33p |)enrp 3D. Cfjoreatu 
 
 NEW RIVERSIDE EDITION. 
 
 I. A WEEK ON THE CONCORD AND MERRI- 
 
 MACK RIVERS. 
 
 II. WALDEN ; OR, LIFE IN THE WOODS. 
 III. THE MAINE WOODS. 
 IV. CAPE COD. 
 
 V. EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
 VI. SUMMER. With a Map of Concord. 
 VII. AUTUMN. 
 VIII. WINTER. 
 IX. EXCURSIONS. 
 X. MISCELLANIES. With a Biographical Sketch 
 
 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 10 volumes, crown 8vo, $1.50 each ; the set, cloth, in box, 
 $15.00 ; half calf, $27.50; half calf, gift top, $30.00. 
 
 WALDEN; OR, LIFE IN THE WOODS. Riverside 
 A Idine Edition. 2 vols. i6mo, $2.00. 
 
 THOREAU S THOUGHTS. Selections from the Writ 
 ings of Henry D. Thoreau. Edited by H. G. O. Blake. 
 With Bibliography. i6mo, gilt top, $1.00. 
 
 THE SUCCESSION OF FOREST TREES AND WILD 
 APPLES. With Biographical Sketch by Emerson. 
 i6mo, paper, 15 cents, net. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK. 
 
-- 
 
FAMILIAR LETTERS OF 
 HENRY DAVID THOREAU 
 
 EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 F. B. SANBORN 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 piw, Cambrib0e 
 
 1894 
 
Copyright, 1894, 
 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 GIFT 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., 77. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton and Company 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 I. YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. 
 
 SKETCH OF THOREAU S LIFE FROM BIRTH TO TWENTY 
 YEARS ................. 1 
 
 LETTERS TO HIS BROTHER JOHN AND SISTER HELEN 12 
 
 EARLY FRIENDSHIP AND CORRESPONDENCE WITH EM 
 ERSON AND HIS FAMILY ........... 39 
 
 STATEN ISLAND AND NEW YORK LETTERS TO THE 
 THOREAUS AND EMERSONS .......... 76 
 
 II. THE GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE WITH C. LANE, J. E. CABOT, EMER 
 SON, AND BLAKE ............. 146 
 
 III. FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. 
 THE SHIPWRECK OF MARGARET FULLER ..... 220 
 
 AN ESSAY ON LOVE AND CHASTITY ....... 237 
 
 MORAL EPISTLES TO HARRISON BLAKE OF WORCESTER 251 
 EXCURSIONS TO CAPE COD, NEW BEDFORD, NEW 
 
 HAMPSHIRE, NEW YORK, AND NEW JERSEY . , . 302 
 EXCURSIONS TO MONADNOC AND MINNESOTA . . . .421 
 
 LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH .......... 460 
 
 INDEX . . 465 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE fortune of Henry Thoreau as an author 
 of books has been peculiar, and such as to indi 
 cate more permanence of his name and fame 
 than could be predicted of many of his contem 
 poraries. In the years of his literary activity 
 (twenty-five in aU), from 1837 to 1862, when 
 he died, not quite forty-five years old, he pub 
 lished but two volumes, and those with much 
 delay and difficulty in finding a publisher. But 
 in the thirty-two years since his death, nine vol 
 umes have been published from his manuscripts 
 and fugitive pieces, the present being the 
 tenth. Besides these, two biographies of Tho 
 reau have appeared in America, and two others 
 in England, with numerous reviews and sketches 
 of the man and his writings, enough to make 
 several volumes more. At present, the sale of 
 his books and the interest in his life are greater 
 than ever ; and he seems to have grown early 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 into an American classic, like his Concord neigh 
 bors, Emerson and Hawthorne. Pilgrimages 
 are made to his grave and his daily haunts, as 
 to theirs, and those who come find it to be 
 true, as was said by an accomplished woman 
 (Miss Elizabeth Hoar) soon after his death, 
 that " Concord is Henry s monument, adorned 
 with suitable inscriptions by his own hand." 
 When Horace wrote of a noble Roman fam- 
 
 ay, 
 
 Crescit occulto velut arbor aevo 
 Fama Marcelli, 
 
 he pointed in felicitous phrase to the only fame 
 that posterity has much regarded, the slow- 
 growing, deep-rooted laurel of renown. And 
 Shakespeare, citing the old English rhyming 
 saw, 
 
 Small herbs have grace, 
 Great weeds do grow apace, 
 
 signified the same thing in a parable, the pop 
 ularity and suddenness of transient things, con 
 trasted with the usefully permanent. There 
 were plenty of authors in Thoreau s time (of 
 whom Willis may be taken as the type) who 
 would have smiled loftily to think that a rustic 
 
INTRODUCTION. vii 
 
 from the Shawsheen and Assabet could compete 
 with the traveled scholar or elegant versifier 
 who commanded the homage of drawing-rooms 
 and magazines, for the prize of lasting remem 
 brance ; yet who now are forgotten, or live a 
 shadowy life in the alcoves of libraries, piping 
 forth an ineffective voice, like the shades in 
 Virgil s Tartarus. But Thoreau was wiser when 
 he wrote at the end of his poem, " Inspiration," 
 
 Fame cannot tempt the bard 
 Who s famous with his God ; 
 Nor laurel him reward 
 Who has his Maker s nod. 
 
 He strove but little for glory, either immediate 
 or posthumous, well knowing that it is the inevi 
 table and unpursued result of what men do or 
 say, 
 
 Our fatal shadow that walks by us still. 
 
 The Letters of Thoreau, though not less re 
 markable in some aspects than what he wrote 
 carefully for publication, have thus far scarcely 
 had justice done them. The selection made for 
 a small volume in 1865 was designedly done to 
 exhibit one phase of his character, the most 
 striking, if you will, but not the most native 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 or attractive. " In his own home," says Ellery 
 Channing, who knew him more inwardly than 
 any other, " he was one of those characters who 
 may be called household treasures ; always on 
 the spot, with skillful eye and hand, to raise the 
 best melons in the garden, plant the orchard 
 with choicest trees, or act as extempore me 
 chanic ; fond of the pets, his sister s flowers, or 
 sacred Tabby ; kittens were his favorites, he 
 would play with them by the half-hour. No 
 whim or coldness, no absorption of his time by 
 public or private business, deprived those to 
 whom he belonged of his kindness and affec 
 tion. He did the duties that lay nearest, and 
 satisfied those in his immediate circle ; and 
 whatever the impressions from the theoretical 
 part of his writings, when the matter is probed 
 to the bottom, good sense and good feeling will 
 be detected in it." This is preeminently true ; 
 and the affectionate conviction of this made his 
 sister Sophia dissatisfied with Emerson s rule of 
 selection among the letters. This she confided 
 to me, and this determined me, should occasion 
 offer, to give the world some day a fuller and 
 more familiar view of our friend. 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 For this purpose I have chosen many letters 
 and mere notes, illustrating his domestic and 
 gossipy moods, for that element was in his 
 mixed nature, inherited from the lively maternal 
 side, and even the colloquial vulgarity (using 
 the word in its strict sense of "popular speech") 
 that he sometimes allowed himself. In his last 
 years he revolted a little at this turn of his 
 thoughts, and, as Channing relates, " rubbed out 
 the more humorous parts of his essays, origi 
 nally a relief to their sterner features, saying, I 
 cannot bear the levity I find ; " to which Chan 
 ning replied that he ought to spare it, even to 
 the puns, in which he abounded almost as much 
 as Shakespeare. His friend was right, the 
 obvious incongruity was as natural to Thoreau 
 as the grace and French elegance of his best 
 sentences. Thus I have not rejected the com 
 mon and trivial in these letters ; being well as 
 sured that what the increasing number of Tho 
 reau s readers desire is to see this piquant original 
 just as he was, not arrayed in the paradoxical 
 cloak of the Stoic sage, nor sitting complacent 
 in the cynic earthenware cave of Diogenes, and 
 bidding Alexander stand out of his sunshine. 
 
x INTRODUCTION. 
 
 He did those acts also ; but they were not the 
 whole man. He was far more poet than cynic 
 or stoic ; he had the proud humility of those 
 sects, but still more largely that unconscious 
 pride which comes to the poet when he sees that 
 his pursuits are those of the few and not of the 
 multitude. This perception came early to Tho- 
 reau, and was expressed in some unpublished 
 verses dating from his long, solitary rambles, by 
 night and day, on the seashore at Staten Island, 
 where he first learned the sombre magnificence 
 of Ocean. He feigns himself the son of what 
 might well be one of Homer s fishermen, or the 
 shipwrecked seaman of Lucretius, 
 
 Saevis projectus ab undis 
 Cui tantum in vita restet transire malorum, 
 
 and then goes on thus with his parable : 
 
 Within a humble cot that looks to sea 
 Daily I breathe this curious warm life, 
 
 Beneath a friendly haven s sheltering lea 
 My noiseless day with mystery still is rife. 
 
 T is here, they say, my simple life began, 
 
 And easy credence to the tale I lend, 
 For well I know t is here I am a man, 
 
 But who will simply tell me of the end ? 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 These eyes, fresh-opened, spied the far-off Sea, 
 
 That like a silent godfather did stand, 
 Nor uttered one explaining word to me, 
 
 While introducing straight godmother Land. 
 
 And yonder still stretches that silent Main, 
 With many glancing ships besprinkled o er : 
 
 And earnest still I gaze and gaze again 
 
 Upon the selfsame waves and friendly shore. 
 
 Infinite work my hands find there to do, 
 
 Gathering the relicts which the waves upcast : 
 
 Each storm doth scour the sea for something new, 
 And every time the strangest is the last. 
 
 My neighbors sometimes come with lumbering carts, 
 As if they wished my pleasant toil to share ; 
 
 But straight they go again to distant marts, 
 For only weeds and ballast are their care. 
 
 " Only weeds and ballast ? " that is exactly 
 what Thoreau s neighbors would have said he 
 was gathering, for the most of his days ; yet now 
 he is seen to have collected something more du 
 rable and precious than they with their imple 
 ments and market-carts. If they viewed him 
 with a kind of scorn and pity, it must be said 
 that he returned the affront ; only time seems 
 to have sided with the poet in the controversy 
 that he maintained against his busy age. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Superiority, moral elevation, without peev 
 ishness or condescension, this was Thoreau s 
 distinguishing quality. He softened it with hu 
 mor, and sometimes sharpened it with indigna 
 tion ; but he directed his satire and his censure 
 as often against himself as against mankind ; 
 men he truly loved, if they would not obstruct 
 his humble and strictly-chosen path. The let 
 ters here printed show this, if I mistake not, 
 and the many other epistles of his, still uncol- 
 lected, would hardly vary the picture he has 
 sketched of himself, though they would add new 
 facts. Those most to be sought for are his re 
 plies to the generous letters of his one English 
 correspondent. 
 
 The profile-portrait engraved for this volume 
 is less known than it should be, for it alone 
 of the four likenesses extant shows the aquiline 
 features as his comrades of the wood and moun 
 tain saw them, not weakened by any effort to 
 bring him to the standard of other men in garb 
 or expression. The artist, Mr. Walton Ricket- 
 son, knew and admired him. 
 
 F. B. S. 
 
 CONCORD, MASS., March 1, 1894. 
 
FAMILIAR LETTERS OF THOREAU. 
 
 I. YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. 
 
 IT was a happy thought of Thoreau s friend 
 Ellery Channing, himself a poet, to style our 
 Concord hermit the " poet-naturalist ; " for there 
 seemed to be no year of his life, and no hour of 
 his day when Nature did not whisper some secret 
 in his ear, so intimate was he with her from 
 childhood. In another connection, speaking of 
 natural beauty, Channing said, " There is Tho- 
 reau, he knows about it; give him sunshine 
 and a handful of nuts, and he has enough." He 
 was also a naturalist in the more customary 
 sense, one who studied and arranged methodi 
 cally in his mind the facts of outward nature ; a 
 good botanist and ornithologist, a wise student 
 of insects and fishes ; an observer of the winds, 
 the clouds, the seasons, and all that goes to make 
 up what we call " weather " and " climate." Yet 
 he was in heart a poet, and held all the accumu 
 lated knowledge of more than forty years not so 
 much for use as for delight. As Gray s poor 
 friend West said of himself, " Like a clear-flow- 
 
2 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1817-1855. 
 
 ing stream, he reflected the beauteous prospect 
 around ; " and Mother Nature had given Thoreau 
 for his prospect the meandering Indian River of 
 Concord, the woodland pastures and fair lakes 
 by which he dwelt or rambled most of his life. 
 Born in the East Quarter of Concord, July 12, 
 1817, he died in the viUage, May 6, 1862 ; he 
 was there fitted for Harvard College, which he 
 entered in 1833, graduating in 1837; and for 
 the rest of his life was hardly away from the 
 town for more than a year in all. Consequently 
 his letters to his family are few, for he was 
 usually among them ; but when separated from 
 his elder brother John, or his sisters Helen and 
 Sophia, he wrote to them, and these are the 
 earliest of his letters which have been pre 
 served. Always thoughtful for others, he has 
 left a few facts to aid his biographer, respecting 
 his birth and early years. In his Journal of 
 December 27, 1855, he wrote : 
 
 "Recalled this evening, with the aid of 
 Mother, the various houses (and towns) in 
 which I have lived, and some events of my life. 
 Born in the Minott house on the Virginia Road, 
 where Father occupied Grandmother s thirds , 
 carrying on the farm. The Catherines had the 
 other half of the house, Bob Catherine, and 
 [brother] John threw up the turkeys. Lived 
 there about eight months ; Si Merriam the next 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL FACTS. 3 
 
 neighbor. Uncle David [Dunbar] died when I 
 was six weeks old. 1 I was baptized in the old 
 Meeting-house, by Dr. Ripley, when I was three 
 months, and did not cry. In the Red House, 
 where Grandmother lived, we had the west side 
 till October, 1818, hiring of Josiah Davis, 
 agent for the Woodwards; there were uncle 
 Charles and cousin Charles (Dunbar), more or 
 less. According to the Day-Book first used by 
 Grandfather (Thoreau), 2 dated 1797 (his part 
 cut out and then used by Father in Concord in 
 1808-9, and in Chelmsford in 1818-21), Father 
 hired of Proctor (in Chelmsford), and shop of 
 Spaulding. In Chelmsford till March, 1821 ; 
 last charge there about the middle of March, 
 1821. Aunt Sarah taught me to walk there, 
 when fourteen months old. We lived next the 
 meeting-house, where they kept the powder in 
 the garret. Father kept shop and painted 
 signs, etc. . . . 
 
 1 He was named David for this uncle ; Dr. Ripley was the 
 minister of the whole town in 1817. The Red House stood 
 near the Emerson house on the Lexington road ; the Wood 
 wards were a wealthy family, afterwards in Quincy, to which 
 town Dr. Woodward left a large bequest. 
 
 2 John Thoreau, grandfather of Henry, born at St. Helier s, 
 Jersey, April, 1754, was a sailor on board the American priva 
 teer General Lincoln, November, 1779, and recognized La 
 Terrible, French frigate, which carried John Adams from 
 Boston to France. See Thoreau s Summer, p. 102. This John 
 Thoreau, son of Philip, died in Concord, 1800. 
 
4 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1821-1844. 
 
 " In Pope s house, South End of Boston (a 
 ten-footer) five or six months, moved from 
 Chelmsford through Concord, and may have 
 tarried in Concord a little while. 
 
 "Day-book says, Moved to Pinkney Street 
 (Boston), September 10, 1821, on Monday ; 
 Whitwell s house, Pinkney Street, to March, 
 1823 ; then brick house, Concord, to spring of 
 1826 ; Davis house (next to Samuel Hoar s) to 
 May 7, 1827 ; Shattuck house (now W. Mun- 
 roe s) to spring of 1835 ; Hollis Hall, Cam 
 bridge, 1833 ; Aunts house to spring of 1837. 
 [This was what is now the inn called Thoreau 
 House. ] At Brownson s (Canton) while teach 
 ing in winter of 1835. Went to New York with 
 Father peddling in 1836." 
 
 This brings the date down to the year in which 
 Henry Thoreau left college, and when the family 
 letters begin. The notes continue, and now 
 begin to have a literary value. 
 
 " Parkman house to fall of 1844 ; was gradu 
 ated in 1837 ; kept town school a fortnight that 
 year ; began the big red Journal, October, 1837 ; 
 found my first arrow-head, fall of 1837 ; wrote a 
 lecture (my first) on Society, March 14, 1838, 
 and read it before the Lyceum, in the Masons 
 Hall, April 11, 1838 ; went to Maine for a school 
 in May, 1838 ; commenced school in the Park- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL FACTS. 5 
 
 man house l in the summer of that year ; wrote an 
 essay on Sound and Silence December, 1838 ; 
 fall of 1839 up the Merrimack to the White 
 Mountains ; Aulus Persius Flaccus (first 
 printed paper of consequence), February 10, 
 1840 ; the Eed Journal of 596 pages ended 
 June, 1840 ; Journal of 396 pages ended Janu 
 ary 31, 1841. 
 
 "Went to R. W. Emerson s in spring of 
 1841 (about April 25), and stayed there till 
 summer of 1843 ; went to William Emerson s, 
 Staten Island, May, 1843, and returned in De 
 cember, or to Thanksgiving, 1843 ; made pen 
 cils in 1844 ; Texas house to August 29, 1850 ; 
 at Walden, July, 1845, to fall of 1847 ; then at 
 R. W. Emerson s to fall of 1848, or while he 
 was in Europe ; then in the Yellow house (re 
 formed) till the present." 
 
 1 This had been the abode of old Deacon Parkman, a grand- 
 uncle of the late Francis Parkman, the historian, and son of 
 the Westborough clergyman from whom this distinguished 
 family descends. Deacon Parkman was a merchant in Con 
 cord, and lived in what was then a good house. It stood in 
 the middle of the village, where the Public Library now is. 
 The " Texas " house was built by Henry Thoreau and his 
 father John ; it was named from a section of the village then 
 called " Texas," because a little remote from the churches and 
 schools ; perhaps the same odd fancy that had bestowed the 
 name of "Virginia" on the road of Thoreau s birthplace. 
 The " Yellow house re-formed " was a small cottage rebuilt 
 and enlarged by the Thoreaus in 1850 ; in this, on the main 
 street, Henry and his father and mother died. 
 
6 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1700-1787. 
 
 As may be inferred from this simple record of 
 the many mansions, chiefly small ones, in which 
 he had spent his first thirty-eight years, there 
 was nothing distinguished in the fortunes of 
 Thoreau s family, who were small merchants, 
 artisans, or farmers, mostly. On the father s 
 side they were from the isle of Jersey, where a 
 French strain mingled with his English or Scan 
 dinavian blood ; on the other side he was of 
 Scotch and English descent, counting Jones, 
 Dunbar, and Burns among his feminine ances 
 tors. Liveliness and humor came to him from 
 his Scotch connection ; from father and grand 
 father he inherited a grave steadiness of mind 
 rather at variance with his mother s vivacity. 
 Manual dexterity was also inherited ; so that he 
 practiced the simpler mechanic arts with ease 
 and skill; his mathematical training and his 
 outdoor habits fitted him for a land-surveyor; 
 and by that art, as well as by pencil-making, lec 
 turing, and writing, he paid his way in the world, 
 and left a small income from his writings to those 
 who survived him. He taught pupils also, as 
 did his brother and sisters ; but it was not an 
 occupation that he long followed after John s 
 death in 1842. With these introductory state 
 ments we may proceed to Thoreau s first corre 
 spondence with his brother and sisters. 
 
 As an introduction to the correspondence, and 
 
JET. 20.] COMMENCEMENT CONFERENCE. 1 
 
 a key to the young man s view of life, a passage 
 may be taken from Thoreau s " Part " at his col 
 lege commencement, August 16, 1837. He was 
 one of two to hold what was called a " Confer 
 ence " on " The Commercial Spirit," his alter 
 native or opponent in the dispute being Henry 
 Vose, also of Concord, who, in later years, was 
 a Massachusetts judge. Henry Thoreau, 1 then 
 just twenty, said : 
 
 " The characteristic of our epoch is perfect 
 freedom, freedom of thought and action. The 
 indignant Greek, the oppressed Pole, the jealous 
 American assert it. The skeptic no less than 
 the believer, the heretic no less than the faithful 
 child of the Church, have begun to enjoy it. It 
 has generated an unusual degree of energy and 
 activity ; it has generated the commercial spirit. 
 Man thinks faster and freer than ever before. 
 He, moreover, moves faster and freer. He is 
 more restless, because he is more independent 
 than ever. The winds and the waves are not 
 enough for him ; he must needs ransack the 
 bowels of the earth, that he may make for 
 himself a highway of iron over its surface. 
 
 " Indeed, could one examine this beehive of 
 
 1 During the greater part of his college course he signed 
 himself D. H. Thoreau, as he was christened (David Henry) ; 
 but being constantly called " Henry," he put this name first 
 about the time he left college, and was seldom afterwards 
 known by the former initials. 
 
8 YEARS Of DISCIPLINE. [1837, 
 
 ours from an observatory among the stars, he 
 would perceive an unwonted degree of bustle in 
 these later ages. There would be hammering 
 and chipping in one quarter ; baking and brew 
 ing, buying and selling, money-changing and 
 speechmaking in another. What impression 
 would he receive from so general and impartial 
 a survey. Would it appear to him that mankind 
 used this world as not abusing it ? Doubtless 
 he would first be struck with the profuse beauty 
 of our orb ; he would never tire of admiring its 
 varied zones and seasons, with their changes of 
 living. He could not but notice that restless 
 animal for whose sake it was contrived ; but 
 where he found one man to admire with him his 
 fair dwelling-place, the ninety and nine would be 
 scraping together a little of the gilded dust upon 
 its surface. . . . We are to look chiefly for the 
 origin of the commercial spirit, and the power 
 that still cherishes and sustains it, in a blind and 
 unmanly love of wealth. Wherever this exists, 
 it is too sure to become the ruling spirit ; and, 
 as a natural consequence, it infuses into all our 
 thoughts and affections a degree of its own selfish 
 ness ; we become selfish in our patriotism, selfish 
 in our domestic relations, selfish in our religion. 
 " Let men, true to their natures, cultivate the 
 moral affections, lead manly and independent 
 lives ; let them make riches the means and not 
 
jsT.20.] COMMENCEMENT CONFERENCE. 9 
 
 the end of existence, and we shall hear no more 
 of the commercial spirit. The sea will not stag 
 nate, the earth will be as green as ever, and the air 
 as pure. This curious world which we inhabit 
 is more wonderful than it is convenient ; more 
 beautiful than it is useful ; it is more to be 
 admired and enjoyed than used. The order of 
 things should be somewhat reversed ; the seventh 
 should be man s day of toil, wherein to earn his 
 living by the sweat of his brow ; and the other 
 six his Sabbath of the affections and the soul, 
 in which to range this widespread garden, and 
 drink in the soft influences and sublime revela 
 tions of Nature. . . . The spirit we are consider 
 ing is not altogether and without exception bad. 
 We rejoice in it as one more indication of the 
 entire and universal freedom that characterizes 
 the age in which we live, as an indication that 
 the human race is making one more advance in 
 that infinite series of progressions which awaits 
 it. We glory in those very excesses which are 
 a source of anxiety to the wise and good ; as an 
 evidence that man will not always be the slave 
 of matter, but erelong, casting off those earth- 
 born desires which identify him with the brute, 
 shall pass the days of his sojourn in this his 
 nether Paradise, as becomes the Lord of Crea 
 tion." i 
 
 1 The impression made on one classmate and former room- 
 
10 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1837, 
 
 This passage is noteworthy as showing how 
 early the philosophic mind was developed in 
 Thoreau, and how much his thought and expres 
 sion were influenced by Emerson s first book, 
 
 mate (" chum ") of Thoreau, by this utterance, will be seen 
 by this fragment of a letter from James Richardson of Ded- 
 ham (afterwards Reverend J. Richardson), dated Dedharn, 
 September 7, 1837 : 
 
 " FBIEND THOREAU, After you had finished your part in 
 the Performances of Commencement (the tone and sentiment of 
 which, by the way, I liked much, as being 1 of a sound philoso 
 phy), I hardly saw you again at all. Neither at Mr. Quincy s 
 levee, neither at any of our classmates evening entertainments, 
 did I find you ; though for the purpose of taking a farewell, 
 and leaving you some memento of an old chum, as well as on 
 matters of business, I much wished to see your face once more. 
 Of course you must be present at our October meeting, 
 notice of the time and place for which will be given in the 
 newspapers. I hear that you are comfortably located, in your 
 native town, as the guardian of its children, in the immediate 
 vicinity, I suppose, of one of our most distinguished apostles 
 of the future, R. W. Emerson, and situated under the minis 
 try of our old friend Reverend Barzillai Frost, to whom please 
 make my remembrances. I heard from you, also, that Con 
 cord Academy, lately under the care of Mr. Phineas Allen of 
 Northfield, is now vacant of a preceptor; should Mr. Hoar 
 find it difficult to get a scholar college-distinguished, perhaps 
 he would take up with one, who, though in many respects a 
 critical thinker, and a careful philosopher of language among 
 other things, has never distinguished himself in his class as a 
 regular attendant on college studies and rules. If so, could 
 you do me the kindness to mention my name to him as of one 
 intending to make teaching his profession, at least for a part 
 of his life. If recommendations are necessary, President 
 Quincy has offered me one, and I can easily get others." 
 
2ET.20.] EMERSON AND THOREAU. 11 
 
 " Nature." But the soil in which that germina 
 ting seed fell was naturally prepared to receive 
 it; and the wide diversity between the master 
 and the disciple soon began to appear. In 1863, 
 reviewing Thoreau s work, Emerson said, " That 
 oaken strength which I noted whenever he 
 walked or worked, or surveyed wood-lots, the 
 same unhesitating hand with which a field- 
 laborer accosts a piece of work which I should 
 shun as a waste of strength, Henry shows in his 
 literary task. He has muscle, and ventures on 
 and performs feats which I am forced to decline. 
 In reading him I find the same thoughts, the 
 same spirit that is in me ; but he takes a step 
 beyond, and illustrates by excellent images that 
 which I should have conveyed in a sleepy gener 
 alization." True as this is, it omits one point of 
 difference only too well known to Emerson, 
 the controversial turn of Thoreau s mind, in 
 which he was so unlike Emerson and Alcott, 
 and which must have given to his youthful utter 
 ances in company the air of something requiring 
 an apology. 
 
 This, at all events, seems to have been the 
 feeling of Helen Thoreau, 1 whose pride in her 
 
 1 This eldest of the children of John Thoreau and Cynthia 
 Dunbar was born October 22, 1812, and died June 14, 1849. 
 Her grandmother, Mary Jones of Weston, Mass., belonged to 
 a Tory family, and several of the Jones brothers served as 
 officers in the British army against General Washington. 
 
12 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1837, 
 
 brother was such that she did not wish to see 
 him misunderstood. A pleasing indication of 
 both these traits is seen in the first extant letter 
 of Thoreau to this sister. I have this in an 
 autograph copy made by Mr. Emerson, when he 
 was preparing the letters for partial publication, 
 soon after Henry s death. For some reason he 
 did not insert it in his volume ; but it quite de 
 serves to be printed, as indicating the period 
 when it was clear to Thoreau that he must think 
 for himself, whatever those around him might 
 think. 
 
 TO HELEN THOREAU (AT TAUNTON). 
 
 CONCORD, October 27, 1837. 
 
 DEAR HELEN, Please you, let the defendant 
 say a few words in defense of his long silence. 
 You know we have hardly done our own deeds, 
 thought our own thoughts, or lived our own lives 
 hitherto. For a man to act himself, he must be 
 perfectly free ; otherwise he is in danger of los 
 ing all sense of responsibility or of self-respect. 
 Now when such a state of things exists, that the 
 sacred opinions one advances in argument are 
 apologized for by his friends, before his face, 
 lest his hearers receive a wrong impression of 
 the man, when such gross injustice is of fre 
 quent occurrence, where shall we look, and not 
 look in vain, for men, deeds, thoughts ? As 
 
2ET.20.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 13 
 
 well apologize for the grape that it is sour, or 
 the thunder that it is noisy, or the lightning that 
 it tarries not. 
 
 Further, letter-writing too often degenerates 
 into a communicating of facts, and not of truths ; 
 of other men s deeds and not our thoughts. What 
 are the convulsions of a planet, compared with 
 the emotions of the soul? or the rising of a 
 thousand suns, if that is not enlightened by a 
 
 ray? 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 It is presumed the tender sister did not need 
 a second lesson ; and equally that Henry did not 
 see fit always to write such letters as he praised 
 above, for he was quite ready to give his cor 
 respondents facts, no less than thoughts, espe 
 cially in his family letters. 
 
 Next to this epistle, chronologically, comes 
 one in the conventional dialect of the American 
 Indian, as handed down by travelers and ro 
 mancers, by Jefferson, Chateaubriand, Lewis, 
 Clarke, and Fenimore Cooper. John Thoreau, 
 Henry s brother, was born in 1815 and died 
 January 11, 1842. He was teaching at Taun- 
 ton in 1837. 
 
14 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1837, 
 
 TO JOHN THOREAU (AT TAUNTON). 
 (Written as from one Indian to another.) 
 
 MUSKETAQUID, 202 Summers, two Moons, eleven Suns, 
 
 since the coming of the Pale Faces. 
 
 (November 11, 1837.) 
 
 TAHATAWAN, Sachimaussan, to his brother 
 sachem, Hopeful of Hope well, hoping that he 
 is well : 
 
 Brother : It is many suns that I have not seen 
 the print of thy moccasins by our council-fire ; 
 the Great Spirit has blown more leaves from 
 the trees, and many clouds from the land of 
 snows have visited our lodge ; the earth has be 
 come hard, like a frozen buffalo-skin, so that the 
 trampling of many herds is like the Great Spir 
 it s thunder ; the grass on the great fields is like 
 the old man of many winters, and the small 
 song-sparrow prepares for his flight to the land 
 whence the summer comes. 
 
 Brother : I write these things because I know 
 that thou lovest the Great Spirit s creatures, 
 and wast wont to sit at thy lodge-door, when the 
 maize was green, to hear the bluebird s song. 
 So shalt thou, in the land of spirits, not only 
 find good hunting grounds and sharp arrow 
 heads, but much music of birds. 
 
 Brother : I have been thinking how the Pale 
 Faces have taken away our lands, and was a 
 
MT. 20.] TO JOHN THOREAU. 15 
 
 woman. You are fortunate to have pitched your 
 wigwam nearer to the great salt lake, where the 
 Pale Face can never plant corn. 
 
 Brother : I need not tell thee how we hunted 
 on the lands of the Dundees, a great war- 
 chief never forgets the bitter taunts of his ene 
 mies. Our young men called for strong water ; 
 they painted their faces and dug up the hatchet. 
 But their enemies, the Dundees, were women ; 
 they hastened to cover their hatchets with wam 
 pum. Our braves are not many; our enemies 
 took a few strings from the heap their fathers 
 left them, and our hatchets are buried. But not 
 Tahatawan s ; his heart is of rock when the 
 Dundees sing, his hatchet cuts deep into the 
 Dundee braves. 
 
 Brother : There is dust on my moccasins ; I 
 have journeyed to the White Lake, in the coun 
 try of the Ninares. 1 The Long-knife has been 
 
 1 White Pond, in the district called " Nine-Acre Corner," is 
 here meant; the "Lee-vites" were a family then living- on 
 Lee s Hill. Naushawtuck is another name for this hill, where 
 the old Tahatawan lived at times, before the English settled 
 in Concord in September, 1635. The real date of this letter 
 is November 11-14, 1837, and between its two dates the Massa 
 chusetts state election was held. The " great council-house " 
 was the Boston State House, to which the Concord people were 
 electing deputies ; the " Eagle-Beak " named below was doubt 
 less Samuel Hoar, the first citizen of the town, and for a time 
 Member of Congress from Middlesex County. He was the 
 father of Rockwood and Frisbie Hoar, afterwards judge and 
 senator respectively. 
 
16 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1837, 
 
 there, like a woman I paddled his war-canoe. 
 But the spirits of my fathers were angered ; the 
 waters were ruffled, and the Bad Spirit troubled 
 the air. 
 
 The hearts of the Lee-vites are gladdened; 
 the young Peacock has returned to his lodge at 
 Naushawtuck. He is the Medicine of his tribe, 
 but his heart is like the dry leaves when the 
 whirlwind breathes. He has come to help 
 choose new chiefs for the tribe, in the great 
 Council-house, when two suns are past. There 
 is no seat for Tahatawan in the council-house. 
 He lets the squaws talk, his voice is heard 
 above the warwhoop of his tribe, piercing the 
 hearts of his foes ; his legs are stiff, he cannot 
 sit. 
 
 Brother : Art thou waiting for the spring, that 
 the geese may fly low over thy wigwam ? Thy 
 arrows are sharp, thy bow is strong. Has Ana- 
 wan killed all the eagles ? The crows fear not 
 the winter. Tahatawan s eyes are sharp he 
 can track a snake in the grass, he knows a 
 friend from a foe ; he welcomes a friend to his 
 lodge though the ravens croak. 
 
 Brother : Hast thou studied much in the medi 
 cine-books of the Pale-Faces? Dost thou un 
 derstand the long talk of the Medicine whose 
 words are like the music of the mocking-bird ? 
 But our chiefs have not ears to hear him ; they 
 
jsT.20.] TO JOHN THOREAU. 17 
 
 listen like squaws to the council of old men, 
 they understand not his words. But, Brother, 
 he never danced the war-dance, nor heard the 
 warwhoop of his enemies. He was a squaw ; he 
 stayed by the wigwam when the braves were out, 
 and tended the tame buffaloes. 
 
 Fear not ; the Dundees have faint hearts and 
 much wampum. When the grass is green on 
 the great fields, and the small titmouse returns 
 again, we will hunt the buffalo together. 
 
 Our old men say they will send the young 
 chief of the Karlisles, who lives in the green 
 wigwam and is a great Medicine, that his word 
 may be heard in the long talk which the wise 
 men are going to hold at Shawmut, by the salt 
 lake. He is a great talk, and will not forget 
 the enemies of his tribe. 
 
 14th Sun. The fire has gone out in the coun 
 cil-house. The words of our old men have been 
 like the vaunts of the Dundees. The Eagle- 
 Beak was moved to talk like a silly Pale-Face, 
 and not as becomes a great war-chief in a coun 
 cil of braves. The young Peacock is a woman 
 among braves ; he heard not the words of the 
 old men, like a squaw he looked at his medi 
 cine-paper. 1 The young chief of the green wig- 
 
 1 A delicate sarcasm on young B., who could not finish his 
 speech in town-meeting without looking at his notes. The al 
 lusion to the " Medicine whose words are like the music of the 
 
18 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1837, 
 
 warn has hung up his moccasins; he will not 
 leave his tribe till after the buffalo have come 
 down on to the plains. 
 
 Brother : This is a long talk, but there is 
 much meaning to my words ; they are not like 
 the thunder of canes when the lightning smites 
 them. Brother, I have just heard thy talk and 
 am well pleased ; thou art getting to be a great 
 Medicine. The Great Spirit confound the ene 
 mies of thy tribe. 
 
 TAHATAWAN. 
 
 His mark (a bow and arrow). 
 
 This singular letter was addressed to John 
 Thoreau at Taunton, and was so carefully pre 
 served in the family that it must have had value 
 in their eyes, as recalling traits of the two Tho 
 reau brothers, and also events in the village 
 life of Concord, more interesting to the young 
 people of 1837 than to the present generation. 
 Some of its parables are easy to read, others 
 quite obscure. The annual state election was 
 an important event to Henry Thoreau then, 
 more so than it afterwards appeared; and he 
 
 mocking-bird " is hard to explain ; it may mean Edward Ever 
 ett, then governor of Massachusetts, or, possibly, Emerson, 
 whose lectures began to attract notice in Boston and Cam 
 bridge. It can hardly mean Wendell Phillips, though his 
 melodious eloquence had lately been heard in attacks upon 
 slavery. 
 
asT.20.] HENRY AND JOHN THOREAU. 19 
 
 was certainly on the Whig side in politics, like 
 most of the educated youths of Concord. His 
 "young chief of the Karlisles " was Albert Nel 
 son, son of a Carlisle physician, who began to 
 practice law in Concord in 1836, and was after 
 wards chief justice of the Superior Court. He 
 was defeated at the election of 1837, as candi 
 date of the Whigs for representative in the 
 state legislature, by a Democrat. Henry Vose, 
 above named, writing from " Butternuts," in 
 New York, three hundred miles west of Concord, 
 October 22, 1837, said to Thoreau : " You envy 
 my happy situation, and mourn over your fate, 
 which condemns you to loiter about Concord 
 and grub among clamshells [for Indian relics]. 
 If this were your only source of enjoyment while 
 in Concord, but I know that it is not. I well 
 remember that antique and fish-like office of 
 Major Nelson (to whom, and to Mr. Dennis, 
 and Bemis, and John Thoreau, I wish to be re 
 membered) ; and still more vividly do I remem 
 ber the fairer portion of the community in C." 
 This indicates a social habit in Henry and John 
 Thoreau, which the Indian "talk" also implies. 
 Tahatawan, whom Henry here impersonated, 
 was the mythical Sachem of Musketaquid (the 
 Algonquin name for Concord River and region), 
 whose fishing and hunting lodge was on the hill 
 Naushawtuck, between the two rivers so much 
 
20 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1838, 
 
 navigated by the Thoreaus. In 1837 the two 
 brothers were sportsmen, and went shooting over 
 the Concord meadows and moors, but of course 
 the " buffalo " was a figure of speech; they never 
 shot anything larger than a raccoon. A few 
 years later they gave up killing the game. 
 
 TO JOHN THOREAU (AT TAUNTON). 
 
 CONCORD, February 10, 1838. 
 
 DEAR JOHN, Dost expect to elicit a spark 
 from so dull a steel as myself, by that flinty 
 subject of thine? Truly, one of your copper 
 percussion caps would have fitted this nail-head 
 better. 
 
 Unfortunately, the "Americana" 1 has hardly 
 two words on the subject. The process is very 
 simple. The stone is struck with a mallet so as 
 to produce pieces sharp at one end, and blunt at 
 the other. These are laid upon a steel line 
 (probably a chisel s edge), and again struck 
 with the mallet, and flints of the required size 
 
 1 Americana, in this note, is the old Encyclopedia Americana, 
 which had been edited from the German Conversations-Lexicon, 
 and other sources, by Dr. Francis Lieber, T. G. Bradford, and 
 other Boston scholars, ten years earlier, and was the only con 
 venient book of reference at Thoreau s hand. The inquiry of 
 John Thoreau is another evidence of the interest he took, like 
 his brother, in the Indians and their flint arrow-heads. The 
 relics mentioned in the next letter were doubtless Indian wea 
 pons and utensils, very common about Taunton in the region 
 formerly controlled by King Philip, 
 
asT.20.] TO JOHN THOREAU. 21 
 
 are broken off. A skillful workman may make 
 a thousand in a day. 
 
 So much for the " Americana." Dr. Jacob 
 Bigelow in his "Technology" says, "Gunflints 
 are formed by a skillful workman, who breaks 
 them out with a hammer, a roller, and steel 
 chisel, with small, repeated strokes." 
 
 Your ornithological commission shall be exe 
 cuted. When are you coming home ? 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 HENKY D. THOREAU. 
 
 TO JOHN THOREAU (AT TAUNTON). 
 
 CONCORD, March 17, 1838. 
 
 DEAR JOHN, Your box of relics came safe 
 to hand, but was speedily deposited on the car 
 pet, I assure you. What could it be ? Some 
 declared it must be Tauntoii herrings : " Just 
 nose it, sir ! " So down we went onto our knees, 
 and commenced smelling in good earnest, 
 now horizontally from this corner to that, now 
 perpendicularly from the carpet up, now diago 
 nally, and finally with a sweeping movement 
 describing the circumference. But it availed 
 not. Taunton herring would not be smelled. 
 So we e en proceeded to open it vi et chisel. 
 What an array of nails! Four nails make a 
 quarter, four quarters a yard, i faith, this 
 is n t cloth measure ! Blaze away, old boy ! 
 
22 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1838, 
 
 Clap in another wedge, then ! There, softly ! 
 she begins to gape. Just give that old stick 
 ler, with a black hat on, another hoist. Aye, 
 we 11 pare his nails for him ! Well done, old 
 fellow, there s a breathing-hole for you. " Drive 
 it in ! " cries one ; " Nip it off ! " cries another. 
 Be easy, I say. What s clone may be undone. 
 Your richest veins don t lie nearest the surface. 
 Suppose we sit down and enjoy the prospect, 
 for who knows but we may be disappointed? 
 When they opened Pandora s box, all the con 
 tents escaped except Hope, but in this case hope 
 is uppermost, and will be the first to escape 
 when the box is opened. However, the general 
 voice was for kicking the coverlid off. 
 
 The relics have been arranged numerically 
 on a table. When shall we set up housekeep 
 ing ? Miss Ward thanks you for her share of 
 the spoils ; also accept many thanks from your 
 humble servant " for yourself." 
 
 I have a proposal to make. Suppose by the 
 time you are released we should start in com 
 pany for the West, and there either establish a 
 school jointly, or procure ourselves separate sit 
 uations. Suppose, moreover, you should get 
 ready to start previous to leaving Taunton, to 
 save time. Go I must, at all events. Dr. Jar- 
 vis enumerates nearly a dozen schools which I 
 could have, all such as would suit you equally 
 
2ET.20.] TO JOHN THOREAU. 23 
 
 well. 1 I wish you would write soon about this. 
 It is high season to start. The canals are now 
 open, and traveling comparatively cheap. I 
 think I can borrow the cash in this town. 
 There s nothing like trying. 
 
 Brigham wrote you a few words on the 8th, 
 which father took the liberty to read, with the 
 advice and consent of the family. He wishes 
 you to send him those (numbers) of the " Li 
 brary of Health" received since 1838, if you 
 are in Concord ; otherwise, he says you need 
 not trouble yourself about it at present. He is 
 in C., and enjoying better health than usual. 
 But one number, and that you have, has been 
 received. 
 
 The bluebirds made their appearance the 14th 
 day of March ; robins and pigeons have also 
 been seen. Mr. Emerson has put up the blue 
 bird box in due form. All send their love. 
 From your aff. br. 
 
 H. D. THOKEAU. 
 
 [Postscript by Helen Thoreau.] 
 
 DEAR JOHN, Will you have the kindness 
 
 1 Dr. Edward Jarvis, born in Concord (1803), had gone to 
 Louisville, Ky., in April, 1837, and was thriving there as a 
 physician. He knew the Thoreaus well, and gave them good 
 hopes of success in Ohio or Kentucky as teachers. The plan 
 was soon abandoned, and Henry went to Maine to find a 
 school, but without success. See Sanborn s Thoreau, p. 57. 
 
24 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1838, 
 
 to inquire at Mr. Marston s for an old singing- 
 book I left there, the " Handel and Haydn 
 Collection," without a cover? Have you ever 
 got those red handkerchiefs? Much love to 
 the Marstons, Crockers, and Muenschers. Mr. 
 Josiah Davis has failed. Mr. and Mrs. Howe 
 have both written again, urging my going to 
 Koxbury ; which I suppose I shall do. What 
 day of the month shall you return ? 
 
 HELEN. 
 
 One remark in this letter calls for attention, 
 that concerning the " bluebird box " for Mr. 
 Emerson. In 1853 Emerson wrote in his jour 
 nal : " Long ago I wrote of Gifts, and neglected 
 a capital example. John Thoreau, Jr., one day 
 put a bluebird s box on my barn, fifteen years 
 ago it must be, and there it still is, with 
 every summer a melodious family in it, adorning 
 the place and singing his praises. There s a 
 gift for you, which cost the giver no money, 
 but nothing which he bought could have been 
 so good. I think of another, quite inestimable. 
 John Thoreau knew how much I should value a 
 head of little Waldo, then five years old. He 
 came to me and offered to take him to a daguer- 
 reotypist who was then in town, and he (Tho 
 reau) would see it well done. He did it, and 
 brought me the daguerre, which I thankfully 
 
JST.20.] TO JOHN THOREAU. 25 
 
 paid for. A few months after, my boy died; 
 and I have since to thank John Thoreau for 
 that wise and gentle piece of friendship." 
 
 Little Waldo Emerson died January 27, 1842, 
 and John Thoreau the same month ; so that this 
 taking of the portrait must have been but a few 
 months before his own death, January 11. Henry 
 Thoreau was then living in the Emerson family. 
 
 TO JOHN THOREAU (AT WEST ROXBURY). 
 
 CONCORD, July 8, 1838. 
 
 DEAR JOHN, We heard from Helen to-day, 
 and she informs us that you are coming home 
 by the first of August. Now I wish you to 
 write and let me know exactly when your vaca 
 tion takes place, that I may take one at the 
 same time. I am in school from 8 to 12 in the 
 morning, and from 2 to 4 in the afternoon. 
 After that I read a little Greek or English, or, 
 for variety, take a stroll in the fields. We 
 have not had such a year for berries this long 
 time, the earth is actually blue with them. 
 High blueberries, three kinds of low, thimble- 
 and raspberries constitute my diet at present. 
 (Take notice, I only diet between meals.) 
 Among my deeds of charity, I may reckon the 
 picking of a cherry-tree for two helpless single 
 ladies, who live under the hill ; but i faith, it 
 was robbing Peter to pay Paul, for while I 
 
26 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1838, 
 
 was exalted in charity towards them, I had no 
 mercy on my own stomach. Be advised, my 
 love for currants continues. 
 
 The only addition that I have made to my 
 stock of ornithological information is in the 
 shape not of a Fring. Melod., but surely a 
 melodious Fringilla, the F. Juncorum, or 
 rush-sparrow. I had long known him by note, 
 but never by name. 
 
 Report says that Elijah Stearns is going to 
 take the town school. I have four scholars, and 
 one more engaged. Mr. Fenner left town yes 
 terday. Among occurrences of ill omen may be 
 mentioned the falling out and cracking of the 
 inscription stone of Concord Monument. 1 Mrs. 
 Lowell and children are at Aunts . Peabody 
 (a college classmate) walked up last Wednes 
 day, spent the night, and took a stroll in the 
 woods. 
 
 Sophia says I must leave off and pen a few 
 lines for her to Helen : so good-by. Love from 
 all, and among them your aff. brother, 
 
 H. D. T. 
 
 The school above mentioned as begun by 
 Henry Thoreau in this summer of 1838 was 
 
 1 This was the old monument of the Fight in 1775, for the 
 dedication of which Emerson wrote his hymn, " By the rude 
 bridge." This was sung by Thoreau, among others, to the 
 tune of Old Hundred. 
 
JET.21.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 27 
 
 joined in by John, after finishing his teaching 
 at West Roxbury, and was continued for several 
 years. It was in this school that Louisa Alcott 
 and her sister received some instruction, after 
 their father removed from Boston to Concord, 
 in the spring of 1840. It was opened in the 
 Parkmaii house, where the family then lived, 
 and soon after was transferred to the building 
 of the Concord Academy, 1 not far off. John 
 Thoreau taught the English branches and math 
 ematics ; Henry taught Latin and Greek and 
 the higher mathematics, and it was the cus 
 tom of both brothers to go walking with their 
 pupils one afternoon each week. It is as a pro 
 fessional schoolmaster that Henry thus writes to 
 his sister Helen, then teaching at Roxbury, after 
 a like experience in Taunton. 
 
 TO HELEN THOREAU (AT ROXBURY). 
 
 CONCORD, October 6, 1838. 
 
 DEAR HELEN, I dropped Sophia s letter 
 into the box immediately on taking yours out, 
 else the tone of the former had been changed. 
 
 I have no acquaintance with " Cleaveland s 
 First Lessons," though I have peeped into his 
 abridged grammar, which I should think very 
 well calculated for beginners, at least for such 
 
 1 For twenty-five years (1866-91) the house of Ellery Chan- 
 ning, and now of Charles Emerson, nephew of Waldo Emerson. 
 
28 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1838, 
 
 as would be likely to wear out one book before 
 they would be prepared for the abstruser parts 
 of grammar. Ahem ! 
 
 As no one can tell what was the Roman pro 
 nunciation, each nation makes the Latin con- 
 form, for the most part, to the rules of its own 
 language ; so that with us of the vowels only A 
 has a peculiar sound. In the end of a word of 
 more than one syllable it is sounded like " ah," 
 as pennah, Lydiah, Hannah, etc., without re 
 gard to case ; but " da " is never sounded " dah" 
 because it is a monosyllable. All terminations 
 in es, and plural cases in os, as you know, are 
 pronounced long, as homines (hominese), do- 
 minos (dominose), or, in English, Johnny Vose. 
 For information, see Adams " Latin Gram 
 mar," before the Rudiments. 
 
 This is all law and gospel in the eyes of the 
 world ; but remember I am speaking, as it were, 
 in the third person, and should sing quite a dif 
 ferent tune if it were I that made the quire. 
 However, one must occasionally hang his harp 
 on the willows, and play on the Jew s harp, in 
 such a strange country as this. 
 
 One of your young ladies wishes to study 
 mental philosophy, hey? Well, tell her that 
 she has the very best text-book that I know of 
 in her possession already. If she do not be 
 lieve it, then she should have bespoken another 
 
JET. 21.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 29 
 
 better in another world, and not have expected 
 to find one at " Little & Wilkins." But if she 
 wishes to know how poor an apology for a men 
 tal philosophy men have tacked together, syn 
 thetically or analytically, in these latter days, 
 how they have squeezed the infinite mind into 
 a compass that would not nonplus a surveyor of 
 Eastern Lands making Imagination and Mem 
 ory to lie still in their respective apartments 
 like ink-stand and wafers in a lady s escritoire, 
 - why let her read Locke, or Stewart, or Brown. 
 The fact is, mental philosophy is very like Pov 
 erty, which, you know, begins at home ; and in 
 deed, when it goes abroad, it is poverty itself. 
 
 Chorus. I should think an abridgment of 
 one of the above authors, or of Abercrombie, 
 would answer her purpose. It may set her 
 a-thinking. Probably there are many systems 
 in the market of which I am ignorant, 
 
 As for themes, say first "Miscellaneous 
 Thoughts." Set one up to a window, to note 
 what passes in the street, and make her com 
 ments thereon; or let her gaze in the fire, or 
 into a corner where there is a spider s web, and 
 philosophize, moralize, theorize, or what not. 
 What their hands find to putter about, or their 
 minds to think about, that let them write about. 
 To say nothing of advantage or disadvantage of 
 this, that, or the other, let them set down their 
 
30 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1840, 
 
 ideas at any given season, preserving the chain 
 of thought as complete as may be. 
 
 This is the style pedagogical. I am much 
 obliged to you for your piece of information. 
 Knowing your dislike to a sentimental letter, I 
 remain 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 H. D. T. 
 
 The next letter to Helen carries this pedagogi 
 cal style a little farther, for it is in Latin, ad 
 dressed " Ad Helenam L. Thoreau, Roxbury, 
 Mass.," and postmarked " Concord, Jan. 25 " 
 (1840). 
 
 TO HELEN THOREAU (AT ROXBURY). 
 
 CONCOBDIAE, Dec. Kal. Feb. A. D. MDCCCXL. 
 
 CAKA SOROR, Est magnus acervus nivis ad 
 limina, et frigus intolerabile intus. Coelurn ip- 
 sum ruit, credo, et terrain operit. Sero stratum 
 linquo et mature repeto ; in fenestris multa 
 pruina prospectum absumit ; et hie miser scribo, 
 non currente calamo, nam digiti mentesque tor- 
 pescunt. Canerem cum Horatio, si vox non 
 f aucibus haeserit, 
 
 Vides ut alta stet nive candidura 
 Nawshawtuct, nee jam sustineant onus 
 
 Silvae laborantes, geluque 
 
 Flumina constiterint acuto ? 
 
jsT.22.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 31 
 
 Dissolve f rigus, ligna super foco 
 Large reponens, etc. 
 
 Seel olim, Musa mutata, et laetiore plectro, 
 
 Neque jam stabulis gaudet pecus, aut arator igne, 
 
 Nee prata canis albicant pruinis ; 
 Jam Cytherea choros ducit Venus imminente luua. 
 
 Quam turdus ferrugineus ver recluxerit, tu, 
 spero, linques curas scliolasticas, et, negotio re- 
 ligato, desipere in loco audebis ; aut mecum in 
 ter sylvas, aut super scopulos Pulchri-Portus, 
 aut in cymba super lacum Waldensem, mulcens 
 fluctus manu, aut speciem miratus sub uiidas. 
 
 Bulwerius est mihi nomen incognitum, unus 
 ex ignobile vulgo, nee refutandus nee laudandus. 
 Certe alicui nonnullam honorem habeo qui in- 
 sanabili cacoethe scribendi teneatur. 
 
 Specie flagrantis Lexingtonis non somnia de- 
 turbat? At non Vulcaiium Neptunumque cul- 
 peinus, cum superstitioso grege. Natura curat 
 animalculis aeque ac hominibus ; cum serena, 
 turn procellosa, arnica est. 
 
 Si amas liistoriam et fortia facta heroum, non 
 depone Rollin, precor; ne Clio offenclas iiuiic, 
 nee ilia det veniam olim. Quos libros Latinos 
 legis? legis, inquam, non studes. Beatus qui 
 potest suos libellos tractare, et saepe perlegere, 
 sine metu domini urgentis ! ab otio injurioso 
 procul est: suos amicos et vocare et dimittere 
 quandocunque velit, potest. Bonus liber opus 
 
32 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1840, 
 
 nobilissimum liominis. Hinc ratio non modo 
 cur legeres, sed cur tu quoque scriberes ; nee 
 lectores carent ; ego sum. Si non librum medi- 
 taris, libellum certe. Niliil posteris proderit te 
 spirasse, et vitam nunc leniter iiiinc aspere 
 egisse ; sed cogitasse praecipue et scripsisse. 
 Vereor ne tibi pertaesum hujus epistolae sit ; 
 necnon alma lux caret, 
 
 Majoresque cadunt altis de montibus umbrae. 
 
 Quamobrem vale, imo valete, et requiescatis 
 placide, Sorores. 
 
 H. D. THOREAUS. 
 Memento scribere ! 
 
 CARA SOPHIA, Samuel Niger crebris aegro- 
 tationibus, quae agilitatem et aequum animum 
 abstulere, obnoxius est; iis temporibus ad eel- 
 lam descendit, et multas horas (ibi) manet. 
 
 Flores, ah crudelis pruina ! parvo leti discrim- 
 ine sunt. Cactus frigore ustus est, gerania vero 
 adhuc vigent. 
 
 Conventus sociabiles hac hieme reinstituti fu- 
 ere. Conveniunt (?) ad meum donium niense 
 quarto vel quiiito, ut tu hie esse possis. Mater- 
 tera Sophia cum nobis remanet ; quando urbem 
 revertet non scio. Gravedine etiamnum, sed 
 non tarn aegre, laboramus. 
 
 Adolescentula E. White apud pagum paulis- 
 
2BT.22.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 33 
 
 per moratur. Memento scribere intra duas heb- 
 domedas. 
 
 Te valere desiderium est 
 
 Tui Matris, 
 
 C. THOREAUS. 
 
 P. S. Epistolam die soils proxima expecta- 
 mus. (Amanuense, H. D. T.) 
 
 Barring a few slips, this is a good and lively 
 piece of Latin, and noticeable for its thought as 
 well as its learning and humor. The poets were 
 evidently his favorites among Latin authors. 
 Shall we attempt a free translation, such as 
 Thoreau would give ? 
 
 VERNACULAR VERSION. 
 
 CONCOKD, January 23, 1840. 
 
 DEAR SISTER, There is a huge snowdrift at 
 the door, and the cold inside is intolerable. The 
 very sky is coming down, I guess, and covering 
 up the ground. I turn out late in the morning, 
 and go to bed early ; there is thick frost on the 
 windows, shutting out the view ; and here I write 
 in pain, for fingers and brains are numb. I 
 would chant with Horace, if my voice did not 
 stick in my throat, 
 
 See how Nashawtuck, deep in snow, 
 Stands glittering , while the bending woods 
 
34 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1840, 
 
 Scarce bear their burden, and the floods 
 Feel arctic winter stay their flow. 
 
 Pile on the firewood, melt the cold, 
 Spare nothing 1 , etc. 
 
 But soon, changing my tune, and with a cheer- 
 fuller note, I 11 say, 
 
 No longer the flock huddles up in the stall, the plowman bends 
 
 over the fire, 
 
 No longer frost whitens the meadow ; 
 But the goddess of love, while the moon shines above, 
 Sets us dancing in light and in shadow. 
 
 When Robin Redbreast brings back the 
 springtime, I trust that you will lay your school- 
 duties aside, cast off care, and venture to be gay 
 now and then ; roaming with me in the woods, 
 or climbing the Fairhaven cliffs, or else, in 
 my boat on Walden, let the water kiss your 
 hand, or gaze at your image in the wave. 
 
 Bulwer is to me a name unknown, one of 
 the unnoticed crowd, attracting neither blame 
 nor praise. To be sure, I hold any one in some 
 esteem who is helpless in the grasp of the writ 
 ing demon. 
 
 Does not the image of the Lexington afire 
 trouble your dreams? 1 But we may not, like 
 the superstitious mob, blame Vulcan or Neptune, 
 neither fire nor water was in fault. Nature 
 
 1 The steamer Lexington lately burnt on Long Island Sound, 
 with Dr. Follen on board. 
 
J5T.22.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 35 
 
 takes as much care for midgets as for mankind ; 
 she is our friend in storm and in calm. 
 
 If you like history, and the exploits of the 
 brave, don t give up Rollin, I beg ; thus would 
 you displease Clio, who might not forgive you 
 hereafter. What Latin are you reading? I 
 mean reading, not studying. Blessed is the man 
 who can have his library at hand, and oft peruse 
 the books, without the fear of a taskmaster ! he 
 is far enough from harmful idleness, who can 
 call in and dismiss these friends when he pleases. 
 An honest book s the noblest work of Man. 
 There s a reason, now, not only for your read 
 ing, but for writing something, too. You will 
 not lack readers, here am I, for one. If you 
 cannot compose a volume, then try a tract. It 
 will do the world no good, hereafter, if you 
 merely exist, and pass life smoothly or roughly ; 
 but to have thoughts, and write them down, that 
 helps greatly. 
 
 I fear you will tire of this epistle ; the light 
 of day is dwindling, too, 
 
 And longer fall the shadows of the hills. 
 
 Therefore, good-by; fare ye well, and sleep 
 in quiet, both my sisters ! Don t forget to write. 
 
 H. D. THOKEAU. 
 
36 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1840, 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. (BY MRS. THOREAU.) 
 
 DEAR SOPHIA, Sam Black (the cat) is liable 
 to frequent attacks that impair his agility and 
 good-nature ; at such times he goes down cellar, 
 and stays many hours. Your flowers O, the 
 cruel frost ! are all but dead ; the cactus is with 
 ered by cold, but the geraniums yet flourish. 
 The Sewing Circle has been revived this winter ; 
 they meet at our house in April or May, so that 
 you may then be here. Your Aunt Sophia re 
 mains with us, when she will return to the 
 city I don t know. We still suffer from heavy 
 colds, but not so much. Young Miss E. White 
 is staying in the village a little while (is making 
 a little visit in town). Don t forget to write 
 within two weeks. We expect a letter next 
 Sunday. 
 
 That you may enjoy good health is the prayer 
 of Your mother, 
 
 C. THOREAU. 
 
 (H. D. T. was the scribe). 
 
 Cats were always an important branch of the 
 Thoreaus domestic economy, arid Henry was 
 more tolerant of them than men are wont to be. 
 Flowers were the specialty of Sophia, who, when 
 I knew her, from 1855 to 1876, usually had a 
 small conservatory in a recess of the dining- 
 
SIT. 22.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 37 
 
 room. At this time (1840) she seems to have 
 been aiding Helen in her school. The next let 
 ter, to Helen, is of a graver tone : 
 
 TO HELEN THOREAU (AT ROXBURY). 
 
 CONCORD, June 13, 1840. 
 
 DEAR HELEN, That letter to John, for 
 which you had an opportunity doubtless to sub 
 stitute a more perfect communication, fell, as 
 was natural, into the hands of his "transcen 
 dental brother," who is his proxy in such cases, 
 having been commissioned to acknowledge and 
 receipt all bills that may be presented. But 
 what s in a name ? Perhaps it does not matter 
 whether it be John or Henry. Nor will those 
 same six months have to be altered, I fear, to 
 suit his case as well. But methinks they have 
 not passed entirely without intercourse, provided 
 we have been sincere though humble worship 
 ers of the same virtue in the mean time. Cer 
 tainly it is better that we should make ourselves 
 quite sure of such a communion as this by the 
 only course which is completely free from suspi 
 cion, the coincidence of two earnest and as 
 piring lives, than run the risk of a disappoint 
 ment by relying wholly or chiefly on so meagre 
 and uncertain a means as speech, whether writ 
 ten or spoken, affords. How often, when we 
 have been nearest each other bodily, have we 
 
38 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1840, 
 
 really been farthest off ! Our tongues were the 
 witty foils with which we fenced each other off. 
 Not that we have not met heartily and with 
 profit as members of one family, but it was a 
 small one surely, and not that other human fam 
 ily. We have met frankly and without conceal 
 ment ever, as befits those who have an instinc 
 tive trust in one another, and the scenery of 
 whose outward lives has been the same, but 
 never as prompted by an earnest and affection 
 ate desire to probe deeper our mutual natures. 
 Such intercourse, at least, if it has ever been, 
 has not condescended to the vulgarities of oral 
 communication, for the ears are provided with 
 no lid as the eye is, and would not have been 
 deaf to it in sleep. And now glad am I, if I 
 am not mistaken in imagining that some such 
 transcendental inquisitiveness has traveled post 
 thither, for, as I observed before, where the 
 bolt hits, thither was it aimed, any arbitrary 
 direction notwithstanding. 
 
 Thus much, at least, our kindred tempera 
 ment of mind and body and long family-axiky 
 have done for us, that we already find our 
 selves standing on a solid and natural footing 
 with respect to one another, and shall not have 
 to waste time in the so often unavailing endeavor 
 to arrive fairly at this simple ground. 
 
 Let us leave trifles, then, to accident; and 
 
JET. 22.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 39 
 
 politics, and finance, and such gossip, to the mo 
 ments when diet and exercise are cared for, and 
 speak to each other deliberately as out of one 
 infinity into another, you there in time and 
 space, and I here. For beside this relation, all 
 books and doctrines are no better than gossip or 
 the turning of a spit. 
 
 Equally to you and Sophia, from 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 H. D. THOREAU. 
 
 We come now to the period when Thoreau 
 entered on more intimate relations with Emer 
 son. There was a difference of fourteen years 
 in their ages, which had hitherto separated them 
 intellectually ; but now the young scholar, thinker, 
 and naturalist had so fast advanced that he 
 could meet his senior on more equal terms, and 
 each became essential to the other. With all his 
 prudence and common sense, in which he sur 
 passed most men, Emerson was yet lacking in 
 some practical faculties ; while Thoreau was the 
 most practical and handy person in all matters 
 of every-day life, a good mechanic and gar 
 dener, methodical in his habits, observant and 
 kindly in the domestic world, and attractive to 
 children, who now were important members of 
 the Emerson household. He was therefore in 
 vited by Emerson to make his house a home, 
 
40 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1841, 
 
 looking after the garden, the business affairs, 
 and performing the office of a younger brother, 
 or a grown-up son. The invitation was accepted 
 in April, 1841, and Thoreau remained in the 
 family, with frequent absences, until he went in 
 May, 1843, to reside with Mr. William Emer 
 son, near New York, as the tutor of his sons. 
 During these two years much occurred of deep 
 moment to the two friends. Young Waldo Em 
 erson, the beautiful boy, died, and just before, 
 John Thoreau, the sunny and hopeful brother, 
 whom Henry seems to have loved more than any 
 human being. These tragedies brought the be 
 reaved nearer together, and gave to Mrs. Emer 
 son in particular an affection for Thoreau, and 
 a trust in him which made the intimate life of 
 the household move harmoniously, notwithstand 
 ing the independent and eccentric genius of 
 Thoreau. 
 
 TO MRS. LUCY BROWN 1 (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, July 21, 1841. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, Don t think I need any 
 prompting to write to you ; but what tough 
 
 1 Mrs. Brown was the elder sister of Mrs. R. W. Emerson 
 and of the eminent chemist and geologist, Dr. Charles T. Jack 
 son, of Plymouth and Boston. She lived for a time in Mrs. 
 Thoreau s family, and Thoreau s early verses, Sic Vita, were 
 thrown into her window there by the young- poet, wrapped 
 round a cluster of violets. 
 
JET. 24.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 41 
 
 earthenware shall I put into my packet to travel 
 over so many hills, and thrid so many woods, 
 as lie between Concord and Plymouth ? Thank 
 fortune it is all the way down hill, so they will 
 get safely carried ; and yet it seems as if it were 
 writing against time and the sun to send a letter 
 east, for no natural force forwards it. You 
 should go dwell in the West, and then I would 
 deluge you with letters, as boys throw feathers 
 into the air to see the wind take them. I should 
 rather fancy you at evening dwelling far away 
 behind the serene curtain of the West, the 
 home of fair weather, than over by the chilly 
 sources of the east wind. 
 
 What quiet thoughts have you nowadays 
 which will float on that east wind to west, for 
 so we may make our worst servants our car 
 riers, what progress made from cant to can, 
 in practice and theory ? Under this category, 
 you remember, we used to place all our philoso 
 phy. Do you have any still, startling, well mo 
 ments, in which you think grandly, and speak 
 with emphasis ? Don t take this for sarcasm, 
 for not in a year of the gods, I fear, will such 
 a golden approach to plain speaking revolve 
 again. But away with such fears ; by a few 
 miles of travel we have not distanced each oth 
 er s sincerity. 
 
 I grow savager and savager every day, as if 
 
42 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1841, 
 
 fed on raw meat, and my tameiiess is only the 
 repose of untamableness. I dream of looking 
 abroad summer and winter, with free gaze, from 
 some mountain-side, while my eyes revolve in 
 an Egyptian slime of health, I to be nature 
 looking into nature with such easy sympathy as 
 the blue-eyed grass in the meadow looks in the 
 face of the sky. From some such recess I 
 would put forth sublime thoughts daily, as the 
 plant puts forth leaves. Now-a-nights I go on 
 to the hill to see the sun set, as one would go 
 home at evening ; the bustle of the village has 
 run on all day, and left me quite in the rear ; 
 but I see the sunset, and find that it can wait 
 for my slow virtue. 
 
 But I forget that you think more of this 
 human nature than of this nature I praise. 
 Why won t you believe that mine is more human 
 than any single man or woman can be ? that in 
 it, in the sunset there, are all the qualities that 
 can adorn a household, and that sometimes, in 
 a fluttering leaf, one may hear all your Chris 
 tianity preached. 
 
 You see how unskillful a letter-writer I am, 
 thus to have come to the end of my sheet when 
 hardly arrived at the beginning of my story. I 
 was going to be soberer, I assure you, but now 
 have only room to add, that if the fates allot 
 
2ET. 24.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 43 
 
 you a serene hour, don t fail to communicate 
 some of its serenity to your friend, 
 
 HENRY D. THOEEAU. 
 
 No, no. Improve so rare a gift for yourself, 
 and send me of your leisure. 
 
 TO MRS. LUCY BROWN (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, Wednesday evening 1 , 
 September 8, [1841.] 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, Your note came wafted to 
 my hand like the first leaf of the Fall on the Sep 
 tember wind, and I put only another interpreta 
 tion upon its lines than upon the veins of those 
 which are soon to be strewed around me. It is 
 nothing but Indian Summer here at present. I 
 mean that any weather seems reserved expressly 
 for our late purposes whenever we happen to be 
 fulfilling them. I do not know what right I 
 have to so much happiness, but rather hold it 
 in reserve till the time of my desert. 
 
 What with the crickets and the crowing of 
 cocks, and the lowing of kiiie, our Concord life 
 is sonorous enough. Sometimes I hear the cock 
 bestir himself on his perch under my feet, and 
 crow shrilly before dawn ; and I think I might 
 have been born any year for all the phenomena 
 I know. We count sixteen eggs daily now, 
 when arithmetic will only fetch the hens up to 
 
44 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1841, 
 
 thirteen ; but the world is young, and we wait 
 to see this eccentricity complete its period. 
 
 My verses on Friendship are already printed 
 in the " Dial ; " not expanded, but reduced to 
 completeness by leaving out the long lines, 
 which always have, or should have, a longer or 
 at least another sense than short ones. 
 
 Just now I am in the mid-sea of verses, and 
 they actually rustle around me as the leaves 
 would round the head of Autumnus himself 
 should he thrust it up through some vales which 
 I know ; but, alas ! many of them are but 
 crisped and yellow leaves like his, I fear, and 
 will deserve no better fate than to make mould 
 for new harvests. I see the stanzas rise around 
 me, verse upon verse, far and near, like the 
 mountains from Agiocochook, not all having a 
 terrestrial existence as yet, even as some of them 
 may be clouds ; but I fancy I see the gleam of 
 some Sebago Lake and Silver Cascade, at whose 
 well I may drink one day. I am as unfit for 
 any practical purpose I mean for the further 
 ance of the world s ends as gossamer for ship- 
 timber ; and I, who am going to be a pencil- 
 maker to-morrow, 1 can sympathize with God 
 Apollo, who served King Admetus for a while 
 on earth. But I believe he found it for his ad- 
 
 1 This business of pencil-making had become the family 
 bread-winner, and Henry Thoreau worked at it and kindred 
 arts by intervals for the next twenty years. 
 
^ET. 24.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 45 
 
 vantage at last, as I am sure I shall, though 
 I shall hold the nobler part at least out of the 
 service. 
 
 Don t attach any undue seriousness to this 
 threnody, for I love my fate to the very core 
 and rind, and could swallow it without paring 
 it, I think. You ask if I have written any more 
 poems ? Excepting those which Vulcan is now 
 forging, I have only discharged a few more bolts 
 into the horizon, in all, three hundred verses, 
 and sent them, as I may say, over the moun 
 tains to Miss Fuller, who may have occasion to 
 remember the old rhyme : 
 
 " Three scipen gode 
 Comen mid than flode 
 Three hundred cnihten." 
 
 But these are far more Vandalic than they. In 
 this narrow sheet there is not room even for one 
 thought to root itself. But you must consider 
 this an odd leaf of a volume, and that volume 
 Your friend, 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
 TO MRS. LUCY BROWN (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, October 5, 1841. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, I send you Williams s * let 
 ter as the last remembrancer to one of those 
 " whose acquaintance he had the pleasure to 
 
 1 I. T. Williams, who had lived in Concord, but now wrote 
 from Buffalo, N. Y. 
 
46 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1841, 
 
 form while in Concord." It came quite unex 
 pectedly to me, but I was very glad to receive 
 it, though I hardly know whether my utmost 
 sincerity and interest can inspire a sufficient 
 answer to it. I should like to have you send it 
 back by some convenient opportunity. 
 
 Pray let me know what you are thinking 
 about any day, what most nearly concerns 
 you. Last winter, you know, you did more than 
 your share of the talking, and I did not com 
 plain for want of an opportunity. Imagine 
 your stove-door out of order, at least, and then 
 while I am fixing it you will think of enough 
 things to say. 
 
 What makes the value of your life at pres 
 ent ? what dreams have you, and what realiza 
 tions? You know there is a high table-land 
 which not even the east wind reaches. Now 
 can t we walk and chat upon its plane still, as if 
 there were no lower latitudes ? Surely our two 
 destinies are topics interesting and grand enough 
 for any occasion. 
 
 I hope you have many gleams of serenity and 
 health, or, if your body will grant you no posi 
 tive respite, that you may, at any rate, enjoy 
 your sickness occasionally, as much as I used to 
 tell of. But here is the bundle going to be 
 done up, so accept a " good-night " from 
 
 HENRY D. THOREATJ. 
 
arc. 24.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 47 
 
 TO MRS. LUCY BROWN (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, March 2, 1842. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, I believe I have nothing 
 new to tell you, for what was news you have 
 learned from other sources. I am much the 
 same person that I was, who should be so much 
 better ; yet when I realize what has transpired, 
 and the greatness of the part I am unconsciously 
 acting, I am thrilled, and it seems as if there 
 were none in history to match it. 
 
 Soon after John s death I listened to a music- 
 box, and if, at any time, that event had seemed 
 inconsistent with the beauty and harmony of the 
 universe, it was then gently constrained into the 
 placid course of nature by those steady notes, in 
 mild and unoffended tone echoing far and wide 
 under the heavens. But I find these things 
 more strange than sad to me. What right have 
 I to grieve, who have not ceased to wonder? 
 We feel at first as if some opportunities of kind 
 ness and sympathy were lost, but learn after 
 ward that any pure grief is ample recompense 
 for all. That is, if we are faithful ; for a great 
 grief is but sympathy with the soul that dis 
 poses events, and is as natural as the resin on 
 Arabian trees. Only Nature has a right to 
 grieve perpetually, for she only is innocent. 
 Soon the ice will melt, and the blackbirds sing 
 
48 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1841, 
 
 along the river which he frequented, as pleas 
 antly as ever. The same everlasting serenity 
 will appear in this face of God, and we will not 
 be sorrowful if he is not. 
 
 We are made happy when reason can discover 
 no occasion for it. The memory of some past 
 moments is more persuasive than the experience 
 of present ones. There have been visions of 
 such breadth and brightness that these motes 
 were invisible in their light. 
 
 I do not wish to see John ever again, I mean 
 him who is dead, but that other, whom only 
 he woidd have wished to see, or to be, of whom 
 he was the imperfect representative. For we are 
 not what we are, nor do we treat or esteem each 
 other for such, but for what we are capable of 
 being. 
 
 As for Waldo, he died as the mist rises from 
 the brook, which the sun will soon dart his rays 
 through. Do not the flowers die every autumn ? 
 He had not even taken root here. I was not 
 startled to hear that he was dead ; it seemed the 
 most natural event that could happen. His fine 
 organization demanded it, and nature gently 
 yielded its request. It would have been strange 
 if he had lived. Neither will nature manifest 
 any sorrow at his death, but soon the note of the 
 lark will be heard down in the meadow, and 
 fresh dandelions will spring from the old stocks 
 where he plucked them last summer. 
 
55T.25.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 49 
 
 I have been living ill of late, but am now 
 doing better. How do you live in that Plymouth 
 world, nowadays ? 1 Please remember me to 
 Mary Russell. You must not blame me if I do 
 talk to the clouds, for I remain 
 Your friend, 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
 TO MRS. LUCY BROWN (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, January 24, 1843. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, The other day I wrote you 
 a letter to go in Mrs. Emerson s bundle, but, as 
 
 1 Mrs. Brown, to whom this letter and several others of the 
 years 1841-43 were written, lived by turns in Plymouth, her 
 native place, and in Concord, where she often visited Mrs. 
 Emerson at the time when Thoreau was an inmate of the 
 Emerson household. In the early part of 1843 she was in 
 Plymouth, and her sister was sending 1 her newspapers and 
 other thing s, from time to time. The incident of the music- 
 box, mentioned above, occurred at the Old Manse, where Haw 
 thorne was living- from the summer of 1842 until the spring- of 
 1845, and was often visited by Thoreau and Ellery Channing 1 . 
 In the letter following-, this incident is recalled, and with it 
 the agreeable gift by Richard Fuller (a younger brother of 
 Margaret Fuller and of Ellen, the wife of Ellery Channing 1 , 
 who came to reside in Concord about these years, and soon 
 became Thoreau s most intimate friend), which was a music- 
 box for the Thoreaus. They were all fond of music, and 
 enjoyed it even in this mechanical form, one evidence of the 
 simple conditions of life in Concord then. The note of thanks 
 to young Fuller, who had been, perhaps, a pupil of Thoreau, 
 follows this letter to Mrs. Brown, though earlier in date. Mary 
 Russell afterwards became Mrs. Marston Watson. 
 
50 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 it seemed unworthy, I did not send it, and now, 
 to atone for that, I am going to send this, whether 
 it be worthy or not. I will not venture upon 
 news, for, as all the household are gone to bed, 
 I cannot learn what has been told you. Do you 
 read any noble verses nowadays ? or do not verses 
 still seem noble ? For my own part, they have 
 been the only things I remembered, or that 
 which occasioned them, when all things else 
 were blurred and defaced. All things have put 
 on mourning but they ; for the elegy itself is 
 some victorious melody or joy escaping from the 
 wreck. 
 
 It is a relief to read some true book, wherein 
 all are equally dead, equally alive. I think 
 the best parts of Shakespeare would only be 
 enhanced by the most thrilling and affecting 
 events. I have found it so. And so much the 
 more, as they are not intended for consolation. 
 
 Do you think of coming to Concord again ? I 
 shall be glad to see you. I should be glad to 
 know that I could see you when I would. 
 
 We always seem to be living just on the brink 
 of a pure and lofty intercourse, which would 
 make the ills and trivialness of life ridiculous. 
 After each little interval, though it be but for 
 the night, we are prepared to meet each other as 
 gods and goddesses. 
 
 I seem to have dodged all my days with one 
 
JET. 25.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 51 
 
 or two persons, and lived upon expectation, as 
 if the bud would surely blossom ; and so I am 
 content to live. 
 
 What means the fact, which is so common, 
 so universal, that some soul that has lost all 
 hope for itself can inspire in another listening 
 soul an infinite confidence in it, even while it is 
 expressing its despair ? 
 
 I am very happy in my present environment, 
 though actually mean enough myself, and so, of 
 course, all around me ; yet, I am sure, we for the 
 most part are transfigured to one another, and are 
 that to the other which we aspire to be ourselves. 
 The longest course of mean and trivial intercourse 
 may not prevent my practicing this divine cour 
 tesy to my companion. Notwithstanding all I 
 hear about brooms, and scouring, and taxes, and 
 housekeeping, I am constrained to live a strangely 
 mixed life, as if even Valhalla might have its 
 kitchen. We are all of us Apollos serving some 
 Admetus. 
 
 I think I must have some Muses in my pay 
 that I know not of, for certain musical wishes of 
 mine are answered as soon as entertained. Last 
 summer I went to Hawthorne s suddenly for the 
 express purpose of borrowing his music-box, and 
 almost immediately Mrs. Hawthorne proposed to 
 lend it to me. The other day I said I must go 
 to Mrs. Barrett s to hear hers, and, lo ! straight- 
 
52 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 way Richard Fuller sent me one for a present 
 from Cambridge. It is a very good one. I 
 should like to have you hear it. I shall not 
 have to employ you to borrow for me now. 
 Good-night. 
 
 From your affectionate friend, 
 
 H. D. T. 
 
 TO RICHARD F. FULLER (AT CAMBRIDGE). 
 
 CONCORD, January 16, 1843. 
 
 DEAR RICHARD, I need not thank you for 
 your present, for I hear its music, which seems 
 to be playing just for us two pilgrims marching 
 over hill and dale of a summer afternoon, up 
 those long Bolton hills and by those bright Har 
 vard lakes, such as I see in the placid Lucerne 
 on the lid ; and whenever I hear it, it will recall 
 happy hours passed with its donor. 
 
 When did mankind make that foray into na 
 ture and bring off this booty ? For certainly it 
 is but history that some rare virtue in remote 
 times plundered these strains from above and 
 communicated them to men. Whatever we may 
 think of it, it is a part of the harmony of the 
 spheres you have sent me; which has conde 
 scended to serve us Admetuses, and I hope I 
 may so behave that this may always be the tenor 
 of your thought for me. 
 
 If you have any strains, the conquest of your 
 
jsT.25.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 53 
 
 own spear or quill, to accompany these, let the 
 winds waft them also to me. 
 
 I write this with one of the " primaries " of 
 my osprey s wings, which I have preserved over 
 my glass for some state occasion, and now it 
 offers. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson sends her love. 
 
 TO MRS. LUCY BROWN (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, Friday evening-, 
 January 25, 1843. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, Mrs. Emerson asks me to 
 write you a letter, which she will put into her 
 bundle to-morrow along with the " Tribunes " and 
 " Standards," and miscellanies, and what not, to 
 make an assortment. But what shall I write ? 
 You live a good way off, and I don t know that 
 I have anything which will bear sending so far. 
 But I am mistaken, or rather impatient when I 
 say this, for we all have a gift to send, not 
 only when the year begins, but as long as inter 
 est and memory last. I don t know whether you 
 have got the many I have sent you, or rather 
 whether you were quite sure where they came 
 from. I mean the letters I have sometimes 
 launched off eastward in my thought; but if 
 you have been happier at one time than another, 
 think that then you received them. But this 
 that I now send you is of another sort. It will 
 
54 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 go slowly, drawn by horses over muddy roads, 
 and lose much of its little value by the way. 
 You may have to pay for it, and it may not 
 make you happy after all. But what shall be 
 my new-year s gift, then? Why, I will send 
 you my still fresh remembrance of the hours I 
 have passed with you here, for I find in the re 
 membrance of them the best gift you have left 
 to me. We are poor and sick creatures at best ; 
 but we can have well memories, and sound and 
 healthy thoughts of one another still, and an in 
 tercourse may be remembered which was without 
 blur, and above us both. 
 
 Perhaps you may like to know of my estate 
 nowadays. As usual, I find it harder to account 
 for the happiness I enjoy, than for the sadness 
 which instructs me occasionally. If the little of 
 this last which visits me would only be sadder, 
 it would be happier. One while I am vexed by 
 a sense of meanness ; one while I simply wonder 
 at the mystery of life ; and at another, and at 
 another, seem to rest on my oars, as if propelled 
 by propitious breezes from I know not what 
 quarter. But for the most part I am an idle, 
 inefficient, lingering (one term will do as well 
 as another, where all are true and none true 
 enough) member of the great commonwealth, 
 who have most need of my own charity, if I 
 could not be charitable and indulgent to myself, 
 
JET. 25.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 55 
 
 perhaps as good a subject for my own satire as 
 any. You see how, when I come to talk of my 
 self, I soon run dry, for I would fain make that 
 a subject which can be no subject for me, at 
 least not till I have the grace to rule myself. 
 
 I do not venture to say anything about your 
 griefs, for it would be unnatural for me to speak 
 as if I grieved with you, when I think I do not. 
 If I were to see you, it might be otherwise. But 
 I know you will pardon the trivialness of this 
 letter ; and I only hope as I know that you 
 have reason to be so that you are still happier 
 than you are sad, and that you remember that 
 the smallest seed of faith is of more worth than 
 the largest fruit of happiness. I have no doubt 
 
 that out of S s death you sometimes draw 
 
 sweet consolation, not only for that, but for 
 long-standing griefs, and may find some things 
 made smooth by it, which before were rough. 
 
 I wish you would communicate with me, and 
 not think me unworthy to know any of your 
 thoughts. Don t think me unkind because I 
 have not written to you. I confess it was for so 
 poor a reason as that you almost made a princi 
 ple of not answering. I could not speak truly 
 with this ugly fact in the way ; and perhaps I 
 wished to be assured, by such evidence as you 
 could not voluntarily give, that it was a kind 
 ness. For every glance at the moon, does she 
 
56 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 not send me an answering ray? Noah would 
 hardly have done himself the pleasure to release 
 his dove, if she had not been about to come back 
 to him with tidings of green islands amid the 
 waste. 
 
 But these are far-fetched reasons. I am not 
 speaking directly enough to yourself now ; so let 
 me say directly 
 
 From your friend, 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
 Exactly when correspondence began between 
 Emerson and Thoreau is not now to be ascer 
 tained, since all the letters do not seem to have 
 been preserved. Their acquaintance opened 
 while Thoreau was in college, although Emer 
 son may have seen the studious boy at the town 
 school in Concord, or at the "Academy" there, 
 while fitting for college. But they only came to 
 know each other as sharers of the same thoughts 
 and aspirations in the autumn of 1837, when, on 
 hearing a new lecture of Emerson s, Helen Tho 
 reau said to Mrs. Brown, then living or visiting 
 in the Thoreau family, " Henry has a thought 
 very like that in his journal " (which he had 
 newly begun to keep). Mrs. Brown desired to 
 see the passage, and soon bore it to her sister, 
 Mrs. Emerson, whose husband saw it, and asked 
 Mrs. Brown to bring her young friend to see 
 
am. 25.] THOREAU AND EMERSON. 57 
 
 him. By 1838 their new relation of respect was 
 established, and Emerson wrote to a correspond 
 ent, " I delight much in my young friend, who 
 seems to have as free and erect a mind as any I 
 have ever met." A year later (Aug. 9, 1839), he 
 wrote to Carlyle, " I have a young poet in this 
 village, named Thoreau, who writes the truest 
 verses." Indeed, it was in the years 1839-40 
 that he seems to have written the poems by which 
 he is best remembered. Thoreau told me in his 
 last illness that he had written many verses and 
 destroyed many, this fact he then regretted, 
 although he had done it at the instance of Em 
 erson, who did not praise them. But, said he, 
 " they may have been better than we thought 
 them, twenty years ago." 
 
 The earliest note which I find from Emerson 
 to Thoreau bears no date, but must have been 
 written before 1842, for at no later time could 
 the persons named in it have visited Concord 
 together. Most likely it was in the summer of 
 1840, and to the same date do I assign a note 
 asking Henry to join the Emersons in a party 
 to the Cliffs (scopuli Pulchri-Portus), and to 
 bring his flute, for on that pastoral reed Tho 
 reau played sweetly. The first series of letters 
 from Thoreau to Emerson begins early in 1843, 
 about the time the letters just given were writ 
 ten to Mrs. Brown. In the first he gives thanks 
 
58 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 to Emerson for the hospitality of his house in 
 the two preceding years ; a theme to which he 
 returned a few months later, for I doubt not 
 the lovely sad poem called " The Departure " 
 was written at Staten Island soon after his leav 
 ing the Emerson house in Concord for the more 
 stately but less congenial residence of William 
 Emerson at Staten Island, whither he betook 
 himself in May, 1843. This first letter, how 
 ever, was sent from the Concord home to Waldo 
 Emerson at Staten Island, or perhaps in New 
 York, where he was that winter giving a course 
 of lectures. 
 
 In explanation of the passages concerning 
 Bronson Alcott, in this letter, it should be said 
 that he was then living at the Hosmer Cottage, 
 in Concord, with his English friends, Charles 
 Lane and Henry Wright, and that he had re 
 fused to pay a tax in support of what he consid 
 ered an unjust government, and was arrested by 
 the constable, Sam Staples, in consequence. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (AT NEW YORK). 
 
 CONCORD, January 24, 1843. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, The best way to correct a 
 mistake is to make it right. I had not spoken 
 of writing to you, but as you say you are about 
 to write to me when you get my letter, I make 
 haste on my part in order to get yours the sooner. 
 
asT.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 59 
 
 I don t well know what to say to earn the forth 
 coming epistle, unless that Edith takes rapid 
 strides in the arts and sciences or music and 
 natural history as well as over the carpet; 
 that she says " papa " less and less abstractedly 
 every day, looking in my face, which may 
 sound like a Ram des Vackes to yourself. And 
 Ellen declares every morning that "papa may 
 come home to-night ; " and by and by it will 
 have changed to such positive statement as that 
 " papa came home larks night." 
 
 Elizabeth Hoar still flits about these clearings, 
 and I meet her here and there, and in all houses 
 but her own, but as if I were not the less of her 
 family for all that. I have made slight acquaint 
 ance also with one Mrs. Lidian Emerson, who 
 almost persuades me to be a Christian, but I 
 fear I as often lapse into heathenism. Mr. 
 O Sullivan a was here three days. I met him at 
 the Atheneum [Concord], and went to Haw 
 thorne s [at the Old Manse] to tea with him. 
 He expressed a great deal of interest in your 
 poems, and wished me to give him a list of 
 them, which I did ; he saying he did not know 
 but he should notice them. He is a rather puny- 
 looking man, and did not strike me. We had 
 nothing to say to one another, and therefore we 
 
 1 Editor of the Democratic Review, for which Hawthorne, 
 Emerson, Thoreau, and Whittier all wrote, more or less. 
 
60 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 said a great deal ! He, however, made a point 
 of asking me to write for his Keview, which I 
 shall be glad to do. He is, at any rate, one of 
 the not-bad, but does not by any means take you 
 by storm, no, nor by calm, which is the best 
 way. He expects to see you in New York. After 
 tea I carried him and Hawthorne to the Lyceum. 
 
 Mr. Alcott has not altered much since you 
 left. I think you will find him much the same 
 sort of person. With Mr. Lane I have had one 
 regular chat a la George Minott, which of course 
 was greatly to our mutual grati- and edification ; 
 and, as two or three as regular conversations 
 have taken place since, I fear there may have 
 been a precession of the equinoxes. Mr. Wright, 
 according to the last accounts, is in Lynn, with 
 uncertain aims and prospects, maturing slowly, 
 perhaps, as indeed are all of us. I suppose they 
 have told you how near Mr. Alcott went to the 
 jail, but I can add a good anecdote to the rest. 
 When Staples came to collect Mrs. Ward s taxes, 
 my sister Helen asked him what he thought Mr. 
 Alcott meant, what his idea was, and he 
 answered, " I vum, I believe it was nothing but 
 principle, for I never heerd a man talk hon- 
 ester." 
 
 There was a lecture 011 Peace by a Mr. Spear 
 (ought he not to be beaten into a ploughshare ?), 
 the same evening, and, as the gentlemen, Lane 
 
asT.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 61 
 
 and Alcott, dined at our house while the matter 
 was in suspense, that is, while the constable 
 was waiting for his receipt from the jailer, 
 we there settled it that we, that is, Lane and 
 myself, perhaps, should agitate the State while 
 Winkelried lay in durance. But when, over the 
 audience, I saw our hero s head moving in the 
 free air of the Universalist church, my fire all 
 went out, and the State was safe as far as I was 
 concerned. But Lane, it seems, had cogitated 
 and even written on the matter, in the afternoon, 
 and so, out of courtesy, taking his point of de 
 parture from the Spear-man s lecture, he drove 
 gracefully in medias res, and gave the affair a 
 very good setting out ; but, to spoil all, our mar 
 tyr very characteristically, but, as artists would 
 say, in bad taste, brought up the rear with a 
 "My Prisons," which made us forget Silvio 
 Pellico himself. 
 
 Mr. Lane wishes me to ask you to see if there 
 is anything for him in the New York office, and 
 pay the charges. Will you tell me what to do 
 with Mr. [Theodore] Parker, who was to lecture 
 February 15th ? Mrs. Emerson says my letter 
 is written instead of one from her. 
 
 At the end of this strange letter I will not 
 write what alone I had to say to thank you 
 and Mrs. Emerson for your long kindness to me. 
 It would be more ungrateful than my constant 
 
62 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 thought. I have been your pensioner for nearly 
 two years, and still left free as under the sky. 
 It has been as free a gift as the sun or the sum 
 mer, though I have sometimes molested you with 
 my mean acceptance of it, I who have failed 
 to render even those slight services of the liand 
 which would have been for a sign at least ; and, 
 by the fault of my nature, have failed of many 
 better and higher services. But I will not trou 
 ble you with this, but for once thank you as well 
 as Heaven. 
 
 Your friend, H. D. T. 
 
 Mrs. Lidian Emerson, the wife of R. W. Em 
 erson, and her two daughters, Ellen and Edith, 
 are named in this first letter, and will be fre 
 quently mentioned in the correspondence. At 
 this date, Edith, now Mrs. W. H. Eorbes, was 
 fourteen months old. Mr. Emerson s mother, 
 Madam Ruth Emerson, was also one of the 
 household, which had for a little more than 
 seven years occupied the well-known house un 
 der the trees, east of the village. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (AT NEW YORK). 
 
 CONCORD, February 10, 1843. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, I have stolen one of your 
 own sheets to write you a letter upon, and I 
 hope, with two layers of ink, to turn it into a 
 
MT. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 63 
 
 comforter. If you like to receive a letter from 
 me, too, I am glad, for it gives me pleasure to 
 write. But don t let it come amiss; it must 
 fall as harmlessly as leaves settle on the land 
 scape. I will tell you what we are doing this 
 now. Supper is done, and Edith the dessert, 
 perhaps more than the dessert is brought in, 
 or even comes in per se; and round she goes, 
 now to this altar, and then to that, with her 
 monosyllabic invocation of " oc," " oc." It 
 makes me think of " Langue d oc." She must 
 belong to that province. And like the gypsies 
 she talks a language of her own while she un 
 derstands ours. While she jabbers Sanscrit, 
 Parsee, Pehlvi, say " Edith go bah ! " and " bah " 
 it is. No intelligence passes between us. She 
 knows. It is a capital joke, that is the reason 
 she smiles so. How well the secret is kept ! she 
 never descends to explanation. It is not buried 
 like a common secret, bolstered up on two sides, 
 but by an eternal silence on the one side, at 
 least. It has been long kept, and comes in from 
 the unexplored horizon, like a blue mountain 
 range, to end abruptly at our door one day. 
 (Don t stumble at this steep simile.) And now 
 she studies the heights and depths of nature 
 
 On shoulders whirled in some eccentric orbit 
 Just by old Psestum s temples and the perch 
 Where Time doth plume his wings. 
 
64 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 And now she runs the race over the carpet, while 
 all Olympia applauds, inamma, grandma, and 
 uncle, good Grecians all, and that dark-hued 
 barbarian, Partheanna Parker, whose shafts go 
 through and through, not backward ! Grand 
 mamma smiles over all, and mamma is wonder 
 ing what papa would say, should she descend on 
 Carlton House some day. " Larks night " s 
 abed, dreaming of "pleased faces" far away. 
 But now the trumpet sounds, the games are 
 over ; some Hebe comes, and Edith is trans 
 lated. I don t know where ; it must be to some 
 cloud, for I never was there. 
 
 Query : what becomes of the answers Edith 
 thinks, but cannot express ? She really gives 
 you glances which are before this world was. 
 You can t feel any difference of age, except that 
 you have longer legs and arms. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson said I must tell you about do 
 mestic affairs, when I mentioned that I was going 
 to write. Perhaps it will inform you of the state 
 of all if I only say that I am well and happy 
 in your house here in Concord. 
 
 Your friend, HENRY. 
 
 Don t forget to tell us what to do with Mr. 
 Parker when you write next. I lectured this 
 week. It was as bright a night as you could 
 wish. I hope there were no stars thrown away 
 on the occasion. 
 
MT. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 65 
 
 [A part of the same letter, though bearing 
 a date two days later, and written in a wholly 
 different style, as from one sage to another, is 
 this postscript.] 
 
 February 12, 1843. 
 
 DEAR FEIEND, As the packet still tarries, 
 I will send you some thoughts, which I have 
 lately relearned, as the latest public and private 
 news. 
 
 How mean are our relations to one another ! 
 Let us pause till they are nobler. A little silence, 
 a little rest, is good. It would be sufficient em 
 ployment only to cultivate true ones. 
 
 The richest gifts we can bestow are the least 
 marketable. We hate the kindness which we 
 understand. A noble person confers no such 
 gift as his whole confidence : none so exalts the 
 giver and the receiver ; it produces the truest 
 gratitude. Perhaps it is only essential to friend 
 ship that some vital trust should have been re 
 posed by the one in the other. I feel addressed 
 and probed even to the remote parts of my being 
 when one nobly shows, even in trivial things, an 
 implicit faith in me. When such divine com 
 modities are so near and cheap, how strange that 
 it should have to be each day s discovery ! A 
 threat or a curse may be forgotten, but this mild 
 trust translates me. I am no more of this earth ; 
 
66 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 it acts dynamically; it changes my very sub 
 stance. I cannot do what before I did. I can 
 not be what before I was. Other chains may 
 be broken, but in the darkest night, in the re 
 motest place, I trail this thread. Then things 
 cannot happen. What if God were to confide 
 in us for a moment ! Should we not then be 
 gods? 
 
 How subtle a thing is this confidence ! No 
 thing sensible passes between ; never any conse 
 quences are to be apprehended should it be mis 
 placed. Yet something has transpired. A new 
 behavior springs ; the ship carries new ballast 
 in her hold. A sufficiently great and generous 
 trust could never be abused. It should be cause 
 to lay down one s life, which would not be to 
 lose it. Can there be any mistake up there? 
 Don t the gods know where to invest their 
 wealth ? Such confidence, too, would be recip 
 rocal. When one confides greatly in you, he 
 will feel the roots of an equal trust fastening 
 themselves in him. When such trust has been 
 received or reposed, we dare not speak, hardly 
 to see each other ; our voices sound harsh and 
 untrustworthy. We are as instruments which 
 the Powers have dealt with. Through what 
 straits would we not carry this little burden of 
 a magnanimous trust ! Yet no harm could pos 
 sibly come, but simply faithlessness. Not a 
 
JET. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 67 
 
 feather, not a straw, is intrusted ; that packet 
 is empty. It is only committed to us, and, as it 
 were, all things are committed to us. 
 
 The kindness I have longest remembered has 
 been of this sort, the sort unsaid ; so far be 
 hind the speaker s lips that almost it already 
 lay in my heart. It did not have far to go to 
 be communicated. The gods cannot misunder 
 stand, man cannot explain. We communicate 
 like the burrows of foxes, in silence and dark 
 ness, under ground. We are undermined by 
 faith and love. How much more full is Nature 
 where we think the empty space is than where 
 we place the solids ! full of fluid influences. 
 Should we ever communicate but by these ? The 
 spirit abhors a vacuum more than Nature. 
 There is a tide which pierces the pores of the 
 air. These aerial rivers, let us not pollute their 
 currents. What meadows do they course 
 through ? How many fine mails there are 
 which traverse their routes ! He is privileged 
 who gets his letter franked by them. 
 
 I believe these things. 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
 Emerson replied to these letters in two epis 
 tles of dates from February 4 to 12, 1843, 
 in the latter asking Thoreau to aid him in edit 
 ing the April number of the " Dial," of which 
 
68 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 he had taken charge. Among other things, 
 Emerson desired a manuscript of Charles Lane, 
 Alcott s English friend, to be sent to him in 
 New York, where he was detained several weeks 
 by his lectures. He added : " Have we no 
 news from Wheeler ? Has Bartlett none ? " 
 Of these persons, the first, Charles Stearns 
 Wheeler, a college classmate of Thoreau, and 
 later Greek tutor in the college, had gone to 
 Germany, where he died the next summer, 
 and was contributing to the quarterly " Dial." 
 Robert Bartlett, of Plymouth, a townsman of 
 Mrs. Emerson, was Wheeler s intimate friend, 
 with whom he corresponded. 1 To this editorial 
 
 1 An interesting fact in connection with Thoreau and 
 Wheeler (whose home was in Lincoln, four miles southeast of 
 Concord) is related by Ellery Channing in a note to me. It 
 seems that Wheeler had built for himself, or hired from a 
 farmer, a rough woodland study near Flint s Pond, half way 
 from Lincoln to Concord, which he occupied for a short time 
 in 1841-42, and where Thoreau and Channing visited him. 
 Mr. Channing wrote me in 1883 : " Stearns Wheeler built a 
 shanty on Flint s Pond for the purpose of economy, for pur 
 chasing Greek books and going abroad to study. Whether 
 Mr. Thoreau assisted him to build this shanty I cannot say, 
 but I think he may have ; also that he spent six weeks with 
 him there. As Mr. Thoreau was not too original and inven 
 tive to follow the example of others, if good to him, it is very 
 probable this undertaking of Stearns Wheeler, whom he re 
 garded (as I think I have heard him say) a heroic character, 
 suggested his own experiment on Walden. I believe I visited 
 this shanty with Mr. Thoreau. It was very plain, with bunks 
 of straw, and built in the Irish manner. I think Mr. Wheeler 
 
^T. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 69 
 
 request Thoreau, who was punctuality itself, re 
 plied at once. 
 
 TO E. W. EMERSON (AT NEW YORK). 
 
 CONCORD, February 15, 1843. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, I got your letters, one 
 yesterday and the other to-day, and they have 
 made me quite happy. As a packet is to go in 
 the morning, I will give you a hasty account of 
 the " Dial." I called on Mr. Lane this after 
 noon, and brought away, together with an abun 
 dance of good-will, first, a bulky catalogue of 
 books without commentary, some eight hun 
 dred, I think he told me, with an introduction 
 filling one sheet, ten or a dozen pages, say, 
 though I have only glanced at them ; second, 
 
 was as good a mechanic as Mr. Thoreau, and built this shanty 
 for his own use. The object of these two experiments was 
 quite unlike, except in the common purpose of economy. It 
 seems to me highly probable that Mr. Wheeler s experiment 
 suggested Mr. Thoreau s, as he was a man he almost wor 
 shiped. But I could not understand what relation Mr. Low 
 ell had to this fact, if it be one. Students, in all parts of the 
 earth, have pursued a similar course from motives of economy, 
 and to carry out some special study. Mr. Thoreau wished to 
 study birds, flowers, and the stone age, just as Mr. Wheeler 
 wished to study Greek. And Mr. Hotham came next from 
 just the same motive of economy (necessity) and to study the 
 Bible. The prudential sides of all three were the same." 
 Mr. Hotham was the young theological student who dwelt in 
 a cabin by Walden in 1809-70. 
 
70 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 a review twenty-five or thirty printed pages 
 of Conversations on the Gospels, Record of 
 a School, and Spiritual Culture, with rather 
 copious extracts. However, it is a good sub 
 ject, and Lane says it gives him satisfaction. 
 I will give it a faithful reading directly. [These 
 were Alcott s publications, reviewed by Lane.] 
 And now I come to the little end of the horn ; 
 for myself, I have brought along the Minor 
 Greek Poets, and will mine there for a scrap or 
 two, at least. As for Etzler, I don t remember 
 any " rude and snappish speech " that you made, 
 and if you did it must have been longer than 
 anything I had written ; however, here is the 
 book still, and I will try. Perhaps I have some 
 few scraps in my Journal which you may choose 
 to print. The translation of the ^Eschylus I 
 should like very well to continue anon, if it 
 should be worth the while. As for poetry, I 
 have not remembered to write any for some 
 time ; it has quite slipped my mind ; but some 
 times I think I hear the mutterings of the thun 
 der. Don t you remember that last summer we 
 heard a low, tremulous sound in the woods and 
 over the hills, and thought it was partridges or 
 rocks, and it proved to be thunder gone down 
 the river ? But sometimes it was over Wayland 
 way, and at last burst over our heads. So we 11 
 not despair by reason of the drought. You see 
 
jsT.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 71 
 
 it takes a good many words to supply the place 
 of one deed ; a hundred lines to a cobweb, and 
 but one cable to a man-of-war. The " Dial " 
 case needs to be reformed in many particulars. 
 There is no news from Wheeler, none from 
 Bartlett. 
 
 They all look well and happy in this house, 
 where it gives me much pleasure to dwell. 
 
 Yours in haste, HENRY. 
 
 P. S. 
 
 Wednesday evening, February 16. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, I have time to write a few 
 words about the " Dial." I have just received 
 the three first signatures, which do not yet com 
 plete Lane s piece. He will place five hundred 
 copies for sale at Munroe s bookstore. Wheeler 
 has sent you two full sheets more about the 
 German universities and proper names, which 
 will have to be printed in alphabetical order for 
 convenience ; what this one has done, that one 
 is doing, and the other intends to do. Ham- 
 mer-Purgstall (Von Hammer) may be one, for 
 aught I know. However, there are two or 
 three tilings in it, as well as names. One of 
 the books of Herodotus is discovered to be out 
 of place. He says something about having sent 
 to Lowell, by the last steamer, a budget of lit 
 erary news, which he will have communicated to 
 
72 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE, [1843, 
 
 you ere this. Mr. Alcott has a letter from He- 
 raud, 1 and a book written by him, the Life 
 of Savonarola, which he wishes to have re- 
 published here. Mr. Lane will write a notice 
 of it. (The latter says that what is in the New 
 York post-office may be directed to Mr. Alcott.) 
 Miss [Elizabeth] Peabody has sent a " Notice 
 to the readers of the Dial, " which is not 
 good. 
 
 Mr. Chapin lectured this evening, and so 
 rhetorically that I forgot my duty and heard 
 very little. I find myself better than I have 
 been, and am meditating some other method of 
 paying debts than by lectures and writing, 
 which will only do to talk about. If anything 
 of that " other " sort should come to your ears 
 in New York, will you remember it for me ? 
 
 Excuse this scrawl, which I have written over 
 the embers in the dining-room. I hope that you 
 live on good terms with yourself and the gods. 
 Yours in haste, HENRY. 
 
 Mr. Lane and his lucubrations proved to be 
 tough subjects, and the next letter has more to 
 say about them and the " Dial." Lane had 
 undertaken to do justice to Mr. Alcott and his 
 books, as may still be read in the pages of that 
 
 1 An English critic and poetaster. See Memoir of Bronson 
 Alcott, pp. 292-318. 
 
jsT.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 73 
 
 April number of the Transcendentalist quar 
 terly. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (AT NEW YORK). 
 
 CONCORD, February 20, 1843. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, I have read Mr. Lane s 
 review, and can say, speaking for this world and 
 for fallen man, that "it is good for us." As 
 they say in geology, time never fails, there is 
 always enough of it, so I may say, criticism 
 never fails ; but if I go and read elsewhere, I 
 say it is good, far better than any notice Mr. 
 Alcott has received, or is likely to receive from 
 another quarter. It is at any rate " the other 
 side," which Boston needs to hear. I do not 
 send it to you, because time is precious, and 
 because I think you would accept it, after all. 
 After speaking briefly of the fate of Goethe 
 and Carlyle in their own countries, he says, 
 " To Emerson in his own circle is but slowly 
 accorded a worthy response ; and Alcott, al 
 most utterly neglected," etc. I will strike out 
 what relates to yourself, and correcting some 
 verbal faults, send the rest to the printer with 
 Lane s initials. 
 
 The catalogue needs amendment, I think. It 
 wants completeness now. It should consist of 
 such books only as they would tell Mr. [F. H.] 
 Hedge and [Theodore] Parker they had got ; 
 
74 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 omitting the Bible, the classics, and much be 
 sides, for there the incompleteness begins. 
 But you will be here in season for this. 
 
 It is frequently easy to make Mr. Lane more 
 universal and attractive ; to write, for instance, 
 " universal ends " instead of " the universal 
 end," just as we pull open the petals of a flower 
 with our fingers where they are confined by its 
 own sweets. Also he had better not say " books 
 designed for the nucleus of a Home University," 
 until he makes that word " home " ring solid 
 and universal too. This is that abominable dia 
 lect, lie had just given me a notice of George 
 Bradford s Fenelon for the Eecord of the 
 Months, and speaks of extras of the Eeview and 
 Catalogue, if they are printed, even a hun 
 dred, or thereabouts. How shall this be ar 
 ranged ? Also he wishes to use some manu 
 scripts of his which are in your possession, if 
 you do not. Can I get them ? 
 
 I think of no news to tell you. It is a serene 
 summer day here, all above the snow. The hens 
 steal their nests, and I steal their eggs still, as 
 formerly. This is what I do with the hands. 
 Ah, labor, it is a divine institution, and con 
 versation with many men and hens. 
 
 Do not think that my letters require as many 
 special answers. I get one as often as you write 
 to Concord. Concord inquires for you daily, as 
 
JET. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 75 
 
 do all the members of this house. You must 
 make haste home before we have settled all the 
 great questions, for they are fast being disposed 
 of. But I must leave room for Mrs. Emerson. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson s letter, after speaking of other 
 matters, gave a lively sketch of Thoreau at one 
 of Alcott s Conversations in her house, which 
 may be quoted as illustrating the young Nature- 
 worshiper s position at the time, and the more 
 humane and socialistic spirit of Alcott and Lane, 
 who were soon to leave Concord for their exper 
 iment of communistic life at " Fruitlands," in 
 the rural town of Harvard. 
 
 " Last evening we had the Conversation, 
 though, owing to the bad weather, but few at 
 tended. The subjects were: What is Prophecy? 
 Who is a Prophet? and The Love of Nature. 
 Mr. Lane decided, as for all time and the race, 
 that this same love of nature of which Henry 
 [Thoreau] was the champion, and Elizabeth 
 Hoar and Lidian (though L. disclaimed possess 
 ing it herself) his faithful squiresses that this 
 love was the most subtle and dangerous of sins ; 
 a refined idolatry, much more to be dreaded than 
 gross wickednesses, because the gross sinner 
 would be alarmed by the depth of his degrada 
 tion, and come up from it in terror, but the un 
 happy idolaters of Nature were deceived by the 
 
76 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 refined quality of their sin, and would be the last 
 to enter the kingdom. Henry frankly affirmed 
 to both the wise men that they were wholly defi 
 cient in the faculty in question, and therefore 
 could not judge of it. And Mr. Alcott as 
 frankly answered that it was because they went 
 beyond the mere material objects, and were filled 
 with spiritual love and perception (as Mr. T. 
 was not), that they seemed to Mr. Thoreau not 
 to appreciate outward nature. I am very heavy, 
 and have spoiled a most excellent story. I have 
 given you no idea of the scene, which was ineffa 
 bly comic, though it made no laugh at the time 5 
 I scarcely laughed at it myself, too deeply 
 amused to give the usual sign. Henry was brave 
 and noble ; well as I have always liked him, he 
 still grows upon me." 
 
 Before going to Staten Island in May, 1843, 
 Thoreau answered a letter from the same Rich 
 ard Fuller who had made him the musical gift 
 in the previous winter. He was at Harvard 
 College, and desired to know something of Tho 
 reau s pursuits there, concerning which Chan- 
 ning says in his Life : l " He was a respectable 
 
 1 ThoreaUj the Poet-Naturalist. With Memorial Verses. By 
 William Ellery Channing (Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1873). 
 This volume, in some respects the best biography of Thoreau, 
 is now quite rare. Among the Memorial Verses are those 
 written by Channing for his friend s funeral ; at which, also, 
 Mr. Alcott read Thoreau s poem of Sympathy. 
 
J3T.25.] TO RICHARD F. FULLER. 11 
 
 student, having done there a bold reading in 
 English poetry, even to some portions or the 
 whole of Davenant s < Gondibert. " This, Tho- 
 reau does not mention in his letter, but it was 
 one of the things that attracted Emerson s no 
 tice, since he also had the same taste for the 
 Elizabethan and Jacobean English poets. An 
 English youth, Henry Headley, pupil of Dr. 
 Parr, .and graduate of Oxford in 1786, had pre 
 ceded Thoreau in this study of poets that had 
 become obsolete ; and it was perhaps Headley s 
 volume, " Select Beauties of Ancient English 
 Poetry, with Remarks by the late Henry Head- 
 ley," published long after his death, 1 that served 
 Thoreau as a guide to Quarles and the Fletch 
 ers, Daniel, Drummond, Dray ton, Habington, 
 and Raleigh, poets that few Americans had 
 heard of in 1833. 
 
 TO RICHARD F. FULLER (AT CAMBRIDGE). 
 
 CONCORD, April 2, 1843. 
 
 DEAR RICHARD, I was glad to receive a 
 letter from you so bright and cheery. You 
 speak of not having made any conquests with 
 your own spear or quill as yet ; but if you are 
 tempering your spear-head during these days, 
 
 1 Headley died at the age of twenty-three, in 1788. His 
 posthumous book was edited in 1810 by Rev. Henry Kett, and 
 published in London by John Sharp. 
 
78 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 and fitting a straight and tough shaft thereto, 
 will not that suffice? We are more pleased to 
 consider the hero in the forest cutting cornel or 
 ash for his spear, than marching in triumph 
 with his trophies. The present hour is always 
 wealthiest when it is poorer than the future 
 ones, as that is the pleasantest site which affords 
 the pleasantest prospects. 
 
 What you say about your studies furnishing 
 you with a "mimic idiom" only, reminds me 
 that we shall all do well if we learn so much as 
 to talk, to speak truth. The only fruit which 
 even much living yields seems to be often only 
 some trivial success, the ability to do some 
 slight thing better. We make conquest only of 
 husks and shells for the most part, at least 
 apparently, but sometimes these are cinnamon 
 and spices, you know. Even the grown hunter 
 you speak of slays a thousand buffaloes, and 
 brings off only their hides and tongues. What 
 immense sacrifices, what hecatombs and holo 
 causts, the gods exact for very slight favors! 
 How much sincere life before we can even utter 
 one sincere word. 
 
 What I was learning in college was chiefly, I 
 think, to express myself, and I see now, that as 
 the old orator prescribed, 1st, action ; 2d, ac 
 tion ; 3d, action ; my teachers should have pre 
 scribed to me, 1st, sincerity ; 2d, sincerity ; 3d, 
 
jsT.25.] TO RICHARD F. FULLER. 79 
 
 sincerity. The old mythology is incomplete 
 without a god or goddess of sincerity, on whose 
 altars we might offer up all the products of our 
 farms, our workshops, and our studies. It 
 should be our Lar when we sit on the hearth, 
 and our Tutelar Genius when we walk abroad. 
 This is the only panacea. I mean sincerity in 
 our dealings with ourselves mainly ; any other 
 is comparatively easy. But I must stop before 
 I get to ITthly. I believe I have but one text 
 and one sermon. 
 
 Your rural adventures beyond the West Cam 
 bridge hills have probably lost nothing by dis 
 tance of time or space. I used to hear only the 
 sough of the wind in the woods of Concord, 
 when I was striving to give my attention to a 
 page of Calculus. But, depend upon it, you will 
 love your native hills the better for being sepa 
 rated from them. 
 
 I expect to leave Concord, which is my Rome, 
 and its people, who are my Romans, in May, 
 and go to New York, to be a tutor in Mr. Wil 
 liam Emerson s family. So I will bid you good 
 by till I see you or hear from you again. 
 
 Going to Staten Island, early in May, 1843, 
 Thoreau s first care was to write to his "Ro 
 mans, countrymen, and lovers by the banks of 
 the Musketaquid," beginning with his mother, 
 
80 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 his sisters, and Mrs. Emerson. To Sophia and 
 Mrs. E. he wrote May 22, to Helen, with a 
 few touching verses on his brother John, the 
 next day ; and then he resumed the correspond 
 ence with Emerson. It seems that one of his 
 errands near New York was to make the ac 
 quaintance of literary men and journalists in 
 the city, in order to find a vehicle for publica 
 tion, such as his neighbor Hawthorne had finally 
 found in the pages of the "Democratic Keview." 
 For this purpose Thoreau made himself known 
 to Henry James, and other friends of Emerson, 
 and to Horace Greeley, then in the first fresh 
 ness of his success with the " Tribune," - a 
 newspaper hardly more than two years old then, 
 but destined to a great career, in which several 
 of the early Transcendentalists took some part. 
 
 TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER (AT CONCORD). 
 CASTLETON, STATEN ISLAND, May 11, 1843. 
 
 DEAR MOTHER AND FRIENDS AT HOME, 
 We arrived here safely at ten o clock on Sun 
 day morning, having had as good a passage as 
 usual, though we ran aground and were de 
 tained a couple of hours in the Thames River, 
 till the tide came to our relief. At length we 
 curtseyed up to a wharf just the other side of 
 their Castle Garden, very incurious about 
 them and their city. I believe my vacant looks, 
 
JET. 25.] TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER. 81 
 
 absolutely inaccessible to questions, did at length 
 satisfy an army of starving cabmen that I did 
 not want a hack, cab, or anything of that sort 
 as yet. It was the only demand the city made 
 on us ; as if a wheeled vehicle of some sort were 
 the sum and summit of a reasonable man s 
 wants. " Having tried the water," they seemed 
 to say, " will you not return to the pleasant se 
 curities of land carriage ? Else why your boat s 
 prow turned toward the shore at last?" They 
 are a sad-looking set of fellows, not permitted 
 to come on board, and I pitied them. They had 
 been expecting me, it would seem, and did really 
 wish that I should take a cab ; though they did 
 not seem rich enough to supply me with one. 
 
 It was a confused jumble of heads and soiled 
 coats, dangling from flesh-colored faces, all 
 swaying to and fro, as by a sort of undertow, 
 while each whipstick, true as the needle to the 
 pole, still preserved that level and direction in 
 which its proprietor had dismissed his forlorn 
 interrogatory. They took sight from them, 
 the lash being wound up thereon, to prevent your 
 attention from wandering, or to make it concen 
 tre upon its object by the spiral line. They be 
 gan at first, perhaps, with the modest, but rather 
 confident inquiry, "Want a cab, sir?" but as 
 their despair increased, it took the affirmative 
 tone, as the disheartened and irresolute are apt 
 
82 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 to do: "You want a cab, sir," or even, "You 
 want a nice cab, sir, to take you to Fourth 
 Street." The question which one had bravely 
 and hopefully begun to put, another had the 
 tact to take up and conclude with fresh empha 
 sis, twirling it from his particular whipstick 
 as if it had emanated from his lips as the sen 
 timent did from his heart. Each one could 
 truly say, "Them s my sentiments." But it was 
 a sad sight. 
 
 I am seven and a half miles from New York, 
 and, as it would take half a day at least, have 
 not been there yet. I have already run over no 
 small part of the island, to the highest hill, and 
 some way along the shore. From the hill di 
 rectly behind the house I can see New York, 
 Brooklyn, Long Island, the Narrows, through 
 which vessels bound to and from all parts of the 
 world chiefly pass, Sandy Hook and the High 
 lands of Neversink (part of the coast of New 
 Jersey) and, by going still farther up the 
 hill, the Kill van Kull, and Newark Bay. From 
 the pinnacle of one Madame Grimes house, the 
 other night at sunset, I could see almost round 
 the island. Far in the horizon there was a fleet 
 of sloops bound up the Hudson, which seemed 
 to be going over the edge of the earth ; and in 
 view of these trading ships, commerce seems 
 quite imposing. 
 
;ET.25.] TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER. 83 
 
 But it is rather derogatory that your dwelling- 
 place should be only a neighborhood to a great 
 city, to live on an inclined plane. I do not like 
 their cities and forts, with their morning and 
 evening guns, and sails flapping in one s eye. I 
 want a whole continent to breathe in, and a good 
 deal of solitude and silence, such as all Wall 
 Street cannot buy, nor Broadway with its 
 wooden pavement. I must live along the beach, 
 on the southern shore, which looks directly out 
 to sea, and see what that great parade of water 
 means, that dashes and roars, and has not yet 
 wet me, as long as I have lived. 
 
 I must not know anything about my condition 
 and relations here till what is not permanent is 
 worn off. I have not yet subsided. Give me 
 time enough, and I may like it. All my inner 
 man heretofore has been a Concord impression ; 
 and here come these Sandy Hook and Coney 
 Island breakers to meet and modify the former ; 
 but it will be long before I can make nature 
 look as innocently grand and inspiring as in 
 Concord. Your affectionate son, 
 
 HENKY D. THOKEAU. 
 
84 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 TO SOPHIA THOREAU (AT CONCORD). 
 
 CASTLETON, Staten Island, May 22, 1843. 
 
 DEAR SOPHIA, I have had a severe cold 
 ever since I came here, and have been confined 
 to the house for the last week with bronchitis, 
 though I am now getting out, so I have not seen 
 much in the botanical way. The cedar seems to 
 be one of the most common trees here, and the 
 fields are very fragrant with it. There are also 
 the gum and tulip trees. The latter is not very 
 common, but is very large and beautiful, having 
 flowers as large as tulips, and as handsome. It 
 is not time for it yet. 
 
 The woods are now full of a large honeysuckle 
 in full bloom, which differs from ours in being 
 red instead of white, so that at first I did not 
 know its genus. The painted cup is very com 
 mon in the meadows here. Peaches, and espe 
 cially cherries, seem to grow by all the fences. 
 Things are very forward here compared with 
 Concord. The apricots growing out of doors 
 are already as large as plums. The apple, pear, 
 peach, cherry, and plum trees have shed their 
 blossoms. The whole island is like a garden, 
 and affords very fine scenery. 
 
 In front of the house is a very extensive wood, 
 beyond which is the sea, whose roar I can hear 
 all night long, when there is a wind ; if easterly 
 
2ET.25.] TO SOPHIA THOREAU. 85 
 
 winds have prevailed on the Atlantic. There 
 are always some vessels in sight ten, twenty, 
 or thirty miles off and Sunday before last 
 there were hundreds in long procession, stretch 
 ing from New York to Sandy Hook, and far 
 beyond, for Sunday is a lucky day. 
 
 I went to New York Saturday before last. A 
 walk of half an hour, by half a dozen houses 
 along the Richmond Road, that is the road that 
 leads to Richmond, on which we live, brings 
 me to the village of Stapleton, in Southfield, 
 where is the lower dock ; but if I prefer I can 
 walk along the shore three quarters of a mile 
 farther toward New York to the quarantine vil 
 lage of Castleton, to the upper dock, which the 
 boat leaves five or six times every day, a quarter 
 of an hour later than the former place. Farther 
 on is the village of New Brighton, and farther 
 still Port Richmond, which villages another 
 steamboat visits. 
 
 In New York I saw George Ward, and also 
 Giles Waldo and William Tappan, whom I can 
 describe better when I have seen them more. 
 They are young friends of Mr. Emerson. Waldo 
 came down to the island to see me the next day. 
 I also saw the Great Western, the Croton water 
 works, and the picture gallery of the National 
 Academy of Design. But I have not had time 
 to see or do much yet. 
 
86 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 Tell Miss Ward I shall try to put my micro 
 scope to a good use, and if I find any new and 
 preservable flower, will throw it into my common 
 place book. Garlic, the original of the common 
 onion, grows here all over the fields, and during 
 its season spoils the cream and butter for the 
 market, as the cows like it very much. 
 
 Tell Helen there are two schools of late estab 
 lished in the neighborhood, with large prospects, 
 or rather designs, one for boys and another for 
 girls. The latter by a Miss Errington, and 
 though it is only small as yet, I will keep my 
 ears open for her in such directions. The en 
 couragement is very slight. 
 
 I hope you will not be washed away by the 
 Irish sea. 
 
 Tell Mother I think my cold was not wholly 
 owing to imprudence. Perhaps I was being 
 acclimated. 
 
 Tell Father that Mr. Tappan, whose son I 
 know, and whose clerks young Tappan and 
 Waldo are, has invented and established a 
 new and very important business, which Waldo 
 thinks would allow them to burn ninety-nine out 
 of one hundred of the stores in New York, which 
 now only offset and cancel one another. It is a 
 kind of intelligence office for the whole country, 
 with branches in the principal cities, giving 
 information with regard to the credit and affairs 
 
MT. 25.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 87 
 
 of every man of business of the country. Of 
 course it is not popular at the South and West. 
 It is an extensive business and will employ a 
 great many clerks. 
 
 Love to all not forgetting aunt and aunts 
 and Miss and Mrs. Ward. 
 
 On the 23d of May he wrote from Castleton 
 to his sister Helen thus : 
 
 DEAR HELEN, In place of something fresher, 
 I send you the following verses from my Journal, 
 written some time ago : 
 
 Brother, where dost thou dwell ? 
 
 What sun shines for thee now ? 
 Dost thou indeed fare well 
 
 As we wished here below ? 
 
 What season didst thou find ? 
 
 T was winter here. 
 Are not the Fates more kind 
 
 Than they appear ? 
 
 Is thy brow clear again, 
 
 As in thy youthful years ? 
 And was that ugly pain 
 
 The summit of thy fears ? l 
 
 1 An allusion to the strange and painful death of John 
 Thoreau, by lockjaw. He had- slightly wounded himself in 
 shaving, and the cut became inflamed and brought on that 
 hideous and deforming malady, of which, by sympathy, Henry 
 also partook, though he recovered. 
 
88 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 Yet tliou wast cheery still ; . 
 
 They could not quench thy fire ; 
 Thou didst abide their will, 
 
 And then retire. 
 
 Where chiefly shall I look 
 
 To feel thy presence near ? 
 Along 1 the neighboring brook 
 
 May I thy voice still hear ? 
 
 Dost thou still haunt the brink 
 
 Of yonder river s tide ? 
 And may I ever think 
 
 That thou art by my side ? 
 
 What bird wilt thou employ 
 
 To bring 1 me word of thee ? 
 For it would give them joy, 
 
 T would give them liberty, 
 To serve their former lord 
 
 With wing and minstrelsy. 
 
 A sadder strain mixed with their song, 
 They ve slowlier built their nests ; 
 
 Since thou art gone 
 
 Their lively labor rests. 
 
 Where is the finch, the thrush 
 
 I used to hear ? 
 Ah, they could well abide 
 
 The dying year. 
 
 Now they no more return, 
 
 I hear them not ; 
 They have remained to mourn ; 
 
 Or else forgot. 
 
JET. 25.] TO MRS. EMERSON. 89 
 
 As the first letter of Thoreau to Emerson was 
 to thank him for his lofty friendship, so now the 
 first letter to Mrs. Emerson, after leaving her 
 house, was to say similar things, with a passing 
 allusion to her love of flowers and of gardening, in 
 which she surpassed all his acquaintance in Con 
 cord, then and afterward. A letter to Emerson 
 followed, touching on the " Dial " and on several 
 of his new and old acquaintance. "Rockwood 
 Hoar " is the person since known as judge and 
 cabinet officer, the brother of Senator Hoar, 
 and of Thoreau s special friends, Elizabeth and 
 Edward Hoar. Channing is the poet, who had 
 lately printed his first volume, without finding 
 many readers. 
 
 TO MRS. EMERSON (AT CONCORD). 
 
 CASTLETON, Staten Island, May 22, 1843. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, I believe a good many 
 conversations with you were left in an unfinished 
 state, and now indeed I don t know where to 
 take them up. But I will resume some of the 
 unfinished silence. I shall not hesitate to know 
 you. I think of you as some elder sister of 
 mine, whom I could not have avoided, a sort 
 of lunar influence, only of such age as the 
 moon, whose time is measured by her light. You 
 must know that you represent to me woman, for 
 I have not traveled very far or wide, and what 
 
90 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 if I had ? I like to deal with you, for I believe 
 you do not lie or steal, and these are very rare 
 virtues. I thank you for your influence for two 
 years. I was fortunate to be subjected to it, and 
 am now to remember it. It is the noblest gift 
 we can make ; what signify all others that can 
 be bestowed ? You have helped to keep my life 
 " on loft," as Chaucer says of Griselda, and in a 
 better sense. You always seemed to look down 
 at me as from some elevation some of your 
 high humilities and I was the better for hav 
 ing to look up. I felt taxed not to disappoint 
 your expectation ; for could there be any acci 
 dent so sad as to be respected for something bet 
 ter than we are ? It was a pleasure even to go 
 away from you, as it is not to meet some, as it 
 apprised me of my high relations ; and such a 
 departure is a sort of further introduction and 
 meeting. Nothing makes the earth seem so spa 
 cious as to have friends at a distance ; they make 
 the latitudes and longitudes. 
 
 You must not think that fate is so dark there, 
 for even here I can see a faint reflected light 
 over Concord, and I think that at this distance I 
 can better weigh the value of a doubt there. 
 Your moonlight, as I have told you, though it is 
 a reflection of the sun, allows of bats and owls 
 and other twilight birds to flit therein. But I 
 am very glad that you can elevate your life with 
 
J5T.25.] TO MRS. EMERSON. 91 
 
 a doubt, for I am sure that it is nothing but an 
 insatiable faith after all that deepens and dark 
 ens its current. And your doubt and my confi 
 dence are only a difference of expression. 
 
 I have hardly begun to live on Staten Island 
 yet ; but, like the man who, when forbidden to 
 tread on English ground, carried Scottish ground 
 in his boots, I carry Concord ground in my boots 
 and in my hat, and am I not made of Concord 
 dust ? I cannot realize that it is the roar of the 
 sea I hear now, and not the wind in Walden 
 woods. I find more of Concord, after all, in the 
 prospect of the sea, beyond Sandy Hook, than in 
 the fields and woods. 
 
 If you were to have this Hugh the gardener 
 for your man, you would think a new dispensa 
 tion had commenced. He might put a fairer 
 aspect on the natural world for you, or at any 
 rate a screen between you and the almshouse. 
 There is a beautiful red honeysuckle now in 
 blossom in the woods here, which should be 
 transplanted to Concord ; and if what they tell 
 me about the tulip-tree be true, you should have 
 that also. I have not seen Mrs. Black yet, but 
 I intend to call on her soon. Have you estab 
 lished those simpler modes of living yet ? "In 
 the full tide of successful operation ? " 
 
 Tell Mrs. Brown that I hope she is anchored 
 in a secure haven and derives much pleasure 
 
92 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 still from reading the poets, and that her con 
 stellation is not quite set from my sight, though 
 it is sunk so low in that northern horizon. Tell 
 Elizabeth Hoar that her bright present did 
 " carry ink safely to Staten Island," and was a 
 conspicuous object in Master Haven s inventory 
 of my effects. Give my respects to Madam 
 Emerson, whose Concord face I should be glad 
 to see here this summer ; and remember me to 
 the rest of the household who have had vision of 
 me. Shake a day-day to Edith, and say good 
 night to Ellen for me. Farewell. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (AT CONCORD). 
 
 CASTLETON, STATEN ISLAND, May 23. 
 
 MY DEAR FKIEND, I was just going to write 
 to you when I received your letter. I was wait 
 ing till I had got away from Concord. I should 
 have sent you something for the " Dial " before, 
 but I have been sick ever since I came here, 
 rather unaccountably, what with a cold, bron 
 chitis, acclimation, etc., still unaccountably. I 
 send you some verses from my journal which 
 will help make a packet. I have not time to 
 correct them, if this goes by Rockwood Hoar. 
 If I can finish an account of a winter s walk in 
 Concord, in the midst of a Staten Island sum 
 mer, not so wise as true, I trust, I will send 
 it to you soon. 
 
JET. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 93 
 
 I have had no later experiences yet. You 
 must not count much upon what I can do or 
 learn in New York. I feel a good way off here ; 
 and it is not to be visited, but seen and dwelt in. 
 I have been there but once, and have been con 
 fined to the house since. Everything there dis 
 appoints me but the crowd ; rather, I was dis 
 appointed with the rest before I came. I have 
 no eyes for their churches, and what else they 
 find to brag of. Though I know but little about 
 Boston, yet what attracts me, in a quiet way, 
 seems much meaner and more pretending than 
 there, libraries, pictures, and faces in the 
 street. You don t know where any respecta 
 bility inhabits. It is in the crowd in Chatham 
 Street. The crowd is something new, and to be 
 attended to. It is worth a thousand Trinity 
 Churches and Exchanges while it is looking 
 at them, and will run over them and trample 
 them under foot one day. There are two things 
 I hear and am aware I live in the neighborhood 
 of, the roar of the sea and the hum of the 
 city. I have just come from the beach (to find 
 your letter), and I like it much. Everything 
 there is on a grand and generous scale, sea 
 weed, water, and sand ; and even the dead fishes, 
 horses, and hogs have a rank, luxuriant odor ; 
 great shad-nets spread to dry ; crabs and horse 
 shoes crawling over the sand ; clumsy boats, only 
 
94 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 for service, dancing like sea-fowl over the surf, 
 and ships afar off going about their business. 
 
 Waldo and Tappan carried me to their Eng 
 lish alehouse the first Saturday, and Waldo 
 spent two hours here the next day. But Tap- 
 pan I have only seen. I like his looks and the 
 sound of his silence. They are confined every 
 clay but Sunday, and then Tappan is obliged to 
 observe the demeanor of a church-goer to pre 
 vent open war with his father. 
 
 I am glad that Channing has got settled, and 
 that, too, before the inroad of the Irish. I have 
 read his poems two or three times over, and par 
 tially through and under, with new and increased 
 interest and appreciation. Tell him I saw a 
 man buy a copy at Little & Brown s. He may 
 have been a virtuoso, but we will give him the 
 credit. What with Alcott and Lane and Haw 
 thorne, too, you look strong enough to take New 
 York by storm. Will you tell L,, if he asks, 
 that I have been able to do nothing about the 
 books yet ? 
 
 Believe that I have something better to write 
 you than this. It would be unkind to thank you 
 for particular deeds. 
 
JET. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 95 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, June 8, 1843. 
 DEAR FKIEND, I have been to see Henry 
 James, and like him very much. It was a great 
 pleasure to meet him. It makes humanity seem 
 more erect and respectable. I never was more 
 kindly and faithfully catechised. It made me 
 respect myself more to be thought worthy of 
 such wise questions. He is a man, and takes 
 his own way, or stands still in his own place. 
 I know of no one so patient and determined to 
 have the good of yon. It is almost friendship, 
 such plain and human dealing. I think that he 
 will not write or speak inspiringly ; but he is a 
 refreshing, forward-looking and forward-moving 
 man, and he has naturalized and humanized New 
 York for me. He actually reproaches you by 
 his respect for your poor words. I had three 
 hours solid talk with him, and he asks me to 
 make free use of his house. He wants an ex 
 pression of your faith, or to be sure that it is 
 faith, and confesses that his own treads fast upon 
 the neck of his understanding. He exclaimed, 
 at some careless answer of mine, " Well, you 
 Transcendentalists are wonderfully consistent. I 
 must get hold of this somehow ! " He likes Car- 
 lyle s book, 1 but says that it leaves him in an 
 
 1 Past and Present. 
 
96 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 excited and unprofitable state, and that Carlyle 
 is so ready to obey Ms humor that he makes the 
 least vestige of truth the foundation of any su 
 perstructure, not keeping faith with his better 
 genius nor truest readers. 
 
 I met Wright on the stairs of the Society 
 Library, and W. H. Charming and Brisbane on 
 the steps. The former (Channing) is a concave 
 man, and you see by his attitude and the lines 
 of his face that he is retreating from himself and 
 from yourself, with sad doubts. It is like a fair 
 mask swaying from the drooping boughs of some 
 tree whose stem is not seen. He would break 
 with a conchoidal fracture. You feel as if you 
 would like to see him when he has made up his 
 mind to run all the risks. To be sure, he doubts 
 because he has a great hope to be disappointed, 
 but he makes the possible disappointment of too 
 much consequence. Brisbane, with whom I did 
 not converse, did not impress me favorably. He 
 looks like a man who has lived in a cellar, far 
 gone in consumption. I barely saw him, but he 
 did not look as if he could let Fourier go, in any 
 case, and throw up his hat. But I need not 
 have come to New York to write this. 
 
 I have seen Tappan for two or three hours, 
 and like both him and Waldo ; but I always see 
 those of whom I have heard well with a slight 
 disappointment. They are so much better than 
 
JET. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 97 
 
 the great herd, and yet the heavens are not 
 shivered into diamonds over their heads. Per 
 sons and things flit so rapidly through my brain 
 nowadays that I can hardly remember them. 
 They seem to be lying in the stream, stemming 
 the tide, ready to go to sea, as steamboats when 
 they leave the dock go off in the opposite direc 
 tion first, until they are headed right, and then 
 begins the steady revolution of the paddle- 
 wheels ; and they are not quite cheerily headed 
 anywhither yet, nor singing amid the shrouds 
 as they bound over the billows. There is a cer 
 tain youthfulness and generosity about them, 
 very attractive ; and Tappan s more reserved 
 and solitary thought commands respect. 
 
 After some ado, I discovered the residence of 
 Mrs. Black, but there was palmed off on me, in 
 her stead, a Mrs. Grey (quite an inferior color), 
 who told me at last that she was not Mrs. Black, 
 but her mother, and was just as glad to see me 
 as Mrs. Black would have been, and so, for 
 sooth, would answer just as well. Mrs. Black 
 had gone with Edward Palmer to New Jersey, 
 and would return on the morrow. 
 
 I don t like the city better, the more I see it, 
 but worse. I am ashamed of my eyes that be 
 hold it. It is a thousand times meaner than I 
 could have imagined. It will be something to 
 hate, that a the advantage it will be to me ; 
 
98 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 and even the best people in it are a part of it, 
 and talk coolly about it. The pigs in the street 
 are the most respectable part of the population. 
 When will the world learn that a million men 
 are of no importance compared with one man ? 
 But I must wait for a shower of shillings, or at 
 least a slight dew or mizzling of sixpences, be 
 fore I explore New York very far. 
 
 The sea-beach is the best thing I have seen. 
 It is very solitary and remote, and you only re 
 member New York occasionally. The distances, 
 too, along the shore, and inland in sight of it, 
 are unaccountably great and startling. The sea 
 seems very near from the hills, but it proves a 
 long way over the plain, and yet you may be 
 wet with the spray before you can believe that 
 you are there. The far seems near, and the 
 near far. Many rods from the beach, I step 
 aside for the Atlantic, and I see men drag up 
 their boats on to the sand, with oxen, stepping 
 about amid the surf, as if it were possible they 
 might draw up Sandy Hook. 
 
 I do not feel myself especially serviceable to 
 the good people with whom I live, except as in 
 flictions are sanctified to the righteous. And so, 
 too, must I serve the boy. I can look to the 
 Latin and mathematics sharply, and for the rest 
 behave myself. But I cannot be in his neigh 
 borhood hereafter as his Educator, of course, but 
 
jsT.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 99 
 
 as the hawks fly over my own head. I am not 
 attracted toward him but as to youth generally. 
 He shall frequent me, however, as much as he 
 can, and I 11 be I. 
 
 Bradbury l told me, when I passed through 
 Boston, that he was coming to New York the 
 following Saturday, and would then settle with 
 me, but he has not made his appearance yet. 
 Will you, the next time you go to Boston, pre 
 sent that order for me which I left with you ? 
 
 If I say less about Waldo and Tappan now, 
 it is, perhaps, because I may have more to say 
 by and by. Remember me to your mother and 
 Mrs. Emerson, who, I hope, is quite well. I 
 shall be very glad to hear from her, as well as 
 from you. I have very hastily written out 
 something for the " Dial," and send it only be 
 cause you are expecting something, though 
 something better. It seems idle and Howittish, 
 but it may be of more worth in Concord, where 
 it belongs. In great haste. Farewell. 
 
 1 Of the publishing house of Bradbury & Soden, in Boston, 
 which had taken Nathan Hale s Boston Miscellany off his 
 hands, and had published in it, with promise of payment, Tho- 
 reau s Walk to Wachusett. But much time had passed, and 
 the debt was not paid ; hence the lack of a " shower of shil 
 lings " which the letter laments. Emerson s reply gives the 
 first news of the actual beginning of Alcott s short-lived para 
 dise at Fruitlands, and dwells with interest on the affairs of 
 the rural and lettered circle at Concord. 
 
100 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER (AT CONCORD). 
 CASTLETON, June 8, 1843. 
 
 DEAR PARENTS, I have got quite well now, 
 and like the lay of the land and the look of the 
 sea very much, only the country is so fair 
 that it seems rather too much as if it were made 
 to be looked at. I have been to New York four 
 or five times, and have run about the island a 
 good deal. 
 
 George Ward, when I last saw him, which 
 was at his house in Brooklyn, was studying the 
 Daguerreotype process, preparing to set up in 
 that line. The boats run now almost every hour 
 from 8 A. M. to 7 P. M., back and forth, so that 
 I can get to the city much more easily than 
 before. I have seen there one Henry James, a 
 lame man, of whom I had heard before, whom I 
 like very much ; and he asks me to make free 
 use of his house, which is situated in a pleasant 
 part of the city, adjoining the University, I 
 have met several people whom I knew before, 
 and among the rest Mr. Wright, who was on his 
 way to Niagara. 
 
 I feel already about as well acquainted with 
 New York as with Boston, that is, about as 
 little, perhaps. It is large enough now, and 
 they intend it shall be larger still. Fifteenth 
 Street, where some of my new acquaintance live, 
 
MI. 25.] TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER. 101 
 
 is two or three miles from the Battery, where 
 the boat touches, clear brick and stone, and 
 no " give " to the foot ; and they have laid out, 
 though not built, up to the 149th street above. 
 I had rather see a brick for a specimen, for my 
 part, such as they exhibited in old times. You 
 see it is " quite a day s training " to make a few 
 calls in different parts of the city (to say no 
 thing of twelve miles by water and land, i. e., 
 not brick and stone), especially if it does not 
 rain shillings, which might interest omnibuses 
 in your behalf. Some omnibuses are marked 
 " Broadway Fourth Street," and they go no 
 farther ; others " Eighth Street," and so on, 
 and so of the other principal streets. (This let 
 ter will be circumstantial enough for Helen.) 
 
 This is in all respects a very pleasant resi 
 dence, much more rural than you would ex 
 pect of the vicinity of New York. There are 
 woods all around. We breakfast at half past 
 six, lunch, if we will, at twelve, and dine or sup 
 at five ; thus is the day partitioned off. From 
 nine to two, or thereabouts, I am the schoolmas 
 ter, and at other times as much the pupil as I 
 can be. Mr. and Mrs. Emerson are not indeed 
 of my kith or kin in any sense ; but they are ir 
 reproachable and kind. I have met no one yet 
 on the island whose acquaintance I shall culti 
 vate or hoe round unless it be our neighbor, 
 
102 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 Captain Smith, an old fisherman, who catches 
 the fish called " moss-bonkers " so it sounds 
 and invites me to come to the beach, where he 
 spends the week, and see him and his fish. 
 
 Farms are for sale all around here, and so, I 
 suppose men are for purchase. North of us live 
 Peter Wandell, Mr. Mell, and Mr. Disosway 
 (don t mind the spelling), as far as the Clove 
 road; and south, John Britton, Van Pelt, and 
 Captain Smith, as far as the Fingerboard road. 
 Behind is the hill, some 250 feet high, on the 
 side of which we live ; and in front the forest 
 and the sea, the latter at the distance of a 
 mile and a half. 
 
 Tell Helen that Miss Errington is provided 
 with assistance. This were a good place as any 
 to establish a school, if one could wait a little. 
 Families come down here to board in the sum 
 mer, and three or four have been already estab 
 lished this season. 
 
 As for money matters, I have not set my 
 traps yet, but I am getting my bait ready. 
 Pray, how does the garden thrive, and what 
 improvements in the pencil line? I miss you 
 all very much. Write soon, and send a Concord 
 paper to 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
2ET.25.] TO MRS. EMERSON. 103 
 
 The traps of this sportsman were magazine 
 articles, but the magazines that would pay 
 much for papers were very few in 1843. One 
 such had existed in Boston for a short time, 
 the " Miscellany," - and it printed a good paper 
 of Thoreau s, but the pay was not forthcoming. 
 His efforts to find publishers more liberal in 
 New York were not successful. But he contin 
 ued to write for fame in the " Dial," and helped 
 to edit that. 
 
 TO MES. EMERSON. 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, June 20, 1843. 
 
 MY VERY DEAR FRIEND, I have only read 
 a page of your letter, and have come out to the 
 top of the hill at sunset, where I can see the 
 ocean, to prepare to read the rest. It is fitter 
 that it should hear it than the walls of my cham 
 ber. The very crickets here seem to chirp around 
 me as they did not before. I feel as if it were 
 a great daring to go on and read the rest, and 
 then to live accordingly. There are more than 
 thirty vessels in sight going to sea. I am almost 
 afraid to look at your letter. I see that it will 
 make my life very steep, but it may lead to fairer 
 prospects than this. 
 
 You seem to me to speak out of a very clear 
 and high heaven, where any one may be who 
 stands so high. Your voice seems not a voice, 
 
104 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 but comes as much from the blue heavens as 
 from the paper. 
 
 My dear friend, it was very noble in you to 
 write me so trustful an answer. It will do as 
 well for another world as for this ; such a voice 
 is for no particular time nor person, but it makes 
 him who may hear it stand for all that is lofty 
 and true in humanity. The thought of you will 
 constantly elevate my life ; it will be something 
 always above the horizon to behold, as when I 
 look up at the evening star. I think I know 
 your thoughts without seeing you, and as well 
 here as in Concord. You are not at all strange 
 to me. 
 
 I could hardly believe, after the lapse of one 
 night, that I had such a noble letter still at hand 
 to read, that it was not some fine dream. I 
 looked at midnight to be sure that it was real. 
 I feel that I am unworthy to know you, and yet 
 they will not permit it wrongfully. 
 
 I, perhaps, am more willing to deceive by 
 appearances than you say you are ; it would not 
 be worth the while to tell how willing; but I 
 have the power perhaps too much to forget my 
 meanness as soon as seen, and not be incited by 
 permanent sorrow. My actual life is unspeak 
 ably mean compared with what I know and see 
 that it might be. Yet the ground from which I 
 see and say this is some part of it. It ranges 
 
*sT.25.] TO MRS. EMERSON. 105 
 
 from heaven to earth, and is all things in an 
 hour. The experience of every past moment 
 but belies the faith of each present. We never 
 conceive the greatness of our fates. Are not 
 these faint flashes of light which sometimes 
 obscure the sun their certain dawn? 
 
 My friend, I have read your letter as if I was 
 not reading it. After each pause I could defer 
 the rest forever. The thought of you will be a 
 new motive for every right action. You are 
 another human being whom I know, and might 
 not our topic be as broad as the universe? 
 What have we to do with petty rumbling news ? 
 We have our own great affairs. Sometimes in 
 Concord I found my actions dictated, as it were, 
 by your influence, and though it led almost to 
 trivial Hindoo observances, yet it was good and 
 elevating. To hear that you have sad hours is 
 not sad to me. I rather rejoice at the richness 
 of your experience. Only think of some sad 
 ness away in Pekin, unseen and unknown 
 there. What a mine it is ! Would it not 
 weigh down the Celestial Empire, with all its 
 gay Chinese? Our sadness is not sad, but our 
 cheap joys. Let us be sad about all we see and 
 are, for so we demand and pray for better. It 
 is the constant prayer and whole Christian re 
 ligion. I could hope that you would get well 
 soon, and have a healthy body for this world, 
 
106 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 but I know this cannot be ; and the Fates, after 
 all, are the accomplishes of our hopes. Yet I 
 do hope that you may find it a worthy struggle, 
 and life seem grand still through the clouds. 
 
 What wealth is it to have such friends that we 
 cannot think of them without elevation ! And 
 we can think of them any time and anywhere, 
 and it costs nothing but the lofty disposition. I 
 cannot tell you the joy your letter gives me, which 
 will not quite cease till the latest time. Let me 
 accompany your finest thought. 
 
 I send my love to my other friend and brother, 
 whose nobleness I slowly recognize. 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 TO MBS. THOREAU (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, July 7, 1843. 
 
 DEAR MOTHER, I was very glad to get your 
 letter and papers. Tell father that circumstan 
 tial letters make very substantial reading, at any 
 rate. I like to know even how the sun shines 
 and garden grows with you. I did not get my 
 money in Boston, and probably shall not at all. 
 Tell Sophia that I have pressed some blossoms 
 of the tulip-tree for her. They look somewhat 
 like white lilies. The magnolia, too, is in blossom 
 here. 
 
 Pray, have you the seventeen-year locust in 
 Concord? The air here is filled with their din. 
 
asT.25.] TO MRS. THOREAU. 197 
 
 They come out of the ground at first in an imper 
 fect state, and, crawling up the shrubs and plants, 
 the perfect insect bursts out through the back. 
 They are doing great damage to the fruit and 
 forest trees. The latter are covered with dead 
 twigs, which in the distance look like the blos 
 soms of the chestnut. They bore every twig of 
 last year s growth in order to deposit their eggs 
 in it. In a few weeks the eggs will be hatched, 
 and the worms fall to the ground and enter it, 
 and in 1860 make their appearance again. I 
 conversed about their coming this season before 
 they arrived. They do no injury to the leaves, 
 but, beside boring the twigs, suck their sap for 
 sustenance. Their din is heard by those who 
 sail along the shore from the distant woods, 
 Phar-r-r-aoh. Phar-r-r-aoh. They are departing 
 now. Dogs, cats, and chickens subsist mainly 
 upon them in some places. 
 
 I have not been to New York for more than 
 three weeks. I have had an interesting letter 
 from Mr. Lane, 1 describing their new prospects. 
 My pupil and I are getting on apace. He is 
 remarkably well advanced in Latin, and is well 
 advancing. 
 
 Your letter has just arrived. I was not aware 
 that it was so long since I wrote home ; I only 
 
 1 At Fruitlands with the Alcotts. See Sanborn s Thoreau, 
 p. 137, for this letter. 
 
108 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 knew that I had sent five or six letters to the 
 town. It is very refreshing to hear from you, 
 though it is not all good news. But I trust that 
 Stearns Wheeler is not dead. I should be slow 
 to believe it. He was made to work very well 
 in this world. There need be no tragedy in his 
 death. 
 
 The demon which is said to haunt the Jones 
 family, hovering over their eyelids with wings 
 steeped in juice of poppies, has commenced an 
 other campaign against me. I am " clear Jones " 
 in this respect at least. But he finds little encour 
 agement in my atmosphere, I assure you, for I 
 do not once fairly lose myself, except in those 
 hours of truce allotted to rest by immemorial 
 custom. However, this skirmishing interferes 
 sadly with my literary projects, and I am apt to 
 think it a good day s work if I maintain a sol 
 dier s eye till nightfall. Very well, it does not 
 matter much in what wars we serve, whether in 
 the Highlands or the Lowlands. Everywhere 
 we get soldiers pay still. 
 
 Give my love to Aunt Louisa, whose benig 
 nant face I sometimes see right in the wall, as 
 naturally and necessarily shining on my path as 
 some star of unaccountably greater age and 
 higher orbit than myself. Let it be inquired 
 by her of George Minott, as from me, for she 
 sees him, if he has seen any pigeons yet, and 
 
J5T.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 109 
 
 tell him there are plenty of jack-snipes here. As 
 for William P., the "worthy young man," as 
 I live, my eyes have not fallen on him yet. 
 
 I have not had the influenza, though here are 
 its headquarters, unless my first week s cold 
 was it. Tell Helen I shall write to her soon. I 
 have heard Lucretia Mott. This is badly writ 
 ten ; but the worse the writing the sooner you 
 get it this time from 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 H. D. T. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, July 8, 1843. 
 
 DEAR FRIENDS, I was very glad to hear 
 your voices from so far. I do not believe there 
 are eight hundred human beings on the globe. 
 It is all a fable, and I cannot but think that you 
 speak with a slight outrage and disrespect of 
 Concord when you talk of fifty of them. There 
 are not so many. Yet think not that I have left 
 all behind, for already I begin to track my way 
 over the earth, and find the cope of heaven ex 
 tending beyond its horizon, forsooth, like the 
 roofs of these Dutch houses. My thoughts re 
 vert to those dear hills and that river which so 
 fills up the world to its brim, worthy to be 
 named with Mincius and Alpheus, still drink 
 ing its meadows while I am far away. How can 
 
110 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1845, 
 
 it run heedless to the sea, as if I were there to 
 countenance it? George Miiiott, too, looms up 
 considerably, and many another old familiar 
 face. These things all look sober and respecta 
 ble. They are better than the environs of New 
 York, I assure you. 
 
 I am pleased to think of Chamiing as an in 
 habitant of the gray town. Seven cities con 
 tended for Homer dead. Tell him to remain at 
 least long enough to establish Concord s right 
 and interest in him. I was beginning to know 
 the man. In imagination I see you pilgrims 
 taking your way by the red lodge and the cabin 
 of the brave farmer man, so youthful and hale, 
 to the still cheerful woods. And Hawthorne, 
 too, I remember as one with whom I sauntered, 
 in old heroic times, along the banks of the* Sca- 
 mander, amid the ruins of chariots and heroes. 
 Tell him not to desert, even after the tenth year. 
 Others may say, " Are there not the cities of 
 Asia ? " But what are they ? Staying at home 
 is the heavenly way. 
 
 And Elizabeth Hoar, my brave townswoman, 
 to be sung of poets, if I may speak of her 
 whom I do not know. Tell Mrs. Brown that I 
 do not forget her, going her way under the stars 
 through this chilly world, I did not think of 
 the wind, and that I went a little way with 
 her. Tell her not to despair. Concord s little 
 
2ET.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. Ill 
 
 arch does not span all our fate, nor is what 
 transpires under it law for the universe. 
 
 And least of all are forgotten those walks in 
 the woods in ancient days, too sacred to be 
 idly remembered, when their aisles were per 
 vaded as by a fragrant atmosphere. They still 
 seem youthful and cheery to my imagination as 
 Sherwood and Barnsdale, and of far purer 
 fame. Those afternoons when we wandered o er 
 Olympus, and those hills, from which the sun 
 was seen to set, while still our day held on its 
 way. 
 
 " At last he rose and twitched his mantle blue ; 
 To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new." 
 
 I remember these things at midnight, at rare 
 intervals. But know, my friends, that I a good 
 deal hate you all in my most private thoughts, 
 as the substratum of the little love I bear you. 
 Though you are a rare band, and do not make 
 half use enough of one another. 
 
 I think this is a noble number of the " Dial." 1 
 It perspires thought and feeling. I can speak 
 of it now a little like a foreigner. Be assured 
 that it is not written in vain, it is not for me. 
 I hear its prose and its verse. They provoke 
 
 1 Emerson also was satisfied with it for once, and wrote to 
 Thoreau : " Our Dial thrives well enough in these weeks. I 
 print W. E. Channing s Letters, or the first ones, but he does 
 not care to have them named as his for a while. They are 
 very agreeable reading." 
 
112 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 and inspire me, and they have my sympathy. I 
 hear the sober and the earnest, the sad and the 
 cheery voices of my friends, and to me it is a 
 long letter of encouragement and reproof ; and 
 no doubt so it is to many another in the land. 
 So don t give up the ship. Methinks the verse 
 is hardly enough better than the prose. I give 
 my vote for the Notes from the Journal of a 
 Scholar, and wonder you don t print them faster. 
 I want, too, to read the rest of the " Poet and 
 the Painter." Miss Fuller s is a noble piece, 
 rich, extempore writing, talking with pen in 
 hand. It is too good not to be better, even. In 
 writing, conversation should be folded many 
 times thick. It is the height of art that, on the 
 first perusal, plain common sense should appear ; 
 on the second, severe truth; and on a third, 
 beauty ; and, having these warrants for its depth 
 and reality, we may then enjoy the beauty for 
 evermore. The sea-piece is of the best that is 
 going, if not of the best that is staying. You 
 have spoken a good word for Carlyle. As for 
 the " Winter s Walk," I should be glad to have 
 it printed in the "Dial" if you think it good 
 enough, and will criticise it ; otherwise send it 
 to me, and I will dispose of it. 
 
 I have not been to New York for a month, 
 and so have not seen Waldo and Tappan. James 
 has been at Albany meanwhile. You will know 
 
jsT.26.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 113 
 
 that I only describe my personal adventures with 
 people ; but I hope to see more of them, and 
 judge them too. I am sorry to learn, that Mrs. 
 Emerson is no better. But let her know that 
 the Fates pay a compliment to those whom they 
 make sick, and they have not to ask, " What have 
 I done ? " 
 
 Kemember me to your mother, and remember 
 me yourself as you are remembered by 
 
 H. D. T. 
 
 I had a friendly and cheery letter from Lane 
 a month ago. 
 
 TO HELEN THOREAU (AT ROXBURY). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, July 21, 1843. 
 
 DEAK HELEN, I am not in such haste to 
 write home when I remember that I make my 
 readers pay the postage. But I believe I have 
 not taxed you before. 
 
 I have pretty much explored this island, in 
 land, and along the shore, finding my health 
 inclined me to the peripatetic philosophy. I 
 have visited telegraph stations, Sailors Snug 
 Harbors, Seaman s Retreats, Old Elm-Trees, 
 where the Huguenots landed, Britton s Mills, 
 and all the villages on the island. Last Sunday 
 I walked over to Lake Island Farm, eight or 
 nine miles from here, where Moses Prichard 
 
114 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 lived, and found the present occupant, one Mr. 
 Davenport, formerly from Massachusetts, with 
 three or four men to help him, raising sweet 
 potatoes and tomatoes by the acre. It seemed a 
 cool and pleasant retreat, but a hungry soil. As 
 I was coming away, I took my toll out of the 
 soil in the shape of arrow-heads, which may after 
 all be the surest crop, certainly not affected by 
 drought. 
 
 I am well enough situated here to observe one 
 aspect of the modern world at least. I mean 
 the migratory, the Western movement. Six 
 teen hundred immigrants arrived at quarantine 
 ground on the 4th of July, and more or less 
 every day since I have been here. I see them 
 occasionally washing their persons and clothes : 
 OP men, women, and children gathered on an 
 isolated quay near the shore, stretching their 
 limbs and taking the air ; the children running 
 races and swinging on this artificial piece of the 
 land of liberty, while their vessels are under 
 going purification. They are detained but a 
 day or two, and then go up to the city, for the 
 most part without having landed here. 
 
 In the city, I have seen, since I wrote last, 
 W. H. Channing, at whose home, in Fifteenth 
 Street, I spent a few pleasant hours, discussing 
 the all-absorbing question " what to do for the 
 race." (He is sadly in earnest about going up 
 
JET. 26.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 115 
 
 the river to rusticate for six weeks, and issues a 
 new periodical called " The Present " in Sep 
 tember.) Also Horace Greeley, editor of the 
 " Tribune," who is cheerfully in earnest, at his 
 office of all work, a hearty New Hampshire boy 
 as one would wish to meet, and says, " Now be 
 neighborly," and believes only, or mainly, first, 
 in the Sylvania Association, somewhere in Penn 
 sylvania ; and, secondly, and most of all, in a 
 new association to go into operation soon in New 
 Jersey, with which he is connected. Edward 
 Palmer came down to see me Sunday before 
 last. As for Waldo and Tappan, we have 
 strangely dodged one another, and have not met 
 for some weeks. 
 
 I believe I have not told you anything about 
 Lucretia Mott. It was a good while ago that 
 I heard her at the Quaker Church in Hester 
 Street. She is a preacher, and it was adver 
 tised that she would be present on that day. I 
 liked all the proceedings very well, their plainly 
 greater harmony and sincerity than elsewhere. 
 They do nothing in a hurry. Every one that 
 walks up the aisle in his square coat and ex 
 pansive hat has a history, and comes from a 
 house to a house. The women come in one after 
 another in their Quaker bonnets and handker 
 chiefs, looking all like sisters or so many chick 
 adees. At length, after a long silence wait- 
 
116 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 ing for the Spirit Mrs. Mott rose, took off 
 her bonnet, and began to utter very deliberately 
 what the Spirit suggested. Her self-possession 
 was something to see, if all else failed ; but it 
 did not. Her subject was, " The Abuse of the 
 Bible," and thence she straightway digressed to 
 slavery and the degradation of woman. It was 
 a good speech, transcendentalism in its mild 
 est form. She sat down at length, and, after a 
 long and decorous silence, in which some seemed 
 to be really digesting her words, the elders shook 
 hands, and the meeting dispersed. On the whole, 
 I liked their ways and the plainness of their 
 meeting-house. It looked as if it was indeed 
 made for service. 
 
 I think that Stearns Wheeler has left a gap 
 in the community not easy to be filled. Though 
 he did not exhibit the highest qualities of the 
 scholar, he promised, in a remarkable degree, 
 many of the essential and rarer ones ; and his 
 patient industry and energy, his reverent love 
 of letters, and his proverbial accuracy, will cause 
 him to be associated in my memory even with 
 many venerable names of former days. It was 
 not wholly unfit that so pure a lover of books 
 should have ended his pilgrimage at the great 
 book-mart of the world. I think of him as 
 healthy and brave, and am confident that if he 
 had lived, he would have proved useful in more 
 
JET. 26.] TO MRS. THOREAU. 117 
 
 ways than I can describe. He would have been 
 authority on all matters of fact, and a sort of 
 connecting link between men and scholars of 
 different walks and tastes. The literary enter 
 prises he was planning for himself and friends 
 remind me of an older and more studious time. 
 So much, then, remains for us to do who sur 
 vive. Love to all. Tell all my friends in Con 
 cord that I do not send my love, but retain it 
 still. 
 
 Your affectionate brother. 
 
 TO MRS. THOREAU (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, August 6, 1843. 
 
 DEAK MOTHER, As Mr. William Emerson 
 is going to Concord on Tuesday, I must not omit 
 sending a line by him, though I wish I had 
 something more weighty for so direct a post. I 
 believe I directed my last letter to you by mis 
 take; but it must have appeared that it was 
 addressed to Helen. At any rate, this is to you 
 without mistake. 
 
 I am chiefly indebted to your letters for what 
 I have learned of Concord and family news, and 
 am very glad when I get one. I should have 
 liked to be in Walden woods with you, but not 
 with the railroad. I think of you all very 
 often, and wonder if you are still separated 
 from me only by so many miles of earth, or 
 
118 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 so many miles of memory. This life we live 
 is a strange dream, and I don t believe at 
 all any account men give of it. Methinks I 
 should be content to sit at the back-door in Con 
 cord, under the poplar-tree, henceforth forever. 
 Not that I am homesick at all, for places are 
 strangely indifferent to me, but Concord is 
 still a cynosure to my. eyes, and I find it hard 
 to attach it, even in imagination, to the rest of 
 the globe, and tell where the seam is. 
 
 I fancy that this Sunday evening you are 
 poring over some select book, almost transcen 
 dental perchance, or else " Burgh s Dignity," 
 or Massillon, or the "Christian Examiner." 
 Father has just taken one more look at the gar 
 den, and is now absorbed in Chaptelle, or read 
 ing the newspaper quite abstractedly, only look 
 ing up occasionally over his spectacles to see 
 how the rest are engaged, and not to miss any 
 newer news that may not be in the paper. Helen 
 has slipped in for the fourth time to learn the 
 very latest item. Sophia, I suppose, is at Ban- 
 gor ; but Aunt Louisa, without doubt, is just 
 flitting away to some good meeting, to save the 
 credit of you all. 
 
 It is still a cardinal virtue with me to keep 
 awake. I find it impossible to write or read 
 except at rare intervals, but am, generally speak 
 ing, tougher than formerly. I could make a 
 
2ET.26.] TO MRS. THOREAU. 119 
 
 pedestrian tour round the world, and sometimes 
 think it would perhaps be better to do at once 
 the things I ccm, rather than be trying to do 
 what at present I cannot do well. However, I 
 shall awake sooner or later. 
 
 I have been translating some Greek, and 
 reading English poetry, and a month ago sent a 
 paper to the " Democratic Review," which, at 
 length, they were sorry they could not accept ; 
 but they could not adopt the sentiments. How 
 ever, they were very polite, and earnest that I 
 should send them something else, or reform 
 that. 
 
 I go moping about the fields and woods here 
 as I did in Concord, and, it seems, am thought 
 to be a surveyor, an Eastern man inquiring 
 narrowly into the condition and value of land, 
 etc., here, preparatory to an extensive specula 
 tion. One neighbor observed to me, in a mys 
 terious and half inquisitive way, that he sup 
 posed I must be pretty well acquainted with the 
 state of things ; that I kept pretty close ; he 
 did n t see any surveying instruments, but per 
 haps I had them in my pocket. 
 
 I have received Helen s note, but have not 
 heard of Frisbie Hoar yet. 1 She is a faint 
 hearted writer, who could not take the responsi* 
 
 1 At present Senator Hoar of Massachusetts, but then in 
 Harvard College. 
 
120 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 bility of blotting one sheet alone. However, I 
 like very well the blottings I get. Tell her I 
 have not seen Mrs. Child nor Mrs. Sedgwick. 
 Love to all from your affectionate son. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEK ISLAND, August 7, 1843. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, I fear I have nothing 
 to send you worthy of so good an opportunity. 
 Of New York I still know but little, though 
 out of so many thousands there are no doubt 
 many units whom it would be worth my while 
 to know. Mr. James l talks of going to Ger 
 many soon with his wife to learn the language. 
 He says he must know it ; can never learn it 
 here ; there he may absorb it ; and is very anxious 
 to learn beforehand where he had best locate 
 himself to enjoy the advantage of the highest 
 culture, learn the language in its purity, and not 
 exceed his limited means. I referred him to 
 Longfellow. Perhaps you can help him. 
 
 I have had a pleasant talk with Channing ; 
 and Greeley, too, it was refreshing to meet. 
 They were both much pleased with your criti 
 cism on Carlyle, but thought that you had over 
 looked what chiefly concerned them in the book, 
 its practical aim and merits. 
 
 I have also spent some pleasant hours with 
 
 1 Henry James, Senior. 
 
2BT.26.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 121 
 
 Waldo and Tappan at their counting-room, or 
 rather intelligence office. 
 
 I must still reckon myself with the innumer 
 able army of invalids, undoubtedly in a fair 
 field they would rout the well, though I am 
 tougher than formerly. Methinks I could paint 
 the sleepy god more truly than the poets have 
 done, from more intimate experience. Indeed, 
 I have not kept my eyes very steadily open to 
 the things of this world of late, and hence have 
 little to report concerning them. However, I 
 trust the awakening will come before the last 
 trump, and then perhaps I may remember 
 some of my dreams. 
 
 I study the aspects of commerce at its Nar 
 rows here, where it passes in review before me, 
 and this seems to be beginning at the right end 
 to understand this Babylon. I have made a very 
 rude translation of the Seven against Thebes, 
 and Pindar too I have looked at, and wish he 
 was better worth translating. I believe even 
 the best things are not equal to their fame. 
 Perhaps it would be better to translate fame 
 itself, or is not that what the poets themselves 
 do ? However, I have not done with Pindar 
 yet. I sent a long article on Etzler s book to 
 the " Democratic Review " six weeks ago, which 
 at length they have determined not to accept, 
 as they could not subscribe to all the opinions, 
 
122 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 but asked for other matter, purely literary, 
 I suppose. O Sullivan wrote me that articles of 
 this kind have to be referred to the circle who, 
 it seems, are represented by this journal, and 
 said something about " collective we " and " ho 
 mogeneity." 
 
 Pray don t think of Bradbury & Soden 1 any 
 more, 
 
 " For good deed done through praiere 
 Is sold and bought too dear, I wis, 
 To herte that of great valor is." 
 
 I see that they have given up their shop here. 
 
 Say to Mrs. Emerson that I am glad to re 
 member how she too dwells there in Concord, 
 and shall send her anon some of the thoughts 
 that belong to her. As for Edith, I seem to 
 see a star in the east over where the young child 
 is. Remember me to Mrs. Brown. 
 
 These letters for the most part explain them- 
 
 1 Emerson had written, July 20, " I am sorry to say that 
 when I called on Bradbury & Soden, nearly a month ago, 
 their partner, in their absence, informed me that they could 
 not pay you, at present, any part of their debt on account of 
 the Boston Miscellany. After much talking, all the promise 
 he could offer was that within a year it would probably be 
 paid, a probability which certainly looks very slender. 
 The very worst thing he said was the proposition that you 
 should take your payment in the form of Boston Miscellanies ! 
 I shall not fail to refresh their memory at intervals." 
 
JET. 20.] EMERSON TO THOREAU. 123 
 
 selves, with the aid of several to Thoreau s fam 
 ily, which the purpose of Emerson, in 1865, to 
 present his friend in a stoical character, had ex 
 cluded from the collection then printed. Men 
 tion of C. S. Wheeler and his sad death in Ger 
 many had come to him from Emerson, as well 
 as from his own family at Concord, of whose 
 occupations Thoreau gives so genial a picture in 
 the letter of August 6, to his mother. Emerson 
 wrote : " You will have read and heard the sad 
 news to the little village of Lincoln, of Stearns 
 Wheeler s death. Such an overthrow to the 
 hopes of his parents made me think more of 
 them than of the loss the community will suffer 
 in his kindness, diligence, and ingenuous mind." 
 He died at Leipsic, in the midst of Greek stud 
 ies which have since been taken up and carried 
 farther by a child of Concord, Professor Good 
 win of the same university. Henry James, 
 several times mentioned in the correspondence, 
 was the moral and theological essayist (father 
 of the novelist Henry James, and the distin 
 guished Professor James of Harvard), who was 
 so striking a personality in the Concord and 
 Cambridge circle for many years. W. H. Chan- 
 ning was a Christian Socialist fifty years ago, 
 cousin of Ellery Charming, and nephew and 
 biographer of Dr. Channing. Both he and Hor 
 ace Greeley were then deeply interested in the 
 
124 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 Fourier ist scheme of association, one develop 
 ment of which was going on. at Brook Farm, 
 under direction of George Ripley, and another, 
 differing in design, at Fruitlands, under Bron- 
 son Alcott and Charles Lane. The jocose allu 
 sions of Thoreau to his Jones ancestors (the de 
 scendants of the Tory Colonel Jones of Weston) 
 had this foundation in fact, that his uncle, 
 Charles Dunbar, soon to be named in connec 
 tion with Daniel Webster, suffered from a sort 
 of lethargy, which would put him to sleep in the 
 midst of conversation. Webster had been re 
 tained in the once famous " Wyman case," of a 
 bank officer charged with fraud, and had exerted 
 his great forensic talent for a few days in the 
 Concord court-house. Emerson wrote Thoreau, 
 " You will have heard of the Wyman trial, and 
 the stir it made in the village. But the Cliff 
 and Walden knew nothing of that." 
 
 TO MRS. THOREAU (AT CONCORD). 
 
 CASTLETON, Tuesday, August 29, 1843. 
 
 DEAR MOTHER, Mr. Emerson has just 
 given me warning that he is about to send to 
 Concord, which I will endeavor to improve. I 
 am a great deal more wakeful than I was, and 
 growing stout in other respects, so that I may 
 yet accomplish something in the literary way ; 
 indeed, I should have done so before now but 
 
SIT. 26.] TO MRS. THOREAU. 125 
 
 for the slowness and poverty of the " Reviews " 
 themselveSo I have tried sundry methods of 
 earning money in the city, of late, but without 
 success : have rambled into every bookseller s 
 or publisher s house, and discussed their affairs 
 with them. Some propose to me to do what an 
 honest man cannot. Among others I conversed 
 with the Harpers to see if they might not find 
 me useful to them ; but they say that they are 
 making $50,000 annually, and their motto is to 
 let well alone. I find that I talk with these 
 poor men as if I were over head and ears in 
 business, and a few thousands were no consider 
 ation with me. I almost reproach myself for 
 bothering them so to no purpose ; but it is a 
 very valuable experience, and the best introduc 
 tion I could have. 
 
 We have had a tremendous rain here last 
 Monday night and Tuesday morning. I was in 
 the city at Giles "Waldo s, and the streets at 
 daybreak were absolutely impassable for the 
 water. Yet the accounts of the storm that you 
 may have seen are exaggerated, as indeed are 
 all such things, to my imagination. On Sunday 
 I heard Mr. Bellows preach here on the island ; 
 but the fine prospect over the Bay and Narrows, 
 from where I sat, preached louder than he, 
 though he did far better than the average, if I 
 remember aright. I should have liked to see 
 
126 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 Daniel Webster walking about Concord ; I sup 
 pose the town shook, every step he took. But 
 I trust there were some sturdy Concordians who 
 were not tumbled down by the jar, but repre 
 sented still the upright town. Where was 
 George Minott ? he would not have gone far to 
 see him. Uncle Charles should have been there, 
 
 he might as well have been catching cat naps 
 in Concord as anywhere. 
 
 And then, what a whetter-up of his memory 
 this event would have been ! You d have had 
 all the classmates again in alphabetical order 
 reversed, " and Seth Hunt and Bob Smith 
 and he was a student of my father s, and 
 where s Put now ? and I wonder you if 
 Henry s been to see George Jones yet ! A lit 
 tle account with Stow, Balcom, Bigelow, 
 poor miserable t-o-a-d, (sound asleep.) I vow, 
 you, what noise was that? saving grace 
 and few there be That s clear as preaching, 
 
 Easter Brooks, morally depraved, How 
 charming is divine philosophy, some wise and 
 some otherwise, Heighho ! (sound asleep 
 again) Webster s a smart fellow bears his age 
 well, how old should you think he was ? you 
 does he look as if he were ten years younger 
 than I ? " 
 
 I met, or rather, was overtaken by Fuller, who 
 tended for Mr. How, the other day, in Broad- 
 
JET. 26.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 127 
 
 way. He dislikes New York very much. The 
 Mercantile Library, that is, its Librarian, pre 
 sented me with a stranger s ticket, for a month, 
 and I was glad to read the " Re views " there, 
 and Carlyle s last article. I have bought some 
 pantaloons ; stockings show no holes yet. These 
 pantaloons cost $2.25 ready made. 
 In haste. 
 
 TO B. W. EMERSON (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, September 14, 1843. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, Miss Fuller will tell you the 
 news from these parts, so I will only devote 
 these few moments to what she does n t know as 
 well. I was absent only one day and night from 
 the island, the family expecting me back imme 
 diately. I was to earn a certain sum before 
 winter, and thought it worth the while to try 
 various experiments. I carried " The Agricul 
 turist" about the city, and up as far as Manhat- 
 tanville, and called at the Croton Reservoir, 
 where, indeed, they did not want any " Agricul 
 turists," but paid well enough in their way. 
 
 Literature comes to a poor market here ; and 
 even the little that I write is more than will sell. 
 I have tried "The Dem. Review," "The New 
 Mirror," and " Brother Jonathan." l The last 
 
 1 It may need to be said that these were New York week 
 lies the Mirror, edited in part by N. P. Willis, and the New 
 
128 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 two, as well as the " New World," are over 
 whelmed with contributions which cost nothing, 
 and are worth no more. " The Knickerbocker " 
 is too poor, and only "The Ladies Companion" 
 pays. O Sullivan is printing the manuscript I 
 sent him some time ago, having objected only to 
 my want of sympathy with the Committee. 
 
 I doubt if you have made more corrections in 
 my manuscript than I should have done ere this, 
 though they may be better ; but I am glad you 
 have taken any pains with it. I have not pre 
 pared any translations for the " Dial," supposing 
 there would be no room, though it is the only 
 place for them. 
 
 I have been seeing men during these days, 
 and trying experiments upon trees ; have in 
 serted three or four hundred buds (quite a 
 Buddhist, one might say). Books I have access 
 to through your brother and Mr. McKean, and 
 have read a good deal. Quarles s " Divine Po 
 ems " as well as " Emblems " are quite a discov 
 ery. 
 
 I am very sorry Mrs. Emerson is so sick. Re 
 member me to her and to your mother. I like 
 to think of your living on the banks of the Mill- 
 
 World by Park Benjamin, formerly of Boston, whose distinc 
 tion it is to have first named Hawthorne as a writer of genius. 
 " Miss Fuller " was Margaret, not yet resident in New York, 
 whither she went to live in 1844. 
 
MT. 26.] TO HIS MOTHER. 129 
 
 brook, in the midst of the garden with all its 
 weeds ; for what are botanical distinctions at 
 this distance? 
 
 TO HIS MOTHER (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, October 1, 1843. 
 DEAR MOTHER, I hold together remarka 
 bly well as yet, speaking of my outward linen 
 and woolen man ; no holes more than I brought 
 away, and no stitches needed yet. It is mar 
 velous. I think the Fates must be on my side, 
 for there is less than a plank between me and 
 Time, to say the least. As for Eldorado, that 
 is far off yet. My bait will not tempt the rats, 
 they are too well fed. The " Democratic Re 
 view " is poor, and can only afford half or quar 
 ter pay, which it will do; and they say there 
 is a " Lady s Companion" that pays, but I 
 could not write anything companionable. How 
 ever, speculate as we will, it is quite gratuitous; 
 for life, nevertheless and never the more, goes 
 steadily on, well or ill-fed, and clothed somehow, 
 and " honor bright " withal. It is very gratify 
 ing to live in the prospect of great successes 
 always ; and for that purpose we must leave a 
 sufficient foreground to see them through. All 
 the painters prefer distant prospects for the 
 greater breadth of view, and delicacy of tint. 
 But this is no news, and describes no new con 
 ditions. 
 
130 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 Meanwhile I am somnambulic at least, stir 
 ring in my sleep ; indeed, quite awake. I read 
 a good deal, and am pretty well known in the 
 libraries of New York. Am in with the libra 
 rian (one Dr. Forbes) of the Society Library, 
 who has lately been to Cambridge to learn lib 
 erality, and has come back to let me take out 
 some un-take-out-able books, which I was threat 
 ening to read on the spot. And Mr. McKean, 
 of the Mercantile Library, is a true gentleman 
 (a former tutor of mine), and offers me every 
 privilege there. I have from him a perpetual 
 stranger s ticket, and a citizen s rights besides, 
 all which privileges I pay handsomely for by 
 improving. 
 
 A canoe race " came off " on the Hudson the 
 other day, between Chippeways and New York 
 ers, which must have been as moving a sight as 
 the buffalo hunt which I witnessed. But canoes 
 and buffaloes are all lost, as is everything here, 
 in the mob. It is only the people have come to 
 see one another. Let them advertise that there 
 will be a gathering at Hoboken, having bar 
 gained with the ferryboats, and there will be, 
 and they need not throw in the buffaloes. 
 
 I have crossed the bay twenty or thirty times, 
 and have seen a great many immigrants going 
 up to the city for the first time : Norwegians, 
 who carry their old-fashioned farming-tools to 
 
^ET. 26.] TO HIS MOTHER. 131 
 
 the West with them, and will buy nothing here 
 for fear of being cheated ; English operatives, 
 known by their pale faces and stained hands, 
 who will recover their birthright in a little cheap 
 sun and wind ; English travelers on their way 
 to the Astor House, to whom I have done the 
 honors of the city ; whole families of emigrants 
 cooking their dinner upon the pavement, all 
 sunburnt, so that you are in doubt where the 
 foreigner s face of flesh begins ; their tidy clothes 
 laid on, and then tied to their swathed bodies, 
 which move about like a bandaged finger, caps 
 set on the head as if woven of the hair, which 
 is still growing at the roots, each and all 
 busily cooking, stooping from time to time over 
 the pot, and having something to drop in it, that 
 so they may be entitled to take something out, 
 forsooth. They look like respectable but strait 
 ened people, who may turn out to be Counts when 
 they get to Wisconsin, and will have this expe 
 rience to relate to their children. 
 
 Seeing so many people from day to day, one 
 comes to have less respect for flesh and bones, 
 and thinks they must be more loosely joined, of 
 less firm fibre, than the few he had known. It 
 must have a very bad influence on children to 
 see so many human beings at once, mere herds 
 of men. 
 
 I came across Henry Bigelow a week ago, sit- 
 
132 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 ting in front of a hotel in Broadway, very much 
 as if he were under his father s stoop. He is 
 seeking to be admitted into the bar in New York, 
 but as yet had not succeeded. I directed him to 
 Fuller s store, which he had not found, and in 
 vited him to come and see me if he came to the 
 island. Tell Mrs. and Miss Ward that I have 
 not forgotten them, and was glad to hear from 
 George with whom I spent last night that 
 they had returned to C. Tell Mrs. Brown that 
 it gives me as much pleasure to know that she 
 thinks of me and my writing as if I had been 
 the author of the piece in question, but I did 
 not even read over the papers I sent. The 
 " Mirror " is really the most readable journal 
 here. I see that they have printed a short piece 
 that I wrote to sell, in the " Dem. Review," 
 and still keep the review of " Paradise," that I 
 may include in it a notice of another book by 
 the same author, which they have found, and are 
 going to send me. 
 
 I don t know when I shall come home ; I like 
 to keep that feast in store. Tell Helen that I 
 do not see any advertisement for her, and I am 
 looking for myself. If I could find a rare open 
 ing, I might be tempted to try with her for a 
 year, till I had paid my debts, but for such I 
 am sure it is not well to go out of New Eng 
 land. Teachers are but poorly recompensed, 
 
2ET.26.] TO MRS. EMERSON. 133 
 
 even here. Tell her and Sophia (if she is not 
 gone) to write to me. Father will know that 
 this letter is to him as well as to you. I send 
 him a paper which usually contains the news, 
 if not all that is stirring, all that has stirred, 
 and even draws a little 011 the future. I wish 
 he would send me, by and by, the paper which 
 contains the results of the Cattle Show. You 
 must get Helen s eyes to read this, though she 
 is a scoffer at honest penmanship. 
 
 TO MRS. EMERSON (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, October 16, 1843. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, I promised you some 
 thoughts long ago, but it would be hard to tell 
 whether these are the ones. I suppose that the 
 great questions f " Fate, Freewill, Foreknow 
 ledge absolute," which used to be discussed at 
 Concord, are still unsettled. And here comes 
 [W. H.] Channing, with his " Present," to vex 
 the world again, a rather galvanic movement, 
 I think. However, I like the man all the better, 
 though his schemes the less. I am sorry for his 
 confessions. Faith never makes a confession. 
 
 Have you had the annual berrying party, or 
 sat on the Cliffs a whole day this summer ? I 
 suppose the flowers have fared quite as well since 
 I was not there to scoff at them ; and the hens, 
 without doubt, keep up their reputation. 
 
134 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 I have been reading lately what of Quarles s 
 poetry I could get. He was a contemporary of 
 Herbert, and a kindred spirit. I think you 
 would like him. It is rare to find one who was 
 so much of a poet and so little of an artist. He 
 wrote long poems, almost epics for length, about 
 Jonah, Esther, Job, Samson, and Solomon, in 
 terspersed with meditations after a quite original 
 plan, - - Shepherd s Oracles, Comedies, Ro 
 mances, Fancies, and Meditations, the quin 
 tessence of meditation, and Enchiridions of 
 Meditation all divine, and what he calls his 
 Morning Muse ; besides prose works as curious 
 as the rest. He was an unwearied Christian, 
 and a reformer of some old school withal. Hope 
 lessly quaint, as if he lived all alone and knew 
 nobody but his wife, who appears to have rev 
 erenced him. He never doubts his genius ; it 
 is only he and his God in all the world. He 
 uses language sometimes as greatly as Shake 
 speare ; and though there is not much straight 
 grain in him, there is plenty of tough, crooked 
 timber. In an age when Herbert is revived, 
 Quarles surely ought not to be forgotten. 
 
 I will copy a few such sentences, as I should 
 read to you if there. Mrs. Brown, too, may 
 find some nutriment in them. 
 
 How does the Saxon Edith do ? Can you 
 tell yet to which school of philosophy she be- 
 
2ET.2G.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 135 
 
 longs, whether she will be a fair saint of some 
 Christian order, or a follower of Plato and the 
 heathen? Bid Ellen a good-night or a good- 
 morning from me, and see if she will remember 
 where it comes from ; and remember me to Mrs. 
 Brown, and your mother, and Elizabeth Hoar. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, October 17, 1843. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, I went with my pupil 
 to the Fair of the American Institute, and so 
 lost a visit from Tappan, whom I met returning 
 from the Island. I should have liked to hear 
 more news from his lips, though he had left me 
 a letter and the " Dial," which is a sort of cir 
 cular letter itself. I find Chaniiing s l letters 
 full of life, and I enjoy their wit highly. Lane 
 writes straight and solid, like a guideboard, but 
 I find that I put off the " social tendencies " to 
 a future day, which may never come. He is 
 always Shaker fare, quite as luxurious as his 
 principles will allow. I feel as if I were ready 
 to be appointed a committee on poetry, I have 
 
 1 The allusion here is to Ellery Channing s " Youth of the 
 Poet and Painter," in the Dial an unfinished autobiography. 
 The Present of W. H. Channing 1 , his cousin, named above, was 
 a short-lived periodical, begun September 15, 1843, and ended 
 in April, 1844. " McKean " was Henry Swasey McKean, who 
 was a classmate of Charles Emerson at Harvard in 1828, a 
 tutor there in 1830-35, and who died in 1857. 
 
136 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 got my eyes so whetted and proved of late, like 
 the knife-sharpener I saw at the Fair, certified 
 to have been " in constant use in a gentleman s 
 family for more than two years." Yes, I ride 
 along the ranks of the English poets, casting 
 terrible glances, and some I blot out, and some 
 I spare. McKean has imported, within the 
 year, several new editions and collections of old 
 poetry, of which I have the reading, but there 
 is a good deal of chaff to a little meal, hardly 
 worth bolting. I have just opened Bacon s " Ad 
 vancement of Learning " for the first time, which 
 I read with great delight. It is more like what 
 Scott s novels were than anything. 
 
 I see that I was very blind to send you my 
 manuscript in such a state ; but I have a good 
 second sight, at least. I could still shake it in 
 the wind to some advantage, if it would hold 
 together. There are some sad mistakes in the 
 printing. It is a little unfortunate that the 
 " Ethnical Scriptures " should hold out so well, 
 though it does really hold out. The Bible ought 
 not to be very large. Is it not singular that, 
 while the religious world is gradually picking 
 to pieces its old testaments, here are some com 
 ing slowly after, on the seashore, picking up the 
 durable relics of perhaps older books, and put 
 ting them together again ? 
 
 Your Letter to Contributors is excellent, and 
 
aw. 26.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 137 
 
 hits the nail on the head. It will taste sour to 
 their palates at first, no doubt, but it will bear 
 a sweet fruit at last. I like the poetry, espe 
 cially the Autumn verses. They ring true. 
 Though I am quite weather-beaten with poetry, 
 having weathered so many epics of late. The 
 " Sweep Ho ! " sounds well this way. But I have 
 a good deal of fault to find with your " Ode to 
 Beauty." The tune is altogether unworthy of 
 the thoughts. You slope too quickly to the 
 rhyme, as if that trick had better be performed 
 as soon as possible, or as if you stood over the 
 line with a hatchet, and chopped off the verses as 
 they came out, some short and some long. But 
 give us a long reel, and we 11 cut it up to suit 
 ourselves. It sounds like parody. " Thee knew 
 I of old," "Remediless thirst," are some of 
 those stereotyped lines. I am frequently re 
 minded, I believe, of Jane Taylor s " Philoso 
 pher s Scales," and how the world 
 
 " Flew out with a bounce," 
 
 which 
 
 " Yerked the philosopher out of his cell ; " 
 
 or else of 
 
 " From the climes of the sun all war-worn and weary." 
 
 I had rather have the thought come ushered 
 with a flourish of oaths and curses. Yet I love 
 your poetry as I do little else that is near and 
 
138 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 recent, especially when you get fairly round the 
 end of the line, and are not thrown back upon 
 the rocks. To read the lecture on "The Comic" 
 is as good as to be in our town meeting or Ly 
 ceum once more. 
 
 I am glad that the Concord farmers ploughed 
 well this year ; it promises that something will 
 be done these summers. But I am suspicious of 
 that Brittonner, who advertises so many cords 
 of good oak, chestnut, and maple wood for sale. 
 Good ! ay, good for what ? And there shall not 
 be left a stone upon a stone. But no matter, 
 let them hack away. The sturdy Irish arms that 
 do the work are of more worth than oak or 
 maple. Methinks I could look with equanimity 
 upon a long street of Irish cabins, and pigs and 
 children reveling in the genial Concord dirt ; and 
 I should still find my Walden wood and Fair 
 Haven in their tanned and happy faces. 
 
 I write this in the cornfield it being wash 
 ing-day with the inkstand Elizabeth Hoar 
 gave me ; l though it is not redolent of corn- 
 
 1 This inkstand was presented by Miss Hoar, with a note 
 dated " Boston, May 2, 1843," which deserves to be copied : 
 
 DEAR HENRY, The rain prevented me from seeing 1 you 
 the night before I came away, to leave with you a parting" as 
 surance of good will and good hope. We have become better 
 acquainted within the .two past years than in our whole life as 
 schoolmates and neighbors before ; and I am unwilling to let 
 you go away without telling you that I, among your other 
 
J5T.2G.] THE DIAL. 139 
 
 stalks, I fear. Let me not be forgotten by 
 Charming and Hawthorne, nor our gray-suited 
 neighbor under the hill [Edmund Hosmer] . 
 
 This letter will be best explained by a refer 
 ence to the "Dial" for October, 1843. The 
 " Ethnical Scriptures " were selections from the 
 Brahminical books, from Confucius, etc., such 
 as we have since seen in great abundance. The 
 Autumn verses are by Charming ; " Sweep 
 Ho ! " by Ellen Sturgis, afterwards Mrs. 
 Hooper ; the " Youth of the Poet and Painter " 
 also by Charming. The Letter to Contributors, 
 which is headed simply "A Letter," is by Em 
 erson, and has been much overlooked by his 
 later readers ; his " Ode to Beauty " is very well 
 known, and does not deserve the slashing cen 
 sure of Thoreau, though, as it now stands, it is 
 better than first printed. Instead of 
 
 friends, shall miss you much, and follow you with remem 
 brance and all best wishes and confidence. Will you take this 
 little inkstand and try if it will carry ink safely from Concord 
 to Staten Island ? and the pen, which, if you can write with 
 steel, may be made sometimes the interpreter of friendly 
 thoughts to those whom you leave beyond the reach of your 
 voice, or record the inspirations of Nature, who, I doubt 
 not, will be as faithful to you who trust her in the sea-girt 
 Staten Island as in Concord woods and meadows. Good-by, 
 and eS trparreiv, which, a wise man says, is the only salutation 
 fit for the wise. 
 
 Truly your friend, E. HOAR. 
 
140 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843, 
 
 " Love drinks at thy banquet 
 Remediless thirst," 
 
 we now have the perfect phrase, 
 
 "Love drinks at thy fountain 
 False waters of thirst" 
 
 "The Comic" is also Emerson s. There is a 
 poem, " The Sail," by William Tappan, so often 
 named in these letters, and a sonnet by Charles 
 A. Dana, now of the " New York Sun." 
 
 TO HELEN THOREAU (AT CONCORD). 
 
 STATEN ISLAND, October 18, 1843. 
 
 DEAR HELEN, What do you mean by say 
 ing that " we have written eight times by private 
 opportunity"? Isn t it the more the better? 
 And am I not glad of it ? But people have a 
 habit of not letting me know it when they go to 
 Concord from New York. I endeavored to get 
 you "The Present" when I was last in the city, 
 but they were all sold ; and now another is out, 
 which I will send, if I get it. I did not send the 
 " Democratic Review," because I had no copy, 
 and my piece was not worth fifty cents. You 
 think that Channing s words would apply to me 
 too, as living more in the natural than the moral 
 world ; but I think that you mean the world of 
 men and women rather, and reformers generally. 
 My objection to Channing and all that f rater- 
 
jsT.26.] TO HELEN THOREAU. 141 
 
 nity is, that they need and deserve sympathy 
 themselves rather than are able to render it to 
 others. They want faith, and mistake their pri 
 vate ail for an infected atmosphere ; but let any 
 one of them recover hope for a moment, and 
 right his particular grievance, and he will no 
 longer train in that company. To speak or do 
 anything that shall concern mankind, one must 
 speak and act as if well, or from that grain of 
 health which he has left. This " Present " book 
 indeed is blue, but the hue of its thoughts is 
 yellow. I say these things with the less hesita 
 tion, because I have the jaundice myself ; but I 
 also know what it is to be well. But do not 
 think that one can escape from mankind who is 
 one of them, and is so constantly dealing with 
 them. 
 
 I could not undertake to form a nucleus of an 
 institution for the development of infant minds, 
 where none already existed. It would be too 
 cruel. And then, as if looking all this while one 
 way with benevolence, to walk off another about 
 one s own affairs suddenly ! Something of this 
 kind is an unavoidable objection to that. 
 
 I am very sorry to hear such bad news about 
 Aunt Maria ; but I think that the worst is al 
 ways the least to be apprehended, for nature is 
 averse to it as well as we. I trust to hear that 
 she is quite well soon. I send love to her and 
 
142 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843. 
 
 Aunt Jane. For three months I have not known 
 whether to think of Sophia as in Bangor or Con 
 cord, and now you say that she is going directly. 
 Tell her to write to me, and establish her where 
 abouts, and also to get well directly. And see 
 that she has something worthy to do when she 
 gets down there, for that s the best remedy for 
 disease. 
 
 . Your affectionate brother, 
 
 H. D. THOREAU. 
 
II. GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. 
 
 THIS was the golden age of hope and achieve 
 ment for the Concord poets and philosophers. 
 Their ranks were not yet broken by death (for 
 Stearns Wheeler was hardly one of them), their 
 spirits were high, and their faith in each other 
 unbounded. Emerson wrote thus from Concord, 
 while Thoreau was perambulating Staten Island 
 and calling on " the false booksellers : " " Ellery 
 Charming is excellent company, and we walk in 
 all directions. He remembers you with great 
 faith and hope ; thinks you ought not to see 
 Concord again these ten years that you ought 
 to grind up fifty Concords in your mill and 
 much other opinion and counsel he holds in store 
 on this topic. Hawthorne walked with me yes 
 terday afternoon, and not until after our return 
 did I read his Celestial Railroad, which has a 
 serene strength which we cannot afford not to 
 praise, in this low life." 
 
 The Transcendentalists had their " Quarterly," 
 and even their daily organ, for Mr. Greeley put 
 the " Tribune " at their service, and gave places 
 
144 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1845, 
 
 on its staff to Margaret Fuller and her brother- 
 in-law Chamiing, and would gladly have made 
 room for Emerson in its columns, if the swift 
 utterance of a morning paper had suited his 
 habit of publication. While in the " Tribune " 
 office, Ellery Chamiing thus wrote to Thoreau, 
 after he had returned home, disappointed with 
 New York, to make lead pencils in his father s 
 shop at Concord. 
 
 ELLERY CHANNING TO THOREAU (AT CONCORD). 
 
 March 5, 1845. 
 
 MY DEAR THOREAU, The handwriting of 
 your letter is so miserable that I am not sure I 
 have made it out. If I have, it seems to me you 
 are the same old sixpence you used to be, rather 
 rusty, but a genuine piece. I see nothing for 
 you in this earth but that field which I once 
 christened " Briars ; " go out upon that, build 
 yourself a hut, and there begin the grand pro 
 cess of devouring yourself alive. I see no alter 
 native, no other hope for you. Eat yourself 
 up ; you will eat nobody else, nor anything else. 
 Concord is just as good a place as any other ; 
 there are, indeed, more people in the streets of 
 that village than in the streets of this. This is 
 a singularly muddy town ; muddy, solitary, and 
 silent. 
 
 In your line, I have not done a great deal 
 
&r. 27.] CHANNING TO THOREAU: 145 
 
 since I arrived here ; I do not mean the Pencil 
 line, but the Staten Island line, having been 
 there once, to walk on a beach by the tele 
 graph, but did not visit the scene of your do 
 minical duties. Staten Island is very distant 
 from No. 30 Ann Street. I saw polite William 
 Emerson in November last, but have not caught 
 any glimpse of him since then. I am as usual 
 suffering the various alternations from agony to 
 despair, from hope to fear, from pain to pleas 
 ure. Such wretched one-sided productions as 
 you know nothing of the universal man; you 
 may think yourself well off. 
 
 That baker, Hecker, who used to live on two 
 crackers a day, I have not seen ; nor Black, nor 
 Vethake, nor Danesaz, nor Rynders, nor any of 
 Emerson s old cronies, excepting James, a lit 
 tle fat, rosy Swedenborgian amateur, with the 
 look of a broker, and the brains and heart of 
 a Pascal. William Charming, I see nothing 
 of him ; he is the dupe of good feelings, and I 
 have all-too-many of these now. I have seen 
 something of your friends, Waldo and Tappan, 
 and have also seen our good man McKean, 
 the keeper of that stupid place, the Mercantile 
 Library. 
 
 Acting on Channing s hint, and an old fancy 
 of his own, Thoreau, in the summer of 1845, 
 
146 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1843, 
 
 built his cabin at Walden and retired there ; 
 while Hawthorne entered the Salem Custom 
 house, and Alcott, returning defeated from his 
 Fruitlands paradise, was struggling with poverty 
 and discouragement at Concord. Charles Lane, 
 his English comrade, withdrew to New York or 
 its vicinity, and in 1846 to London, whence he 
 had come in 1842, full of hope and enthusiasm. 
 A few notes of his, or about him, may here find 
 place. They were sent to Thoreau at Concord, 
 and show that Lane continued to value his can 
 did friend. The first, written after leaving 
 Fruitlands, introduces the late Father Hecker, 
 who had been one of the family there, to Tho 
 reau. The second and third relate to the sale 
 of the Alcott-Lane library, and other matters. 
 
 CHARLES LANE TO THOREAU (AT CONCORD). 
 BOSTON, December 3, 1843. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, As well as my Avounded 
 hands permit, I have scribbled something for 
 friend Hecker, which if agreeable may be the 
 opportunity for entering into closer relations 
 with him; a course I think likely to be mutually 
 encouraging, as well as beneficial to all men. 
 But let it reach him in the manner most con 
 formable to your own feelings. That from all 
 perils of a false position you may shortly be re 
 lieved, and landed in the position where you feel 
 
JET. 28.] CHARLES LANE TO THOEEAU. 147 
 
 " at home," is the sincere wish of yours most 
 friendly, 
 
 CHARLES LANE. 
 
 MR. HENRY THOREAU, 
 Earl House, Coach Office. 
 
 NEW YORK, February 17, 1846. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, The books you were so kind 
 as to deposit about two years and a half ago 
 with Messrs. Wiley & Putnam have all been 
 sold, but as they were left in your name it is 
 needful, in strict business, that you should send 
 an order to them to pay to me the amount due. 
 I will therefore thank you to inclose me such 
 an order at your earliest convenience in a letter 
 addressed to your admiring friend, 
 
 CHARLES LANE, 
 Post Office, New York City. 
 
 BOONTON, N. J., March 30, 1846. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, If the human nature parti 
 cipates of the elemental I am no longer in dan 
 ger of becoming suburban, or super-urban, that 
 is to say, too urbane. I am now more likely to 
 be converted into a petrifaction, for slabs of rock 
 and foaming waters never so abounded in my 
 neighborhood. A very Peter I shall become : 
 on this rock He has built Ms church. You 
 would find much joy in these eminences and in 
 the views therefrom. 
 
148 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1846, 
 
 My pen has been necessarily unproductive in 
 the continued motion of the sphere in which I 
 have lately been moved. You, I suppose, have 
 not passed the winter to the world s unprofit. 
 
 You never have seen, as I have, the book with 
 a preface of 450 pages and a text of 60. My 
 letter is like unto it. 
 
 I have only to add that your letter of the 26th 
 February did its work, and that I submit to you 
 cordial thanks for the same. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 CHAS. LANE. 
 
 I hope to hear occasionally of your doings 
 and those of your compeers in your classic 
 ploughings and diggings. 
 
 To HENRY D. THOBEAU, 
 Concord Woods. 
 
 Thoreau s letters to Lane have not come into 
 any editor s hands. In England, before Lane s 
 discovery by Alcott, in 1842, he had been the 
 editor of the " Mark-Lane Gazette " (or some 
 thing similar), which gave the price-current of 
 wheat, etc., in the English markets. Emerson 
 found him in Hampstead, London, in February, 
 1848, and wrote to Thoreau : " I went last Sun 
 day, for the first time, to see Lane at Hamp 
 stead, and dined with him. He was full of 
 
2ET.30.] EMERSON TO THOREAU. 149 
 
 friendliness and hospitality ; has a school of six 
 teen children, one lady as matron, then Oldham. 
 That is all the household. They looked just 
 comfortable." 
 
 " Lane instructed me to ask you to forward 
 his Dials to him, which must be done, if you 
 can find them. Three bound volumes are among 
 his books in my library. The fourth volume is 
 in unbound numbers at J. Munroe & Co. s shop, 
 received there in a parcel to my address, a day 
 or two before I sailed, and which I forgot to 
 carry to Concord. It must be claimed without 
 delay. It is certainly there, was opened by 
 me and left ; and they can inclose all four vol 
 umes to Chapman for me." 
 
 This would indicate that he had not lost in 
 terest in the days and events of his American 
 sojourn, unpleasant as some of these must 
 have been to the methodical, prosaic English 
 man. 
 
 While at Walclen, Thoreau wrote but few let 
 ters ; there is, however, a brief correspondence 
 with Mr. J. E. Cabot, then an active naturalist, 
 cooperating with Agassiz in his work on the 
 American fishes, who had requested Thoreau to 
 procure certain species from Concord. The let 
 ters were written from the cabin at Walden, 
 and it is this same structure that figures in the 
 letters from Thoreau to Emerson in England, 
 
150 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 as the proposed nucleus of the cottage of poor 
 Hugh the gardener, before he ran away from 
 Concord, as there narrated, on a subsequent 
 page. The first sending of river-fish was in the 
 end of April, 1847. Then followed this let 
 ter :- 
 
 TO ELLIOT CABOT (AT BOSTON). 
 
 CONCORD, May 8, 1847. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I believe that I have not yet 
 acknowledged the receipt of your notes, and a 
 five dollar bill. I am very glad that the fishes 
 afforded Mr. Agassiz so much pleasure. I could 
 easily have obtained more specimens of the Ster- 
 notliaerus odoratus ; they are quite numerous 
 here. I will send more of them erelong. Snap 
 ping turtles are perhaps as frequently met with 
 in our muddy river as anything, but they are 
 not always to be had when wanted. It is now 
 rather late in the season for them. As no one 
 makes a business of seeking them, and they are 
 valued for soups, science may be forestalled by 
 appetite in this market, and it will be necessary 
 to bid pretty high to induce persons to obtain 
 or preserve them. I think that from seventy- 
 five cents to a dollar apiece would secure all 
 that are in any case to be had, and will set this 
 price upon their heads, if the treasury of science 
 is full enough to warrant it. 
 
*2T.29.] TO ELLIOT CABOT. 151 
 
 You will excuse me for taking toll in the 
 shape of some, it may be, impertinent and unsci 
 entific inquiries. There are found in the waters 
 of the Concord, so far as I know, the following 
 kinds of fishes : 
 
 Pickerel. Besides the common, fishermen dis 
 tinguish the Brook, or Grass Pickerel, which bites 
 differently, and has a shorter snout. Those 
 caught in Walden, hard by my house, are easily 
 distinguished from those caught in the river, 
 being much heavier in proportion to their size, 
 stouter, firmer fleshed, and lighter colored. The 
 little pickerel which I sent last, jumped into the 
 boat in its fright. 
 
 Pouts. Those in the pond are of different 
 appearance from those that I have sent. 
 
 Breams. Some more green, others more 
 brown. 
 
 Suckers. The horned, which I sent first, and 
 the black. I am not sure whether the Common 
 or Boston sucker is found here. Are the three 
 which I sent last, which were speared in the river, 
 identical with the three Hack suckers, taken by 
 hand in the brook, which I sent before ? I have 
 never examined them minutely. 
 
 Perch. The river perch, of which I sent five 
 specimens in the box, are darker colored than 
 those found in the pond. There are myriads of 
 small ones in the latter place, and but few large 
 
152 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 ones. I have counted ten transverse bands on 
 some of the smaller. 
 
 Lampreys. Very scarce since the dams at 
 Lowell and Billerica were built. 
 
 Shiners. Leuciscus chrysoleucas, silver and 
 golden. 
 
 What is the difference ? 
 
 Roach or Chiverin, Leuciscus pulchellus, 
 argenteus, or what not. The white and the red. 
 The former described by Storer, but the latter, 
 which deserves distinct notice, not described, to 
 my knowledge. Are the minnows (called here 
 dace), of which I sent three live specimens, I 
 believe, one larger and two smaller, the young of 
 this species? 
 
 Trout. Of different appearance in different 
 brooks in this neighborhood. 
 
 Eels. 
 
 Red-Jinned Minnows, of which I sent you a 
 dozen alive. I have never recognized them in 
 any books. Have they any scientific name ? 
 
 If convenient, will you let Dr. Storer see 
 these brook minnows ? There is also a kind of 
 dace or fresh-water smelt in the pond, which is, 
 perhaps, distinct from any of the above. What 
 of the above does M. Agassiz particularly wish 
 to see ? Does he want more specimens of kinds 
 which I have already sent ? There are also 
 minks, muskrats, frogs, lizards, tortoise, snakes, 
 
JET. 29.] TO ELLIOT CABOT. 153 
 
 caddice-worms, leeches, muscles, etc., or rather, 
 here they are. The funds which you sent me 
 are nearly exhausted. Most fishes can now be 
 taken with the hook, and it will cost but little 
 trouble or money to obtain them. The snapping 
 turtles will be the main expense. I should think 
 that five dollars more, at least, might be profita 
 bly expended. 
 
 TO ELLIOT CABOT (AT BOSTON). 
 
 CONCORD, June 1, 1847. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I send you 15 pouts, 17 perch, 
 13 shiners, 1 larger land tortoise, and 5 muddy 
 tortoises, all from the pond by my house. Also 
 7 perch, 5 shiners, 8 breams, 4 dace ? 2 muddy 
 tortoises, 5 painted do., and 3 land do., all from 
 the river. One black snake, alive, and one dor 
 mouse? caught last night in my cellar. The 
 tortoises were all put in alive ; the fishes were 
 alive yesterday, i. e., Monday, and some this 
 morning. Observe the difference between those 
 from the pond, which is pure water, and those 
 from the river. 
 
 I will send the light-colored trout and the 
 pickerel with the longer snout, which is our 
 large one, when I meet with them. I have set a 
 price upon the heads of snapping turtles, though 
 it is late in the season to get them. 
 
 If I wrote red-firmed eel, it was a slip of the 
 
154 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 pen ; I meant red-finned minnow. This is their 
 name here ; though smaller specimens have but 
 a slight reddish tinge at the base of the pecto 
 rals. 
 
 Will you, at your leisure, answer these queries ? 
 
 Do you mean to say that the twelve banded 
 minnows which I sent are undescribed, or only 
 one? What are the scientific names of those 
 minnows which have any ? Are the four dace I 
 send to-day identical with one of the former, and 
 what are they called ? Is there such a fish as 
 the black sucker described, distinct from the 
 common ? 
 
 AGASSIZ TO THOREAU (AT CONCORD). 
 
 In October, 1849, Agassiz, in reply to a re 
 quest from Thoreau that he would lecture in 
 Bangor, sent this characteristic letter : 
 
 " I remember with much pleasure the time 
 when you used to send me specimens from your 
 vicinity, and also our short interview in the 
 Marlborough Chapel. 1 I am under too many 
 obligations of your kindness to forget it. I am 
 very sorry that I missed your visit in Boston ; 
 but for eighteen months I have now been settled 
 in Cambridge. It would give me great pleasure 
 to engage for the lectures you ask from me for 
 the Bangor Lyceum ; but I find it has been last 
 
 1 Where Agassiz was giving- a course of Lowell lectures. 
 
asT.32.] AGASSIZ TO THOREAU. 155 
 
 winter such a heavy tax upon my health, that I 
 wish for the present to make no engagements ; 
 as I have some hope of making my living this 
 year by other efforts, and beyond the neces 
 sity of my wants, both domestic and scientific, 
 I am determined not to exert myself ; as all the 
 time I can thus secure to myself must be exclu 
 sively devoted to science. My only business is 
 my intercourse with nature ; and could I do with 
 out draughtsmen, lithographers, etc., I would 
 live still more retired. This will satisfy you that 
 whenever you come this way, I shall be delighted 
 to see you, since I have also heard something 
 of your mode of living." 
 
 Agassiz had reason indeed to remember the 
 collections made by Thoreau, since (from the 
 letters of Mr. Cabot) they aided him much in 
 his comparison of the American with the Eu 
 ropean fishes. When the first firkin of Concord 
 fish arrived in Boston, where Agassiz was then 
 working, " he was highly delighted, and began 
 immediately to spread them out and arrange 
 them for his draughtsman. Some of the species 
 he had seen before, but never in so fresh con 
 dition ; others, as the breams and the pout, he 
 had seen only in spirits, and the little tortoise he 
 knew only from the books. I am sure you would 
 have felt fully repaid for your trouble," adds 
 
156 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 Mr. Cabot, " if you could have seen the eager 
 satisfaction with which he surveyed each fin and 
 scale." Agassiz himself wrote the same day : 
 " I have been highly pleased to find that the 
 small mud turtle was really the Sternotliaerus 
 odoratus, as I suspected, a very rare species, 
 quite distinct from the snapping turtle. The 
 suckers were all of one and the same species 
 ( Catastomus tuberculatus) ; the female has the 
 tubercles. As I am very anxious to send some 
 snapping turtles home with my first boxes, I 
 would thank Mr. T. very much if he could have 
 some taken for me." 
 
 Mr. Cabot goes on : " Of the perch Agassiz 
 remarked that it was almost identical with that 
 of Europe, but distinguishable, on close exami 
 nation, by the tubercles on the sub-operculum. 
 . . . More of the painted tortoises would be 
 acceptable. The snapping turtles are very in 
 teresting to him as forming a transition from 
 the turtles proper to the alligator and crocodile. 
 . . . We have received three boxes from you 
 since the first." (May 27.) " Agassiz was much 
 surprised and pleased at the extent of the col 
 lections you sent during his absence in New 
 York. Among the fishes there is one, and prob 
 ably two, new species. The fresh-water smelt 
 he does not know. He is very anxious to see 
 the pickerel with the long snout, which he sus- 
 
JET. 29.} CABOT TO THOREAU. 157 
 
 pects may be the Esox estor, or Maskalonge ; 
 he has seen this at Albany. ... As to the 
 minks, etc., I know they would all be very ac 
 ceptable to him. When I asked him about 
 these, and more specimens of what you have 
 sent, he said, I dare not make any request, for 
 I do not know how much trouble I may be 
 giving to Mr. Thoreau ; but my method of ex 
 amination requires many more specimens than 
 most naturalists would care for." (June 1.) 
 " Agassiz is delighted to find one, and he thinks 
 two, more new species ; one is a Pomotis, the 
 bream without the red spot in the operculum, 
 and with a red belly and fins. The other is the 
 shallower and lighter colored shiner. The four 
 dace you sent last are Leuciscus argenteus. 
 They are different from that you sent before 
 under this name, but which was a new species. 
 Of the four kinds of minnow, two are new. 
 There is a black sucker {Catastomus nigri- 
 cans), but there has been no specimen among 
 those you have sent, and A. has never seen a 
 specimen. He seemed to know your mouse, and 
 called it the white-bellied mouse. It was the 
 first specimen he had seen. I am in hopes to 
 bring or send him to Concord, to look after new 
 Leucisci, etc." Agassiz did afterwards come, 
 more than once, and examined turtles with Tho 
 reau. 
 
158 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 Soon after this scientific correspondence, Tho- 
 reau left his retreat by Walden to take the place 
 of Emerson in his household, while his friend 
 went to visit Carlyle and give lectures in Eng 
 land. The letters that follow are among the 
 longest Thoreau ever composed, and will give a 
 new conception of the writer to those who may 
 have figured him as a cold, stoical, or selfish 
 person, withdrawn from society and its duties. 
 The first describes the setting out of Emerson 
 for Europe. 
 
 TO SOPHIA THOREAU (AT BANGOR). 
 
 CONCORD, October 24, 1847. 
 
 DEAR SOPHIA, I thank you for those let 
 ters about Ktaadn, and hope you will save and 
 send me the rest, and anything else you may 
 meet with relating to the Maine woods. That 
 Dr. Young is both young and green too at trav 
 eling in the woods. However, I hope he got 
 " yarbs " enough to satisfy him. I went to Bos 
 ton the 5th of this month to see Mr. Emerson 
 off to Europe. He sailed in the Washington 
 Irving packet ship ; the same in which Mr. [F. 
 II.] Hedge went before him. Up to this trip 
 the first mate aboard this ship was, as I hear, 
 one Stephens, a Concord boy, son of Stephens 
 the carpenter, who used to live above Mr. Den 
 nis s. Mr. Emerson s stateroom was like a car- 
 
2ET.30.] TO SOPHIA THOREAU. 159 
 
 peted dark closet, about six feet square, with a 
 large keyhole for a window. The window was 
 about as big as a saucer, and the glass two inches 
 thick, not to mention another skylight overhead 
 in the deck, the size of an oblong doughnut, 
 and about as opaque. Of course it would be in 
 vain to look up, if any contemplative promenader 
 put his foot upon it. Such will be his lodgings 
 for two or three weeks ; and instead of a walk 
 in Walden woods he will take a promenade on 
 deck, where the few trees, you know, are stripped 
 of their bark. The steam-tug carried the ship 
 to sea against a head wind without a rag of sail 
 being raised. 
 
 I don t remember whether you have heard of 
 the new telescope at Cambridge or not. They 
 think it is the best one in the world, and have 
 already seen more than Lord Rosse or Herschel. 
 I went to see Perez Blood s, some time ago, with 
 Mr. Emerson. He had not gone to bed, but was 
 sitting in the woodshed, in the dark, alone, in 
 his astronomical chair, which is all legs and 
 rounds, with a seat which can be inserted at any 
 height. We saw Saturn s rings, and the moun 
 tains in the moon, and the shadows in their 
 craters, and the sunlight on the spurs of the 
 mountains in the dark portion, etc., etc. When 
 I asked him the power of his glass, he said it 
 was 85. But what is the power of the Cam- 
 
160 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 bridge glass ? 2000 ! ! ! The last is about twenty- 
 three feet long. 
 
 I think you may have a grand time this win 
 ter pursuing some study, keeping a journal, 
 or the like, while the snow lies deep without. 
 Winter is the time for study, you know, and the 
 colder it is the more studious we are. Give my 
 respects to the whole Penobscot tribe, and tell 
 them that I trust we are good brothers still, and 
 endeavor to keep the chain of friendship bright, 
 though I do dig up a hatchet now and then. I 
 trust you will not stir from your comfortable 
 winter quarters, Miss Bruin, or even put your 
 head out of your hollow tree, till the sun has 
 melted the snow in the spring, and " the green 
 buds, they are a-swellin ." 
 
 From your BROTHER HENRY. 
 
 This letter will explain some of the allusions 
 in the first letter to Emerson in England. Perez 
 Blood was a rural astronomer living in the ex 
 treme north quarter of Concord, next to Carlisle, 
 with his two maiden sisters, in the midst of a 
 fine oak wood ; their cottage being one of the 
 points in view when Thoreau and his friends 
 took their afternoon rambles. Sophia Thoreau, 
 the younger and soon the only surviving sister, 
 was visiting her cousins in Maine, the " Penob 
 scot tribe " of whom the letter makes mention, 
 
MT. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 161 
 
 with an allusion to the Indians of that name near 
 Bangor. His letter to her and those which fol 
 low were written from Emerson s house, where 
 Thoreau lived during the master s absence across 
 the ocean. It was in the orchard of this house 
 that Alcott was building that summer-house at 
 which Thoreau, with his geometrical eye, makes 
 merry in the next letter. 
 
 TO B. W. EMERSON (iN ENGLAND). 
 
 CONCORD, November 14, 1847. 
 
 DEAR FKIEND, I am but a poor neighbor 
 to you here, a very poor companion am I. I 
 understand that very well, but that need not 
 prevent my writing to you now. I have almost 
 never written letters in my life, yet I think I 
 can write as good ones as I frequently see, so I 
 shall not hesitate to write this, such as it may 
 be, knowing that you will welcome anything that 
 reminds you of Concord. 
 
 I have banked up the young trees against the 
 winter and the mice, and I will look out, in my 
 careless way, to see when a pale is loose or a 
 nail drops out of its place. The broad gaps, at 
 least, I will occupy. I heartily wish I could be 
 of good service to this household. But I, who 
 have only used these ten digits so long to solve 
 the problem of a living, how can I ? The world 
 is a cow that is hard to milk, life does not 
 
162 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 come so easy, and oh, how thinly it is watered 
 ere we get it ! But the young bunting calf, he 
 will get at it. There is no way so direct. This 
 is to earn one s living by the sweat of his brow. 
 It is a little like joining a community, this life, 
 to such a hermit as I am ; and as I don t keep 
 the accounts, I don t know whether the experi 
 ment will succeed or fail finally. At any rate, 
 it is good for society, so I do not regret my tran 
 sient nor my permanent share in it. 
 
 Lidian [Mrs. Emerson] and I make very good 
 housekeepers. She is a very dear sister to me. 
 Ellen and Edith and Eddy and Aunty Brown 
 keep up the tragedy and comedy and tragic-com 
 edy of life as usual. The two former have not 
 forgotten their old acquaintance; even Edith 
 carries a young memory in her head, I find. 
 Eddy can teach us all how to pronounce. If 
 you should discover any rare hoard of wooden 
 or pewter horses, I have no doubt he will know 
 how to appreciate it. He occasionally surveys 
 mankind from my shoulders as wisely as ever 
 Johnson did. I respect him not a little, though 
 it is I that lift him up so unceremoniously. And 
 sometimes I have to set him down again in a 
 hurry, according to his "mere will and good 
 pleasure." He very seriously asked me, the 
 other day, "Mr. Thoreau, will you be my fa 
 ther ? " I am occasionally Mr. Rough-and-tum- 
 
JST. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 163 
 
 ble with him that I may not miss Aim, and lest 
 he should miss you too much. So you must 
 come back soon, or you will be superseded. 
 
 Alcott has heard that I laughed, and so set 
 the people laughing, at his arbor, though I never 
 laughed louder than when I was on the ridge 
 pole. But now I have not laughed for a long 
 time, it is so serious. He is very grave to look 
 at. But, not knowing all this, I strove inno 
 cently enough, the other day, to engage his at 
 tention to my mathematics. "Did you ever 
 study geometry, the relation of straight lines to 
 curves, the transition from the finite to the infi 
 nite ? Fine things about it in Newton and Leib 
 nitz." But he would hear none of it, men of 
 taste preferred the natural curve. Ah, he is a 
 crooked stick himself. He is getting on now so 
 many knots an hour. There is one knot at pres 
 ent occupying the point of highest elevation, 
 the present highest point; and as many knots 
 as are not handsome, I presume, are thrown 
 down and cast into the pines. Pray show him 
 this if you meet him anywhere in London, for I 
 cannot make him hear much plainer words here. 
 He forgets that I am neither old nor young, nor 
 anything in particular, and behaves as if I had 
 still some of the animal heat in me. As for the 
 building, I feel a little oppressed when I come 
 near it. It has no great disposition to be beau- 
 
164 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 tiful; it is certainly a wonderful structure, on 
 the whole, and the fame of the architect will 
 endure as long as it shall stand. I should not 
 show you this side alone, if I did not suspect 
 that Lidian had done complete justice to the 
 other. 
 
 Mr. [Edmund] Hosmer has been working at 
 a tannery in Stow for a fortnight, though he has 
 just now come home sick. It seems that he was 
 a tanner in his youth, and so he has made up 
 his mind a little at last. This comes of reading 
 the New Testament. Was n t one of the Apos 
 tles a tanner ? Mrs. Hosmer remains here, and 
 John looks stout enough to fill his own shoes 
 and his father s too. 
 
 Mr. Blood and his company have at length 
 seen the stars through the great telescope, and 
 he told me that he thought it was worth the 
 while. Mr. Peirce made him wait till the crowd 
 had dispersed (it was a Saturday evening), and 
 then was quite polite, conversed with him, and 
 showed him the micrometer, etc. ; and he said 
 Mr. Blood s glass was large enough for all ordi 
 nary astronomical work. [Rev.] Mr. Frost and 
 Dr. [Josiah] Bartlett seemed disappointed that 
 there was no greater difference between the 
 Cambridge glass and the Concord one. They 
 used only a power of 400. Mr. Blood tells me 
 that he is too old to study the calculus or higher 
 
JET. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 165 
 
 mathematics. At Cambridge they think that 
 they have discovered traces of another satellite 
 to Neptune. They have been obliged to exclude 
 the public altogether, at last. The very dust 
 which they raised, " which is filled with minute 
 crystals," etc., as professors declare, having to 
 be wiped off the glasses, would erelong wear 
 them away. It is true enough, Cambridge col 
 lege is really beginning to wake up and redeem 
 its character and overtake the age. I see by the 
 catalogue that they are about establishing a sci 
 entific school in connection with the university, 
 at which any one above eighteen, on paying one 
 hundred dollars annually (Mr. Lawrence s fifty 
 thousand dollars will probably diminish this sum), 
 may be instructed in the highest branches of 
 science, in astronomy, " theoretical and prac 
 tical, with the use of the instruments " (so the 
 great Yankee astronomer may be born without 
 delay), in mechanics and engineering to the last 
 degree. Agassiz will erelong commence his lec 
 tures in the zoological department. A chemistry 
 class has already been formed under the direc 
 tion of Professor Horsford. A new and ade 
 quate building for the purpose is already being 
 erected. They have been foolish enough to put 
 at the end of all this earnest the old joke of a 
 diploma. Let every sheep keep but his own 
 skin, I say. 
 
166 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 I have had a tragic correspondence, for the 
 
 most part all on one side, with Miss . She 
 
 did really wish to I hesitate to write marry 
 me. That is the way they spell it. Of course 
 I did not write a deliberate answer. How could 
 I deliberate upon it ? I sent back as distinct a 
 no as I have learned to pronounce after consid 
 erable practice, and I trust that this no has suc 
 ceeded. Indeed, I wished that it might burst, 
 like hollow shot, after it had struck and buried 
 itself and made itself felt there. There was no 
 other way. I really had anticipated no such foe 
 as this in my career. 
 
 I suppose you will like to hear of my book, 
 though I have nothing worth writing about it. 
 Indeed, for the last month or two I have forgot 
 ten it, but shall certainly remember it again. 
 Wiley & Putnam, Muiiroe, the Harpers, and 
 Crosby & Nichols have all declined printing it 
 with the least risk to themselves ; but Wiley & 
 Putnam will print it in their series, and any of 
 them, anywhere, at my risk. If I liked the book 
 well enough, I should not delay; but for the 
 present I am indifferent. I believe this is, after 
 all, the course you advised, to let it lie. 
 
 I do not know what to say of myself. I sit 
 before my green desk, in the chamber at the 
 head of the stairs, and attend to my thinking, 
 sometimes more, sometimes less distinctly. I 
 
MT. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 167 
 
 am not unwilling to think great thoughts if 
 there are any in the wind, but what they are I 
 am not sure. They suffice to keep me awake 
 while the day lasts, at any rate. Perhaps they 
 will redeem some portion of the night erelong. 
 
 I can imagine you astonishing, bewildering, 
 confounding, and sometimes delighting John 
 Bull with your Yankee notions, and that he be 
 gins to take a pride in the relationship at last ; 
 introduced to all the stars of England in succes 
 sion, after the lecture, until you pine to thrust 
 your head once more into a genuine and unques 
 tionable nebula, if there be any left. I trust a 
 common man will be the most uncommon to you 
 before you return to these parts. I have thought 
 there was some advantage even in death, by 
 which we " mingle with the herd of common 
 men." 
 
 Hugh [the gardener] still has his eye on the 
 Walden agellum, and orchards are waving there 
 in the windy future for him. That s the where- 
 I 11-go-next, thinks he ; but no important steps 
 are yet taken. He reminds me occasionally of 
 this open secret of his, with which the very sea 
 son seems to labor, and affirms seriously that as 
 to his wants wood, stone, or timber I know 
 better than he. That is a clincher which I shall 
 have to avoid to some extent ; but I fear that 
 it is a wrought nail and will not break. Un- 
 
168 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 fortunately, the day after cattle show the day 
 after small beer he was among the missing, 
 but not long this time. The Ethiopian cannot 
 change his skin nor the leopard his spots, nor 
 indeed Hugh his Hugh. 
 
 As I walked over Conantum, the other after 
 noon, I saw a fair column of smoke rising from 
 the woods directly over my house that was (as 
 I judged), and already began to conjecture if 
 my deed of sale would not be made invalid by 
 this. But it turned out to be John Richardson s 
 young wood, on the southeast of your field. It 
 was burnt nearly all over, and up to the rails 
 and the road. It was set on fire, no doubt, by 
 the same Lucifer that lighted Brooks s lot be 
 fore. So you see that your small lot is compar 
 atively safe for this season, the back fire having 
 been already set for you. 
 
 They have been choosing between John Keyes 
 and Sam Staples, if the world wants to know it, 
 as representative of this town, and Staples is 
 chosen. The candidates for governor think of 
 my writing this to you ! were Governor Briggs 
 and General Gushing, and Briggs is elected, 
 though the Democrats have gained. Ain t I a 
 brave boy to know so much of politics for the 
 nonce ? But I should n t have known it if 
 Goombs hadn t told me. They have had a 
 peace meeting here, I should n t think of 
 
MT. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 169 
 
 telling you if I didn t know anything would 
 do for the English market, and some men, 
 Deacon Brown at the head, have signed a long 
 pledge, swearing that they will " treat all man 
 kind as brothers henceforth." I think I shall 
 wait and see how they treat me first. I think 
 that Nature meant kindly when she made our 
 brothers few. However, my voice is still for 
 peace. So good-by, and a truce to all joking, 
 my dear friend, from 
 
 H. D. T. 
 
 Upon this letter some annotations are to be 
 made. " Eddy " was Emerson s youngest child, 
 Edward Waldo, then three years old and up 
 ward, of late years his father s biographer. 
 Hugh, the gardener, of whom more anoil, bar 
 gained for the house of Thoreau on Emerson s 
 land at Walden, and for a field to go with it ; 
 but the bargain came to naught, and the cabin 
 was removed three or four miles to the north 
 west, where it became a granary for Farmer 
 Clark and his squirrels, near the entrance to the 
 park known as Estabrook s. Edmund Hosmer 
 was the farming friend and neighbor with whom, 
 at one time, G. W. Curtis and his brother took 
 lodgings, and at another time the Alcott family. 
 The book in question was " A Week on the 
 Concord and Merrimack Rivers." 
 
170 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 To these letters Emerson replied from Eng 
 land : 
 
 DEAR HENRY, Very welcome in the parcel 
 was your letter, very precious your thoughts and 
 tidings. It is one of the best things connected 
 with my coming hither that you could and would 
 keep the homestead ; that fireplace shines all the 
 brighter, and has a certain permanent glimmer 
 therefor. Thanks, ever more thanks for the 
 kindness which I well discern to the youth of 
 the house : to my darling little horseman of 
 pewter, wooden, rocking, and what other breeds, 
 destined, I hope, to ride Pegasus yet, and, I 
 hope, not destined to be thrown ; to Edith, who 
 long ago drew from you verses which I carefully 
 preserve ; and to Ellen, whom by speech, and 
 now by letter, I find old enough to be compan 
 ionable, and to choose and reward her own 
 friends in her own fashions. She sends me a 
 poem to-day, which I have read three times ! 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (iN ENGLAND). 
 
 CONCORD, December 15, 1847. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, You are not so far off but 
 the affairs of this world still attract you. Per 
 haps it will be so when we are dead. Then 
 look out. Joshua K. Holman, of Harvard, who 
 says he lived a month with [Charles] Lane at 
 
2ET.30.J TO R. W. EMERSON. 171 
 
 Fruitlands, wishes to hire said Lane s farm for 
 one or more years, and will pay $125 rent, tak 
 ing out of the same a half, if necessary, for 
 repairs, as for a new bank-wall to the barn 
 cellar, which he says is indispensable. Palmer is 
 gone, Mrs. Palmer is going. This is all that is 
 known or that is worth knowing. Yes or no ? 
 What to do ? 
 
 Hugh s plot begins to thicken. He starts 
 thus : eighty dollars on one side ; Walden, field 
 and house, on the other. How to bring these 
 together so as to make a garden and a palace ? 
 
 Field 
 
 1st, let $10 go over to unite the two lots. 
 $70 
 
 $6 for Wetherbee s rocks to found your 
 palace on. 
 
 $64 
 
 $64 so far, indeed, we have already got. 
 $4 to bring the rocks to the field. 
 
 $60 
 Save $20 by all means, to measure the field, and you have 
 
 left 
 $40 to complete the palace, build cellar, and dig well. 
 
 Build the cellar yourself, and let well alone, 
 
 and now how does it stand ? 
 $40 to complete the palace somewhat like 
 
 this. 
 
172 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 For when one asks, " Why do you want twice 
 as much room more ? " the reply is, " Parlor, 
 kitchen, and bedroom, these make the pal 
 ace." 
 
 " Well, Hugh, what will you do ? Here are 
 forty dollars to buy a new house, twelve feet by 
 twenty-five, and add it to the old." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Thoreau, as I tell you, I know 
 no more than a child about it. It shall be just 
 as you say." 
 
 "Then build it yourself, get it roofed, and 
 get in. 
 
 " Commence at one end and leave it half done, 
 And let time finish what money s begun." 
 
 So you see we have forty dollars for a nest 
 egg ; sitting on which, Hugh and I alternately 
 and simultaneously, there may in course of time 
 be hatched a house that will long stand, and 
 perchance even lay fresh eggs one day for its 
 owner ; that is, if, when he returns, he gives the 
 young chick twenty dollars or more in addition, 
 by way of " swichin," to give it a start in the 
 world. 
 
 The " Massachusetts Quarterly Review " came 
 out the 1st of December, but it does not seem 
 to be making a sensation, at least not here 
 abouts. I know of none in Concord who take 
 or have seen it yet. 
 
 We wish to get by all possible means some 
 
JOT. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 173 
 
 notion of your success or failure in England, 
 more than your two letters have furnished. Can t 
 you send a fair sample both of young and of 
 old England s criticism, if there is any printed ? 
 Alcott and [Ellery] Channing are equally 
 greedy with myself. 
 
 HENRY THOKEAU. 
 
 C. T. Jackson takes the Quarterly (new one), 
 and will lend it to us. Are you not going to 
 send your wife some news of your good or ill 
 success by the newspapers ? 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (iN ENGLAND). 
 
 CONCORD, December 29, 1847. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, I thank you for your 
 letter. I was very glad to get it; and I am 
 glad again to write to you. However slow the 
 steamer, no time intervenes between the writing 
 and the reading of thoughts, but they come 
 freshly to the most distant port. I am here 
 still, and very glad to be here, and shall not 
 trouble you with any complaints because I do 
 not fill my place better. I have had many good 
 hours in the chamber at the head of the stairs, 
 a solid time, it seems to me. Next week I am 
 going to give an account to the Lyceum of my 
 expedition to Maine. Theodore Parker lectures 
 to-night. We have had Whipple on Genius, 
 
174 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 too weighty a subject for him, with his antitheti 
 cal definitions new-vamped, what it is, what it 
 is not, but altogether what it is not ; cuffing it this 
 way and cuffing it that, as if it were an India- 
 rubber ball. Really, it is a subject which should 
 expand, expand, accumulate itself before the 
 speaker s eyes as he goes on, like the snowballs 
 which the boys roll in the street ; and when it 
 stops, it should be so large that he cannot start 
 it, but must leave it there. [H. N.] Hudson, 
 too, has been here, with a dark shadow in the 
 core of him, and his desperate wit, so much in 
 debted to the surface of him, wringing out his 
 words and snapping them off like a dish-cloth ; 
 very remarkable, but not memorable. Singular 
 that these two best lecturers should have so 
 much " wave " in their timber, their solid 
 parts to be made and kept solid by shrinkage 
 and contraction of the whole, with consequent 
 checks and fissures. 
 
 Ellen and I have a good understanding. I 
 appreciate her genuineness. Edith tells me after 
 her fashion : " By and by I shall grow up and 
 be a woman, and then I shall remember how you 
 exercised me." Eddy has been to Boston to 
 Christmas, but can remember nothing but the 
 coaches, all Kendall s coaches. There is no 
 variety of that vehicle that he is not familiar 
 with. He did try twice to tell us something 
 
JST. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 175 
 
 else, but, after thinking and stuttering a long 
 time, said, " I don t know what the word is," - 
 the one word, forsooth, that would have disposed 
 of all that Boston phenomenon. If you did not 
 know him better than I, I could tell you more. 
 He is a good companion for me, and I am glad 
 that we are all natives of Concord. It is young 
 Concord. Look out, World ! 
 
 Mr. Alcott seems to have sat down for the 
 winter. He has got Plato and other books to 
 read. He is as large-featured and hospitable to 
 traveling thoughts and thinkers as ever ; but 
 with the same Connecticut philosophy as ever, 
 mingled with what is better. If he would only 
 stand upright and toe the line ! though he 
 were to put off several degrees of largeness, and 
 put on a considerable degree of littleness. After 
 all, I think we must call him particularly your 
 man. 
 
 I have pleasant walks and talks with Chan- 
 ning. James Clark the Swedenborgian that 
 was is at the poorhouse, insane with too large 
 views, so that he cannot support himself. I see 
 him working with Fred and the rest. Better 
 than be there and not insane. It is strange that 
 they will make ado when a man s body is buried, 
 but not when he thus really and tragically dies, 
 or seems to die. Away with your funeral pro- 
 
176 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1847, 
 
 cessions, into the ballroom with them ! I hear 
 the bell toll hourly over there. 1 
 
 Lidian and I have a standing quarrel as to 
 what is a suitable state of preparedness for a 
 traveling professor s visit, or for whomsoever 
 else ; but further than this we are not at war. 
 We have made up a dinner, we have made up a 
 bed, we have made up a party, and our own 
 minds and mouths, three several times for your 
 professor, and he came not. Three several tur 
 keys have died the death, which I myself carved, 
 just as if he had been there ; and the company, 
 too, convened and demeaned themselves accord 
 ingly. Everything was done up in good style, I 
 assure you, with only the part of the professor 
 omitted. To have seen the preparation (though 
 Lidian says it was nothing extraordinary) I 
 should certainly have said he was a-coming, but 
 he did not. He must have found out some 
 shorter way to Turkey, some overland route, 
 I think. By the way, he was complimented, at 
 the conclusion of his course in Boston, by the 
 mayor moving the appointment of a committee 
 to draw up resolutions expressive, etc., which 
 was done. 
 
 I have made a few verses lately. Here are 
 some, though perhaps not the best, at any rate 
 
 1 The town alrashouse was across the field from the Emer 
 son house. 
 
JET. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 177 
 
 they are the shortest, on that universal theme, 
 yours as well as mine, and several other peo 
 ple s : 
 
 The good how can we trust ! 
 
 Only the wise are just. 
 
 The good, we use, 
 
 The wise we cannot choose ; 
 
 These there are none above. 
 
 The good, they know and love, 
 
 But are not known again 
 
 By those of lesser ken. 
 
 They do not choose us with their eyes, 
 
 But they transfix with their advice ; 
 
 No partial sympathy they feel 
 
 With private woe or private weal, 
 
 But with the universe joy and sigh, 
 
 Whose knowledge is their sympathy. 
 
 Good-night. HENRY THOREAU. 
 
 P. S. I am sorry to send such a medley as 
 this to you. I have forwarded Lane s " Dial " 
 to Munroe, and he tells the expressman that all 
 is right. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (iN ENGLAND). 
 
 CONCORD, January 12, 1848. 
 
 It is hard to believe that England is so near 
 as from your letters it appears; and that this 
 identical piece of paper has lately come all the 
 way from there hither, begrimed with the Eng 
 lish dust which made you hesitate to use it; 
 from England, which is only historical fairyland 
 
178 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. f!848 ? 
 
 to me, to America, which I have put my spade 
 into, and about which there is no doubt. 
 
 I thought that you needed to be informed of 
 Hugh s progress. He has moved his house, as 
 I told you, and dug his cellar, and purchased 
 stone of Sol Wetherbee for the last, though he 
 has not hauled it ; all which has cost sixteen dol 
 lars, which I have paid. He has also, as next in 
 order, run away from Concord without a penny 
 in his pocket, " crying " by the way, having 
 had another long difference with strong beer, 
 and a first one, I suppose, with his wife, who 
 seems to have complained that he sought other 
 society ; the one difference leading to the other, 
 perhaps, but I don t know which was the leader. 
 He writes back to his wife from Sterling, near 
 Worcester, where he is chopping wood, his dis 
 tantly kind reproaches to her, which I read 
 straight through to her (not to his bottle, which 
 he has with him, and no doubt addresses orally). 
 He says that he will go on to the South in the 
 spring, and will never return to Concord. Per 
 haps he will not. Life is not tragic enough for 
 him, and he must try to cook up a more highly 
 seasoned dish for himself. Towns which keep a 
 barroom and a gun-house and a reading-room, 
 should also keep a steep precipice whereoff im 
 patient soldiers may jump. His sun went down, 
 to me, bright and steady enough in the west, but 
 
jffr.30.] TO R. W. EMERSON, 179 
 
 it never came up in the east. Night intervened. 
 He departed, as when a man dies suddenly ; and 
 perhaps wisely, if he was to go, without settling 
 his affairs. They knew that that was a thin soil 
 and not well calculated for pears. Nature is 
 rare and sensitive on the score of nurseries. 
 You may cut down orchards and grow forests at 
 your pleasure. Sand watered with strong beer, 
 though stirred with industry, will not produce 
 grapes. He dug his cellar for the new part too 
 near the old house, Irish like, though I warned 
 him, and it has caved and let one end of the 
 house down. Such is the state of his domestic 
 affairs. I laugh with the Parcse only. He had 
 got the upland and the orchard and a part of 
 the meadow ploughed by Warren, at an expense 
 of eight dollars, still unpaid, which of course is 
 no affair of yours. 
 
 I think that if an honest and small-familied 
 man, who has no affinity for moisture in him, 
 but who has an affinity for sand, can be found, 
 it would be safe to rent him the shanty as it is, 
 and the land ; or you can very easily and simply 
 let nature keep them still, without great loss. It 
 may be so managed, perhaps, as to be a home 
 for somebody, who shall in return serve you as 
 fencing stuff, and to fix and locate your lot, as 
 we plant a tree in the sand or on the edge of a 
 stream ; without expense to you in the mean 
 
180 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 while, and without disturbing its possible future 
 value. 
 
 I read a part of the story of my excursion to 
 Ktaadn to quite a large audience of men and 
 boys, the other night, whom it interested. It 
 contains many facts and some poetry. I have 
 also written what will do for a lecture on 
 " Friendship." 
 
 I think that the article on you in Blackwood s 
 is a good deal to get from the reviewers, the 
 first purely literary notice, as I remember. The 
 writer is far enough off, in every sense, to speak 
 with a certain authority. It is a better judg 
 ment of posterity than the public had. It is 
 singular how sure he is to be mystified by any 
 uncommon sense. But it was generous to put 
 Plato into the list of mystics. His confessions 
 on this subject suggest several thoughts, which 
 I have not room to express here. The old word 
 seer, I wonder what the reviewer thinks that 
 means ; whether that he was a man who could 
 see more than himself. 
 
 I was struck by Ellen s asking me, yesterday, 
 while I was talking with Mrs. Brown, if I did 
 not use " colored words." She said that she 
 could tell the color of a great many words, and 
 amused the children at school by so doing. 
 Eddy climbed up the sofa, the other day, of his 
 own accord, and kissed the picture of his father, 
 " right on his shirt, I did." 
 
2ET.30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 181 
 
 I had a good talk with Alcott this afternoon. 
 He is certainly the youngest man of his age we 
 have seen, just on the threshold of life. When 
 I looked at his gray hairs, his conversation 
 sounded pathetic ; but I looked again, and they 
 reminded me of the gray dawn. He is getting 
 better acquainted with Channing, though he 
 says that, if they were to live in the same house, 
 they would soon sit with their backs to each 
 other. 1 
 
 You must excuse me if I do not write with 
 sufficient directness to yourself, who are a far- 
 off traveler. It is a little like shooting on the 
 wing, I confess. 
 
 Farewell. HENRY THOREAU. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON (iN ENGLAND). 
 
 CONCORD, February 23, 1848. 
 
 DEAR WALDO, For I think I have heard 
 that that is your name, my letter which was 
 put last into the leathern bag arrived first. 
 Whatever I may call you, I know you better 
 than I know your name, and what becomes of 
 the fittest name if in any sense you are here 
 
 1 At this date Aleott had passed his forty-eighth year, 
 while Charming 1 and Thoreau were still in the latitude of 
 thirty. Hawthorne had left Concord, and was in the Salem 
 Custom-house ; the Old Manse having gone hack into the occu 
 pancy of Emerson s cousins, the Ripleys, who owned it. 
 
182 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 with him who calls, and not there simply to 
 be called ? 
 
 I believe I never thanked you for your lec 
 tures, one and all, which I heard formerly read 
 here in Concord. I know I never have. There 
 was some excellent reason each time why I did 
 not ; but it will never be too late. I have that 
 advantage, at least, over you in my education. 
 
 Lidian is too unwell to write to you ; so I 
 must tell you what I can about the children and 
 herself. I am afraid she has not told you how 
 unwell she is, or to-day perhaps we may say 
 has been. She has been confined to her cham 
 ber four or five weeks, and three or four weeks, 
 at least, to her bed, with the jaundice. The 
 doctor, who comes once a day, does not let her 
 read (nor can she now) nor hear much read 
 ing. She has written her letters to you, till re 
 cently, sitting up in bed, but he said he would 
 not come again if she did so. She has Abby 
 and Almira to take care of her, and Mrs. Brown 
 to read to her ; and I also, occasionally, have 
 something to read or to say. The doctor says 
 she must not expect to " take any comfort of 
 her life " for a week or two yet. She wishes me 
 to say that she has written two long and full 
 letters to you about the household economies, 
 etc., which she hopes have not been delayed. 
 The children are quite well and full of spirits, 
 
JET. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 183 
 
 and are going through a regular course of pic 
 ture-seeing, with commentary by me, every even 
 ing, for Eddy s behoof. All the Annuals and 
 " Diadems " are in requisition, and Eddy is for 
 ward to exclaim, when the hour arrives, " Now 
 for the demdems ! " I overheard this dialogue 
 when Frank [Brown] came down to breakfast 
 the other morning. 
 
 Eddy. " Why, Frank, I am astonished that 
 you should leave your boots in the dining-room." 
 
 Frank. " I guess you mean surprised, don t 
 you?" 
 
 Eddy. " No, boots ! " 
 
 " If Waldo were here," said he, the other 
 night, at bedtime, " we d be four going up 
 stairs." Would he like to tell papa anything ? 
 No, not anything; but finally, yes, he would, 
 that one of the white horses in his new ba 
 rouche is broken ! Ellen and Edith will per 
 haps speak for themselves, as I hear something 
 about letters to be written by them. 
 
 Mr. Alcott seems to be reading well this win 
 ter : Plato, Montaigne, Ben Jonson, Beaumont 
 and Fletcher, Sir Thomas Browne, etc., etc. 
 " I believe I have read them all now, or nearly 
 all," those English authors. He is rallying 
 for another foray with his pen, in his latter 
 years, not discouraged by the past, into that 
 crowd of unexpressed ideas of his, that undis- 
 
184 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 ciplined Parthian army, which, as soon as a Ro 
 man soldier would face, retreats on all hands, 
 occasionally firing backwards ; easily routed, not 
 easily subdued, hovering on the skirts of society. 
 Another summer shall not be devoted to the 
 raising of vegetables (Arbors?) which rot in 
 the cellar for want of consumers ; but perchance 
 to the arrangement of the material, the brain- 
 crop which the winter has furnished. I have 
 good talks with him. His respect for Carlyle 
 has been steadily increasing for some time. He 
 has read him with new sympathy and apprecia 
 tion. 
 
 I see Channing often. He also goes often 
 to Alcott s, and confesses that he has made a 
 discovery in him, and gives vent to his admira 
 tion or his confusion in characteristic exaggera 
 tion ; but between this extreme and that you 
 may get a fair report, and draw an inference 
 if you can. Sometimes he will ride a broom 
 stick still, though there is nothing to keep him, 
 or it, up but a certain centrifugal force of whim, 
 which is soon spent, and there lies your stick, 
 not worth picking up to sweep an oven with 
 now. His accustomed path is strewn with them. 
 But then again, and perhaps for the most part, 
 he sits on the Cliffs amid the lichens, or flits 
 past on noiseless pinion, like the barred owl in 
 the daytime, as wise and unobserved. He 
 
J5T.30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 185 
 
 brought me a poem the other day, for me, on 
 Walden Hermitage : not remarkable. 1 
 
 Lectures begin to multiply on my desk. I 
 have one on Friendship which is new, and the 
 materials of some others. I read one last week 
 to the Lyceum, on The Rights and Duties of 
 the Individual in Relation to Government, 
 much to Mr. Alcott s satisfaction. 
 
 Joel Britton has failed and gone into chan 
 cery, but the woods continue to fall before the 
 axes of other men. Neighbor Coombs 2 was 
 lately found dead in the woods near Goose Pond, 
 with his half-empty jug, after he had been riot 
 ing a week. Hugh, by the last accounts, was 
 still in Worcester County. Mr. Hosmer, who 
 is himself again, and living in Concord, has just 
 hauled the rest of your wood, amounting to about 
 ten and a half cords. 
 
 The newspapers say that they have printed a 
 pirated edition of your Essays in England. Is 
 it as bad as they say, and undisguised and un 
 mitigated piracy ? I thought that the printed 
 scrap would entertain Carlyle, notwithstanding 
 its history. If this generation will see out of 
 its hind-head, why then you may turn your back 
 
 1 See Sanborn s Thoreau, p. 214, and Channing s Thoreau, 
 pp. 19(5-199, for this poem. 
 
 2 This is the political neighbor mentioned in a former let 
 ter. 
 
186 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 on its forehead. Will you forward it to him 
 for me ? 
 
 This stands written in your day-book : " Sep 
 tember 3d. Keceived of Boston Savings Bank, 
 
 O 
 
 on account of Charles Lane, his deposit with 
 interest, 1131.33. 16th. Eeceived of Joseph 
 Palmer, on account of Charles Lane, three hun 
 dred twenty-three -f^ dollars, being the balance 
 of a note on demand for four hundred dollars, 
 with interest, $323.36." 
 
 If you have any directions to give about the 
 trees, you must not forget that spring will soon 
 be upon us. 
 
 Farewell. From your friend, 
 
 HENRY THOKEAU. 
 
 Before a reply came to this letter, Thoreau 
 had occasion to write to Mr. Elliot Cabot again. 
 The allusions to the " Week" and to the Walden 
 house are interesting. 
 
 TO ELLIOT CABOT. 
 
 CONCORD, March 8, 1848. 
 
 DEAR SIR, Mr. Emerson s address is as 
 yet, " K. W. Emerson, care of Alexander Ire 
 land, Esq., Examiner Office, Manchester, Eng 
 land." We had a letter from him on Monday, 
 dated at Manchester, February 10, and he was 
 then preparing to go to Edinburgh the next 
 
JET. 30.] TO ELLIOT CABOT. 187 
 
 day, where he was to lecture. He thought that 
 he should get through his northern journeying 
 by the 25th of February, and go to London to 
 spend March and April, and if he did not go to 
 Paris in May, then come home. He has been 
 eminently successful, though the papers this side 
 of the water have been so silent about his ad 
 ventures. 
 
 My book, 1 fortunately, did not find a pub 
 lisher ready to undertake it, and you can im 
 agine the effect of delay on an author s estimate 
 of his own work. However, I like it well enough 
 to mend it, and shall look at it again directly 
 when I have dispatched some other things. 
 
 I have been writing lectures for our own Ly 
 ceum this winter, mainly for my own pleasure 
 and advantage. I esteem it a rare happiness 
 to be able to tvrite anything, but there (if I 
 ever get there) my concern for it is apt to end. 
 Time & Co. are, after all, the only quite honest 
 and trustworthy publishers that we know. I 
 can sympathize, perhaps, with the barberry 
 
 1 From England Emerson wrote: "I am not of opinion 
 that your book should be delayed a month. I should print it 
 at once, nor do I think that yon would incur any risk in doing 
 so that you cannot well afford. It is very certain to have 
 readers and debtors, here as well as there. The Dial is ab 
 surdly well known here. We at home, I think, are always a 
 little ashamed of it, I am, and yet here it is spoken of 
 with the utmost gravity, and I do not laugh." 
 
188 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 bush, whose business it is solely to ripen its 
 fruit (though that may not be to sweeten it) 
 and to protect it with thorns, so that it holds 
 on all winter, even, unless some hungry crows 
 come to pluck it. But I see that I must get a 
 few dollars together presently to manure my 
 roots. Is your journal able to pay anything, 
 provided it likes an article well enough ? I do 
 not promise one. At any rate, I mean always 
 to spend only words enough to purchase silence 
 with ; and I have found that this, which is so 
 valuable, though many writers do not prize it, 
 does not cost much, after all. 
 
 I have not obtained any more of the mice 
 which I told you were so numerous in my cellar, 
 as my house was removed immediately after I 
 saw you, and I have been living in the village 
 since. 
 
 However, if I should happen to meet with any 
 thing rare, I will forward it to you. I thank 
 you for your kind offers, and will avail myself 
 of them so far as to ask if you can anywhere 
 borrow for me for a short time the copy of the 
 " Revue des Deux Mondes," containing a notice 
 of Mr. Emerson. I should like well to read it, 
 and to read it to Mrs. Emerson and others. If 
 this book is not easy to be obtained, do not by 
 any means trouble yourself about it. 
 
^T. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 189 
 
 TO B. W. EMERSON. 1 
 
 CONCORD, March 23, 1848. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, Lidian says I must write a 
 sentence about the children. Eddy says he can 
 not sing, " not till mother is a-going to be 
 well." We shall hear his voice very soon, in 
 that case, I trust. Ellen is already thinking 
 what will be done when you come home ; but 
 then she thinks it will be some loss that I shall 
 go away. Edith says that I shall come and see 
 them, and always at tea-time, so that I can play 
 with her. Ellen thinks she likes father best 
 because he jumps her sometimes. This is the 
 latest news from 
 
 Yours, etc., HENRY. 
 
 P. S. I have received three newspapers from 
 you duly which I have not acknowledged. There 
 is an anti-Sabbath convention held in Boston 
 to-day, to which Alcott has gone. 
 
 That friend to whom Thoreau wrote most con 
 stantly and fully, on all topics, was Mr. Harri 
 son Blake of Worcester, a graduate of Harvard 
 two years earlier than Thoreau, in the same 
 
 1 This letter was addressed, " R. Waldo Emerson, care of 
 Alexander Ireland, Esq., Manchester, England, via New York 
 and Steamer Cambria, March 25." It was mailed in Boston, 
 March 24, and received in Manchester, April 19. 
 
190 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 class with two other young men from Concord, 
 -E. R Hoar and H. B. Dennis. This cir 
 cumstance may have led to Mr. Blake s visiting 
 the town occasionally, before his intimacy with 
 its poet-naturalist began, in the year 1848. At 
 that time, as Thoreau wrote to Horace Greeley, 
 he had been supporting himself for five years 
 wholly by the labor of his hands ; his Walden 
 hermit-life was over, yet neither its record nor 
 the first book had been published, and Thoreau 
 was known in literature chiefly by his papers in 
 the " Dial," which had then ceased for four 
 years. In March, 1848, Mr. Blake read Tho- 
 reau s chapter on Persius in the "Dial" for 
 July, 1840, and though he had read it before, 
 without being much impressed by it, he now 
 found in it "pure depth and solidity of thought." 
 " It has revived in me," he wrote to Thoreau, 
 " a haunting impression of you, which I carried 
 away from some spoken words of yours. . . . 
 When I was last in Concord, you spoke of retir 
 ing farther from our civilization. I asked you 
 if you would feel no longings for the society of 
 your friends. Your reply was in substance, No, 
 I am nothing. That reply was memorable to 
 me. It indicated a depth of resources, a com 
 pleteness of renunciation, a poise and repose in 
 the universe, which to me is almost inconceiva 
 ble ; which in you seemed domesticated, and to 
 
JET. 30.] BLAKE TO THOREAU. 191 
 
 which I look up with veneration. I would know 
 of that soul which can say I am nothing. I 
 would be roused by its words to a truer and 
 purer life. Upon me seems to be dawning with 
 new significance the idea that God is here ; that 
 we have but to bow before Him in profound sub 
 mission at every moment, and He will fill our 
 souls with his presence. In this opening of the 
 soul to God, all duties seem to centre ; what else 
 have we to do ? . . . If I understand rightly the 
 significance of your life, this is it : You would 
 sunder yourself from society, from the spell of 
 institutions, customs, conventionalities, that you 
 may lead a fresh, simple life with God. Instead 
 of breathing a new life into the old forms, you 
 would have a new life without and within. 
 There is something sublime to me in this atti 
 tude, far as I may be from it myself. . . . 
 Speak to me in this hour as you are prompted. 
 ... I honor you because you abstain from ac 
 tion, and open your soul that you may be some 
 what. Amid a world of noisy, shallow actors it 
 is noble to stand aside and say, I will simply 
 ~beJ Could I plant myself at once upon the 
 truth, reducing my wants to their minimum, 
 ... I should at once be brought nearer to na 
 ture, nearer to my fellow-men, and life would 
 be infinitely richer. But, alas ! I shiver on the 
 brink." 
 
192 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 Thus appealed to by one who had so well at 
 tained the true Transcendental shibboleth, 
 " God working in us, both to will and to do," - 
 Thoreau could not fail to make answer, as he 
 did at once, and thus : 
 
 TO HARBISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 [The first of many letters.] 
 
 CONCORD, March 27, 1848. 
 
 I am glad to hear that any words of mine, 
 though spoken so long ago that I can hardly 
 claim identity with their author, have reached 
 you. It gives me pleasure, because I have there 
 fore reason to suppose that I have uttered what 
 concerns men, and that it is not in vain that 
 man speaks to man. This is the value of litera 
 ture. Yet those days are so distant, in every 
 sense, that I have had to look at that page again, 
 to learn what was the tenor of my thoughts then. 
 I should value that article, however, if only be 
 cause it was the occasion of your letter. 
 
 I do believe that the outward and the inward 
 life correspond ; that if any should succeed to 
 live a higher life, others would not know of it ; 
 that difference and distance are one. To set 
 about living a true life is to go a journey to a 
 distant country, gradually to find ourselves sur 
 rounded by new scenes and men ; and as long 
 as the old are around me, I know that I am not 
 
J5T.30.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 193 
 
 in any true sense living a new or a better life. 
 The outward is only the outside of that which is 
 within. Men are not concealed under habits, 
 but are revealed by them ; they are their true 
 clothes. I care not how curious a reason they 
 may give for their abiding by them. Circum 
 stances are not rigid and unyielding, but our 
 habits are rigid. We are apt to speak vaguely 
 sometimes, as if a divine life were to be grafted 
 on to or built over this present as a suitable 
 foundation. This might do if we could so build 
 over our old life as to exclude from it all the 
 warmth of our affection, and addle it, as the 
 thrush builds over the cuckoo s egg, and lays 
 her own atop, and hatches that only ; but the 
 fact is, we so there is the partition hatch 
 them both, and the cuckoo s always by a day 
 first, and that young bird crowds the young 
 thrushes out of the nest. No. Destroy the cuck 
 oo s egg, or build a new nest. 
 
 Change is change. No new life occupies the 
 old bodies ; they decay. It is born, and grows, 
 and flourishes. Men very pathetically inform 
 the old, accept and wear it Why put up with 
 the almshouse when you may go to heaven ? It 
 is embalming, no more. Let alone your oint 
 ments and your linen swathes, and go into an 
 infant s body. You see in the catacombs of 
 Egypt the result of that experiment, that is 
 the end of it. 
 
194 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 I do believe in simplicity. It is astonishing 
 as well as sad, how many trivial affairs even the 
 wisest man thinks he must attend to in a day ; 
 how singular an affair he thinks he must omit. 
 When the mathematician would solve a difficult 
 problem, he first frees the equation of all incum- 
 brances, and reduces it to its simplest terms. So 
 simplify the problem of life, distinguish the ne 
 cessary and the real. Probe the earth to see 
 where your main roots run. I would stand upon 
 facts. Why not see, use our eyes ? Do men 
 know nothing ? I know many men who, in com 
 mon things, are not to be deceived ; who trust 
 no moonshine ; who count their money correctly, 
 and know how to invest it ; who are said to be 
 prudent and knowing, who yet will stand at a 
 desk the greater part of their lives, as cashiers 
 in banks, and glimmer and rust and finally go 
 out there. If they know anything, what under 
 the sun do they do that for ? Do they know 
 what bread is ? or what it is for ? Do they know 
 what life is ? If they knew something, the places 
 which know them now would know them no 
 more forever. 
 
 This, our respectable daily life, in which the 
 man of common sense, the Englishman of the 
 world, stands so squarely, and on which our in 
 stitutions are founded, is in fact the veriest illu 
 sion, and will vanish like the baseless fabric of 
 
MT. 30.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 195 
 
 a vision ; but that faint glimmer of reality which 
 sometimes illuminates the darkness of daylight 
 for all men, reveals something more solid and 
 enduring than adamant, which is in fact the cor 
 ner-stone of the world. 
 
 Men cannot conceive of a state of things so 
 fair that it cannot be realized. Can any man 
 honestly consult his experience and say that it 
 is so ? Have we any facts to appeal to when we 
 say that our dreams are premature ? Did you 
 ever hear of a man who had striven all his life 
 faithfully and singly toward an object and in no 
 measure obtained it? If a man constantly as 
 pires, is he not elevated ? Did ever a man try 
 heroism, magnanimity, truth, sincerity, and find 
 that there was no advantage in them? that it 
 was a vain endeavor ? Of course we do not ex 
 pect that our paradise will be a garden. We 
 know not what we ask. To look at literature ; 
 how many fine thoughts has every man had ! 
 how few fine thoughts are expressed ! Yet we 
 never have a fantasy so subtile and ethereal, but 
 that talent merely, with more resolution and 
 faithful persistency, after a thousand failures, 
 might fix and engrave it in distinct and endur 
 ing words, and we should see that our dreams 
 are the solidest facts that we know. But I speak 
 not of dreams. 
 
 What can be expressed in words can be ex 
 pressed in life. 
 
196 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 My actual life is a fact, in view of which I 
 have no occasion to congratulate myself ; but 
 for my faith and aspiration I have respect. It 
 is from these that I speak. Every man s position 
 is in fact too simple to be described. I have 
 sworn no oath. I have no designs on society, 
 or nature, or God. I am simply what I am, or 
 I begin to be that. I live in the present. I 
 only remember the past, and anticipate the fu 
 ture. I love to live. I love reform better than 
 its modes. There is no history of how bad be 
 came better. I believe something, and there is 
 nothing else but that. I know that I am. I 
 know that another is who knows more than I, 
 who takes interest in me, whose creature, and 
 yet whose kindred, in one sense, am I. I know 
 that the enterprise is worthy. I know that 
 things work well. I have heard no bad news. 
 
 As for positions, combinations, and details, 
 what are they? In clear weather, when we 
 look into the heavens, what do we see but the 
 sky and the sun ? 
 
 If you would convince a man that he does 
 wrong, do right. But do not care to convince 
 him. Men will believe what they see. Let 
 them see. 
 
 Pursue, keep up with, circle round and round 
 your life, as a dog does his master s chaise. Do 
 what you love. Know your own bone ; gnaw at 
 
J5T.30.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 197 
 
 it, biiry it, unearth it, and gnaw it still. Do not 
 be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of 
 much life so. Aim above morality. Be not 
 simply good; be good for something. All fa 
 bles, indeed, have their morals ; but the inno 
 cent enjoy the story. Let nothing come between 
 you and the light. Respect men and brothers 
 only. When you travel to the Celestial City, 
 carry no letter of introduction. When you 
 knock, ask to see God, none of the servants. 
 In what concerns you much, do not think that 
 you have companions : know that you are alone 
 in the world. 
 
 Thus I write at random. I need to see you, 
 and I trust I shall, to correct my mistakes. 
 Perhaps you have some oracles for me. 
 
 HENRY THOREAU. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, May 2, 1848. 
 
 " We must have our bread." But what is 
 our bread ? Is it baker s bread ? Methinks it 
 should be very home-made bread. What is our 
 meat? Is it butcher s meat? What is that 
 which we must have ? Is that bread which we 
 are now earning sweet ? Is it not bread which 
 has been suffered to sour, and then been sweet 
 ened with an alkali, which has undergone the 
 vinous, acetous, and sometimes the putrid fer- 
 
198 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 mentation, and then been whitened with vitriol ? 
 Is this the bread which we must have? Man 
 must earn his bread by the sweat of his brow, 
 truly, but also by the sweat of his brain within 
 his brow. The body can feed the body only. 
 I have tasted but little bread in my life. It 
 has been mere grub and provender for the most 
 part. Of bread that nourished the brain and 
 the heart, scarcely any. There is absolutely 
 none even on the tables of the rich. 
 
 There is not one kind of food for all men. 
 You must and you will feed those faculties 
 which you exercise. The laborer whose body is 
 weary does not require the same food with the 
 scholar whose brain is weary. Men should not 
 labor foolishly like brutes, but the brain and the 
 body should always, or as much as possible, 
 work and rest together, and then the work will 
 be of such a kind that when the body is hungry 
 the brain will be hungry also, and the same food 
 will suffice for both ; otherwise the food which 
 repairs the waste energy of the over-wrought 
 body will oppress the sedentary brain, and the 
 degenerate scholar will come to esteem all food 
 vulgar, and all getting a living drudgery. 
 
 How shall we earn our bread is a grave ques 
 tion; yet it is a sweet and inviting question. 
 Let us not shirk it, as is usually done. It is 
 the most important and practical question which 
 
^T.SO.j TO HARRISON BLAKE. 199 
 
 is put to man. Let us not answer it hastily. 
 Let us not be content to get our bread in some 
 gross, careless, and hasty manner. Some men 
 go a-himting, some a-fishing, some a-gaming, 
 some to war ; but none have so pleasant a time 
 as they who in earnest seek to earn their bread. 
 It is true actually as it is true really ; it is true 
 materially as it is true spiritually, that they who 
 seek honestly and sincerely, with all their hearts 
 and lives and strength, to earn their bread, do 
 earn it, and it is sure to be very sweet to them. 
 A very little bread, a very few crumbs are 
 enough, if it be of the right quality, for it is 
 infinitely nutritious. Let each man, then, earn 
 at least a crumb of bread for his body before he 
 dies, and know the taste of it, that it is iden 
 tical with the bread of life, and that they both 
 go down at one swallow. 
 
 Our bread need not ever be sour or hard to 
 digest. What Nature is to the mind she is also 
 to the body. As she feeds my imagination, she 
 will feed my body ; for what she says she means, 
 and is ready to do. She is not simply beautiful 
 to the poet s eye. Not only the rainbow and 
 sunset are beautiful, but to be fed and clothed, 
 sheltered and warmed aright, are equally beau 
 tiful and inspiring. There is not necessarily 
 any gross and ugly fact which may not be eradi 
 cated from the life of man. We should endeavor 
 
200 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 practically in our lives to correct all the defects 
 which our imagination detects. The heavens are 
 as deep as our aspirations are high. So high as 
 a tree aspires to grow, so high it will find an 
 atmosphere suited to it. Every man should 
 stand for a force which is perfectly irresistible. 
 How can any man be weak who dares to be at 
 all? Even the tenderest plants force their way 
 up through the hardest earth, and the crev 
 ices of rocks ; but a man no material power can 
 resist. What a wedge, what a beetle, what a 
 catapult, is an earnest man ! What can resist 
 him? 
 
 It is a momentous fact that a man may be 
 good, or he may be bad ; his life may be true, or 
 it may be false ; it may be either a shame or a 
 glory to him. The good man builds himself up ; 
 the bad man destroys himself. 
 
 But whatever we do we must do confidently 
 (if we are timid, let us, then, act timidly), not 
 expecting more light, but having light enough. 
 If we confidently expect more, then let us wait 
 for it. But what is this which we have ? Have 
 we not already waited ? Is this the beginning 
 of time ? Is there a man who does not see 
 clearly beyond, though only a hair s breadth 
 beyond where he at any time stands ? 
 
 If one hesitates in his path, let him not pro 
 ceed. Let him respect his doubts, for doubts, 
 
JST. 30.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 201 
 
 too, may have some divinity in them. That we 
 have but little faith is not sad, but that we have 
 but little faithfulness. By faithfulness faith is 
 earned. When, in the progress of a life, a man 
 swerves, though only by an angle infinitely small, 
 from his proper and allotted path (and this is 
 never done quite unconsciously even at first ; in 
 fact, that was his broad and scarlet sin, ah, he 
 knew of it more than he can tell), then the drama 
 of his life turns to tragedy, and makes haste to 
 its fifth act. When once we thus fall behind 
 ourselves, there is no accounting for the obsta 
 cles which rise up in our path, and no one is so 
 wise as to advise, and no one so powerful as to 
 aid us while we abide on that ground. Such 
 are cursed with duties, and the neglect of their 
 duties. For such the decalogue was made, and 
 other far more voluminous and terrible codes. 
 
 These departures, who have not made them? 
 for they are as faint as the parallax of a fixed 
 star, and at the commencement we say they are 
 nothing, that is, they originate in a kind of 
 sleep and forgetfulness of the soul when it is 
 naught. A man cannot be too circumspect in 
 order to keep in the straight road, and be sure 
 that he sees all that he may at any time see, that 
 so he may distinguish his true path. 
 
 You ask if there is no doctrine of sorrow in 
 my philosophy. Of acute sorrow I suppose that 
 
202 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 I know comparatively little. My saddest and 
 most genuine sorrows are apt to be but tran 
 sient regrets. The place of sorrow is supplied, 
 perchance, by a certain hard and proportionably 
 barren indifference. I am of kin to the sod, and 
 partake largely of its dull patience, in winter 
 expecting the sun of spring. In my cheapest 
 moments I am apt to think that it is not my 
 business to be " seeking the spirit," but as much 
 its business to be seeking me. I know very well 
 what Goethe meant when he said that he never 
 had a chagrin but he made a poem out of it. I 
 have altogether too much patience of this kind. 
 I am too easily contented with a slight and 
 almost animal happiness. My happiness is a 
 good deal like that of the woodchucks. 
 
 Methinks I am never quite committed, never 
 wholly the creature of my moods, being always 
 to some extent their critic. My only integral 
 experience is in my vision. I see, perchance, 
 with more integrity than I feel. 
 
 But I need not tell you what manner of man 
 I am, my virtues or my vices. You can guess 
 if it is worth the while ; and I do not discrimi 
 nate them well. 
 
 I do not write this time at my hut in the 
 woods. I am at present living with Mrs. Emer 
 son, whose house is an old home of mine, for 
 company during Mr. Emerson s absence. 
 
JET. 30.] THOREAU S PENETRATION. 203 
 
 You will perceive that I am as often talking 
 to myself, perhaps, as speaking to you. 
 
 Here is a confession of faith, and a bit of self- 
 portraiture worth having ; for there is little ex 
 cept faithful statement of the fact. Its sentences 
 are based on the questions and experiences of 
 his correspondent ; yet they diverge into that 
 atmosphere of humor and hyperbole so native to 
 Thoreau ; in whom was the oddest mixture of 
 the serious and the comic, the literal and the 
 romantic. He addressed himself also, so far as 
 his unbending personality would allow, to the 
 mood or the need of his correspondent ; and he 
 had great skill in fathoming character and de 
 scribing in a few touches the persons he encoun 
 tered ; as may be seen in his letters to Emerson, 
 especially, who also had, and in still greater 
 measure, this " fatal gift of penetration," as he 
 once termed it. This will be seen in the contrast 
 of Thoreau s correspondence with Mr. Blake, 
 and that he was holding at the same time with 
 Horace Greeley, persons radically unlike. 
 
 In August, 1846, Thoreau sent to Greeley 
 his essay on Carlyle, asking him to find a place 
 for it in some magazine. Greeley sent it to 
 R. W. Griswold, then editing " Graham s Maga 
 zine " in Philadelphia, who accepted it and 
 promised to pay for it, but did not publish it 
 
204 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 till March and April, 1847 ; even then the 
 promised payment was not forthcoming. On 
 the 31st of March, 1848, a year and a half 
 after it had been put in Griswold s posses 
 sion, Thoreau wrote again to Greeley, saying 
 that no money had come to hand. At once, 
 and at the very time when Mr. Blake was open 
 ing his spiritual state to Thoreau (April 3, 
 1848), the busy editor of the " Tribune " re 
 plied : "It saddens and surprises me to know 
 that your article was not paid for by Graham ; 
 and, since my honor is involved, I will see that 
 you are paid, and that at no distant day." Ac 
 cordingly, on May 17th, he adds : " To-day I have 
 been able to lay my hand on the money due 
 you. I made out a regular bill for the contri 
 bution, drew a draft 011 G. E. Graham for the 
 amount, gave it to his brother in New York 
 for collection, and received the money. I have 
 made Graham pay you seventy-five dollars, but 
 I only send you fifty dollars," having deducted 
 twenty-five dollars for the advance of that sum 
 he had made a month before to Thoreau for his 
 " Ktaadn and the Maine Woods," which finally 
 came out in " Sartain s Union Magazine " of 
 Philadelphia, late in 1848. To this letter and 
 remittance of fifty dollars Thoreau replied, May 
 19, 1848, substantially thus : 
 
asT.30.] TO HORACE GREELEY. 205 
 
 TO HORACE GREELEY (AT NEW YORK). 
 
 CONCORD, May 19, 1848. 
 
 MY FRIEND GKEELEY, I have to-day re 
 ceived from you fifty dollars. It is five years 
 that I have been maintaining myself entirely by 
 manual labor, not getting a cent from any 
 other quarter or employment. Now this toil has 
 occupied so few days, perhaps a single month, 
 spring and fall each, that I must have had 
 more leisure than any of my brethren for study 
 and literature. I have done rude work of all 
 kinds. From July, 1845, to September, 1847, 
 I lived by myself in the forest, in a fairly good 
 cabin, plastered and warmly covered, which I 
 built myself. There I earned all I needed and 
 kept to my own affairs. During that time my 
 weekly outlay was but seven-and-twenty cents ; 
 and I had an abundance of all sorts. Unless 
 the human race perspire more than I do, there 
 is no occasion to live by the sweat of their 
 brow. If men cannot get on without money 
 (the smallest amount will suffice), the truest 
 method of earning it is by working as a laborer 
 at one dollar per day. You are least dependent 
 so ; I speak as an expert, having used several 
 kinds of labor. 
 
 Why should the scholar make a constant com 
 plaint that his fate is specially hard ? We are 
 
206 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1848, 
 
 too often told of "the pursuit of knowledge 
 under difficulties," how poets depend on pa 
 trons and starve in garrets, or at last go mad 
 and die. Let us hear the other side of the 
 story. Why should not the scholar, if he is 
 really wiser than the multitude, do coarse work 
 now and then ? Why not let his greater wis 
 dom enable him to do without things ? If you 
 say the wise man is unlucky, how could you dis 
 tinguish him from the foolishly unfortunate ? 
 
 My friend, how can I thank you for your 
 kindness ? Perhaps there is a better way, I 
 will convince you that it is felt and appreciated. 
 Here have I been sitting idle, as it were, while 
 you have been busy in my cause, and have done 
 so much for me. I wish you had had a better 
 subject ; but j^ood deeds^are no less good because 
 their object is unworthy. 
 
 ours was the best way to collect money, 
 but I should never have thought of it ; I might 
 have waylaid the debtor perchance. Even a 
 business man might not have thought of it, 
 and I cannot be called that, as business is under 
 stood usually, not being familiar with the rou 
 tine. But your way has this to commend it also, 
 if you make the draft, you decide how much 
 to draw. You drew just the sum suitable. 
 
 The Ktaadn paper can be put in the guise 
 of letters, if it runs best so ; dating each part 
 
MT. 31.] TO HORACE GREELEY. 207 
 
 on the day it describes. Twenty-five dollars 
 more for it will satisfy me ; I expected no more, 
 and do not hold you to pay that, for you 
 asked for something else, and there was delay 
 in sending. So, if you use it, send me twenty- 
 five dollars now or after you sell it, as is most 
 convenient ; but take out the expenses that I 
 see you must have had. In such cases carriers 
 generally get the most ; but you, as carrier here, 
 get no money, but risk losing some, besides 
 much of your time ; while I go away, as I must, 
 giving you unprofitable thanks. Yet trust me, 
 my pleasure in your letter is not wholly a selfish 
 one. May my good genius still watch over me 
 and my added wealth ! 
 
 P. S. My book grows in bulk as I work on 
 it ; but soon I shall get leisure for those shorter 
 articles you want, then look out. 
 
 The " book," of course, was the " Week," then 
 about to go through the press ; the shorter 
 articles were some that Greeley suggested for 
 the Philadelphia magazines. Nothing came of 
 this, but the correspondence was kept up until 
 1854, and led to the partial publication of 
 " Cape Cod," and " The Yankee in Canada," in 
 the newly-launched "Putnam s Magazine," of 
 which Gr. W. Curtis was editor. But he dif 
 fered with Thoreau on a matter of style or 
 
208 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1849, 
 
 opinion (the articles appearing as anonymous, 
 or editorial), and the author withdrew his MS. 
 The letters of Greeley in this entertaining series 
 are all preserved ; but Greeley seems to have 
 given Thoreau s away for autographs ; and the 
 only one accessible as yet is that just para 
 phrased. 
 
 TO HARKISON BLAKE (AT MILTON). 
 
 CONCORD, August 10, 1849. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I write now chiefly to say, be 
 fore it is too late, that I shall be glad to see you 
 in Concord, and will give you a chamber, etc., 
 in my father s house, and as much of my poor 
 company as you can bear. 
 
 I am in too great haste this time to speak to 
 your, or out of my, condition. I might say, 
 you might say, comparatively speaking, be 
 not anxious to avoid poverty. In this way the 
 wealth of the universe may be securely invested. 
 What a pity if we do not live this short time 
 according to the laws of the long time, the 
 eternal laws ! Let us see that we stand erect 
 here, and do not lie along by our whole length 
 in the dirt. Let our meanness be our footstool, 
 not our cushion. In the midst of this labyrinth 
 let us live a thread of life. We must act with 
 so rapid and resistless a purpose in one direc 
 tion, that our vices will necessarily trail behind. 
 
asT.32.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 209 
 
 The nucleus of a comet is almost a star. Was 
 there ever a genuine dilemma? The laws of 
 earth are for the feet, or inferior man ; the laws 
 of heaven are for the head, or superior man ; 
 the latter are the former sublimed and ex 
 panded, even as radii from the earth s centre 
 go on diverging into space. Happy the man 
 who observes the heavenly and the terrestrial 
 law in just proportion ; whose every faculty, 
 from the soles of his feet to the crown of his 
 head, obeys the law of its level ; who neither 
 stoops nor goes on tiptoe, but lives a balanced 
 life, acceptable to nature and to God. 
 
 These things I say ; other things I do. 
 
 I am sorry to hear that you did not receive 
 my book earlier. I addressed it and left it in 
 Mimroe s shop to be sent to you immediately, 
 on the twenty-sixth of May, before a copy had 
 been sold. 
 
 Will you remember me to Mr. Brown, when 
 you see him next : he is well remembered by 
 
 HENRY THOEEAU. 
 
 I still owe you a worthy answer. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE. 
 
 CONCORD, November 20, 1849. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I have not forgotten that I 
 am your debtor. When I read over your let- 
 
210 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1849, 
 
 ters, as I have just done, I feel that I am un 
 worthy to have received or to answer them, 
 though they are addressed, as I would have 
 them, to the ideal of me. It behoves me, if I 
 would reply, to speak out of the rarest part of 
 myself. 
 
 At present I am subsisting on certain wild 
 flavors which nature wafts to me, which unac 
 countably sustain me, and make my apparently 
 poor life rich. Within a year my walks have 
 extended themselves, and almost every after 
 noon (I read, or write, or make pencils in the 
 forenoon, and by the last means get a living for 
 my body) I visit some new hill, or pond, or 
 wood, many miles distant. I am astonished at 
 the wonderful retirement through which I move, 
 rarely meeting a man in these excursions, never 
 seeing one similarly engaged, unless it be my 
 companion, when I have one. I cannot help 
 feeling that of all the human inhabitants of na 
 ture hereabouts, only we two have leisure to 
 admire and enjoy our inheritance. 
 
 " Free in this world as the birds in the air, 
 disengaged from every kind of chains, those 
 who have practiced the yoga gather in Brahma 
 the certain fruit of their works." 
 
 Depend upon it, that, rude and careless as I 
 am, I would fain practice the yoga faithfully. 
 
 "The yogi, absorbed in contemplation, con- 
 
JET. 32.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 211 
 
 tributes in his degree to creation : he breathes a 
 divine perfume, he hears wonderful things. Di 
 vine forms traverse him without tearing him, and, 
 united to the nature which is proper to him, he 
 goes, he acts as animating original matter." 
 
 To some extent, and at rare intervals, even I 
 am a yogi. 
 
 I know little about the affairs of Turkey, but 
 I am sure that I know something about bar 
 berries and chestnuts, of which I have collected 
 a store this fall. When I go to see my neigh 
 bor, he will formally communicate to me the 
 latest news from Turkey, which he read in 
 yesterday s mail, " Now Turkey by this time 
 looks determined, and Lord Palmer ston " 
 Why, I would rather talk of the bran, which, 
 unfortunately, was sifted out of my bread this 
 morning, and thrown away. It is a fact which 
 lies nearer to me. The newspaper gossip with 
 which our hosts abuse our ears is as far from 
 a true hospitality as the viands which they set 
 before us. We did not need them to feed our 
 bodies, and the news can be bought for a penny. 
 We want the inevitable news, be it sad or cheer 
 ing, wherefore and by what means they are ex 
 tant this new day. If they are well, let them 
 whistle and dance ; if they are dyspeptic, it is 
 their duty to complain, that so they may in any 
 case be entertaining. If words were invented 
 
212 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1849, 
 
 to conceal thought, I think that newspapers are 
 a great improvement on a bad invention. Do 
 not suffer your life to be taken by newspapers. 
 
 I thank you for your hearty appreciation of 
 my book. I am glad to have had such a long 
 talk with you, and that you had patience to lis 
 ten to me to the end. I think that I had the 
 advantage of you, for I chose my own mood, 
 and in one sense your mood too, that is, a 
 quiet and attentive reading mood. Such ad 
 vantage has the writer over the talker. I am 
 sorry that you did not come to Concord in your 
 vacation. Is it not time for another vacation? 
 I am here yet, and Concord is here. 
 
 You will have found out by this time who it 
 is that writes this, and will be glad to have you 
 write to him, without his subscribing himself 
 HENKY D. THOKEAU. 
 
 P. S. It is so long since I have seen you, 
 that, as you will perceive, I have to speak, as it 
 were, in vacua, as if I were sounding hollowly 
 for an echo, and it did not make much odds 
 what kind of a sound I made. But the gods do 
 not hear any rude or discordant sound, as we 
 learn from the echo ; and I know that the na 
 ture toward which I launch these sounds is so 
 rich that it will modulate anew and wonderfully 
 improve my rudest strain. 
 
JET. 32.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 213 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT MILTON). 
 
 CONCORD, April 3, 1850. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I thank you for your letter, 
 and I will endeavor to record some of the 
 thoughts which it suggests, whether pertinent 
 or not. You speak of poverty and dependence. 
 Who are poor and dependent ? Who are rich 
 and independent ? When was it that men 
 agreed to respect the appearance and not the 
 reality ? Why should the appearance appear ? 
 Are we well acquainted, then, with the reality? 
 There is none who does not lie hourly in the 
 respect he pays to false appearance. How sweet 
 it would be to treat men and things, for an hour, 
 for just what they are ! We wonder that the 
 sinner does not confess his sin. When we are 
 weary with travel, we lay down our load and 
 rest by the wayside. So, when we are weary 
 with the burden of life, why do we not lay down 
 this load of falsehoods which we have volun 
 teered to sustain, and be refreshed as never 
 mortal was ? Let the beautiful laws prevail. 
 Let us not weary ourselves by resisting them. 
 When we would rest our bodies we cease to 
 support them ; we recline on the lap of earth. 
 So, when we would rest our spirits, we must 
 recline on the Great Spirit. Let things alone ; 
 let them weigh what they will ; let them soar or 
 
214 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1850, 
 
 fall. To succeed in letting only one thing alone 
 in a winter morning, if it be only one poor 
 frozen-thawed apple that hangs on a tree, what 
 a glorious achievement ! Methinks it lightens 
 through the dusky universe. What an infinite 
 wealth we have discovered ! God reigns, i. e., 
 when we take a liberal view, when a liberal 
 view is presented us. 
 
 Let God alone if need be. Methinks, if I 
 loved him more, I should keep him, I should 
 keep myself rather, at a more respectful dis 
 tance. It is not when I am going to meet him, 
 but when I am just turning away and leaving 
 him alone, that I discover that God is. I say, 
 God. I am not sure that that is the name. 
 You will know whom I mean. 
 
 If for a moment we make way with our petty 
 selves, wish no ill to anything, apprehend no ill, 
 cease to be but as the crystal which reflects 
 a ray, what shall we not reflect ! What a 
 universe will appear crystallized and radiant 
 around us ! 
 
 I should say, let the Muse lead the Muse, 
 let the understanding lead the understanding, 
 though in any case it is the farthest forward 
 which leads them both. If the Muse accompany, 
 she is no muse, but an amusement. The Muse 
 should lead like a star which is very far off ; 
 but that does not imply that we are to follow 
 
^T.32.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 215 
 
 foolishly, falling into sloughs and over preci 
 pices, for it is not foolishness, but understand 
 ing, which is to follow, which the Muse is ap 
 pointed to lead, as a fit guide of a fit follower. 
 
 Will you live ? or will you be embalmed ? 
 Will you live, though it be astride of a sun 
 beam ; or will you repose safely in the cata 
 combs for a thousand years ? In the former 
 case, the worst accident that can happen is that 
 you may break your neck. Will you break 
 your heart, your soul, to save your neck ? Necks 
 and pipe-stems are fated to be broken. Men 
 make a great ado about the folly of demand 
 ing too much of life (or of eternity ?), and of 
 endeavoring to live according to that demand. 
 It is much ado about nothing. No harm ever 
 came from that quarter. I am not afraid that 
 I shall exaggerate the value and significance of 
 life, but that I shall not be up to the occasion 
 which it is. I shall be sorry to remember that 
 I was there, but noticed nothing remarkable, 
 not so much as a prince in disguise; lived in 
 the golden age a hired man ; visited Olym 
 pus even, but fell asleep after dinner, and did 
 not hear the conversation of the gods. I lived 
 in Judaea eighteen hundred years ago, but I 
 never knew that there was such a one as Christ 
 among my contemporaries ! If there is any 
 thing more glorious than a congress of men 
 
216 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1850, 
 
 a-framing or amending of a constitution going 
 on, which I suspect there is, I desire to see the 
 morning papers. I am greedy of the faintest 
 rumor, though it were got by listening at the 
 key-hole. I will dissipate myself in that direc 
 tion. 
 
 I am glad to know that you find what I have 
 said on Friendship worthy of attention. I wish 
 I could have the benefit of your criticism; it 
 would be a rare help to me. Will you not 
 communicate it ? 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT MILTON). 
 
 CONCORD, May 28, 1850. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, "I never found any content 
 ment in the life which the newspapers record," 
 anything of more value than the cent which 
 they cost. Contentment in being covered with 
 dust an inch deep ! We who walk the streets, 
 and hold time together, are but the refuse of 
 ourselves, and that life is for the shells of us, 
 of our body and our mind, for our scurf, 
 a thoroughly scurvy life. It is coffee made of 
 coffee-grounds the twentieth time, which was 
 only coffee the first time, while the living 
 water leaps and sparkles by our doors. I know 
 some who, in their charity, give their coffee- 
 grounds to the poor ! We, demanding news, 
 and putting up with such news ! Is it a new 
 
JST. 32.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 217 
 
 convenience, or a new accident, or, rather, a new 
 perception of the truth that we want ! 
 
 You say that " the serene hours in which 
 friendship, books, nature, thought, seem alone 
 primary considerations, visit you but faintly." 
 Is not the attitude of expectation somewhat 
 divine ? a sort of home - made divineness ? 
 Does it not compel a kind of sphere-music to 
 attend on it ? And do not its satisfactions 
 merge at length, by insensible degrees, in the 
 enjoyment of the thing expected ? 
 
 What if I should forget to write about my 
 not writing ? It is not worth the while to make 
 that a theme. It is as if I had written every 
 day. It is as if I had never written before. I 
 wonder that you think so much about it, for not 
 writing is the most like writing, in my case, of 
 anything I know. 
 
 Why will you not relate to me your dream ? 
 That would be to realize it somewhat. You tell 
 me that you dream, but not what you dream. I 
 can guess what comes to pass. So do the frogs 
 dream. Would that I knew what. I have 
 never found out whether they are awake or 
 asleep, whether it is day or night with them. 
 
 I am preaching, mind you, to bare walls, that 
 is, to myself ; and if you have chanced to come 
 in and occupy a pew, do not think that my re 
 marks are directed at you particularly, and so 
 
218 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT, [1850, 
 
 slam the seat in disgust. This discourse was 
 written long before these exciting times. 
 
 Some absorbing employment on your higher 
 ground, your upland farm, whither no cart- 
 path leads, but where you mount alone with 
 your hoe, where the life everlasting grows; 
 there you raise a crop which needs not to be 
 brought down into the valley to a market ; 
 which you barter for heavenly products. 
 
 Do you separate distinctly enough the support 
 of your body, from that of your essence ? By 
 how distinct a course commonly are these two 
 ends attained! Not that they should not be 
 attained by one and the same means, that, in 
 deed, is the rarest success, but there is no 
 half and half about it. 
 
 I shall be glad to read my lecture to a small 
 audience in Worcester such as you describe, and 
 will only require that my expenses be paid. If 
 only the parlor be large enough for an echo, and 
 the audience will embarrass themselves with 
 hearing as much as the lecturer would otherwise 
 embarrass himself with reading. But I warn 
 you that this is no better calculated for a pro 
 miscuous audience than the last two which I read 
 to you. It requires, in every sense, a concor 
 dant audience. 
 
 I will come on next Saturday and spend Sun 
 day with you if you wish it. Say so if you do. 
 
MT. 32.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 219 
 
 " Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring 1 ." 
 
 Be not deterred by melancholy on the path 
 which leads to immortal health and joy. When 
 they tasted of the water of the river over which 
 they were to go, they thought it tasted a little 
 bitterish to the palate, but it proved sweeter 
 when it was down. 
 
 H. D. T. 
 
 NOTE. The "companion" of his walks, mentioned by 
 Thoreau in November, 1849, was Ellery Channing ; the neigh 
 bor who insisted on talking- of Turkey was perhaps Emerson, 
 who, after his visit to Europe in 1848, was more interested in 
 its politics than before. Pencil-making- was Thoreau s manual 
 work for many years ; and it must have been about this time 
 (1849-50) that he " had occasion to go to New York to peddle 
 some pencils," as he says in his journal for November 20, 1853. 
 He adds, " I was obliged to manufacture one thousand dollars 
 worth of pencils, and slowly dispose of, and finally sacrifice 
 them, in order to pay an assumed debt of one hundred dol 
 lars." This debt was perhaps for the printing of the Week, 
 published in 1849, and paid for in 1853. Thoreau s pencils 
 have sold (in 1893) for 25 cents each. For other facts concern 
 ing his debt to James Munroe, see Sanborn s Thoreau, pp. 230, 
 235. 
 
III. FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. 
 
 TO R. W. EMERSON 1 (AT CONCORD). 
 
 FIRE ISLAND BEACH, 
 Thursday morning-, July 25, 1850. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, I am writing this at the 
 house of Smith Oakes, within one mile of the 
 wreck. He is the one who rendered most assist 
 ance. William H. Charming came down with 
 me, but I have not seen Arthur Fuller, nor Gree- 
 ley, nor Marcus Spring. Spring and Charles 
 Sumner were here yesterday, but left soon. Mr. 
 Oakes and wife tell me (all the survivors came, 
 or were brought, directly to their house) that 
 the ship struck at ten minutes after four A. M., 
 and all hands, being mostly in their mghtclothes, 
 made haste to the forecastle, the water coming- 
 in at once. There they remained ; the passengers 
 in the forecastle, the crew above it, doing what 
 
 1 It will readily be seen that this letter relates to the ship 
 wreck on Fire Island, near New York, in which Margaret Ful 
 ler, Countess Ossoli, with her husband and child, was lost. A 
 letter with no date of the year, but probably written February 
 15, 1840, from Emerson to Thoreau, represents them both as 
 taking- much trouble about a house in Concord for Mrs. Fuller, 
 the mother of Margaret, who had just sold her Groton house, 
 and wished to live with her daughter near Emerson. 
 
2ET.33.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 221 
 
 they could. Every wave lifted the forecastle 
 roof and washed over those within. The first 
 man got ashore at nine ; many from nine to 
 noon. At flood tide, about half past three 
 o clock, when the ship broke up entirely, they 
 came out of the forecastle, and Margaret sat 
 with her back to the foremast, with her hands 
 on her knees, her husband and child already 
 drowned. A great wave came and washed her 
 aft. The steward (?) had just before taken her 
 child and started for shore. Both were drowned. 
 
 The broken desk, in a bag, containing no very 
 valuable papers ; a large black leather trunk, 
 with an upper and under compartment, the 
 upper holding books and papers ; a carpet-bag, 
 probably Ossoli s, and one of his shoes (?) are 
 all the Ossoli effects known to have been found. 
 Four bodies remain to be found : the two Ossolis, 
 Horace Sumner, and a sailor. I have visited 
 the child s grave. Its body will probably be 
 taken away to-day. The wreck is to be sold at 
 auction, excepting the hull, to-day. 
 
 The mortar would not go off. Mrs. Hasty, 
 the captain s wife, told Mrs. Oakes that she and 
 Margaret divided their money, and tied up the 
 halves in handkerchiefs around their persons; 
 that Margaret took sixty or seventy dollars. 
 Mrs. Hasty, who can tell all about Margaret up 
 to eleven o clock on Friday, is said to be going 
 
222 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1850, 
 
 to Portland, New England, to-day. She and 
 Mrs. Fuller must, and probably will, come to 
 gether. The cook, the last to leave, and the 
 steward (?) will know the rest. I shall try to 
 see them. In the mean while I shall do what I 
 can to recover property and obtain particulars 
 hereabouts. William H. Charming did I 
 write it ? has come with me. Arthur Fuller 1 
 has this moment reached the house. He reached 
 the beach last night. We got here yesterday 
 noon. A good part of the wreck still holds to 
 gether where she struck, and something may 
 come ashore with her fragments. The last body 
 was found on Tuesday, three miles west. Mrs. 
 Oakes dried the papers which were in the trunk, 
 and she says they appeared to be of various 
 kinds. " Would they cover that table ? " (a 
 small round one). " They would if spread out. 
 Some were tied up. There were twenty or thirty 
 books " in the same half of the trunk. Another 
 smaller trunk, empty, came ashore, but there was 
 no mark on it." She speaks of Paulina as if she 
 might have been a sort of nurse to the child. 
 I expect to go to Patchogue, whence the pilferers 
 must have chiefly come, and advertise, etc. 
 
 1 Rev. A. B. Fuller, then of Manchester, N. H., afterward 
 of Boston ; a brother of Margaret, who died a chaplain in the 
 Civil War. 
 
JET. 33.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 223 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (iX MILTON). 
 
 CONCORD, August 9, 1850. 
 
 MK. BLAKE, I received your letter just as 
 I was rushing to Fire Island beach to recover 
 what remained of Margaret Fuller, and read it 
 on the way. That event and its train, as much 
 as anything, have prevented my answering it be 
 fore. It is wisest to speak when you are spoken 
 to. I will now endeavor to reply, at the risk of 
 having nothing to say. 
 
 I find that actual events, notwithstanding the 
 singular prominence which we all allow them, are 
 far less real than the creations of my imagina 
 tion. They are truly visionary and insignificant, 
 
 all that we commonly call life and death, 
 arid affect me less than my dreams. This petty 
 stream which from time to time swells and car 
 ries away the mills and bridges of our habitual 
 life, and that mightier stream or ocean on which 
 we securely float, what makes the difference 
 between them ? I have in my pocket a button 
 which I ripped off the coat of the Marquis of 
 Ossoli, on the seashore, the other day. Held 
 up, it intercepts the light, an actual button, 
 
 and yet all the life it is connected with is less 
 substantial to me, and interests me less, than my 
 faintest dream. Our thoughts are the epochs in 
 our lives : all else is but as a journal of the winds 
 that blew while we were here. 
 
224 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1850, 
 
 I say to myself, Do a little more of that work 
 which you have confessed to be good. You are 
 neither satisfied nor dissatisfied with yourself, 
 without reason. Have you not a thinking fac 
 ulty of inestimable value ? If there is an ex 
 periment which you would like to try, try it. Do 
 not entertain doubts if they are not agreeable to 
 you. Remember that you need not eat unless 
 you are hungry. Do not read the newspapers. 
 Improve every opportunity to be melancholy. As 
 for health, consider yourself well. Do not en 
 gage to find things as you think they are. Do 
 what nobody else can do for you. Omit to do 
 anything else. It is not easy to make our lives 
 respectable by any course of activity. We must 
 repeatedly withdraw into our shells of thought, 
 like the tortoise, somewhat helplessly ; yet there 
 is more than philosophy in that. 
 
 Do not waste any reverence on my attitude. 
 I merely manage to sit up where I have dropped. 
 I am sure that my acquaintances mistake me. 
 They ask my advice on high matters, but they 
 do not know even how poorly on t I am for hats 
 and shoes. I have hardly a shift. Just as 
 shabby as I am in my outward apparel, ay, and 
 more lamentably shabby, am I in my inward 
 substance. If I should turn myself inside out, 
 my rags and meanness would indeed appear. I 
 am something to him that made me, undoubt- 
 
J5T.33.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 225 
 
 edly, but not much to any other that he has 
 made. 
 
 Would it not be worth while to discover na 
 ture in Milton ? be native to the universe ? I, 
 too, love Concord best, but I am glad when I 
 discover, in oceans and wildernesses far away, 
 the material of a million Concords : indeed, I am 
 lost, unless I discover them. I see less differ 
 ence between a city and a swamp than formerly. 
 It is a swamp, however, too dismal and dreary 
 even for me, and I should be glad if there were 
 fewer owls, and frogs, and mosquitoes in it. I 
 prefer ever a more cultivated place, free from 
 miasma and crocodiles. I am so sophisticated, 
 and I will take my choice. 
 
 As for missing friends, what if we do miss 
 one another? have we not agreed on a rendez 
 vous ? While each wanders his own way through 
 the wood, without anxiety, ay, with serene joy, 
 though it be on his hands and knees, over rocks 
 and fallen trees, he cannot but be in the right 
 way. There is no wrong way to him. How 
 can he be said to miss his friend, whom the 
 fruits still nourish and the elements sustain ? A 
 man who missed his friend at a turn, went on 
 buoyantly, dividing the friendly air, and hum 
 ming a tune to himself, ever and anon kneeling 
 with delight to study each little lichen in his 
 path, and scarcely made three miles a day for 
 
226 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1850, 
 
 friendship. As for conforming outwardly, and 
 living your own life inwardly, I do not think 
 much of that. Let not your right hand know 
 what your left hand does in that line of busi 
 ness. It will prove a failure. Just as success 
 fully can you walk against a sharp steel edge 
 which divides you cleanly right and left. Do 
 you wish to try your ability to resist disten 
 sion ? It is a greater strain than any soul can 
 long endure. When you get God to pulling one 
 way, and the devil the other, each having his 
 feet well braced, to say nothing of the con 
 science sawing transversely, almost any tim 
 ber will give way. 
 
 I do not dare invite you earnestly to come to 
 Concord, because I know too well that the ber 
 ries are not thick in my fields, and we should 
 have to take it out in viewing the landscape. 
 But come, on every account, and we will see 
 one another. 
 
 No letters of the year 1851 have been found 
 by me. On the 27th of December, 1850, Mr. 
 Cabot wrote to say that the Boston Society of 
 Natural History, of which he was secretary, had 
 elected Thoreau a corresponding member, " with 
 all the honores, privilegia, etc., ad gradum tuum 
 pertinentia, without the formality of paying any 
 entrance fee, or annual subscription. Your du- 
 
ssT.34.] TO T. W. HIGGINSON. 227 
 
 ties in return are to advance the interests of the 
 Society by communications or otherwise, as shall 
 seem good." This is believed to be the only 
 learned body which honored itself by electing 
 Thoreau. The immediate occasion of this elec 
 tion was the present, by Thoreau, to the Society, 
 of a fine specimen of the American goshawk, 
 caught or shot by Jacob Farmer, which Mr. 
 Cabot acknowledged, December 18, 1849, say 
 ing : "It was first described by Wilson ; lately 
 Audubon has identified it with the European 
 goshawk, thereby committing a very flagrant 
 blunder. It is usually a very rare species with 
 us. The European bird is used in hawking ; 
 and doubtless ours would be equally game. If 
 Mr. Farmer skins him now, he will have to take 
 second cut ; for his skin is already off and stuffed, 
 his remains dissected, measured, and deposited 
 in alcohol." 
 
 TO T. W. HIGGINSON (AT BOSTON). 
 
 CONCORD, April 2-3, 1852. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I do not see that I can refuse 
 to read another lecture, but what makes me hesi 
 tate is the fear that I have not another available 
 which will entertain a large audience, though 
 I have thoughts to offer which I think will be 
 quite as worthy of their attention. However, I 
 will try ; for the prospect of earning a few dol- 
 
228 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 lars is alluring. As far as I can foresee, my 
 subject would be "Reality" rather transcenden- 
 tally treated. It lies still in " Walden, or Life 
 in the Woods." Since you are kind enough to 
 undertake the arrangements, I will leave it to 
 you to name an evening of next week, decide 
 on the most suitable room, and advertise, if 
 this is not taking you too literally at your word. 
 If you still think it worth the while to attend 
 to this, will you let me know as soon as may be 
 what evening will be most convenient? I cer 
 tainly do not feel prepared to offer myself as a 
 lecturer to the Boston public, and hardly know 
 whether more to dread a small audience or 
 a large one. Nevertheless, I will repress this 
 squeamishness, and propose no alteration in your 
 arrangements. I shall be glad to accept your 
 invitation to tea. 
 
 This lecture was given, says Colonel Higgin- 
 son, " at the Mechanics Apprentices Library in 
 Boston, with the snow outside, and the young 
 boys rustling their newspapers among the Al- 
 cotts and Blakes." Or, possibly, this remark 
 may apply to a former lecture in the same year, 
 which was that in which Thoreau first lectured 
 habitually away from Concord. He commenced 
 by accepting an invitation to speak at Leyden 
 Hall, in Plymouth, where his friends the Wat- 
 
JET. 34.] TO MARSTON WATSON. 229 
 
 / 
 
 sons had organized Sunday services, that the 
 Transcendentalists and Abolitionists might have 
 a chance to be heard at a time when they were 
 generally excluded from the popular " Lyceum 
 courses " throughout New England. Mr. B. M. 
 Watson says : 
 
 " I have found two letters from Thoreau in 
 answer to my invitation in 1852 to address our 
 congregation at Leydeii Hall on Sunday morn 
 ings, an enterprise I undertook about that 
 time. I find among the distinguished men who 
 addressed us the names of Thoreau, Emerson, 
 Ellery Channing, Alcott, Higginson, Remond, 
 S. Johnson, F. J. Appleton, Edmund Quincy, 
 Garrison, Phillips, J. P. Lesley, Shackford, W. 
 F. Channing, N. H. Whiting, Adiii Ballou, Abby 
 K. Foster and her husband, J. T. Sargent, T. 
 T. Stone, Jones Very, Wasson, Hurlbut, F. W. 
 Holland, and Scherb ; so you may depend we 
 had some fun." 
 
 These letters were mere notes. The first, 
 dated February 17, 1852, says : " I have not yet 
 seen Mr. Channing, though I believe he is in 
 town, having decided to come to Plymouth 
 myself, but I will let him know that he is 
 expected. Mr. Daniel Foster wishes me to say 
 that he accepts your invitation, and that he would 
 like to come Sunday after next. I will take the 
 Saturday afternoon train. I shall be glad to 
 
230 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 get a winter view of Plymouth Harbor, and see 
 where your garden lies under the snow." 
 The second letter follows : 
 
 TO MARSTON WATSON (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, December 31, 1852. 
 
 MR. WATSON, I would be glad to visit Plym 
 outh again, but at present I have nothing to 
 read which is not severely heathenish, or at least 
 secular, which the dictionary defines as " re 
 lating to affairs of the present world, not holy," 
 though not necessarily unholy ; nor have I 
 any leisure to prepare it. My writing at present 
 is profane, yet in a good sense, and, as it were, 
 sacredly, I may say ; for, finding the air of the 
 temple too close, I sat outside. Don t think I 
 say this to get off ; no, no ! It will not do to 
 read such things to hungry ears. " If they ask 
 for bread, will you give them a stone ? " When 
 I have something of the right kind, depend upon 
 it I will let you know. 
 
 Up to 1848, when he was invited to lecture 
 before the Salem Lyceum by Nathaniel Haw 
 thorne, then its secretary, Thoreau seems to have 
 spoken publicly very little except in Concord ; 
 nor did he extend the circuit of his lectures much 
 until his two books had made him known as a 
 thinker. There was little to attract a popular 
 
jsT.35.] LYCEUM LECTURES. 231 
 
 audience in his manner or his matter ; but it was 
 the era of lectures, and if one could once gain 
 admission to the circle of " lyceum lecturers," it 
 did not so much matter what he said ; a lecture 
 was a lecture, as a sermon was a sermon, good, 
 bad, or indifferent. But it was common to ex 
 clude the anti-slavery speakers from the lyceums, 
 even those of more eloquence than Thoreau ; 
 this led to invitations from the small band of 
 reformers scattered about New England and 
 New York, so that the most unlikely of platform 
 speakers (Ellery Channing, for example) some 
 times gave lectures at Plymouth, Greenfield, 
 Newburyport, or elsewhere. The present fash 
 ion of parlor lectures had not come in ; yet at 
 Worcester Thoreau s friends early organized for 
 him something of that kind, as his letters to Mr. 
 Blake show. In default of an audience of num 
 bers, Thoreau fell into the habit of lecturing in 
 his letters to this friend ; the most marked in 
 stance being the thoughtful essay on Love and 
 Chastity which makes the bulk of his epistle 
 dated September, 1852. Like most of his seri 
 ous writing, this was made up from his daily 
 journal, and hardly comes under the head of 
 " familiar letters ; " the didactic purpose is rather 
 too apparent. Yet it cannot be spared from any 
 collection of his epistles, none of which flowed 
 more directly from the quickened moral nature 
 of the man. 
 
232 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 TO SOPHIA THOREAU (AT BANGOR). 
 
 CONCORD, July 13, 1852. 
 
 DEAR SOPHIA, I am a miserable letter- 
 writer, but perhaps if I should say this at length 
 and with sufficient emphasis and regret it would 
 make a letter. I am sorry that nothing tran 
 spires here of much moment ; or, I should rather 
 say, that I am so slackened and rusty, like the 
 telegraph wire this season, that no wind that 
 blows can extract music from me. 
 
 I am not on the trail of any elephants or mas 
 todons, but have succeeded in trapping only a 
 few ridiculous mice, which cannot feed my im 
 agination. I have become sadly scientific. I 
 would rather come upon the vast valley-like 
 " spoor " only of some celestial beast which this 
 world s woods can no longer sustain, than spring 
 my net over a bushel of moles. You must do 
 better in those woods where you are. You must 
 have some adventures to relate and repeat for 
 years to come, which will eclipse even mother s 
 voyage to Goldsborough and Sissiboo. 
 
 They say that Mr. Pierce, the presidential 
 candidate, was in town last 5th of July, visiting 
 Hawthorne, whose college chum he was ; and 
 that Hawthorne is writing a life of him, for 
 electioneering purposes. 
 
 Concord is just as idiotic as ever in relation 
 
JET. 35.] TO SOPHIA THOREAU. 233 
 
 to the spirits and their knockings. Most people 
 here believe in a spiritual world which no respec 
 table junk bottle, which had not met with a slip, 
 would condescend to contain even a portion of 
 for a moment, whose atmosphere would ex 
 tinguish a candle let down into it, like a well 
 that wants airing ; in spirits which the very bull 
 frogs in our meadows would blackball. Their 
 evil genius is seeing how low it can degrade 
 them. The hooting of owls, the croaking of 
 frogs, is celestial wisdom in comparison. If I 
 could be brought to believe in the things which 
 they believe, I should make haste to get rid of 
 my certificate of stock in this and the next 
 world s enterprises, and buy a share in the first 
 Immediate Annihilation Company that offered. 
 I would exchange my immortality for a glass of 
 small beer this hot weather. Where are the 
 heathen ? Was there ever any superstition be 
 fore ? And yet I suppose there may be a vessel 
 this very moment setting sail from the coast of 
 North America to that of Africa with a mission 
 ary on board ! Consider the dawn and the sun 
 rise, the rainbow and the evening, the words 
 of Christ and the aspiration of all the saints ! 
 Hear music ! see, smell, taste, feel, hear, any 
 thing, and then hear these idiots, inspired by 
 the cracking of a restless board, humbly asking, 
 " Please, Spirit, if you cannot answer by knocks, 
 answer by tips of the table." !!!!!!! 
 
234 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, July 21, 1852. 
 
 ME. BLAKE, I am too stupidly well these 
 days to write to you. My life is almost altogether 
 outward, all shell and no tender kernel ; so that 
 I fear the report of it would be only a nut for 
 you to crack, with no meat in it for you to eat. 
 Moreover, you have not cornered me up, and I 
 enjoy such large liberty in writing to you, that I 
 feel as vague as the air. However, I rejoice to hear 
 that you have attended so patiently to anything 
 which I have said heretofore, and have detected 
 any truth in it. It encourages me to say more, 
 not in this letter, I fear, but in some book 
 which I may write one day. I am glad to know 
 that I am as much to any mortal as a persistent 
 and consistent scarecrow is to a farmer, such 
 a bundle of straw in a man s clothing as I am, 
 with a few bits of tin to sparkle in the sun 
 dangling about me, as if I were hard at work 
 there in the field. However, if this kind of life 
 saves any man s corn, why, he is the gainer. 
 I am not afraid that you will flatter me as long 
 as you know what I am, as well as what I think, 
 or aim to be, and distinguish between these two, 
 for then it will commonly happen that if you 
 praise the last you will condemn the first. 
 
 I remember that walk to Asnebumskit very 
 
2ET. 35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 235 
 
 well, a fit place to go to on a Sunday ; one of 
 the true temples of the earth. A temple, you 
 know, was anciently " an open place without a 
 roof," whose walls served merely to shut out the 
 world and direct the mind toward heaven ; but 
 a modern meeting-house shuts out the heavens, 
 while it crowds the world into still closer quar 
 ters. Best of all is it when, as on a mountain- 
 top, you have for all walls your own elevation 
 and deeps of surrounding ether. The partridge- 
 berries, watered with mountain dews which are 
 gathered there, are more memorable to me than 
 the words which I last heard from the pulpit 
 at least ; and for my part, I would rather look 
 toward Rutland than Jerusalem. Rutland, 
 modern town, land of ruts, trivial and 
 worn, not too sacred, with no holy sepul 
 chre, but profane green fields and dusty roads, 
 and opportunity to live as holy a life as you 
 can, where the sacredness, if there is any, is 
 all in yourself and not in the place. 
 
 I fear that your Worcester people do not often 
 enough go to the hilltops, though, as I am told, 
 the springs lie nearer to the surface on your 
 hills than in your valleys. They have the repu 
 tation of being Free-Soilers. 1 Do they insist on 
 a free atmosphere, too, that is, on freedom for 
 
 1 The name of a political party, afterwards called " Repub 
 licans." 
 
236 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 the head or brain as well as the feet ? If I were 
 consciously to join any party, it would be that 
 which is the most free to entertain thought. 
 
 All the world complain nowadays of a press 
 of trivial duties and engagements, which pre 
 vents their employing themselves on some higher 
 ground they know of ; but, undoubtedly, if they 
 were made of the right stuff to work on that 
 higher ground, provided they were released from 
 all those engagements, they would now at once 
 fulfill the superior engagement, and neglect all 
 the rest, as naturally as they breathe. They would 
 never be caught saying that they had no time 
 for this, when the dullest man knows that this 
 is all that he has time for. No man who acts 
 from a sense of duty ever puts the lesser duty 
 above the greater. No man has the desire and 
 the ability to work 011 high things, but he has 
 also the ability to build himself a high staging. 
 
 As for passing tkrouc/k any great and glo 
 rious experience, and rising above it, as an eagle 
 might fly athwart the evening sky to rise into 
 still brighter and fairer regions of the heavens, I 
 cannot say that I ever sailed so creditably ; but 
 my bark ever seemed thwarted by some side 
 wind, and went off over the edge, and now only 
 occasionally tacks back toward the centre of that 
 sea again. I have outgrown nothing good, but, 
 I do not fear to say, fallen behind by whole con- 
 
MT.35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 237 
 
 tinents of virtue, which should have been passed 
 as islands in my course ; but I trust what else 
 can I trust? that, with a stiff wind, some Fri 
 day, when I have thrown some of my cargo 
 overboard, I may make up for all that distance 
 lost. 
 
 Perchance the time will come when we shall 
 not be content to go back and forth upon a raft 
 to some huge Homeric or Shakespearean India- 
 man that lies upon the reef, but build a bark 
 out of that wreck and others that are buried in 
 the sands of this desolate island, and such new 
 timber as may be required, in which to sail away 
 to whole new worlds of light and life, where our 
 friends are. 
 
 Write again. There is one respect in which 
 you did not finish your letter : you did not write 
 it with ink, and it is not so good, therefore, 
 against or for you in the eye of the law, nor in 
 the eye of H. D. T. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 September, 1852. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, Here come the sentences which 
 I promised you. You may keep them, if you 
 will regard and use them as the disconnected 
 fragments of what I may find to be a completer 
 essay, on looking over my journal, at last, and 
 may claim again. 
 
238 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 I send you the thoughts on Chastity and Sen 
 suality with diffidence and shame, not knowing 
 how far I speak to the condition of men gener 
 ally, or how far I betray my peculiar defects. 
 Pray enlighten me on this point if you can. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 What the essential difference between man 
 and woman is, that they should be thus attracted 
 to one another, no one has satisfactorily an 
 swered. Perhaps we must acknowledge the just 
 ness of the distinction which assigns to man the 
 sphere of wisdom, and to woman that of love, 
 though neither belongs exclusively to either. 
 Man is continually saying to woman, Why will 
 you not be more wise ? Woman is continually 
 saying to man, Why will you not be more lov 
 ing ? It is not in their wills to be wise or to be 
 loving ; but, unless each is both wise and loving, 
 there can be neither wisdom nor love. 
 
 All transcendent goodness is one, though 
 appreciated in different ways, or by different 
 senses. In beauty we see it, in music we hear 
 it, in fragrance we scent it, in the palatable the 
 pure palate tastes it, and in rare health the 
 whole body feels it. The variety is in the sur 
 face or manifestation ; but the radical identity 
 we fail to express. The lover sees in the glance 
 of his beloved the same beauty that in the sun- 
 
JBT.SO.] LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 239 
 
 set paints the western skies. It is the same dai- 
 mon, here lurking under a human eyelid, and 
 there under the closing eyelids of the day. 
 Here, in small compass, is the ancient and natu 
 ral beauty of evening and morning. What lov 
 ing astronomer has ever fathomed the ethereal 
 depths of the eye ? 
 
 The maiden conceals a fairer flower and 
 sweeter fruit than any calyx in the field ; and, 
 if she goes with averted face, confiding in her 
 purity and high resolves, she will make the heav 
 ens retrospective, and all nature humbly con 
 fess its queen. 
 
 Under the influence of this sentiment, man is 
 a string of an ^Eolian harp, which vibrates with 
 the zephyrs of the eternal morning. 
 
 There is at first thought something trivial 
 in the commonness of love. So many Indian 
 youths and maidens along these banks have in 
 ages past yielded to the influence of this great 
 civilizer. Nevertheless, this generation is not 
 disgusted nor discouraged, for love is no indi 
 vidual s experience ; and though we are imper 
 fect mediums, it does not partake of our imper 
 fection ; though we are finite, it is infinite and 
 eternal ; and the same divine influence broods 
 over these banks, whatever race may inhabit 
 them, and perchance still would, even if the hu 
 man race did not dwell here. 
 
240 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 Perhaps an instinct survives through the in- 
 tensest actual love, which prevents entire aban 
 donment and devotion, and makes the most ar 
 dent lover a little reserved. It is the anticipation 
 of change. For the most ardent lover is not the 
 less practically wise, and seeks a love which will 
 last forever. 
 
 Considering how few poetical friendships there 
 are, it is remarkable that so many are married. 
 It would seem as if men yielded too easy an 
 obedience to nature without consulting their ge 
 nius. One may be drunk with love without 
 being any nearer to finding his mate. There is 
 more of good nature than of good sense at the 
 bottom of most marriages. But the good nature 
 must have the counsel of the good spirit or In 
 telligence. If common sense had been consulted, 
 how many marriages would never have taken 
 place ; if uncommon or divine sense, how few 
 marriages such as we witness would ever have 
 taken place! 
 
 Our love may be ascending or descending. 
 What is its character, if it may be said of it, 
 
 " We must respect the souls above 
 But only those below we love." 
 
 Love is a severe critic. Hate can pardon more 
 than love. They who aspire to love worthily, 
 subject themselves to an ordeal more rigid than 
 any other. 
 
J5T.35.] LOVE IS NOT BLIND. 241 
 
 Is your friend such a one that an increase of 
 worth on your part will rarely make her more 
 your friend? Is she retained is she attracted 
 by more nobleness in you, by more of that 
 virtue which is peculiarly yours ; or is she indif 
 ferent and blind to that ? Is she to be flattered 
 and won by your meeting her on any other than 
 the ascending path? Then duty requires that 
 you separate from her. 
 
 Love must be as much a light as a flame. 
 
 Where there is not discernment, the behavior 
 even of the purest soul may in effect amount to 
 coarseness. 
 
 A man of fine perceptions is more truly femi 
 nine than a merely sentimental woman. The 
 heart is blind; but love is not blind. None of 
 the gods is so discriminating. 
 
 In love and friendship the imagination is as 
 much exercised as the heart; and if either is 
 outraged the other will be estranged. It is com 
 monly the imagination which is wounded first, 
 rather than the heart, it is so much the more 
 sensitive. 
 
 Comparatively, we can excuse any offense 
 against the heart, but not against the imagina 
 tion. The imagination knows nothing escapes 
 its glance from out its eyry and it controls 
 the breast. My heart may still yearn toward 
 the valley, but my imagination will not permit 
 
242 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 me to jump off the precipice that debars me 
 from it, for it is wounded, its wings are clipt, 
 and it cannot fly, even descendingly. Our 
 " blundering hearts ! " some poet says. The im 
 agination never forgets ; it is a re-membering. It 
 is not foundationless, but most reasonable, and 
 it alone uses all the knowledge of the intellect. 
 
 Love is the profoundest of secrets. Divulged, 
 even to the beloved, it is no longer Love. As 
 if it were merely I that loved you. When love 
 ceases, then it is divulged. 
 
 In our intercourse with one we love, we wish 
 to have answered those questions at the end of 
 which we do not raise our voice ; against which 
 we put no interrogation-mark, answered with 
 the same unfailing, universal aim toward every 
 point of the compass. 
 
 I require that thou knowest everything with 
 out being told anything. I parted from my be 
 loved because there was one thing which I had 
 to tell her. She questioned me. She should 
 have known all by sympathy. That I had to 
 tell it her was the difference between us, the 
 misunderstanding. 
 
 A lover never hears anything that is told, for 
 that is commonly either false or stale ; but he 
 hears things taking place, as the sentinels heard 
 Trenck 1 mining in the ground, and thought it 
 was moles. 
 
 1 Baron Trenck, the famous prisoner. 
 
J5T.35.] LOVE AND HATE. 243 
 
 The relation may be profaned in many ways. 
 The parties may not regard it with equal sacred- 
 ness. What if the lover should learn that his 
 beloved dealt in incanta-tions and philters! 
 What if he should hear that she consulted a 
 clairvoyant ! The spell would be instantly 
 broken. 
 
 If to chaffer and higgle are bad in trade, 
 they are much worse in Love. It demands 
 directness as of an arrow. 
 
 There is danger that we lose sight of what 
 our friend is absolutely, while considering what 
 she is to us alone. 
 
 The lover wants no partiality. He says, Be 
 so kind as to be just. 
 
 Canst thou love with thy mind, 
 
 And reason with thy heart ? 
 Canst thou be kind, 
 
 And from thy darling part ? 
 
 Can st thou range earth, sea, and air, 
 And so meet me everywhere ? 
 Through all events I will pursue thee, 
 Through all persons I will woo thee. 
 
 I need thy hate as much as thy love. Thou 
 wilt not repel me entirely when thou repellest 
 what is evil in me. 
 
 Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell, 
 Though I ponder on it well, 
 Which were easier to state, 
 All my love or all my hate. 
 
244 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 Surely, surely, thou wilt trust me 
 When I say thou doth disgust me. 
 O, I hate thee with a hate 
 That would fain annihilate ; 
 Yet, sometimes, against my will, 
 My dear Friend, I love thee still. 
 It were treason to our love, 
 And a sin to God above, 
 One iota to abate 
 Of a pure, impartial hate. 
 
 It is not enough that we are truthful ; we 
 must cherish and carry out high purposes to be 
 truthful about. 
 
 It must be rare, indeed, that we meet with 
 one to whom we are prepared to be quite ideally 
 related, as she to us. We should have no re 
 serve ; we should give the whole of ourselves to 
 that society ; we should have no duty aside from 
 that. One who could bear to be so wonderfully 
 and beautifully exaggerated every day. I would 
 take my friend out of her low self and set her 
 higher, infinitely higher, and there know her. 
 But, commonly, men are as much afraid of love 
 as of hate. They have lower engagements. 
 They have near ends to serve. They have not 
 imagination enough to be thus employed about 
 a human being, but must be coopering a barrel, 
 forsooth. 
 
 What a difference, whether, in all your walks, 
 you meet only strangers, or in one house is one 
 who knows you, and whom you know. To have 
 
XT. 35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 245 
 
 a brother or a sister ! To have a gold mine on 
 your farm ! To find diamonds in the gravel 
 heaps before your door ! How rare these things 
 are ! To share the day with you, to people 
 the earth. Whether to have a god or a goddess 
 for companion in your walks, or to walk alone 
 with hinds and villains and carles. Would not 
 a friend enhance the beauty of the landscape as 
 much as a deer or hare ? Everything would ac 
 knowledge and serve such a relation ; the corn 
 in the field, and the cranberries in the meadow. 
 The flowers would bloom, and the birds sing, 
 with a new impulse. There would be more fair 
 days in the year. 
 
 The object of love expands and grows before 
 us to eternity, until it includes all that is lovely, 
 and we become all that can love. 
 
 CHASTITY AND SENSUALITY. 
 
 The subject of sex is a remarkable one, since, 
 though its phenomena concern us so much, both 
 directly and indirectly, and, sooner or later, it 
 occupies the thoughts of all, yet all mankind, as 
 it were, agree to be silent about it, at least the 
 sexes commonly one to another. One of the 
 most interesting of all human facts is veiled 
 more completely than any mystery. It is treated 
 with such secrecy and awe as surely do not go 
 to any religion. I believe that it is unusual even 
 
246 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 for the most intimate friends to communicate 
 the pleasures and anxieties connected with this 
 fact, much as the external affair of love, its 
 comings and goings, are bruited. The Shakers 
 do not exaggerate it so much by their manner 
 of speaking of it, as all mankind by their man 
 ner of keeping silence about it. Not that men 
 should speak on this or any subject without 
 having anything worthy to say ; but it is plain 
 that the education of man has hardly com 
 menced, there is so little genuine intercom 
 munication. 
 
 In a pure society, the subject of marriage 
 would not be so often avoided, from shame 
 and not from reverence, winked out of sight, 
 and hinted at only ; but treated naturally and 
 simply, perhaps simply avoided, like the kin 
 dred mysteries. If it cannot be spoken of for 
 shame, how can it be acted of ? But, doubtless, 
 there is far more purity, as well as more im 
 purity, than is apparent. 
 
 Men commonly couple with their idea of mar 
 riage a slight degree at least of sensuality ; but 
 every lover, the world over, believes in its incon 
 ceivable purity. 
 
 If it is the result of a pure love, there can be 
 nothing sensual in marriage. Chastity is some 
 thing positive, not negative. It is the virtue of 
 the married especially. All lusts or base pleas- 
 
mi. 35.] THE DEEDS OF LOVE. 247 
 
 ures must give place to loftier delights. They 
 who meet as superior beings cannot perform the 
 deeds of inferior ones. The deeds of love are 
 less questionable than any action of an individ 
 ual can be, for, it being founded on the rarest 
 mutual respect, the parties incessantly stimulate 
 each other to a loftier and purer life, and the 
 act in which they are associated must be pure 
 and noble indeed, for innocence and purity can 
 have no equal. In this relation we deal with 
 one whom we respect more religiously even than 
 we respect our better selves, and we shall neces 
 sarily conduct as in the presence of God. What 
 presence can be more awful to the lover than the 
 presence of his beloved ? 
 
 If you seek the warmth even of affection from 
 a similar motive to that from which cats and 
 dogs and slothful persons hug the fire, be 
 cause your temperature is low through sloth, 
 you are on the downward road, and it is but to 
 plunge yet deeper into sloth. Better the cold 
 affection of the sun, reflected from fields of ice 
 and snow, or his warmth in some still, wintry 
 dell. The warmth of celestial love does not 
 relax, but nerves and braces its enjoyer. Warm 
 your body by healthful exercise, not by cowering 
 over a stove. Warm your spirit by performing 
 independently noble deeds, not by ignobly seek 
 ing the sympathy of your fellows who are no 
 
248 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 better than yourself. A man s social and spirit 
 ual discipline must answer to his corporeal. He 
 must lean on a friend who has a hard breast, as 
 he would lie on a hard bed. He must drink cold 
 water for his only beverage. So he must not 
 hear sweetened and colored words, but pure and 
 refreshing truths. He must daily bathe in truth 
 cold as spring water, not warmed by the sympa 
 thy of friends. ^ 
 
 Can love be in aught allied to dissipation? 
 Let us love by refusing, not accepting one an 
 other. Love and lust are far asunder. The one 
 is good, the other bad. When the affectionate 
 sympathize by their higher natures, there is 
 love ; but there is danger that they will sympa 
 thize by their lower natures, and then there is 
 lust. It is not necessary that this be deliberate, 
 hardly even conscious ; but, in the close contact 
 of affection, there is danger that we may stain 
 and pollute one another ; for we cannot embrace 
 but with an entire embrace. 
 
 We must love our friend so much that she 
 shall be associated with our purest and holiest 
 thoughts alone. When there is impurity, we 
 have "descended to meet," though we knew it 
 not. 
 
 The luxury of affection, there s the danger. 
 There must be some nerve and heroism in our 
 love, as of a winter morning. In the religion of 
 
asr.35.] VIRGINITY AND MARRIAGE. 249 
 
 all nations a purity is hinted at, which, I fear, 
 men never attain to. We may love and not 
 elevate one another. The love that takes us as 
 it finds us degrades us. What watch we must 
 keep over the fairest and purest of our affec 
 tions, lest there be some taint about them ! May 
 we so love as never to have occasion to repent 
 of our love ! 
 
 There is to be attributed to sensuality the 
 loss to language of how many pregnant symbols ! 
 Flowers, which, by their infinite hues and fra 
 grance, celebrate the marriage of the plants, are 
 intended for a symbol of the open and unsus 
 pected beauty of all true marriage, when man s 
 flowering season arrives. 
 
 Virginity, too, is a budding flower, and by an 
 impure marriage the virgin is deflowered. Who 
 ever loves flowers, loves virgins and chastity. 
 Love and lust are as far asunder as a flower- 
 garden is from a brothel. 
 
 J. Biberg, in the " Amoenitates Botanies," 
 edited by Linnaeus, observes (I translate from 
 the Latin) : " The organs of generation, which, 
 in the animal kingdom, are for the most part 
 concealed by nature, as if they were to be 
 ashamed of, in the vegetable kingdom are ex 
 posed to the eyes of all ; and, when the nuptials 
 of plants are celebrated, it is wonderful what 
 delight they afford to the beholder, refreshing 
 
250 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1852, 
 
 the senses with the most agreeable color and the 
 sweetest odor ; and, at the same time, bees and 
 other insects, not to mention the humming-bird, 
 extract honey from their nectaries, and gather 
 wax from their effete pollen." Linnaeus himself 
 calls the calyx the tlialamus, or bridal chamber ; 
 and the corolla the aulaeum, or tapestry of it, 
 and proceeds to explain thus every part of the 
 flower. 
 
 Who knows but evil spirits might corrupt the 
 flowers themselves, rob them of their fragrance 
 and their fair hues, and turn their marriage into 
 a secret shame and defilement ? Already they 
 are of various qualities, and there is one whose 
 nuptials fill the lowlands in June with the odor 
 of carrion. 
 
 The intercourse of the sexes, I have dreamed, 
 is incredibly beautiful, too fair to be remem 
 bered. I have had thoughts about it, but they 
 are among the most fleeting and irrecoverable in 
 my experience. It is strange that men will talk 
 of miracles, revelation, inspiration, and the like, 
 as things past, while love remains. 
 
 A true marriage will differ in no wise from 
 illumination. In all perception of the truth 
 there is a divine ecstasy, an inexpressible delir 
 ium of joy, as when a youth embraces his be 
 trothed virgin. The ultimate delights of a true 
 marriage are one with this. 
 
an:. 35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 251 
 
 No wonder that, out of such a union, not as 
 end, but as accompaniment, comes the undying 
 race of man. The womb is a most fertile soil. 
 
 Some have asked if the stock of men could 
 not be improved, if they could not be bred as 
 cattle. Let Love be purified, and all the rest 
 will follow. A pure love is thus, indeed, the 
 panacea for all the ills of the world. 
 
 The only excuse for reproduction is improve 
 ment. Nature abhors repetition. Beasts merely 
 propagate their kind ; but the offspring of noble 
 men and women will be superior to themselves, 
 as their aspirations are. By their fruits ye shall 
 know them. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, February 27, 1853. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I have not answered your letter 
 before, because I have been almost constantly in 
 the fields surveying of late. It is long since I 
 have spent many days so profitably in a pecuni 
 ary sense ; so unprofitably, it seems to me, in 
 a more important sense. I have earned just a 
 dollar a day for seventy-six days past; for, 
 though I charge at a higher rate for the days 
 which are seen to be spent, yet so many more 
 are spent than appears. This is instead of lec 
 turing, which has not offered, to pay for that 
 book which I printed. 1 I have not only cheap 
 i The Week. 
 
252 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 hours, but cheap weeks and months ; that is, 
 weeks which are bought at the rate I have 
 named. Not that they are quite lost to me, or 
 make me very melancholy, alas ! for I too often 
 take a cheap satisfaction in so spending them, 
 weeks of pasturing and browsing, like beeves 
 and deer, which give me animal health, it 
 may be, but create a tough skin over the soul 
 and intellectual part. Yet, if men should offer 
 my body a maintenance for the work of my 
 head alone, I feel that it would be a dangerous 
 temptation. 
 
 As to whether what you speak of as the 
 " world s way " (which for the most part is my 
 way), or that which is shown me, is the better, 
 the former is imposture, the latter is truth. I 
 have the coldest confidence in the last. There 
 is only such hesitation as the appetites feel in 
 following the aspirations. The clod hesitates 
 because it is inert, wants animation. The one 
 is the way of death, the other of life everlasting. 
 My hours are not " cheap in such a way that 
 / doubt whether the world s way would not 
 have been better," but cheap in such a way that 
 I doubt whether the world s way, which I have 
 adopted for the time, could be worse. The 
 whole enterprise of this nation, which is not an 
 upward, but a westward one, toward Oregon, 
 California, Japan, etc., is totally devoid of inter- 
 
JET. So.} TO HARRISON BLAKE. 253 
 
 est to me, whether performed on foot, or by a 
 Pacific railroad. It is not illustrated by a 
 thought ; it is not warmed by a sentiment ; 
 there is nothing in it which one should lay 
 down his life for., nor even his gloves, hardly 
 which one should take up a newspaper for. It 
 is perfectly heathenish, a filibustering to 
 ward heaven by the great western route. No ; 
 they may go their way to their manifest destiny, 
 which I trust is not mine. May my seventy- 
 six dollars, whenever I get them, help to carry 
 me in the other direction ! I see them on their 
 winding way, but no music is wafted from their 
 host, only the rattling of change in their 
 pockets. I would rather be a captive knight, 
 and let them all pass by, than be free only to 
 go whither they are bound. What end do they 
 propose to themselves beyond Japan ? What 
 aims more lofty have they than the prairie 
 dogs? 
 
 As it respects these things, I have not changed 
 an opinion one iota from the first. As the stars 
 looked to me when I was a shepherd in Assyria, 
 they look to me now, a New-Englander. The 
 higher the mountain on which you stand, the 
 less change in the prospect from year to year, 
 from age to age. Above a certain height there is 
 no change. I am a Switzer on the edge of the 
 glacier, with his advantages and disadvantages, 
 
254 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 goitre, or what not. (You may suspect it to be 
 some kind of swelling at any rate.) I have had 
 but one spiritual birth (excuse the word), and 
 now whether it rains or snows, whether I laugh 
 or cry, fall farther below or approach nearer to 
 my standard ; whether Pierce or Scott is elected, 
 not a new scintillation of light flashes on me, 
 but ever and anon, though with longer intervals, 
 the same surprising and everlastingly new light 
 dawns to me, with only such variations as in the 
 coming of the natural day, with which, indeed, 
 it is often coincident. 
 
 As to how to preserve potatoes from rotting, 
 your opinion may change from year to year ; 
 but as to how to preserve your soul from rot 
 ting, I have nothing to learn, but something to 
 practice. 
 
 Thus I declaim against them ; but I in my 
 folly am the world I condemn. 
 
 I very rarely, indeed, if ever, " feel any itch 
 ing to be what is called useful to my fellow-men." 
 Sometimes it may be when my thoughts for 
 want of employment fall into a beaten path or 
 humdrum I have dreamed idly of stopping a 
 man s horse that was running away ; but, per 
 chance, I wished that he might run, in order 
 that I might stop him ; or of putting out a 
 fire ; but then, of course, it must have got well 
 a-going. Now, to tell the truth, I do not dream 
 
jsT.35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 255 
 
 much of acting upon horses before they run, or 
 of preventing fires which are not yet kindled. 
 What a foul subject is this of doing good ! in 
 stead of minding one s life, which should be his 
 business ; doing good as a dead carcass, which is 
 only fit for manure, instead of as a living man, 
 instead of taking care to flourish, and smell and 
 taste sweet, and refresh all mankind to the extent 
 of our capacity and quality. People will some 
 times try to persuade you that you have done 
 something from that motive, as if you did not 
 already know enough about it. If I ever did a 
 man any good, in their sense, of course it was 
 something exceptional and insignificant com 
 pared with the good or evil which I am con 
 stantly doing by being what I am. As if you 
 were to preach to ice to shape itself into burn 
 ing-glasses, which are sometimes useful, and so 
 the peculiar properties of ice be lost. Ice that 
 merely performs the office of a burning-glass 
 does not do its duty. 
 
 The problem of life becomes, one cannot say 
 by how many degrees, more complicated as our 
 material wealth is increased, whether that 
 needle they tell of was a gateway or not, since 
 the problem is not merely nor mainly to get life 
 for our bodies, but by this or a similar discipline 
 to get life for our souls ; by cultivating the low 
 land farm on right principles, that is, with this 
 
256 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 view, to turn it into an upland farm. You have 
 so many more talents to account for. If I accom 
 plish as much more in spiritual work as I am 
 richer in worldly goods, then I am just as worthy, 
 or worth just as much, as I was before, and no 
 more. I see that, in my own case, money might 
 be of great service to me, but probably it would 
 not be ; for the difficulty now is, that I do not 
 improve my opportunities, and therefore I am 
 not prepared to have my opportunities increased. 
 Now, I warn you, if it be as you say, you have 
 got to put on the pack of an upland farmer in 
 good earnest the coming spring, the lowland 
 farm being cared for ; ay, you must be selecting 
 your seeds forthwith, and doing what winter 
 work you can ; and, while others are raising 
 potatoes and Baldwin apples for you, you must 
 be raising apples of the Hesperides for them. 
 (Only hear how he preaches !) No man can 
 suspect that he is the proprietor of an upland 
 farm, upland in the sense that it will produce 
 nobler crops, and better repay cultivation in the 
 long run, but he will be perfectly sure that 
 he ought to cultivate it. 
 
 Though we are desirous to earn our bread, we 
 need not be anxious to satisfy men for it, 
 though we shall take care to pay them, but 
 God, who alone gave it to us. Men may in 
 effect put us in the debtors jail for that mat- 
 
JST. 35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 257 
 
 ter, simply for paying our whole debt to God, 
 which includes our debt to them, and though we 
 have His receipt for it, for His paper is dis 
 honored. The cashier will tell you that He has 
 no stock in his bank. 
 
 How prompt we are to satisfy the hunger and 
 thirst of our bodies ; how slow to satisfy the 
 hunger and thirst of our souls ! Indeed, we 
 would-be-practical folks cannot use this word 
 without blushing because of our infidelity, hav 
 ing starved this substance almost to a shadow. 
 We feel it to be as absurd as if a man were to 
 break forth into a eulogy on his dog, who has n t 
 any. An ordinary man will work every day for 
 a year at shoveling dirt to support his body, or 
 a family of bodies ; but he is an extraordinary 
 man who will work a whole day in a year for 
 the support of his soul. Even the priests, the 
 men of God, so called, for the most part confess 
 that they work for the support of the body. 
 But he alone is the truly enterprising and prac 
 tical man who succeeds in maintaining his soul 
 here. Have not we our everlasting life to get ? 
 and is not that the only excuse at last for eat 
 ing, drinking, sleeping, or even carrying an 
 umbrella when it rains ? A man might as well 
 devote himself to raising pork, as to fattening 
 the bodies, or temporal part merely, of the 
 whole human family. If we made the true dis- 
 
258 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 tinction we should almost all of us be seen to be 
 in the almshouse for souls. 
 
 I am much indebted to you because you look 
 so steadily at the better side, or rather the true 
 centre of me (for our true centre may, and per 
 haps oftenest does, lie entirely aside from us, 
 and we are in fact eccentric), and, as I have 
 elsewhere said, " give me an opportunity to live." 
 You speak as if the image or idea which I see 
 were reflected from me to you ; and I see it again 
 reflected from you to me, because we stand at 
 the right angle to one another ; and so it goes 
 zigzag to what successive reflecting surfaces, be 
 fore it is all dissipated or absorbed by the more 
 unreflecting, or differently reflecting, who 
 knows? Or, perhaps, what you see directly, 
 you refer to me. What a little shelf is re 
 quired, by which we may impinge upon another, 
 and build there our eyry in the clouds, and all 
 the heavens we see above us we refer to the 
 crags around and beneath us. Some piece of 
 mica, as it were, in the face or eyes of one, as 
 on the Delectable Mountains, slanted at the right 
 angle, reflects the heavens to us. But, in the 
 slow geological upheavals and depressions, these 
 mutual angles are disturbed, these suns set, and 
 new ones rise to us. That ideal which I wor 
 shiped was a greater stranger to the mica than 
 to me. It was not the hero I admired, but the 
 
J5T.35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 259 
 
 reflection from his epaulet or helmet. It is 
 nothing (for us) permanently inherent in an 
 other, but his attitude or relation to what we 
 prize, that we admire. The meanest man may 
 glitter with micacious particles to his fellow s 
 eye. These are the spangles that adorn a man. 
 The highest union, the only un-i<m (don t 
 laugh), or central oneness, is the coincidence of 
 visual rays. Our club-room was an apartment 
 in a constellation where our visual rays met 
 (and there was 110 debate about the restaurant). 
 The way between us is over the mount. 
 
 Your words make me think of a man of my 
 acquaintance whom I occasionally meet, whom 
 you, too, appear to have met, one Myself, as he 
 is called. Yet, why not call him JWrself ? 
 If you have met with him and know him, it is 
 all I have done ; and surely, where there is a 
 mutual acquaintance, the my and thy make a 
 distinction without a difference. 
 
 I do not wonder that you do not like my 
 Canada story. It concerns me but little, and 
 probably is not worth the time it took to tell it. 
 Yet I had absolutely no design whatever in my 
 mind, but simply to report what I saw. I have 
 inserted all of myself that was implicated, or 
 made the excursion. It has come to an end, at 
 any rate ; they will print no more, but return 
 me my MS. when it is but little more than half 
 
260 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 done, as well as another I had sent them, be 
 cause the editor 1 requires the liberty to omit the 
 heresies without consulting me, a privilege 
 California is not rich enough to bid for. 
 
 I thank you again and again for attending 
 to me ; that is to say, I am glad that you hear 
 me and that you also are glad. Hold fast to 
 your most indefinite, waking dream. The very 
 green dust on the walls is an organized vege 
 table ; the atmosphere has its fauna and flora 
 floating in it ; and shall we think that dreams 
 are but dust and ashes, are always disintegrated 
 and crumbling thoughts, and not dust - like 
 thoughts trooping to their standard with music, 
 systems beginning to be organized ? These 
 expectations, these are roots, these are nuts, 
 which even the poorest man has in his bin, and 
 roasts or cracks them occasionally in winter 
 evenings, which even the poor debtor retains 
 with his bed and his pig, i. e., his idleness and 
 sensuality. Men go to the opera because they 
 hear there a faint expression in sound of this 
 news which is never quite distinctly proclaimed. 
 Suppose a man were to sell the hue, the least 
 amount of coloring matter in the superficies of 
 his thought, for a farm, were to exchange an 
 absolute and infinite value for a relative and 
 finite one, to gain the whole world and lose 
 his own soul ! 
 
 1 Of Putnam s Magazine. 
 
JET. 35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 261 
 
 Do not wait as long as I have before you 
 write. If you will look at another star, I will 
 try to supply my side of the triangle. 
 
 Tell Mr. Brown, that I remember him, and 
 trust that he remembers me. 
 
 P. S. Excuse this rather flippant preaching, 
 which does not cost me enough ; and do not 
 think that I mean you always, though your let 
 ter requested the subjects. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, April 10, 1853. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, Another singular kind of 
 spiritual foot-ball, really nameless, handle- 
 less, homeless, like myself, a mere arena for 
 thoughts and feelings ; definite enough out 
 wardly, indefinite more than enough inwardly. 
 But I do not know why we should be styled 
 " misters " or " masters : " we come so near to 
 being anything or nothing, and seeing that we 
 are mastered, and not wholly sorry to be mas 
 tered, by the least phenomenon. It seems to me 
 that we are the mere creatures of thought, 
 one of the lowest forms of intellectual life, we 
 men, as the sunfish is of animal life. As yet 
 our thoughts have acquired no definiteness nor 
 solidity ; they are purely molluscous, not verte 
 brate ; and the height of our existence is to float 
 upward in an ocean where the sun shines, ap- 
 
262 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 pearing only like a vast soup or chowder to the 
 eyes of the immortal navigators. It is wonder 
 ful that I can be here, and you there, and that 
 we can correspond, and do many other things, 
 when, in fact, there is so little of us, either or 
 both, anywhere. In a few minutes, I expect, 
 this slight film or dash of vapor that I am will 
 be what is called asleep, resting ! forsooth 
 from what? Hard work? and thought? The 
 hard work of the dandelion down, which floats 
 ovei the meadow all day ; the hard work of a 
 pismire that labors to raise a hillock all day, 
 and even by moonlight. Suddenly I can come 
 forward into the utmost apparent distinctness, 
 and speak with a sort of emphasis to you ; and 
 the next moment I am so faint an entity, and 
 make so slight an impression, that nobody can 
 find the traces of me. I try to hunt myself 
 up, and find the little of me that is discoverable 
 is falling asleep, and then I assist and tuck it 
 up. It is getting late. How can / starve or 
 feed ? Can / be said to sleep ? There is not 
 enough of me even for that. If you hear a 
 noise, t aint I, t aint I, as the dog says 
 with a tin-kettle tied to his tail. I read of some 
 thing happening to another the other day : how 
 happens it that nothing ever happens to me ? 
 A dandelion down that never alights, set 
 tles, blown off by a boy to see if his mother 
 
mi. 35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 263 
 
 wanted him, some divine boy in the upper 
 pastures. 
 
 Well, if there really is another such a meteor 
 sojourning in these spaces, I would like to ask 
 you if you know whose estate this is that we are 
 on ? For my part I enjoy it well enough, what 
 with the wild apples and the scenery ; but I 
 shouldn t wonder if the owner set his dog on 
 me next. I could remember something not 
 much to the purpose, probably ; but if I stick 
 to what I do know, then 
 
 It is worth the while to live respectably unto 
 ourselves. We can possibly get along with a 
 neighbor, even with a bedfellow, whom we re 
 spect but very little ; but as soon as it comes to 
 this, that we do not respect ourselves, then we 
 do not get along at all, no matter how much 
 money we are paid for halting. There are old 
 heads in the world who cannot help me by their 
 example or advice to live worthily and satisfac 
 torily to myself ; but I believe that it is in my 
 power to elevate myself this very hour above 
 the common level of my life. It is better to 
 have your head in the clouds, and know where 
 you are, if indeed you cannot get it above them, 
 than to breathe the clearer atmosphere below 
 them, and think that you are in paradise. 
 
 Once you were in Milton J doubting what to 
 
 1 A town near Boston. 
 
264 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 do. To live a better life, this surely can be 
 done. Dot and carry one. Wait not for a clear 
 sight, for that you are to get. What you see 
 clearly you may omit to do. Milton and Worces 
 ter? It is all Blake, Blake. Never mind the 
 rats in the wall : the cat will take care of them. 
 All that men have said or are is a very faint 
 rumor, and it is not worth the while to remem 
 ber or refer to that. If you are to meet God, 
 will you refer to anybody out of that court? 
 How shall men know how I succeed, unless they 
 are in at the life ? I did not see the " Times " 
 reporter there. 
 
 Is it not delightful to provide one s self with 
 the necessaries of life, to collect dry wood for 
 the fire when the weather grows cool, or fruits 
 when we grow hungry ? not till then. And 
 then we have all the time left for thought ! 
 
 Of what use were it, pray, to get a little wood 
 to burn, to warm your body this cold weather, if 
 there were not a divine fire kindled at the same 
 time to warm your spirit ? 
 
 " Unless above himself he can 
 Erect himself, how poor a thing 1 is man ! " 
 
 I cuddle up by my stove, and there I get up 
 another fire which warms fire itself. Life is so 
 short that it is not wise to take roundabout ways, 
 nor can we spend much time in waiting. Is it 
 absolutely necessary, then, that we should do as 
 
JST.35.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 265 
 
 we are doing ? Are we chiefly under obligations 
 to the devil, like Tom Walker? Though it is 
 late to leave off this wrong way, it will seem 
 early the moment we begin in the right way; 
 instead of mid-afternoon, it will be early morn 
 ing with us. We have not got half way to dawn 
 yet. 
 
 As for the lectures, I feel that I have some 
 thing to say, especially on Traveling, Vague 
 ness, and Poverty ; but I cannot come now. I 
 will wait till I am fuller, and have fewer engage 
 ments. Your suggestions will help me much 
 to write them when I am ready. I am going to 
 Haverhill 1 to-morrow, surveying, for a week or 
 more. You met me on my last errand thither. 
 
 I trust that you realize what an exaggerater I 
 am, that I lay myself out to exaggerate when 
 ever I have an opportunity, pile Pelion upon 
 Ossa, to reach heaven so. Expect no trivial 
 truth from me, unless I am on the witness-stand. 
 I will come as near to lying as you can drive a 
 coach-and-four. If it is n t thus and so with me, 
 it is with something. I am not particular whether 
 I get the shells or meat, in view of the latter s 
 worth. 
 
 I see that I have not at all answered your let 
 ter, but there is time enough for that. 
 
 1 A Massachusetts town, the birthplace of Whittier. 
 
266 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, December 19, 1853. 
 
 ME. BLAKE, My debt has accumulated so 
 that I should have answered your last letter at 
 once, if I had not been the subject of what is 
 called a press of engagements, having a lecture 
 to write for last Wednesday, and surveying 
 more than usual besides. It has been a kind of 
 running fight with me, the enemy not always 
 behind me, I trust. 
 
 True, a man cannot lift himself by his own 
 waistbands, because he cannot get out of him 
 self ; but he can expand himself (which is bet 
 ter, there being no up nor down in nature), and 
 so split his waistbands, being already within 
 himself. 
 
 You speak of doing and being, and the van 
 ity, real or apparent, of much doing. The suck 
 ers I think it is they make nests in our 
 river in the spring of more than a cart-load of 
 small stones, amid which to deposit their ova. 
 The other day I opened a muskrat s house. It 
 was made of weeds, five feet broad at base, and 
 three feet high, and far and low within it was a 
 little cavity, only a foot in diameter, where the 
 rat dwelt. It may seem trivial, this piling up 
 of weeds, but so the race of muskrats is pre 
 served. We must heap up a great pile of doing, 
 
^T. 36.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 267 
 
 for a small diameter of being. Is it not imper 
 ative on us that we do something, if we only 
 work in a treadmill? And, indeed, some sort 
 of revolving is necessary to produce a centre 
 and nucleus of being. What exercise is to the 
 body, employment is to the mind and morals. 
 Consider what an amount of drudgery must be 
 performed, how much humdrum and prosaic 
 labor goes to any work of the least value. There 
 are so many layers of mere white lime in every 
 shell to that thin inner one so beautifully tinted. 
 Let not the shell-fish think to build his house of 
 that alone ; and pray, what are its tints to him ? 
 Is it not his smooth, close-fitting shirt merely, 
 whose tints are not to him, being in the dark, 
 but only when he is gone or dead, and his shell 
 is heaved up to light, a wreck upon the beach, 
 do they appear. With him, too, it is a Song of 
 the Shirt, " Work, work, work ! " And the 
 work is not merely a police in the gross sense, 
 but in the higher sense a discipline. If it is 
 surely the means to the highest end we know, 
 can any work be humble or disgusting? Will it 
 not rather be elevating as a ladder, the means 
 by which we are translated ? 
 
 How admirably the artist is made to accom 
 plish his self -culture by devotion to his art ! The 
 wood-sawyer, through his effort to do his work 
 well, becomes not merely a better wood-sawyer, 
 
268 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 but measurably a better man. Few are the men 
 that can work 011 their navels, only some Brah 
 mins that I have heard of. To the painter is 
 given some paint and canvas instead ; to the 
 Irishman a hog, typical of himself. In a thou 
 sand apparently humble ways men busy them 
 selves to make some right take the place of some 
 wrong, if it is only to make a better paste- 
 blacking, and they are themselves so much 
 the better morally for it. 
 
 You say that you do not succeed much. Does 
 it concern you enough that you do not ? Do you 
 work hard enough at it ? Do you get the benefit 
 of discipline out of it? If so, persevere. Is it 
 a more serious thing than to walk a thousand 
 miles in a thousand successive hours ? Do you 
 get any corns by it? Do you ever think of hang 
 ing yourself on account of failure ? 
 
 If you are going into that line, going to 
 besiege the city of God, you must not only be 
 strong in engines, but prepared with provisions 
 to starve out the garrison. An Irishman came 
 to see me to-day, who is endeavoring to get his 
 family out to this New World. He rises at half 
 past four,, milks twenty-eight cows (which has 
 swollen the joints of his fingers), and eats his 
 breakfast, without any milk in his tea or coffee, 
 before six ; and so on, day after day, for six and 
 a half dollars a month ; and thus he keeps his 
 
JET. 36.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 269 
 
 virtue in him, if he does not add to it ; and he 
 regards me as a gentleman able to assist him ; 
 but if I ever get to be a gentleman, it will be by 
 working after my fashion harder than he does. 
 If my joints are not swollen, it must be because 
 I deal with the teats of celestial cows before 
 breakfast (and the milker in this case is always 
 allowed some of the milk for his breakfast), to 
 say nothing of the flocks and herds of Admetus 
 afterward. 
 
 It is the art of mankind to polish the world, 
 and every one who works is scrubbing in some 
 part. 
 
 If the work is high and far, 
 
 You must not only aim aright, 
 
 But draw the bow with all your might. 
 
 You must qualify yourself to use a bow which 
 no humbler archer can bend. 
 
 " Work, work, work ! 
 
 Who shall know it for a bow? It is not of yew- 
 tree. It is straighter than a ray of light ; flexi 
 bility is not known for one of its qualities. 
 
 December 22. 
 
 So far I had got when I was called off to sur 
 vey. Pray read the life of Haydon the painter, 
 if you have not. It is a small revelation for 
 these latter days ; a great satisfaction to know 
 that he has lived, though he is now dead. Have 
 
270 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 you met with the letter of a Turkish cadi at the 
 end of Layard s " Ancient Babylon " ? that also 
 is refreshing, and a capital comment on the 
 whole book which precedes it, the Oriental 
 genius speaking through him. 
 
 Those Brahmins " put it through." They come 
 off, or rather stand still, conquerors, with some 
 withered arms or legs at least to show ; and 
 they are said to have cultivated the faculty of 
 abstraction to a degree unknown to Europeans. 
 If we cannot sing of faith and triumph, we will 
 sing our despair. We will be that kind of bird. 
 There are day owls, and there are night owls, 
 and each is beautiful and even musical while 
 about its business. 
 
 Might you not find some positive work to do 
 with your back to Church and State, letting 
 your back do all the rejection of them? Can 
 you not go upon your pilgrimage, Peter, along 
 the winding mountain path whither you face? 
 A step more will make those funereal church 
 bells over your shoulder sound far and sweet as 
 a natural sound. 
 
 " Work, work, work ! " 
 
 Why not make a very large mud-pie and bake 
 it in the sun ! Only put no Church nor State 
 into it, nor upset any other pepper-box that 
 way. Dig out a woodchuck, for that has no 
 thing to do with rotting institutions. Go ahead. 
 
XT. 36.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 271 
 
 Whether a man spends his day in an ecstasy 
 or despondency, he must do some work to show 
 for it, even as there are flesh and bones to show 
 for him. We are superior to the joy we ex 
 perience. 
 
 Your last two letters, methinks, have more 
 nerve and will in them than usual, as if you had 
 erected yourself more. Why are not they good 
 work, if you only had a hundred correspondents 
 to tax you ? 
 
 Make your failure tragical by the earnestness 
 and steadfastness of your endeavor, and then it 
 will not differ from success. Prove it to be the 
 inevitable fate of mortals, of one mortal, if 
 you can. 
 
 You said that you were writing on Immor 
 tality. I wish you would communicate to me 
 what you know about that. You are sure to 
 live while that is your theme. 
 
 Thus I write on some text which a sentence 
 of your letters may have furnished. 
 
 I think of coming to see you as soon as I get 
 a new coat, if I have money enough left. I will 
 write to you again about it. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, January 21, 1854. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, My coat is at last done, and 
 my mother and sister allow that I am so far in 
 
272 FRIENDS AJ^D FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 a condition to go abroad. I feel as if I had 
 gone abroad the moment I put it on. It is, as 
 usual, a production strange to me, the wearer, 
 invented by some Count D Orsay ; and the ma 
 ker of it was not acquainted with any of my real 
 depressions or elevations. He only measured 
 a peg to hang it on, and might have made the 
 loop big enough to go over my head. It requires 
 a not quite innocent indifference, not to say in 
 solence, to wear it. Ah ! the process by which 
 we get our coats is not what it should be. 
 Though the Church declares it righteous, and 
 its priest pardons me, my own good genius tells 
 me that it is hasty, and coarse, and false. I 
 expect a time when, or rather an integrity by 
 which, a man will get his coat as honestly and 
 as perfectly fitting as a tree its bark. Now our 
 garments are typical of our conformity to the 
 ways of the world, i. e., of the devil, and to 
 some extent react on us and poison us, like that 
 shirt which Hercules put on. 
 
 I think to come and see you next week, on 
 Monday, if nothing hinders. I have just re 
 turned from court at Cambridge, whither I was 
 called as a witness, having surveyed a water- 
 privilege, about which there is a dispute, since 
 you were here. 
 
 Ah ! what foreign countries there are, greater 
 in extent than the United States or Russia, and 
 
JET. 36.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 273 
 
 with no more souls to a square mile, stretching 
 away on every side from every human being 
 with whom you have no sympathy. Their hu 
 manity affects me as simply monstrous. Rocks, 
 earth, brute beasts, comparatively are not so 
 strange to me. When I sit in the parlors and 
 kitchens of some with whom my business brings 
 me I was going to say in contact (business, 
 like misery, makes strange bedfellows), I feel a 
 sort of awe, and as forlorn as if I were cast 
 away on a desolate shore. I think of Riley s 
 Narrative x and his sufferings. You, who soared 
 like a merlin with your mate through the realms 
 of aether, in the presence of the unlike, drop at 
 once to earth, a mere amorphous squab, divested 
 of your air-inflated pinions. (By the way, ex 
 cuse this writing, for I am using the stub of the 
 last feather I chance to possess.) You travel on, 
 however, through this dark and desert world; 
 you see in the distance an intelligent and sym 
 pathizing lineament ; stars come forth in the 
 dark, and oases appear in the desert. 
 
 But (to return to the subject of coats), we 
 are wellnigh smothered under yet more fatal 
 coats, which do not fit us, our whole lives long. 
 Consider the cloak that our employment or sta 
 tion is ; how rarely men treat each other for 
 
 1 An American seaman, wrecked on the coast of Arabia, 
 once a popular book. 
 
274 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853, 
 
 what in their true and naked characters they 
 are ; how we use and tolerate pretension ; how 
 the judge is clothed with dignity which does not 
 belong to him, and the trembling witness with 
 humility that does not belong to him, and the 
 criminal, perchance, with shame or impudence 
 which no more belong to him. It does not mat 
 ter so much, then, what is the fashion of the 
 cloak with which we cloak these cloaks. Change 
 the coat ; put the judge in the criminal-box, and 
 the criminal on the bench, and you might think 
 that you had changed the men. 
 
 No doubt the thinnest of all cloaks is con 
 scious deception or lies; it is sleazy and frays 
 out ; it is not close-woven like cloth ; but its 
 meshes are a coarse network. A man can afford 
 to lie only at the intersection of the threads ; 
 but truth puts in the filling, and makes a consis 
 tent stuff. 
 
 I mean merely to suggest how much the sta 
 tion affects the demeanor and self-respectability 
 of the parties, and that the difference between 
 the judge s coat of cloth and the criminal s is 
 insignificant compared with, or only partially 
 significant of, the difference between the coats 
 which their respective stations permit them to 
 wear. What airs the judge may put on over 
 his coat which the criminal may not ! The 
 judge s opinion {sententia) of the criminal sen- 
 
TO HARRISON BLAKE. 275 
 
 fences him, and is read by the clerk of the 
 court, and published to the world, and executed 
 by the sheriff ; but the criminal s opinion of the 
 judge has the weight of a sentence, and is pub 
 lished and executed only in the supreme court 
 of the universe, a court not of common pleas. 
 How much juster is the one than the other? 
 Men are continually sentencing each other ; but, 
 whether we be judges or criminals, the sentence 
 is ineffectual unless we continue ourselves. 
 
 I am glad to hear that I do not always limit 
 your vision when you look this way ; that you 
 sometimes see the light through me ; that I am 
 here and there windows, and not all dead wall. 
 Might not the community sometimes petition a 
 man to remove himself as a nuisance, a dark- 
 ener of the day, a too large mote ? 
 
 TO HARRISOX BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, August $, 1854. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, Methinks I have spent a rather 
 unprofitable summer thus far. I have been too 
 much with the world, as the poet might say. 1 
 The completest performance of the highest du 
 ties it imposes would yield me but little satis 
 faction. Better the neglect of all such, because 
 your life passed on a level where it was impossi 
 ble to recognize them. Latterly, I have heard 
 
 1 " The world is too much with us." Wordsworth. 
 
276 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 the very flies buzz too distinctly, and have ac 
 cused myself because I did not still this super 
 ficial din. We must not be too easily distracted 
 by the crying of children or of dynasties. The 
 Irishman erects his sty, and gets drunk, and 
 jabbers more and more under my eaves, and I 
 am responsible for all that filth and folly. I 
 find it, as ever, very unprofitable to have much 
 to do with men. It is sowing the wind, but not 
 reaping even the whirlwind ; only reaping an 
 unprofitable calm and stagnation. Our conver 
 sation is a smooth, and civil, and never-ending 
 speculation merely. I take up the thread of it 
 again in the morning, with very much such cour 
 age as the invalid takes his prescribed Seidlitz 
 powders. Shall I help you to some of the mack 
 erel? It would be more respectable if men, as 
 has been said before, instead of being such pigmy 
 desperates, were Giant Despairs. Emerson says 
 that his life is so unprofitable and shabby for 
 the most part, that he is driven to all sorts of 
 resources, and, among the rest, to men. I tell 
 him that we differ only in our resources. Mine 
 is to get away from men. They very rarely 
 affect me as grand or beautiful ; but I know 
 that there is a sunrise and a sunset every day. 
 In the summer, this world is a mere watering- 
 place, a Saratoga, drinking so many tum 
 blers of Congress water ; and in the winter, is it 
 
JET. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 277 
 
 any better, with its oratorios ? I have seen more 
 men than usual, lately ; and, well as I was ac 
 quainted with one, I am surprised to find what 
 vulgar fellows they are. They do a little busi 
 ness commonly each day, in order to pay their 
 board, and then they congregate in sitting-rooms 
 and feebly tabulate and paddle in the social 
 slush ; and when I think that they have suffi 
 ciently relaxed, and am prepared to see them 
 steal away to their shrines, they go unashamed 
 to their beds, and take 011 a new layer of sloth. 
 They may be single, or have families in their 
 faineancy. I do not meet men who can have 
 nothing to do with me because they have so 
 much to do with themselves. However, I trust 
 that a very few cherish purposes which they never 
 declare. Only think, for a moment, of a man 
 about his affairs ! How we should respect him ! 
 How glorious he would appear! Not working 
 for any corporation, its agent, or president, but 
 fulfilling the end of his being ! A man about 
 his business would be the cynosure of all eyes. 
 
 The other evening I was determined that I 
 would silence this shallow din ; that I would 
 walk in various directions and see if there was 
 not to be found any depth of silence around. 
 As Bonaparte sent out his horsemen in the Red 
 Sea on all sides to find shallow water, so I sent 
 forth my mounted thoughts to find deep water. 
 
278 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 I left the village and paddled up the river to 
 Fair Haven Pond. As the sun went down, I 
 saw a solitary boatman disporting on the smooth 
 lake. The falling dews seemed to strain and 
 purify the air, and I was soothed with an infi 
 nite stillness. I got the world, as it were, by 
 the nape of the neck, and held it under in the 
 tide of its own events, till it was drowned, and 
 then I let it go down stream like a dead dog. 
 Vast hollow chambers of silence stretched away 
 on every side, and my being expanded in pro 
 portion, and filled them. Then first could I 
 appreciate sound, and find it musical. 1 
 
 But now for your news. Tell us of the year. 
 
 1 A lady who made such a night voyage with Thoreau, years 
 before, says : " How wise he was to ask the elderly lady with 
 a younger one for a row on the Concord River one moonlit 
 night ! The river that night was as deep as the heavens above ; 
 serene stars shone from its depths, as far off as the stars 
 above. Deep answered unto deep in our souls, as the boat 
 glided swiftly along, past low-lying fields, under overhanging 
 trees. A neighbor s cow waded into the cool water, she 
 became at once a Behemoth, a river-horse, hippopotamus, or 
 river-god. A dog barked, he was Diana s hound, he waked 
 Endymion. Suddenly we were landed on a little isle ; our 
 boatman, our boat glided far off in the flood. We were left 
 alone, in the power of the river-god ; like two white birds we 
 stood on this bit of ground, the river flowing about us ; only 
 the eternal powers of nature around us. Time for a prayer, 
 perchance, and back came the boat and oarsman ; we were 
 ferried to our homes, no question asked or answered. We 
 had drank of the cup of the night, had felt the silence and 
 the stars." 
 
MT. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 279 
 
 Have you fought the good fight ? What is the 
 state of your crops ? Will your harvest answer 
 well to the seed-time, and are you cheered by the 
 prospect of stretching cornfields ? Is there any 
 blight on your fields, any murrain in your herds ? 
 Have you tried the size and quality of your po 
 tatoes ? It does one good to see their balls 
 dangling in the lowlands. Have you got your 
 meadow hay before the fall rains shall have set 
 in ? Is there enough in your barns to keep your 
 cattle over ? Are you killing weeds nowadays ? 
 or have you earned leisure to go a-fishing ? Did 
 you plant any Giant Regrets last spring, such 
 as I saw advertised ? It is not a new species, 
 but the result of cultivation and a fertile soil. 
 They are excellent for sauce. How is it with 
 your marrow squashes for winter use ? Is there 
 likely to be a sufficiency of fall feed in your 
 neighborhood ? What is the state of the springs ? 
 I read that in your county there is more water 
 on the hills than in the valleys. Do you find it 
 easy to get all the help you require? Work 
 early and late, and let your men and teams rest 
 at noon. Be careful not to drink too much 
 sweetened water, while at your hoeing, this hot 
 weather. You can bear the heat much better 
 for it. 
 
280 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 TO MARSTON WATSON (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, September 19, 1854. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I am glad to hear from you and 
 the Plymouth men again. The world still holds 
 together between Concord and Plymouth, it 
 seems. I should like to be with you while Mr. 
 Alcott is there, but I cannot come next Sunday. 
 I will come Sunday after next, that is, October 
 1st, if that will do ; and look out for you at the 
 depot. I do not like to promise more than one 
 discourse. Is there a good precedent for two ? 
 
 The first of Thoreau s many lecturing visits to 
 Worcester, the home of his friend, Blake, was 
 in April, 1849, and from that time onward he 
 must have read lectures there at least annually, 
 until his last iUness, in 1861-62. By 1854, the 
 lecturing habit, in several places besides Con 
 cord, had become established ; and there was a 
 constant interchange of visits and excursions 
 with his friends at Worcester, Plymouth, New 
 Bedford, etc. Soon after the publication of 
 "Walden," in the summer of 1854, Thoreau 
 wrote these notes to Mr. Blake, touching on va 
 rious matters of friendly interest. 
 
2ET. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 281 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCOKD, September 21, 1854. 
 
 BLAKE, I have just read your letter, but 
 do not mean now to answer it, solely for want 
 of time to say what I wish. I directed a copy 
 of " Walden " to you at Ticknor s, on the day of 
 its publication, and it should have reached you 
 before. I am encouraged to know that it inter 
 ests you as it now stands, a printed book, 
 for you apply a very severe test to it, you 
 make the highest demand on me. As for the 
 excursion you speak of, I should like it right 
 well, indeed I thought of proposing the same 
 thing to you and Brown, some months ago. Per 
 haps it would have been better if I had done so 
 then ; for in that case I should have been able 
 to enter into it with that infinite margin to my 
 views, spotless of all engagements, which I 
 think so necessary. As it is, I have agreed to go 
 a-lecturing to Plymouth, Sunday after next (Oc 
 tober 1) and to Philadelphia in November, and 
 thereafter to the West, if they shall ^uant me ; 
 and, as I have prepared nothing in that shape, I 
 feel as if my hours were spoken for. However, 
 I think that, after having been to Plymouth, I 
 may take a day or two if that date will suit 
 you and Brown. At any rate I will write you 
 then. 
 
282 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 CONCORD, October 5, 1854. 
 
 After I wrote to you, Mr. Watson postponed 
 my going to Plymouth one week, i. e., till next 
 Sunday ; and now he wishes me to carry my in 
 struments and survey his grounds, to which he 
 has been adding. Since I want a little money, 
 though I contemplate but a short excursion, I 
 do not feel at liberty to decline this work. I do 
 not know exactly how long it will detain me, 
 but there is plenty of time yet, and I will write 
 to you again perhaps from Plymouth. 
 
 There is a Mr. Thomas Cholmondeley (pro 
 nounced Chumly) a young English author, stay 
 ing at our house at present, who asks me to 
 teach him botany i. <?., anything which I 
 know ; and also to make an excursion to some 
 mountain with him. He is a well-behaved per 
 son, and possibly I may propose his taking that 
 run to Wachusett with us if it will be agreea 
 ble to you. Nay, if I do not hear any objection 
 from you, I will consider myself at liberty to 
 invite him. 
 
 CONCORD, Saturday P. M., October 14, 1854. 
 I have just returned from Plymouth, where I 
 have been detained surveying much longer than 
 I expected. What do you say to visiting Wa 
 chusett next Thursday ? I will start at 7^ A. M. 
 unless there is a prospect of a stormy day, go 
 
JST. 37.] NEW FRIENDS. 283 
 
 by cars to Westminster, and thence 011 foot five 
 or six miles to the mountain-top, where I may 
 engage to meet you, at (or before) 12 M. If the 
 weather is unfavorable, I will try again, on Fri 
 day, and again on Monday. If a storm comes 
 on after starting, I will seek you at the tavern 
 in Princeton centre, as soon as circumstances 
 will permit. I shall expect an answer at once, 
 to clinch the bargain. 
 
 The year 1854 was a memorable one in Tho- 
 reau s life, for it brought out his most successful 
 book, " Walden," and introduced him to the no 
 tice of the world, which had paid small attention 
 to his first book, the "Week," published five 
 years earlier. This year also made him acquainted 
 with two friends to whom he wrote much, and 
 who loved to visit and stroll with him around 
 Concord, or in more distant places, Thomas 
 Cholmondeley, an Englishman from Shropshire, 
 and Daniel Ricketson, a New Bedford Quaker, 
 of liberal mind _and,., cultivated tastes, an au 
 thor and poet, and fond of corresponding with 
 poets, as he did with the Howitts and William 
 Barnes of England, and with Bryant, Emerson, 
 Channing, and Thoreau, in America. Few of the 
 letters to Cholmondeley are yet found, being 
 buried temporarily in the mass of family papers 
 at Condover Hall, an old Elizabethan mansion 
 
284 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 near Shrewsbury, which Thomas Cholmondeley 
 inherited, and which remains in his family s pos 
 session since his own death at Florence in 1864. 
 But the letters of the Englishman, recently 
 printed in the " Atlantic Monthly " (December, 
 1893), show how sincere was the attachment of 
 this ideal friend to the Concord recluse, and how 
 well he read that character which the rest of 
 England, and a good part of America, have been 
 so slow to recognize for what it really was. 
 
 Thomas Cholmondeley was the eldest son of 
 Rev. Charles Cowper Cholmondeley, rector of 
 Overleigh, Cheshire, and of a sister to Reginald 
 Heber, the celebrated bishop of Calcutta. He 
 was born in 1823, and brought up at Hodnet, in 
 Shropshire, where his father, a cousin of Lord 
 Delamere, had succeeded his brother-in-law as 
 rector, on the departure of Bishop Heber for 
 India, in 1823. The son was educated at Oriel 
 College, Oxford, a friend, and perhaps pupil of 
 Arthur Hugh Clough, who gave him letters to 
 Emerson in 1854. Years before, after leaving 
 Oxford, he had gone with some relatives to New 
 Zealand, and before coming to New England, he 
 had published a book, " Ultima Thule," describ 
 ing that Australasian colony of England, where 
 he lived for part of a year. He had previously 
 studied in Germany, and traveled on the Conti 
 nent. He landed in America the first time in 
 
2ET.37.] THOREAU AND CHOLMONDELEY. 285 
 
 August, 1854, and soon after went to Concord, 
 where, at the suggestion of Emerson, he became 
 an inmate of Mrs. Thoreau s family. This made 
 him intimate with Henry Thoreau for a month 
 or two, and also brought him into acquaintance 
 with Ellery Charming, then living across the 
 main street of Concord, in the west end of the 
 village, and furnishing to Thoreau a landing- 
 place for his boat under the willows at the foot 
 of Channing s small garden. Alcott was not 
 then in Concord, but Cholmondeley made his 
 acquaintance in Boston, and admired his charac 
 ter and manners. 1 
 
 With Channing and Thoreau the young Eng 
 lishman visited their nearest mountain, Wachu- 
 sett, and in some of their walks the artist Rowse, 
 who made the first portrait of Thoreau, joined, 
 for he was then in Concord, late in 1854, en 
 graving the fine head of Daniel Webster from 
 a painting by Ames, and this engraving he gave 
 both to Thoreau and to Cholmondeley. In De 
 cember the Englishman, whose patriotism was 
 
 1 See Memoir of Bronson Alcott, pp. 485-494. The remark 
 of Emerson quoted on p. 486, that Cholmondeley was "the 
 son of a Shropshire squire," was not strictly correct, his father 
 being a Cheshire clergyman of a younger branch of the an 
 cient race of Cholmondeley. But he was the grandson of a 
 Shropshire squire (owner of land), for his mother was daugh 
 ter and sister of such gentlemen, and it was her brother Rich 
 ard who presented Reginald Heber and Charles Cholmondeley 
 to the living of Hodnet, near Market Drayton. 
 
286 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 roused by the delays and calamities of England 
 in her Crimean war, resolved to go home and 
 raise a company, as he did, first spending some 
 weeks in lodgings at Boston (Orange Street) in 
 order to hear Theodore Parker preach and visit 
 Harvard College, of which I was then a student, 
 in the senior class. He visited me and my class 
 mate, Edwin Morton, and called on some of the 
 Cambridge friends of Clough. In January, 
 1855, he sailed for England, and there received 
 the letter of Thoreau printed on pages 295-298. 
 The acquaintance with Mr. Ricketson began 
 by letter before Cholmondeley reached Concord, 
 but Thoreau did not visit him until December, 
 1854. Mr. Ricketson says, " In the summer of 
 1854 I purchased, in New Bedford, a copy of 
 4 Walden. I had never heard of its author, 
 but in this admirable and most original book I 
 found so many observations on plants, birds, and 
 natural objects generally in which I was also in 
 terested, that I felt at once I had found a con 
 genial spirit. During this season I was rebuild 
 ing a house in the country, three miles from 
 New Bedford, and had erected a small building 
 which was called my shanty ; and my family 
 being then in my city house, I made this build 
 ing my temporary home. From it I addressed 
 my first letter to the author of Walden. In 
 reply he wrote, I had duly received your very 
 
JET. 37.] THOREAU AND RICKETSON. 287 
 
 kind and frank letter, but delayed to answer it 
 thus long because I have little skill as a corre 
 spondent, and wished to send you something 
 more than my thanks. I was gratified by your 
 prompt and hearty acceptance of my book. 
 Yours is the only word of greeting I am likely 
 to receive from a dweller in the woods like my 
 self, from where the whippoorwill and cuckoo 
 are heard, and there are better than moral 
 clouds drifting, and real breezes blowing. From 
 that year until his death in 1862 we exchanged 
 visits annually, and letters more frequently. He 
 was much interested in the botany of our region, 
 finding here many marine plants he had not be 
 fore seen. When our friendship began, the ad 
 mirers of his only two published books were 
 few; most prominent among them were Emer 
 son, Alcott, and Channing of Concord, Messrs. 
 Blake and T. Brown of Worcester, Mr. Marston 
 Watson of Plymouth, and myself. Many ac 
 cused him of being an imitator of Emerson; 
 others thought him unsocial, impracticable, and 
 ascetic. Now he was none of these ; a more 
 original man never lived, nor one more thor 
 oughly personifying civility ; no man could hold 
 a finer relationship with his family than he." 
 
 In reply to Thoreau s letter just quoted, Mr. 
 Ricketson wrote further of himself and his local 
 ity, and Thoreau thus continued : 
 
288 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, October 1, 1854. 
 
 DEAR SIR, Your account excites in me a 
 desire to see the Middleborough Ponds, of which 
 I had already heard somewhat ; as also some 
 very beautiful ponds on the Cape, in Harwich, 
 I think, near which I once passed. I have some 
 times also thought of visiting that remnant of 
 our Indians still living near you. But then, you 
 know, there is nothing like one s native fields 
 and lakes. The best news you send me is, not 
 that Nature with you is so fair and genial, but 
 that there is one there who likes her so well. 
 That proves all that was asserted. 
 
 Homer, of course, you include in your list of 
 lovers of Nature ; and, by the way, let me men 
 tion here, for this is " my thunder " lately, 
 William Gilpin s long series of books on the Pic 
 turesque, with their illustrations. If it chances 
 that you have not met with these, I cannot just 
 now frame a better wish than that you may one 
 day derive as much pleasure from the inspection 
 of them as I have. 
 
 Much as you have told me of yourself, you 
 have still, I think, a little the advantage of me 
 in this correspondence, for I have told you still 
 more in my book. You have therefore the broad 
 est mark to fire at. 
 
JET. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 289 
 
 A young 1 Englishman, Mr. Cholmondeley, is 
 just now waiting for me to take a walk with 
 him ; therefore excuse this very barren note 
 from yours, hastily at last. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE. 
 
 CONCORD, December 22, 1854. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I will lecture for your Lyceum 
 on the 4th of January next ; and I hope that I 
 shall have time for that good day out of doors. 
 Mr. Cholmondeley is in Boston, yet perhaps I 
 may invite him to accompany me. I have en 
 gaged to lecture at New Bedford on the 26th 
 hist., stopping with Daniel Ricketson, three 
 miles out of town ; and at Nantucket on the 
 28th, so that I shall be gone all next week. 
 They say there is some danger of being weather 
 bound at Nantucket ; but I see that others run 
 the same risk. You had better acknowledge the 
 receipt of this at any rate, though you should 
 write nothing else ; otherwise I shall not know 
 whether you get it; but perhaps you will not 
 wait till you have seen me, to answer my letter 
 (of December 19). I will tell you what I think 
 of lecturing when I see you. Did you see the 
 notice of " Walden " in the last " Anti-Slavery 
 Standard " ? You will not be surprised if I tell 
 you that it reminded me of you. 
 
290 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 As above mentioned, Thoreau went to lecture 
 at Nantucket, and on his way spent a day or 
 two with Mr. Ricketson, reaching his house 011 
 Christmas Day. His host, who then saw him for 
 the first time, says : 
 
 " I had expected him at noon, but as he did 
 not arrive, I had given him up for the day. In 
 the latter part of the afternoon I was clearing 
 off the snow from my front steps, when, looking 
 up, I saw a man walking up the carriage-road, 
 bearing a portmanteau in one hand and an um 
 brella in the other. He was dressed in a long 
 overcoat of dark color, and wore a dark soft 
 hat. I had no suspicion it was Thoreau, and 
 rather supposed it was a peddler of small 
 wares." 
 
 This was a common mistake to make. When 
 Thoreau ran the gauntlet of the Cape Cod vil 
 lages, " feeling as strange," he says, " as if he 
 were in a town in China," one of the old fish 
 ermen could not believe that he had not some 
 thing to sell. Being finally satisfied that it was 
 not a peddler with his pack, the old man said, 
 "Wai, it makes no odds what tis you carry, 
 so long as you carry Truth along with ye." Mr. 
 Ricketson soon came to the same conclusion 
 about his visitor, and in the early September of 
 1855 returned the visit. 
 
J5T. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 291 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, December 19, 1854. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I suppose you have heard of 
 my truly providential meeting with Mr. T. 
 Brown ; providential because it saved me from 
 the suspicion that my words had fallen alto 
 gether on stony ground, when it turned out that 
 there was some Worcester soil there. You will 
 allow me to consider that I correspond with him 
 through you. 
 
 I confess that I am a very bad correspondent, 
 so far as promptness of reply is concerned ; but 
 then I am sure to answer sooner or later. The 
 longer I have forgotten you, the more I remem 
 ber you. For the most part I have not been idle 
 since I saw you. How does the world go with 
 you? or rather, how do you get along without it? 
 I have not yet learned to live, that I can see, 
 and I fear that I shall not very soon. I find, 
 however, that in the long run things correspond 
 to my original idea, that they correspond to 
 nothing else so much ; and thus a man may 
 really be a true prophet without any great exer 
 tion. The day is never so dark, nor the night 
 even, but that the laws at least of light still pre 
 vail, and so may make it light in our minds if 
 they are open to the truth. There is considera 
 ble danger that a man will be crazy between 
 
292 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 dinner and supper ; but it will not directly an 
 swer any good purpose that I know of, and it is 
 just as easy to be sane. We have got to know 
 what both life and death are, before we can be 
 gin to live after our own fashion. Let us be 
 learning our a-b-c s as soon as possible. I never 
 yet knew the sun to be knocked down and rolled 
 through a mud-puddle ; he comes out honor- 
 bright from behind every storm. Let us then 
 take sides with the sun, seeing we have so much 
 leisure. Let us not put all we prize into a foot 
 ball to be kicked, when a bladder will do as 
 well. 
 
 When an Indian is burned, his body may be 
 broiled, it may be no more than a beefsteak. 
 What of that ? They may broil his heart, but 
 they do not therefore broil his courage, his 
 principles. Be of good courage ! That is the 
 main thing. 
 
 If a man were to place himself in an attitude 
 to bear manfully the greatest evil that can be 
 inflicted on him, he would find suddenly that 
 there was no such evil to bear ; his brave back 
 would go a-begging. When Atlas got his back 
 made up, that was all that was required. (In 
 this case a priv., not pleon., and rA.f//u.) The 
 world rests on principles. The wise gods will 
 never make underpinning of a man. But as 
 long as he crouches, and skulks, and shirks his 
 
*ST. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 293 
 
 work, every creature that has weight will be 
 treading on his toes, and crushing him ; he will 
 himself tread with one foot on the other foot. 
 
 The monster is never just there where we 
 think he is. What is truly monstrous is our 
 cowardice and sloth. 
 
 Have no idle disciplines like the Catholic 
 Church and others ; have only positive and fruit 
 ful ones. Do what you know you ought to do. 
 Why should we ever go abroad, even across the 
 way, to ask a neighbor s advice ? There is a 
 nearer neighbor within us incessantly telling us 
 how we should behave. But we wait for the 
 neighbor without to tell us of some false, easier 
 way. 
 
 They have a census-table in which they put 
 down the number of the insane. Do you believe 
 that they put them all down there ? Why, in 
 every one of these houses there is at least one 
 man fighting or squabbling a good part of his 
 time with a dozen pet demons of his own breed 
 ing and cherishing, which are relentlessly gnaw 
 ing at his vitals ; and if perchance he resolve at 
 length that he will courageously combat them, 
 he says, "Ay! ay! I will attend to you after 
 dinner ! " And, when that time comes, he con 
 cludes that he is good for another stage, and 
 reads a column or two about the Eastern War ! 
 Pray, to be in earnest, where is Sevastopol? 
 
294 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854, 
 
 Who is Menchikoff ? and Nicholas behind there? 
 who the Allies ? Did not we fight a little (little 
 enough to be sure, but just enough to make it 
 interesting) at Alma, at Balaclava, at Inker- 
 maim ? We love to fight far from home. Ah ! 
 the Minie musket is the king of weapons. Well, 
 let us get one then. 
 
 I just put another stick into my stove, a 
 pretty large mass of white oak. How many men 
 will do enough this cold winter to pay for the 
 fuel that will be required to warm them? I sup 
 pose I have burned up a pretty good-sized tree 
 to-night, and for what ? I settled with Mr. 
 Tarbell for it the other day ; but that was n t 
 the final settlement. I got off cheaply from him. 
 At last, one will say, " Let us see, how much 
 wood did you burn, sir? " And I shall shudder 
 to think that the next question will be, " What 
 did you do while you were warm?" Do we 
 think the ashes will pay for it ? that God is an 
 ash-man ? It is a fact that we have got to ren 
 der an account for the deeds done in the body. 
 
 Who knows but we shall be better the next 
 year than we have been the past? At any rate, 
 I wish you a really new year, commencing 
 from the instant you read this, and happy or 
 unhappy, according to your deserts. 
 
 The early part of 1855 was spent by Thomas 
 
JET. 37.] TO THOMAS CHOLMONDELEY. 295 
 
 Cholmondeley in a tiresome passage to England, 
 whence he wrote (January 27) to say to Thoreau 
 that he had reached Shropshire, and been com 
 missioned captain in the local militia, in prepa 
 ration for service at Sevastopol, but reminding 
 his Concord friend of a half promise to visit 
 England some day. To this Thoreau made 
 answer thus : 
 
 TO THOMAS CHOLMONDELEY (AT HOD1STET). 
 
 CONCORD, Mass., February 7, 1855. 
 
 DEAR CHOLMONDELEY, I am glad* to hear 
 that you have arrived safely at Hodnet, and that 
 there is a solid piece of ground of that name 
 which can support a man better than a floating 
 plank, in that to me as yet purely historical 
 England. But have I not seen you with my 
 own eyes, a piece of England herself, and was 
 not your letter come out to me thence ? I have 
 now reason to believe that Salop is as real a 
 place as Concord ; with at least as good an un 
 derpinning of granite, floating on liquid fire. I 
 congratulate you on having arrived safely at 
 that floating isle, after your disagreeable pass 
 age in the steamer America. So are we not all 
 making a passage, agreeable or disagreeable, in 
 the steamer Earth, trusting to arrive at last at 
 some less undulating Salop and brother s house ? 
 
 I cannot say that I ani surprised to hear that 
 
296 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 you have joined the militia, after what I have 
 heard from your lips ; but I am glad to doubt if 
 there will be occasion for your volunteering into 
 the line. Perhaps I am thinking of the saying 
 that it " is always darkest just before day." I 
 believe it is only necessary that England be fully 
 awakened to a sense of her position, in order 
 that she may right herself, especially as the 
 weather will soon cease to be her foe. I wish 
 I could believe that the cause in which you are 
 embarked is the cause of the people of England. 
 However, I have no sympathy with the idleness 
 that would contrast this fighting with the teach 
 ings of the pulpit; for, perchance, more true 
 virtue is being practiced at Sevastopol than in 
 many years of peace. It is a pity that we seem 
 to require a war, from time to time, to assure us 
 that there is any manhood still left in man. 
 
 I was much pleased with [J. J. G.] Wilkin 
 son s vigorous and telling assault on Allopathy, 
 though he substitutes another and perhaps no 
 stronger thy for that. Something as good on 
 the whole conduct of the war would be of ser 
 vice. Cannot Caiiyle supply it? We will not 
 require him to provide the remedy. Every man 
 to his trade. As you know, I am not in any 
 sense a politician. You, who live in that snug 
 and compact isle, may dream of a glorious com 
 monwealth, but I have some doubts whether I 
 
asx.37.] TO THOMAS CHOLMONDELEY. 297 
 
 and the new king of the Sandwich Islands shall 
 pull together. When I think of the gold-diggers 
 and the Mormons, the slaves and the slavehold 
 ers and the flibustiers, I naturally dream of a 
 glorious private life. No, I am not patriotic ; I 
 shall not meddle with the Gem of the Antilles. 
 General Quitman l cannot count on my aid, alas 
 for him ! nor can General Pierce. 2 
 
 I still take my daily walk, or skate over Con 
 cord fields or meadows, and on the whole have 
 more to do with nature than with man. We 
 have not had much snow this winter, but have 
 had some remarkably cold weather, the mercury, 
 February 6, not rising above 6 below zero dur 
 ing the day, and the next morning falling to 
 26. Some ice is still thirty inches thick about 
 us. A rise in the river has made uncommonly 
 good skating, which I have improved to the ex 
 tent of some thirty miles a day, fifteen out and 
 fifteen in. 
 
 Emerson is off westward, enlightening the 
 Hamiltonians [in Canada] and others, mingling 
 his thunder with that of Niagara. Chamiing 
 still sits warming his five wits his sixth, you 
 know, is always limber over that stove, with 
 
 1 Quitman, aided perhaps by Laurence Oliphant, was aim 
 ing to capture Cuba with " filibusters " (flibustiers). 
 
 2 Then President of the United States, whose life Haw 
 thorne had written in 1852. 
 
298 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 the dog down cellar. Lowell has just been ap 
 pointed Professor of Belles-Lettres in Harvard 
 University, in place of Longfellow, resigned, 
 and will go very soon to spend another year in 
 Europe, before taking his seat. 
 
 I am from time to time congratulating myself 
 on my general want of success as a lecturer; 
 apparent want of success, but is it not a real tri 
 umph? I do my work clean as I go along, and 
 they will not be likely to want me anywhere 
 again. So there is 110 danger of my repeating 
 myself, and getting to a barrel of sermons, 
 which you must upset, and begin again with. 
 
 My father and mother and sister all desire to 
 be remembered to you, and trust that you will 
 never come within range of Russian bullets. Of 
 course, I would rather think of you as settled 
 down there in Shropshire, in the camp of the 
 English people, making acquaintance with your 
 men, striking at the root of the evil, perhaps 
 assaulting that rampart of cotton bags that you 
 tell of. But it makes no odds where a man goes 
 or stays, if he is only about his business. 
 
 Let me hear from you, wherever you are, and 
 believe me yours ever in the good fight, whether 
 before Sevastopol or under the wreken. 
 
 While Cholmondeley s first letter from Eng 
 land was on its way to Concord, Thoreau was 
 
asT.37.] THOREAU IN CAMBRIDGE. 299 
 
 one clay making his occasional call at the Har 
 vard College Library (where he found and was 
 allowed to take away volumes relating to his 
 manifold studies), when it occurred to him to 
 call at my student-chamber in Holworthy Hall, 
 and there leave a copy of his " Week." I had 
 never met him, and was then out ; the occasion 
 of his call was a review of his two books that 
 had come out a few weeks earlier in the " Har 
 vard Magazine," of which I was an editor and 
 might be supposed to have had some share in 
 the criticism. The volume was left with my 
 classmate Lymaxi, accompanied by a message 
 that it was intended for the critic in the Maga 
 zine. Accordingly, I gave it to Edwin Morton, 
 who was the reviewer, and notified Thoreau by 
 letter of that fact, and of my hope to see him 
 soon in Cambridge or Concord. 1 To this he 
 replied in a few days as below : 
 
 1 I had been visiting- Emerson occasionally for a year or 
 two, and knew Alcott well at this time ; was also intimate with 
 Cholmondeley in the autumn of 1854, but had never seen Tho 
 reau ; a fact which shows how recluse were then his habits. 
 The letter below, and the long one describing 1 his trip to Min 
 nesota, were the only ones I received from him in a friendship 
 of seven years. See Sanborn s Thoreau, pp. 195-200. Edwin 
 Morton was my classmate. See pp. 286, 353, 440. 
 
300 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 TO F. B. SANBOBN (AT HAMPTON FALLS, N. H.). 
 CONCORD, February 2, 1855. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I fear that you did not get the 
 note which I left with the Librarian for you, 
 and so will thank you again for your politeness. 
 I was sorry that I was obliged to go into Boston 
 almost immediately. However, I shall be glad 
 to see you whenever you come to Concord, and 
 I will suggest nothing to discourage your com 
 ing, so far as I am concerned; trusting that you 
 know what it is to take a partridge on the wing. 
 You tell me that the author of the criticism is 
 Mr. Morton. I had heard as much, and in 
 deed guessed more. I have latterly found Con 
 cord nearer to Cambridge than I believed I 
 
 O 
 
 should, when I was leaving my Alma Mater ; 
 and hence you will not be surprised if even I 
 feel some interest in the success of the " Har 
 vard Magazine." 
 
 Believe me yours truly, 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
 At this time I was under engagement with 
 Mr. Emerson and others in Concord to take 
 charge of a small school there in March ; and 
 did so without again seeing the author of " Wai- 
 den " in Cambridge. Soon after my settlement 
 at Concord, in the house of Mr. Channing, just 
 
asT.37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 301 
 
 opposite Thoreau s, he made an evening call on 
 me and my sister (April 11, 1855), but I had 
 already met him more than once at Mr. Emer 
 son s, and was even beginning to take walks 
 with him, as frequently happened in the next 
 six years. In the following summer I began 
 to dine daily at his mother s table, and thus saw 
 him almost every day for three years. 
 
 TO HARBISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, June 27, 1855. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I have been sick and good for 
 nothing but to lie on my back and wait for 
 something to turn up, for two or three months. 
 This has compelled me to postpone several 
 things, among them writing to you, to whom I 
 am so deeply in debt, and inviting you and 
 Brown to Concord, not having brains ade 
 quate to such an exertion. I should feel a little 
 less ashamed if I could give any name to my 
 disorder, but I cannot, and our doctor cannot 
 help me to it, and I will not take the name of 
 any disease in vain. However, there is one con 
 solation in being sick ; and that is the possibil 
 ity that you may recover to a better state than 
 you were ever in before. I expected in the win 
 ter to be deep in the woods of Maine in my 
 canoe, long before this ; but I am so far from 
 this that I can only take a languid walk in Con 
 cord streets. 
 
302 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 I do not know how the mistake arose about 
 the Cape Cod excursion. The nearest I have 
 come to that with anybody is this : About a 
 month ago Channing proposed to me to go to 
 Truro on Cape Cod with him, and board there 
 a while, but I declined. For a week past, 
 however, I have been a little inclined to go there 
 and sit on the seashore a week or more ; but I 
 do not venture to propose myself as the compan 
 ion of him or of any peripatetic man. Not that 
 I should not rejoice to have you and Brown or 
 C. sitting there also. I am not sure that C. 
 really wishes to go now ; and as I go simply for 
 the medicine of it, I should not think it worth 
 the while to notify him when I am about to take 
 my bitters. Since I began this, or within five 
 minutes, I have begun to think that I will start 
 for Truro next Saturday morning, the 30th. I 
 do not know at what hour the packet leaves 
 Boston, nor exactly what kind of accommoda 
 tion I shall find at Truro. 
 
 I should be singularly favored if you and 
 Brown were there at the same time ; and though 
 you speak of the 20th of July, I will be so bold 
 as to suggest your coming to Concord Friday 
 night (when, by the way, Garrison and Phillips 
 hold forth here), and going to the Cape with 
 me. Though we take short walks together there, 
 we can have long talks, and you and Brown will 
 
MT. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 303 
 
 have time enough for your own excursions be 
 sides. 
 
 I received a letter from Cholmoiideley last 
 winter, which I should like to show you, as well 
 as his book. 1 He said that he had " accepted 
 the offer of a captaincy in the Salop Militia," 
 and was hoping to take an active part in the war 
 before long. 
 
 I thank you again and again for the encour 
 agement your letters are to me. But I must 
 stop this writing, or I shall have to pay for it. 
 
 NORTH TKUKO, July 8, 1855. 
 
 There being no packet, I did not leave Bos 
 ton till last Thursday, though I came down on 
 Wednesday, and Charming with me. There is 
 no public house here ; but we are boarding with 
 Mr. James Small, the keeper, in a little house 
 attached to the Highland Lighthouse. It is true 
 the table is not so clean as could be desired, 
 but I have found it much superior in that re 
 spect to the Provincetown hotel. They are what 
 is called " good livers." Our host has another 
 larger and very good house, within a quarter of 
 a mile, unoccupied, where he says he can accom 
 modate several more. He is a very good man 
 to deal with, has often been the representative 
 of the town, and is perhaps the most intelligent 
 
 1 The book was Ultima Thule, describing New Zealand. 
 
304 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 man in it. I shall probably stay here as much 
 as ten days longer : board 13.50 per week. So 
 you and Brown had better come down forthwith. 
 You will find either the schooner Melrose or an 
 other, or both, leaving Commerce Street, or else 
 T Wharf, at 9 A. M. (it commonly means 10), 
 Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, if not 
 other days. We left about 10 A. M., and reached 
 Provincetown at 5 P. M., a very good run. A 
 stage runs up the Cape every morning but Sun 
 day, starting at 4| A. M., and reaches the post- 
 office in North Truro, seven miles from Prov 
 incetown, and one from the lighthouse, about 
 6 o clock. If you arrive at P. before night, you 
 can walk over, and leave your baggage to be 
 sent. You can also come by cars from Boston 
 to Yarmouth, and thence by stage forty miles 
 more, through every day, but it costs much 
 more, and is not so pleasant. Come by all 
 means,, for it is the best place to see the ocean 
 in these States. I hope I shall be worth meet 
 ing. 
 
 July 14. 
 
 You say that you hope I will excuse your fre 
 quent writing. I trust you will excuse my in 
 frequent and curt writing until I am able to 
 resume my old habits, which for three months I 
 have been compelled to abandon. Methinks I 
 am beginning to be better. I think to leave the 
 
aor.38.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 305 
 
 Cape next Wednesday, and so shall not see you 
 here ; but I shall be glad to meet you in Con 
 cord, though I may not be able to go before the 
 mast, in a boating excursion. This is an admir 
 able place for coolness and sea-bathing and re 
 tirement. You must come prepared for cool 
 weather and fogs. 
 
 P. S. There is no mail up till Monday 
 morning. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, September 26, 1855. 
 
 ME. BLAKE, The other day I thought that 
 my health must be better, - that I gave at last 
 a sign of vitality, because I experienced a 
 slight chagrin. But I do not see how strength 
 is to be got into my legs again. These months 
 of feebleness have yielded few, if any, thoughts, 
 though they have not passed without serenity, 
 such as our sluggish Musketaquid suggests. I 
 hope that the harvest is to come. I trust that 
 you have at least warped up the stream a little 
 daily, holding fast by your anchors at night, 
 since I saw you, and have kept my place for me 
 while I have been absent. 
 
 Mr. Ricketson of New Bedford has just made 
 me a visit of a day and a half, and I have had a 
 quite good time with him. He and Channing 
 have got on particularly well together. He is 
 
306 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 a man of very simple tastes, notwithstanding his 
 wealth ; a lover of nature ; but, above all, singu 
 larly frank and plain-spoken. I think that you 
 might enjoy meeting him. 
 
 Sincerity is a great but rare virtue, and we 
 pardon to it much complaining, and the betrayal 
 of many weaknesses. R. says of himself, that 
 he sometimes thinks that he has all the infirm 
 ities of genius without the genius ; is wretched 
 without a hair-pillow, etc. ; expresses a great 
 and awful uncertainty with regard to " God," 
 " Death," his " immortality ; " says, " If I only 
 knew," etc. He loves Cowper s " Task " better 
 than anything else ; and thereafter, perhaps, 
 Thomson, Gray, and even Howitt. He has evi 
 dently suffered for want of sympathizing com 
 panions. He says that he sympathizes with 
 much in my books, but much in them is naught 
 to him, " namby-pamby," " stuff," " mys 
 tical." Why will not I, having common sense, 
 write in plain English always; teach men in 
 detail how to live a simpler life, etc. ; not go off 
 
 into ? But I say that I have no scheme 
 
 about it, no designs on men at all ; and, if I 
 had, my mode would be to tempt them with the 
 fruit, and not with the manure. To what end 
 do I lead a simple life at all, pray ? That I may 
 teach others to simplify their lives ? and so all 
 our lives be simplified merely, like an algebraic 
 
arc. 38.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 307 
 
 formula ? Or not, rather, that I may make use 
 of the ground I have cleared, to live more wor 
 thily and profitably ? I would fain lay the most 
 stress forever on that which is the most impor 
 tant, imports the most to me, though it were 
 only (what it is likely to be) a vibration in the 
 air. As a preacher, I should be prompted to 
 tell men, not so much how to get their wheat- 
 bread cheaper, as of the bread of life compared 
 with which that is bran. Let a man only taste 
 these loaves, and he becomes a skillful economist 
 at once. He 11 not waste much time in earning 
 those. Don t spend your time in drilling sol 
 diers, who may turn out hirelings after all, but 
 give to undrilled peasantry a country to fight 
 for. The schools begin with what they call the 
 elements, and where do they end ? 
 
 I was glad to hear the other day that Higgin- 
 
 son. and were gone to Ktaadn ; it must be 
 
 so much better to go to than a Woman s Rights 
 or Abolition Convention ; better still, to the de 
 lectable primitive mounts within you, which you 
 have dreamed of from your youth up, and seen, 
 perhaps, in the horizon, but never climbed. 
 
 But how do you do ? Is the air sweet to you ? 
 Do you find anything at which you can work, 
 accomplishing something solid from day to day ? 
 Have you put sloth and doubt behind, consider 
 ably? had one redeeming dream this summer? 
 
308 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 I dreamed, last night, that I could vault over 
 any height it pleased me. That was something ; 
 and I contemplated myself with a slight satisfac 
 tion in the morning for it. 
 
 Methinks I will write to you. Methinks you 
 will be glad to hear. We will stand on solid 
 foundations to one another, la column planted 
 on this shore, you 011 that. We meet the same 
 sun in his rising. We were built slowly, and 
 have come to our bearing. We will not mutu 
 ally fall over that we may meet, but will grandly 
 and eternally guard the straits. Methinks I see 
 an inscription on you, which the architect made, 
 the stucco being worn off to it. The name of 
 that ambitious worldly king is crumbling away. 
 I see it toward sunset in favorable lights. Each 
 must read for the other, as might a sailer-by. 
 Be sure you are star-y-pointing still. How is it 
 on your side? I will not require an answer 
 until you think I have paid my debts to you. 
 
 I have just got a letter from Ricketson, urg 
 ing me to come to New Bedford, which possibly 
 I may do. He says I can wear my old clothes 
 there. 
 
 Let me be remembered in your quiet house. 
 
2ET.38.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 309 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, September 27, 1855. 
 
 FRIEND RICKETSON, I am sorry that you 
 were obliged to leave Concord without seeing 
 more of it, its river and woods, and various 
 pleasant walks, and its worthies. I assure you 
 that I am none the worse for my walk with you, 
 but on all accounts the better. Methinks I am 
 regaining my health ; but I would like to know 
 first what it was that ailed me. 
 
 I have not yet conveyed your message to Mr. 
 Hosmer, 1 but will not fail to do so. That idea 
 of occupying the old house is a good one, quite 
 feasible, and you could bring your hair-pillow 
 with you. It is an inn in Concord which I had 
 not thought of, a philosopher s inn. That 
 large chamber might make a man s idea expand 
 proportionably. It would be well to have an 
 interest in some old chamber in a deserted house 
 in every part of the country which attracted us. 
 
 1 This was Edmund Hosmer, a Concord farmer, before men 
 tioned as a friend of Emerson, who was fond of quoting his 
 sagacious and often cynical remarks. He had entertained 
 George Curtis and the Alcotts at his farm on the " Turnpike," 
 southeast of Emerson s ; but now was living on a part of the 
 old manor of Governor Winthrop, which soon passed to the 
 ownership of the Hunts ; and this house which Mr. Ricketson 
 proposed to lease was the " old Hunt farmhouse," in truth 
 built for the Winthrops two centuries before. It was soon 
 after torn down. 
 
310 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 There would be no such, place to receive one s 
 guests as that. If old furniture is fashionable, 
 why not go the whole house at once ? I shall 
 endeavor to make Mr. Hosmer believe that the 
 old house is the chief attraction of his farm, and 
 that it is his duty to preserve it by all honest 
 appliances. You might take a lease of it in per- 
 petuo, and done with it. 
 
 I am so wedded to my way of spending a day, 
 require such broad margins of leisure, and such 
 a complete wardrobe of old clothes, that I am 
 ill-fitted for going abroad. Pleasant is it some 
 times to sit at home, on a single egg all day, in 
 your own nest, though it may prove at last to be 
 an egg of chalk. The old coat that I wear is 
 Concord ; it is my morning-robe and study-gown, 
 my working dress and suit of ceremony, and my 
 nightgown after all. Cleave to the simplest ever. 
 Home, home, home. Cars sound like cares 
 to me. 
 
 I am accustomed to think very long of going 
 anywhere, am slow to move. I hope to hear 
 a response of the oracle first. However, I think 
 that I will try the effect of your talisman on the 
 iron horse next Saturday, and dismount at Tar- 
 kiln Hill. Perhaps your sea air will be good for 
 me. I conveyed your invitation to Channing, 
 but he apparently will not come. 
 
 Excuse my not writing earlier ; but I had not 
 decided. 
 
2ET.38.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 811 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, October 12, 1855. 
 
 MR. RICKETSON, I fear that you had a 
 lonely and disagreeable ride back to New Bed 
 ford through the Carver woods and so on, 
 perhaps in the rain, too, and I am in part an 
 swerable for it. I feel very much in debt to 
 you and your family for the pleasant days I 
 spent at Brooklawn. Tell Arthur and Walton 1 
 that the shells which they gave me are spread 
 out, and make quite a show to inland eyes. Me- 
 thinks I still hear the strains of the piano, the 
 violin, and the flageolet blended together. Ex. 
 cuse me for the noise which I believe drove you 
 to take refuge in the shanty. That shanty is 
 indeed a favorable place to expand in, which I 
 fear I did not enough improve. 
 
 On my way through Boston I inquired for 
 Gilpin s works at Little, Brown & Co. s, Mon 
 roe s, Ticknor s, and Burirliam s. They have not 
 got them. They told me at Little, Brown & 
 Co. s that his works (not complete), in twelve 
 vols., 8vo, were imported and sold in this coun 
 try five or six years ago for about fifteen dollars. 
 Their terms for importing are ten per cent on 
 the cost. I copied from the " London Catalogue 
 
 1 Sons of Mr. Rieketson; the second, a sculptor, modeled 
 the medallion head of Thoreau engraved for this book. 
 
312 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 of Books, 1846-51," at their shop, the following- 
 list of Gilpin s Works : 
 
 Gilpin (Wm.), Dialogues on Various Subjects. 8vo. 9s. 
 
 Cadell. 
 
 Essays on Picturesque Subjects. 8vo. 15s. Cadell. 
 
 Exposition of the New Testament. 2 vols. 8vo. 16s. 
 
 Longman. 
 
 Forest Scenery, by Sir T. D. Lauder. 2 vols. 8vo. 
 
 18s. Smith & E. 
 
 Lectures on the Catechism. 12mo. 3s. Qd. 
 
 Longman. 
 
 Lives of the Reformers. 2 vols. 12mo. 8s. 
 
 Rivington. 
 
 Sermons Illustrative and Practical. 8vo. 12s. 
 
 Hatchard. 
 
 Sermons to Country Congregations. 4 vols. 8vo. 1 
 
 16s. Longman. 
 
 Tour in Cambridge, Norfolk, &c. 8vo. 18s. Cadell. 
 
 Tour of the River Wye. 12mo. 4s. With plates. 
 
 8vo. 17s. Cadell. 
 
 Gilpin (W. S. (?) ), Hints on Landscape Gardening. Royal 
 
 8vo. 1. Cadell. 
 
 Beside these, I remember to have read one 
 volume on " Prints ; " his " Southern Tour " 
 (1775) ; " Lakes of Cumberland," two vols. ; 
 " Highlands of Scotland and West of England," 
 two vols. N. B. There must be plates in 
 every volume. 
 
 I still see an image of those Middleborough 
 Ponds in my mind s eye, broad shallow lakes, 
 with an iron mine at the bottom, compara 
 tively unvexed by sails, only by Tom Smith 
 
JET. 38.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 313 
 
 and his squaw, Sepits, " Sharper." I find my 
 map of the State to be the best I have seen of 
 that district. It is a question whether the islands 
 of Long Pond or Great Quitticus offer the great 
 est attractions to a Lord of the Isles. That 
 plant which I found on the shore of Long Pond 
 chances to be a rare and beautiful flower, the 
 Sabattia chloroides, referred to Plymouth. 
 
 In a Description of Middleborough in the 
 Hist. Coll., vol. iii., 1810, signed Nehemiah Ben- 
 net, Middleborough, 1793, it is said: "There 
 is on the easterly shore of Assawampsitt Pond, 
 on the shore of Betty s Neck, two rocks which 
 have curious marks thereon (supposed to be done 
 by the Indians), which appear like the steppings 
 of a person with naked feet which settled into 
 the rocks ; likewise the prints of a hand on sev 
 eral places, with a number of other marks ; also 
 there is a rock 011 a high hill a little to the east 
 ward of the old stone fishing wear, where there 
 is the print of a person s hand in said rock." 
 
 It would be well to look at those rocks again 
 more carefully ; also at the rock on the hill. 
 
 I should think that you would like to explore 
 Sinpatuct Pond in Rochester, it is so large 
 and near. It is an interesting fact that the ale- 
 wives used to ascend to it, if they do not still, 
 -both from Mattapoisett and through Great 
 Quitticus. 
 
314 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 There will be no trouble about the chamber 
 in the old house, though, as I told you, Mr. Hos- 
 mer may expect some compensation for it. He 
 says, " Give my respects to Mr. Ricketson, and 
 tell him that I cannot be at a large expense to 
 preserve an antiquity or curiosity. Nature must 
 do its work." " But," say I, " he asks you only 
 not to assist nature." 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, October 16, 1855. 
 
 FRIEND RICKETSON, I have got both your 
 letters at once. You must not think Concord 
 so barren a place when Channing 1 is away. 
 There are the river and fields left yet ; and I, 
 though ordinarily a man of business, should 
 have some afternoons and evenings to spend 
 with you, I trust, that is, if you could stand 
 so much of me. If you can spend your time 
 profitably here, or without ennui, having an oc 
 casional ramble or tete-a-tete with one of the na 
 tives, it will give me pleasure to have you in the 
 neighborhood. You see I am preparing you for 
 our awful unsocial ways, keeping in our dens 
 a good part of the day, sucking our claws per 
 haps. But then we make a religion of it, and 
 that you cannot but respect. 
 
 1 Mr. Channing- had gone, October, 1855, to live in New Bed 
 ford, and help edit the Mercury there. 
 
JET. 38.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 315 
 
 If you know the taste of your own heart, and 
 like it, come to Concord, and I 11 warrant you 
 enough here to season the dish with, ay, even 
 though Channing and Emerson and I were all 
 away. We might paddle quietly up the river. 
 Then there are one or two more ponds to be 
 seen, etc. 
 
 I should very much enjoy further rambling 
 with you in your vicinity, but must postpone it 
 for the present. To tell the truth, I am plan 
 ning to get seriously to work after these long 
 months of inefficiency and idleness. I do not 
 know whether you are haunted by any such 
 demon which puts you on the alert to pluck the 
 fruit of each day as it passes, and store it safely 
 in your bin. True, it is well to live abandonedly 
 from time to time ; but to our working hours 
 that must be as the spile to the bung. So for a 
 long season I must enjoy only a low slanting 
 gleam in my mind s eye from the Middleborough 
 Ponds far away. 
 
 Methinks I am getting a little more strength 
 into those knees of mine ; and, for my part, I 
 believe that God does delight in the strength of 
 a man s legs. 
 
316 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, December 9, 1855. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, Thank you ! thank you for 
 going a-wooding with me, and enjoying it, 
 for being warmed by my wood fire. I have in 
 deed enjoyed it much alone. I see how I might 
 enjoy it yet more with company, how we might 
 help each other to live. And to be admitted to 
 Nature s hearth costs nothing. None is ex 
 cluded, but excludes himself. You have only 
 to push aside the curtain. 
 
 I am glad to hear that you were there too. 
 There are many more such voyages, and longer 
 ones, to be made on that river, for it is the water 
 of life. The Ganges is nothing to it. Observe 
 its reflections, no idea but is familiar to it. 
 That river, though to dull eyes it seems terres 
 trial wholly, flows through Elysium. What pow 
 ers bathe in it invisible to villagers ! Talk of 
 its shallowness, that hay-carts can be driven 
 through it at midsummer ; its depth passeth my 
 understanding. If, forgetting the allurements 
 of the world, I could drink deeply enough of it ; 
 if, cast adrift from the shore, I could with com 
 plete integrity float on it, I should never be seen 
 on the Mill-dam again. 1 If there is any depth in 
 
 1 The centre of Concord village, where the post-office and 
 shops are, so called from an old mill-dam where now is a 
 street. 
 
XT. 38.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 317 
 
 me, there is a corresponding depth in it. It is 
 the cold blood of the gods. I paddle and bathe 
 in their artery. 
 
 I do not want a stick of wood for so trivial a 
 use as to burn even, but they get it over night, 
 and carve and gild it that it may please my eye. 
 What persevering lovers they are ! What infi 
 nite pains to attract and delight us ! They will 
 supply us with fagots wrapped in the daintiest 
 packages, and freight paid ; sweet-scented woods, 
 and bursting into flower, and resounding as if 
 Orpheus had just left them, these shall be our 
 fuel, and we still prefer to chaffer with the wood- 
 merchant ! 
 
 The jug we found still stands draining bottom 
 up on the bank, on the sunny side of the house. 
 That river, who shall say exactly whence it 
 came, and whither it goes ? Does aught that 
 flows come from a higher source ? Many things 
 drift downward on its surface which would en 
 rich a man. If you could only be on the alert 
 all day, and every day ! And the nights are as 
 long as the days. 
 
 Do you not think you could contrive thus to 
 get woody fibre enough to bake your wheaten 
 bread with? Would you not perchance have 
 tasted the sweet crust of another kind of bread 
 in the mean while, which ever hangs ready baked 
 on the bread-fruit trees of the world ? 
 
318 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 Talk of burning your smoke after the wood 
 has been consumed ! There is a far more impor 
 tant and warming heat, commonly lost, which 
 precedes the burning of the wood. It is the 
 smoke of industry, which is incense. I had been 
 so thoroughly warmed in body and spirit, that 
 when at length my fuel was housed, I came near 
 selling it to the ash-man, as if I had extracted 
 all its heat. 
 
 You should have been here to help me get in 
 my boat. The last time I used it, November 
 27th, paddling up the Assabet, I saw a great 
 round pine log sunk deep in the water, and with 
 labor got it aboard. When I was floating this 
 home so gently, it occurred to me why I had 
 found it. It was to make wheels with to roll my 
 boat into winter quarters upon. So I sawed off 
 two thick rollers from one end, pierced them for 
 wheels, and then of a joist which I had found 
 drifting on the river in the summer I made an 
 axletree, and 011 this I rolled my boat out. 
 
 Miss Mary Emerson l is here, the youngest 
 person in Concord, though about eighty, and 
 the most apprehensive of a genuine thought; 
 earnest to know of your inner life ; most stimu- 
 
 1 The aunt of R. W. Emerson, then eighty-one years old, an 
 admirer of Thoreau, as her notes to him show. For an account 
 of her see Emerson s Lectures and Biographical Sketches, pp. 
 371-404. 
 
JET. 38.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 319 
 
 lating society ; and exceedingly witty withal. 
 She says they called her old when she was young, 
 and she has never grown any older. I wish you 
 could see her. 
 
 My books 1 did not arrive till November 30th, 
 the cargo of the Asia having been complete when 
 they reached Liverpool. I have arranged them 
 in a case which I made in the mean while, partly 
 of river boards. I have not dipped far into the 
 new ones yet. One is splendidly bound and il 
 luminated. They are in English, French, Latin, 
 Greek, and Sanscrit. I have not made out the 
 significance of this godsend yet. 
 
 Farewell, and bright dreams to you ! 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, December 25, 1855. 
 
 FRIEND RICKETSON, Though you have not 
 shown your face here, I trust that you did not 
 interpret my last note to my disadvantage. I 
 remember that, among other things, I wished to 
 break it to you, that, owing to engagements, I 
 should not be able to show you so much atten 
 tion as I could wish, or as you had shown to me. 
 How we did scour over the country ! I hope 
 your horse will live as long as one which I hear 
 
 1 The books on India, Egypt, etc., sent by Cholmondeley. 
 See p. 321. They are now divided between the Concord 
 Public Library and the libraries of Alcott, Blake, Emerson, 
 Sanborn, etc. 
 
320 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1855, 
 
 just died in the south of France at the age of 
 forty. Yet I had no doubt you would get quite 
 enough of me. Do not give it up so easily. The 
 old house is still empty, and Hosmer is easy to 
 treat with. 
 
 Channing was here about ten days ago. I 
 told him of my visit to you, and that he too must 
 go and see you and your country. 1 This may 
 have suggested his writing to you. 
 
 That island lodge, especially for some weeks 
 in a summer, and new explorations in your vicin 
 ity, are certainly very alluring ; but sucli are my 
 engagements to myself, that I dare not promise 
 to wend your way, but will for the present only 
 heartily thank you for your kind and generous 
 offer. When my vacation comes, then look out. 
 
 My legs have grown considerably stronger, 
 and that is all that ails me a 
 
 But I wish now above all to inform you, 
 though I suppose you will not be particularly 
 interested, that Cholmondeley has gone to the 
 Crimea, " a complete soldier," with a design, 
 when he returns, if he ever returns, to buy a 
 cottage in the South of England, and tempt me 
 over ; but that, before going, he busied himself 
 in buying, and has caused to be forwarded to me 
 
 1 Mr. Channing 1 became a frequent visitor at Brooklawn, in 
 the years of his residence at New Bedford, 1856-58. See 
 p. 324. 
 
JET. 38.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 321 
 
 by Chapman, a royal gift, in the shape of twenty- 
 one distinct works (one in nine volumes, 
 forty-four volumes in all), almost exclusively re 
 lating to ancient Hindoo literature, and scarcely 
 one of them to be bought in America. 1 I am 
 familiar with many of them, and know how to 
 prize them. I send you information of this as 
 I might of the birth of a child. 
 
 Please remember me to all your family. 
 
 1 These books were ordered by Cholmondeley in London, 
 and sent to Boston just as he was starting- for the Crimean 
 war, in October, 1855, calling them " a nest of Indian books." 
 They included Mill s History of British India, several transla 
 tions of the sacred books of India, and one of them in Sanscrit ; 
 the works of Bunsen, so far as then published, and other valu 
 able books. In the ndte accompanying this gift, Cholmonde 
 ley said, " I think I never found so much kindness in all my 
 travels as in your country of New England." In return, 
 Thoreau sent his English friend, in 1857, his own Week, Em 
 erson s poems, Walt Whitman s Leaves of Grass, and F. L. 
 Olmsted s book on the Southern States (then preparing for 
 the secession which they attempted four years later). This 
 was perhaps the first copy of Whitman seen in England, and 
 when Cholmondeley began to read it to his stepfather, Rev. Z. 
 Macaulay, at Hodnet, that clergyman declared he would not 
 hear it, and threatened to throw it in the fire. On reading the 
 Week (he had received Walden from Thoreau when first in 
 America), Cholmondeley wrote me, "Would you tell dear 
 Thoreau that the lines I admire so much in his Week begin 
 thus : 
 
 Low-anchored cloud, 
 Newfoundland air, etc. 
 
 In my mind the best thing he ever wrote," 
 
322 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, March 5, 1856. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I have been out of town, else I 
 should have acknowledged your letter before. 
 Though not in the best mood for writing, I will 
 say what I can now. You plainly have a rare, 
 though a cheap, resource in your shanty. Per 
 haps the time will come when every country-seat 
 will have one, when every country-seat will 
 be one. I would advise you to see that shanty 
 business out, though you go shanty-mad. Work 
 your vein till it is exhausted, or conducts you 
 to a broader one ; so that Channing shall stand 
 before your shanty, and sa^, " That is your 
 house." 
 
 This has indeed been a grand winter for me, 
 and for all of us. I am not considering how 
 much I have enjoyed it. What matters it how 
 happy or unhappy we have been, if we have 
 minded our business and advanced our affairs. 
 I have made it a part of my business to wade in 
 the snow and take the measure of the ice. The 
 ice on our pond was just two feet thick on the 
 first of March ; and I have to-day been survey 
 ing a wood-lot, where I sank about two feet at 
 every step. 
 
 It is high time that you, fanned by the warm 
 breezes of the Gulf Stream, had begun to "lay" 
 
JST. 38.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 323 
 
 for even the Concord hens have, though one 
 wonders where they find the raw material of 
 egg-shell here. Beware how you put off your 
 laying to any later spring, else your cackling 
 will not have the inspiring early spring sound. 
 
 As for visiting you in April, though I am 
 inclined enough to take some more rambles in 
 your neighborhood, especially by the seaside, I 
 dare not engage myself, nor allow you to expect 
 me. The truth is, I have my enterprises now as 
 ever, at which I tug with ridiculous feebleness, 
 but admirable perseverance, and cannot say when 
 I shall be sufficiently fancy-free for such an ex 
 cursion. 
 
 You have done well to write a lecture on 
 Cowper. In the expectation of getting you to 
 read it here, I applied to the curators of our Ly 
 ceum ; 1 but, alas, our Lyceum has been a failure 
 this winter for want of funds. It ceased some 
 weeks since, with a debt, they tell me, to be car 
 ried over to the next year s account. Only one 
 more lecture is to be read by a Signor Some 
 body, an Italian, paid for by private subscription, 
 as a deed of charity to the lecturer. They are 
 not rich enough to offer you your expenses even, 
 though probably a month or two ago they would 
 have been glad of the chance. 
 
 1 The Concord Lyceum, founded in 1829, and still extant, 
 though not performing its original function of lectures and 
 debates. See pp. 61, 185, etc. 
 
324 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 However, the old house has not failed yet. 
 That offers you lodging for an indefinite time 
 after you get into it ; and in the mean while I 
 offer you bed and board in my father s house, 
 always excepting hair-pillows and new-fangled 
 bedding. 
 
 Remember me to your family. 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, March 27, 1856. 
 
 FEIEND RICKETSON, - - I was surprised to 
 hear the other day that Channing was in New 
 Bedford. When he was here last (in December, 
 I think), he said, like himself, in answer to my 
 inquiry where he lived, " that he did not know 
 the name of the place ; " so it has remained in a 
 degree of obscurity to me. I am rejoiced to 
 hear that you are getting on so bravely with 
 him and his verses. He and I, as you know 
 have been old cronies, 1 - 
 
 " Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill, 
 Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
 Under the opening eyelids of the morn, 
 We drove afield, and both together beared," etc. 
 
 " But O, the heavy change," now he is gone. 
 
 1 Ellery^ Channing is mentioned, though not by name, in the 
 Week (pp.~~21l7l57), and in Walden (p. 414). He was the 
 comrade of Thoreau in Berkshire, and on the Hudson, in New 
 Hampshire, Canada, and Cape Cod, and in many rambles nearer 
 Concord. He was also a companion of Hawthorne in his river 
 voyages, as mentioned in the Mosses. 
 
 i 
 
jsT.38.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 325 
 
 The Charming you have seen and described is 
 the real Simon Pure. You have seen him. 
 Many a good ramble may you have together ! 
 You will see in him still more of the same kind 
 to attract and to puzzle you. How to serve him 
 most effectually has long been a problem with 
 his friends. Perhaps it is left for you to solve 
 it. I suspect that the most that you or any one 
 can do for him is to appreciate his genius, 
 to buy and read, and cause others to buy and 
 read his poems. That is the hand which he 
 has put forth to the world, take hold of that. 
 Review them if you can, perhaps take the 
 risk of publishing something more which he may 
 write. Your knowledge of Cowper will help 
 you to know Charming. He will accept sym 
 pathy and aid, but he will not bear questioning, 
 unless the aspects of the sky are particularly 
 auspicious. He will ever be " reserved and 
 enigmatic," and you must deal with him at 
 arm s length. I have no secrets to tell you 
 concerning him, and do not wish to call obvious 
 excellences and defects by far-fetched names. 
 Nor need I suggest how witty and poetic he is, 
 and what an inexhaustible fund of good fellow 
 ship you will find in him. 
 
326 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, March 13, 1856. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, It is high time I sent you a 
 word. I have not heard from Harrisburg since 
 offering to go there, and have not been invited 
 to lecture anywhere else the past winter. So 
 you see I am fast growing rich. This is quite 
 right, for such is my relation to the lecture-goers, 
 I should be surprised and alarmed if there were 
 any great call for me. I confess that I am con 
 siderably alarmed even when I hear that an indi 
 vidual wishes to meet me, for my experience 
 teaches me that we shall thus only be made cer 
 tain of a mutual strangeness, which otherwise we 
 might never have been aware of. 
 
 I have not yet recovered strength enough for 
 such a walk as you propose, though pretty well 
 again for circumscribed rambles and chamber 
 work. Even now, I am probably the greatest 
 walker in Concord, to its disgrace be it said. 
 I remember our walks and talks and sailing in 
 the past with great satisfaction, and trust that 
 we shall have more of them erelong, have more 
 woodings-up, for even in the spring we must 
 still seek " fuel to maintain our fires." 
 
 As you suggest, we would fain value one an 
 other for what we are absolutely, rather than 
 relatively. How will this do for a symbol of 
 sympathy ? 
 
affr.38.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 327 
 
 As for compliments, even the stars praise me, 
 and I praise them. They and I sometimes be 
 long to a mutual admiration society. Is it not 
 so with you ? I know you of old. Are you not 
 tough and earnest to be talked at, praised, or 
 blamed ? Must you go out of the room because 
 you are the subject of conversation? Where 
 will you go to, pray ? Shall we look into the 
 " Letter Writer " to see what compliments are 
 admissible ? I am not afraid of praise, for I have 
 practiced it on myself. As for my deserts, I 
 never took an account of that stock, and in this 
 connection care not whether I am deserving or 
 not. When I hear praise coming, do I not ele 
 vate and arch myself to hear it like the sky, and 
 as impersonally ? Think I appropriate any of it 
 to my weak legs ? No. Praise away till all is 
 blue. 
 
 I see by the newspapers that the season for 
 making sugar is at hand. Now is the time, 
 whether you be rock, or white-maple, or hickory. 
 I trust that you have prepared a store of sap- 
 tubs and sumach-spouts, and invested largely in 
 kettles. Early the first frosty morning, tap your 
 maples, the sap will not run in summer, you 
 
328 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 know. It matters not how little juice you get, 
 if you get all you can, and boil it down. I made 
 just one crystal of sugar once, one twentieth of 
 an inch cube, out of a pumpkin, and it suf 
 ficed. Though the yield be no greater than 
 that, this is not less the season for it, and it will 
 be not the less sweet, nay, it will be infinitely 
 the sweeter. 
 
 Shall, then, the maple yield sugar, and not 
 man ? Shall the farmer be thus active, and surely 
 have so much sugar to show for it, before this 
 very March is gone, while I read the newspa 
 per ? "While he works in his sugar-camp let me 
 work in mine, for sweetness is in me, and to 
 sugar it shall come, it shall not all go to leaves 
 and wood. Am I not a sugar-maple man, then ? 
 Boil down the sweet sap which the spring causes 
 to flow within you. Stop not at syrup, go 
 on to sugar, though you present the world with 
 but a single crystal, a crystal not made from 
 trees in your yard, but from the new life that 
 stirs in your pores. Cheerfully skim your kettle, 
 and watch it set and crystallize, making a holi 
 day of it if you will. Heaven will be propitious 
 to you as to him. 
 
 Say to the farmer, There is your crop ; here 
 is mine. Mine is a sugar to sweeten sugar with. 
 If you will listen to me, I will sweeten your whole 
 load, your whole life. 
 
-EX. 38.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 329 
 
 Then will the callers ask, Where is Blake ? 
 He is in his sugar-camp on the mountain-side. 
 Let the world await him. Then will the little 
 boys bless you, and the great boys too, for such 
 sugar is the origin of many condiments, Blak- 
 ians in the shops of Worcester, of new form, 
 with their mottoes wrapped up in them. Shall 
 men taste only the sweetness of the maple and 
 the cane the coming year ? 
 
 A walk over the crust to Asnybumskit, stand 
 ing there in its inviting simplicity, is tempting 
 to think of, making a fire on the snow under 
 some rock ! The very poverty of outward na 
 ture implies an inward wealth in the walker. 
 What a Golconda is he conversant with, thaw 
 ing his fingers over such a blaze ! But 
 but- 
 
 Have you read the new poem, " The Angel in 
 the House " ? Perhaps you will find it good for 
 you. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, May 21, 1856. 
 
 MK. BLAKE, I have not for a long time 
 been putting such thoughts together as I should 
 like to read to the company you speak of. I 
 have enough of that sort to say, or even read, but 
 not time now to arrange it. Something I have 
 prepared might prove for their entertainment or 
 
330 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 refreshment perchance ; but I would not like to 
 have a hat carried round for it. I have just 
 been reading some papers to see if they would 
 do for your company ; but though I thought 
 pretty well of them as long as I read them to 
 myself, when I got an auditor to try them on, I 
 felt that they would not answer. How could I 
 let you drum up a company to hear them ? In 
 fine, what I have is either too scattered or loosely 
 arranged, or too light, or else is too scientific and 
 matter of fact (I run a good deal into that of 
 late) for so hungry a company. 
 
 I am still a learner, not a teacher, feeding 
 somewhat omnivorously, browsing both stalk and 
 leaves ; but I shall perhaps be enabled to speak 
 with the more precision and authority by and 
 by, if philosophy and sentiment are not buried 
 under a multitude of details. 
 
 I do not refuse, but accept your invitation, 
 only changing the time. I consider myself in 
 vited to Worcester once for all, and many thanks 
 to the inviter. As for the Harvard excursion, 1 
 will you let me suggest another ? Do you and 
 
 1 This was the town of Harvard, not the college. Perhaps 
 the excursion was to visit Fruitlands, where Alcott and Lane 
 had established their short-lived community, in a beautiful 
 spot near Still River, an affluent of the Nashua, and half way 
 from Concord to Wachusett. " Asnebumskit," mentioned in 
 a former letter, is the highest hill near Worcester, as " Nob- 
 scot " is the highest near Concord. Both have Indian names. 
 
JET. 38.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 331 
 
 Brown come to Concord on Saturday, if the 
 weather promises well, and spend the Sunday 
 here on the river or hills, or both. So we shall 
 save some of our money (which is of next impor 
 tance to our souls), and lose I do not know 
 what. You say you talked of coming here be 
 fore ; now do it. I do not propose this because I 
 think that I am worth your spending time with, 
 but because I hope that we may prove flint and 
 steel to one another. It is at most only an hour s 
 ride farther, and you can at any rate do what 
 you please when you get here. 
 
 Then we will see if we have any apology to 
 offer for our existence. So come to Concord, 
 come to Concord, come to Concord ! or your 
 suit shall be defaulted. 
 
 As for the dispute about solitude and society, 
 any comparison is impertinent. It is an idling 
 down on the plain at the base of a mountain, in 
 stead of climbing steadily to its top. Of course 
 you will be glad of all the society you can get to 
 go up with. Will you go to glory with me ? is the 
 burden of the song. I love society so much that 
 I swallowed it all at a gulp, that is, all that 
 came in my way. It is not that we love to be 
 alone, but that we love to soar, and when we do 
 soar, the company grows thinner and thinner till 
 there is none at all. It is either the Tribune 1 on 
 
 1 The New York newspaper. 
 
332 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 the plain, a sermon on the mount, or a very pri 
 vate ecstasy still higher up. We are not the less 
 to aim at the summits, though the multitude does 
 not ascend them. Use all the society that will 
 abet you. But perhaps I do not enter into the 
 spirit of your talk. 
 
 In the spring of 1856, Mr. Alcott, then living 
 in Walpole, N. H., visited Concord, and while 
 there suggested to Thoreau that the upper valley 
 of the Connecticut, in which Walpole lies, was 
 good walking-ground, and that he would be glad 
 to see him there. When autumn began to hover 
 in the distance, Thoreau recalled this invitation, 
 and sent the letter below. 
 
 TO BRONSON ALCOTT (AT WALPOLE, N. H.). 
 
 CONCORD, September 1, 1856. 
 
 MR. ALCOTT, I remember that, in the 
 spring, you invited me to visit you. I feel in 
 clined to spend a day or two with you and on 
 your hills at this season, returning, perhaps, by 
 way of Brattleboro. What if I should take the 
 cars for Walpole next Friday morning ? Are 
 you at home ? And will it be convenient and 
 agreeable to you to see me then ? I will await 
 an answer. 
 
 I am but poor company, and it will not be 
 worth the while to put yourself out on my ac- 
 
2BT.39.] TO BRONSON ALCOTT. 333 
 
 count ; yet from time to time I have some 
 thoughts which would be the better for an air 
 ing. I also wish to get some hints from Sep 
 tember on the Connecticut to help me under 
 stand that season on the Concord ; to snuff the 
 musty fragrance of the decaying year in the 
 primitive woods. There is considerable cellar- 
 room in my nature for such stores ; a whole row 
 of bins waiting to be filled, before I can cele 
 brate my Thanksgiving. Mould is the richest 
 of soils, yet / am not mould. It will always be 
 found that one flourishing institution exists and 
 battens on another mouldering one. The Pres 
 ent itself is parasitic to this extent. 
 Your fellow-traveler, 
 
 HENKY D. THOREAU. 
 
 As fortune would have it, Mr. Alcott was 
 then making his arrangements for a conversa 
 tional tour in the vicinity of New York ; but he 
 renewed the invitation for himself, while repeat 
 ing it in the name of Mrs. Alcott and his daugh 
 ters. Thoreau made the visit, I believe, and 
 some weeks later, at the suggestion of Mr. Al 
 cott, he was asked by Marcus Spring of New 
 York to read lectures and survey their estate for 
 a community at Perth Amboy, N. J., in which 
 Mr. Spring and his friends, the Birneys, Welds, 
 Grimkes, etc., had united for social and educa- 
 
334 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 tional purposes. It was a colony of radical opin 
 ions and old-fashioned culture; the Grimkes 
 having been bred in Charleston, S. C., which 
 they left by reason of their opposition to negro 
 slavery, and the elder Birney having held slaves 
 in Alabama until his conscience bade him eman 
 cipate them, after which he, too, could have no 
 secure home among slaveholders. He was the 
 first presidential candidate of the voting Aboli 
 tionists, as Lincoln was the last ; and his friend, 
 Theodore Weld, who married Miss Grimke, had 
 been one of the early apostles of emancipation 
 in Ohio. Their circle at Eagleswood appealed 
 to Thoreau s sense of humor, and is described by 
 him in the next letter. 
 
 In October, 1856, Mr. Spring, whom Mr. Al- 
 cott was then visiting, wrote to Thoreau inviting 
 him to come to Eagleswood, give lectures, and 
 survey two hundred acres of land belonging to 
 the community, laying out streets and making a 
 map of the proposed village. Thoreau accepted 
 the proposal, and soon after wrote the following 
 letter, which Miss Thoreau submitted to Mr. 
 Emerson for publication, with other letters, in 
 the volume of 1865 ; but he returned it, inscribed 
 "Not printable at present." The lapse of time 
 has removed this objection. 
 
SIT. 39.] TO SOPHIA THOREAU. 335 
 
 TO SOPHIA THOREAU. 
 
 [Direct] EAGLES WOOD, PERTH AMBOY, N. J., 
 
 Saturday eve, November 1, 1856. 
 
 DEAR SOPHIA, I have hardly had time and 
 repose enough to write to you before. I spent 
 the afternoon of Friday (it seems some months 
 ago) in Worcester , but failed to see [Harrison] 
 Blake, he having " gone to the horse-race " in 
 Boston ; to atone for which I have just received 
 a letter from him, asking me to stop at Worces 
 ter and lecture on my return. I called on 
 [Theo.] Brown and [T. W.] Higginson ; in the 
 evening came by way of Norwich to New York 
 in the steamer Commonwealth, and, though it 
 was so windy inland, had a perfectly smooth pas 
 sage, and about as good a sleep as usually at 
 home. Reached New York about seven A. M., 
 too late for the John Potter (there was n t any 
 Jonas), so I spent the forenoon there, called on 
 Greeley (who was not in), met [F. A. T.] Bel- 
 lew in Broadway and walked into his workshop, 
 read at the Astor Library, etc. I arrived here, 
 about thirty miles from New York, about five 
 p. M. Saturday, in company with Miss E. Pea- 
 body, who was returning in the same covered 
 wagon from the Landing to Eagleswood, which 
 last place she has just left for the winter. 
 
 This is a queer place. There is one large long 
 
336 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 stone building, which cost some forty thousand 
 dollars, in which I do not know exactly who or 
 how many work (one or two familiar faces and 
 more familiar names have turned up), a few 
 shops and offices, an old farmhouse, and Mr. 
 Spring s perfectly private residence, within 
 twenty rods of the main building. The city of 
 Perth Amboy is about as big as Concord, and 
 Eagleswood is one and a quarter miles south 
 west of it, on the Bay side. The central fact 
 here is evidently Mr. [Theodore] Weld s school, 
 recently established, around which various other 
 things revolve. Saturday evening I went to the 
 schoolroom, hall, or what not, to see the children 
 and their teachers and patrons dance. Mr. 
 Weld, a kind-looking man with a long white 
 beard, danced with them, and Mr. [E. J.] Cut 
 ler, his assistant (lately from Cambridge, who is 
 acquainted with Sanborn), Mr. Spring, and oth 
 ers. This Saturday evening dance is a regular 
 thing, and it is thought something strange if you 
 don t attend. They take it for granted that you 
 want society ! 
 
 Sunday forenoon I attended a sort of Quaker 
 meeting at the same place (the Quaker aspect 
 and spirit prevail here, Mrs. Spring says, 
 "Does thee not?"), where it was expected that 
 the Spirit would move me (I having been previ 
 ously spoken to about it) ; and it, or something 
 
MT. 39.] TO SOPHIA THOREAU. 337 
 
 else, did, an inch or so. I said just enough 
 to set them a little by the ears and make it 
 lively. I had excused myself by saying that I 
 could not adapt myself to a particular audience ; 
 for all the speaking and lecturing here have ref 
 erence to the children, who are far the greater 
 part of the audience, and they are not so bright 
 as New England children. Imagine them sit 
 ting close to the wall, all around a hall, with old 
 Quaker-looking men and women here and there. 
 There sat Mrs. Weld [Grimke] and her sister, 
 two elderly gray-headed ladies, the former in ex 
 treme Bloomer costume, which was what you 
 may call remarkable ; Mr. Arnold Buffum, with 
 broad face and a great white beard, looking like 
 a pier-head made of the cork-tree with the bark 
 on, as if he could buffet a considerable wave ; 
 James G. Birney, formerly candidate for the 
 presidency, with another particularly white head 
 and beard ; Edward Palmer, the anti-money man 
 (for whom communities were made), with his 
 ample beard somewhat grayish. Some of them, 
 I suspect, are very worthy people. Of course 
 you are wondering to what extent all these make 
 one family, and to what extent twenty. Mrs. 
 Kirkland l (and this a name only to me) I saw. 
 She has just bought a lot here. They all know 
 
 1 Mrs. Caroline Kirkland, wife of Prof. William Kirkland, 
 then of New York, a writer of wit and fame at that time. 
 
338 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 more about your neighbors and acquaintances 
 than you suspected. 
 
 On Monday evening I read the Moose story 
 to the children, to their satisfaction. Ever since 
 I have been constantly engaged in surveying 
 Eagleswood, through woods, salt marshes, and 
 along the shore, dodging the tide, through 
 bushes, mud, and beggar ticks, having no time 
 to look up or think where I am. (It takes ten 
 or fifteen minutes before each meal to pick the 
 beggar ticks out of my clothes ; burrs and the 
 rest are left, and rents mended at the first con 
 venient opportunity.) I shall be engaged per 
 haps as much longer. Mr. Spring wants me to 
 help him about setting out an orchard and vine 
 yard, Mr. Birney asks me to survey a small 
 piece for him, and Mr. Alcott, who has just come 
 down here for the third Sunday, says that Gree- 
 ley (I left my name for him) invites him and 
 me to go to his home with him next Saturday 
 morning and spend the Sunday. 
 
 It seems a twelvemonth since I was not here, 
 but I hope to get settled deep into my den again 
 erelong. The hardest thing to find here is soli 
 tude and Concord. I am at Mr. Spring s 
 house. Both he and she and their family are 
 quite agreeable. 
 
 I want you to write to me immediately (just 
 left off to talk French with the servant man), 
 
*ST. 39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 339 
 
 and let father and mother put in a word. To 
 them and to Aunts, love from 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 The date of this visit to Eagleswood is worthy 
 of note, because in that November Thoreau 
 made the acquaintance of the late Walt Whit 
 man, in whom he ever after took a deep interest. 
 Accompanied by Mr. Alcott, he called on Whit 
 man, then living at Brooklyn ; and I remember 
 the calm enthusiasm with which they both spoke 
 of Whitman upon their return to Concord. 
 " Three men," said Emerson, in his funeral 
 eulogy of Thoreau, " have of late years strongly 
 impressed Mr. Thoreau, John Brown, his In 
 dian guide in Maine, Joe Polis, and a third per 
 son, not known to this audience." This last was 
 Whitman, who has since become well known to 
 a larger audience. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 EAGLESWOOD, N. J., November 19, 1856. 
 MR. BLAKE, I have been here much longer 
 than I expected, but have deferred answering 
 you, because I could not foresee when I should 
 return. I do not know yet within three or four 
 days. This uncertainty makes it impossible for 
 me to appoint a day to meet you, until it shall be 
 too late to hear from you again. I think, there- 
 
340 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [185(5, 
 
 fore, that I must go straight home. I feel some 
 objection to reading that " What shall it profit " 
 lecture again in Worcester ; but if you are 
 quite sure that it will be worth the while (it is 
 a grave consideration), I will even make an 
 independent journey from Concord for that 
 purpose. I have read three of my old lectures 
 (that included) to the Eagleswood people, and, 
 unexpectedly, with rare success, i. e., I was 
 aware that what I was saying was silently taken 
 in by their ears. 
 
 You must excuse me if I write mainly a busi 
 ness letter now, for I am sold for the time, 
 am merely Thoreau the surveyor here, and 
 solitude is scarcely obtainable in these parts. 
 
 Alcott has been here three times, and, Satur 
 day before last, I went with him and Greeley, by 
 invitation of the last, to G. s farm, thirty-six 
 miles north of New York. The next day A. 
 and I heard Beecher preach ; and what was 
 more, we visited Whitman the next morning (A. 
 had already seen him), and were much inter 
 ested and provoked. He is apparently the 
 greatest democrat the world has seen. Kings 
 and aristocracy go by the board at once, as they 
 have long deserved to. A remarkably strong 
 though coarse nature, of a sweet disposition, and 
 much prized by his friends. Though peculiar and 
 rough in his exterior, his skin (all over (?)) red, 
 
JET. 39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 341 
 
 he is essentially a gentleman. I am still some 
 what in a quandary about him, feel that he 
 is essentially strange to me, at any rate ; but I 
 am surprised by the sight of him. He is very 
 broad, but, as I have said, not fine. He said 
 that I misapprehended him. I am not quite 
 sure that I do. He told us that he loved to ride 
 up and down Broadway all day on an omnibus, 
 sitting beside the driver, listening to the roar 
 of the carts, and sometimes gesticulating and 
 declaiming Homer at the top of his voice. He 
 has long been an editor and writer for the news 
 papers, was editor of the " New Orleans Cres 
 cent " once ; but now has no employment but 
 to read and write in the forenoon, and walk in 
 the afternoon, like all the rest of the scribbling 
 gentry. 
 
 I shall probably be in Concord next week ; so 
 you can direct to me there. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, December G, 1856. 
 
 ME. BLAKE, I trust that you got a note 
 from me at Eagleswood, about a fortnight ago. 
 I passed through Worcester on the morning of 
 the 25th of November, and spent several hours 
 (from 3.30 to 6.20) in the travelers room at the 
 depot, as in a dream, it now seems. As the first 
 Harlem train unexpectedly connected with the 
 
342 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 first from Fitchburg, I did not spend the forenoon 
 with you as I had anticipated, on account of 
 baggage, etc. If it had been a seasonable hour, 
 I should have seen you, i. e., if you had not 
 gone to a horse-race. But think of making a 
 call at half past three in the morning ! (would 
 it not have implied a three o clock in the morn 
 ing courage in both you and me ?) as it were, 
 ignoring the fact that mankind are really not at 
 home, are not out, but so deeply in that they 
 cannot be seen, nearly half their hours at this 
 season of the year. 
 
 I walked up and down the main street, at half 
 past five, in the dark, and paused long in front 
 of Brown s store, trying to distinguish its fea 
 tures ; considering whether I might safely leave 
 his "Putnam " in the door-handle, but concluded 
 not to risk it. Meanwhile a watchman (?) 
 seemed to be watching me, and I moved off. 
 Took another turn round there, and had the 
 very earliest offer of the Transcript 1 from an 
 urchin behind, whom I actually could not see, it 
 was so dark. So I withdrew, wondering if you 
 and B. would know if I had been there. You 
 little dream who is occupying Worcester when 
 you are all asleep. Several things occurred 
 there that night which I will venture to say were 
 not put into the Transcript. A cat caught a 
 
 1 A Worcester newspaper. 
 
JST.39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 343 
 
 mouse at the depot, and gave it to her kitten 
 to play with. So that world-famous tragedy 
 goes on by night as well as by day, and nature is 
 emphatically wrong. Also I saw a young Irish 
 man kneel before his mother, as if in prayer, 
 while she wiped a cinder out of his eye with her 
 tongue ; and I found that it was never too late 
 (or early ?) to learn something. These things 
 transpired while you and B. were, to all practical 
 purposes, nowhere, and good for nothing, not 
 even for society, not for horse-races, nor 
 the taking back of a " Putnam s Magazine." It 
 is true, I might have recalled you to life, but it 
 would have been a cruel act, considering the 
 kind of life you would have come back to. 
 
 However, I would fain write to you now by 
 broad daylight, and report to you some of my 
 life, such as it is, and recall you to your life, 
 which is not always lived by you, even by day 
 light. Blake ! Brown ! are you awake ? are 
 you aware what an ever-glorious morning this 
 is, -- what long-expected, never-to-be-repeated 
 opportunity is now offered to get life and know 
 ledge ? 
 
 For my part, I am trying to wake up, to 
 
 wring slumber out of my pores ; for, generally, 
 
 I take events as unconcernedly as a fence post, 
 
 absorb wet and cold like it, and am pleasantly 
 
 tickled with lichens slowly spreading over me. 
 
344 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 Could I not be content, then, to be a cedar post, 
 which lasts twenty-five years? Would I not 
 rather be that than the farmer that set it ? or 
 he that preaches to the farmer? and go to the 
 heaven of posts at last ? I think I should like 
 that as well as any would like it. But I should 
 not care if I sprouted into a living tree, put 
 forth leaves and flowers, and bore fruit. 
 
 I am grateful for what I am and have. My 
 thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how 
 contented one can be with nothing definite, 
 only a sense of existence. Well, anything for 
 variety. I am ready to try this for the next ten 
 thousand years, and exhaust it. How sweet to 
 think of ! my extremities well charred, and my 
 intellectual part too, so that there is no danger 
 of worm or rot for a long while. My breath is 
 sweet to me. O how I laugh when I think of my 
 vague, indefinite riches. No run on my bank 
 can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but 
 enjoyment. 
 
 What are all these years made for ? and now 
 another winter comes, so much like the last? 
 Can t we satisfy the beggars once for all ? 
 
 Have you got in your wood for this winter ? 
 What else have you got in? Of what use a 
 great fire on the hearth, and a confounded little 
 fire in the heart? Are you prepared to make a 
 decisive campaign, to pay for your costly tui- 
 
IN THE PLAY. 
 
 ie Necessities in the Production of 
 
 cts. 
 
 piston produced an apparent ex- 
 This was fed by a hose connec- 
 -om the boiler-room of the thea- 
 )n the first night, as the derailed 
 toppled over, the valve got 
 *d, and the pressure of the steam 
 d" the whole business. Nobody 
 urt, and the audience, which sup- 
 it was intended, was in ecstacies. 
 heater was crowded the second 
 n expectation of the realistic busi- 
 but was doomed to disappoint- 
 
 ve seen, a good many oher full- 
 engines put upon the stage, 
 f them in this city, but for 
 3f finish in the polished metal 
 ; they have all been mani- 
 wood and paper "fakes." A 
 lade property should be illusory, 
 lect seeing a "fake" locomotive at 
 ople s. Theater in New York which 
 >ally a painted set piece with prac- 
 5 wheels and some cylinders and 
 5 working on the face of it. This* 
 [so a first-night occasion and with 
 of noise and a quick curtain 
 have gone well enough, but it 
 vorked by three men walking at 
 ick of it. The topheavy stuff got 
 ;tter of their grasp, which fell on 
 :e, revealing the three astonished 
 to the equally astonished house. 
 
 in this city by Frank Marcus, an ac 
 complished modeler. 
 
 Probably among large properties the 
 most imDortant ever made was that of 
 the, Egyptian god Ptha in "Aida" at the 
 Metropolitan Opera-house in New 
 York. The statue, made in paper upon 
 a wooden framework, was modeled from 
 an authentic example. It represented 
 an Egyptian Pharaonic divinty, with 
 the peculiar napkin.like headdress 
 known as the "klaft," and was seated 
 in the characteristic attitude of solemn 
 dignity, with the hands upon the 
 knees, as in the statue of Memnon. With 
 its pedestal it reached a height of thir 
 ty-five feet, and, being placed in the 
 center of a scene designed after the 
 famous Hall of Columns at Karnak, 
 it was a remarkable feature of the 
 spectacle. The four corners! of the tem 
 ple were occupied by four other remark 
 able properties gigantic incense tri 
 pods, fanned by the priestesses while 
 singing the famous soprano prayer to 
 the "Almighty Ptha, God of Nature." 
 
 When the theater was burned, not 
 only did that enormous property go up, 
 but also one of the most complete and 
 beautiful collections of stage armor, 
 jewelry and weapons was destroyed. 
 Most of the armor had been made for the 
 Wagnerian operas. Some of the pieces, 
 such as the winged helmet of Wotan, 
 were works of art, but the collection also 
 contained some fine pieces of genuine 
 armor, one suit of Florentine in partic 
 ular being inlaid with florid Niello work. 
 
 The properties, however, made in a 
 theater run by American millionaires, 
 regardless of expense, can hardly be 
 taken as types of ordinary work; yet 
 some of them were very interesting. 
 The gigantic swan in "Lohengrin," 
 which had to be raised on 1 a special trap, 
 and the enormous dragon, opening jaws 
 large enough to swallow a horse, 
 breathing out steam and flames, in 
 
Wait Whitman, Frona a Photograph Taken 
 / His Old Age. 
 
MT. 39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 345 
 
 tion, to pay for the suns of past summers, 
 for happiness and unhappiness lavished upon 
 you? 
 
 Does not Time go by swifter than the swift 
 est equine trotter or racker? 
 
 Stir up Brown. Eemind him of his duties, 
 which outrun the date and span of Worcester s 
 years past and to come. Tell him to be sure 
 that he is on the main street, however narrow it 
 may be, and to have a lit sign, visible by night 
 as well as by day. 
 
 Are they not patient waiters, they who wait 
 for us ? But even they shall not be Iosers 
 
 December 7. 
 
 That Walt Whitman, of whom I wrote to you, 
 is the most interesting fact to me at present. I 
 have just read his second edition (which he 
 gave me), and it has done me more good than 
 any reading for a long time. Perhaps I remem 
 ber best the poem of Walt Whitman, an Amer 
 ican, and the Sun-Down Poem. There are two 
 or three pieces in the book which are disagree 
 able, to say the least ; simply sensual. He does 
 not celebrate love at all. It is as if the beasts 
 spoke. I think that men have not been ashamed 
 of themselves without reason. No doubt there 
 have always been dens where such deeds were 
 unblushingly recited, and it is no merit to com- 
 
346 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 pete with their inhabitants. But even on this 
 side he has spoken more truth than any Ameri- 
 ican or modern that I know. I have found his 
 poem exhilarating, encouraging. As for its 
 sensuality, and it may turn out to be less 
 sensual than it appears, I do not so much 
 wish that those parts were not written, as that 
 men and women were so pure that they could 
 read them without harm, that is, without under 
 standing them. One woman told me that no 
 woman could read it, as if a man could read 
 what a woman could not. Of course Walt 
 Whitman can communicate to us no experience, 
 and if we are shocked, whose experience is it 
 that we are reminded of ? 
 
 On the whole, it sounds to me very brave and 
 American, after whatever deductions. I do not 
 believe that all the sermons, so called, that have 
 been preached in this land put together are 
 equal to it for preaching. 
 
 We ought to rejoice greatly in him. He oc 
 casionally suggests something a little more than 
 human. You can t confound him with the other 
 inhabitants of Brooklyn or New York. How 
 they must shudder when they read him ! He is 
 awfully good. 
 
 To be sure I sometimes feel a little imposed 
 on. By his heartiness and broad generalities he 
 puts me into a liberal frame of mind prepared 
 
JET.39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 347 
 
 to see wonders, as it were, sets me upon a 
 hill or in the midst of a plain, stirs me well 
 up, and then throws in a thousand of brick. 
 Though rude, and sometimes ineffectual, it is a 
 great primitive poem, an alarum or trumpet- 
 note ringing through the American camp. 
 Wonderfully like the Orientals, too, considering 
 that when I asked him if he had read them, he 
 answered, " No : tell me about them." 
 
 I did not get far in conversation with him, 
 two more being present, and among the few 
 things which I chanced to say, I remember that 
 one was, in answer to him as representing Amer 
 ica, that I did not think much of America or of 
 politics, and so on, which may have been some 
 what of a damper to him. 
 
 Since I have seen him, I find that I am not 
 disturbed by any brag or egoism in his book. He 
 may turn out the least of a braggart of all, hav 
 ing a better right to be confident. 
 
 He is a great fellow. 
 
 There is in Alcott s diary an account of this 
 interview with Whitman, and the Sunday morn 
 ing in Ward Beecher s Brooklyn church, from 
 which a few passages may be taken. Hardly any 
 person met by either of these Concord friends in V 
 their later years made so deep an impression on 
 both as did this then almost unknown poet and 
 
848 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [185G, 
 
 thinker, concerning whom Cholmondeley wrote 
 to Thoreau in 1857 : "Is there actually such a 
 man as Whitman? Has any one seen or han 
 dled him ? His is a tongue not understanded 
 of the English people. I find the gentleman 
 altogether left out of the book. It is the first 
 book I have ever seen which I should call a 
 4 new book. " 
 
 Mr. Alcott writes under date of November 7, 
 1856, in New York : " Henry Thoreau arrives 
 from Eagleswood, and sees Swinton, a wise young 
 Scotchman, and Walt Whitman s friend, at my 
 room (15 Laight Street), Thoreau declining 
 to accompany me to Mrs. Botta s parlors, as in 
 vited by her. He sleeps here. (November 8.) 
 We find Greeley at the Harlem station, and ride 
 with him to his farm, where we pass the day, and 
 return to sleep in the city, Greeley coming in 
 with us ; Alice Gary, the authoress, accompany 
 ing us also. (Sunday, November 9.) We cross 
 the ferry to Brooklyn, and hear Ward Beecher 
 at the Plymouth Church. It was a spectacle, 
 and himself the Preacher, if preacher there be 
 anywhere now in pulpits. His auditors had to 
 weep, had to laugh, under his potent magnetism, 
 while his doctrine of justice to all men, bond and 
 free, was grand. House, entries, aisles, galleries, 
 all were crowded. Thoreau called it pagan, but 
 I pronounced it good, very good, the best I 
 
*3T.39.] TO B. B. WILEY. 349 
 
 had witnessed for many a day, and hopeful for 
 the coming time. At dinner at Mrs. Manning s 
 Miss M. S. was there, curious to see Thoreau. 
 After dinner we called on Walt Whitman (Tho 
 reau and I), but finding him out, we got all we 
 could from his mother, a stately, sensible matron, 
 believing absolutely in Walter, and telling us 
 how good he was, and how wise when a boy ; and 
 how his four brothers and two sisters loved him, 
 and still take counsel of the great man he has 
 grown to be. We engaged to call again early in 
 the morning, when she said Walt would be glad 
 to see us. (Monday, 10th.) Mrs. Tyndale of 
 Philadelphia goes with us to see Walt, Walt 
 the satyr, the Bacchus, the very god Pan. We 
 sat with him for two hours, and much to our de 
 light ; he promising to call on us at the Interna 
 tional at ten in the morning to-morrow, and there 
 have the rest of it." Whitman failed to call at 
 his hour the next day. 
 
 TO B. B. WILEY (AT CHICAGO). 
 
 CONCORD, December 12, 1856. 
 
 MR. WiLEY, 1 It is refreshing to hear of 
 your earnest purpose with respect to your cul 
 ture, and I can send you no better wish than that 
 
 1 B. B. Wiley, then of Providence, since of Chicago, had 
 written to Thoreau, September 4, for a copy of the Week, 
 which the author was then selling 1 on his own account, having 
 
350 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. .[1856, 
 
 you may not be thwarted by the cares and temp 
 tations of life. Depend on it, now is the ac 
 cepted time, and probably you will never find 
 yourself better disposed or freer to attend to 
 your culture than at this moment. When They 
 who inspire us with the idea are ready, shall not 
 we be ready also ? 
 
 I do not remember anything which Confucius 
 has said directly respecting man s " origin, pur 
 pose, and destiny." He was more practical than 
 that. He is full of wisdom applied to human 
 relations, to the private life, the family, 
 government, etc. It is remarkable that, accord 
 ing to his own account, the sum and substance 
 of his teaching is, as you know, to do as you 
 would be done by. 
 
 He also said (I translate from the French), 
 " Conduct yourself suitably towards the persons 
 of your family, then you will be able to instruct 
 and to direct a nation of men." 
 
 " To nourish one s self with a little rice, to 
 drink water, to have only his bended arm to sup 
 port his head, is a state which has also its satis 
 faction. To be rich and honored by iniquitous 
 
 bought back the unsalable first edition from his publisher, 
 Munroe. In a letter of October 31, to which the above is a 
 reply, he mentions taking- a walk with Charles Newcomb, then 
 of Providence, now of London, one of the Dial contributors, 
 and a special friend of Emerson ; then inquires about Confu 
 cius, the Hindoo philosophers, and Swedenborg. 
 
JST. 39.] TO B. B. WILEY. 351 
 
 means is for me as the floating cloud which 
 passes." 
 
 " As soon as a child is born he must respect 
 its faculties : the knowledge which will come to 
 it by and by does not resemble at all its present 
 state. If it arrive at the age of forty or fifty 
 years without having learned anything, it is no 
 more worthy of any respect." This last, I think, 
 will speak to your condition. 
 
 But at this rate I might fill many letters. 
 
 Our acquaintance with the ancient Hindoos is 
 not at all personal. The full names that can be 
 relied upon are very shadowy. It is, however, 
 tangible works that we know. The best I think 
 of are the Bhagvat Geeta (an episode in an 
 ancient heroic poem called the Mahabarat), the 
 Vedas, the Vishnu Purana, the Institutes of 
 Menu, etc. 
 
 I cannot say that Swedenborg has been di 
 rectly and practically valuable to me, for I have 
 not been a reader of him, except to a slight ex 
 tent ; but I have the highest regard for him, and 
 trust that I shall read his works in some world 
 or other. He had a wonderful knowledge of our 
 interior and spiritual life, though his illumina 
 tions are occasionally blurred by trivialities. He 
 comes nearer to answering, or attempting to an 
 swer, literally, your questions concerning man s 
 origin, purpose, and destiny, than any of the 
 
352 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 worthies I have referred to. But I think that that 
 is not altogether a recommendation ; since such 
 an answer to these questions cannot be discov 
 ered any more than perpetual motion, for which 
 no reward is now offered. The noblest man it 
 is, methinks, that knows, and by his life suggests, 
 the most about these things. Crack away at 
 these nuts, however, as long as you can, the 
 very exercise will ennoble you, and you may get 
 something better than the answer you expect. 
 
 TO B. B. WILEY (AT CHICAGO). 
 
 CONCORD, April 26, 1857. 
 
 MR. WILEY, I see that you are turning a 
 broad furrow among the books, but I trust that 
 some very private journal all the while holds its 
 own through their midst. Books can only reveal 
 us to ourselves, and as often as they do us this 
 service we lay them aside. I should say, read 
 Goethe s Autobiography, by all means, also Gib 
 bon s, Hay don the Painter s, and our Franklin s 
 of course ; perhaps also Alfieri s, Benvenuto 
 Cellini s, and De Quincey s " Confessions of an 
 Opium-Eater," - since you like autobiography. 
 I think you must read Coleridge again, and fur 
 ther, skipping all his theology, i. e., if you value 
 precise definitions and a discriminating use of 
 language. By the way, read De Quincey s Remi 
 niscences of Coleridge and Wordsworth. 
 
JST. 39.] TO B. B. WILEY. 353 
 
 How shall we account for our pursuits, if they 
 are original ? We get the language with which 
 to describe our various lives out of a common 
 mint. If others have their losses which they are 
 busy repairing, so have I mine, and their hound 
 and horse may perhaps be the symbols of some 
 of them. 1 But also I have lost, or am in danger 
 of losing, a far finer and more ethereal treasure, 
 which commonly no loss, of which they are con 
 scious, will symbolize. This I answer hastily 
 and with some hesitation, according as I now 
 understand my words. . . . 
 
 Methinks a certain polygamy with its troubles 
 is the fate of almost all men. They are married 
 to two wives : their genius (a celestial muse), 
 
 1 When in 1855 or 1856 Thoreau started to wade across from 
 Duxbury to Clark s Island, and was picked up by a fishing- 
 boat in the deep water, and landed on the " backside " of the 
 island (see letter to Mr. Watson of April 25, 1858), Edward 
 Watson (" Uncle Ed "), was " saggin round " to see that every 
 thing was right alongshore, and encountered the unexpected 
 visitor. " How did you come here ? " " Oh, from Duxbury," 
 said Thoreau, and they walked to the old Watson house to 
 gether. " You say in one of your books," said Uncle Ed, " that 
 you once lost a horse and a hound and a dove, now I should 
 like to know what you meant by that ? " " Why, everybody 
 has met with losses, have n t they ? " " H m, pretty way to 
 answer a fellow ! " said Mr. Watson ; but it seems this was the 
 usual answer. In the long dining-room of the old house that 
 night he sat by the window and told the story of the Norse 
 voyag ers to New England, perhaps to that very island and 
 the Gurnet near by, as Morton fancies in his review of 
 Thoreau in the Harvard Magazine (January, 1855). 
 
354 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1856, 
 
 and also to some fair daughter of the earth. 
 Unless these two were fast friends before mar 
 riage, and so are afterward, there will be but 
 little peace in the house. 
 
 TO HARBISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, December 31, 1856. 
 
 MK. BLAKE, I think it will not be worth 
 the while for me to come to Worcester to lecture 
 at all this year. It will be better to wait till I 
 am perhaps unfortunately more in that line. 
 My writing has not taken the shape of lectures, 
 and therefore I should be obliged to read one of 
 three or four old lectures, the best of which I 
 have read to some of your auditors before. I 
 carried that one which I call " Walking, or the 
 Wild," to Amherst, N. H., the evening of that 
 cold Thursday, 1 and I am to read another at 
 Fitchburg, February 3. I am simply their hired 
 man. This will probably be the extent of my 
 lecturing hereabouts. 
 
 I must depend on meeting Mr. Wasson some 
 other time. 
 
 Perhaps it always costs me more than it comes 
 to to lecture before a promiscuous audience. It 
 
 1 This was when he spoke in the vestry of the Calvinistic 
 church, and said, on his return to Concord, " that he hoped 
 he had done something to upheave and demolish the structure 
 above," the vestry being beneath the church. 
 
OUT. 39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 355 
 
 is an irreparable injury done to my modesty even, 
 I become so indurated. 
 
 O solitude ! obscurity ! meanness ! I never 
 triumph so as when I have the least success in 
 my neighbor s eyes. The lecturer gets fifty dol 
 lars a night ; but what becomes of his winter ? 
 What consolation will it be hereafter to have 
 fifty thousand dollars for living in the world? 
 I should like not to exchange any of my life for 
 money. 
 
 These, you may think, are reasons for not lec 
 turing, when you have no great opportunity. It 
 is even so, perhaps. I could lecture on dry oak 
 leaves ; I could, but who could hear me ? If I 
 were to try it on any large audience, I fear it 
 would be no gain to them, and a positive loss to 
 me. I should have behaved rudely toward my 
 rustling friends. 1 
 
 1 Notwithstanding this unwillingness to lecture, Thoreau 
 did speak at Worcester, February 13, 1857, on "Walking," 
 but scrupulously added to his consent (February 6), " I told 
 Brown it had not been much altered since I read it in Worces 
 ter ; but now I think of it, much of it must have been new to 
 you, because, having since divided it into two, I am able to 
 read what before I omitted. Nevertheless, I should like to 
 have it understood by those whom it concerns, that I am 
 invited to read in public (if it be so) what I have already 
 read, in part, to a private audience." This throws some light 
 on his method of preparing lectures, which were afterwards 
 published as essays ; they were made up from his journals, and 
 new entries expanded them. 
 
356 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 I am surveying, instead of lecturing, at pres 
 ent. Let me have a skimming from your " pan 
 of unwrinkled cream." 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, April 1, 1857. 
 
 DEAR RICKETSON, I got your note of wel 
 come night before last. I expect, if the weather 
 is favorable, to take the 4.30 train from Boston 
 to-morrow, Thursday, P. M., for I hear of no noon 
 train, and shall be glad to find your wagon at 
 Tarkiln Hill, for I see it will be rather late for 
 going across lots. 
 
 I have seen all the spring signs you mention, 
 and a few more, even here. Nay, I heard one 
 frog peep nearly a week ago, methinks the 
 very first one in all this region. I wish that 
 there were a few more signs of spring in myself ; 
 however, I take it that there are as many within 
 us as we think we hear without us. I am decent 
 for a steady pace, but not yet for a race. I have 
 a little cold at present, and you speak of rheu 
 matism about the head and shoulders. Your 
 frost is not quite out. I suppose that the earth 
 itself has a little cold and rheumatism about 
 these times ; but all these things together pro 
 duce a very fair general result. In a concert, 
 you know, we must sing our parts feebly some 
 times, that we may not injure the general effect. 
 
mi. 39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 357 
 
 I should n t wonder if my two-year-old invalidity 
 had been a positively charming feature to some 
 amateurs favorably located. Why not a blasted 
 man as well as a blasted tree, on your lawn? 
 
 If you should happen not to see me by the 
 train named, do not go again, but wait at home 
 for me, or a note from yours, 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, April 17, 1857. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I returned from New Bedford 
 night before last. I met Alcott there, and learned 
 from him that probably you had gone to Con 
 cord. I am very sorry that I missed you. I 
 had expected you earlier, and at last thought 
 that I should get back before you came ; but I 
 ought to have notified you of my absence. How 
 ever, it would have been too late, after I had 
 made up my mind to go. I hope you lost no 
 thing by going a little round. 
 
 I took out the celtis seeds at your request, at 
 the time we spoke of them, and left them in the 
 chamber on some shelf or other. If you have 
 found them, very well ; if you have not found 
 them, very well ; but tell Hale l of it, if you see 
 
 1 Rev. Edward E. Hale, then pastor at Worcester. Others 
 mentioned in the letter are Rev. David A. Wasson and Dr. 
 Seth Rogers, the latter a physician with whom Mr. Wasson 
 was living- in Worcester. 
 
358 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 him. My mother says that you and Brown and 
 Rogers and Wasson (titles left behind) talk of 
 coming down on me some day. Do not fail to 
 come, one and all, and within a week or two, if 
 possible ; else I may be gone again. Give me 
 a short notice, and then come and spend a day 
 on Concord River, or say that you will come 
 if it is fair, unless you are confident of bringing 
 fair weather with you. Come and be Concord, 
 as I have been Worcestered. 
 
 Perhaps you came nearer to me for not find 
 ing me at home ; for trains of thought the more 
 connect when trains of cars do not. If I had 
 actually met you, you would have gone again ; 
 but now I have not yet dismissed you. I hear 
 what you say about personal relations with joy. 
 It is as if you had said, " I value the best and 
 finest part of you, and not the worst. I can even 
 endure your very near and real approach, and 
 prefer it to a shake of the hand." This inter 
 course is not subject to time or distance. 
 
 I have a very long new and faithful letter 
 from Cholmondeley, which I wish to show you. 
 He speaks of sending me more books ! ! 
 
 If I were with you now, I could tell you much 
 of Ricketson, and my visit to New Bedford ; but 
 I do not know how it will be by and by. I 
 should like to have you meet R., who is the 
 frankest man I know. Alcott and he get along 
 
XT. 39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 359 
 
 very well together. Channing has returned to 
 Concord with me, probably for a short visit 
 only. 
 
 Consider this a business letter, which you 
 know counts nothing in the game we play. Re 
 member me particularly to Brown. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, June 6, 1857, 3 P. M. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I have just got your note, but 
 I am sorry to say that this very morning I sent 
 a note to Channing, stating that I would go with 
 him to Cape Cod next week on an excursion 
 which we have been talking of for some time. 
 If there were time to communicate with you, I 
 should ask you to come to Concord on Monday, 
 before I go ; but as it is, I must wait till I come 
 back, which I think will be about ten days hence. 
 I do not like this delay, but there seems to be a 
 fate in it. Perhaps Mr. Wasson will be well 
 enough to come by that time. I will notify you 
 of my return, and shall depend on seeing you 
 all. 
 
 June 23d. I returned from Cape Cod last 
 evening, and now take the first opportunity to 
 invite you men of Worcester to this quiet Med 
 iterranean shore. Can you come this week on 
 Friday, or next Monday ? I mention the earli 
 est days on which I suppose you can be ready. 
 
360 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 If more convenient, name some other time within 
 tan days. I shall be rejoiced to see you, and to 
 act the part of skipper in the contemplated 
 voyage. I have just got another letter from 
 Cholmondeley, which may interest you some 
 what. 
 
 TO MARSTON WATSON (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, August 17, 1857. 
 
 MR. WATSON, I am much indebted to you 
 for your glowing communication of July 20th. 
 I had that very day left Concord for the wilds 
 of Maine ; but when I returned, August 8th, two 
 out of the six worms remained nearly, if not 
 quite, as bright as at first, I was assured. In 
 their best estate they had excited the admira 
 tion of many of the inhabitants of Concord. It 
 was a singular coincidence that I should find 
 
 O 
 
 these worms awaiting me, for my mind was full 
 of a phosphorescence which I had seen in the 
 woods. I have waited to learn something more 
 about them before acknowledging the receipt of 
 them. I have frequently met with glow-worms 
 in my night walks, but am not sure they were 
 the same kind with these. Dr. Harris once de 
 scribed to me a larger kind than I had found, 
 " nearly as big as your little finger ; " but he 
 does not name them in his report. 
 
 The only authorities on Glow-worms which I 
 
asT.40.] TO MARSTON WATSON. 361 
 
 chance to have (and I am pretty well provided), 
 a^e Kirby and Spence (the fullest), Knapp 
 (" Journal of a Naturalist "), " The Library of 
 Entertaining Knowledge " (^Rennie), a French 
 work, etc., etc. ; but there is no minute, scientific 
 description in any of these. This is apparently 
 a female of the genus Lampyris ; but Kirby 
 and Spence say that there are nearly two hun 
 dred species of this genus alone. The one com 
 monly referred to by English writers is the 
 Lampyris noctiluea ; but judging from Kirby 
 and Spence s description, and from the descrip 
 tion and plate in the French work, this is not 
 that one, for, besides other differences, both say 
 that the light proceeds from the abdomen. Per 
 haps the worms exhibited by Durkee (whose 
 statement to the Boston Society of Natural His 
 tory, second July meeting, in the " Traveller " 
 of August 12, 1857, I send you) were the same 
 with these. I do not see how they could be the 
 L. noctiluca, as he states. 
 
 I expect to go to Cambridge before long, and 
 if I get any more light on this subject I will in 
 form you. The two worms are still alive. 
 
 I shall be glad to receive the Drosera at any 
 time, if you chance to come across it. I am 
 looking over London s " Arboretum," which we 
 have added to our Library, and it occurs to 
 me that it was written expressly for you, and 
 
362 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 that you cannot avoid placing it on your own 
 shelves. 
 
 I should have been glad to see the whale, and 
 might perhaps have done so, if I had not at that 
 time been seeing " the elephant " (or moose) in 
 the Maine woods. I have been associating for 
 about a month with one Joseph Polis, the chief 
 man of the Penobscot tribe of Indians, and 
 have learned a great deal from him, which I 
 should like to tell you sometime. 
 
 TO MARSTON WATSON (AT PLYMOUTH). 
 
 CONCORD, April 25, 1858. 
 
 DEAR SIR, Your unexpected gift of pear- 
 trees reached me yesterday in good condition, 
 and I spent the afternoon in giving them a good 
 setting out; but I fear that this cold weather 
 may hurt them. However, I am inclined to 
 think they are insured, since you have looked on 
 them. It makes one s mouth water to read their 
 names only. From what I hear of the extent of 
 your bounty, if a reasonable part of the trees 
 succeed, this transplanting will make a new era 
 for Concord to date from. 
 
 Mine must be a lucky star, for day before 
 yesterday I received a box of Mayflowers from 
 Brattleboro, and yesterday morning your pear- 
 trees, and at evening a humming-bird s nest from 
 Worcester. This looks like fairy housekeeping. 
 
2ET.40.] TO MARSTQN WATSON. 363 
 
 I discovered two new plants in Concord last 
 winter, the Labrador Tea (Ledum latifolium), 
 and Yew (Taxis baccata). 
 
 By the way, in January I communicated with 
 Dr. Durkee, whose report on Glow-worms I sent 
 you, and it appeared, as I expected, that he 
 (and by his account, Agassiz, Gould, Jackson, 
 and others to whom he showed them) did not 
 consider them a distinct species, but a variety 
 of the common, or Lampyris noctiluca, some of 
 which you got in Lincoln. Durkee, at least, has 
 never seen the last. I told him that I had no 
 doubt about their being a distinct species. His, 
 however, were luminous throughout every part 
 of the body, as those which you sent me were 
 not, while I had them. 
 
 Is nature as full of vigor to your eyes as ever, 
 or do you detect some falling off at last ? Is the 
 mystery of the hog s bristle cleared up, and with 
 it that of our life ? It is the question, to the 
 exclusion of every other interest. 
 
 I am sorry to hear of the burning of your 
 woods, but, thank Heaven, your great ponds and 
 your sea cannot be burnt. I love to think of 
 your warm, sandy wood-roads, and your breezy 
 island out in the sea. What a prospect you can 
 get every morning from the hilltop east of your 
 house ! 1 I think that even the heathen that I 
 
 1 Marston Watson, whose uncle, Edward Watson, with his 
 
364 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 am could say, or sing, or dance, morning prayers 
 there of some kind. 
 
 Please remember me to Mrs. Watson, and to 
 the rest of your family who are helping the sun 
 shine yonder. 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, August 18, 1857. 
 
 DEAR SIR, Your Wilson Flagg 1 seems a 
 serious person, and it is encouraging to hear 
 
 nephews, owned the " breezy island " where Thoreau had vis 
 ited his friends (Clark s Island, the only one in Plymouth Bay), 
 had built his own house, " Hillside," on the slope of one of the 
 hills above Plymouth town, and there laid out a fine park and 
 garden, which Thoreau surveyed for him in the autumn of 
 1854, Alcott and Mr. Watson carrying the chain. For a de 
 scription of Hillside, see Channing s Wanderer (Boston, 1871) 
 and Alcott s Sonnets and Canzonets (Boston : Roberts, 1882). 
 It was a villa much visited by Emerson, Alcott, Channing, 
 Thoreau, George Bradford, and the Transcendentalists gener 
 ally. Mr. Watson graduated at Harvard two years after Tho 
 reau, and in an old diary says : " I remember Thoreau in the 
 college yard (1836) with downcast thoughtful look intent, as 
 if he were searching for something ; always in a green coat, 
 green because the authorities required black, I suppose." 
 In a letter he says : " I have always heard the Maiden in the 
 East was Mrs. Watson, Mary Russell Watson, and I sup 
 pose there is no doubt of it. I may be prejudiced, but I have 
 always thought it one of his best things, and I have highly 
 valued his lines. I find in my Dial, No. 6, I have written six 
 new stanzas in the margin of Friendship, and they are num 
 bered to show how they should run. I think Mrs. Brown gave 
 them to me." 
 
 1 A writer on scenery and natural history, who outlived 
 
jsr.40.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 365 
 
 of a contemporary who recognizes Nature so 
 squarely, and selects such a theme as " Barns." 
 (I would rather " Mount Auburn " were omit 
 ted.) But he is not alert enough. He wants 
 stirring up with a pole. He should practice 
 turning a series of somersets rapidly, or jump 
 up and see how many times he can strike his 
 feet together before coming down. Let him 
 make the earth turn round now the other way, 
 and whet his wits on it, whichever way it goes, 
 as on a grindstone ; in short, see how many 
 ideas he can entertain at once. 
 
 His style, as I remember, is singularly vague 
 (I refer to the book), and, before I got to the 
 end of the sentences, I was off the track. If 
 you indulge in long periods, you must be sure 
 to have a snapper at the end. As for style of 
 writing, if one has anything to say, it drops 
 from him simply and directly, as a stone falls to 
 the ground. There are no two ways about it, 
 but down it comes, and he may stick in the 
 points and stops wherever he can get a chance. 
 New ideas come into this world somewhat like 
 falling meteors, with a flash and an explosion, 
 and perhaps somebody s castle-roof perforated. 
 To try to polish the stone in its descent, to give 
 it a peculiar turn, and make it whistle a tune, 
 
 Thoreau, and never forgave him for the remark about " stir 
 ring 1 up with a pole," which really might have been less graphic. 
 
366 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS, [1857, 
 
 perchance, would be of no use, if it were pos 
 sible. Your polished stuff turns out not to be 
 meteoric, but of this earth. However, there is 
 plenty of time, and Nature is an admirable 
 schoolmistress. 
 
 Speaking of correspondence, you ask me if I 
 " cannot turn over a new leaf in that line." I 
 certainly could if I were to receive it ; but just 
 then I looked up and saw that your page was 
 dated " May 10," though mailed in August, and 
 it occurred to me that I had seen you since that 
 date this year. Looking again, it appeared that 
 your note was written in 56 ! ! However, it 
 was a new leaf to me, and I turned it over with 
 as much interest as if it had been written the 
 day before. Perhaps you kept it so long in 
 order that the manuscript and subject-matter 
 might be more in keeping with the old-fashioned 
 paper on which it was written. 
 
 I traveled the length of Cape Cod on foot, 
 soon after you were here, and, within a few days, 
 have returned from the wilds of Maine, where 
 I have made a journey of three hundred and 
 twenty-five miles with a canoe and an Indian, 
 and a single white companion, Edward Hoar 
 Esq., of this town, lately from California, 
 traversing the headwaters of the Kennebec, Pe- 
 nobscot, and St. John s. 
 
 Can t you extract any advantage out of that 
 
asT.40.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 367 
 
 depression of spirits you refer to ? It suggests 
 to me cider-mills, wine-presses, etc., etc. All 
 kinds of pressure or power should be used and 
 made to turn some kind of machinery. 
 
 Channing was just leaving Concord for Plym 
 outh when I arrived, but said he should be here 
 again in two or three days. 
 
 Please remember me to your family, and say 
 that I have at length learned to sing Tom Bow- 
 lin according to the notes. 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, September 9, 1857. 
 
 FRIEND RICKETSON, I thank you for your 
 kind invitation to visit you, but I have taken so 
 many vacations this year, at New Bedford, 
 Cape Cod, and Maine, that any more relaxa 
 tion call it rather dissipation will cover me 
 with shame and disgrace. I have not earned 
 what I have already enjoyed. As some heads 
 cannot carry much wine, so it would seem that 
 I cannot bear so much society as you can. I 
 have an immense appetite for solitude, like an 
 infant for sleep, and if I don t get enough of 
 it this year, I shall cry all the next. 
 
 My mother s house is full at present ; but if it 
 were not, I would have no right to invite you 
 hither, while entertaining such designs as I have 
 hinted at, However, if you care to storm the 
 
368 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 town, I will engage to take some afternoon 
 walks with you, retiring into prof oundest soli 
 tude the most sacred part of the day. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, August 18, 1857. 
 
 ME. BLAKE, Fifteenthly. It seems tome 
 that you need some absorbing pursuit. It does 
 not matter much what it is, so it be honest. 
 Such employment will be favorable to your de 
 velopment in more characteristic and important 
 directions. You know there must be impulse 
 enough for steerage way, though it be not to 
 ward your port, to prevent your drifting help 
 lessly on to rocks or shoals. Some sails are 
 set for this purpose only. There is the large 
 fleet of scholars and men of science, for instance, 
 always to be seen standing off and on every 
 coast, and saved thus from running on to reefs, 
 who will at last run into their proper haven, we 
 trust. 
 
 It is a pity you were not here with Brown and 
 Wiley. I think that in this case, /or a rarity, 
 the more the merrier. 
 
 You perceived that I did not entertain the 
 idea of our going together to Maine on such an 
 excursion as I had planned. The more I thought 
 of it, the more imprudent it appeared to me. 
 I did think to have written to you before 
 
JBT.40.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 369 
 
 going, though not to propose your going also ; 
 but I went at last very suddenly, and could only 
 have written a business letter, if I had tried, 
 when there was no business to be accomplished. 
 I have now returned, and think I have had a 
 quite profitable journey, chiefly from associating 
 with an intelligent Indian. My companion, 
 Edward Hoar, also found his account in it, 
 though he suffered considerably from being 
 obliged to carry unusual loads over wet and 
 rough " carries," in one instance five miles 
 through a swamp, where the water was fre 
 quently up to our knees, and the fallen timber 
 higher than our heads. He went over the 
 ground three times, not being able to carry all 
 his load at once. This prevented his ascending 
 Ktaadn. Our best nights were those when it 
 rained the hardest, on account of the mosquitoes. 
 I speak of these things, which were not unex 
 pected, merely to account for my not inviting 
 you. 
 
 Having returned, I flatter myself that the 
 world appears in some respects a little larger, 
 and not, as usual, smaller and shallower, for 
 having extended my range. I have made a 
 short excursion into the new world which the In 
 dian dwells in, or is. He begins where we leave 
 off. It is worth the while to detect new facul 
 ties in man, he is so much the more divine ; 
 
370 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 and anything that fairly excites our admiration 
 expands us. The Indian, who can find his way 
 so wonderfully in the woods, possesses so much 
 intelligence which the white man does not, 
 and it increases my own capacity, as well as 
 faith, to observe it. I rejoice to find that intel 
 ligence flows in other channels than I knew. It 
 redeems for me portions of what seemed bru 
 tish before. 
 
 It is a great satisfaction to find that your 
 oldest convictions are permanent. With re 
 gard to essentials, I have never had occasion 
 to change my mind. The aspect of the world 
 varies from year to year, as the landscape is 
 differently clothed, but I find that the truth is 
 still true, and I never regret any emphasis which 
 it may have inspired. Ktaadn is there still, but 
 much more surely my old conviction is there, 
 resting with more than mountain breadth and 
 weight on the world, the source still of fertiliz 
 ing streams, and affording glorious views from 
 its summit, if I can get up to it again. As the 
 mountains still stand on the plain, and far 
 more unchangeable and permanent, -- stand 
 still grouped around, farther or nearer to my 
 maturer eye, the ideas which I have entertained, 
 the everlasting teats from which we draw our 
 nourishment. 
 
JET. 40.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 371 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, November 16, 1857. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, You have got the start again. 
 It was I that owed you a letter or two, if I mis 
 take not. 
 
 They make a great ado nowadays about hard 
 times ; 1 but I think that the community gener 
 ally, ministers and all, take a wrong view of the 
 matter, though some of the ministers preaching 
 according to a formula may pretend to take a 
 right one. This general failure, both private 
 and public, is rather occasion for rejoicing, as 
 reminding us whom we have at the helm, that 
 justice is always done. If our merchants did not 
 most of them fail, and the banks too, my faith in 
 the old laws of the world would be staggered. 
 The statement that ninety-six in a hundred doing 
 such business surely break down is perhaps the 
 sweetest fact that statistics have revealed, ex 
 hilarating as the fragrance of sallows in spring. 
 Does it not say somewhere, " The Lord reigneth, 
 let the earth rejoice " ? If thousands are thrown 
 out of employment, it suggests that they were 
 not well employed. Why don t they take the 
 hint ? It is not enough to be industrious ; so are 
 the ants. What are you industrious about ? 
 
 The merchants and company have long laughed 
 
 1 The panic of 1857, the worst since 1837. 
 
372 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 at transcendentalism, higher laws, etc., crying, 
 " None of your moonshine," as if they were an 
 chored to something not only definite, but sure 
 and permanent. If there was any institution 
 which was presumed to rest on a solid and secure 
 basis, and more than any other represented this 
 boasted common sense, prudence, and practical 
 talent, it was the bank ; and now those very banks 
 are found to be mere reeds shaken by the wind. 
 Scarcely one in the land has kept its promise. 
 It would seem as if you only need live forty years 
 in any age of this world, to see its most promis 
 ing government become the government of Kan 
 sas, and banks nowhere. Not merely the Brook 
 Farm and Fourierite communities, but now the 
 community generally has failed. But there is 
 the moonshine still, serene, beneficent, and un 
 changed. Hard times, I say, have this value, 
 among others, that they show us what such prom 
 ises are worth, where the sure banks are. I 
 heard some merchant praised the other day be 
 cause he had paid some of his debts, though it 
 took nearly all he had (why, I ve done as much 
 as that myself many times, and a little more), 
 and then gone to board. What if he has ? I 
 hope he s got a good boarding-place, and can 
 pay for it. It s not everybody that can. How 
 ever, in my opinion, it is cheaper to keep house, 
 i. e., if you don t keep too big a one. 
 
2ET.40.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 373 
 
 Men will tell you sometimes that " money s 
 hard." That shows it was not made to eat, I 
 say. Only think of a man in this new world, in 
 his log cabin, in the midst of a corn and potato 
 patch, with a sheepf old on one side, talking about 
 money being hard ! So are flints hard ; there is 
 no alloy in them. What has that to do with his 
 raising his food, cutting his wood (or breaking 
 it), keeping in-doors when it rains, and, if need 
 be, spinning and weaving his clothes ? Some of 
 those who sank with the steamer the other day 
 found out that money was heavy too. Think of 
 a man s priding himself on this kind of wealth, 
 as if it greatly enriched him. As if one strug 
 gling in mid-ocean with a bag of gold on his 
 back should gasp out, " I am worth a hundred 
 thousand dollars." I see them struggling just 
 as ineffectually on dry land, nay, even more 
 hopelessly, for, in the former case, rather than 
 sink, they will finally let the bag go ; but in the 
 latter they are pretty sure to hold and go down 
 with it. I see them swimming about in their 
 great-coats, collecting their rents, really getting 
 their dues, drinking bitter draughts which only 
 increase their thirst, becoming more and more 
 water-logged, till finally they sink plumb down 
 to the bottom. But enough of this. 
 
 Have you ever read Ruskin s books ? If not, 
 I would recommend you to try the second and 
 
374 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 third volumes (not parts) of his " Modern Paint 
 ers." I am now reading the fourth, and have 
 read most of his other books lately. They are 
 singularly good and encouraging, though not 
 without crudeness and bigotry. The themes in 
 the volumes referred to are Infinity, Beauty, 
 Imagination, Love of Nature, etc., all treated 
 in a very living manner. I am rather surprised 
 by them. It is remarkable that these things 
 should be said with reference to painting chiefly, 
 rather than literature. The " Seven Lamps of 
 Architecture," too, is made of good stuff: but, 
 as I remember, there is too much about art in it 
 for me and the Hottentots. We want to know 
 about matters and things in general. Our house 
 is as yet a hut. 
 
 You must have been enriched by your solitary 
 walk over the mountains. I suppose that I feel 
 the same awe when on their summits that many 
 do on entering a church. To see what kind of 
 earth that is on which you have a house and gar 
 den somewhere, perchance ! It is equal to the 
 lapse of many years. You must ascend a moun 
 tain to learn your relation to matter, and so to 
 your own body, for it is at home there, though 
 you are not. It might have been composed 
 there, and will have no farther to go to return 
 to dust there, than in your garden; but your 
 spirit inevitably comes away, and brings your 
 
2ET.40.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 375 
 
 body with it, if it lives. Just as awful really, 
 and as glorious, is your garden. See how I can. 
 play with my fingers! They are the funniest 
 companions I have ever found. Where did they 
 come from ? What strange control I have over 
 them ! Who am I ? What are they ? those 
 little peaks call them Madison, Jefferson, La 
 fayette. What is the matter ? My fingers ten, 
 I say. Why, erelong, they may form the top 
 most crystal of Mount Washington. I go up 
 there to see my body s cousins. There are some 
 fingers, toes, bowels, etc., that I take an interest 
 in, and therefore I am interested in all their 
 relations. 
 
 Let me suggest a theme for you : to state to 
 yourself precisely and completely what that walk 
 over the mountains amounted to for you, re 
 turning to this essay again and again, until you 
 are satisfied that all that was important in your 
 experience is in it. Give this good reason to 
 yourself for having gone over the mountains, for 
 mankind is ever going over a mountain. Don t 
 suppose that you can tell it precisely the first 
 dozen times you try, but at em again, especially 
 when, after a sufficient pause, you suspect that 
 you are touching the heart or summit of the mat 
 ter, reiterate your blows there, and account for 
 the mountain to yourself. Not that the story 
 need be long, but it will take a long while to 
 
376 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 make it short. It did not take very long to get 
 over the mountain, you thought ; but have you 
 got over it indeed ? If you have been to the top 
 of Mount Washington, let me ask, what did you 
 find there? That is the way they prove wit 
 nesses, you know. Going up there and being- 
 blown on is nothing. We never do much climb 
 ing while we are there, but we eat our luncheon, 
 etc., very much as at home. It is after we get 
 home that we really go over the mountain, if ever. 
 What did the mountain say? What did the 
 mountain do ? 
 
 I keep a mountain anchored off eastward a lit 
 tle way, which I ascend in my dreams both awake 
 and asleep. Its broad base spreads over a vil 
 lage or two, which do not know it ; neither does 
 it know them, nor do I when I ascend it. I can 
 see its general outline as plainly now in nry mind 
 as that of Wachusett. I do not invent in the 
 least, but state exactly what I see. I find that 
 I go up it when I am light-footed and earnest. 
 It ever smokes like an altar with its sacrifice. I 
 am not aware that a single villager frequents it 
 or knows of it. I keep this mountain to ride 
 instead of a horse. 
 
 Do you not mistake about seeing Moosehead 
 Lake from Mount Washington ? That must be 
 about one hundred and twenty miles distant, or 
 nearly twice as far as the Atlantic, which last 
 
/ET.40.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 377 
 
 some doubt if they can see thence. Was it not 
 Umbagog ? 
 
 Dr. Solger 1 has been lecturing in the vestry 
 in this town on Geography, to Sanborn s schol 
 ars, for several months past, at five P. M. Emer 
 son and Alcott have been to hear him. I was 
 surprised when the former asked me, the other 
 day, if I was not going to hear Dr. Solger. What, 
 to be sitting in a meeting-house cellar at that time 
 of day, when you might possibly be out-doors ! 
 I never thought of such a thing. What was 
 the sun made for? If he does not prize day 
 light, I do. Let him lecture to owls and dor- 
 
 O 
 
 mice. He must be a wonderful lecturer indeed 
 who can keep me indoors at such an hour, 
 when the night is coming in which no man can 
 walk. 
 
 Are you in want of amusement nowadays ? 
 Then play a little at the game of getting a living. 
 There never was anything equal to it. Do it 
 temperately, though, and don t sweat. Don t let 
 this secret out, for I have a design against the 
 
 1 Reinhold Solger, Ph. D., a very intellectual and well- 
 taught Prussian, who was one of the lecturers for a year or two 
 at nay " Concord School," the successor of the Concord " Acad 
 emy," in which the children of the Emerson, Alcott, Haw 
 thorne, Hoar, and Ripley families were taught. At this date 
 the lectures were given in the vestry of the parish church, 
 which Thoreau playfully termed " a meeting-house cellar." It 
 was there that Louisa Alcott acted plays. 
 
378 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857, 
 
 Opera. OPERA ! ! Pass along the exclamations, 
 devil. 1 
 
 Now is the time to become conversant with 
 your wood-pile (this comes under Work for the 
 Month), and be sure you put some warmth into 
 it by your mode of getting it. Do not consent 
 to be passively warmed. An intense degree of 
 that is the hotness that is threatened. But a 
 positive warmth within can withstand the fiery 
 furnace, as the vital heat of a living man can 
 withstand the heat that cooks meat. 
 
 After returning from the last of his three ex 
 peditions to the Maine woods (in 1846, 1853, 
 and 1857), Thoreau was appealed to by his 
 friend Higginson, then living in Worcester, for 
 information concerning a proposed excursion 
 from Worcester into Maine and Canada, then 
 but little visited by tourists, who now go there 
 in droves. He replied in this long letter, with 
 its minute instructions and historical references. 
 The Arnold mentioned is General Benedict Ar 
 nold, who in 1775-76 made a toilsome march 
 through the Maine forest with a small New Eng 
 land army for the conquest of Canada, while 
 young John Thoreau, Henry s grandfather, was 
 establishing himself as a merchant in Boston 
 (not yet evacuated by British troops), previous 
 to his marriage with Jane Burns. 
 
 1 Exclamation points and printer s devil. 
 
MT. 40.] TO T. W. HIGGINSON. 379 
 
 TO T. W. HIGGINSON (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, January 28, 1858. 
 
 DEAR SIR, It would be perfectly practica 
 ble to go to the Madawaska the way you pro 
 pose. As for the route to Quebec, I do not find 
 the Sugar Loaf Mountains on my maps. The 
 most direct and regular way, as you know, is 
 substantially Montresor s and Arnold s and the 
 younger John Smith s by the Chaudiere ; but 
 this is less wild. If your object is to see the St. 
 Lawrence Eiver below Quebec, you will proba 
 bly strike it at the Riviere du Loup. ( Vide 
 Hodge s account of his excursion thither via the 
 Allegash, I believe it is in the second Report 
 on the Geology of the Public Lands of Maine 
 and Massachusetts in 37.) I think that our 
 Indian last summer, when we talked of going to 
 the St. Lawrence, named another route, near the 
 Madawaska, perhaps the St. Francis, which 
 would save the long portage which Hodge made. 
 
 I do not know whether you think of ascend 
 ing the St. Lawrence in a canoe ; but if you 
 should, you might be delayed not only by the 
 current, but by the waves, which frequently run 
 too high for a canoe on such a mighty stream. 
 It would be a grand excursion to go to Quebec 
 by the Chaudiere, descend the St. Lawrence to 
 the Riviere du Loup, and return by the Mada- 
 
380 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 waska and St. John s to Frederickton, or fais. 
 ther, almost all the way down stream a very 
 important consideration. 
 
 I went to Moosehead in company with a party 
 of four who were going a-hunting down the Alle- 
 gash and St. John s, and thence by some other 
 stream over into the Restigouche, and down that 
 to the Bay of Chaleur, to be gone six weeks. 
 Our northern terminus was an island in Heron 
 Lake on the Allegash. ( Vide Colton s railroad 
 and township map of Maine.) 
 
 The Indian proposed that we should return to 
 Bangor by the St. John s and Great Schoodic 
 Lake, which we had thought of ourselves ; and 
 he showed us on the map where we should be 
 each night. It was then noon, and the next day 
 night, continuing down the Allegash, we should 
 have been at the Mada waska settlements, having 
 made only one or two portages ; and thereafter, 
 on the St. John s there would be but one or two 
 more falls, with short carries ; and if there was 
 not too much wind, we could go down that 
 stream one hundred miles a day. It is settled 
 all the way below Madawaska. He knew the 
 route well. He even said that this was easier, 
 and would take but little more time, though 
 much farther, than the route we decided on, 
 i. e., by Webster Stream, the East Branch, and 
 main Penobscot to Oldtown ; but he may have 
 
arr.40.] TO T. W. HIGGINSON. 381 
 
 wanted a longer job. We preferred the latter, 
 not only because it was shorter, but because, as 
 he said, it was wilder. 
 
 We went about three hundred and twenty-five 
 miles with the canoe (including sixty miles of 
 stage between Bangor and Oldtown) ; were out 
 twelve nights, and spent about $40 apiece, 
 which was more than was necessary. We paid 
 the Indian, who was a very good one, $ 1.50 per 
 day and 50 cents a week for his canoe. This is 
 enough in ordinary seasons. I had formerly 
 paid $2 for an Indian and for white batteau- 
 men. 
 
 If you go to Madawaska in a leisurely man 
 ner, supposing no delay 011 account of rain or 
 the violence of the wind, you may reach Mt. 
 Kineo by noon, and have the afternoon to ex 
 plore it. The next day you may get to the head 
 of the lake before noon, make the portage of 
 two and a half miles over a wooden railroad, and 
 drop down the Penobscot half a dozen miles. 
 The third morning you will perhaps walk half a 
 mile about Pine Stream Falls, while the Indian 
 runs down, cross the head of Chesuncook, 
 reach the junction of the Caucomgomock and 
 Umbazookskus by noon, and ascend the latter 
 to Umbazookskus Lake that night. If it is low 
 water, you may have to walk and carry a little 
 on the Umbazookskus before entering the lake. 
 
382 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 The fourth morning you will make the carry of 
 two miles to Mud Pond (Allegash Water), and 
 a very wet carry it is, and reach Chamberlain 
 Lake by noon, and Heron Lake, perhaps, that 
 night, after a couple of very short carries at the 
 outlet of Chamberlain. At the end of two days 
 more you will probably be at Madawaska. Of 
 course the Indian can paddle twice as far in a 
 day as he commonly does. 
 
 Perhaps you would like a few more details. 
 We used (three of us) exactly twenty-six pounds 
 of hard bread, fourteen pounds of pork, three 
 pounds of coffee, twelve pounds of sugar (and 
 could have used more), besides a little tea, In 
 dian meal, and rice, and plenty of berries and 
 moose-meat. This was faring very luxuriously. 
 I had not formerly carried coffee, sugar, or rice. 
 But for solid food, I decide that it is not worth 
 the while to carry anything but hard bread and 
 pork, whatever your tastes and habits may be. 
 These wear best, and you have no time nor 
 dishes in which to cook anything else. Of 
 course you will take a little Indian meal to fry 
 fish in ; and half a dozen lemons also, if you 
 have sugar, will be very refreshing, for the 
 water is warm. 1 
 
 1 Charming says (Thoreau, p. 35): "Thoreau made for 
 himself a knapsack, with partitions for books and papers, 
 India-rubber cloth, strong and large-spaced, the common 
 
JET. 40.] TO T. W. HIGGINSON. 383 
 
 To save time, the sugar, coffee, tea, salt, etc., 
 should be in separate watertight bags, labeled, 
 and tied with a leathern string ; and all the pro 
 visions and blankets should be put into two 
 large India-rubber bags, if you can find them 
 watertight. Ours were not. A four-quart tin 
 pail makes a good kettle for all purposes, and 
 tin plates are portable and convenient. Don t 
 forget an India-rubber knapsack, with a large 
 flap, plenty of dish-cloths, old newspapers, 
 strings, and twenty-five feet of strong cord. Of 
 India-rubber clothing, the most you can wear, if 
 any, is a very light coat, and that you cannot 
 work in. I could be more particular, but per 
 haps have been too much so already. 
 
 Of his habits in mountain-climbing, Channing 
 says : l " He ascended such hills as Monadnoc 
 by his own path ; would lay down his map on 
 the summit and draw a line to the point he pro 
 posed to visit below, perhaps forty miles away 
 on the landscape, and set off bravely to make the 
 c short-cut. The lowland people wondered to 
 
 knapsacks being unspaced. After trying the merit of cocoa, 
 coffee, water, and the like, tea was put down as the felicity of 
 a walking travail, tea plenty, strong, with enough sugar, 
 made in a tin pint cup. He commended every party to carry 
 a junk of heavy cake with plums in it, having found by 
 long experience that after toil it was a capital refreshment." 
 1 Thoreau, the Poet-Naturalist, pp. 36-38. 
 
384 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 see him scaling the heights as if he had lost his 
 way, or at his jumping over their cow-yard 
 fences, asking if he had fallen from the clouds. 
 In a walk like this he always carried his um 
 brella ; and on this Monadnoc trip, when about 
 a mile from the station (in Troy, N. H.), a tor 
 rent of rain came down ; without the umbrella 
 his books, blankets, maps, and provisions would 
 all have been spoiled, or the morning lost by de 
 lay. On the mountain there being a thick, soak 
 ing fog, the first object was to camp and make 
 tea. He spent five nights in camp, having built 
 another hut, to get varied views. Flowers, birds, 
 lichens, and the rocks were carefully examined, 
 all parts of the mountain were visited, and as 
 accurate a map as could be made by pocket com 
 pass was carefully sketched and drawn out, in 
 the five days spent there, with notes of the 
 striking aerial phenomena, incidents of travel 
 and natural history. The outlook across the val 
 ley over to Wachusett, with its thunder-storms 
 and battles in the cloud; the farmers back 
 yards in Jaffrey, where the family cotton can be 
 seen bleaching on the grass, but 110 trace of the 
 pigmy family; the dry, soft air all night, the 
 lack of dew in the morning ; the want of water, 
 a pint being a good deal, these, and similar 
 things make up some part of such an excur- 
 
SST. 40.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 385 
 
 The Monadnoc excursion above mentioned 
 began June 3d, and continued three days. It 
 inspired Thoreau to take a longer mountain 
 tour with his neighbor and friend, Edward 
 Hoar, to which these letters relate, giving the 
 ways and means of the journey, a memorable 
 one to all concerned. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, June 29, 1858, 8 A. M. 
 
 ME. BLAKE, Edward Hoar and I propose 
 to start for the White Mountains in a covered 
 wagon, with one horse, on the morning of Thurs 
 day the 1st of July, intending to explore the 
 mountain tops botanically, and camp on them 
 at least several times. Will you take a seat in 
 the wagon with us ? Mr. Hoar prefers to hire 
 the horse and wagon himself. Let us hear by 
 express, as soon as you can, whether you will 
 join us here by the earliest train Thursday 
 morning, or Wednesday night. Bring your map 
 of the mountains, and as much provision for the 
 road as you can, hard bread, sugar, tea, meat, 
 etc., for we intend to live like gipsies ; also, 
 a blanket and some thick clothes for the moun 
 tain top. 
 
 July 1st. Last Monday evening Mr. Edward 
 Hoar said that he thought of going to the White 
 
386 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 Mountains. I remarked casually that I should 
 like to go well enough if I could afford it. 
 Whereupon he declared that if I would go with 
 him, he would hire a horse and wagon, so that 
 the ride would cost me nothing, and we would 
 explore the mountain tops botanically, camping 
 on them many nights. The next morning I 
 suggested you and Brown s accompanying us 
 in another wagon, and we could all camp and 
 cook, gipsy-like, along the way, or, perhaps, 
 if the horse could draw us, you would like to 
 bear half the expense of the horse and wagon, 
 and take a seat with us. He liked either propo 
 sition, but said, that if you would take a seat 
 with us, he would prefer to hire the horse and 
 wagon himself. You could contribute something 
 else if you pleased. Supposing that Brown 
 would be confined, I wrote to you accordingly, 
 by express on Tuesday morning, via Boston, 
 stating that we should start to-day, suggesting 
 provision, thick clothes, etc., and asking for an 
 answer ; but I have not received one. I have 
 just heard that you may be at Sterling, and now 
 write to say that we shall still be glad if you 
 will join us at Senter Harbor, where we expect 
 to be next Monday morning. In any case, will 
 you please direct a letter to us there at once ? 
 
4ST.40.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 387 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, June 30, 1858. 
 
 FRIEND RICKETSON, I am on the point of 
 starting for the White Mountains in a wagon 
 with my neighbor Edward Hoar, and I write to 
 you now rather to apologize for not writing, than 
 to answer worthily your three notes. I thank 
 you heartily for them. You will not care for a 
 little delay in acknowledging them, since your 
 date shows that you can afford to wait. Indeed, 
 my head has been so full of company, etc., that 
 I could not reply to you fitly before, nor can I 
 now. 
 
 As for preaching to men these days in the 
 Walden strain, is it of any consequence to 
 preach to an audience of men who can fail, or 
 who can be revived ? There are few beside. Is 
 it any success to interest these parties ? If a 
 man has speculated and failed, he will probably 
 do these things again, in spite of you or me. I 
 confess that it is rare that I rise to sentiment in 
 my relations to men, ordinarily to a mere pa 
 tient, or may be wholesome, good-will. I can 
 imagine something more, but the truth compels 
 me to regard the ideal and the actual as two 
 things. 
 
 Channing has come, and as suddenly gone, 
 and left a short poem, "Near Home," pub- 
 
388 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 lished (?) or printed by Munroe, which I have 
 hardly had time to glance at. As you may 
 guess, I learn nothing of you from him. 
 
 You already foresee my answer to your invita 
 tion to make you a summer visit : I am bound 
 for the mountains. But I trust that you have 
 vanquished, ere this, those dusky demons that 
 seem to lurk around the Head of the River. 1 
 You know that this warfare is nothing but a 
 kind of nightmare, and it is our thoughts alone 
 which give those ?mworthies any body or exist 
 ence. 
 
 I made an excursion with Blake, of Worces 
 ter, to Monadnoc, a few weeks since. We took 
 our blankets and food, spent two nights on the 
 mountain, and did not go into a house. 
 
 Alcott has been very busy for a long time re 
 pairing an old shell of a house, and I have seen 
 very little of him. 2 I have looked more at the 
 houses which birds build. Watson made us all 
 very generous presents from his nursery in the 
 spring. Especially did he remember Alcott. 
 
 Excuse me for not writing any more at pres 
 ent, and remember me to your family. 
 
 1 Near which, at New Bedford, Mr. Ricketson lived. 
 
 2 This was the " Orchard House," near Hawthorne s "Way 
 side." The estate on which it stands, now owned by Dr. W. 
 T. Harris, was surveyed for Mr. Alcott by Thoreau in October, 
 
 1857, 
 
MT. 41.] WHITE MOUNTAIN TRIP. 389 
 
 In July, 1858, as mentioned in this letter to 
 Mr. Bicketson, Thoreau journeyed from Con 
 cord to the White Mountains, first visited with 
 his brother John in 1839. His later companion 
 was Edward Hoar, a botanist and lover of na 
 ture, who had been a magistrate in California, 
 and in boyhood a comrade of Thoreau in shoot 
 ing excursions on the Concord meadows. They 
 journeyed in a wagon and Thoreau disliked the 
 loss of independence in choice of camping-places 
 involved in the care of a horse. He complained 
 also of the magnificent inns ("mountain houses ") 
 that had sprung up in the passes and on the 
 plateaus since his first visit. " Give me," he 
 said, " a spruce house made in the rain," such 
 as he and Channing afterward (1860) made on 
 Monadnoc in his last trip to that mountain. 
 The chief exploit in the White Mountain trip 
 was a visit to Tuckerman s Ravine on Mt. Wash 
 ington, of which Mr. Hoar, some years before 
 his death (in 1893), gave me an account, con 
 taining the true anecdote of Thoreau s finding 
 the arnica plant when he needed it. 
 
 On their way to this rather inaccessible chasm, 
 Thoreau and his comrade went first to what 
 was then but a small tavern on the " tip-top " 
 of Mt. Washington. It was a foggy day ; and 
 when the landlord was asked if he could furnish 
 a guide to Tuckerman s Ravine, he replied : 
 
390 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 " Yes, my brother is the guide ; but if he went 
 to-day he could never find his way back in this 
 fog." " Well," said Thoreau, " if we cannot 
 have a guide we will find it ourselves ; " and he 
 at once produced a map he had made the day 
 before at a roadside inn, where he had found a 
 wall map of the mountain region, and climbed 
 on a table to copy that portion he needed. With 
 this map and his pocket-compass he " struck a 
 bee-line," said Mr. Hoar, for the ravine, and soon 
 came to it, about a mile away. They went safely 
 down the steep stairs into the chasm, where 
 they found the midsummer iceberg they wished 
 to see. But as the;y* walked down the bed of the 
 Peabody River, flowing from this ravine, over 
 bowlders five or six feet high, the heavy packs on 
 their shoulders weighed them down, and finally, 
 Thoreau s foot slipping, he fell and sprained his 
 ankle. He rose, but had not limped five steps 
 from the place where he fell, when he said, " Here 
 is the arnica, anyhow," reached out his hand 
 and plucked the Arnica mollis, which he had 
 not before found anywhere. Before reaching 
 the mountains they had marked in their botany 
 books forty-six species of plants they hoped to 
 find there, and before they came away they had 
 found forty-two of them. 
 
 When they reached their camping-place, far 
 ther down, Thoreau was so lame he could not 
 
2ET. 41.] WHITE MOUNTAIN TRIP. 391 
 
 move about, and lay there in the camp several 
 days, eating the pork and other supplies they 
 had in their packs, Mr. Hoar going each day to 
 the inn at the mountain summit. This camp was 
 in a thicket of dwarf firs at the foot of the ra 
 vine, where, just before his accident, by careless 
 ness in lighting a fire, some acres of the moun 
 tain woodland had been set on fire ; but this 
 proved to be the signal for which Thoreau had 
 told his Worcester friends to watch, if they 
 wished to join him on the mountain. " I had 
 told Blake," says Thoreau in his journal, " to 
 look out for a smoke and a white tent. We had 
 made a smoke sure enough. We slept five in 
 the tent that night, and found it quite warm." 
 Mr. Hoar added: "In this journey Thoreau 
 insisted 011 our carrying heavy packs, and rather 
 despised persons who complained of the burden. 
 He was chagrined, in the Maine woods, to find 
 his Indian, Joe Polis (whom, on the whole, he 
 admired), excited and tremulous at sight of a 
 moose, so that he could scarcely load his gun 
 properly. Joe, who was a good Catholic, wanted 
 us to stop traveling on Sunday and hold a 
 meeting ; and when we insisted on going for 
 ward, the Indian withdrew into the woods to 
 say his prayers, then came back and picked 
 up the breakfast things, and we paddled on. 
 As to Thoreau s courage and manliness, nobody 
 
392 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 who had seen him among the Penobscot rocks 
 and rapids the Indian trusting his life and 
 his canoe to Henry s skill, promptitude, and 
 nerve would ever doubt it." 
 
 Channing says : l "In his later journeys, if 
 his companion was footsore or loitered, he stead 
 ily pursued his road. Once, when a follower was 
 done up with headache and incapable of motion, 
 hoping his associate would comfort him and per 
 haps afford him a sip of tea, he said, There are 
 people who are sick in that way every morning, 
 and go about their affairs, and then marched off 
 about his. In such limits, so inevitable, was he 
 compacted. . . . This tone of mind grew out of no 
 insensibility ; or, if he sometimes looked coldly 
 on the suffering of more tender natures, he 
 sympathized with their afflictions, but could do 
 nothing to admire them. He would not injure 
 a plant unnecessarily. At the time of the John 
 Brown tragedy, Thoreau was driven sick. So 
 
 1 Channing s Thoreau, pp. 3, 8, 9. Charming himself was, 
 no doubt, the " follower " and " companion " here mentioned ; 
 no person so frequently walked with Thoreau in his long- ex 
 cursions. They were together in New Boston, N. H., when 
 the minister mentioned in the Week reproved Thoreau for not 
 going to meeting on Sunday. When I first lived in Concord 
 (March, 1855), and asked the innkeeper what Sunday services 
 the village held, he replied : " There s the Orthodox, an the 
 Unitarian, an th Walden Pond Association," meaning by 
 the last what Emerson called " the Walkers," those who 
 rambled in the Walden woods on Sundays. 
 
JET. 41.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 393 
 
 the country s misfortunes in the Union war acted 
 on his feelings with great force : he used to say 
 he could never recover while the war lasted. " 
 Hawthorne had an experience somewhat similar, 
 though he, too, was of stern stuff when need was, 
 and had much of the old Salem sea-captains in 
 his sensitive nature. 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, November 6, 1858. 
 
 FRIEND EICKETSON, I was much pleased 
 with your lively and lifelike account of your 
 voyage. You were more than repaid for your 
 trouble after all. The coast of Nova Scotia, 
 which you sailed along from Windsor westward, 
 is particularly interesting to the historian of this 
 country, having been settled earlier than Plym 
 outh. Your " Isle of Haut " is properly " Isle 
 Haute," or the High Island of Champlain s map. 
 There is another off the coast of Maine. By the 
 way, the American elk, of American authors 
 (Cervus Canadensis),is a distinct animal from 
 the moose (Oervus alees)^ though the latter is 
 called elk by many. 
 
 You drew a very vivid portrait of the Austra 
 lian, short and stout, with a pipe in his mouth, 
 and his book inspired by beer, Pot First, Pot 
 Second, etc. I suspect that he must be pot 
 bellied withal. Methinks I see the smoke going 
 
394 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 up from him as from a cottage on the moor. If 
 he does not quench his genius with his beer, it 
 may burst into a clear flame at last. However, 
 perhaps he intentionally adopts the low style. 
 
 What do you mean by that ado about smoking, 
 and my "purer tastes " ? I should like his pipe 
 as well as his beer, at least. Neither of them is 
 so bad as to be " highly connected," which you 
 say he is, unfortunately. No ! I expect no 
 thing but pleasure in " smoke from your pipe." 
 
 You and the Australian must have put your 
 heads together when you concocted those titles, 
 with pipes in your mouths over a pot of beer. 
 I suppose that your chapters are, Whiff the 
 First, Whiff the Second, etc. But of course it 
 is a more modest expression for " Fire from my 
 Genius." 
 
 You must have been very busy since you came 
 back, or before you sailed, to have brought out 
 your History, of whose publication I had not 
 heard. I suppose that I have read it in the 
 "Mercury." Yet I am curious to see how it 
 looks in a volume, with your name on the title- 
 page. 
 
 I am more curious still about the poems. 
 Pray put some sketches into the book : your 
 shanty for frontispiece ; Arthur and Walton s 
 boat (if you can) running for Cuttyhunk in a 
 tremendous gale; not forgetting "Be honest 
 
2ET.41.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 395 
 
 boys," etc., near by ; the Middleborough Ponds, 
 with a certain island looming in the distance ; 
 the Quaker meeting-house, and the Brady House, 
 if you like ; the villagers catching smelts with 
 dip-nets in the twilight, at the Head of the 
 Eiver, etc., etc. Let it be a local and villageous 
 book as much as possible. Let some one make 
 a characteristic selection of mottoes from your 
 shanty walls, and sprinkle them in an irregular 
 manner, at all angles, over the fly-leaves and 
 margins, as a man stamps his name in a hurry ; 
 and also canes, pipes, and jackknives, of all your 
 patterns, about the frontispiece. I can think of 
 plenty of devices for tail-pieces. Indeed, I should 
 like to see a hair-pillow, accurately drawn, for 
 one ; a cat, with a bell on, for another ; the old 
 horse, with his age printed in the hollow of his 
 back ; half a cocoanut shell by a spring ; a 
 sheet of blotted paper ; a settle occupied by a 
 settler at full length, etc., etc., etc. Call all the 
 arts to your aid. 
 
 Don t wait for the Indian Summer, but bring 
 it with you. 
 
 P. S. Let me ask a favor. I am trying to 
 write something about the autumnal tints, and 
 I wish to know how much our trees differ from 
 English and European ones in this respect. 
 Will you observe, or learn for me, what English 
 or European trees, if any, still retain their leaves 
 
396 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 in Mr. Arnold s garden (the gardener will sup 
 ply the true names) ; and also if the foliage of 
 any (and what) European or foreign trees there 
 have been brilliant the past month. If you will 
 do this you will greatly oblige me. I return the 
 newspaper with this. 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, November 28, 1858. 
 
 FRIEND RICKETSON, I thank you for your 
 " History." 1 Though I have not yet read it 
 again, I have looked far enough to see that I 
 like the homeliness of it ; that is, the good, old- 
 fashioned way of writing, as if you actually lived 
 where you wrote. A man s interest in a single 
 bluebird is worth more than a complete but dry 
 list of the fauna and flora of a town. It is also 
 a considerable advantage to be able to say at 
 any time, " If R. is not here, here is his book." 
 Alcott being here, and inquiring after you 
 (whom he has been expecting), I lent the book 
 to him almost immediately. He talks of going 
 West the latter part of this week. Channing is 
 here again, as I am told, but I have not seen 
 him. 
 
 I thank you also for the account of the trees. 
 
 1 Of New Bedford, first published in the Mercury of that 
 city, while Channing was one of the editors, and afterwards in 
 a volume. 
 
asT.41.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 397 
 
 It was to my purpose, and I hope you got some 
 thing out of it too. I suppose that the cold 
 weather prevented your coming here. Suppose 
 you try a winter walk on skates. Please re 
 member me to your family. 
 
 Late in November, 1858, Cholmondeley, who 
 had not written for a year and six months, sud 
 denly notified Thoreau from Montreal that he 
 was in Canada, and would visit Concord the 
 next week. Accordingly he arrived early in 
 December, and urged his friend to go with him 
 to the West Indies. John Thoreau, the father, 
 was then in his last illness, and for that and 
 other reasons Thoreau could not accept the in 
 vitation ; but he detained Cholmondeley in Con 
 cord some days, and took him to New Bedford, 
 December 8th, having first written this note to 
 Mr. Kicketsoii : 
 
 " Thomas Cholmondeley, my English ac 
 quaintance, is here, on his way to the West 
 Indies. He wants to see New Bedford, a whal 
 ing town. I tell him I would like to introduce 
 him to you there, thinking more of his seeing 
 you than New Bedford. So we propose to come 
 your way to-morrow. Excuse this short notice, 
 for the time is short. If on any account it is 
 inconvenient to see us, you will treat us accord- 
 ingly." 
 
398 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858, 
 
 Of this visit and his English visitor, Mr. 
 Ricketson wrote in his journal the next day : 
 
 "We were all much pleased with Mr. 
 Cholmondeley. He is a tall spare man, thirty- 
 five years of age, of fair and fresh complexion, 
 blue eyes, light brown and fine hair, nose small 
 and Roman, beard light and worn full, with a 
 mustache. A man of fine culture and refinement 
 of manners, educated at Oriel College, Oxford, 
 of an old Cheshire family by his father, a clergy 
 man. He wore a black velvet sack coat, and 
 lighter colored trousers, a sort of genteel 
 traveling suit ; perhaps a cap, but by no means 
 a fashionable castor. He reminded me of 
 our dear friend, George William Curtis." Few 
 greater compliments could this diarist give than 
 to compare a visitor to Curtis, the lamented. 
 
 Mr. Cholmondeley left Concord for the South, 
 going as far as to Virginia, in December and 
 January ; then came back to Concord the 20th 
 of January, 1859, and after a few days returned 
 to Canada, and thence to England by way of 
 Jamaica. He was in London when Theodore 
 Parker reached there from Santa Cruz, in 
 June, and called on him, with offers of service ; 
 but does not seem to have heard of Parker s 
 death till I wrote him in May, 1861. At my 
 parting with him in Concord, he gave me money 
 with which to buy grapes for the invalid father 
 
JET. 41.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 399 
 
 of Thoreau, an instance of his constant con 
 sideration for others; the Thoreaus hardly af 
 fording such luxuries as hothouse grapes for 
 the sick. Sophia Thoreau, who perhaps was 
 more appreciative of him than her more stoical 
 brother, said after his death, " We have always 
 had the truest regard for him, as a person of 
 rare integrity, great benevolence, and the sin- 
 cerest friendliness." This well describes the 
 man whose every-day guise was literally set 
 down by Mr. Bicketson. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, January 1, 1859. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, It may interest you to hear 
 that Cholmondeley has been this way again, ma 
 Montreal and Lake Huron, going to the West 
 Indies, or rather to Weiss-nicht-wo, whither he 
 urges me to accompany him. He is rather more 
 demonstrative than before, and, on the whole, 
 what would be called " a good fellow," is a 
 man of principle, and quite reliable, but very 
 peculiar. I have been to New Bedford with 
 him, to show him a whaling town and Ricket- 
 son. I was glad to hear that you had called on 
 R. How did you like him? I suspect that 
 you did not see one another fairly. 
 
 I have lately got back to that glorious society 
 called Solitude, where we meet our friends con- 
 
400 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859, 
 
 tinually, and can imagine the outside world also 
 to be peopled. Yet some of my acquaintance 
 would fain hustle me into the almshouse for 
 the sake of society, as if I were pining for that 
 diet, when I seem to myself a most befriended 
 man, and find constant employment. However, 
 they do not believe a word I say. They have 
 got a club, the handle of which is in the Parker 
 House at Boston, and with this they beat me 
 from time to time, expecting to make me tender 
 or minced meat, so fit for a club to dine off. 
 
 " Hercules with his club 
 The Dragon did drub ; 
 But More of More Hall, 
 With nothing at all, 
 He slew the Dragon of Wantley." 
 
 Ah ! that More of More Hall knew what fair 
 play was. Channing, who wrote to me about it 
 once, brandishing the club vigorously (being set 
 on by another, probably), says now, seriously, 
 that he is sorry to find by my letters that I am 
 " absorbed in politics," and adds, begging my 
 pardon for his plainness, " Beware of an extrane 
 ous life ! " and so he does his duty, and washes 
 his hands of me. I tell him that it is as if he 
 should say to the sloth, that fellow that creeps 
 so slowly along a tree, and cries ai from time to 
 time, " Beware of dancing ! " 
 
 The doctors are all agreed that I am suffer- 
 
JST. 41.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 401 
 
 ing for want of society. Was never a case like 
 it. First, I did not know that I was suffering at 
 all. Secondly, as an Irishman might say, I had 
 thought it was indigestion of the society I got. 
 
 As for the Parker House, I went there once, 
 when the Club 1 was away, but I found it hard 
 to see through the cigar smoke, and men were 
 deposited about in chairs over the marble floor, 
 as thick as legs of bacon in a smoke-house. It 
 was all smoke, and no salt, Attic or other. The 
 only room in Boston which I visit with alacrity 
 is the Gentlemen s Room at the Fitchburg 
 Depot, where I wait for the cars, sometimes for 
 two hours, in order to get out of town. It is a 
 paradise to the Parker House, for no smoking 
 is allowed, and there is far more retirement. 
 A large and respectable club of us hire it (Town 
 and Country Club), and I am pretty sure to find 
 
 1 The club with which Thoreau here makes merry was the 
 Saturday Club, meeting at Parker s Hotel in Boston the last 
 Saturday in each month, of which Emerson, Agassiz, Long-fel 
 low, Holmes, Lowell, Henry James, and other men of letters 
 were members. Thoreau, though invited, never seems to have 
 met with them, as Channing did, on one memorable occasion, 
 at least, described by Mr. James in a letter cited in the Me 
 moir of Bronson Alcott, who also occasionally dined with this 
 club. The conversation at Emerson s next mentioned was 
 also memorable for the vigor with which Miss Mary Emerson, 
 then eighty-four years old, rebuked Mr. James for what she 
 thought his dangerous Antinomian views concerning the moral 
 law. 
 
402 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859, 
 
 some one there whose face is set the same way 
 as my own. 
 
 My last essay, on which I am still engaged, is 
 called Autumnal Tints. I do not know how read 
 able (i. e., by me to others) it will be. 
 
 I met Mr. James the other night at Emer 
 son s, at an Alcottian conversation, at which, 
 however, Alcott did not talk much, being dis 
 turbed by James s opposition. The latter is a 
 hearty man enough, with whom you can differ 
 very satisfactorily, on account of both his doc 
 trines and his good temper. He utters quasi 
 philanthropic dogmas in a metaphysic dress ; 
 but they are for all practical purposes very 
 crude. He charges society with all the crime 
 committed, and praises the criminal for com 
 mitting it. But I think that all the remedies 
 he suggests out of his head for he goes no 
 farther, hearty as he is would leave us about 
 where we are now. For, of course, it is not by 
 a gift of turkeys on Thanksgiving Day that he 
 proposes to convert the criminal, but by a true 
 sympathy with each one, with him, among the 
 rest, who lyingly tells the world from the gal 
 lows that he has never been treated kindly by a 
 single mortal since he was born. But it is not 
 so easy a thing to sympathize with another, 
 though you may have the best disposition to do 
 it. There is Dobson over the hill. Have not 
 
^T. 41.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 403 
 
 you and I and all the world been trying, ever 
 since lie was born, to sympathize with him ? (as 
 doubtless he with us), and yet we have got no 
 farther than to send him to the House of Cor 
 rection once at least ; and he, on the other hand, 
 as I hear, has sent us to another place several 
 times. This is the real state of things, as I un 
 derstand it, as least so far as James s remedies 
 go. We are now, alas ! exercising what charity 
 we actually have, and new laws would not give 
 us any more. But, perchance, we might make 
 some improvements in the House of Correction. 
 You and I are Dobson ; what will James do for 
 
 us . 
 
 Have you found at last in your wanderings a 
 place where the solitude is sweet? 
 
 What mountain are you camping on nowa 
 days ? Though I had a good time at the moun 
 tains, I confess that the journey did not bear 
 any fruit that I know of. I did not expect it 
 would. The mode of it was not simple and ad 
 venturous enough. You must first have made 
 an infinite demand, and not unreasonably, but 
 after a corresponding outlay, have an all-absorb 
 ing purpose, and at the same time that your feet 
 bear you hither and thither, travel much more 
 in imagination. 
 
 To let the mountains slide, live at home 
 like a traveler. It should not be in vain that 
 
404 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859 
 
 these things are shown us from day to day. Is 
 not each withered leaf that I see in my walks 
 something which I have traveled to find ? 
 traveled, who can tell how far ? What a fool 
 he must be who thinks that his El Dorado is 
 anywhere but where he lives ! 
 
 We are always, methinks, in some kind of 
 ravine, though our bodies may walk the smooth 
 streets of Worcester. Our souls (I use this 
 word for want of a better) are ever perched 
 on its rocky sides, overlooking that lowland. 
 (What a more than Tuckerman s Ravine is the 
 body itself, in which the " soul " is encamped, 
 when you come to look into it ! However, 
 eagles always have chosen such places for their 
 eyries.) 
 
 Thus is it ever with your fair cities of the 
 plain. Their streets may be paved with silver 
 and gold, and six carriages roll abreast in them, 
 but the real homes of the citizens are in the 
 Tuckerman s Ravines which ray out from that 
 centre into the mountains round about, one for 
 each man, woman, and child. The masters of 
 life have so ordered it. That is their beau-ideal 
 of a country seat. There is no danger of being 
 tuckered out before you get to it. 
 . So we live in Worcester and in Concord, each 
 man taking his exercise regularly in his ravine, 
 like a lion in his cage, and sometimes spraining 
 
JST. 41.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 405 
 
 his ankle there. We have very few clear days, 
 and a great many small plagues which keep us 
 busy. Sometimes, I suppose, you hear a neigh 
 bor halloo (Brown, may be) and think it is a 
 bear. Nevertheless, on the whole, we think it 
 very grand and exhilarating, this ravine life. 
 It is a capital advantage withal, living so high, 
 the excellent drainage of that city of God. Rou 
 tine is but a shallow and insignificant sort of 
 ravine, such as the ruts are, the conduits of pud 
 dles. But these ravines are the source of mighty 
 streams, precipitous, icy, savage, as they are, 
 haunted by bears and loup-cerviers ; there are 
 born not only Sacos and Amazons, but prophets 
 who will redeem the world. The at last smooth 
 and fertilizing water at which nations drink and 
 navies supply themselves begins with melted 
 glaciers, and burst thunder-spouts. Let us pray 
 that, if we are not flowing through some Mis 
 sissippi valley which we fertilize, and it is not 
 likely we are, we may know ourselves shut in 
 between grim and mighty mountain walls amid 
 the clouds, falling a thousand feet in a mile, 
 through dwarfed fir and spruce, over the rocky 
 insteps of slides, being exercised in our minds, 
 and so developed. 
 
 CONCORD, January 19, 1859. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, If I could have given a favor 
 able report as to the skating, I should have an- 
 
406 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859, 
 
 swered you earlier. About a week before you 
 wrote there was good skating ; there is now none. 
 As for the lecture, I shall be glad to come. I 
 cannot now say when, but I will let you know, I 
 think within a week or ten days at most, and will 
 then leave you a week clear to make the arrange 
 ments in. I will bring something else than " What 
 shall it profit a Man ? " My father is very sick, 
 and has been for a long time, so that there is 
 the more need of me at home. This occurs to 
 me, even when contemplating so short an excur 
 sion as to Worcester. 
 
 I want very much to see or hear your ac 
 count of your adventures in the Ravine, 1 and I 
 trust I shall do so when I come to Worcester. 
 Cholmondeley has been here again, returning 
 from Virginia (for he went no farther south) to 
 Canada; and will go thence to Europe, he 
 thinks, in the spring, and never ramble any more. 
 (January 29.) I am expecting daily that my 
 father will die, therefore I cannot leave home at 
 present. I will write you again within ten days. 
 
 The death of John Thoreau (who was born 
 October 8, 1787) occurred February 3d, and 
 Thoreau gave his lecture on " Autumnal Tints " 
 at Worcester, February 22, 1859. Mrs. Tho- 
 
 1 This was Tuckerman s Ravine at the White Mountains, 
 where Thoreau met with his mishap in the preceding- July. 
 
asT.41.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 407 
 
 reau survived all her children except Sophia, 
 and died in 1872. In a letter to Mr. Ricketson, 
 Thoreau gave a just sketch of his father s char 
 acter. 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, 12th February, 1859. 
 
 FRIEND RICKETSON, I thank you for your 
 kind letter. I sent you the notice of my father s 
 death as much because you knew him as because 
 you knew me. I can hardly realize that he is 
 dead. He had been sick about two years, and 
 at last declined rather rapidly, though steadily. 
 Till within a week or ten days before he died he 
 was hoping to see another spring, but he then 
 discovered that this was a vain expectation, and, 
 thinking that he was dying, he took his leave of 
 us several times within a week before his depar 
 ture. Once or twice he expressed a slight impa 
 tience at the delay. He was quite conscious to 
 the last, and his death was so easy that, though 
 we had all been sitting around the bed for an 
 hour or more expecting that event (as we had 
 sat before), he was gone at last, almost before 
 we were aware of it. 
 
 I am glad to read what you say of his social 
 nature. I think I may say that he was wholly 
 unpretending ; and there was this peculiarity in 
 his aim, that though he had pecuniary difficul- 
 
408 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859, 
 
 ties to contend with the greater part of his life, 
 he always studied how to make a good article, 
 pencil or other (for he practiced various arts), 
 and was never satisfied with what he had pro 
 duced. Nor was he ever disposed in the least to 
 put off a poor one for the sake of pecuniary gain, 
 as if he labored for a higher end. 
 
 Though he was not very old, and was not a 
 native of Concord, I think that he was, on the 
 whole, more identified with Concord street than 
 any man now alive, having come here when he 
 was about twelve years old, and set up for him 
 self as a merchant here, at the age of twenty-one, 
 fifty years ago. As I sat in a circle the other 
 evening with my mother and sister, my mother s 
 two sisters, and my father s two sisters, it oc 
 curred to me that my father, though seventy-one, 
 belonged to the youngest four of the eight who 
 recently composed our family. 
 
 How swiftly at last, but unnoticed, a genera 
 tion passes away ! Three years ago I was called 
 with my father to be a witness to the signing 
 of our neighbor Mr. Frost s will. Mr. Samuel 
 Hoar, who was there writing it, also signed it. 
 I was lately required to go to Cambridge to tes 
 tify to the genuineness of the will, being the only 
 one of the four who could be there, and now I 
 am the only one alive. 
 
 My mother and sister thank you heartily 
 
MT. 42.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 409 
 
 for your sympathy. The latter, in particular, 
 agrees with you in thinking that it is communion 
 with still living and healthy nature alone which 
 can restore to sane and cheerful views. I thank 
 you for your invitation to New Bedford, but I 
 feel somewhat confined here for the present. 
 
 I did not know but we should see you the day 
 after Alger was here. It is not too late for a 
 winter walk in Concord. It does me good to 
 hear of spring birds, and singing ones too, for 
 spring seems far away from Concord yet. I am 
 going to Worcester to read a parlor lecture on 
 the 22d, and shall see Blake and Brown. What 
 if you were to meet me there, or go with me 
 from here ? You would see them to good advan 
 tage. Cholmondeley has been here again, after 
 going as far south as Virginia, and left for Can 
 ada about three weeks ago. He is a good soul, 
 and I am afraid I did not sufficiently recognize 
 him. 
 
 Please remember me to Mrs. Ricketson, and 
 to the rest of your family. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, September 26, 1859. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I am not sure that I am in a 
 fit mood to write to you, for I feel and think 
 rather too much like a business man, having 
 some very irksome affairs to attend to these 
 
410 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859, 
 
 months and years on account of my family. 1 
 This is the way I am serving King Admetus, 
 confound him ! If it were not for my relations, 
 I would let the wolves prey on his flocks to their 
 bellies content. Such fellows you have to deal 
 with ! herdsmen of some other king, or of the 
 same, who tell no tale, but in the sense of count 
 ing their flocks, and then lie drunk under a 
 hedge. How is your grist ground? Not by 
 some murmuring stream, while you lie dreaming 
 on the bank ; but, it seems, you must take hold 
 with your hands, and shove the wheel round. 
 You can t depend on streams, poor feeble things ! 
 You can t depend on worlds, -left to themselves ; 
 but you ve got to oil them and goad them along. 
 In short, you ve got to carry on two farms at 
 once, the farm on the earth and the farm in 
 your mind. Those Crimean and Italian battles 
 were mere boys play, they are the scrapes 
 into which truants get. But what a battle a 
 man must fight everywhere to maintain his 
 standing army of thoughts, and march with them 
 in orderly array through the always hostile coun- 
 
 1 He was looking- after the manufacture of fine plumbago 
 for the electrotypers, which was the family business after pen 
 cil-making- grew unprofitable. The Thoreaus had a grinding 
 mill in Acton, and a packing shop attached to their Concord 
 house. " Parker s society," mentioned at the close of the let 
 ter, was the congregation of Theodore Parker, then in Italy, 
 where he died in May, 1860. 
 
JET. 42.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 411 
 
 try ! How many enemies there are to sane 
 thinking ! Every soldier has succumbed to them 
 before he enlists for those other battles. Men 
 may sit in chambers, seemingly safe and sound, 
 and yet despair, and turn out at last only hol- 
 lowness and dust within, like a Dead Sea apple. 
 A standing army of numerous, brave, and well- 
 disciplined thoughts, and you at the head of 
 them, marching straight to your goal, how to 
 bring this about is the problem, and Scott s Tac 
 tics will not help you to it. Think of a poor 
 fellow begirt only with a sword-belt, and no such 
 staff of athletic thoughts ! his brains rattling as 
 he walks and talks ! These are your praetorian 
 guard. It is easy enough to maintain a family, 
 or a state, but it is hard to maintain these chil 
 dren of your brain (or say, rather, these guests 
 that trust to enjoy your hospitality), they make 
 such great demands ; and yet, he who does only 
 the former, and loses the power to tldiik origi 
 nally, or as only he ever can, fails miserably. 
 Keep up the fires of thought, and all will go 
 well. 
 
 Zouaves ? pish ! How you can overrun a 
 country, climb any rampart, and carry any for 
 tress, with an army of alert thoughts ! thoughts 
 that send their bullets home to heaven s door, 
 with which you can take the whole world, with 
 out paying for it, or robbing anybody. See, the 
 
412 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859, 
 
 conquering hero comes ! You fail in your 
 thoughts, or you prevail in your thoughts only. 
 Provided you think well, the heavens falling, or 
 the earth gaping, will be music for you to march 
 by. No foe can ever see you, or you him ; you 
 cannot so much as think of him. Swords have 
 no edges, bullets no penetration, for such a con 
 test. In your mind must be a liquor which will 
 dissolve the world whenever it is dropt in it. 
 There is no universal solvent but this, and all 
 things together cannot saturate it. It will hold 
 the universe in solution, and yet be as translu 
 cent as ever. The vast machine may indeed roll 
 over our toes, and we not know it, but it would 
 rebound and be staved to pieces like an empty 
 barrel, if it should strike fair and square on the 
 smallest and least angular of a man s thoughts. 
 
 You seem not to have taken Cape Cod the 
 right way. I think that you should have perse 
 vered in walking on the beach and on the bank, 
 even to the land s end, however soft, and so, by 
 long knocking at Ocean s gate, have gained ad 
 mittance at last, better, if separately, and in 
 a storm, not knowing where you would sleep by 
 night, or eat by day. Then you should have 
 given a day to the sand behind Provincetown, 
 and ascended the hills there, and been blown on 
 considerably. I hope that you like to remember 
 the journey better than you did to make it. 
 
2ET. 42.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 413 
 
 I have been confined at home all this year, 
 but I am not aware that I have grown any rus 
 tier than was to be expected. One while I ex 
 plored the bottom of the river pretty extensively. 
 I have engaged to read a lecture to Parker s 
 society on the 9th of October next. 
 
 I am off a barberrying. 
 
 TO HARBISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, October 31, 1859. 
 
 MK. BLAKE, I spoke to my townsmen last 
 evening on " The Character of Captain Brown, 
 now in the clutches of the slaveholder." I 
 should like to speak to any company at Worces 
 ter who may wish to hear me ; and will come if 
 only my expenses are paid. I think we should 
 express ourselves at once, while Brown is alive. 
 The sooner the better. Perhaps Higginson may 
 like to have a meeting. Wednesday evening 
 would be a good time. The people here are 
 deeply interested in the matter. Let me have 
 an answer as soon as may be. 
 
 P. S. I may be engaged toward the end of 
 the week. 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
 This address on John Brown was one of the 
 first public utterances in favor of that hero ; it 
 was made up mainly from the entries in Tho- 
 
414 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859, 
 
 reau s journals, since I had introduced Brown to 
 him, and he to Emerson, in March, 1857 ; and 
 specially from those pages that Thoreau had 
 written after the news of Brown s capture in 
 Virginia had reached him. It was first given in 
 the vestry of the old parish church in Concord 
 (where, in 1774, the Provincial Congress of 
 Massachusetts had met to prepare for armed 
 resistance to British tyranny) ; was repeated at 
 Worcester the same week, and before a great 
 audience in Boston, the following Sunday, 
 after which it was published in the newspapers, 
 and had a wide reading. Mr. Alcott in his 
 diary mentions it under date of Sunday, Octo 
 ber 30, thus : " Thoreau reads a paper on John 
 Brown, his virtues, spirit, and deeds, this even 
 ing, and to the delight of his company, the 
 best that could be gathered at short notice, 
 and among them Emerson. (November 4.) 
 Thoreau calls and reports about the reading of 
 his lecture on Brown at Boston and Worcester. 
 He has been the first to speak and celebrate the 
 hero s courage and magnanimity ; it is these 
 that he discerns and praises. The men have 
 much in common, the sturdy manliness, 
 straightforwardness, and independence. (No 
 vember 5.) Ricketson from New Bedford ar 
 rives ; he and Thoreau take supper with us. 
 Thoreau talks freely and enthusiastically about 
 
asx.42.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 415 
 
 Brown, denouncing the Union, the President, 
 the States, and Virginia particularly ; wishes 
 to publish his late speech, and has seen Boston 
 publishers, but failed to find any to print it for 
 him." It was soon after published, along with 
 Emerson s two speeches in favor of Brown, by 
 a new Boston publishing house (Thayer & El- 
 dridge), in a volume called, " Echoes of Har 
 per s Ferry," edited by the late James Redpath, 
 Brown s first biographer. In the following 
 summer, Thoreau sent a second paper on Brown 
 (written soon after his execution) to be read at 
 a commemoration of the martyr, beside his 
 grave among the Adirondac Mountains. This 
 is mentioned in his letter to Sophia Thoreau, 
 July 8, 1860. He took an active part in arrang 
 ing for the funeral service in honor of Brown, 
 at Concord, the day of his death, December 2, 
 1859. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, May 20, 1860. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I must endeavor to pay some 
 of my debts to you. To begin where we left 
 off, then. 
 
 The presumption is that we are always the 
 same; our opportunities, and Nature herself, 
 fluctuating. Look at mankind. No great dif 
 ference between two, apparently ; perhaps the 
 
416 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1860, 
 
 same height, and breadth, and weight ; and yet, 
 to the man who sits most east, this life is a 
 weariness, routine, dust and ashes, and he 
 drowns his imaginary cares (!) (a sort of fric 
 tion among his vital organs) in a bowl. But to 
 the man who sits most west, his contemporary (!), 
 it is a field for all noble endeavors, an elysium, 
 the dwelling-place of heroes and demigods. The 
 former complains that he has a thousand affairs 
 to attend to ; but he does not realize that his 
 affairs (though they may be a thousand) and he 
 are one. 
 
 Men and boys are learning all kinds of trades 
 but how to make men of themselves. They 
 learn to make houses ; but they are not so well 
 housed, they are not so contented in their houses, 
 as the woodchucks in their holes. What is 
 the use of a house if you have n t got a tolerable 
 planet to put it on ? if you cannot tolerate 
 the planet it is on ? Grade the ground first. If 
 a man believes and expects great things of him 
 self, it makes no odds where you put him, or 
 what you show him (of course you cannot put 
 him anywhere, nor show him anything), he will 
 be surrounded by grandeur. He is in the con 
 dition of a healthy and hungry man, who says 
 to himself, How sweet this crust is ! If he 
 despairs of himself, then Tophet is his dwell- 
 iiig-place, and he is in the condition of a sick 
 
JET. 42.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 417 
 
 man who is disgusted with the fruits of finest 
 flavor. 
 
 Whether he sleeps or wakes, whether he 
 runs or walks, whether he uses a microscope 
 or a telescope, or his naked eye, a man never 
 discovers anything, never overtakes anything, 
 or leaves anything behind, but himself. What 
 ever he says or does, he merely reports himself. 
 If he is in love, he loves ; if he is in heaven, 
 he enjoys, ; if he is in hell, he suffers. It is his 
 condition that determines his locality. 
 
 The principal, the only thing a man makes, is 
 his condition of fate. Though commonly he 
 does not know it, nor put up a sign to this effect, 
 "My own destiny made and mended here." 
 [Not yours. ] He is a master-workman in the 
 business. He works twenty-four hours a day at 
 it, and gets it done. Whatever else he neglects 
 or botches, no man was ever known to neglect 
 this work. A great many pretend to make 
 shoes chiefly, and would scout the idea that they 
 make the hard times which they experience. 
 
 Each reaching and aspiration is an instinct 
 with which all nature consists and cooperates, 
 and therefore it is not in vain. But alas ! each 
 relaxing and desperation is an instinct too. To 
 be active, well, happy, implies rare courage. To 
 be ready to fight in a duel or a battle implies 
 desperation, or that you hold your life cheap. 
 
418 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1860, 
 
 If you take this life to be simply what old 
 religious folks pretend (I mean the effete, gone 
 to seed in a drought, mere human galls stung 
 by the devil once), then all your joy and seren 
 ity is reduced to grinning and bearing it. The 
 fact is, you have got to take the world on your 
 shoulders like Atlas, and " put along " with it. 
 You will do this for an idea s sake, and your 
 success will be in proportion to your devotion to 
 ideas. It may make your back ache occasion 
 ally, but you will have the satisfaction of hang 
 ing it or twirling it to suit yourself. Cowards 
 suffer, heroes enjoy. After a long day s walk 
 with it, pitch it into a hollow place, sit down 
 and eat your luncheon. Unexpectedly, by some 
 immortal thoughts, you will be compensated. 
 The bank whereon you sit will be a fragrant and 
 flowery one, and your world in the hollow a 
 sleek and light gazelle. 
 
 Where is the " unexplored land " but in our 
 own untried enterprises ? To an adventurous 
 spirit any place London, New York, Worces 
 ter, or his own yard is " unexplored land," 
 to seek which Fremont and Kane travel so far. 
 To a sluggish and defeated spirit even the Great 
 Basin and the Polaris are trivial places. If they 
 can get there (and, indeed, they are there now), 
 they will want to sleep, and give it up, just as 
 they always do. These are the regions of the 
 
MT. 42.] TO SOPHIA THOREAU. 419 
 
 Known and of the Unknown. What is the use 
 of going right over the old track again ? There 
 is an adder in the path which your own feet 
 have worn. You must make tracks into the Un 
 known. That is what you have your board and 
 clothes for. Why do you ever mend your clothes, 
 unless that, wearing them, you may mend your 
 ways ? Let us sing. 
 
 TO SOPHIA THOREAU (AT CAMPTON, N. H.). 
 
 CONCORD, July 8, 1860. 
 
 DEAR SOPHIA, Mother reminds me that I 
 must write to you, if only a few lines, though 
 I have sprained my thumb, so that it is ques 
 tionable whether I can write legibly, if at all. 
 I can t " bear on " much. What is worse, I 
 believe that I have sprained my brain too that 
 is, it sympathizes with my thumb. But that is 
 no excuse, I suppose, for writing a letter in such 
 a case, is like sending a newspaper, only a hint 
 to let you know that " all is well," - - but my 
 thumb. 
 
 I hope that you begin to derive some benefit 
 from that more mountainous air which you are 
 breathing. Have you had a distinct view of the 
 Franconia Notch Mountains (blue peaks in the 
 northern horizon) ? which I told you you could 
 get from the road in Campton, probably from 
 some other points nearer. Such a view of the 
 
420 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [i860, 
 
 mountains is more memorable than any other. 
 Have you been to Squam Lake or overlooked it? 
 I should think that you could make an excursion 
 to some mountain in that direction from which 
 you could see the lake and mountains generally. 
 Is there no friend of N. P. Kogers who can tell 
 you where the " lions " are ? 
 
 Of course I did not go to North Elba, 1 but I 
 sent some reminiscences of last fall. I hear that 
 John Brown, Jr., has now come to Boston for a 
 few days. Mr. Sanborn s case, it is said, will 
 come on after some murder cases have been dis 
 posed of here. 
 
 I have just been invited formally to be pres 
 ent at the annual picnic of Theodore Parker s 
 society (that was), at Waverley, next Wednes 
 day, and to make some remarks. But that is 
 wholly out of my line. I do not go to picnics, 
 even in Concord, you know. 
 
 Mother and Aunt Sophia rode to Acton in 
 time yesterday. I suppose that you have heard 
 that Mr. Hawthorne has come home. I went to 
 meet him the other evening and found that he 
 has not altered, except that he was looking quite 
 
 1 He was invited to a gathering- of John Brown s friends at 
 the grave in the Adirondac woods. " Mr. Sanborn s case " was 
 an indictment and civil suit against Silas Carleton et als. for an 
 attempt to kidnap F. B. Sanborn, who had refused to accept 
 the invitation of the Senate at Washington to testify in the 
 John Brown investigation. 
 
arr. 43.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 421 
 
 brown after his voyage. He is as simple and 
 childlike as ever. 
 
 I believe that I have fairly scared the kittens 
 away, at last, by my pretended fierceness, which 
 was. I will consider my thumb and your 
 eyes. 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, August 3, 1860. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I some time ago asked Chan- 
 ning if he would not spend a week with me on 
 Monadnoc ; but he did not answer decidedly. 
 Lately he has talked of an excursion somewhere, 
 but I said that now I must wait till my sister re 
 turned from Plymouth, N. H. She has returned, 
 and accordingly, on receiving your note this 
 morning, I made known its contents to Chaii- 
 ning, in order to see how far I was engaged with 
 him. The result is that he decides to go to 
 Monadnoc to-morrow morning ; 1 so I must defer 
 
 1 This is the excursion described by Thoreau in a subse 
 quent letter, lasting six days, and the first that Channing 
 had made which involved "camping out." It was also Tho- 
 reau s last visit to this favorite mountain ; but Channing con 
 tinued to go there after the death of his friend ; and some of 
 these visits are recorded in his poem, " The Wanderer." The 
 last one was in September, 1869, when I accompanied him, 
 and we again spent five nights on the plateau where he hacl 
 camped with Thoreau. At that time, one of the " two good 
 spruce houses, half a mile apart," mentioned by Thoreau, 
 
422 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1860, 
 
 making an excursion with you and Brown to 
 another season. Perhaps you will call as you 
 pass the mountain. I send this by the earliest 
 mail. 
 
 P. S. That was a very insufficient visit you 
 made here the last time. My mother is better, 
 though far from well ; and if you should chance 
 along here any time after your journey, I trust 
 that we shall all do better. 
 
 The mention by Thoreau of John Brown and 
 my " case " recalls to me an incident of those 
 excited days which followed the attack by Brown 
 on slavery in Virginia. The day after Brown s 
 death, but before the execution of his comrades, 
 I received a message from the late Dr. David 
 Thayer of Boston, implying, as I thought, that 
 a son of Brown was at his house, whither I 
 hurried to meet him. Instead, I found young 
 F. J. Merriam of Boston, who had escaped with 
 Owen Brown from Harper s Ferry, and was 
 
 was still standing, in ruins, the place called by Channing 
 " Henry s Camp," and thus described : 
 
 We built our fortress where you see 
 Yon group of spruce-trees, sidewise on the line 
 Where the horizon to the eastward bounds, 
 A point selected by sagacious art, 
 Where all at once we viewed the Vermont hills, 
 And the long outline of the mountain-ridge, 
 Ever renewing, changeful every hour. 
 
 See The Wanderer (Boston, 1871), p. 61. 
 
T. 42.] THOREA U AND FRANK MERRIAM. 423 
 
 now in Boston to raise another party against the 
 slaveholders. He was unfit to lead or even join 
 in such a desperate undertaking, and we insisted 
 he should return to safety in Canada, a large 
 reward being offered for his seizure. He agreed 
 to go back to Canada that night by the Fitch- 
 burg Railroad ; but in his hotheaded way he took 
 the wrong train, which ran no farther than Con 
 cord, and found himself in the early evening 
 at my house, where my sister received him, but 
 insisted that I should not see him, lest I might 
 be questioned about my guest. While he had 
 supper and went to bed, I posted down to Mr. 
 Emerson s and engaged his horse and covered 
 wagon, to be ready at sunrise, he asking no 
 questions. In the same way I engaged Mr. 
 Thoreau to drive his friend s horse to South 
 Acton the next morning, and there put on board 
 the first Canadian train a Mr. Lockwood, whom 
 he would find at my house. Thoreau readily 
 consented, asked no questions, walked to the 
 Emerson stable the next morning, found the 
 horse ready, drove him to my door, and took 
 up Merriam, under the name of Lockwood, 
 neither knowing who the other was. Merriam 
 was so flighty that, though he had agreed to go 
 to Montreal, and knew that his life might de 
 pend on getting there early, he declared he must 
 see Mr. Emerson, to lay before him his plan 
 
424 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1859, 
 
 for invading the South, and consult him about 
 some moral questions that troubled his mind. 
 His companion listened gravely, and hurried 
 the horse towards Acton. Merriam grew more 
 positive and suspicious, " Perhaps you are 
 Mr. Emerson ; you look somewhat like him." l 
 " No, I am not," said Thoreau, and drove steadily 
 away from Concord. " Well, then, I am going 
 back," said the youth, and flung himself out of 
 the wagon. How Thoreau got him in again, he 
 never told me ; but I suspected some judicious 
 force, accompanying the grave persuasive speech 
 natural to our friend. At any rate, he took his 
 man to Acton, saw him safe on the train, and 
 reported to me that " Mr. Lockwood had taken 
 passage for Canada," where he arrived that 
 night. Nothing more passed between us until, 
 more than two years after, he inquired one day, 
 in his last illness, who my fugitive was. Mer 
 riam was then out of danger in that way, and 
 had been for months a soldier in the Union 
 army, where he died. I therefore said that 
 " Lockwood " was the grandson of his mother s 
 old friend, Francis Jackson, and had escaped 
 from Maryland. In return he gave me the odd 
 incidents of their drive, and mentioned that he 
 
 1 See Tkoreau s Autumn, p. 331. Merriam mentioned Tho- 
 reau s name to him, but never guessed who his companion 
 
T.43.] TO DANIEL EICKETSON. 425 
 
 had spoken of the affair to his mother only since 
 his illness. So reticent and practically useful 
 could he be ; as Channing says, " He made no 
 useless professions, never asked one of those 
 questions which destroy all relation ; but he was 
 on the spot at the time, he meant friendship, 
 and meant nothing else, and stood by it with 
 out the slightest abatement." 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, November 4, 1860. 
 
 FRIEND RICKETSON, I thank you for the 
 verses. They are quite too good to apply to me. 
 However, I know what a poet s license is, and 
 will not get in the way. 
 
 But what do you mean by that prose ? Why 
 will you waste so many regards on me, and not 
 know what to think of my silence ? Infer from 
 it what you might from the silence of a dense 
 pine wood. It is its natural condition, except 
 when the winds blow, and the jays scream, and 
 the chickadee winds up his clock. My silence is 
 just as inhuman as that, and no more. You 
 know that I never promised to correspond with 
 you, and so, when I do, I do more than I prom 
 ised. 
 
 Such are my pursuits and habits, that I rarely 
 go abroad ; and it is quite a habit with me to 
 decline invitations to do so. Not that I could 
 
426 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1860, 
 
 not enjoy such visits, if I were not otherwise 
 occupied. I have enjoyed very much my vis 
 its to you, and my rides in your neighborhood, 
 and am sorry that I cannot enjoy such things 
 oftener; but life is short, and there are other 
 things also to be done. I admit that you are 
 more social than I am, and far more attentive 
 to " the common courtesies of life ; " but this is 
 partly for the reason that you have fewer or less 
 exacting private pursuits. 
 
 Not to have written a note for a year is with 
 me a very venial offense. I think that I do not 
 correspond with any one so often as once in six 
 months. 
 
 I have a faint recollection of your invitation 
 referred to ; but I suppose that I had no new 
 nor particular reason for declining, and so made 
 no new statement. I have felt that you would 
 be glad to see me almost whenever I got ready 
 to come ; but I only offer myself as a rare vis 
 itor, and a still rarer correspondent. 
 
 I am very busy, after my fashion, little as 
 there is to show for it, and feel as if I could not 
 spend many days nor dollars in traveling; for 
 the shortest visit must have a fair margin to it, 
 and the days thus affect the weeks, you know. 
 Nevertheless, we cannot forego these luxuries 
 altogether. You must not regard me as a regu 
 lar diet, but at most only as acorns, which, too, 
 
JET. 43.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 427 
 
 are not to be despised, which, at least, we love 
 to think are edible in a bracing walk. We 
 have got along pretty well together in several 
 directions, though we are such strangers in 
 others. 
 
 I hardly know what to say in answer to your 
 letter. Some are accustomed to write many let 
 ters, others very few. I am one of the last. At 
 any rate, we are pretty sure, if we write at all, 
 to send those thoughts which we cherish, to that 
 one who, we believe, will most religiously attend 
 to them. 
 
 This life is not for complaint, but for satisfac 
 tion. I do not feel addressed by this letter of 
 yours. It suggests only misunderstanding. In 
 tercourse may be good; but of what use are 
 complaints and apologies? Any complaint / 
 have to make is too serious to be uttered, for the 
 evil cannot be mended. 
 
 Turn over a new leaf. 
 
 My out-door harvest this fall has been one 
 Canada lynx, a fierce-looking fellow, which, it 
 seems, we have hereabouts; eleven barrels of 
 apples from trees of my own planting; and a 
 large crop of white-oak acorns, which I did not 
 raise. 
 
 Please remember me to your family. I have 
 a very pleasant recollection of your fireside, and 
 I trust that I shall revisit it ; also of your 
 shanty and the surrounding regions. 
 
428 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [I860, 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCOKD, November 4, 1860. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I am glad to hear any partic 
 ulars of your excursion. As for myself, I looked 
 out for you somewhat on that Monday, when, 
 it appears, you passed Monadnoc ; turned my 
 glass upon several parties that were ascending 
 the mountain half a mile on one side of us. In 
 short, I came as near to seeing you as you to 
 seeing me. I have no doubt that we should have 
 had a good time if you had come, for I had, all 
 ready, two good spruce houses, in which you 
 could stand up, complete in all respects, half a 
 mile apart, and you and B. could have lodged 
 by yourselves in one, if not with us. 
 
 We made an excellent beginning of our moun 
 tain life. 1 You may remember that the Satur 
 day previous was a stormy day. Well, we went 
 up in the rain, wet through, and found our 
 selves in a cloud there at mid-afternoon, in no 
 situation to look about for the best place for a 
 camp. So I proceeded at once, through the 
 cloud, to that memorable stone, " chunk yard," 
 in which we made our humble camp once, and 
 there, after putting our packs under a rock, hav- 
 
 1 This was Thoreau s last visit to Monadnoc, and the one 
 mentioned in the note of August 3, and in Channing s Wan 
 derer. 
 
jsT.43.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 429 
 
 ing a good hatchet, I proceeded to build a sub 
 stantial house, which Channing declared the 
 handsomest he ever saw. (He never camped 
 out before, and was, no doubt, prejudiced in its 
 favor.) This was done about dark, and by that 
 time we were nearly as wet as if we had stood 
 in a hogshead of water. We then built a fire 
 before the door, directly on the site of our little 
 camp of two years ago, and it took a long time 
 to burn through its remains to the earth be 
 neath. Standing before this, and turning round 
 slowly, like meat that is roasting, we were as 
 dry, if not drier, than ever, after a few hours, 
 and so at last, we " turned in." 
 
 This was a great deal better than going up 
 there in fair weather, and having no adventure 
 (not knowing how to appreciate either fair 
 weather or foul) but dull, commonplace sleep in 
 a useless house, and before a comparatively use 
 less fire, such as we get every night. Of 
 course we thanked our stars, when we saw them, 
 which was about midnight, that they had seem 
 ingly withdrawn for a season. We had the 
 mountain all to ourselves that afternoon and 
 night. There was nobody going up that day to 
 engrave his name on the summit, nor to gather 
 blueberries. The genius of the mountains saw us 
 starting from Concord, and it said, There come 
 two of our folks. Let us get ready for them. 
 
430 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1860, 
 
 Get up a serious storm, that will send a-packing 
 these holiday guests. (They may have their say 
 another time.) Let us receive them with true 
 mountain hospitality, kill the fatted cloud. 
 Let them know the value of a spruce roof, and 
 of a fire of dead spruce stumps. Every bush 
 dripped tears of joy at our advent. Fire did its 
 best, and received our thanks. What could fire 
 have done in fair weather ? Spruce roof got 
 its share of our blessings. And then, such a 
 view of the wet rocks, with the wet lichens on 
 them, as we had the next morning, but did not 
 get again ! 
 
 We and the mountain had a sound season, as 
 the saying is. How glad we were to be wet, in 
 order that we might be dried! How glad we 
 were of the storm which made our house seem 
 like a new home to us ! This day s experience 
 was indeed lucky, for we did not have a thunder- 
 shower during all our stay. Perhaps our host 
 reserved this attention in order to tempt us to 
 come again. 
 
 Our next house was more substantial still. 
 One side was rock, good for durability; the 
 floor the same ; and the roof which I made would 
 have upheld a horse. I stood on it to do the 
 shingling. 
 
 I noticed, when I was at the White Mountains 
 last, several nuisances which render traveling 
 
2ET.43.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 431 
 
 thereabouts unpleasant. The chief of these was 
 the mountain houses. I might have supposed 
 that the main attraction of that region, even to 
 citizens, lay in its wildness and unlikeness to 
 the city, and yet they make it as much like the 
 city as they can afford to. I heard that the 
 Crawford House was lighted with gas, and had 
 a large saloon, with its band of music, for dan 
 cing. But give me a spruce house made in the 
 rain. 
 
 An old Concord farmer tells me that he as 
 cended Monadnoc once, and danced on the top. 
 How did that happen ? Why, he being up there, 
 a party of young men and women came up, bring 
 ing boards and a fiddler ; and, having laid down 
 the boards, they made a level floor, on which 
 they danced to the music of the fiddle. I sup 
 pose the tune was " Excelsior." This reminds 
 me of the fellow who climbed to the top of a 
 very high spire, stood upright on the ball, and 
 hurrahed for what ? Why, for Harrison and 
 Tyler. That s the kind of sound which most 
 ambitious people emit when they culminate. 
 They are wont to be singularly frivolous in the 
 thin atmosphere ; they can t contain themselves, 
 though our comfort and their safety require it ; 
 it takes the pressure of many atmospheres to do 
 this ; and hence they helplessly evaporate there. 
 It would seem that as they ascend, they breathe 
 
432 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [I860, 
 
 shorter and shorter, and, at each expiration, 
 some of their wits leave them, till, when they 
 reach the pinnacle, they are so light-headed as 
 to be fit only to show how the wind sits. I sus 
 pect that Emerson s criticism called "Monad- 
 noc " was inspired, not by remembering the in 
 habitants of New Hampshire as they are in the 
 valleys, so much as by meeting some of them on 
 the mountain top. 
 
 After several nights experience, Channing 
 came to the conclusion that he was " lying out 
 doors," and inquired what was the largest beast 
 that might nibble his legs there. I fear that he 
 did not improve all the night, as he might have 
 done, to sleep. I had asked him to go and spend 
 a week there. We spent five nights, being gone 
 six days, for C. suggested that six working days 
 made a week, and I saw that he was ready to 
 decamp. However, he found his account in it 
 as well as I. 
 
 We were seen to go up in the rain, grim and 
 silent, like two genii of the storm, by Fassett s 
 men or boys ; but we were never identified after 
 ward, though we were the subject of some con 
 versation which we overheard. Five hundred 
 persons at least came on to the mountain while 
 we were there, but not one found our camp. We 
 saw one party of three ladies and two gentlemen 
 spread their blankets and spend the night on the 
 
2ET.43.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 433 
 
 top, and heard them converse ; but they did not 
 know that they had neighbors who were compar 
 atively old settlers. We spared them the chagrin 
 which that knowledge would have caused them, 
 and let them print their story in a newspaper 
 accordingly. 
 
 Yes, to meet men on an honest and simple 
 footing, meet with rebuffs, suffer from sore feet, 
 as you did, ay, and from a sore heart, as per 
 haps you also did, all that is excellent. What 
 a pity that that young prince 1 could not enjoy a 
 little of the legitimate experience of traveling 
 be dealt with simply and truly, though rudely. 
 He might have been invited to some hospitable 
 house in the country, had his bowl of bread and 
 milk set before him, with a clean pinafore ; been 
 told that there were the punt and the fishing-rod, 
 and he could amuse himself as he chose ; might 
 have swung a few birches, dug out a woodchuck, 
 and had a regular good time, and finally been sent 
 to bed with the boys, and so never have been 
 introduced to Mr. Everett at all. I have no 
 doubt that this would have been a far more 
 memorable and valuable experience than he got. 
 
 The snow-clad summit of Mount Washington 
 must have been a very interesting sight from 
 Wachusett. How wholesome winter is, seen far 
 
 1 The Prince of Wales, then visiting America with the Duke 
 of Newcastle. 
 
434 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 or near ; how good, above all mere sentimental, 
 warm-blooded, short-lived, soft-hearted, moral 
 goodness, commonly so-called. Give me the 
 goodness which has forgotten its own deeds, 
 which God has seen to be good, and let be. None 
 of your just made perfect, pickled eels ! All 
 that will save them will be their picturesqueness, 
 as with blasted trees. Whatever is, and is not 
 ashamed to be, is good. I value no moral good 
 ness or greatness unless it is good or great, even 
 as that snowy peak is. Pray, how could thirty 
 feet of bowels improve it? Nature is goodness 
 crystallized. You looked into the land of prom 
 ise. Whatever beauty we behold, the more it is 
 distant, serene, and cold, the purer and more dur 
 able it is. It is better to warm ourselves with 
 ice than with fire. 
 
 Tell Brown that he sent me more than the 
 price of the book, viz., a word from himself, for 
 which I am greatly his debtor. 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, March 22, 1861. 
 
 FKIEND KICKETSON, The bluebird was here 
 the 26th of February, at least, which is one day 
 earlier than you date; but I have not heard 
 of larks nor pigeon-woodpeckers. To tell the 
 truth, I am not on the alert for the signs of 
 spring, not having had any winter yet. I took 
 
JET. 43.} TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 435 
 
 a severe cold about the 3d of December, which 
 at length resulted in a kind of bronchitis, so 
 that I have been confined to the house ever since, 
 excepting a very few experimental trips as far 
 as the post-office in some particularly fine noons. 
 My health otherwise has not been affected in 
 the least, nor my spirits. I have simply been 
 imprisoned for so long, and it has not prevented 
 my doing a good deal of reading and the like. 
 
 Channing has looked after me very faithfully ; 
 says he has made a study of my case, and knows 
 me better than I know myself, etc., etc. Of 
 course, if I knew how it began, I should know 
 better how it would end. I trust that when 
 warm weather comes I shall begin to pick up 
 my crumbs. I thank you for your invitation to 
 come to New Bedford, and will bear it in mind ; 
 but at present my health will not permit my 
 leaving home. 
 
 The day I received your letter, Blake and 
 Brown arrived here, having walked from Worces 
 ter in two days, though Alcott, who happened 
 in sbon after, could not understand what pleas 
 ure they found in walking across the country 
 in this season, when the ways were so unsettled. 
 I had a solid talk with them for a day and a half 
 though my pipes were not in good order 
 and they went their way again. 
 
 You may be interested to hear that Alcott is 
 
436 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 at present, perhaps, the most successful man in 
 the town. He had his second annual exhibition 
 of all the schools in the town, at the Town Hall 
 last Saturday; at which all the masters and 
 misses did themselves great credit, as I hear, 
 and of course reflected some on their teachers 
 and parents. They were making their little 
 speeches from one till six o clock*?. M., to a 
 large audience, which patiently listened to the 
 end. In the mean while, the children made Mr. 
 Alcott an unexpected present of a fine edition of 
 "Pilgrim s Progress" and "Herbert s Poems," 
 which, of course, overcame all parties. I inclose 
 an Order of Exercises. 1 
 
 We had, last night, an old-fashioned north 
 east snow-storm, far worse than anything in the 
 winter ; and the drifts are now very high above 
 the fences. The inhabitants are pretty much 
 confined to their houses, as I was already. All 
 houses are one color, white, with the snow plas- 
 
 1 In April, 1859, Mr. Alcott was chosen superintendent of 
 the public schools of Concord, by a school committee of which 
 Mr. Bull, the creator of the Concord grape, and Mr. Sanborn, 
 were members, and for some years he directed the studies of 
 the younger pupils, to their great benefit and delight. At the 
 yearly " exhibitions," songs were sung composed by Louisa 
 Alcott and others, and the whole town assembled to see and 
 hear. The stress of civil war gradually checked this idyllic 
 movement, and Mr. Alcott returned to his garden and library. 
 It was two years after this that Miss Alcott had her severe 
 experience as hospital nurse at Washington. 
 
J2T.43.] TO PARKER PILLSBURY. 437 
 
 tered over them, and you cannot tell whether 
 they have blinds or not. Our pump has another 
 pump, its ghost, as thick as itself, sticking to 
 one side of it. The town has sent out teams of 
 eight oxen each, to break out the roads ; and the 
 train due from Boston at 8| A. M. has not ar 
 rived yet (4 P. M.). All the passing has been 
 a train from above at 12 M., which also was due 
 at 8J A. M. Where are the bluebirds now, 
 think you ? I suppose that you have not so 
 much snow at New Bedford, if any. 
 
 TO PARKER PILLSBURY (AT CONCORD, N. H.). 
 CONCORD, April 10, 1861. 
 
 FRIEND PILLSBURY, I am sorry to say that 
 I have not a copy of " Walden " which I can 
 spare ; and know of none, unless possibly Tick- 
 nor & Fields may have one. I send, neverthe 
 less, a copy of " The Week," the price of which 
 is one dollar and twenty-five cents, which you 
 can pay at your convenience. 
 
 As for your friend, my prospective reader, I 
 hope he ignores Fort Sumter, and " Old Abe," 
 and all that ; for that is just the most fatal, and, 
 indeed, the only fatal weapon you can direct 
 against evil, ever ; for, as long as you know of 
 it, you are particeps criminis. What business 
 have you, if you are " an angel of light," to be 
 pondering over the deeds of darkness, reading 
 the " New York Herald," and the like ? 
 
438 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 I do not so much regret the present condition 
 of things in this country (provided I regret it 
 at all), as I do that I ever heard of it. I know 
 one or two, who have this year, for the first time, 
 read a President s Message ; but they do not 
 see that this implies a fall in themselves, rather 
 than a rise in the President. Blessed were the 
 days before you read a President s Message. 
 Blessed are the young, for they do not read the 
 President s Message. Blessed are they who 
 never read a newspaper, for they shall see 
 Nature, and, through her, God. 
 
 But, alas ! / have heard of Sumter and Pick- 
 ens, and even of Buchanan (though I did not 
 read his Message). I also read the " New York 
 Tribune ; " but then, I am reading Herodotus 
 and Strabo, and Blodget s " Climatology," and 
 "Six Years in the Desert of North America," 
 as hard as I can, to counterbalance it. 
 
 By the way, Alcott is at present our most 
 popular and successful man, and has just pub 
 lished a volume in size, in the shape of the An 
 nual School Report, which I presume he has 
 sent to you. 
 
 Yours, for remembering all good things, 
 
 HENKY D. THOKEAU. 
 
 Parker Pillsbury, to whom this letter went, 
 was an old friend of the Thoreau family, with 
 
J3T.43.] CHOLMONDELEY TO THOREAU. 439 
 
 whom he became intimate in the anti-slavery 
 agitation, wherein they took part, while he was a 
 famous orator, celebrated by Emerson in one of 
 his Essays. Mr. Pillsbury visited Thoreau in 
 his last illness, when he could scarcely speak 
 above a whisper, and, having made to him some 
 remark concerning the future life, Thoreau re 
 plied, " My friend, one world at a time." His 
 petulant words in this letter concerning na 
 tional affairs would hardly have been said a 
 few days later, when, at the call of Abraham 
 Lincoln, the people rose to protect their govern 
 ment, and every President s Message became of 
 thrilling interest, even to Thoreau. 
 
 Arrangements were now making for the inva 
 lid, about whose health his friends had been 
 anxious for some years, to travel for a better cli 
 mate than the New England spring affords, and 
 early in May Thoreau set out for the upper Mis 
 sissippi. He thus missed the last letter sent to 
 him by his English friend Cholmondeley, which 
 I answered, and then forwarded to him at Eed- 
 wing, in Minnesota. It is of interest enough to 
 be given here. 
 
 T. CHOLMONDELEY TO THOREAU (iN MINNESOTA). 
 SHREWSBURY [England], April 23, 1861. 
 
 MY DEAR THOREAU, It is now some time 
 since I wrote to you or heard from you, but do 
 
440 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 not suppose that I have forgotten you, or shall 
 ever cease to cherish in my mind those days at 
 dear old Concord. The last I heard about you 
 all was from Morton, 1 who was in England about 
 a year ago ; and I hope that he has got over his 
 difficulties and is now in his own country again. 
 I think he has seen rather more of English 
 country life than most Yankee tourists ; and ap 
 peared to find it curious, though I fear he was 
 dulled by our ways ; for he was too full of cere 
 mony and compliments and bows, which is a 
 mistake here ; though very well in Spain. I am 
 afraid he was rather on pins and needles ; but 
 he made a splendid speech at a volunteer sup 
 per, and indeed the very best, some said, ever 
 heard in this part of the country. 
 
 We are here in a state of alarm and appre 
 hension, the world being so troubled in East 
 and West and everywhere. Last year the har 
 vest was bad and scanty. This year our trade 
 is beginning to feel the events in America. In 
 reply to the northern tariff, of course we are 
 going to smuggle as much as we can. The sup 
 ply of cotton being such a necessity to us, we 
 must work up India and South Africa a little 
 better. There is war even in old New Zealand, 
 
 1 Edwin Morton of Plymouth, Mass., a friend of John Brown 
 and Gerrit Smith, who went to England in October, 1859, to 
 avoid testifying against his friends. 
 
asT.43.] CHOLMONDELKT TO THOREAU. 441 
 
 but not in the same island where my people are ! 
 Besides, we are certainly on the eve of a conti 
 nental blaze, so we are making merry and liv 
 ing while ice can ; not being sure where we shall 
 be this time a year. 
 
 Give my affectionate regards to your father, 
 mother, and sister, and to Mr. Emerson and his 
 family, and to Channing, Sanborn, Ricketson, 
 Blake, and Morton and Alcott and Parker. A 
 thought arises in my mind whether I may not 
 be enumerating some dead men ! Perhaps Par 
 ker is ! 
 
 These rumors of wars make me wish that we 
 had got done with this brutal stupidity of war 
 altogether ; and I believe, Thoreau, that the hu- / 
 man race will at last get rid of it, though per- V 
 haps not in a creditable way ; but such powers 
 will be brought to bear that it will become mon 
 strous even to the French. Dundonald declared 
 to the last that he possessed secrets which from 
 their tremendous character would make war im 
 possible. So peace may be begotten from the 
 machinations of evil. 
 
 Have you heard of any good books lately ? I 
 think " Burnt Njal " good, and believe it to be 
 genuine. " Hast thou not heard " (says Stein- 
 rora to Thangbrand) "how Thor challenged 
 Christ to single combat, and how he did not 
 dare to fight with Thor?" When Gunnar 
 
442 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 brandishes his sword, three swords are seen in 
 air. The account of Ospah and Brodir and Bri 
 an s battle is the only historical account of that 
 engagement, which the Irish talk so much of ; 
 for I place little trust in O Halloran s authority, 
 though the outline is the same in both. 
 
 Darwin s " Origin of Species " may be fanci 
 ful, but it is a move in the right direction. Em 
 erson s " Conduct of Life " has done me good ; 
 but it will not go down in England for a gener 
 ation or so. But these are some of them already 
 a year or two old. The book of the season is 
 Du Chaillu s " Central Africa," with accounts of 
 the Gorilla, of which you are aware that you 
 have had a skeleton at Boston for many years. 
 There is also one in the British Museum ; but 
 they have now several stuffed specimens at the 
 Geographical Society s rooms in Town. I sup 
 pose you will have seen Sir Emerson Tennent s 
 " Ceylon," which is perhaps as complete a book 
 as ever was published ; and a better monument 
 to a governor s residence in a great province was 
 never made. 
 
 We have been lately astonished by a foreign 
 Hamlet, a supposed impossibility ; but Mr. Fech- 
 ter does real wonders. No doubt he will visit 
 America, and then you may see the best actor 
 in the world. He has carried out Goethe s idea 
 of Hamlet as given in the " Wilhelm Meister," 
 
2ET.43.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 443 
 
 showing him forth as a fair-haired and fat man. 
 I suppose you are not got fat yet ? 
 Yours ever truly, 
 
 CHOLMONDELEY. 1 
 
 TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER). 
 
 CONCORD, May 3, 1861. 
 
 MR. BLAKE, I am still as much an invalid 
 as when you and Brown were here, if not more 
 of one, and at this rate there is danger that 
 the cold weather may come again, before I get 
 
 1 A word may be said of the after life of this magnanimous 
 Englishman, who did not long survive his Concord correspond 
 ent. In March, 1863, being then in command of a battalion 
 of Shropshire Volunteers, which he had raised, he inherited 
 Condover Hall and the large estate adjacent, and took the 
 name of Owen as a condition of the inheritance. A year later 
 he married Miss Victoria Cotes, daughter of John and Lady 
 Louisa Cotes (Co. Salop), a godchild of the Queen, and went 
 to Italy for his wedding-tour. In Florence he was seized with 
 a malignant fever, April 10, 1864, and died there April 20, 
 not quite two years after Thoreau s death. His brother Regi 
 nald, who had met him in Florence, carried back his remains 
 to England, and he is buried in Condover churchyard. Writ 
 ing to an American friend, Mr. R. Cholmondeley said : " The 
 whole county mourned for one who had made himself greatly 
 beloved. During his illness his thoughts went back very much 
 to America and her great sufferings. His large heart felt for 
 your country as if it were his own." It seems that he did not 
 go to New Zealand with the "Canterbury Pilgrims," as sug 
 gested in the Atlantic Monthly (December, 1893), but in the 
 first of Lord Lyttelton s ships (the Charlotte Jane), having 
 joined in Lord L. s scheme for colonizing the island, where he 
 remained only six months, near Christchurch. 
 
444 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 over my bronchitis. The doctor accordingly 
 tells me that I must " clear out " to the West 
 Indies, or elsewhere, he does not seem to care 
 much where. But I decide against the West 
 Indies, on account of their muggy heat in the 
 summer, and the South of Europe, on account of 
 the expense of time and money, and have at last 
 concluded that it will be most expedient for me 
 to try the air of Minnesota, say somewhere 
 about St. Paul s. I am only waiting to be well 
 enough to start. Hope to get off within a week 
 or ten days. 
 
 The inland air may help me at once, or it may 
 not. At any rate, I am so much of an invalid, 
 that I shall have to study my comfort in travel 
 ing to a remarkable degree, stopping to rest, 
 etc., etc., if need be. I think to get a through 
 ticket to Chicago, with liberty to stop frequently 
 on the way, making my first stop of consequence 
 at Niagara Falls, several days or a week, at a 
 private boarding-house ; then a night or day at 
 Detroit ; and as much at Chicago as my health 
 may require. At Chicago I can decide at what 
 point (Fulton, Dunleith, or another) to strike 
 the Mississippi, and take a boat to St. Paul s. 
 
 I trust to find a private boarding-house in 
 one or various agreeable places in that region, 
 and spend my time there. I expect, and shall 
 be prepared, to be gone three months ; and I 
 
JET. 43.] TO F. B. SANBORN. 445 
 
 would like to return by a different route, 
 perhaps Mackinaw and Montreal. 
 
 I have thought of finding a companion, of 
 course, yet not seriously, because I had no right 
 to offer myself as a companion to anybody, hav 
 ing such a peculiarly private and all-absorbing 
 but miserable business as my health, and not 
 altogether his, to attend to, causing me to stop 
 here and go there, etc., etc., unaccountably. 
 
 Nevertheless, I have just now decided to let 
 you know of my intention, thinking it barely 
 possible that you might like to make a part or 
 the whole of this journey at the same time, and 
 that perhaps your own health may be such as to 
 be benefited by it. 
 
 Pray let me know if such a statement offers 
 any temptations to you. I write in great haste 
 for the mail, and must omit all the moral. 
 
 TO F. B. SANBORN (AT CONCORD). 
 
 REDWING, Minnesota, June 26, 1861. 
 
 MK. SANBORN, I was very glad to find 
 awaiting me, on my arrival here on Sunday after 
 noon, a letter from you. I have performed this 
 journey in a very dead and alive manner, but 
 nothing has come so near waking me up as the 
 receipt of letters from Concord. I read yours, 
 and one from my sister (and Horace Mann, his 
 four), near the top of a remarkable isolated 
 
446 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 bluff here, called Barn Bluff, or the Grange, or 
 Kedwing Bluff, some four hundred and fifty feet 
 high, and half a mile long, a bit of the main 
 bluff or bank standing alone. The top, as you 
 know, rises to the general level of the surround 
 ing country, the river having eaten out so much. 
 Yet the valley just above and below this (we 
 are at the head of Lake Pepin) must be three 
 or four miles wide. 
 
 I am not even so well informed as to the pro 
 gress of the war as you suppose. I have seen 
 but one Eastern paper (that, by the way, was 
 the " Tribune ") for five weeks. I have not 
 taken much pains to get them ; but, necessarily, 
 I have not seen any paper at all for more than 
 a week at a time. The people of Minnesota 
 have seemed to me more cold, to feel less im 
 plicated in this war than the people of Massa 
 chusetts. It is apparent that Massachusetts, for 
 one State at least, is doing much more than her 
 share in carrying it on. However, I have dealt 
 partly with those of Southern birth, and have 
 seen but little way beneath the surface. I was 
 glad to be told yesterday that there was a good 
 deal of weeping here at Kedwing the other day, 
 when the volunteers stationed at Fort Snelling 
 followed the regulars to the seat of the war. 
 They do not weep when their children go up the 
 river to occupy the deserted forts, though they 
 may have to fight the Indians there. 
 
JST. 43.] TO F. B. SANBORN. 447 
 
 I do not even know what the attitude of Eng 
 land is at present. 
 
 The grand feature hereabouts is, of course, 
 the Mississippi River. Too much can hardly be 
 said of its grandeur, and of the beauty of this 
 portion of it (from Dunleith, and probably from 
 Rock Island to this place). St. Paul is a dozen 
 miles below the Falls of St. Anthony, or near 
 the head of uninterrupted navigation on the 
 main stream, about two thousand miles from its 
 mouth. There is not a " rip " below that, and 
 the river is almost as wide in the upper as the 
 lower part of its course. Steamers go up to the 
 Sauk Rapids, above the Falls, near a hundred 
 miles farther, and then you are fairly in the pine- 
 woods and lumbering country. Thus it flows 
 from the pine to the palm. 
 
 The lumber, as you know, is sawed chiefly at 
 the Falls of St. Anthony (what is not rafted in 
 the log to ports far below), having given rise to 
 the towns of St. Anthony, Minneapolis, etc., etc. 
 In coming up the river from Dunleith, you meet 
 with great rafts of sawed lumber and of logs, 
 twenty rods or more in length, by five or six 
 wide, floating down, all from the pine region 
 above the Falls. An old Maine lumberer, who 
 has followed the same business here, tells me 
 that the sources of the Mississippi were compar 
 atively free from rocks and rapids, making easy 
 
448 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 work for them ; but he thought that the timber 
 was more knotty here than in Maine. 
 
 It has chanced that about half the men whom 
 I have spoken with in Minnesota, whether trav 
 elers or settlers, were from Massachusetts. 
 
 After spending some three weeks in and about 
 St. Paul, St. Anthony, and Minneapolis, we made 
 an excursion in a steamer, some three hundred 
 or more miles up the Minnesota (St. Peter s) 
 Eiver, to Redwood, or the Lower Sioux Agency, 
 in order to see the plains, and the Sioux, who 
 were to receive their annual payment there. 
 This is eminently the river of Minnesota (for 
 she shares the Mississippi with Wisconsin), and 
 it is of incalculable value to her. It flows 
 through a very fertile country, destined to be 
 famous for its wheat ; but it is a remarkably 
 winding stream, so that Redwood is only half as 
 far from its mouth by land as by water. There 
 was not a straight reach a mile in length as far 
 as we went, generally you could not see a 
 quarter of a mile of water, and the boat was 
 steadily turning this way or that. At the greater 
 bends, as the Traverse des Sioux, some of the 
 passengers were landed, and walked across to be 
 taken in on the other side. Two or three times 
 you could have thrown a stone across the neck 
 of the isthmus, while it was from one to three 
 miles around it. It was a very novel kind of 
 
2ET. 43.] TO F. B. SANBORN. 449 
 
 navigation to me. The boat was perhaps the 
 largest that had been up so high, and the water 
 was rather low (it had been about fifteen feet 
 higher). In making a short turn, we repeatedly 
 and designedly ran square into the steep and 
 soft bank, taking in a cart-load of earth, this 
 being more effectual than the rudder to fetch us 
 about again ; or the deeper water was so narrow 
 and close to the shore, that we were obliged to 
 run into and break down at least fifty trees 
 which overhung the water, when we did not cut 
 them off, repeatedly losing a part of our out 
 works, though the most exposed had been taken 
 in. I could pluck almost any plant on the bank 
 from the boat. We very frequently got aground, 
 and then drew ourselves along with a windlass 
 and a cable fastened to a tree, or we swung 
 round in the current, and completely blocked up 
 and blockaded the river, one end of the boat 
 resting on each shore. And yet we would haul 
 ourselves round again with the windlass and ca 
 ble in an hour or two, though the boat was about 
 one hundred and sixty feet long, and drew some 
 three feet of water, or, often, water and sand. 
 It was one consolation to know that in such a 
 case we were all the while damming the river, 
 and so raising it. We once ran fairly on to a 
 concealed rock, with a shock that aroused all the 
 passengers, and rested there, and the mate went 
 
450 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 below with a lamp, expecting to find a hole, but 
 he did not. Snags and sawyers were so common 
 that I forgot to mention them. The sound of 
 the boat rumbling over one was the ordinary 
 music. However, as long as the boiler did not 
 burst, we knew that no serious accident was 
 likely to happen. Yet this was a singularly 
 navigable river, more so than the Mississippi 
 above the Falls, and it is owing to its very crook 
 edness. Ditch it straight, and it would not only 
 be very swift, but soon run out. It was from 
 ten to fifteen rods wide near the mouth, and 
 from eight to ten or twelve at Redwood. Though 
 the current was swift, I did not see a " rip " on 
 it, and only three or four rocks. For three 
 months in the year I am told that it can be nav 
 igated by small steamers about twice as far as 
 we went, or to its source in Big Stone Lake ; 
 and a former Indian agent told me that at high 
 water it was thought that such a steamer might 
 pass into the Red River. 
 
 In short, this river proved so very long and 
 navigable, that I was reminded of the last letter 
 or two in the voyage of the Baron la Hontan 
 (written near the end of the seventeenth cen 
 tury, I think), in which he states, that, after 
 reaching the Mississippi (by the Illinois or Wis 
 consin), the limit of previous exploration west 
 ward, he voyaged up it with his Indians, and at 
 
JET. 43.] TO R B. SANBORN. 451 
 
 length turned up a great river coming in from 
 the west, which he called "La Riviere Longue;" 
 and he relates various improbable things about 
 the country and its inhabitants, so that this let 
 ter has been regarded as pure fiction, or, more 
 properly speaking, a lie. But I am somewhat 
 inclined now to reconsider the matter. 
 
 The Governor of Minnesota (Ramsay), the 
 superintendent of Indian affairs in this quarter, 
 and the newly-appointed Indian agent were on 
 board ; also a German band from St. Paul, a 
 small cannon for salutes, and the money for the 
 Indians (ay, and the gamblers, it was said, who 
 were to bring it back in another boat). There 
 were about one hundred passengers, chiefly from 
 St. Paul, and more or less recently from the 
 northeastern States; also half a dozen young 
 educated Englishmen. Chancing to speak with 
 one who sat next to me, when the voyage was 
 nearly half over, I found that he was the son 
 of the Rev. Samuel May, 1 and a classmate of 
 yours, and had been looking for us at St. An 
 thony. 
 
 The last of the little settlements on the river 
 was New Ulm, about one hundred miles this side 
 of Redwood. It consists wholly of Germans. 
 We left them one hundred barrels of salt, which 
 will be worth something more, when the water 
 is lowest, than at present. 
 
 1 Rev. Joseph May, a cousin of Louisa Alcott. 
 
452 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 Kedwood is a mere locality, scarcely an In 
 dian village, where there is a store, and some 
 houses have been built for them. We were now 
 fairly on the great plains, and looking south ; 
 and, after walking that way three miles, could 
 see no tree in that horizon. The buffalo was 
 said to be feeding within twenty-five or thirty 
 miles. 
 
 A regular council was held with the Indians, 
 who had come in on their ponies, and speeches 
 were made on both sides through an interpreter, 
 quite in the described mode, the Indians, as 
 usual, having the advantage in point of truth 
 and earnestness, and therefore of eloquence. 
 The most prominent chief was named Little 
 Crow. They were quite dissatisfied with the 
 white man s treatment of them, and probably 
 have reason to be so. This council was to be 
 continued for two or three days, the payment 
 to be made the second day ; and another pay 
 ment to other bands a little higher up, on the 
 Yellow Medicine (a tributary of the Minnesota), 
 a few days thereafter. 
 
 In the afternoon, the half -naked Indians per 
 formed a dance, at the request of the Governor, 
 for our amusement and their own benefit ; and 
 then we took leave of them, and of the officials 
 who had come to treat with them. 
 
 Excuse these pencil marks, but my inkstand 
 
JST. 43.] TO F. B. SANBORN. 453 
 
 is unscrewable, and I can only direct my letter 
 at the bar. I could tell you more, and perhaps 
 more interesting things, if I had time. I am 
 considerably better than when I left home, but 
 still far from well. 
 
 Our faces are already set toward home. Will 
 you please let my sister know that we shall prob- 
 cibly start for Milwaukee and Mackinaw in a 
 day or two (or as soon as we hear from home) 
 ma Prairie du Chien, and not La Crosse. 
 
 I am glad to hear that you have written to 
 Cholmondeley, 1 as it relieves me of some respon 
 sibility. 
 
 The tour described in this long letter was the 
 first and last that Thoreau ever made west of the 
 Mohawk Valley, though his friend Channing had 
 early visited the great prairies, and lived in log- 
 cabins of Illinois, or sailed on the chain of great 
 lakes, by which Thoreau made a part of this 
 journey. It was proposed that Channing should 
 accompany him this time, as he had in the tour 
 through Lower Canada, and along Cape Cod, as 
 well as in the journeys through the Berkshire 
 and Catskill mountains, and down the Hudson ; 
 but some misunderstanding or temporary incon 
 venience prevented. The actual comrade was 
 
 1 I had answered T. Cholmondeley s last letter, explaining 1 
 that Thoreau was ill and absent. 
 
454 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 young Horace Mann, eldest son of the school-re 
 former and statesman of that name, a silent, 
 earnest, devoted naturalist, who died early. The 
 place where his party met the Indians only a 
 few months before the Minnesota massacre of 
 1862 was in the county of Eedwood, in the 
 southwest of the State, where now is a thriving 
 village of 1,500 people, and no buffaloes within 
 five hundred miles. Redwing, whence the letter 
 was written, is below St. Paul, on the Mississippi, 
 and was even then a considerable town, now a 
 city of 7,000 people. The civil war had lately 
 begun, and the whole North was in the first flush 
 of its uprising in defense of the Union, for 
 which Thoreau, in spite of his earlier defiance of 
 government (for its alliance with slavery) was 
 as zealous as any soldier. He returned in July, 
 little benefited by the journey, of which he did 
 not take his usual sufficiency of notes, and to 
 which there is little allusion in his books. Nor 
 does it seem that he visited on the way his corre 
 spondent since January, 1856, C. H. Green, 
 of Rochester, Michigan, who had never seen 
 him in Concord. The opinion of Thoreau him 
 self concerning this journey will be found in his 
 next letter to Daniel Ricketson. 
 
*T.44.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 455 
 
 TO DANIEL KICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, August 15, 1861. 
 
 FRIEND KICKETSON, When your last letter 
 was written I was away in the far Northwest, in 
 search of health. My cold turned to bronchitis, 
 which made me a close prisoner almost up to the 
 moment of my starting on that journey, early in 
 May. As I had an incessant cough, my doctor 
 told me that I must "clear out," to the West 
 Indies, or elsewhere, so I selected Minnesota. 
 I returned a few weeks ago, after a good deal 
 of steady traveling, considerably, yet not essen 
 tially, better ; my cough still continuing. If I 
 don t mend very quickly, I shall be obliged to go 
 to another climate again very soon. 
 
 My ordinary pursuits, both indoors and out, 
 have been for the most part omitted, or seri 
 ously interrupted, walking, boating, scribbling, 
 etc. Indeed, I have been sick so long that I 
 have almost forgotten what it is to be well ; and 
 yet I feel that it is in all respects only my en 
 velope. Channing and Emerson are as well as 
 usual; but Alcott, I am sorry to say, has for 
 some time been more or less confined by a lame 
 ness, perhaps of a neuralgic character, occasioned 
 by carrying too great a weight on his back while 
 gardening. 
 
 On returning home, I found various letters 
 
456 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 awaiting me ; among others, one from Cholmonde- 
 ley, and one from yourself. 
 
 Of course I am sufficiently surprised to hear 
 of your conversion ; 1 yet I scarcely know what 
 to say about it, unless that, judging by your 
 account, it appears to me a change which con 
 cerns yourself peculiarly, and will not make you 
 more valuable to mankind. However, perhaps I 
 must see you before I can judge. 
 
 Kemembering your numerous invitations, I 
 write this short note now, chiefly to say that, if 
 you are to be at home, and it will be quite agree 
 able to you, I will pay you a visit next week, and 
 take such rides or sauntering walks with you as 
 an invalid may. 
 
 The visit was made, and we owe to it the pres 
 ervation of the latest portraiture of Thoreau, 
 who, at his friend s urgency, sat to a photogra 
 pher in New Bedford ; and thus we have the full- 
 bearded likeness of August, 1861 ; from which, 
 also, and from personal recollection, Mr. Walter 
 Ricketson made the fine profile medallion en 
 graved for this volume. 
 
 1 A return to religious Quakerism, of which his friend had 
 written enthusiastically. 
 
2ET. 44.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 457 
 
 TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, October 14, 1861. 
 
 FKIEND RICKETSON, I think that, on the 
 whole, my health is better than when you were 
 here; but my faith in the doctors has not in 
 creased. I thank you all for your invitation to 
 come to New Bedford, but I suspect that it must 
 still be warmer here than there; that, indeed, 
 New Bedford is warmer than Concord only in 
 the winter, and so I abide by Concord. 
 
 September was pleasanter and much better for 
 me than August, and October has thus far been 
 quite tolerable. Instead of riding on horse 
 back, I ride in a wagon about every other day. 
 My neighbor, Mr. E. R. Hoar, has two horses, 
 and he, being away for the most part this fall, 
 has generously offered me the use of one of them ; 
 and, as I notice, the dog throws himself in, and 
 does scouting duty. 
 
 I am glad to hear that you no longer chew, but 
 eschew, sugar-plums. One of the worst effects 
 of sickness is, that it may get one into the habit 
 of taking a little something his bitters, or 
 sweets, as if for his bodily good from time to 
 time, when he does not need it. However, there 
 is no danger of this if you do not dose even when 
 you are sick. 
 
 I went with a Mr. Rodman, a young man of 
 
458 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1861, 
 
 your town, here the other day, or week, looking 
 at farms for sale, and rumor says that he is in 
 clined to buy a particular one. Channing says 
 that he received his book, but has not got any of 
 yours. 
 
 It is easy to talk, but hard to write. 
 
 From the worst of all correspondents, 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU. 
 
 No later letter than this was written by Tho- 
 reau s own hand ; for he was occupied all the 
 winter of 1861-62, when he could write, in pre 
 paring his manuscripts for the press. Nothing 
 appeared before his death, but in June, 1862, 
 Mr. Fields, then editing the " Atlantic," printed 
 " Walking," the first of three essays which 
 came out in that magazine the same year. No 
 thing of Thoreau s had been accepted for the 
 "Atlantic" since 1858, when he withdrew the 
 rest of " Chesuncook," then coming out in its 
 pages, because the editor (Mr. Lowell) had made 
 alterations in the manuscript. In April, just 
 before his death, the "Atlantic " printed a short 
 and characteristic sketch of Thoreau by Bronson 
 Alcott, and in August, Emerson s funeral ora 
 tion, given in the parish church of Concord. 
 During the last six months of his illness, his sis 
 ter and his friends wrote letters for him, as will 
 be seen by the two that follow. 
 
JET. 44.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 459 
 
 SOPHIA THOREAU TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW 
 
 BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, December 19, 1861. 
 
 MR. RICKETSON : 
 
 Dear Sir, Thank you for your friendly in 
 terest in my dear brother. I wish that I could 
 report more favorably in regard to his health. 
 Soon after your visit to Concord, Henry com 
 menced riding, and almost every day he intro 
 duced me to some of his familiar haunts, far away 
 in the thick woods, or by the ponds ; all very 
 new and delightful to me. The air and exercise 
 which he enjoyed during the fine autumn days 
 were a benefit to him ; he seemed stronger, had a 
 good appetite, and was able to attend somewhat 
 to his writing; but since the cold weather has 
 come, his cough has increased, and he is able to 
 go out but seldom. Just now he is suffering 
 from an attack of pleurisy, which confines him 
 wholly to the house. His spirits do not fail him ; 
 he continues in his usual serene mood, which is 
 very pleasant for his friends as well as himself. 
 I am hoping for a short winter and early spring, 
 that the invalid may again be out of doors. 
 
 I am sorry to hear of your indisposition, 
 and trust that you will be well again soon. It 
 would give me pleasure to see some of your 
 newspaper articles, since you possess a hopeful 
 
460 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1862, 
 
 spirit. My patience is nearly exhausted. The 
 times look very dark. I think the next soldier 
 who is shot for sleeping on his post should be 
 Gen. McClellan. Why does he not do some 
 thing in the way of fighting? I despair of ever 
 living under the reign of Sumner or Phillips. 
 
 BRONSON ALCOTT TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW 
 BEDFORD). 
 
 CONCORD, January 10, 1862. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, You have not been informed 
 of Henry s condition this winter, and will be 
 sorry to hear that he grows feebler day by day, 
 and is evidently failing and fading from our 
 sight. He gets some sleep, has a pretty good 
 appetite, reads at intervals, takes notes of his 
 readings, and likes to see his friends, conversing, 
 however, with difficulty, as his voice partakes of 
 his general debility. We had thought this old 
 est inhabitant of our Planet would have chosen to 
 stay and see it fairly dismissed into the Chaos (out 
 of which he has brought such precious jewels, 
 gifts to friends, to mankind generally, diadems 
 for fame to coming followers, forgetful of his 
 own claims to the honors) before he chose simply 
 to withdraw from the spaces and times he has 
 adorned with the truth of his genius. But the 
 masterly work is nearly done for us here. And 
 our woods and fields are sorrowing, though not in 
 
JET. 44.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 461 
 
 sombre, but in robes of white, so becoming to the 
 piety and probity they have known so long, and 
 soon are to miss. There has been none such 
 since Pliny, and it will be long before there 
 comes his like ; the most sagacious and wonder 
 ful Worthy of his time, and a marvel to coming 
 ones. 
 
 I write at the suggestion of his sister, who 
 thought his friends would like to be informed of 
 his condition to the latest date. 
 
 Ever yours and respectfully, 
 
 A. BRONSON ALCOTT. 
 
 The last letter of Henry Thoreau, written by 
 the hand of his sister, was sent to Myron Benton, 
 a young literary man then living in Dutchess 
 County, New York, who had written a grateful 
 letter to the author of " Walden " (January 6, 
 1862), though quite unacquainted with him. 
 Mr. Benton said that the news of Thoreau s ill 
 ness had affected him as if it were that " of 
 a personal friend whom I had known a long 
 time," and added : " The secret of the influence 
 by which your writings charm me is altogether 
 as intangible, though real, as the attraction of 
 Nature herself. I read and re-read your books 
 with ever fresh delight. Nor is it pleasure alone ; 
 there is a singular spiritual healthiness with 
 which they seem imbued, -/- the expression of a 
 
462 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1862, 
 
 soul essentially sound, so free from any morbid 
 tendency." After mentioning that his own home 
 was in a pleasant valley, once the hunting-ground 
 of the Indians, Mr. Benton said : 
 
 " I was in hope to read something more from 
 your pen in Mr. Conway s Dial, l but only 
 recognized that fine pair of Walden twinlets. 
 Of your two books, I perhaps prefer the Week, 
 but after all, Walden is but little less a 
 favorite. In the former, I like especially those 
 little snatches of poetry interspersed throughout. 
 I would like to ask what progress you have made 
 in a work some way connected with natural his 
 tory, I think it was on Botany, which Mr. 
 Emerson told me something about in a short in 
 terview I had with him two years ago at Pough- 
 keepsie. ... If you should feel perfectly able 
 at any time to drop me a few lines, I would like 
 much to know what your state of health is, and 
 if there is, as I cannot but hope, a prospect of 
 your speedy recovery." 
 
 Two months and more passed before Thoreau 
 replied ; but his habit of performing every duty, 
 
 
 
 1 This was a short-lived monthly, edited at Cincinnati (1861- 
 62) by Moncure D. Conway, since distinguished as an author, 
 who had resided for a time in Concord, after leaving his native 
 Virginia. He wrote asking Thoreau and all his Concord 
 friends to contribute to this new Dial, and several of them 
 did so. 
 
JET. 44.] TO MYRON B. BENTON. 463 
 
 whether of business or courtesy, would not ex 
 cuse him from an answer, which was this : 
 
 TO MYRON B. BENTON (AT LEEDSVILLE, N. Y.). 
 CONCOKD, March 21, 1862. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I thank you for your very kind 
 letter, which, ever since I received it, I have in 
 tended to answer before I died, however briefly. 
 I am encouraged to know, that, so far as you are 
 concerned, I have not written my books in vain. 
 I was particularly gratified, some years ago, when 
 one of my friends and neighbors said, " I wish 
 you would write another book, write it for 
 me." He is actually more familiar with what I 
 have written than I am myself. 
 
 The verses you refer to in Con way s " Dial," 
 were written by F. B. Sanborn of this town. I 
 never wrote for that journal. 
 
 I am pleased when you say that in "The 
 Week " you like especially " those little snatches 
 of poetry interspersed through the book," for 
 these, I suppose, are the least attractive to most 
 readers. I have not been engaged in any par 
 ticular work, on Botany, or the like, though, if 
 I were to live, I should have much to report on 
 Natural History generally. 
 
 You ask particularly after my health. I sup 
 pose that I have not many months to live ; but, 
 of course, I know nothing about it. I may add 
 
464 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1862. 
 
 that I am enjoying existence as much as ever, 
 and regret nothing. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU, 
 by SOPHIA E. THOREAU. 
 
 He died May 6, 1862 ; his mother died March 
 12, 1872, and his sister Sophia, October, 1876. 
 With the death of his aunt, Maria Thoreau, 
 nearly twenty years after her beloved nephew, 
 the last person of the name in America (or per 
 haps in England) passed away. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 The year of graduation at Harvard University is indicated for such of 
 the persons mentioned in this Index as were students there. 
 
 ABBY and Almira (Mrs. Miner and 
 
 Mrs. Small), 182. 
 Abercrombie, Scotch author, 29. 
 Abolition convention, 307. 
 Absence, from Concord, 58, 79-144, 
 
 281 ; in love and friendship, 88, 
 
 225. 
 Absorbing employment, 218, 269, 
 
 277, 315, 368. 
 "Abuse of the Bible," Mrs. Mott s, 
 
 115. 
 
 Abuse of Marriage, 240, 249. 
 Academy at Concord, 10, 27, 56. 
 Academy of Design, New York, 85. 
 Acclimation, 86, 92. 
 Accord in Friendship, 66, 177, 242, 
 
 308. 
 
 Acorns, 426, 427. 
 Action and Being, 191, 196, 215, 
 
 253, 266. 
 
 Acton, Mass., 410, 420, 423, 424. 
 Actual life, 8, 104, 192, 257, 273. 
 Adams, John, 3. 
 Adams Latin Grammar, 28. 
 Adirondacs, 415, 420. 
 Admetus, king of Thessaly, 44, 51, 
 
 52, 269, 410. 
 
 Admiration, 184, 258, 392. 
 Ado about things, 8, 215, 236. 
 Adolescentula, E. White, 31, 35. 
 Adoration of Nature, 42, 75. 
 Advice, 28, 29, 78, 137, 144, 160, 172, 
 
 214, 224. 
 
 .Eolian harp, 239. 
 Aerial effects, 105. 
 Aerial rivers, 67. 
 jEschylus, translated, 70, 121. 
 Africa, 233. 
 Agassiz, Louis, and Thoreau, 149- 
 
 157 ; mentioned, 165, 176, 363, 401. 
 Age of achievement, 143-219. 
 Agiocochook, N. H., 44. 
 Agriculturist newspaper, 127. 
 Aims in life, xi, 54, 69, 79, 105, 117, 
 
 141, 191, 197, 208, 225, 292, 307, 
 328. 
 
 Alabama, 334. 
 
 Alcott, A. Bronson (b. 1799, d. 
 1888), 58, 60, 70, 72, 73-6, 99, 124, 
 148, 161, 163, 173, 175, 181, 183-5, 
 189, 228-9, 287, 299, 332, 338, 357, 
 364, 388, 396, 402, 414; 436, 438, 
 441, 460 ; acquaintance with Tho 
 reau, 58, 60, 75, 163, 164, 181, etc. ; 
 at home in Fruitlands, 75, 99 ; in 
 Boston, 285 ; in Walpole, 332 ; in 
 Concord, at Orchard House, 388, 
 435; builds Emerson s summer- 
 house, 161-163 ; in Concord jail, 
 60 ; chosen school sup t, 436 ; di 
 ary of, 348 ; holds conversations 
 in Concord, 60, 75, 402 ; in Eagles- 
 wood, N. J., 340; in New York, 
 333, 348 ; dines with Thoreau, 61 ; 
 visits with Thoreau in New Bed 
 ford, 357 ; in Plymouth, 364 ; in 
 Brooklyn, 349; describes Walt 
 Whitman, 349 ; at Thoreau s fu 
 neral, 76 ; letter from, 460 ; letter 
 to, 332. 
 
 Alcott, Mrs. A. B., 333, 436. 
 
 Alcott, Louisa May, 333, 377, 436. 
 
 Alehouse, in New York, 94. 
 
 Alexander the Great, ix. 
 
 Alfieri, 352. 
 
 Allegash, Maine river, 382. 
 
 Allen, Phineas, 10. 
 
 All for love, 243. 
 
 Almshouse (of Concord), 91,175,400. 
 
 Alone in the world, 197. 
 
 Alpheus, Grecian river, 109. 
 
 America, its commercial spirit, 8, 9 ; 
 its Indians, 13-21, 130, 239, 292, 
 313, 339, 366, 369, 452 ; mentioned, 
 321. 
 
 Americana, Encyclopedia, 20, 21. 
 
 American authors, viii, 20, 27, 51, 
 57, 59, 61, 68, 76, 80, 94-96, 110, 
 
466 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 112, 123, 128, 133, 139, 143, 149, 
 154, 173, 174, 184, 190, 203, 207, 
 220, 228, 229, 283, 313, 321, 324, 340, 
 345, 348, 357, 364, 388, 396, 401, 
 421, 458, 461. 
 
 American bards, 137, 341. 
 
 American birds, 14, 23, 26, 31, 34, 
 48, 88, 184, 227, 270, 409, 425, 434. 
 
 American characteristics, 9, 93, 101, 
 127, 130, 165, 252, 276, 434. 
 
 American cities, 81, 93, 130, 225, 
 335, 348, 397, 401. 
 
 American politics, 18, 19, 168, 334, 
 414. 
 
 American privateer, General Lin 
 coln, 3. 
 
 American Revolution, 11, 414. 
 
 Ainherst, N. H., 354. 
 
 Amcenitates Botanicse, a book, 249. 
 
 Anavvan, an Indian, 16. 
 
 Anchoring a mountain, 376. 
 
 Ancients, wisdom of the, 136, 350, 
 351. 
 
 Annihilation Company, 233. 
 
 Anti-Sabbath convention, 189. 
 
 Anti-slavery meetings, 302, 413, 414. 
 
 Anti-Slavery Standard, The, 53, 289. 
 
 Appearances, 213, 274. 
 
 Apples, Baldwin, 256; Dead Sea, 
 411 ; frozen-thawed, 214 ; of Hes- 
 perides, 256 ; planted byThoreau, 
 427. 
 
 Architecture, Alcott s, 163. 
 
 "Architecture, Seven Lamps of" 
 (Ruskin), 374. 
 
 Arnica mollis, 389, 390. 
 
 Arnold, Benedict, 378, 379. 
 
 Arnold, Mr., 396. 
 
 Armies, 307, 378, 411. 
 
 Arrow-heads, 4, 20, 114. 
 
 Art, 112, 374. 
 
 Ash-man, is God an ? 294. 
 
 Ask to see God, 197. 
 
 Asnebumskit, 234, 329, 330. 
 
 Assabet, the river, vii, 318. 
 
 Assawampsett, 313. 
 
 Assisting Nature, 314. 
 
 Associations : Brook Farm, 372 ; 
 Fourierite, 96, 115, 124, 372. 
 
 Assyria, 253, 270. 
 
 Astor House, New York, 131. 
 
 Astor Library, 335. 
 
 Astronomy at Cambridge, 159, 164 ; 
 at Concord, 159. 
 
 Atlantic Monthly, 284, 458. 
 
 Atlantic Ocean, x, 15, 82, 98, 220, 
 230, 304, 353, 412. 
 
 Atlas, the Giant, 292, 418. 
 
 Aulus Persius, 3, 189. 
 
 Australian Englishman, 393. 
 
 Australasia, Cholmondeley in, 284. 
 Autobiographies of Gibbon and 
 
 Goethe, 352 ; of Haydon, 269, 352. 
 Autumn, a poem, 137 ; the season, 
 
 43, 333. 
 
 "Autumnal Tints," 395, 406. 
 Autuinnus, 44. 
 Awe at visiting mountains, 374. 
 
 BABYLON, ancient, 270. 
 
 Babylon, N. Y., 121. 
 
 Bacon mentioned, 136. 
 
 Bacchus, Whitman compared to. 
 
 349. 
 
 Bag of gold in swimming, 373. 
 Baldwin apples, 256. 
 Bangor, Me., 142, 158, 381. 
 Banks, 194 ; failures of, 371-373. 
 Barberries, 187, 211; barberrying, 
 
 413. 
 Bartlett, Dr. Josiah (H. U. 1816), 
 
 164, 182, 184, 301. 
 Bartlett, Robert (H. U. 1836), 68. 
 Battery, New York, 101. 
 Battles, 410 ; in the cloud, 384. 
 Bay of New York, 125, 336; of 
 
 Plymouth, 353. 
 Beach at Fire Island, 220, 223 ; at 
 
 Staten Island, x, 83, 98, 102; at 
 
 Truro, 302, 305, 412. 
 Beasts, 251, 432. 
 
 "Beauties of Ancient English Poe 
 try," 77. 
 Beauty, 239; Emerson s Ode to, 
 
 137-140 ; Ruskin on, 374. 
 Beautiful laws, 213. 
 Beecher, Henry Ward, 340. 
 Bedfellows, 263, 273. 
 Beer, small and strong, 168, 178, 
 
 179. 
 
 Beggars, 344. 
 Beggar-ticks, 338. 
 Behemoth, 278. 
 Bellew, F., an artist. 335. 
 Bellows, Rev. H. W. (H. U. 1832), 
 
 125. 
 
 Bemis, George, Concord printer, 19. 
 Benjamin, Park, 128. 
 Bemiet s account of Middleborough, 
 
 313. 
 
 Benton, Myron B., 461. 
 Berkshire, mentioned, 324. 
 Berries, 25, 133. 
 
 Betty s Neck, Middleborough, 313. 
 Biberg, J. (naturalist), quoted, 249. 
 Bible, mentioned, 74, 116, 136. 
 Bigelow, Dr. J., 21. 
 Birney, James G., 333-381. 
 Birth, spiritual, 254. 
 Black, Mrs., 97. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 467 
 
 Black, Sam (a cat), 32, 36. 
 
 Blake, Harrison Gray Otis (H. U. 
 1835), 189-191, 228, 280, 329; let 
 ters from, 190, 209, 251, 281 ; let 
 ters to, 192, 197, 208, 209, 213, 
 216, 223, 234, 237, 251, 261, 2G6, 
 271, 275, 289, 291, 301-308, 316, 
 326-332, 339-347, 354, 357, 359, 
 368-378, 385, 389, 409, 413, 415- 
 425, 428, 443; tours with, 235, 
 282, 388; visits from, 190, 301, 
 316. 
 
 Blakians, sugar candy, 329. 
 
 Blood, Perez, 159, 160, 164. 
 
 Blueberries, 25, 429. 
 
 Bluebirds, 14,23, 24, 396, 434. 
 
 Bluebird box, 24. 
 
 Blue-eyed grass, 42. 
 
 Bluffs, in Minnesota, 446. 
 
 Body and soul, 198, 218, 257. 
 
 Bonaparte, anecdote of, 277. 
 
 Bonnets of Quakers, 115. 
 
 Books, catalogue of, 69, 73, 311. 
 
 Boston, Agassiz in, 149-157 ; Alcott 
 in, 228, 285 ; clubs ridiculed, 401 ; 
 " Dial" mentioned, 44, 67, 69-74, 
 89, 92, 99, 103, 111, 128, 135-139, 
 141 ; lectures and lecturers, 154, 
 227, 228, 231, 413 ; Miscellany, 99, 
 103, 122 ; packet for Cape Cod, 
 303, 304 ; publishers, 99, 122, 166, 
 219, 281, 311, 388, 458. 
 
 Botany, Thoreau s skill in, 1, 282, 
 287. 
 
 Botta, Mrs. Anne Lynch, 348. 
 
 Bradbury and Soden, publishers, 
 99, 122. 
 
 Bradford, George P. (H. U. 1825), 
 74, 364. 
 
 Bradford, T. G. (H. U. 1822), 20. 
 
 Brahma, 210. 
 
 Brahmins, 270, 351. 
 
 Brattleboro, Vt., 332. 
 
 Bread, discourse on, 197-199, 307; 
 daily, 205 ; mentioned, 317. 
 
 Briars, a field near Walden, 145. 
 
 Bride and bridegroom, 240, 249, 354. 
 
 Broadway, New York, 83, 101, 335, 
 341. 
 
 Brooklawn, New Bedford, 311, 320. 
 
 Brooklyn, N. Y., 82, 339, 346, 348. 
 
 Brown, Deacon Reuben, 169. 
 
 Brown, John, of Osawatomie, 339, 
 392, 415, 420 ; comes to Concord, 
 414; his capture and execution, 
 413-415 ; is eulogized by Thoreau, 
 414 ; his companions, 422-424. 
 
 Brown, John, Jr., son of preceding, 
 visits North Elba and Boston, 420. 
 
 Brown, Mrs. See Jackson. 
 
 Brown, Theo., of Worcester, 287, 
 
 301, 331, 335, 342, 345, 358, 368, 
 
 389, 406. 
 Brown, Dr. Thomas, of Edinburgh, 
 
 29. 
 
 Browne, Sir Thomas, 183. 
 Brownson, 0. A., 4. 
 Buddhist, 128. 
 Buffaloes, 14, 17, 130. 
 Buffum, Arnold, 337. 
 Bull, E. W. (Concord grape), 436. 
 Bulwer, Lord Lytton, 31, 34. 
 Bunsen, works of, 321. 
 Burnham, a Boston bookseller, 311. 
 Burning woods, 168, 363, 391. 
 Burns, Thoreau s grandmother, 6. 
 Business, remarks on, 8, 127, 186, 
 
 204, 206, 372, 410. 
 Butternuts, in New York, 19. 
 Buying clothes, 127, 271 ; a house, 
 
 169-172 ; wood, 294. 
 
 CABMEN of New York, 81. 
 
 Cabot, J. Elliott (H. U. 1840), 149, 
 
 155, 226 ; letters to, 150-154, 186 ; 
 
 letters from 155, 157, 227. 
 Cactus, 32, 36. 
 Caddis-worms, 153. 
 Cadi, Turkish, 270. 
 Cage, lion in, 404. 
 Cake, for journeys, 383. 
 Calcutta, bishop of (R. Heber), 284. 
 Calf, the young bunting, 162. 
 California, 252, 260, 366. 
 Calling in life, 78, 117, 129, 144, 187, 
 
 196. 202, 206, 210, 218, 234, 254, 
 
 264. 
 Calyx, 239 ; the thalamus or bridal 
 
 chamber, 250. 
 Cambridge, Mass., 4, 7, 10, 52, 77-79, 
 
 130, 154, 159, 165, 272, 286, 299, 
 
 300, 336, 361, 364; library, 299; 
 
 observatory, 159, 164. 
 Camp, Thoreau s, on Monadnoc, 
 
 422. 
 
 Camping out, 421, 429, 432. 
 Canada, mentioned, 259, 297, 324, 
 
 378-380, 398, 399 ; story, 207, 260 ; 
 
 lynx, 427. 
 
 Candidates, 17, 19, 168, 232, 254. 
 Candor, in friendship, 66, 95, 163. 
 Canoes, 130, 301, 379-382. 
 Canton, Mass., Thoreau s school at, 
 
 4. 
 Cape Cod, mentioned, 290, 302-305, 
 
 366, 367 ; excursions to, 302, 359, 
 
 366, 412. 
 Cares, 310, 416. 
 Carlisle, Mass., 17, 19, 160. 
 Carlton House, New York, 64, 
 
468 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, mentioned, 57, 73, 
 95, 112, 120, 184, 185, 203, 296 ; 
 reviewed by Emerson, 112, 120; 
 by Thoreau, 203. 
 
 Carpet-race, 59, 64. 
 
 Carver, Mass., 311. 
 
 Cascade, Silver, 44. 
 
 Cases in court, Wyman s, 124 ; San- 
 born s, 420 ; other cases, 272. 
 
 Castle Garden, New York, 80. 
 
 Castleton, Staten Island, 80, 84, 85, 
 87, 89, 92, 100, 124. 
 
 Catacombs, 193, 215. 
 
 Catastomus tubercukttus, etc., 15G, 
 157. 
 
 Catherine, a Concord family, 2. 
 
 Catholic Church, 146, 293. 
 
 Cat-naps, 126. 
 
 Cats in Thoreau family, viii, 36 ; in 
 Worcester, 342. 
 
 Cattle show in Concord, 133. 
 
 Caucomgomoc, Me., 382. 
 
 Cedar-post, life of, 344. 
 
 Celestial City, 197. 
 
 Celestial cows, 269. 
 
 Celestial Empire, 105. 
 
 " Celestial Railroad," 143. 
 
 Cellar, of meeting-house, 377 ; of 
 Walden hut, 188. 
 
 Celtis-seeds, 357. 
 
 Centrifugal force of whim, 184. 
 
 Cents and dollars, 150, 205. 
 
 Ceremonies, 105, 270. 
 
 Chagrin, Goethe s, 202. 
 
 Chaleur, bay of, 380. 
 
 Chamber in Concord, 309, 314, 324. 
 
 Chambers of Silence, 278. 
 
 Chamberlain Lake in Maine, 381, 
 382. 
 
 Change is change, 193. 
 
 Channing, Ellen Fuller, wife of El- 
 lery, 49. 
 
 Channing, Ellery (W. E. Channing 
 the Younger), 49, 68, 76, 94, 110- 
 112, 123, 135, 139, 143-145, 175, 
 181, 184, 229, 231, 283, 285-287, 
 297, 300, 302, 303, 305, 314, 320, 
 322-325, 359, 364, 383, 384, 389, 
 392, 396, 400, 401 ; quoted, viii, ix, 
 1, 77, 144. 
 
 Channing, Rev. William Henry (H. 
 U. 1829), cousin of Ellery, 96, 114, 
 123, 140, 220, 222. 
 
 Channing, William Francis (son of 
 Dr. W. E. Channing, and cousin 
 of the two named above), men 
 tioned, 229. 
 
 Chapin, Rev. E. H. (H. U. 1845), 72. 
 
 Chapman, John, London publisher, 
 321. 
 
 Character, of Alcott, 181, 184; of 
 John Brown, 414 ; of W. E. Chan 
 ning, 325 ; of W. H. Channing, 96, 
 141 ; of T. Cholmondeley, 284, 321; 
 of D. Ricketson, 283, 306 ; of Walt 
 Whitman, 340, 345-349. 
 
 Charleston, S. C., 334. 
 
 Chastity and sensuality, 231, 245- 
 251, 345. 
 
 Chateaubriand, 13. 
 
 Chatham Street, 93. 
 
 Chaucer, mentioned, 90 ; quoted, 
 122. 
 
 Chaudiere, the river, 380. 
 
 Cherries, 25, 84. 
 
 Cheshire, England, 284. 
 
 Chesuncook, Me., 259, 381, 458. 
 
 Chicago, visited by Thoreau, 444 ; 
 by B. B. Wiley, 349. 
 
 Chickadees, 115, 425. 
 
 Child, Mrs. Lydia Maria, 120. 
 
 China, 105, 290. 
 
 Chippeway Indians, 130. 
 
 Cholmondeley, Rev. Charles, 284, 
 285. 
 
 Cholmondeley, Thomas, 282-286, 
 289, 295, 299, 320, 321, 348, 358, 
 397-399, 406, 409, 439-444 ; books 
 sent by, 319, 321 ; letter from, 
 321, 348, 439 ; letter to, 295-298. 
 
 Christ, 215, 233. 
 
 Christian, 59, 123, 134. 
 
 " Christian Examiner," 118. 
 
 Christianity, 105. 
 
 Christmas, 174, 200. 
 
 Clark, Farmer, 169. 
 
 Clark s Island, 353, 364. 
 
 Clark, the Swedenborgian, 175. 
 
 Church, 93, 115, 235, 270, 272 ; 
 Catholic, 146, 293. 
 
 City and swamp, 225. 
 
 City of God, 268, 405. 
 
 Clergyman, English, 284, 285, 321. 
 
 Club at Parker House, 401 ; Town 
 and Country, 401. 
 
 Coffee, 382. 
 
 Coffee-grounds, 216. 
 
 Cold weather, 14, 30-36, 297. 
 
 Coleridge, S. T., 352. 
 
 " Come to Concord ! " 331. 
 
 Commerce, 121. 
 
 Conantum in Concord, 168. 
 
 Concord, Mass., its academy, 10, 27, 
 56 ; aspect of, 14, 42, 43, 79, 109, 
 168, 210 ; cliffs of, 31, 34, 124, 184 ; 
 Lyceum, 4, 56, 60, 61, 72, 173, 180, 
 185, 187, 323 ; people, and houses, 
 2-5, 15, 19, 23, 39, 49, 56-58, 60-63, 
 75,76, 110, 111 ; schools, 4, 10, 25, 
 56, 377. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 469 
 
 Concord River, 2, 89, 109, 316. 
 Condover, England, 283, 443. 
 Conduct, regulation of, viii, 9, 38, 
 
 66, 90, 105, 141, 194, 200, 213, 224, 
 247. 
 
 Confucius, quoted, 350, 351. 
 Congress water and oratorios, 27G. 
 Connecticut River, 333. 
 Conversations, 75, 76, 402. 
 Conway, Moncure Daniel (H. U. 
 
 1854), 462. 
 
 Coombs, Neighbor, 168, 185. 
 Correction, House of, 403. 
 Cotes, Lady Louisa, 443. 
 Counts among immigrants, 131. 
 Cowper, the poet, 306, 325. 
 Crimea, 320 ; war in the, 286, 294, 
 
 298. 
 
 Cuckoo characters, 193. 
 Cuffing a subject, 174. 
 Cur circling his master s chaise, 
 
 196. 
 Curtis, George William, 169, 309, 
 
 399. 
 
 Cutler, E. J. (H. U. 1853), 336. 
 Cuttyhunk, the island, 394. 
 Cytherea choros ducit, 31. 
 
 DACE, a fish, 152, 157. 
 
 Daily bread, 197, 205, 307. 
 
 Daily life, 101, 194, 236, 252, 276, 
 
 291, 297, 310, 326, 342, 367. 
 Dam, in Concord street, 316 ; in 
 
 Minnesota river, 449. 
 Dandelions, 48, 262. 
 Dauesaz, 145. 
 Daniel, S., quoted, 264. 
 Dare to be singular, 12, 39, 208, 
 
 215. 
 
 Darkness, 278, 342. 
 Darwin, Charles, mentioned, 442. 
 Davenant s "Gondibert," 78. 
 Davis, Josiah, of Concord, his house, 
 
 Dawn, 43, 181, 265. 
 
 Day and night, 291, 342, 343, 360. 
 
 Day-dreams, 44, 46, 110, 121, 217. 
 
 Day-owls, 270. 
 
 Day-wages, 205, 251. 
 
 Decalogue, for whom made, 201. 
 
 Delay, in life, 236 ; in dying, 407. 
 
 Demons, 108, 293, 315, 388. 
 
 Destiny, 51 ; our own work, 417. 
 
 Devil, 226, 265 ; the printer s, 378. 
 
 Dew of sixpences, 98. 
 
 " Dial," the quarterly magazine, 44, 
 
 67, 69-74, 89, 92, 99, 103, 111, 128, 
 135-139, 143, 149, 187, 190. 
 
 Dialect, abominable, 74. 
 Difference of men and women, 238. 
 
 Diogenes, ix. 
 
 Diploma, old joke of, 165. 
 
 Dip-nets in twilight, 395. 
 
 Discipline, 255, 293. 
 
 Distant prospects, 129 ; from Mt. 
 Washington, 376 ; of Franconia 
 Mountains, 419. 
 
 Dissipation not allied to love, 248 ; to 
 be shunned by Thoreau, 367. 
 
 Disunion and slavery, 415. 
 
 Do a man s work, 416. 
 
 Dobson, the criminal, and Henry 
 James, 402, 403. 
 
 Doctrine of sorrow, 201 ; of happi 
 ness, 209 ; of letting alone, 214. 
 
 Dogmas, 402. 
 
 Dogs, 107, 247, 257, 262, 278, 298. 
 
 Doing and being, 266, 277. 
 
 Doing good, 255. 
 
 Dollars and cents, 194, 205, 251, 373, 
 381, 426. 
 
 D Orsay, Count, 272. 
 
 Drainage of the city of God, 405. 
 
 Dreams, 260. 
 
 Dress, of Cholmondeley, 398 ; of the 
 Quakers, 115, 337; of Thoreau, 
 272. 
 
 Drilling soldiers, 307. 
 
 Drosera (the plant), 361. 
 
 Du Chaillu, 442. 
 
 Duke of Newcastle, and Prince of 
 Wales, 433. 
 
 Duubar, Rev. Asa (H. U. 1767), 
 Thoreau s grandfather, 6. 
 
 Dunbar Charles (uncle of Tho 
 reau), 3, 126. 
 
 Dunbar, Louisa, 118. 
 
 Duubar, Mary (Jones), 2, 11. 
 
 Duudees, a nickname, 15, 17. 
 
 Dunleith, a town, 444, 447. 
 
 Durkee, Dr., a naturalist, 361, 363. 
 
 Dutch houses, 109. 
 
 Duties, 195, 201, 268, 275. 
 
 Duty, sense of, 117, 236. 
 
 Duxbury, Mass, 353. 
 
 EAGLES, 236. 
 
 Eagle-Beak, 15, 17. 
 
 Eagleswood, N. J., 334-341. 
 
 Earnest man, his force, "a beetle, 
 a wedge, a catapult." 200. 
 
 Earning bread, 197. 205, 256 ; dol 
 lars, 127, 251, 282. 
 
 Earth, blue with berries, 25 ; in 
 winter, 14. 
 
 East and West, 41, 114. 
 
 East Branch of Penobscot, 380. 
 
 " Easter Brooks " (Estabrook), 126. 
 
 Eastern Mountain anchored, 376. 
 
 East Quarter of Concord, 21. 
 
470 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Echo, in nature, 212. 
 
 " Echoes of Harper s Ferry," 415. 
 
 Edda, the Scandinavian, 144. 
 
 Edith the Saxon (daughter of Emer 
 son), 134. 
 
 Emerson, Charles Chauncy (H. U. 
 1828), 112. 
 
 Emerson, Charles (H. U. 1863), 27. 
 
 Emerson, Edith (Mrs. W. H. 
 Forbes), 59, 63, 64, 122, 162, 170, 
 174, 189. 
 
 Emerson, Edward Waldo (H. U. 
 1866), 162, 170, 174, 183, 189. 
 
 Emerson, Ellen Tucker, 59, 62, 135, 
 162, 170, 174, 180, 183, 189. 
 
 Emerson, Haven (son of William), 
 92. 
 
 Emerson, Miss Mary Moody (aunt 
 of R. W. E.), 318,401. 
 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo (H. U. 1821), 
 vi, viii, 5, 10, 18, 40, 56, 62, 144, 
 150, 158, 181, 186, 188, 220, 229, 
 276, 284, 287, 297, 299, 301, 309, 
 318, 364, 377, 392, 401, 402,414, 415, 
 423, 424; children of, 59, 62-64, 
 162, 170, 174, 183, 189 ; and Al- 
 cott, 73, 94, 99, 163, 229, 287, 299, 
 
 319, 364, 377, 402 ; and Charles 
 Lane, 73, 148, 149 ; and the " Dial," 
 67-74, 89, 92, 99, 111, 135-138, 187 ; 
 letters from, 56, 57, 67, 92, 99, 111, 
 122, 124, 143, 148, 170, 186; 
 letters to (from Thoreau), 58-67, 
 69-75, 92-99, 109-113, 120-122 
 127-129, 135-139, 161-186, 189, 
 202; quoted, 24, 137, 276, 285, 
 334, 339. 
 
 Emerson, Mrs. R. W. (Lidian Jack 
 son, of Plymouth), 40, 49, 53, 56, 
 61, 62, 64, 75, 80, 89, 99, 113, 122, 
 128, 162, 182, 188 ; letter from, 75, 
 76 ; letters to, 89-92, 103-106, 133- 
 135. 
 
 Emerson, Madam Ruth (mother of 
 William, Ralph, and Charles), 62, 
 92, 113. 
 
 Emerson, Waldo (son of R. W. E.) 
 24, 25, 40, 48 ; death of, 25. 
 
 Emerson, William (H. U. 1818), of 
 Stateu Island, 58, 98, 117, 124. 
 
 Emersonian influences, 10, 57. 
 
 Employment, 40, 44, 98, 127, 161, 
 190, 205, 338. 
 
 England, home of ancestors, 3 ; Em 
 erson in, 148-150, 167, 177, 180, 
 185, 187; friend of Thoreau in, 295, 
 
 320, 358, 398, 439-443. 
 
 English critic (Heraud), 72 ; of Emer 
 
 son, 180. 
 English market, 148, 169. 
 
 English opinion of Whitman, 321, 
 348. 
 
 Englishmen, 58, 131, 149, 169, 194, 
 283-286, 443. 
 
 Entomology, 107, 360, 361, 363. 
 
 Epics, 137. 
 
 Epigrams of Thoreau, 22, 29, 31, 32, 
 47, 60, 65, 67, 71, 78, 81, 90, 98, 105, 
 110, 112, 141, 179, 188, 193, 196, 
 208, 211, 214, 224, 240, 242, 250. 
 
 Epistles of Thoreau, xii ; Latin and 
 English, 30-36 ; take the place of 
 lectures, 231. 
 
 Errington, Miss, a teacher, 86, 102. 
 
 Estabrook country (in Concord), 169. 
 
 Eternal life, 193, 197, 209, 233, 271. 
 
 Eternal powers, 278. 
 
 Eternity, 215, 245, 308. 
 
 Ethnical Scriptures, 136, 139. 
 
 Etzler criticised, 121. 
 
 Etymologies, 38, 292. 
 
 Eulogy on a man s dog, 257. 
 
 Europe, 158. 
 
 Everett, Edward (H. U. 1811), 433. 
 
 Everlasting, 257. 
 
 Evil spirits, 250, 272. 
 
 Excursions, in Concord, 17, 19, 31, 
 57, 69, 144, 151, 159, 168, 175, 278, 
 289, 297, 309, 316, 331, 360; else 
 where in Massachusetts, 230, 235, 
 280, 282, 285, 289, 290, 303,311, 329; 
 to Maine, 301, 360, 369, 378-383 ; to 
 Monadnoc, 383, 388, 421, 428-433 ; 
 to New Hampshire (White Moun 
 tains), 5, 385-391, 406; to New 
 York and New Jersey, 80-86, 91- 
 94, 97-102, 113-115, 127-131, 220, 
 334-341, 345-349 ; to the West and 
 Northwest, 439, 444, 453. 
 
 Expenses, estimate of, 150, 205; 
 reducing, 205, 219, 264, 310. 
 
 Explorations, Arctic, 418. 
 
 Extravagance in living, 257, 371, 373, 
 404. 
 
 Eyes and insight, 194. 
 
 Eyrie in the clouds, 258. 
 
 " FABUL ATE and paddle in the social 
 
 slush," 277. 
 
 Failure or success, 226, 271. 
 Faineancy, 277. 
 Fair and beloved, 239, 243 ; fair and 
 
 foul, 249-251. 
 
 Fair cities of the plain, 404. 
 Fair Haven, in Concord, 31, 34, 57, 
 
 138, 278. 
 Fair of Concord Cattle Show, 133 ; 
 
 of American Institute, New York, 
 
 135. 
 Faith, 54, 67, 201, 203, 272 ; phases 
 
INDEX. 
 
 471 
 
 of, 66, 95, 133, 141, 191, 195, 209, 
 
 214, 258, 270, 292, 439 ; intrusted, 
 
 66, 67. 
 
 Faithful catechism, 95, 279. 
 Fall of the year, 5, 43, 427. 
 Falls of Niagara, 100, 297 ; of St. 
 
 Anthony, 447, 450. 
 Fama Marcelli, vi. 
 Fame, vii, 78, 110. 
 " Fame cannot tempt the bard," vii. 
 Family ancestry, 3, 6, 11, 124; de 
 mon of sleep, 108, 126. 
 Family occupation, 44, 410. 
 Farms in Concord, 110, 309 ; in Stat- 
 
 en Island, 102, 113 ; at Chappaqua, 
 
 348. 
 
 Fassett, a farmer in Troy, N. H., 432. 
 Fate, 45, 90, 133, 417 ; the Fates, 42, 
 
 87, 129, 179. 
 
 Father Hecker, a priest, 145, 146. 
 Feebleness of mankind, 252. 
 Feeding, 198, 211, 260, 262, 303, 330, 
 
 382. 
 
 Feeling, acute, 40 ; indifferent, 202. 
 Fellowship, 325. 
 Feminine traits, 238, 242. 
 Pinch and thrush, 88. 
 Fire, 31, 34, 264, 344, 434 ; of drift 
 wood, 317 ; on Mt. Washington, 
 
 391 ; on Monadnoc, 429. 
 Fire Island, 220, 223. 
 Fitchburg, Mass., 342, 354. 
 Fitchburg Railroad depot in Boston, 
 
 401 ; in Acton, 423. 
 Flagg, Wilson, 364. 
 Flame and smoke, 394. 
 Flesh and bones, 131. 
 Flies, buzzing of, 276. 
 Fog, 305, 384, 389. 
 Follen, Dr. Charles, 34. 
 Foolish aims, 198 ; complaints, 236. 
 Formulas, 371. 
 Fort Sumter, 437, 438. 
 Foxes and woodchucks, 67, 202. 
 Freedom, advantages of, 7, 12, 38; 
 
 for the scholar, 205, 210. 
 Free-Soilers, 235. 
 Fremont, J. C. (explorer of Rocky 
 
 Mountains), 418. 
 French translation, 350. 
 French explorers, 393. 
 Friend, office of a, 50, 61, 95, 111, 
 
 161. 
 Friends, 65, 225, 248 ; their uses, 65, 
 
 67 ; estimate of, 224. 
 Friends and followers, 220-470. 
 Friendship, offense against, 65-67; 
 
 advantages of, 66, 111, 206, 225, 
 
 244; and love, 216, 244, 354; 
 
 verses on, 44, 364. 
 
 Frost, Rev. Barzillai (H. U. 1830), 
 
 10, 164. 
 Fruitlands (farm of Alcott and 
 
 Lane), 75, 107, 146, 171, 186. 
 Fuller, Rev. Arthur B. (H. U. 1843), 
 
 Fuller, Ellen (Mrs. Channing), 49. 
 Fuller, Margaret (Countess Ossoli), 
 
 45, 49, 112, 127, 144, 220-223. 
 Fuller, Richard F. (H. U. 1844), 49, 
 
 52, 76-79. 
 Funeral processions, 176. 
 
 GAME we play, 359. 
 
 Game, woodland, 17, 391, 393. 
 
 Ganges, 316. 
 
 Garden, Paradise not a, 195. 
 
 Gardens, Emerson s, 40, 91, 161, 179 ; 
 
 Thoreau s, 102, 427. 
 Garrison, W. L.,302. 
 Genius of the mountain, 429 ; of the 
 
 storm, 430. 
 Gifts, 24. 
 
 Gilpin, William, 288; his books, 312. 
 God, 191, 192, 196, 209, 214, 226, 
 
 306. 
 God, ask to see, 197 ; city of, 197, 
 
 268 ; not an ash-man, 294 ; reigns, 
 
 214, 371. 
 
 Godsend of books, 319. 
 Goethe, mentioned, 73,202, 352 ; his 
 
 autobiography, 352. 
 Golconda mentioned, 329. 
 Good deeds, 206. 
 Good and wise (verse), 177. 
 Goodwin, Prof. William Watson (H. 
 
 U. 1851), 123. 
 Gorilla, 442. 
 
 Goshawk, American, 227. 
 Government of the country, 185, 
 
 415, 438. 
 
 Grange Bluff, Minn., 446. 
 Great Quitticus, 313. 
 Great Spirit, 14, 18. 
 Greek, study of, 69, 123. 
 Greeley, Farmer, 340. 
 Greeley, Horace, 80, 115, 120, 123, 
 
 190, 203-206, 340, 348. 
 Green, Calvin H., 454. 
 Grey, Mrs., 97. 
 Grief, cause of, 47, 55, 88, 105, 141, 
 
 201 ; remedy for, 47, 50, 55. 
 Grimke" sisters, 334, 337. 
 Gulf Stream, 322. 
 Gun-house, 178. 
 Gunnar (Norse hero), 441. 
 Gurnet, the (in Plymouth Bay), 353, 
 
 HABITS, ill, remedy for, 178, 251. 
 Habits of men, 272, 273. 
 
472 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Hale, Rev. Edward Everett (H. U. 
 1839), 357. 
 
 Hale, Nathan (H. U. 1838), 99. 
 
 Hamlet, Fechter s, 493. 
 
 Hall, Leyden, at Plymouth, 229 ; Ma 
 sonic, at Concord, 4 ; Music, Bos 
 ton, 414. 
 
 Hard money, 373. 
 
 Hard times, 371, 372. 
 
 Harlem, N. Y., 341, 348. 
 
 Harper & Brothers, publishers, 125. 
 
 Harrison and Tyler, 431. 
 
 Harris, W. T., 338. 
 
 Harvard College, 2, 10, 76, 123, 165, 
 286, 299. 
 
 Harvard, a town, 52, 330. 
 
 Hasty, Captain, 221. 
 
 Hate, 243 ; and love, 111, 240. 
 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, vi, 49, 59, 
 110, 128, 143, 420. 
 
 Hawthorne, Sophia, 51. 
 
 Haydon (English painter), 269, 352. 
 
 Head of the River, New Bedford, 
 388, 395. 
 
 Headley, Henry, 77. 
 
 Hearts, 145, 241, 242, 344. 
 
 Heathen, 59. 
 
 Heathenish, 230, 253. 
 
 Heaven, 103, 196, 215, 236, 265 ; ad 
 mission to, 197, 265, 268. 
 
 Hecker, Isaac, 145, 146. 
 
 Hens, 43, 74, 323. 
 
 Heraud, John A. (English critic), 72. 
 
 Herbert, George, 134, 436. 
 
 Hercules, 272, 400. 
 
 Hermitage, Walden, 185. 
 
 Hermit-life, 162, 190. 
 
 Heron Lake, Maine, 382. 
 
 Hesperides, 256. 
 
 Hester Street meeting, 115. 
 
 Higginson, Thomas Wentworth (H. 
 U. 1841), 227, 228, 307, 378-383. 
 
 Highland Light, Cape Cod, 303. 
 
 Hindoos, 105, 321, 347, 351. 
 
 History of New Bedford, 394, 396. 
 
 Hoar family, 15, 377. 
 
 Hoar, Ebenezer Rockwood (H. U. 
 1835), 15, 89, 92, 457. 
 
 Hoar, Edward Sherman (H. U. 
 1844), 89, 366, 385, 387, 389-392. 
 
 Hoar, Elizabeth, 59, 89, 110, 138 ; 
 letter from, 138, 139. 
 
 Hoar, George Frisbie (H. U. 1846), 
 15, 119. 
 
 Hoar, Samuel (H. U. 1802), 15, 408. 
 
 Hoboken, N. Y., 130. 
 
 Hodnet, England, 284, 285, 295, 321. 
 
 Hog, the, 268, 363. 
 
 Home, vii, 25, 58, 74 ; affection of 
 Thoreau for, 118, 310. 
 
 Homer, 110,237,288,341. 
 Hoiitan, French explorer, 450. 
 Hood s " Song of the Shirt," 267- 
 
 270. 
 
 Hope, 22. 
 Hopeful, Sachem (John Thoreau), 
 
 14,40. 
 
 Horace quoted, 31, 34. 
 Horses (playthings), 162, 170, 183, 
 
 320, 345, 376, 385, 386, 389, 395. 
 Horse-race, 335, 342. 
 Hosmer, Edmund (the " farmer- 
 man"), 110, 164, 185, 309, 314, 320. 
 Hotham, Edmund Stuart, 69. 
 Hottentots, and Ruskin, 374. 
 House, Alcott s, 380. 
 Houses lived in by Thoreau, 2-5, 27, 
 
 68, 153, 169, 171, 172, 178-180, 429, 
 
 432. 
 Household of Emerson, 40, 49, 58, 
 
 62, 75, 162, 170, 176, 182, 189. 
 Households of the Dunbars and 
 
 Thoreaus, 2-5, 27, 30-37, 118, 124- 
 
 126, 408. 
 Howitt, William and Mary, 99, 283, 
 
 304. 
 Hudson, Rev. Henry N., described, 
 
 174. 
 
 Hudson River, 82, 130, 453. 
 Human nature, 8, 42, 54, 114, 131, 
 
 193, 196, 200, 216, 236, 244, 251, 
 
 257, 260. 
 
 Humor, Thoreau s sense of, ix, xii. 
 Hungry, eat when you are, 224. 
 Hunt family, 126, 309 ; farmhouse, 
 
 309. 
 Hut in the woods, 68, 150, 202. 
 
 ICE, 247, 255, 297, 322. 
 
 Iceberg, 390. 
 
 Idle hours, 19, 54, 251, 301, 302,315. 
 
 Idolatry of money, 194, 373, 387. 
 
 " I have heard no bad news," 196 ; 
 
 " I 11 be I," 99 ; "I in my folly 
 
 am the world I condemn," 254 ; 
 "I laugh when I think of my 
 
 riches," 344. 
 Imagination, 29, 374. 
 Immigrants, 114; Norwegian, 130. 
 Immortality, 233, 271. 
 Independence of scholars, 205, 253, 
 
 260. 
 India, 321 ; books concerning, 319- 
 
 321 ; sacred books of, 351. 
 India-rubber bags, 383. 
 Indian guide (Joe Polis), 339, 38(K 
 
 382, 391. 
 
 Indian life, 369, 370. 
 Indians, remarks on, 362, 369, 391. 
 Indian summer, 43, 395. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 473 
 
 Indies, West, 397, 415. 
 
 Insane, census of the, 293. 
 
 " Infinite work my hands find here 
 
 to do," xi. 
 Inkstand, 130. 
 Injustice, 275. 
 Innkeeper s reply (J. Holbrook), 
 
 392. 
 Intercourse with Nature (Agassiz), 
 
 155. 
 
 Ireland, Alexander, 186, 189. 
 Irishmen, 138, 179. 
 Islands : Clark s, 353, 3G4 ; Staten, 
 
 x, 76, 80, 140. 
 
 JACKSON, Dr. Charles Thomas (H. 
 
 U. 1829), 40, 173. 
 Jackson, Miss Lidian (Mrs. R. W. 
 
 Emerson). See Emerson. 
 Jackson, Miss Lucy (Mrs. Brown), 
 
 40, 49, 56-7, 122, 134, 162, 364 ; 
 
 letters to, 40-56. 
 Jacobean poetry, 77. 
 Jaffrey, N. H., 384. 
 Jail in Concord, 60. 
 Jam Cytherea choros, etc., 32. 
 James Henry, Sr. , meets Thoreau, 
 
 80, 95; mentioned, 100, 120; his 
 
 sons, 123, 145, 402, 403. 
 Japan, 252. 
 
 Jarvis, Dr. Edward (H. U. 1826), 23. 
 Jaundice, 141, 182. 
 Jersey, Thoreau s grandfather born 
 
 in, 3. 
 
 Johnson, Dr., mentioned, 162. 
 Jones family, 11, 108, 124. 
 Judaea, 215, 235. 
 Judge and criminal, 274, 275. 
 
 KALENDAS Feb., 30. 
 Kane, Dr. E. K., 418. 
 Kansas, 180, 206. 
 Kentucky, 23. 
 Kineo, Mt., 381. 
 Kirby and Spence, 361. 
 Kirkland, Mrs. Caroline, 337. 
 Knots of the Alcott arbor, 163. 
 Ktaadn, 158, 307, 370. 
 
 LABOR, uses of, 74, 138, 205, 267; 
 
 results of, 199, 205. 219, 267. 
 Labrador tea, 363. 
 Labyrinth of life, 208. 
 Ladies studying philosophy, 28. 
 "Lady s Companion," a magazine, 
 
 128, 129. 
 Lamentations, 47-49, 216, 257, 272, 
 
 276. 
 
 Lampreys, 152. 
 Lampyris noctiluca, 361-363. 
 
 Land and water, x, 15, 81, 98, 316, 
 
 317, 353. 
 
 Lane, Charles (English reformer), 
 60, 68, 75, 107, 124, 149; writes 
 for the " Dial," 69-71, 73, 74. 
 Lar, 79. 
 
 Latin grammars, 27 ; epistle, 30-33 ; 
 pronunciation, 28 ; writers men 
 tioned or quoted, vi, x, 30, 32. 
 Laws, beautiful, 213 ; eternal, 208. 
 Lectures by Thoreau, 4, 173, 180, 
 185, 227-231, 280, 281, 289, 298, 
 326, 338, 355, 406. 
 Lecturing, results of, 298, 354. 
 Ledum (Labrador tea), 363. 
 Lee s Hill, 15, alias Nashawtuc or 
 
 Naushawtuck, 16, 30, 33. 
 Lee^vites, a nickname, 15. 
 Letters : 
 
 From Louis Agassiz, 154. 
 From A. B. Alcott, 460 ; to him, 
 
 332. 
 From H. G. O. Blake, 190, 191 ; to 
 
 him, 192, 197, 208, 209, 213, 216, 
 
 223, 234, 237, 251, 261, 266, 271, 
 
 275, 291, 301, 303, 305, 316, 326, 
 
 329, 339, 341, 354, 357, 359, 368, 
 
 385, 399, 405, 409, 413, 415, 421, 
 
 428, 443. 
 From Myron B. Benton, 461 ; to 
 
 him, 463. 
 To Mrs. Lucy Cotton Brown, 40, 
 
 43, 45, 49, 53. 
 From J. E. Cabot, 155 ; to him, 
 
 150, 153, 186. 
 
 From Ellery Channing, 144, 321. 
 From Thomas Cholmondeley, 440 ; 
 
 to him, 295. 
 From R. W. Emerson, 57, 67, 92, 
 
 99, 111, 122, 124, 143, 148, 170, 
 
 186 ; to him, 58, 62, 69, 73, 92, 
 
 95, 109, 120, 127, 135, 161, 170, 
 
 173, 177, 181, 189, 220. 
 From Mrs. R. W. Emerson, 75; 
 
 to her, 89, 103, 133. 
 To T. W. Higginson, 227, 379. 
 From Miss Elizabeth Hoar, 138. 
 To Parker Pillsbury, 437. 
 From James Richardson, 10. 
 From Daniel Ricketson, 286 ; to 
 
 him, 287, 288, 309, 311, 314, 319, 
 
 322, 324, 356, 364, 367, 393, 396, 
 
 407, 425, 434. 
 
 To F. B. Sanborn, 300, 447. 
 To Cynthia Thoreau, 80, 100, 106, 
 
 117, 124, 129. 
 To Helen Thoreau, 12, 27, 30, 37, 
 
 87, 113, 140. 
 From Henry Thoreau, 12, 14, 20, 
 
 21, 25, 27, 30, 37, 40, 43, 45, 47, 
 
474 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 49, 52, 53, 58, 62, 69, 73, 77, 80, 
 84, 87, 89, 92, 95, 100, 103, 106, 
 109, 113, 117, 120, 124, 127, 129, 
 133, 135, 140, 150, 153, 158, 161, i 
 170, 173, 177, 181, 186, 189, 192, 
 197, 204, 208, 209, 213, 216, 220, 
 223, 227, 229, 230, 232, 234, 237, 
 251, 261, 266, 271, 275, 280, 281, 
 282, 288, 289, 291, 295, 300, 301, 
 303, 305, 309, 311, 314, 316, 319, 
 322, 324, 326, 329, 332, 335, 339, 
 341, 349, 352, 354, 356, 357, 359, 
 360, 362, 364, 367, 368, 371, 379, 
 385, 387, 393, 396, 399, 405, 407, 
 409, 413, 415, 419, 421, 425, 428, 
 434, 437, 443, 445, 455, 463. 
 To John Thoreau, Jr. , 14, 20, 21, 25. 
 To Sophia Thoreau, 36, 84, 158, 
 
 232, 335, 419. 
 From B. M. Watson, 229, 364 ; to 
 
 him, 229, 230, 360, 362. 
 To B. B. Wiley, 349, 352. 
 Leuciscus (argenteus. pulchellus, 
 
 etc.), 152, 157. 
 
 Libraries, at Cambridge, 299, 300; 
 at Concord, 319 ; at New York, 
 96, 127, 130, 136, 145. 
 Life, emptiness of ordinary, 194, 
 216, 252, 257, 277; eternal, 193, 
 197, 209, 233, 271; facts of, 51, 
 195, 255 ; labyrinth of, 208 ; perils 
 of, 175 ; phenomena of, x, xi, 46, 
 54, 239, 245, 260, 267, 273, 317, 
 363 ; qualifications for practical, 
 6, 11, 39, 69, 161, 205. 
 Lincoln, Abraham, 334, 437, 439. 
 Lincoln, the town, 363. " 
 Linnaeus, 250. 
 
 Literature, 31, 35, 50, 77, 80, 112, 
 125, 127, 134, 136, 180, 183, 195, 
 205, 207, 312, 319, 346, 352, 353, 
 441. 
 
 Lockwood (F. J. Merriam), 423, 424. 
 Locust, the seventeen-year, 106, 107. 
 Log of driftwood, 318. 
 London, mentioned, 163, 187, 398, 
 
 418. 
 
 Longfellow, H. W., 120, 298, 401. 
 Long Pond, 313. 
 Long River (La Riviere Longue), 
 
 French for the Minnesota, 451. 
 Lost dove, horse and hound, 353. 
 Louisa, Aunt (Dunbar), 118. 
 Love, charms of, 239, 241, 245, 247, 
 250; corrupted, 240, 248, 250; 
 potency of, 242, 245; and mar 
 riage, 238-251, 353. 
 Love of nature, 1, 42, 75, 278, 326. 
 Lowell, James Russell (H. U. 1838), 
 71, 298, 401, 458. 
 
 Lowell, Mrs. (a cousin), 26. 
 
 Lowell, the city, 152. 
 
 Lucretius, quoted, x. 
 
 Lyceum, of Concord, 4, 56, 60, 61, 
 72, 138, 173, 180, 185, 189, 323 ; at 
 Salem, 230 ; at Worcester, 355. 
 
 "Lying out-doors," 432. 
 
 Lymau, Benjamin Smith (H. U. 
 1855), 300. 
 
 Lyttelton, Lord, 443. 
 
 MACAULAY, Rev. Zachary, 321. 
 
 Mackerel, 276. 
 
 Mackinaw, 445. 
 
 Madawaska, 379-382. 
 
 McKean, Henry Swasey (H. U. 1828), 
 130, 136, 145. 
 
 Magazines : Atlantic, 284, 444 ; 
 Democratic Review, 59, 127-129, 
 132, 140 ; Dial, see " Dial " ; Har 
 vard, 299, 300, 353; Putnam s, 
 260, 342, 343. 
 
 Mahabharat, 351. 
 
 Maiden in the East, 364. 
 
 Maine, 4, 158, 173, 368. 
 
 Maine lumberer, 447. 
 
 Maine woods, 301, 362, 378, 380-382, 
 391. 
 
 Male and female, 238, 249. 
 
 Mallet for flints, 20. 
 
 Man, 12, 35, 42 ; his activity, 201, 
 209, 257 ; his bread, 198 ; his duty, 
 201, 224 ; his education. 214, 267 ; 
 his freedom, 210, 226, 236; his 
 generation, 250 ; his immortality, 
 306, 344 ; his meanness, 215, 272. 
 
 Mankind, 8, 35, 95, 162. 
 
 Mann, Horace, Jr., 445, 454. 
 
 Manse, the Old, 49, 59. 
 
 Maple sugar, 327. 
 
 Maps, 383, 390. 
 
 Maria, Aunt (Thoreau), 141. 
 
 Mark-Lane Gazette, 148. 
 
 Market-carts, xi. 
 
 Marlborough Chapel, Boston, 154. 
 
 Marriage, 166, 240, 246, 249-251, 
 353. 
 
 Marston, John, of Taunton, 23. 
 
 Marston- Watson, Benjamin (H. U. 
 1839), 49. See Watson. 
 
 Massachusetts, 446. 
 
 Massachusetts Election, 17, 19, 168. 
 
 Massachusetts Quarterly Review, 
 172, 173. 
 
 May, Rev. Joseph (H. U. 1857), 451. 
 
 May, Rev. Samuel Joseph (H. U. 
 1818), 451. 
 
 Meadows, of Concord, 109, 297, 389 ; 
 birds in the, 14, 42 ; cranberries 
 in, 245. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 475 
 
 Mean aspects of life, 82, 93, 97, 276. 
 
 Meanness complained of, 104, 208, 
 211,224. 
 
 Meat and drink, 198, 199. 
 
 Medicine (Indian term), 1G-18. 
 
 Medicine, Yellow (a river), 452. 
 
 Mediterranean shore, 359. 
 
 Meeting-houses, 235, 392, 414 ; meet 
 ing-house cellar, 377. 
 
 Melancholy, 47, 219, 252. 
 
 Melodies, 24, 50. 
 
 Melodious fringilla, 26. 
 
 Melons, viii. 
 
 Memorial Verses, by Channing, 76. 
 
 Memories of former life, 215, 253. 
 
 Memory, 29, 48, 110, 126. 
 
 Men in crowds, 93, 98. 
 
 Men of God, 257. 
 
 Mending, 129, 419. 
 
 Mental philosophy. 28, 29. 
 
 Mercantile Library, 130, 145. 
 
 Merchant (Thoreau s father), 3, 
 409. 
 
 Mercury (of New Bedford), 314, 394, 
 396 ; prints Ricketson s History, 
 394. 
 
 Merit and demerit, 104, 116, 174, 
 194. 
 
 Merlin (a hawk), 273. 
 
 Merriam, Francis Jackson, a fugi 
 tive, 422-424. 
 
 Merrimack, the river, 5 ; " Week on 
 the," 1G6, 187, 219, 299, 321, 349, 
 392, 437, 462. 
 
 Message, the President s, 438. 
 
 Methods of action, 8, 37, 54, 65, 78, 
 105, 128, 141. 
 
 Mice sent to Agassiz, 153, 157. 
 
 Michigan, 454. 
 
 Micrometer, 164. 
 
 Microscope, 417. 
 
 Mill-dam, 316; of the Thoreaus at 
 Acton, 410. 
 
 Mill s " British India," 321. 
 
 " Million men of no importance com 
 pared with one man," 98. 
 
 Milton, 324. 
 
 Milton, the town, 208, 263, 264. 
 
 Minnesota, Indians of, 451, 452 ; riv 
 ers of, 447-451 ; trip to, 299, 439, 
 444, 446. 
 
 Minnows, 152, 157. 
 
 Minott, George (Concord rustic), 
 GO, 108, 110, 126. 
 
 Mirror (New York weekly), 127, 
 132. 
 
 Misanthropy, not a trait of Thoreau, 
 xii, 287. 
 
 Miscellany, Boston, 99, 122. 
 
 Mississippi River, 444, 447, 450. 
 
 Mist, 321. 
 
 Mizzling of sixpences, 98. 
 
 Mob in New York, 93, 130. 
 
 Modern commercial spirit, 7-9. 
 
 " Modern Painters," 374. 
 
 Moles, 157, 232. 
 
 Monadnoc, 383-385, 421, 428-433. 
 
 Money, idolatry of, 194, 373, 387; 
 
 hard, 373. 
 
 Month, work for, 378. 
 Monthly. See Magazines. 
 Monument, Concord, 26. 
 Moose, 335, 362, 382, 391, 393. 
 Moosehead Lake, 376, 380. 
 Morals, 247, 254, 207, 293, 345. 
 Morton, Edwin (H. U. 1855), 299, 
 
 353, 440. 
 
 Mott, Mrs. Lucretia, 115. 
 Mountains, 235, 258, 370, 374, 379, 
 
 383, 385, 389-391, 403, 415, 419, 
 
 428, 429. 
 Mountains, White, 5, 375, 385, 387, 
 
 389, 404, 406, 430. 
 
 Mount Washington, 375, 376, 390. 
 
 Muddy tortoise, 153. 
 
 Mud Pond, 382. 
 
 Mud-puddle, the sun in a, 292. 
 
 Munroe, James, publisher, 71, 149, 
 
 219, 388. 
 
 Muses, the, 51, 214. 
 Museum, British, 442. 
 Music, 47, 49, 51-53, 88, 232, 278, 
 
 311. 
 Musketaquid (Concord), 14; the 
 
 river, 70, 305. 
 Muskrat s house, 266. 
 Muttering thunder, 70. 
 Myself and Yourself, 259, 417. 
 Mystics, 180. 
 
 NEPTUNE, the god, 31 ; the planet, 
 
 165. 
 
 Nests, 74, 193. 
 Neversink, N. J., 82, 310. 
 New Bedford, 283-289, 305, 307, 311, 
 
 314, 320, 324, 367, 388, 396, 397, 
 
 409, 414, 435. 
 Newcomb, Charles, 350. 
 New England, 222, 321. 
 New Hampshire, 300, 384, 386, 389, 
 
 390, 392, 419, 420, 422. 
 New Jersey, 82, 333-339. 
 
 " New Orleans Crescent " and Whit 
 man, 341. 
 
 News, 216. 
 
 Newspapers denounced, 211, 216, 
 224. 
 
 New Testament, 164. 
 
 Newton, Sir Isaac, 163. 
 
 New World (America), 268. 
 
476 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 "New World " (the newspaper), 128. 
 
 New York, 19, 40, 58, 61, 72, 79, 82, 
 85, 93, 94, 95, 98-103, 107, 112, 
 120, 127, 130, 140. 144, 333, 335, 
 341, 346, 348, 437. 
 
 New Zealand, 284, 303, 440, 443. 
 
 Niagara, 100, 444. 
 
 Night on the mountain, 432 ; on the 
 river, 278. 
 
 Noah s dove, 56. 
 
 Noble writing, 112. 
 
 Nobscot (a hill), 330. 
 
 Norwegian immigrants, 130, 131. 
 
 Notes from the Journal of a 
 Scholar (Charles Emerson), 112. 
 
 Nova Scotia, 393. 
 
 Nucleus of a comet is almost a star, 
 208. 
 
 Nuptials, of plants, 249 ; of man 
 kind, 246. 
 
 Nurture of the soul, 198, 210. 
 
 Nuts, 1, 260, 352. 
 
 OBJECTS of nature, 9, 42, 84, 88, 98, 
 
 103, 111, 168. 
 Ocean, its phenomena, x, 82, 159, 
 
 305, 353, 412. 
 
 Ode to Beauty, Emerson s, 137-139. 
 Ohio, 23, 334. 
 Olympia, 64. 
 Olympus, 59, 111. 
 Opera, 260, 378. 
 Oracles of Quarles, 134. 
 Orchard House, 388. 
 Oriel College, Oxford, 284, 398. 
 " Origin of Species," Darwin s, 442. 
 Osprey, 53. 
 Ossa and Pelion, 265. 
 Ossoli, Margaret Fuller, 220-223. 
 Ossoli, Marquis of, 221-223. 
 O Sullivan, 59, 122, 128. 
 Owls, 90, 184. 
 
 PACIFIC OCEAN, 284. 
 
 Packs, of tourists, 390, 391, 428. 
 
 Paddling, 317, 382. 
 
 Painted cup (a flower), 84. 
 
 Pale-face, 14-17. 
 
 Palmer, Edward, 97, 115. 
 
 Palmer, Joseph, at Fruitlands, 177, 
 
 186. 
 
 Palmerston mentioned, 211. 
 Pan, and Whitman, 349. 
 Pandora s box, 22. 
 Paradise, 9, 132, 195. 
 Parcae, the, 179. 
 Parker House, 400, 401. 
 Parker, Theodore, 61, 286, 398, 410, 
 
 413. 
 Parkman, Deacon, of Concord, 5. 
 
 Parkman, Francis, 5. 
 
 Parkmau House, 4. 
 
 Parlor lecture, 231, 409. 
 
 Partheanna, 64. 
 
 Parthian army, 184. 
 
 Partridge-berries, 235. 
 
 Partridges, 70. 
 
 Pascal and Henry James, 145. 
 
 " Past and Present," 95, 120. 
 
 Patmore, his " Angel in the House," 
 
 329. 
 Peabody (a classmate of Thoreau), 
 
 26. 
 Peabody, Miss Elizabeth Palmer, 
 
 72, 335. 
 
 Peabody River, 290. 
 Peace, lecture on, 60 ; remarks on, 
 
 169, 296. 
 Pedestrian tours, 127, 210, 235, 285, 
 
 359. 
 
 Peddler, Thoreau taken for, 290. 
 Pehlvi, dialect, 63. 
 Pekin, 105. 
 Pellico, Silvio, 61. 
 Pencil-making, 5, 194, 210, 219, 410. 
 Penna, how pronounced. 28. 
 Pennsylvania, 115, 281, 326. 
 Penobscot, 160, 362, 381, 392. 
 Pepiu, Lake, 446. 
 Persius, 5, 190. 
 Phalansteries, 115. 
 Phar-ra-oh (noise of locusts), 107. 
 Phenomenal and real, 67, 105, 175, 
 
 376, 404. 
 
 Philanthropic dogmas, 402. 
 Philanthropists, 140, 231, 255, 334. 
 Phillips, Wendell (H. U. 1830), 302, 
 
 460. 
 Philosophers, 11, 29, 60, 75, 76, 184, 
 
 350, 351. 
 
 "Philosopher s Scales," 137. 
 Philosophy, mental, 28, 29 ; Oriental, 
 
 136, 319, 347, 351 ; Stoical, ix ; 
 
 the Transcendental, 95, 192. 
 Phcebus Apollo, 51. 
 Phosphorescence, 360, 361. 
 Pierce, President Franklin, 232, 254, 
 
 297. 
 
 Piety, 42, 48, 105. 
 Pickerel, 151, 153, 157. 
 Picturesque, the (Gilpin), 288, 312. 
 Pilgrims, Canterbury, 443. 
 " Pilgrim s Progress," 436. 
 Pillsbury, Parker, (the abolitionist), 
 
 437-439. 
 
 Pindar, translation, 121. 
 Pipes for smoking, 215, 394, 395 ; of 
 
 the throat, 435. 
 Piracy, 185. 
 Pismire and his hillock, 262. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 477 
 
 Plato, 180. 
 
 Plymouth Church, 348. 
 
 Plymouth, Mass., 40, 49, 228, 231, 
 280-282, 287, 353, 364, 440. 
 
 Poems of Charming, 76, 94, 137, 139, 
 185, 325, 387, 421 ; of Emerson, 
 137, 321, 432; of Herbert, 134, 
 436 ; of Quarles, 128, 134 ; of 
 Ricketson, 394 ; of Sanborn, 463 ; 
 of Thoreau, vii, x, 44, 56, 70, 87, 
 88, 177, 243, 244, 321, 364; of 
 Whitman, 345. 
 
 Poet-naturalist, 1, 76. 
 
 Poetry, English, 77, 134, 136, 183, 
 283, 306, 323-325 ; Greek, 70, 119 ; 
 of the " Dial," 44, 70, 137, 147. 
 
 Poets, x, 31, 110, 136. 
 
 Polaris, 418. 
 
 Pole, stirring up with, 365. 
 
 Polis, Joe (Indian), 339, 362, 379, 
 391. 
 
 Polygamy, 353. 
 
 Pomotis, a fish, 157. 
 
 Pond, Fairhaven, 31, 278; Long, 
 313 ; Walden, 31, 34, 68, 145, 149, 
 153, 158 ; White, 15. 
 
 Pots of beer, 393. 
 
 Pots of poor immigrants, 131. 
 
 Pouts, fish, 151, 153. 
 
 Poverty, 205, 208, 355. 
 
 Powers above us, 48, 54, 66, 191, 209, 
 214, 254. 
 
 Practice of conformity, 252 ; of fru 
 gality, 205; of manual labor, 74, 
 205, 219 ; of retirement, 191, 210. 
 
 Preaching, 231, 256. 
 
 Preexistence, 215, 223 ; recollections 
 of, 253, 353. 
 
 Precipice for suicides, 178. 
 
 " Present " (the periodical), 133, 140, 
 141. 
 
 President s messages, 438. 
 
 Pretenses of society, 213, 274. 
 
 Probe the earth, 194. 
 
 Professor, the traveling (Agassiz), j 
 176. 
 
 Pronunciation of Latin, 28, 29. 
 Prince of Wales in New England, 
 433. 
 
 QITAINTNESS of expression, 28, 59, j 
 
 131, 134, 160, 172, 175, 184, 196, j 
 
 216, 224. 
 Quaker dress, 115; meetings, 116, I 
 
 336, 395. 
 Quakers at Eagleswood, 336, 337 ; 
 
 at New Bedford, 395, 456; at 
 
 New York, 115. 
 Quarantine Village, N. Y., 85. 
 Quarles, Francis, 128, 134. 
 
 Quarterly of the Transcendentalists, 
 143 ; its fame in England, 187. 
 
 Quarters of Concord, 2, 15. 
 
 Quebec, 379. 
 
 Querulity of reformers, 141. 
 
 Query by Thoreau, 64 ; another, 185. 
 
 Questioning to be avoided, 242, 325, 
 425. 
 
 Questions of friendship, 38, 41, 65- 
 67, 104, 206, 308, 425 ; of love, 238- 
 245 ; of life, 31, 38, 47, 51, 55, 90, 
 125, 141, 145, 162, 175, 191, 193, 
 200, 208, 214, 225, 236, 253, 255- 
 258, 262, 267-269, 292, 333, 370, 
 439 ; of literature, 32, 35, 44, 50, 
 71, 112, 127, 183, 188, 195, 203, 
 207, 287, 321 ; of society, 12, 58, 
 74, 93, 131, 196, 225, 246, 254-256, 
 273-275, 350, 371, 400. 
 
 Quincy, Josiah (H. U. 1790), Pres 
 ident of Harvard University, 10. 
 
 Quitticus, in Middleborough, 313. 
 
 Quotations, from Channing, 68, 77, 
 382, 384, 392, 422, 425 ; Confucius, 
 
 350, 351 ; Daniel, 264 ; Emerson, 
 
 II, 24, 57, 111, 122, 140, 143, 170, 
 187, 276, 339 ; Goethe, 202 ; Hor 
 ace, vi, 31 ; Lucretius, x ; Milton, 
 
 III, 324; Shakespeare, vi; Tho 
 reau, x, 87 ; Virgil, 32. 
 
 RACE, the aboriginal, 14, 339, 370, 
 
 452. 
 Race characteristics, 179, 268, 276, 
 
 343. 
 
 Ramsay, Gov., of Minnesota, 451. 
 Rapping of spirits, 233. 
 Ravine, Tuckerman s, 389, 404, 406. 
 Reading, 31, 35, 77, 134, 136, 183, 
 
 351, 352, 438, 441, 442. 
 Rebellion, Southern, 437, 446. 
 
 " Recline on the Great Spirit," 213. 
 Recluse habits, 19, 42, 69, 93, 145, 
 
 191, 205, 235, 287, 299, 314, 364. 
 Recollections of early life, x, 2-5, 
 
 19. 
 
 Regret, 47, 49, 51, 87, 88. 
 Religion, 9, 105, 118, 136, 191, 197, 
 
 230, 235, 257, 293, 348, 456. 
 Religious life, 192, 215. 
 Respectability, 93. 
 Restigouche, in Canada, 380. 
 Review, the Democratic, 59, 119, 
 
 121, 129, 140. 
 
 " Review, Massachusetts Quar 
 terly," 172, 188. 
 Review of Carlyle by Emerson, 112, 
 
 120 ; of Emerson, in Blackwood, 
 
 188. 
 " Revue des Deux Mondes," 188. 
 
478 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Richardson, Rev. James (H. U. 
 1837), 10. 
 
 Riches, Thoreau s vague, indefinite, 
 344. 
 
 Ricketson, Daniel, described, 283, 
 306 ; letters from, 286 ; letters to, 
 287, 288, 309, 311, 314, 319, 322, 
 324, 356, 364, 367, 393, 396, 407, 
 425, 434, 455, 459, 460 ; mentioned, 
 286, 289, 309, 358, 398, 414, 441 ; 
 conversion of, 456. 
 
 Ricketson, Walton, sculptor, xii, 
 311. 
 
 Ridicule of Alcott, 163, 184 ; of man 
 kind, 277, 373 ; of table-tippers, 
 233. 
 
 Ripley, Rev. Ezra, D. D. (H. U. 
 1776), 3. 
 
 Rivers : the Alpheus, 109 ; Assabet, 
 vii; Chaudiere, 379; Concord, 2, 
 88, 109, 150-153, 278, 305, 316, 
 331, 333, 358; Hudson, 120; 
 Long, 451 ; Loup, 379 ; Mincius, 
 109; Minnesota, 448, 449; Mis 
 sissippi, 447, 452 ; Peabody, 390 ; 
 Penobscot, 380, 381, 392 ; St. John, 
 380; St. Lawrence, 379; Shaw- 
 sheen, vii ; Yellow Medicine, 452. 
 
 River, Head of the, at New Bedford, 
 395. 
 
 Riviere du Loup, 379 ; Longue, 
 451, 452. 
 
 Roach, the fish, 152. 
 
 Roads traveled by Thoreau, 3, 5, 
 52, 85, 102, 168, 379, 384. 
 
 Roberts Brothers, mentioned, 76. 
 
 Robin Hood, mentioned, 111. 
 
 Rodman, Mr., of New Bedford, 457. 
 
 Romans, 79, 184. 
 
 Rome, 79. 
 
 Roxbury, Mass., mentioned, 25, 27, 
 30, 37. 
 
 Rubber coat, etc., 382, 383. 
 
 Rural life, 43, 79, 119, 138, 144, 161, 
 168, 205, 210. 
 
 Rynders, mentioned, 145. 
 
 SABATTIA CHLOROIDES, 313. 
 Sabbath-keeping, 118, 229, 235, 392. 
 Sachem Tahatawan (of Concord), 
 
 14, 19. 
 
 Sacred books, 136, 350, 351. 
 Sadness, 47, 50, 54, 88, 105, 460. 
 Saint, a fair, 135. 
 Saint John, the River, 380. 
 Saint Lawrence, 379. 
 Salem, Mass., mentioned, 230. 
 Salop (Shropshire), 295, 443. 
 Sam, a cat, 33, 36. 
 Sanborn, Franklin Benjamin (H. 
 
 U. 1855), letters to, 68, 69, 300, 
 446-453 ; his Life of Thoreau, 
 cited, 23, 107, 185, 299; his Me 
 moir of Alcott cited, 72, 285, 401 ; 
 mentioned, 299, 336, 420, 422, 436, 
 441, 463 ; his school, 300, 377 ; his 
 version of Thoreau s Latin, 33-36. 
 
 Sandy Hook, near New York, 82, 85, 
 98. 
 
 Sane and insane, 293. 
 
 Sap of the sugar-maple, 327-329. 
 
 Saratoga mentioned, 276. 
 
 Sanscrit books, 319, 321, 351. 
 
 Sarah, Aunt (Dunbar), 3. 
 
 Sargent, John Turner (H. U. 1827), 
 229. 
 
 Savings Bank, Boston, 186. 
 
 Saturday evening dance, 336. 
 
 Saturn, 159. 
 
 Scholars, their complaints, 205, 254, 
 276, 306 ; their duties, 116, 206 ; 
 their qualities, 116, 123, 174, 210, 
 310, 330. 
 
 Schools : of Thoreau, 4, 25-27 ; of 
 Lane, 149 ; of Sanborn, 300, 377. 
 
 Schools of Concord, 436. 
 
 Science, 232, 330. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 136. 
 
 Scurvy life, 216. 
 
 Sea and land, x, 15, 81, 93, 98, 221, 
 302-304, 353. 
 
 Seashore verses, x ; walks, 363, 366, 
 412. 
 
 Sebago Lake, Me., 44. 
 
 Seeming and being, 50, 104, 193, 
 258, 262, 274, 376. 
 
 Sensuality, 245, 260, 346. 
 
 Serenity and cheerfulness, 46, 48, 
 115, 328, 459. 
 
 Seven against Thebes, 121. 
 
 Seventeen-year locust, 106. 
 
 Sewing Circle in Concord, 32, 36. 
 
 Sex and marriage, 238, 240, 245, 
 249. 
 
 Shabbiness of Emerson s life, 276 ; 
 of Thoreau, 224. 
 
 Shackford, Rev. Charles Chauncy 
 (H. U. 1835), 229. 
 
 Shakers, 135, 246. 
 
 Shakespeare mentioned, ix, 50, 237. 
 
 Shame, 200, 238, 250, 345. 
 
 Shanty, of Thoreau, 68 ; of Ricket 
 son, 286, 311, 322. 
 
 Shawmut (Boston), 17. 
 
 Shawsheen (river), vii. 
 
 Shiner, a fish, 152-157. 
 
 Shropshire, Eng., 283-285, 295. 298, 
 439, 443. 
 
 Simplicity, 194, 256, 350. 
 
 Skating, 297, 405. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 479 
 
 Skipper, of Staten Island, 102 ; Tho- 
 
 reau as, 3GO. 
 
 Silence and speech, 63, 188, 277. 
 Silence of the pine wood, 425. 
 Sincerity, a rare virtue, 306. 
 Slavery, 116, 334, 413-415, 422, 454. 
 Sloth, 247, 267, 293; the animal, 
 
 400. 
 
 Small, James, of Truro, 303. 
 Smith, Capt., 102. 
 Snowstorm, 30, 33, 436, 437. 
 Social habit of Thoreau, 19, 57, 94, 
 
 138, 176, 287, 426. 
 Society, 190, 197, 276, 331, 367, 402 ; 
 
 lecture on, 4. 
 
 Society of Natural History, 226, 227. 
 Solitude, its praises, 90, 98, 210, 278, 
 
 374. 
 
 Song of " Tom Bowlin," 367. 
 " Song of the Shirt " (Hood s), 267. 
 Song-sparrow, 14. 
 Sorrow, doctrine of, 47, 201. 
 Soul and body, 198, 210, 216, 233, 
 
 257, 264. 
 " Species, Origin of " (Darwin s), 
 
 442. 
 Spirit, motions of the, 116, 336 ; the 
 
 Great, 14, 18, 213 ; Bad, of the In 
 dians, 16. 
 
 Spirit-rapping ridiculed, 233. 
 Spiritual birth, football, 261. 
 Spring, Marcus, of New York, 220, 
 
 333-338. 
 Spring, signs of, 23, 31, 34, 84, 356, 
 
 434. 
 
 Spruce house, 389, 429, 430. 
 Standard, the Anti-Slavery, 53, 289. 
 Staples, Samuel, constable and 
 
 sheriff, 58, 60, 168. 
 State and Church, 61, 270. 
 Staten Island, N. Y., 5, 58, 76, 79, 
 
 84-86, 91, 98, 102, 113, 119, 139, 
 
 143, 145. 
 Station and appearance, potency of, 
 
 274. 
 
 Statistics, 371. 
 Steamer voyage of Thoreau, 80, 335, 
 
 447-450. 
 
 Sternothaerus (turtle), 150, 156. 
 Stock in the bank, 194, 257, 372 ; in 
 
 this world s enterprises, 233. 
 Stoicism of Thoreau, ix, 55, 146, 158, 
 
 205, 206, 287, 392. 
 Storm in New York, 125 ; on Monad- 
 
 noc, 430. 
 Stove of Thoreau, 264, 294 ; of Chan- 
 
 ning, 297. 
 Students, their economy, 69; of 
 
 Greek, 68, 116,121, 123; of law, 
 
 19, 126. 
 
 Study, a woodland, 68, 145, 153, 202. 
 
 Style in writing, ix, 78, J12, 365. 
 
 Suburban life, 83, 93, 101, 114, 147. 
 
 Success in life, 129, 191, 197, 209, 
 214, 260, 292, 344, 373, 418. 
 
 Sucker (a fish), 151, 156, 157, 266. 
 
 Sugar, 327-329. 
 
 Sugar-maple, 328. 
 
 Summer, Indian, 43, 395. 
 
 Summer life, 25, 74, 111. 
 
 Sumner, Charles (H. U. 1830), 220. 
 
 Sumner, Horace, lost at sea, 221. 
 
 Sun (for " day "), 14, 17 ; in a mud- 
 puddle, 292. 
 
 Sunday discourses, 229, 281, 340, 
 348 ; observance, 94, 118 ; in New 
 Jersey, 338. 
 
 Surveying of land, 119, 250, 265, 
 282, 338, 340, 364, 388. 
 
 Swamp and city compared, 225. 
 
 Swedenborg, 351. 
 
 Swedenborgian, H. James, 145 ; J. 
 Clark, 175. 
 
 Switzer, a, 253. 
 
 "TACTICS," of Scott, 411. 
 Tahatawan (Indian chief), 14-19. 
 " T ain t I, t ain t I," 262. 
 Talking, 63, 126, 211, 277, 302, 353. 
 Tappan, William, of New York, 85, 
 
 86, 94, 96, 97, 112, 115, 121, 135, 
 
 140, 145. 
 
 Tarbell, Deacon, of Concord, 294. 
 Tarkiln Hill, New Bedford, 310, 
 
 35(5. 
 
 " Task," of Cowper, 306. 
 Tauuton, mentioned, 14, 18, 20, 21. 
 Taxpaying, 58, 60. 
 Taylor, Jane, quoted, 137. 
 Tea, its value, 382, 383. 
 Teaching, by the Thoreaus, 4, 10, 25- 
 
 30, 98. 
 Teats, 269. 
 Temple, denned, 235; too close, 
 
 230. 
 Thanksgiving, the emotion, 344 ; the 
 
 festival, 333, 402. 
 Thinking, 167, 195, 411. 
 Thoreau, Cynthia (Dunbar), mother 
 
 of Henry, 2, 11, 33, 79, 232, 271, 
 
 285, 298, 301, 339, 407, 408, 419, 
 
 420, 422, 423, 441, 464. (See under 
 
 Letters. ) 
 Thoreau, Helen, sister of Henry, 2, 
 
 11, 23, 25, 32, 37, 56, 60, 86, 87,101, 
 
 109, 113, 117, 119, 132, 140. (See 
 
 under Letters.) 
 Thoreau, Henry David (H. U. 1837), 
 
 his fame increasing, vi, 462 ; his 
 
 character, viii, xi ; industry of, 
 
480 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 viii, 11,39, 161, 205, 338, 429 ; his 
 affection %or his family, viii, 38, 
 80, 117, 141, 142 ; for his brother 
 John, 40, 47, 87 ; for the Emer- 
 sons, 58, 61, 111, 122, 162, 170, 
 189 ; French elegance of, ix ; jest 
 ing habit of, ix ; birth and death, 
 2 ; ancestry and early days, 2-6 ; 
 epochs in his life, 4, 12, 40, 58, 
 192 ; affairs of, 5, 25, 39, 44, 125, 
 127, 128, 150-157, 161, 204-206, 
 251, 410 ; books written by, 5, 166, 
 187, 280, 286, 299, 321 ; college 
 "Part," 7-9; philosophic mind 
 of, 10, 29 ; Emerson s view of, 11 ; 
 exaggeration by, 11, 244, 265, 
 270 ; letters from (see Letters) ; 
 Indian dialect of, 14-20 ; tastes 
 of, 19, 25, 38, 42, 51, 54. 57, 68, 
 75, 93, 97,111, 135, 136,232; his 
 Indian relics, 20-22 ; wish to go 
 West, 23; habits, 25, 26, 39, 161, 
 231, 382, 423, 424, 429 ; school, 26, 
 27 ; advises Helen, 27-35 ; a Tran 
 scendental brother, 37-39; ac 
 quaintance with Emerson, 39, 56 ; 
 with Mrs. Brown, 40-49 (see Let 
 ters) ; with R. F. Fuller, 52 (see 
 Letters) ; love of music, 47, 51, 52 ; 
 writes to Emerson, 57 (see Let 
 ters) ; at Emerson s house, 40, 58 ; 
 intimate with Hawthorne, 59 ; 
 with Alcott, 60, 75, 163, 175, 181, 
 184, 287, 332, 340, 348, 357, 364 ; 
 with Emerson s children, 63, 162, 
 180, 183, 189 ; with Mrs. Emerson, 
 62 (see Letters) ; with C. S. Whee 
 ler, 68, 69 ; edits " Dial," 69-74 ; 
 admirers of, 76, 166, 190, 283, 287, 
 349, 461 ; his college life, 4, 7, 10, 
 68, 78, 364; college professors 
 and tutors, 68, 130, 164, 174 ; col 
 lege studies, 77-79 ; goes to Staten 
 Island, 79 ; meets Horace Gree- 
 ley, Henry James, etc., 80; de 
 scribes New York, 81-85, 93, 97, 
 etc. ; verses on his brother John, 
 87 ; describes James, Channing, 
 and Brisbane, 95, 96 ; and other 
 friends, 97 ; at W. Emerson s, 
 101 ; his pursuits, 100-109 ; criti 
 cises Concord and the "Dial," 
 109-112 ; describes immigration 
 in 1843, 114, 130, 131 ; hears Lucre- 
 tia Mott, 115; laments Stearns 
 Wheeler,116 ; regrets Concord and 
 separation, 117, 118 ; writes for 
 magazines, 119, 121, 127, 129; 
 mentions Channing, Greeley, 
 James, Longfellow, 120; trans 
 
 lates Greek, 121 ; sees publish 
 ers, 125 ; mentions Webster and 
 C. Dunbar, 126; reads Quarles, 
 134; criticises Ellery Channing 
 and Lane, 135 ; Emerson too, 
 137; likes the Irish, 138; but 
 not W. H. Charming, 140 ; hears 
 from Emerson, 143 ; and Ellery 
 Channing, 144 ; lives by Walden, 
 145, 148 ; hears from Lane, 146- 
 149 ; sends fish to Agassiz, 149-157 ; 
 returns to Emerson s house, 158 ; 
 writes to Sophia, 158 (see Let 
 ters) ; cares for the Emerson fam 
 ily, 161; helps Alcott with the 
 summer-house of Emerson, 163 ; 
 describes Scientific School, 165; 
 refuses marriage, 166 ; finds no 
 publisher, 166, 187 ; his account of 
 Hugh Whelan, 167, 171, 172, 178 ; 
 hears from Emerson, 170 (see 
 Letters) ; hears Parker, Whipple, 
 and Hudson at Lyceum, 178, 1 1 9 ; 
 describes a dinner, 176 ; sends 
 verses, 177 ; describes the Emer 
 son household, 182, 183 ; and E. 
 Channing, 174 ; reads lectures, 4, 
 64, 185 ; writes to J. E. Cabot, 186 
 (see Letters) ; his mode of writ 
 ing, 188 ; meets H. G. O. Blake, 
 190; their correspondence, 191- 
 445 (see Letters); believes in 
 simplicity, 194 ; defines his life, 
 196, 202, 210, 215, 224; lectures 
 on bread, 197-199 ; on duties, 201 ; 
 corresponds with Greeley, 203 ; 
 fathoming character, 203 ; lives 
 by hand-labor, 205; writes for 
 " Graham" and "Putnam," 203, 
 207 ; his debts, 219, note, 266 ; 
 visits Fire Island, 220 ; elected to 
 Boston Society of Natural His 
 tory, 226 ; lectures in Boston, 228 ; 
 in Plymouth, Salem, etc., 228-230; 
 satirizes spiritism, 233 ; will be 
 a scarecrow, 234 ; his temples, 
 235 ; essay on Chastity, 238-251 ; 
 goes land-surveying, 251 ; avoids 
 doing good, 254 ; reflects on life, 
 255-259 ; differs with G. W. Curtis, 
 260 ; moralizes, 261-269 ; feeble 
 ness of, 262, 323 ; reads Haydon 
 and Layard, 269 ; gets a new coat, 
 271 ; lessons therefrom, 272-275 ; 
 finds fault with men, 276 ; pad 
 dles up river by night, 278 ; lec 
 tures in Worcester, 280, 355, 
 406, 413 ; publishes " Walden," 
 280; meets Ricketson and T. 
 Cholmondeley, 283; geniality of, 
 
INDEX. 
 
 481 
 
 287, 325, 353 ; visits Nantucket and 
 New Bedford, 289 ; moralizes 
 to Blake, 291-294 : writes to 
 Cholmondeley, 295; to Sanborn, 
 300, 445 ; visits Cape Cod, 302-305 ; 
 describes Ricketson, 300 ; deals 
 with E. Hosmer for an old house, 
 309 ; praises G-ilpin, 311 ; finds the 
 rose-gentian, 313 ; gathers drift 
 wood, 316-318; meets Mary Emer 
 son, 318 ; receives books from 
 Cholmondeley, 319, 321 ; describes 
 Ellery C banning, 324; is the 
 greatest walker in Concord, 326 ; 
 idealizes sugar-making, 328 ; visits 
 Alcott in New Hampshire, 332, 
 333; and the Eagleswood com 
 munity, 335 ; describes it, 336- 
 338 ; meets Walt Whitman, 340 ; 
 visits Greeley, 340 ; his morning 
 in Worcester, 342; describes 
 Whitman, 345-347 ; hears H. W. 
 Beecher, 348 ; quotes Confucius 
 to Wiley, 350 (see Letters) ; 
 lands on Clark s Island, 353; 
 meets Alcott and ChanninginNew 
 Bedford, 357 ; goes to Cape Cod 
 with Chauning, 359 ; analyzes 
 glow-worms for M. Watson, 360 
 (see Letters) ; praises Hillside, 
 363, 364 ; criticises W. Flagg, 365 ; 
 in Maine woods, 366, 369, 378-382 
 (see Letter to Higginson) ; his 
 camp outfit, 383 ; habit in tour 
 ing, 384; visits White Mountains 
 (in 1858), 385-391 ; goes to Monad- 
 noc, 388, 428 ; finds the arnica in 
 Tuckerman s Ravine, 390 ; his 
 camp on Mt. Washington, 391 ; 
 writes on autumn tints, 395 ; is 
 visited by Cholmondeley in 1858- 
 59, 397; ridicules Boston clubs, 
 400 ; criticises H. James, 402 ; 
 his parable of the mountain ra 
 vine, 404, 405 ; his father dies, 406 ; 
 and is described by Thoreau, 407, 
 408 ; returns to hand-labor, 410 ; 
 praises John Brown, 413 ; his 
 speech published, with Emerson s, 
 by Redpath, 415; reflections on 
 man and fate, 416-418 ; invited to 
 John Brown s grave, 420 ; goes 
 with Channing to Monadnoc, 421 ; 
 speeds Frank Merriam to Canada, 
 423, 424; explains his silence to 
 Ricketson, 426; gets a Canada 
 lynx, 427 ; describes life on Mo 
 nadnoc, 482-433 ; hints for the 
 Prince of Wales, 433 ; is visited 
 by Blake and Brown, 435 ; men 
 
 tions Alcott s success, 436 ; writes 
 to P. Pillbsury, 437 ; falls ill 
 and goes to Minnesota, 439-444, 
 446-453 ; his last letter from 
 Cholmondeley, 439 ; describes his 
 illness 455 ; sits for his portrait 
 in New Bedford, 456; writes for 
 the "Atlantic Monthly," 458; 
 grows worse, 459 ; writes his last 
 letter, 463 ; dies, 464. 
 
 Thoreau, Jane, mentioned, 142. 
 
 Thoreau, John (father of Henry), 
 2-6, 11, 23, 80, 86, 118, 133, 339, 
 397, 406 ; day-book of, 4 ; de 
 scribed by Thoreau, 407 ; dies, 406, 
 408. 
 
 Thoreau, John (grandfather of Hen 
 ry), 3, 378. 
 
 Thoreau, John (brother of Henry), 
 2, 6, 13, 14, 18-25, 27, 37, 40 ; his 
 death, 47, 87, 88 ; his bluebird box, 
 23-25. (See Letters.) 
 
 Thoreau, Maria, 141, 464. 
 
 Thoreau, Philip (great-grandfather 
 of Henry), 3. 
 
 Thoreau, Sophia (sister of Henry) 
 (see Letters) ; 8, 26, 27, 32, 36, 39, 
 84, 133, 142, 158, 232, 334, 335, 419, 
 459,461,464; dies, 464. 
 
 "Thule, Ultima" (Cholmondeley s 
 book on New Zealand), 284, 303. 
 
 Thunder in the woods, 70. 
 
 " Times," 345. 
 
 Tints, Autumnal, 395, 402. 
 
 Tortoise, painted, 153. 
 
 "Transcript," of Worcester, 342. 
 
 "Traveller," of Boston, 361. 
 
 "Tribune," of New York, 53, 80, 143, 
 204, 331. 
 
 Truro, Mass., 302, 304, 412. 
 
 Trust, 65. 
 
 " Truth along with ye," 290. 
 
 Tuckerman s Ravine, 389, 404, 406. 
 
 Tulip trees, 84, 91, 106. 
 
 Turkey, the country, 176, 211 ; the 
 fowl, 176. 
 
 Tyndale, Mrs., 349. 
 
 ULTIMA THTJLK," 284, 303. 
 Umbagog Lake, 377. 
 Umbazookskus, 381. 
 Union, war for the, 439. 446, 454, 460. 
 " Union Magazine," 204. 
 Universalist church, 61. 
 
 VACANT hours, 31, 252, 262, 301. 
 Vaches, Ranz des, 59. 
 Valhalla s kitchen, 51. 
 Valley of the Connecticut, 332 ; of 
 the Mississippi, 446. 
 
482 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Vandalic verses, 45. 
 
 Vedas, 351. 
 
 Venus, 31. 
 
 Verses mentioned, Sic Vita, 40; 
 
 Memorial, 76 ; quoted, 87, 176. 
 Vestry of the church, 354, 377, 414. 
 Views, distant : from Monadnoc, 384 ; 
 
 from Mt. Washington, 376. 
 " Vides ut alia stet nive candidum," 
 
 30. 
 
 Virgil, vii ; quoted, 32. 
 Virginia, road, 2, 5 ; State, 398, 406, 
 
 414, 462. 
 Virginity, 249. 
 Vishnu Purana, 351. 
 Von Hammer, 71. 
 Vose, Henry (H. U. 1837), 19. 
 Voting in Concord, 16, 19, 168. 
 Vowel sounds, 28. 
 Voyages, 80, 295, 335, 447. 
 Vulcan, 31, 34, 45. 
 
 WACHUSETT, a mountain, 99, 282, 
 285, 330, 376, 384, 433. 
 
 Wagon-journey to White Mountains, 
 385, 389. 
 
 Walden, the pond, 5, 31, 34, 68, 124, 
 145, 149, 158, 161-169 ; the book, 
 280, 281, 286, 321, 324, 437, 463, 
 464. 
 
 Walden woods, 138, 159, 168, 190, 
 392. 
 
 Waldo, Giles, of New York, 85, 94, 
 96, 99, 115, 125. 
 
 Walks of Thoreau, to Wachusett, 
 99. 
 
 Walker, Tom, 265; member of a 
 sect, 392. 
 
 " Walking " (a lecture), 354, 458. 
 
 Walpole, N. H., 332. 
 
 Walt (for Walter), Christian name 
 of the poet Whitman, 345, 348, 
 349. 
 
 " Wanderer, The " (Channing s 
 poem), 364, 421 ; quoted, 422. 
 
 War, 108; stupidity of, 441; Cri 
 mean, 826, 294, 298, 320, 321 ; Rev 
 olutionary, 378, 414 ; of 1861, 446. 
 
 Ward, George, 85, 100. 
 
 Ward, Mrs., 60, 87. 
 
 Warm yourself, how to, 247, 264, 
 294, 318. 
 
 Washington, General, 11. 
 
 Washington, the city, 436 ; the moun 
 tain, 375, 389, 433. 
 
 Wasson, D. A., 357, 358. 
 
 Watson, Edward, 353, 363. 
 
 Watson, B. M., 229, 230, 282, 287, 
 360, 362-364, 388. 
 
 Watson, Mrs. Mary, 49, 364. 
 
 Wealth, folly of accumulating, 194, 
 373. 
 
 Wearing clothes, 272, 274, 290, 310, 
 419. 
 
 Webster, Daniel, mentioned, 124, 
 126, 285. 
 
 " Week on the Concord and Merri- 
 mack " (first book of Thoreau), 
 166; refused by publishers, 187, 
 207 ; debt for, 219, 251 ; cited, 
 321; mentioned, 392, 437, 462, 
 463. 
 
 Weld, Theodore (of Eagleswood), 
 334, 336. 
 
 Weld, Mrs. (Grimk6), 333, 335. 
 
 West, the, Thoreau would go to, 22 ; 
 a friend in, 41 ; immigrants to 
 114, 131 ; Thoreau s tour in, 439, 
 444, 446-454. 
 
 West Indies, mentioned, 397, 444. 
 
 Weston, Mass., 11, 124. 
 
 Wheeler, Charles Stearns (H. U. 
 1837), 68, 69, 71, 108, 116, 123. 
 
 Whelau, Hugh, the gardener, 91, 
 167, 171, 172, 178, 185. 
 
 Whipple, Edwin Percy, 173, 174. 
 
 White, Miss E., 32, 36. 
 
 White Pond (at Nine- Acre-Corner), 
 15. 
 
 Whitman, Walt, 321 ; seen by Tho 
 reau, 339-341; genius of, 346; 
 brag of, 347 ; seen by Alcott, 349 ; 
 described, 345-347 ; mentioned by 
 Emerson, 339 ; and by Alcott, 439. 
 
 Whittier, John Greenieaf, men 
 tioned, 59. 
 
 Wild, the (a lecture), 354; Tho 
 reau s love of, 17, 42, 144, 210. 
 
 Wiley, B. B., 349-354. (See Let 
 ters.) 
 
 Williams, I. T., 45. 
 
 Windsor, N. S., 393. 
 
 " Winter s Walk," 112. 
 
 Winthrop, John (Governor of Mas 
 sachusetts), his Concord house, 
 309. 
 
 Wisconsin, 131, 448. 
 
 Wisdom of the ancients, 136, 350, 
 351 ; of the Indian, 362, 370. 
 
 Woman, her quarrel with man, 238 ; 
 her beauty, 239 ; a merely senti 
 mental, 241. 
 
 Woodchuck, mentioned, 202, 433. 
 
 Worcester, Mass, (home of Blake 
 and Brown), 189, 192 (see Let 
 ters); Thoreau lectures at, 218, 
 231, 280, etc. ; visits, 335, 341, 358. 
 
 Wordsworth, quoted, 275. 
 
 " World, the, a cow that is hard to 
 milk," 161 ; must look out, 175; 
 
INDEX. 
 
 483 
 
 noble to stand aside from, 191 ; 
 idly complaining, 236 ; its way, 
 252 ; and Atlas, 292 ; no match for 
 a thought, 412 ; pitch it in a hol 
 low place, sit down and eat your 
 luncheon, 418 ; one at a time, 439. 
 
 Worms (Lampyris noctiluca), 360, 
 363. 
 
 Writing, correct, 112, 187, 365; 
 remarks on, ix, 29, 32, 44, 78, 112, 
 188, 365, 426. 
 
 Wyman trial, the, 124. 
 
 "YANKEE in Canada," 207, 259. 
 
 Yarmouth, Mass., 304. 
 
 Yellow House, 5. 
 
 Yellow Medicine (river), 452. 
 
 Yoga (Hindoo observance), 210. 
 
 Yogi, 211. 
 
 "Youth of the Poet and Painter" 
 
 (by Ellery Channing)," 111, 135, 
 
 139. 
 
U.C.BERKELEY LIBRARIES