Away then to loosen, to unstring the divine bow, so tense, so long.
Away, from curtain, carpet, sofa, book--from "society"--from city house,
street, and modern improvements and luxuries--away to the primitive
winding, aforementioned wooded creek, with its untrimm'd bushes and
turfy banks--away from ligatures, tight boots, buttons, and the whole
cast-iron civilized life--from entourage of artificial store, machine,
studio, office, parlor--from tailordom and fashion's clothes--from any
clothes, perhaps, for the nonce, the summer heats advancing, there in
those watery, shaded solitudes. Away, thou soul, (let me pick thee
out singly, reader dear, and talk in perfect freedom, negligently,
confidentially,) for one day and night at least, returning to the
naked source-life of us all--to the breast of the great silent savage
all-acceptive Mother. Alas! how many of us are so sodden--how many have
wander'd so far away, that return is almost impossible.
But to my jottings, taking them as they come, from the heap, without
particular selection. There is little consecutiveness in dates. They run
any time within nearly five or six years. Each was carelessly pencilled
in the open air, at the time and place. The printers will learn this
to some vexation perhaps, as much of their copy is from those
hastily-written first notes.