WALDEN AND ON THE DUTY OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE. Henry David Thoreau

be corrected, for by the error of some calculator the vessel often

      splits upon a rock that should have reached a friendly pier,—there is

      the untold fate of La Perouse;—universal science to be kept pace with,

      studying the lives of all great discoverers and navigators, great

      adventurers and merchants, from Hanno and the Phœnicians down to our

      day; in fine, account of stock to be taken from time to time, to know

      how you stand. It is a labor to task the faculties of a man,—such

      problems of profit and loss, of interest, of tare and tret, and gauging

      of all kinds in it, as demand a universal knowledge.

      I have thought that Walden Pond would be a good place for business, not

      solely on account of the railroad and the ice trade; it offers

      advantages which it may not be good policy to divulge; it is a good

      port and a good foundation. No Neva marshes to be filled; though you

      must every where build on piles of your own driving. It is said that a

      flood-tide, with a westerly wind, and ice in the Neva, would sweep St.

      Petersburg from the face of the earth.

      As this business was to be entered into without the usual capital, it

      may not be easy to conjecture where those means, that will still be

      indispensable to every such undertaking, were to be obtained. As for

      Clothing, to come at once to the practical part of the question,

      perhaps we are led oftener by the love of novelty, and a regard for the

      opinions of men, in procuring it, than by a true utility. Let him who

      has work to do recollect that the object of clothing is, first, to

      retain the vital heat, and secondly, in this state of society, to cover

      nakedness, and he may judge how much of any necessary or important work

      may be accomplished without adding to his wardrobe. Kings and queens

      who wear a suit but once, though made by some tailor or dressmaker to

      their majesties, cannot know the comfort of wearing a suit that fits.

      They are no better than wooden horses to hang the clean clothes on.

      Every day our garments become more assimilated to ourselves, receiving

      the impress of the wearer’s character, until we hesitate to lay them

      aside, without such delay and medical appliances and some such

      solemnity even as our bodies. No man ever stood the lower in my

      estimation for having a patch in his clothes; yet I am sure that there

      is greater anxiety, commonly, to have fashionable, or at least clean

      and unpatched clothes, than to have a sound conscience. But even if the

      rent is not mended, perhaps the worst vice betrayed is improvidence. I

      sometimes try my acquaintances by such tests as this;—who could wear a

      patch, or two extra seams only, over the knee? Most behave as if they

      believed that their prospects for life would be ruined if they should

      do it. It would be easier for them to hobble to town with a broken leg

      than with a broken pantaloon. Often if an accident happens to a

      gentleman’s legs, they can be mended; but if a similar accident happens

      to the legs of his pantaloons, there is no help for it; for he

      considers, not what is truly respectable, but what is respected. We

      know but few men, a great many coats and breeches. Dress a scarecrow in

      your last shift, you standing shiftless by, who would not soonest

      salute the scarecrow? Passing a cornfield the other day, close by a hat

      and coat on a stake, I recognized the owner of the farm. He was only a

      little more weather-beaten than when I saw him last. I have heard of a

      dog that barked at every stranger who approached his master’s premises

      with clothes on, but was easily quieted by a naked thief. It is an

      interesting question how far men would retain their relative rank if

      they were divested of their clothes. Could you, in such a case, tell

      surely of any company of civilized men, which belonged to the most

      respected class? When Madam Pfeiffer, in her adventurous travels round

      the world, from east to west, had got so near home as Asiatic Russia,

      she says that she felt the necessity of wearing other than a travelling

      dress, when she went to meet the authorities, for she “was now in a

      civilized country, where —— — people are judged of by their clothes.”

      Even in our democratic New England towns the accidental possession of

      wealth, and its manifestation in dress and equipage alone, obtain for

      the possessor almost universal respect. But they yield such respect,

      numerous as they are, are so far heathen, and need to have a missionary

      sent to them. Beside, clothes introduced sewing, a kind of work which

      you may call endless; a woman’s dress, at least, is never done.

      A man who has at length found something to do will not need to get a

      new suit to do it in; for him the old will do, that has lain dusty in

      the garret for an indeterminate period. Old shoes will serve a hero

      longer than they have served his valet,—if a hero ever has a

      valet,—bare feet are older than shoes, and he can make them do. Only

      they who go to soirées and legislative halls must have new coats, coats

      to change as often as the man changes in them. But if my jacket and

      trousers, my hat and shoes, are fit to worship God in, they will do;

      will they not? Who ever saw his old clothes,—his old coat, actually

      worn out, resolved into its primitive elements, so that it was not a

      deed of charity to bestow it on some poor boy, by him perchance to be

      bestowed on some poorer still, or shall we say richer, who could do

      with less? I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes,

      and not rather a new wearer of clothes. If there is not a new man, how

      can the new clothes be made to fit? If you have any enterprise before

      you, try it in your old clothes. All men want, not something to _do

      with_, but something to _do_, or rather something to _be_. Perhaps we

      should never procure a new suit, however ragged or dirty the old, until

      we have so conducted, so enterprised or sailed in some way, that we

      feel like new men in the old, and that to retain