Henry Thoreau, Bachelor of Nature

Henry weighs in his hand a book that has just come from the press. A duodecimo, bearing on its back: H. D. THOREAU -- A WEEK ON THE CONCORD AND MERRIMAC RIVERS.

From it rises a faintly insipid odour of glue and ink. But it is no cardboard tomb that he has wished to raise to the memory of the dear companion to whom these pages are dedicated. He is wondering how the delight of a week like that, two adventurous weeks passed with his brother, could possibly be contained between two layers of brown cardboard, and he has half a mind to fling the volume into the corner. It is less true than that arrow-head there on the table.