his is the inanimate about me. The lady
of the house, Mrs. Thoreau, _is a woman._ The only fear I have about
her is that she is too much like dear mother--she will take too much
care of me. She has told me how she used to sit up nights, waiting
for a young man whom she had taken to board, to come home. He was a
stranger to her, but still she insists that she must treat all as she
would her own, and even with greater care. If you were to see her,
mother, you would be perfectly satisfied that I have fallen into good
hands, and met a second mother, if that is possible."

"April 25, 1:30 P.M.--I have just finished my dinner; it was _ein
herrliches Essen._ Unleavened bread (from home), maple-sugar, and
apples which I purchased this morning. Previous to taking dinner I
said my first lesson to Mr. Bradford in Greek and Latin.

"I am extremely well situated, and feel contented in myself, and
deeply grateful to you all for your goodness in helping me to pursue
the real purpose of my being. All we can do is to be faithful to God
and to the work He has given us to do, and, whatever end He may lead
us to, to have that central faith that 'all is for the best.' There
is only one life, and that is life in God; and only one death, and
that is separation from Him. And this life is not and cannot be
measured by the external eye. We must be fixed in God before we can
do anything rightly--study, labor, social, political or of any
kind. . . .

"I have written this letter full of nothingness; I will be more
settled the next time and do better. Send all your love to me--think
more of heaven and we shall grow happier. If once celestial love has
touched us, we cannot rest until it dwells and abides in our hearts.
To you all I send my warmest and purest love.--ISAAC."

"Concord, May 2, 1844.--Dear Friends: It was my intention not to
write home until I had received a letter from you; but as none has
yet come, and I am in want of a few things, I will write you
immediately.

"You can scarcely imagine how different my life is now from what it
was at home. It is like living in another world. It is possible that
you might not be suited with the conditions here, but to me they are
the very ones which are congenial to my present state of being. I am
alone from early dawn to late at night; no one to intrude upon my
quiet except Mr. Bradford, who occupies the hour between twelve and
one to hear my recitations, and Mrs. Thoreau a few minutes in makin