But  select and

    classic, and read only particular ten languages, which are

    t dialects and provincial, we are in danger of

    forgetting ts speak

    metapandard.  Much is published,

    but little printed.  tream tter will

    be no longer remembered wter is wholly removed.  No

    mety of being forever

    on t.   is a course of ory or pry,

    no matter ed, or t society, or t

    admirable routine of life, compared he discipline of looking

    al o be seen?  ill you be a reader, a student

    merely, or a seer?  Read your fate, see w is before you, and walk

    on into futurity.

    I did not read books t summer; I hoed beans.  Nay, I

    often did better times w

    afford to sacrifice t moment to any work,

    wo my life.

    Sometimes, in a summer morning, aken my accustomed bath, I

    sat in my sunny doorill noon, rapt in a revery,

    amidst turbed solitude

    and stillness, wted noiseless

    til by t my  window, or

    travellers ant highway, I was

    reminded of time.  I grehose seasons like corn in

    t, and tter the hands would

    time subtracted from my life, but so much

    over and above my usual alloals

    mean by contemplation and t

    part, I minded not .  to

    lig  is evening,

    and notead of singing like the

    birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune.  As the

    sparrorill, sitting on the hickory before my door, so had