I think his religion of the most primitive type, and inclusive of all natural creatures and things, even to "the sparrow that falls to the ground,"--though never by shot of his,--and, for whatsoever is manly in man, his worship may compare with that of the priests and heroes of pagan times. Nor is he false to these traits under any guise,--worshipping at unbloody altars, a favorite of the Unseen, Wisest, and Best. Certainly he is better poised and more nearly self-reliant than other men. Perhaps he deals best with matter, properly, though very adroitly with mind, with persons, as he knows them best, and sees them from Nature's circle, wherein he dwells habitually. I should say he inspired the sentiment of love, if, indeed, the sentiment he awakens did not seem to partake of a yet purer sentiment, were that possible,--but nameless from its excellency. Friendly he is, and holds his friends by bearings as strict in their tenderness and consideration as are the laws of his thinking,--as prompt and kindly equitable,--neighborly always, and as apt for occasions as he is strenuous against meddling with others in things not his. I know of nothing more creditable to his greatness than the thoughtful regard, approaching to reverence, by which he has held for many years some of the best persons of his time, living at a distance, and wont to make their annual pilgrimage, usually on foot, to the master,--a devotion very rare in these times of personal indifference, if not of confessed unbelief in persons and ideas. He has been less of a housekeeper than most, has harvested more wind and storm, sun and sky; abroad night and day with his leash of keen scents, bounding any game stirring, and running it down, for certain, to be spread on the dresser of his page, and served as a feast to the sound intelligences, before he has done with it. We have been accustomed to consider him the salt of things so long that they must lose their savor without his to season them. And when he goes hence, then Pan is dead, and Nature ailing throughout. His friend sings him thus, with the advantages of his Walden to show him in Nature:-- "It is not far beyond the Village church, After we pass the wood that skirts the road, A Lake,--the blue-eyed Walden, that doth smile Most tenderly upon its neighbor Pines; And they, as if to recompense this love, In double beauty spread their branches forth. This Lake has tranquil loveliness and breadth, And, of late years, has added to its charms; For one attracted to its pleasant edge Has built himself a little Hermitage, Where with much piety he passes life.