CONCORD, May 21, 1856.
MR. BLAKE,--I have not for a long time been _putting such thoughts
together_ as I should like to read to the company you speak of. I have
enough of that sort to say, or even read, but not time now to arrange
it. Something I have prepared might prove for their entertainment or
refreshment perchance; but I would not like to have a hat carried
round for it. I have just been reading some papers to see if they
would do for your company; but though I thought pretty well of them as
long as I read them to myself, when I got an auditor to try them on, I
felt that they would not answer. How could I let you drum up a company
to hear them? In fine, what I have is either too scattered or loosely
arranged, or too light, or else is too scientific and matter-of-fact
(I run a good deal into that of late) for so hungry a company.
I am still a learner, not a teacher, feeding somewhat omnivorously,
browsing both stalk and leaves; but I shall perhaps be enabled to
speak with the more precision and authority by and by,--if philosophy
and sentiment are not buried under a multitude of details.
I do not refuse, but accept your invitation, only changing the time. I
consider myself invited to Worcester once for all, and many thanks to
the inviter. As for the Harvard excursion,[70] will you let me suggest
another? Do you and Brown come to Concord on Saturday, if the weather
promises well, and spend the Sunday here on the river or hills, or
both. So we shall save some of our money (which is of next importance
to our souls), and lose--I do not know what. You say you _talked_ of
coming here before; now _do_ it. I do not propose this because I think
that I am worth your spending time with, but because I hope that we
may prove flint and steel to one another. It is at most only an hour's
ride farther, and you can at any rate do what you please when you get
here.
Then we will see if we have any apology to offer for our existence. So
come to Concord,--come to Concord,--come to Concord! or--your suit
shall be defaulted.
As for the dispute about solitude and society, any comparison is
impertinent. It is an idling down on the plane at the base of a
mountain, instead of climbing steadily to its top. Of course you will
be glad of all the society you can get to go up with. Will you go to
glory with me? is the burden of the song. I love society so much that
I swallowed it all at a gulp,--that is, all that came in my way. It is
not that we love to be alone, but that we love to soar, and when we do
soar, the company grows thinner and thinner till there is none at all.
It is either the _Tribune_[71] on the plain, a sermon on the mount, or
a very private ecstasy still higher up. We are not the less to aim at
the summits, though the multitude does not ascend them. Use all the
society that will abet you. But perhaps I do not enter into the spirit
of your talk.
* * * * *
In the spring of 1856, Mr. Alcott, then living in Walpole, N. H.,
visited Concord, and while there suggested to Thoreau that the upper
valley of the Connecticut, in which Walpole lies, was good
walking-ground, and that he would be glad to see him there. When
autumn began to hover in the distance, Thoreau recalled this
invitation, and sent the letter below.