House-Warming

In October I went a-graping to the river meadows, and loaded

myself with clusters more precious for their beauty and fragrance

than for food. There, too, I admired, though I did not gather, the

cranberries, small waxen gems, pendants of the meadow grass, pearly

and red, which the farmer plucks with an ugly rake, leaving the

smooth meadow in a snarl, heedlessly measuring them by the bushel

and the dollar only, and sells the spoils of the meads to Boston and

New York; destined to be jammed, to satisfy the tastes of lovers of

Nature there. So butchers rake the tongues of bison out of the

prairie grass, regardless of the torn and drooping plant. The

barberrys brilliant fruit was likewise food for my eyes merely; but

I collected a small store of wild apples for coddling, which the

proprietor and travellers had overlooked. When chestnuts were ripe

I laid up half a bushel for winter. It was very exciting at that

season to roam the then boundless chestnut woods of Lincoln -- they

now sleep their long sleep under the railroad -- with a bag on my

shoulder, and a stick to open burs with in my hand, for I did not

always wait for the frost, amid the rustling of leaves and the loud

reproofs of the red squirrels and the jays, whose half-consumed nuts

I sometimes stole, for the burs which they had selected were sure to

contain sound ones. Occasionally I climbed and shook the trees.

They grew also behind my house, and one large tree, which almost

overshadowed it, was, when in flower, a bouquet which scented the

whole neighborhood, but the squirrels and the jays got most of its

fruit; the last coming in flocks early in the morning and picking

the nuts out of the burs before they fell, I relinquished these

trees to them and visited the more distant woods composed wholly of

chestnut. These nuts, as far as they went, were a good substitute

for bread. Many other substitutes might, perhaps, be found.

Digging one day for fishworms, I discovered the ground-nut (Apios

tuberosa) on its string, the potato of the aborigines, a sort of

fabulous fruit, which I had begun to doubt if I had ever dug and

eaten in childhood, as I had told, and had not dreamed it. I had

often since seen its crumpled red velvety blossom supported by the

stems of other plants without knowing it to be the same.

Cultivation has well-nigh exterminated it. It has a sweetish taste,

much like that of a frost-bitten potato, and I found it better

boiled than roasted. This tuber seemed like a faint promise of

Nature to rear her own children and feed them simply here at some

future period. In these days of fatted cattle and waving

grain-fields this humble root, which was once the totem of an Indian

tribe, is quite forgotten, or known only by its flowering vine; but

let wild Nature reign here once more, and the tender and luxurious

English grains will probably disappear before a myriad of foes, and

without the care of man the crow may carry back even the last seed

of corn to the great cornfield of the Indians God in the southwest,

whence he is said to have brought it; but the now almost

exterminated ground-nut will perhaps revive and flourish in spite of

frosts and wildness, prove itself indigenous, and resume its ancient

importance and dignity as the diet of the hunter tribe. Some Indian

Ceres or Minerva must have been the inventor and bestower of it; and

when the reign of poetry commences here, its leaves and string of

nuts may be represented on our works of art.

Already, by the first of September, I had seen two or three

small maples turned scarlet across the pond, beneath where the white

stems of three aspens diverged, at the point of a promontory, next

the water. Ah, many a tale their color told! And gradually from

week to week the character of each tree came out, and it admired

itself reflected in the smooth mirror of the lake. Each morning the

manager of this gallery substituted some new picture, distinguished

by more brilliant or harmonious coloring, for the old upon the

walls.

The wasps came by thousands to my lodge in October, as to winter

quarters, and settled on my windows within and on the walls

overhead, sometimes deterring visitors from entering. Each morning,

when they were numbed with cold, I swept some of them out, but I did

not trouble myself much to get rid of them; I even felt complimented

by their regarding my house as a desirable shelter. They never

molested me seriously, though they bedded with me; and they

gradually disappeared, into what crevices I do not know, avoiding

winter and unspeakable cold.

Like the wasps, before I finally went into winter quarters in

November, I used to resort to the northeast side of Walden, which

the sun, reflected from the pitch pine woods and the stony shore,

made the fireside of the pond; it is so much pleasanter and

wholesomer to be warmed by the sun while you can be, than by an

artificial fire. I thus warmed myself by the still glowing embers

which the summer, like a departed hunter, had left.

When I came to build my chimney I studied masonry. My bricks,

being second-hand ones, required to be cleaned with a trowel, so

that I learned more than usual of the qualities of bricks and

trowels. The mortar on them was fifty years old, and was said to be

still growing harder; but this is one of those sayings which men

love to repeat whether they are true or not. Such sayings

themselves grow harder and adhere more firmly with age, and it would

take many blows with a trowel to clean an old wiseacre of them.

Many of the villages of Mesopotamia are built of second-hand bricks

of a very good quality, obtained from the ruins of Babylon, and the

cement on them is older and probably harder still. However that may

be, I was struck by the peculiar toughness of the steel which bore

so many violent blows without being worn out. As my bricks had been

in a chimney before, though I did not read the name of

Nebuchadnezzar on them, I picked out its many fireplace bricks as I

could find, to save work and waste, and I filled the spaces between

the bricks about the fireplace with stones from the pond shore, and

also made my mortar with the white sand from the same place. I

lingered most about the fireplace, as the most vital part of the

house. Indeed, I worked so deliberately, that though I commenced at

the ground in the morning, a course of bricks raised a few inches

above the floor served for my pillow at night; yet I did not get a

stiff neck for it that I remember; my stiff neck is of older date.

I took a poet to board for a fortnight about those times, which

caused me to be put to it for room. He brought his own knife,

though I had two, and we used to scour them by thrusting them into

the earth. He shared with me the labors of cooking. I was pleased

to see my work rising so square and solid by degrees, and reflected,

that, if it proceeded slowly, it was calculated to endure a long

time. The chimney is to some extent an independent structure,

standing on the ground, and rising through the house to the heavens;

even after the house is burned it still stands sometimes, and its

importance and independence are apparent. This was toward the end

of summer. It was now November.

The north wind had already begun to cool the pond, though it

took many weeks of steady blowing to accomplish it, it is so deep.

When I began to have a fire at evening, before I plastered my house,

the chimney carried smoke particularly well, because of the numerous

chinks between the boards. Yet I passed some cheerful evenings in

that cool and airy apartment, surrounded by the rough brown boards

full of knots, and rafters with the bark on high overhead. My house

never pleased my eye so much after it was plastered, though I was

obliged to confess that it was more comfortable. Should not every

apartment in which man dwells be lofty enough to create some

obscurity overhead, where flickering shadows may play at evening

about the rafters? These forms are more agreeable to the fancy and

imagination than fresco paintings or other the most expensive

furniture. I now first began to inhabit my house, I may say, when I

began to use it for warmth as well as shelter. I had got a couple

of old fire-dogs to keep the wood from the hearth, and it did me

good to see the soot form on the back of the chimney which I had

built, and I poked the fire with more right and more satisfaction

than usual. My dwelling was small, and I could hardly entertain an

echo in it; but it seemed larger for being a single apartment and

remote from neighbors. All the attractions of a house were

concentrated in one room; it was kitchen, chamber, parlor, and

keeping-room; and whatever satisfaction parent or child, master or

servant, derive from living in a house, I enjoyed it all. Cato

says, the master of a family (patremfamilias) must have in his

rustic villa "cellam oleariam, vinariam, dolia multa, uti lubeat

caritatem expectare, et rei, et virtuti, et gloriae erit," that is,

"an oil and wine cellar, many casks, so that it may be pleasant to

expect hard times; it will be for his advantage, and virtue, and

glory." I had in my cellar a firkin of potatoes, about two quarts

of peas with the weevil in them, and on my shelf a little rice, a

jug of molasses, and of rye and Indian meal a peck each.

I sometimes dream of a larger and more populous house, standing

in a golden age, of enduring materials, and without gingerbread

work, which shall still consist of only one room, a vast, rude,

substantial, primitive hall, without ceiling or plastering, with

bare rafters and purlins supporting a sort of lower heaven over

ones head -- useful to keep off rain and snow, where the king and

queen posts stand out to receive your homage, when you have done

reverence to the prostrate Saturn of an older dynasty on stepping

over the sill; a cavernous house, wherein you must reach up a torch

upon a pole to see the roof; where some may live in the fireplace,

some in the recess of a window, and some on settles, some at one end

of the hall, some at another, and some aloft on rafters with the

spiders, if they choose; a house which you have got into when you

have opened the outside door, and the ceremony is over; where the

weary traveller may wash, and eat, and converse, and sleep, without

further journey; such a shelter as you would be glad to reach in a

tempestuous night, containing all the essentials of a house, and

nothing for house-keeping; where you can see all the treasures of

the house at one view, and everything hangs upon its peg, that a man

should use; at once kitchen, pantry, parlor, chamber, storehouse,

and garret; where you can see so necessary a thing, as a barrel or a

ladder, so convenient a thing as a cupboard, and hear the pot boil,

and pay your respects to the fire that cooks your dinner, and the

oven that bakes your bread, and the necessary furniture and utensils

are the chief ornaments; where the washing is not put out, nor the

fire, nor the mistress, and perhaps you are sometimes requested to

move from off the trap-door, when the cook would descend into the

cellar, and so learn whether the ground is solid or hollow beneath

you without stamping. A house whose inside is as open and manifest

as a birds nest, and you cannot go in at the front door and out at

the back without seeing some of its inhabitants; where to be a guest

is to be presented with the freedom of the house, and not to be

carefully excluded from seven eighths of it, shut up in a particular

cell, and told to make yourself at home there -- in solitary

confinement. Nowadays the host does not admit you to his hearth,

but has got the mason to build one for yourself somewhere in his

alley, and hospitality is the art of keeping you at the greatest

distance. There is as much secrecy about the cooking as if he had a

design to poison you. I am aware that I have been on many a mans

premises, and might have been legally ordered off, but I am not

aware that I have been in many mens houses. I might visit in my

old clothes a king and queen who lived simply in such a house as I

have described, if I were going their way; but backing out of a

modern palace will be all that I shall desire to learn, if ever I am

caught in one.

It would seem as if the very language of our parlors would lose

all its nerve and degenerate into palaver wholly, our lives pass at

such remoteness from its symbols, and its metaphors and tropes are

necessarily so far fetched, through slides and dumb-waiters, as it

were; in other words, the parlor is so far from the kitchen and

workshop. The dinner even is only the parable of a dinner,

commonly. As if only the savage dwelt near enough to Nature and

Truth to borrow a trope from them. How can the scholar, who dwells

away in the North West Territory or the Isle of Man, tell what is

parliamentary in the kitchen?

However, only one or two of my guests were ever bold enough to

stay and eat a hasty-pudding with me; but when they saw that crisis

approaching they beat a hasty retreat rather, as if it would shake

the house to its foundations. Nevertheless, it stood through a

great many hasty-puddings.

I did not plaster till it was freezing weather. I brought over

some whiter and cleaner sand for this purpose from the opposite

shore of the pond in a boat, a sort of conveyance which would have

tempted me to go much farther if necessary. My house had in the

meanwhile been shingled down to the ground on every side. In

lathing I was pleased to be able to send home each nail with a

single blow of the hammer, and it was my ambition to transfer the

plaster from the board to the wall neatly and rapidly. I remembered

the story of a conceited fellow, who, in fine clothes, was wont to

lounge about the village once, giving advice to workmen. Venturing

one day to substitute deeds for words, he turned up his cuffs,

seized a plasterers board, and having loaded his trowel without

mishap, with a complacent look toward the lathing overhead, made a

bold gesture thitherward; and straightway, to his complete

discomfiture, received the whole contents in his ruffled bosom. I

admired anew the economy and convenience of plastering, which so

effectually shuts out the cold and takes a handsome finish, and I

learned the various casualties to which the plasterer is liable. I

was surprised to see how thirsty the bricks were which drank up all

the moisture in my plaster before I had smoothed it, and how many

pailfuls of water it takes to christen a new hearth. I had the

previous winter made a small quantity of lime by burning the shells

of the Unio fluviatilis, which our river affords, for the sake of

the experiment; so that I knew where my materials came from. I

might have got good limestone within a mile or two and burned it

myself, if I had cared to do so.

The pond had in the meanwhile skimmed over in the shadiest and

shallowest coves, some days or even weeks before the general

freezing. The first ice is especially interesting and perfect,

being hard, dark, and transparent, and affords the best opportunity

that ever offers for examining the bottom where it is shallow; for

you can lie at your length on ice only an inch thick, like a skater

insect on the surface of the water, and study the bottom at your

leisure, only two or three inches distant, like a picture behind a

glass, and the water is necessarily always smooth then. There are

many furrows in the sand where some creature has travelled about and

doubled on its tracks; and, for wrecks, it is strewn with the cases

of caddis-worms made of minute grains of white quartz. Perhaps

these have creased it, for you find some of their cases in the

furrows, though they are deep and broad for them to make. But the

ice itself is the object of most interest, though you must improve

the earliest opportunity to study it. If you examine it closely the

morning after it freezes, you find that the greater part of the

bubbles, which at first appeared to be within it, are against its

under surface, and that more are continually rising from the bottom;

while the ice is as yet comparatively solid and dark, that is, you

see the water through it. These bubbles are from an eightieth to an

eighth of an inch in diameter, very clear and beautiful, and you see

your face reflected in them through the ice. There may be thirty or

forty of them to a square inch. There are also already within the

ice narrow oblong perpendicular bubbles about half an inch long,

sharp cones with the apex upward; or oftener, if the ice is quite

fresh, minute spherical bubbles one directly above another, like a

string of beads. But these within the ice are not so numerous nor

obvious as those beneath. I sometimes used to cast on stones to try

the strength of the ice, and those which broke through carried in

air with them, which formed very large and conspicuous white bubbles

beneath. One day when I came to the same place forty-eight hours

afterward, I found that those large bubbles were still perfect,

though an inch more of ice had formed, as I could see distinctly by

the seam in the edge of a cake. But as the last two days had been

very warm, like an Indian summer, the ice was not now transparent,

showing the dark green color of the water, and the bottom, but

opaque and whitish or gray, and though twice as thick was hardly

stronger than before, for the air bubbles had greatly expanded under

this heat and run together, and lost their regularity; they were no

longer one directly over another, but often like silvery coins

poured from a bag, one overlapping another, or in thin flakes, as if

occupying slight cleavages. The beauty of the ice was gone, and it

was too late to study the bottom. Being curious to know what

position my great bubbles occupied with regard to the new ice, I

broke out a cake containing a middling sized one, and turned it

bottom upward. The new ice had formed around and under the bubble,

so that it was included between the two ices. It was wholly in the

lower ice, but close against the upper, and was flattish, or perhaps

slightly lenticular, with a rounded edge, a quarter of an inch deep

by four inches in diameter; and I was surprised to find that

directly under the bubble the ice was melted with great regularity

in the form of a saucer reversed, to the height of five eighths of

an inch in the middle, leaving a thin partition there between the

water and the bubble, hardly an eighth of an inch thick; and in many

places the small bubbles in this partition had burst out downward,

and probably there was no ice at all under the largest bubbles,

which were a foot in diameter. I inferred that the infinite number

of minute bubbles which I had first seen against the under surface

of the ice were now frozen in likewise, and that each, in its

degree, had operated like a burning-glass on the ice beneath to melt

and rot it. These are the little air-guns which contribute to make

the ice crack and whoop.

At length the winter set in good earnest, just as I had finished

plastering, and the wind began to howl around the house as if it had

not had permission to do so till then. Night after night the geese

came lumbering in the dark with a clangor and a whistling of wings,

even after the ground was covered with snow, some to alight in

Walden, and some flying low over the woods toward Fair Haven, bound

for Mexico. Several times, when returning from the village at ten

or eleven oclock at night, I heard the tread of a flock of geese,

or else ducks, on the dry leaves in the woods by a pond-hole behind

my dwelling, where they had come up to feed, and the faint honk or

quack of their leader as they hurried off. In 1845 Walden froze

entirely over for the first time on the night of the 22d of

December, Flints and other shallower ponds and the river having

been frozen ten days or more; in 46, the 16th; in 49, about the

31st; and in 50, about the 27th of December; in 52, the 5th of

January; in 53, the 31st of December. The snow had already covered

the ground since the 25th of November, and surrounded me suddenly

with the scenery of winter. I withdrew yet farther into my shell,

and endeavored to keep a bright fire both within my house and within

my breast. My employment out of doors now was to collect the dead

wood in the forest, bringing it in my hands or on my shoulders, or

sometimes trailing a dead pine tree under each arm to my shed. An

old forest fence which had seen its best days was a great haul for

me. I sacrificed it to Vulcan, for it was past serving the god

Terminus. How much more interesting an event is that mans supper

who has just been forth in the snow to hunt, nay, you might say,

steal, the fuel to cook it with! His bread and meat are sweet.

There are enough fagots and waste wood of all kinds in the forests

of most of our towns to support many fires, but which at present

warm none, and, some think, hinder the growth of the young wood.

There was also the driftwood of the pond. In the course of the

summer I had discovered a raft of pitch pine logs with the bark on,

pinned together by the Irish when the railroad was built. This I

hauled up partly on the shore. After soaking two years and then

lying high six months it was perfectly sound, though waterlogged

past drying. I amused myself one winter day with sliding this

piecemeal across the pond, nearly half a mile, skating behind with

one end of a log fifteen feet long on my shoulder, and the other on

the ice; or I tied several logs together with a birch withe, and

then, with a longer birch or alder which had a book at the end,

dragged them across. Though completely waterlogged and almost as

heavy as lead, they not only burned long, but made a very hot fire;

nay, I thought that they burned better for the soaking, as if the

pitch, being confined by the water, burned longer, as in a lamp.

Gilpin, in his account of the forest borderers of England, says

that "the encroachments of trespassers, and the houses and fences

thus raised on the borders of the forest," were "considered as great

nuisances by the old forest law, and were severely punished under

the name of purprestures, as tending ad terrorem ferarum -- ad

nocumentum forestae, etc.," to the frightening of the game and the

detriment of the forest. But I was interested in the preservation

of the venison and the vert more than the hunters or woodchoppers,

and as much as though I had been the Lord Warden himself; and if any

part was burned, though I burned it myself by accident, I grieved

with a grief that lasted longer and was more inconsolable than that

of the proprietors; nay, I grieved when it was cut down by the

proprietors themselves. I would that our farmers when they cut down

a forest felt some of that awe which the old Romans did when they

came to thin, or let in the light to, a consecrated grove (lucum

conlucare), that is, would believe that it is sacred to some god.

The Roman made an expiatory offering, and prayed, Whatever god or

goddess thou art to whom this grove is sacred, be propitious to me,

my family, and children, etc.

It is remarkable what a value is still put upon wood even in

this age and in this new country, a value more permanent and

universal than that of gold. After all our discoveries and

inventions no man will go by a pile of wood. It is as precious to

us as it was to our Saxon and Norman ancestors. If they made their

bows of it, we make our gun-stocks of it. Michaux, more than thirty

years ago, says that the price of wood for fuel in New York and

Philadelphia "nearly equals, and sometimes exceeds, that of the best

wood in Paris, though this immense capital annually requires more

than three hundred thousand cords, and is surrounded to the distance

of three hundred miles by cultivated plains." In this town the

price of wood rises almost steadily, and the only question is, how

much higher it is to be this year than it was the last. Mechanics

and tradesmen who come in person to the forest on no other errand,

are sure to attend the wood auction, and even pay a high price for

the privilege of gleaning after the woodchopper. It is now many

years that men have resorted to the forest for fuel and the

materials of the arts: the New Englander and the New Hollander, the

Parisian and the Celt, the farmer and Robin Hood, Goody Blake and

Harry Gill; in most parts of the world the prince and the peasant,

the scholar and the savage, equally require still a few sticks from

the forest to warm them and cook their food. Neither could I do

without them.

Every man looks at his wood-pile with a kind of affection. I

love to have mine before my window, and the more chips the better to

remind me of my pleasing work. I had an old axe which nobody

claimed, with which by spells in winter days, on the sunny side of

the house, I played about the stumps which I had got out of my

bean-field. As my driver prophesied when I was plowing, they warmed

me twice -- once while I was splitting them, and again when they

were on the fire, so that no fuel could give out more heat. As for

the axe, I was advised to get the village blacksmith to "jump" it;

but I jumped him, and, putting a hickory helve from the woods into

it, made it do. If it was dull, it was at least hung true.

A few pieces of fat pine were a great treasure. It is

interesting to remember how much of this food for fire is still

concealed in the bowels of the earth. In previous years I had often

gone prospecting over some bare hillside, where a pitch pine wood

had formerly stood, and got out the fat pine roots. They are almost

indestructible. Stumps thirty or forty years old, at least, will

still be sound at the core, though the sapwood has all become

vegetable mould, as appears by the scales of the thick bark forming

a ring level with the earth four or five inches distant from the

heart. With axe and shovel you explore this mine, and follow the

marrowy store, yellow as beef tallow, or as if you had struck on a

vein of gold, deep into the earth. But commonly I kindled my fire

with the dry leaves of the forest, which I had stored up in my shed

before the snow came. Green hickory finely split makes the

woodchoppers kindlings, when he has a camp in the woods. Once in a

while I got a little of this. When the villagers were lighting

their fires beyond the horizon, I too gave notice to the various

wild inhabitants of Walden vale, by a smoky streamer from my

chimney, that I was awake.--

Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird,

Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight,

Lark without song, and messenger of dawn,

Circling above the hamlets as thy nest;

Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form

Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;

By night star-veiling, and by day

Darkening the light and blotting out the sun;

Go thou my incense upward from this hearth,

And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame.

Hard green wood just cut, though I used but little of that,

answered my purpose better than any other. I sometimes left a good

fire when I went to take a walk in a winter afternoon; and when I

returned, three or four hours afterward, it would be still alive and

glowing. My house was not empty though I was gone. It was as if I

had left a cheerful housekeeper behind. It was I and Fire that

lived there; and commonly my housekeeper proved trustworthy. One

day, however, as I was splitting wood, I thought that I would just

look in at the window and see if the house was not on fire; it was

the only time I remember to have been particularly anxious on this

score; so I looked and saw that a spark had caught my bed, and I

went in and extinguished it when it had burned a place as big as my

hand. But my house occupied so sunny and sheltered a position, and

its roof was so low, that I could afford to let the fire go out in

the middle of almost any winter day.

The moles nested in my cellar, nibbling every third potato, and

making a snug bed even there of some hair left after plastering and

of brown paper; for even the wildest animals love comfort and warmth

as well as man, and they survive the winter only because they are so

careful to secure them. Some of my friends spoke as if I was coming

to the woods on purpose to freeze myself. The animal merely makes a

bed, which he warms with his body, in a sheltered place; but man,

having discovered fire, boxes up some air in a spacious apartment,

and warms that, instead of robbing himself, makes that his bed, in

which he can move about divested of more cumbrous clothing, maintain

a kind of summer in the midst of winter, and by means of windows

even admit the light, and with a lamp lengthen out the day. Thus he

goes a step or two beyond instinct, and saves a little time for the

fine arts. Though, when I had been exposed to the rudest blasts a

long time, my whole body began to grow torpid, when I reached the

genial atmosphere of my house I soon recovered my faculties and

prolonged my life. But the most luxuriously housed has little to

boast of in this respect, nor need we trouble ourselves to speculate

how the human race may be at last destroyed. It would be easy to

cut their threads any time with a little sharper blast from the

north. We go on dating from Cold Fridays and Great Snows; but a

little colder Friday, or greater snow would put a period to mans

existence on the globe.

The next winter I used a small cooking-stove for economy, since

I did not own the forest; but it did not keep fire so well as the

open fireplace. Cooking was then, for the most part, no longer a

poetic, but merely a chemic process. It will soon be forgotten, in

these days of stoves, that we used to roast potatoes in the ashes,

after the Indian fashion. The stove not only took up room and

scented the house, but it concealed the fire, and I felt as if I had

lost a companion. You can always see a face in the fire. The

laborer, looking into it at evening, purifies his thoughts of the

dross and earthiness which they have accumulated during the day.

But I could no longer sit and look into the fire, and the pertinent

words of a poet recurred to me with new force.--

"Never, bright flame, may be denied to me

Thy dear, life imaging, close sympathy.

What but my hopes shot upward eer so bright?

What but my fortunes sunk so low in night?

Why art thou banished from our hearth and hall,

Thou who art welcomed and beloved by all?

Was thy existence then too fanciful

For our lifes common light, who are so dull?

Did thy bright gleam mysterious converse hold

With our congenial souls? secrets too bold?

Well, we are safe and strong, for now we sit

Beside a hearth where no dim shadows flit,

Where nothing cheers nor saddens, but a fire

Warms feet and hands -- nor does to more aspire;

By whose compact utilitarian heap

The present may sit down and go to sleep,

Nor fear the ghosts who from the dim past walked,

And with us by the unequal light of the old wood fire talked."