law is in one sense lawless. That is an unfortunate discovery, certainly, that of a law which binds us where we did not know that we were bound. Live free, child of the mist. He for whom the law is made, who does not obey the law, but whom the law obeys, reclines on pillows of down, and is wafted at will whither he pleases; for man is superior to all laws, both of heaven and earth, when he takes his liberty.
February 27, 1852. The main river is not yet open except in very few places, but the north branch, which is so much more rapid, is open near Tarbell's and Harrington's, where I walked to-day, and flowing with full tide, bordered with ice on either side, sparkles in the clear, cool air,—a silvery sparkle as from a stream that would not soil the sky. . . . . We have almost completely forgotten the summer. This restless and now swollen stream has burst its icy fetters, and as I stand looking up it westward for half a mile, where it winds slightly under a high bank, its surface is lit up here and there with a fine-grained silvery sparkle which makes the river appear something celestial, more than a terrestrial river, which might have suggested that one surrounding the shield in Homer. If rivers come out of their prison thus bright and immortal, shall not I, too, resume my spring life with joy and hope. Have
