽约和费城的燃料的价钱，“几乎等于巴黎最好的木料的价钱，有时甚至于还要超过，虽然这大城市每年需要三十万‘考德’的燃料，而且周围三百英里的土地都已开垦过了。”在本乡镇上，木料的价钱几乎日夜在涨，唯一的问题是今年比去年涨多少。不是为了别的事情亲自到森林里来的机械师或商人，一定是为了林木拍卖才来的；甚至有人愿出很高的价钱来取得在砍伐者走了以后拣拾木头的权利。多少年代了啊，人类总是到森林中去找燃料和艺术的材料；新英格兰人，新荷兰人，巴黎人，克尔特人，农夫，罗宾汉，戈底·勃莱克和哈莱·吉尔；世界各地的王子和乡下人，学者和野蛮人，都要到森林里去拿一些木头出来，生火取暖煮饭。便是我，也肯定是少不了它的。
每一个人看见了他的柴火堆都非常欢喜。我喜欢把我的柴火堆放在我的窗下，细木片越多越能够使我记起那愉快的工作。我有一柄没人要的旧斧头，冬天里我常常在屋子向阳的一面砍那些豆田中挖出来的树根。正如在我耕田时，我租用的马匹的主人曾预言过的，这些树根给了我两次温暖，一次是我劈开它们的时候，一次在燃烧它们的时候，可是再没有任何燃料能够发出更多的热量来了。至于那柄斧头，有人劝我到村中的铁匠那里去锻一下，可是我自己锻了它，并用一根山核桃木给它装上柄，可以用了。虽然它很钝，却至少是修好了。
几片多油质的松木就是一大宝藏。不知道现在还有多少这样的燃料藏在大地的腹内。几年前，我常常在光秃秃的山顶上侦察，那地方曾经站着一个大松林，我找到过一些油质多的松根。它们几乎是不能毁灭的。至少三四十年老的树根，心子里还是完好的，虽然外表的边材已经腐朽了，那厚厚的树皮在心子外边四、五英寸的地方形成了一个环，和地面相齐。你用斧头和铲子，探索这个矿藏，沿着那黄黄的牛油脂似的、骨髓似的储藏，或者仿佛找到了金矿的矿苗似的，一直深入到地里去。通常我是用森林中的枯叶来引火的，那还是在下雪以前，我在我的棚子里储藏起来的。青青的山核桃木，精巧地劈开，那是樵夫们在森林中生营火时所用的引火。每隔一阵，我也把这一种燃料预备好一些。正如村中的袅袅的炊烟一样，我的烟囱上也有一道浓烟流出来，让瓦尔登谷中的许多野性的居民知道我是醒着的：——
翅膀轻展的烟啊，伊卡洛斯之鸟，
向上升腾，你的羽毛就要溶消，
悄然无声的云雀，黎明的信使啊，
盘旋在你的村屋上，那是你的巢；
要不然你是逝去的梦，午夜的
迷幻的身影，整理着你的裙裳；
夜间给群星蒙上面纱，白天里，
抹黑了光明，遮蔽了太阳光；
我的薰香，去吧，从这火炉上升，
见到诸神，请他们宽恕这通明的火光。
虽然我只用很少坚硬的青翠的刚刚劈开的树木，它却比任何别种燃料更适合我用。有时在一个冬令的下午，我出去散步的时候，留下了一堆旺盛的火，三四个小时之后，我回来了，它还熊熊地燃烧着。我出去之后，房中还并不是阒无一人的。好像我留下了一个愉快的管家妇在后面。住在那里的是我和火；一般说来，这位管家真是忠实可靠。然而，也有过一天，我正在劈木头，我想到我该到窗口去张望一下，看看这座房子是否着火了；在我的记忆中，就是这么一次，我特别在这事儿上焦虑了一下，所以，我去张望了，我看到一粒火星烧着了我的床铺，我就走了进去，把它扑灭，它已经烧去了像我手掌那么大的一块。既然我的房屋处在一个这样阳光充足，又这样挡风的位置上，它的屋脊又很低，所以在任何一个冬天的中午，我都可以让火熄灭。
鼹鼠住在我的地窖里，每次要啃去三分之一的土豆，它们利用我泥墙以后还剩下来的兽毛和几张牛皮纸，做了它们的巢，因为就是最最野性的动物，也像人类一样地爱舒服和温暖，也只有因为它们是这样小心，得到了个窝，它们才能过了一个冬天还活着。我有几个朋友，说话的口气好像我跑到森林里来，是为了要把我自己冷藏起来。动物只要在荫蔽的地方安排一张床铺，它以自己的体温来取暖；人却因为发现了火，在一个宽大的房间内把空气关了起来，把它弄得很温暖，却不靠自己的体温，然后把这暖室做成他的卧床，让他可以少穿许多累赘的衣服而跑来跑去，在冬天里保持着一种夏天的温度，更因为有窗子，依然能邀入光明来，再用一盏灯火，就把白昼拉长。就这样他超起了他的本能一步或两步，节省下时间来从事美术了。虽然，每当我长久曝露于狂风之下，我的全身就开始麻木，可是等到我回到了满室生春的房屋之内，我立刻恢复了我的官能，又延长了我的生命。就是住在最奢华的房间里的人在这方面也没有什么可以夸耀的，我们也不必费神去猜测人类最后将怎么毁灭，只要从北方吹来一股稍为锐利一些的狂风，任何时候都可以结束他们的生命，这还不容易吗？我们往往用寒冷的星期五和大雪这种说法，来计算日子，可是一个更寒冷的星期五，或更大的雪，就可以把地球上的人类的生存告一段落的。
第二年冬天，为了经济起见，我用了一只小小的炉灶，因为森林并不属于我所有，可是它并不像壁炉那样能让火焰保持旺盛了，那时候，煮饭多半不再是一个诗意的工作，而只成了一种化学的过程。在用炉灶的日子里，大家很快都忘记在火灰中像印第安人似的烤土豆了。炉灶不仅占地位，熏得房间里一股烟味，而且看不见火，我觉得仿佛失去了一个伴侣似的。你常常可以在火中认出一个面孔来。劳动者，在晚上凝望着火，常把白天积聚起来的杂乱而又粗俗的思想，都放到火里去洗炼。可是我再不能坐着凝望火焰了，有一位诗人的切题的诗句对我发生了新的力量。
“光亮的火焰，永远不要拒绝我，
你那可爱的生命之影，亲密之情，
向上升腾的光亮，是我的希望？
到夜晚沉沦低垂的是我的命运？
你是所有的人都欢迎，都爱的，
为何给放逐出我们的炉边和大厅？
难道是你的存在太富于想象了，
不能作迟钝的浮生的普遍照明？
你的神秘的光芒不是跟我们的
同性情的灵魂交谈吗？秘不可泄？
是的，我们安全而强壮，因为现在
我们坐在炉旁，炉中没有暗影。
也许没有喜乐哀愁，只有一个火，
温暖我们手和足——也不希望更多；
有了它这坚密、实用的一堆火，
在它前面的人可以坐下，可以安寝，
不必怕黑暗中显现游魂厉鬼，
古树的火光闪闪地和我们絮语。”