The running of the gossip gauntlet in the village is a real hoot. Thoreau is at his comic best here. You can picture him venturing into town and then escaping by the skin of his teeth.
For the most part I escaped wonderfully from these dangers, either by proceeding at once boldly and without deliberation to the goal, as is recommended to those who run the gauntlet, or by keeping my thoughts on high things, like Orpheus, who, "loudly singing the praises of the gods to his lyre, drowned the voices of the Sirens, and kept out of danger." Sometimes I bolted suddenly, and nobody could tell my whereabouts, for I did not stand much about gracefulness, and never hesitated at a gap in a fence. I was even accustomed to make an irruption into some houses, where I was well entertained, and after learning the kernels and very last sieveful of news -- what had subsided, the prospects of war and peace, and whether the world was likely to hold together much longer -- I was let out through the rear avenues, and so escaped to the woods again.