Familiar letters of Henry David Thoreau

|)enrp D. (Tljorrau.

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.
AUTUMN.

VII
VIII

WINTER.

IX. EXCURSIONS.
X. MISCELLANIES. With a Biographical Sketch

by RALPH \\'AI no KMER*-ON.

XI. FAMILIAR LETTERS. Edited, with an Intro
duction and Xutes, by FRANK B. SANBORN.
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THOREAU'S THOUGHTS. Selections from the Writ
ings of Henry D. Thoieau. Kdited by H. G. O. Blake.
With Bibliography. i6mo, gilt top, ?i.oo.

THE SUCCESSION OF FOREST TREES AND WILD
APPLES. With Biographical Sketch by Emerson.
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--

A 7'

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 ACHIE\7EMENT.

CORRESPONDENCE WITH C. LANE, J. E. CABOT, EMER
SON, AND BLAKE 143

III. FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS.

THE SHIPWRECK OF MARGARET FULLER 220

Ax 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 . , . 301
EXCURSIONS TO MONADNOC AND MINNESOTA . . . .421

LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH 4(5

INDEX 46

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 all), 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 fain-

ily,

Crest-it occulto velut arbor aevo
Faina 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 bare 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. u 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, lie 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-

J

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 INTRODUC TION.

He did those acts also ; but they were not the
whole man. lie 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
iiight 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 Lucretiiis, —

Saevis projectus ab undis
Cui tantuni 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 sheltering1 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, lie 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 Kicket-
son, knew and admired him.

F. B. S.

CONCOKD, MASS., March 1, 1S94.

FAMILIAR LETTERS OF THOREAU.

I. YEARS OF DISCIPLINE.

IT was a happy thought of Thoreau's friend
Ellery Charming, 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 YEAllS 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 village, May 6, 1802; 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.

-i John Thoreau, grandfather of Henry, horn at St. Heller'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 YE A US OF DISCIPLINE. [1821-1844.

u 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 Bro wnson'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.

" Parknian 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. t>

man house1 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 Red 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 Westboroug-h 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.

G YKARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1700 I7.s7.

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-
tnring, 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 ; Imt 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. 7

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 I). II. 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
speeehmaking 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." !

1 The impression made on one classmate and former room-

10 YE A1!S OF DISCIPLINE.

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 Dedham,
September 7, 18'i7 : —

" FRIEND 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- 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 'i'.i class as a
regular attendant 011 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.'1

jsT.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.

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 HELEX THOREAU (AT TAUNTOX).

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

MT. 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 YKAJiS OF DISCIPLINE. [1837,

TO JOHN THOKEAU (AT TAUXTON).
(Written as from one Indian to another.)

MUSKETAQUID, 202 Summers, two Moons, eleven Suns,

— since the coming of the Pale Faces.

(November 11, lt>37.)

TAHATAWAN, Sachimaussan, to his brother
sachem, Hopeful of Ilopewell, — 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 Pule
Faces have taken away our lands, — and was a

*rr.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.

1G YKMiS OF DISCI rLIXE. [is:;:,

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. lie 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

JET. 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 FAM/.'.S' OF DISCIPLINE. [is;57,

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 tlnj 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, possiblv, 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
uluvery.

ST. 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. [IMS,

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 TAUXTOx).

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,
\vhich 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.

*:T. 20.] TO JOHN THOREAU. 21

are broken off. A skillful workman may make
a thousand in a clay.

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,

HENRY D. THOREAU.

TO JOHX 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 Taunton 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 done 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 / must, at all events. Dr. Jar-
vis enumerates nearly a dozen schools which I
could have, — all such as would suit you equally

JET. 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. THOREAU.

[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. AVhat
day of the month shall you return ?

HELEN.

One remark in this letter calls for attention,
— that concerning the u 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 011 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 1 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

ST. 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 ROXBTJBY).

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 Fr'ing. 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 Concoi'd 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,

II. 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 1 775, for the
dedication of which Emi'rson wrote his hymn, " By the rude
bridge." This was sung by Thoreau, among others, to the
tune of Old Hundred.

jsr.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
Parkman 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 HELEJf 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. [ISM,

as would l>e 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 pennali, Lydidh, Hannali, 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 o.s, as you know, are
pronounced long, — as Jtomincs (hominese), do-
ininos (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 cpiite 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 Indies wishes to study
mental philosophy, hey ? AVell, 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

*T. 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, preserving1 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 u Ad Helenam L. Thoreau, Roxbury,
Mass.," and postmarked " Concord, Jan. 25 "
(1840).

TO HKLKN THOREAU (AT ROXBURY).

CONCOKDIAE, Dec. Kal. Feb. A. D. MDCCCXI,.

CARA SOIIOR, — Est magnus acervus nivis ad
limina, et f rigus intolerabile iiitus. Coelum ip-
sum ruit, credo, et terrain operit. Sero stratum
linquo et mature rcpeto ; in fenestris multa
pruina prospect um absumit ; et hie miser scribo,
non currente calamo, nam digiti mentesque tor-
pescunt. Canerem cum Horatio, si vox non
faucibus haeserit, —

Vides ut alto stet nive cnndidum
Nawshawtuct, nee jam sustineant onus

Silvae laborantes, geluque

Flumina constiterint acuto ?

ar.22.] TO HELEN THOREAU. V::#T/

\ «, '">.. ^ -»--xi/ •
Dissolve frigus. ligna super foco

Large reponens, etc.

Sed olim, Musa mutata, et laetiore plectro,

Neque jam stabulis gaudet pecus, aut arator igne,

Nee prata canis albicant pruinis ;
Jam Cytherea chores ducit Venus inmiinente lima.

Quam turdus ferrugineus ver reduxerit, tu,
spero, linques curas scholasticas, 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 undas.

Bulwerius est mihi nomen incognitum, — unus
ex ignobile vidgo, nee refutandus nee laudandus.
Certe alicui nonnullam honorem habeo qui in-
sanabili cacoethe scribendi teneatur.

Specie flagrantis Lexingtonis non somnia de-
turbat? At non Vulcanum Neptnnumqne cul-
peinus, cum superstitioso grege. Natura curat
animalculis aeque ac hominibus ; cum serena,
turn procellosa, arnica est.

Si amas historiam et fortia facta heroum, non
depone Rollin, precor; ne Clio offendas nunc,
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 hominis. I line ratio non modo
cur legeres, sed cur tu quoque scriberes ; nee
lectores earent ; ego sum. Si non libruni medi-
taris, libellum certe. Nihil ])osteris proderit to
spirasse, et vitam mine leniter ntinc aspere.
egisse ; sed cogitasse praecipue et scripsisse.
Vereor ne tibi pertaesutn liujus epistolae sit ;
necnon alma lux caret,

Majoresque cadunt altis de montibus umbrae.

Quamobrem vale, — imo valete, et requiescatis
placide, Sorores.

II. D. THOREAUS.

Memento scribere !

CARA SOPHIA, — Samuel Niger erebris aegro-
tationibus, quae agilitatem et aequum animum
abstulere, obnoxius est ; iis temporibus ad eel-
lam descendit, et inultas boras (ibi) manet.

Flores, ah crudelis pruina ! parvo leti discrim-
ine sunt. Cactus frigore ustus est, gerania vero
adlnic vigent.

Conventus sociabiles hae hieme reinstituti fu-
ere. Conveniunt (?) ad meum domum mense
(juarto vel quinto, 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-

J5T.22.] TO HELEN THOREAU.

per moratur. Memento scribere intra cluas 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.

CONCORD, 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 nothing1, 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 ? l 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. Pollen on board.

^T. 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. THOREAU.

36 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1840,

POSTSCRIPT. (BY MRS. THORKAU.)

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 l>y 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, and 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-

JST. 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 HELEX 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 ftirnilt/-iu'ity
— 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 Xew 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 BROWX * (AT PLYMOUTH).

Coxcoun, 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 can't 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.

fed on raw meat, and my lameness 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, — 1 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.

Biit 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

asr. 24.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 43

you a serene hour, don't fail to communicate
some of its serenity to your friend,

HENRY D. THOREAU.

»

No, no. Improve so rare a gift for yourself,
and send me of your leisure.

TO MRS. LUCY BROWN (AT PLYMOUTH).

CONCORD, Wednesday evening1,
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 kine, 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 refluced to
completeness by leaving out the long lines,
which alwavs 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 Adraetus for a while
on earth. But I believe he found it for his ad-

1 Tliis business of pencil-making Lad become tbe family
bread-winner, and Henry Tliore.au worked at it and kindred
arts by intervals for the next twenty years.

JET. 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 g-ode
Comen mid than flode
Three hundred cuihten."

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. THOEEAU.

TO MRS. LUCY BROWN" (AT PLYMOUTH).

CONCORD, October 5, 1841.

DEAR FRIEND, — I send you Williams's l 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
from Buffalo, N. Y.

46 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1X41,

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

D. THOKEAU.

«r. 24.] TO MRS. LUCY BROWN. 47

TO MRS. LUCY BROWX (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 would 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 ?
lie 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.

XT. 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 her newspapers and
other things, 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.
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,
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, tliey 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

ST. 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 sonl 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 YKAHS 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 yon hear it. I shall not
Lave to employ you to borrow for me now.
Good-night.

From your affectionate friend,

II. D. T.

TO RICIIAKD F. FULLER (AT CAMBRIDGE).

CONCOKD, January 1(5, 184:5.

DEAR RICHARD, — 1 need not thank you for
your present, for I hear its music, which seems
to be playing just for ns two pilgrims marching
over hill and dale of a summer afternoon, lip
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

JET. 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 2o. 1843.

DEAR FRIEXD, — 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
tliat I now send you is of another sort. It will

54 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1*4:;,

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 wotdd 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

50 YE AliS OF DISCIPLINE.

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
ine 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

J5T.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 1 assign a note
asking Henry to join the Emerson s 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

68 YE A IIS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

to Emerson for the hospitality of his house in
the two preceding years ; a theme to which he
returned a few mouths later, — for I doubt not
the lovely sad poem called " The Departure "
was written at Staten Island soon after his leav
ing1 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. KMERSOX (AT XKW VORK).

CONCOKD, January 24, 1843.

DEAR FKIEND, — 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.

jsT.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 Itanz des Vetches to yourself. And
Ellen declares every morning that u 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 x 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.

O'O YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

said a great deal ! lie, however, made a point
of asking me to write for his Review, 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. Aleott 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, u I vum, I believe it was nothing but
principle, for I never heerd a man talk hon-
ester."

There was a lecture on Peace by a Mr. Spear
(ought he not to be beaten into a ploughshare ?^),
the same evening, and, as the gentlemen, Lane

^T. 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 hand
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, II. D. T.

Mrs. Lidian Emerson, the wife of R. "W. Em
erson, and lu-r 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. II. Forbes, was
fourteen mouths 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. KMKRSOX (-VT XKW 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

jsT.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. C3

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 I " 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 conies 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
Jnst by old Passtum's temples and the perch
Where Time doth plume his wings.

04 YE A Its OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

And now she runs the race over the carpet, while
all Olympia applauds, — mamma, 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. kt Larks night '' "s
abed, dreaming of " pleased faces " far away.
But now the trumpet sounds, the games are
over: some Hebe conies, 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.

JST. 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 FRIEND, — 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 YKARS OF DISCIPLINE. [is-n,

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, lie
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. AVe 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. 23.] 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.

HEXRY 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 AVheeler ? Has Bartlett none ? "
Of these persons, the first, Charles Stearns
AVheeler, 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
fanner, a rough woodland study near Flint's Pond, half way
from Lincoln to Concord, which he occupied for a short time
in 1S41-42. and where Thoreau and Channing visited him.
Mr. Channing wrote me in lN8o : '' Stearns A^ heeler 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 lie 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

arr.25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 69

request Thoreau, who was punctuality itself, re
plied at once.

TO R. W. EMERSON (AT NEW YORK).

CONCOKD, 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 huilt 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 1869-70.

70 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1S43,

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 ik 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 Way land
way, and at last burst over our heads. So we '11
not despair by reason of the drought. You see

*T.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 evening1, 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 things 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 YEA1IS OF DISCIPLINE. [i.s-i:J,

you ere this. Mr. Alcott lias a letter from He-
ram!,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 u Notice
to the readers of the k 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 t% 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 Jlronson
Alcott, pp. 2<j2-oiS.

JET. 25.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 73

April number of the Transcenclentalist quar
terly.

TO B. 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 YE A US OF DISCIPLINE. Llb4.;,

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,
k' 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//o?/2e 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 Record of the
Months, and speaks of extras of the Review 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

ACT. 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

1() YE AKS OF DISCIPLINE. [1K43,

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 ,
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 Ixich-
ard Fuller who had made him the musical gift
in the previous winter, lie was at Harvard
College, and desired to know something of Tho-
reau's pursuits there, — concerning which Chan-
ning says in his Life: l "lie was a respectable

1 T/iorfiH. tJie Poi'l-Xahintlist. With Memorial Verses. By
William Kllery Chamiing (Boston: Roberts Brothers. 187-i).
This volume, in some respects the hest biography of Thoreau,
is now quite rare. Among the Memorial Verses are those
written by Chamiing for his friend's funeral ; at which, also,
Mr. Alcott read Thoreau's poem of Sympathy.

*;T. 25.] TO RICHARD F. FULLER. 77

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, Drayton, 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

O «. •/

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 1 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,

IKT. 2.-).] 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. Bat 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 oi
the Musketaquid," — beginning with his mother,

80 YEAIiS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

liis 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 resinned 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 Review."
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 MOTHKK (AT COXCOKI)).
CASTLKTON, STATKN ISLAND, May 11, 18-13.

DEAR MOTHER AND FRIENDS AT HOME, —
We arrived here safely at ten o'clock on Sun
day morning, haying 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. 23.] 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 YE A US 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
I1. ill, 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.

*T.23.] TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER. §3

But it is rather derogatory that your dwellihg-l
place should be only a neighborhood to a grea^ ">,
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,

HENRY D. THOREAU.

84 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

TO SOPHIA THOREAU (AT CONCORD).

CASTL.ETON, Staten Island, May 22, 1843.

DEAR SOPHIA, — I have had a severe fold
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

JET. 25.] TO SOPHIA THOREA17. 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. [>4:',,

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
AValdo 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 2s ew 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

JST.23.] 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 ? 1

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.

Yet thoii 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' the neighboring brook
May I thy voice still hear ?

Dost thoii still haunt the brink

Of yonder river's tide ?
And may I ever think

That tliou art by my side ?

What bird wilt thou employ
To bring' me word of thee ?

For it would g'ive 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.

Xo\v 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. Chamiing 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 lie 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, ami 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 oilier twilight birds to flit therein. lint T
am Vv-ry glad that you can elevate your life with

JET. £>.] 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 vet ? — "In
the full tide of successful operation ? "

Tell Mrs. Brown that I hope she is anchored
in a secure haven and derives much pleasure

9li YE A Its OF DISCIPLINE. [1S4:5,

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 K. W. EMERSOX (AT COXCORD).

CASTLETON, STATEN ISLAND, May 23.
MY DEAR FRIEND, — 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.

^r. •->.->.] 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

t>4 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [is*?,

for service, dancing like sea-fowl over the surf,
aii'l ships afar off going about their business.

Waldo and Tappaii 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
day 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 Charming 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. lie may
have been a virtuoso, but we will give him the
credit. "What with Aleott 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.

JST. 23.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 95

TO B. W. EMER.SOX (AT CONCORD).

STATEN ISLAND, June 8, 1843.

DEAR FRIEND, — 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 you. 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.

9G YEAIiS OF DISCIPLINE. [1S43,

excited and unprofitable state, and that Carlyle
is so ready to obey his humor that he makes the
least vestige of truth the foundation of any su
perstructure, not keeping faith with liis better
genius nor truest readers.

I met Wright on the stairs of the Society
Library, and W. II. Channing 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. lie
looks like a man who has lived in a cellar, far
gone in consumption. I barely saw him, but lie
did not look as if he could let Fourier go, in any
case, and throw tip 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

*T.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 youthf ulness 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 '9 the advantage it will be to me :

98 I'/-;. 1/:.V OF DISCIPLINE.

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 shilling's, 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 T 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 1 serve the bov. 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

*T. 23.] 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 publishing1 house of Bradbury & Soden, in Boston,
which had taken Nathan Hale's Host on Miscellany off his
hands, and had published in it, with promise of payment. Tho-
reau's Walk to War.husett. 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 YE AllS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER (AT COXCORD).
CASTLETON, June S, 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 fail-
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,

JST. 25.] TO HIS FA THER 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 u 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 DISCIPLIXE. [1S43,

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 lish.

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 spelling1), as far as the Clove
road ; and south, John Britten, 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, 1 have not set my
traps yet, but I am getting my bait ready.
Pray, how does the garden thrive, and what
improvements in the peneil line ? I miss you
all very much. Write soon, and send a Concord
paper to

Your affectionate son,

HENRY 1). THOKEAU.

JET. 23.] TO MRS. EMERSON.

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 MRS. 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 YE A US OF DISCIPLIXE.

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 1
look up at the evening star. I think 1 know
your thoughts without seeing' you, and as well
here as in Concord. You are not at all strange
to me.

1 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

a:T.23.] 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,

100 YEAttS OF DISCIPLINE. [li'43,

but I know this cannot be ; and the Fates, after
all, are the accomplishes of our hopes. Yet I
clo 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
Avill 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 MRS. THOREAU (AT CONCORI)).

STATES ISLAND. July 7, 1S4:>.

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 1 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.

«T.25.] TO MRS. THOREAU. 107

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 Fniitlands with the Alcotts. See Sanborn's Tharean,
p. 1:17, for this letter.

108 YEAKS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

know 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 1 trust that
Stearns "U heeler is not dead. I should lie slow
to believe it. lie was made to work very well
in this world. There need be no tragedy in his
death.

The demon whieh 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. 1 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 lie lias seen any pigeons yet, and

AST. 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. EMERSOX (AT COXCORD).

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 YEA US OF DISCIPLINE.

it run heedless to the sea, as if I were there to
countenance it? George Minott, too, looms up
considerably, — and many another old familiar
face. These thing's all look sober and respecta
ble. They are better than the environs of Xe\v
York, I assure you.

I am pleased to think of Channing 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. 1 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

JET. 23.] 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 hlue ;
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 1 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." l
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, hut he does
not care to have them named as his for a while. They are
very agreeable reading.''

112 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. |>4.°,,

and inspire mo. 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
lonq- letter of encouragement and reproof ; and
no doubt so it is to many another in the land.
So don't give np 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 yon don't print them faster.
1 want, too, to read the rest of the vt 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 1 will dispose of it.

I have not been to Xe\v York for a month,
and so have not seen Waldo and Tappan. James
has been at Albany meanwhile. You will know

MT. 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, " AVhat have
I done ? r'

Remember 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.

DEAR 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 YE A IIS OF DISCIPLINE. [\>V\

lived, ami 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 ;>
cool and pleasant retreat, but a hungry soil. As
1 was coining away, 1 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. 1 mean
the migratory, — the Western movement. Six
teen hundred immigrants arrived at quarantine
ground on the 4th of July, and more or le.^s
every day since I have been here. 1 see them
occasionally washing their persons and clothes:
or 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,
"\V. II. Channing, at whose home, in Fifteenth
Street, I spent a few pleasant hours, discussing
the all-absorbing question " what to do for the
race." (lie is sadly in earnest about going up

XT.2C,.} 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. Sunc^ay 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
Lueretia 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 conies 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, u 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 fonn. 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

MT. 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.

DEAR 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 YEAHS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

so many miles of memory. This life \ve live
is a strange dream, and I don't believe at
all any account men give of it. Methinks 1
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-
go r ; 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. 1 find it impossible to write or read
except at rare ii^ervals. but am, generally speak
ing, tougher than formerly. 1 could make a

JST.'-V,.] TO MRS. THOREAU. 119

pedestrian tour round the world, and sometimes
think it would perhaps be better to do at once
the things I c«n, 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.

ll>0 YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [is-w,

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 K. W. EMERSON (AT CONCORD).

STATKX ISLAND, August 7, 184M.
MY DEAR FRIEND, — I fear I have nothing

O

to send yon 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.

MT. 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 YKAHS OF DISCIPLINE.

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 2<>, ''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."

*T. 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 Chamiing, and nephew and
biographer of Dr. Channing. Both he and Hor
ace Greeley were then deeply interested in the

124 YE AJIS OF DISCIPLINE. [1843,

Fourierist 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 Eruitlands, 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 Thorean,
" 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. THOHEAU (AT COXCOKu).

CASTLETOX, Tuesday, August 20, 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 gre.at 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

MT. 2ii.] TO MRS. THOREAU. 125

for the slowness and poverty of the " Reviews "
themselves 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

125 YE.inS OF DISCI PLIXE. [1843,

Daniel Webster walking- about Concord ; I sup
pose the town shook, every step lie 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 \\hetter-np of his inemoiy
tin's event would have been ! 1 on '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 — yon — 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 ? "

1 met. or rather, was overtaken by Fuller, who
tended for Mr. How, the other day, in Broad-

MT.'2C>.] 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 " Reviews " 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 FRIEXD, — 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 " Now "World," are over
whelmed with contributions which cost nothing,
and are worth no more. lt 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
ni}r 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 Irving 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-

}Vorl<1 by Park Benjamin, formerly of Boston, whoso distinc
tion it, is to have first named Hawthorne as a writer of genius.
'' Miss Fuller " was Margaret. — not yet resident in Xew York,
whither she went to live in 1844.

JST. 2G.] 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 ISLAJOJ, 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 }'/•;. ins OF DISCIPLINE. [i^:1..

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 lias lately been to Cambridge to learn lib
erality, and has come back to let me take out
some un-take-out-able books, whieh 1 was threat
ening1 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 1 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 Iloboken, — 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

JET. 20.] TO HIS MOTHER. 131

the West with them, and will buy nothing here
for fear of being cheated ; English operatives,
known by their pale faees 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 1 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 u 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 iind 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,

an. 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 on 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. E:\IERSOX (AT CO:NTCORI>).

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 of " 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 YKARS OF DISCIPLINE. [1K4S,

I have been reading lately what of Quarles's
poetry I could get. lie was a contemporary of
Herbert, and a kindred spirit. 1 think you
would like him. It is rare to find one who was
so much of a poet and so little of an artist. 1 le
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
Morping 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. In-own, too, may
find some nutriment in them.

I low does the Saxon Edith do? Can you
tell yet to which school of philosophy she be-

XT. 26.] 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.
Mr DEAR FRIEXD, — 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 Channing's1 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, his cousin, named above, was
a short-lived periodical, begun September 15, 184-5, 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.

lot) YEARS OF DISCIPLINE. [l«43,

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 v:crc 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

o

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

JET. 20.] 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. ISut 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 ouk 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 Wulden 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;1 though it is not redolent of corn-

1 This inkstand was presented by Miss Hoar, with a note
dated " Boston, May '2, 184:]," which deserves to be copied : —

DKAR HENRY. — The rain prevented me from seeing 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 t\vo 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 \our other

JET. 2(5.] THE DIAL. 139

stalks, I fear. Let me not be forgotten by
Channing 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 Channing ; " Sweep
Ho ! " by Ellen Sturgis, afterwards Mrs.
Hooper ; the " Youth of the Poet and Painter "
also by Channing. 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 €v irpa.TTfiv, which, a wise man says, is the only salutation
fit for the wise.

Truly your friend, E. HOAR.

140 YEA US 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.'1''

'* 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 TIIOREAU (AT COXCORD).

STATEX ISLAND, October 18, 1S43.

DEAR HELEN, — What do you mean by say
ing that '* u-c have written eight times by private
opportunity '' ? Is n'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 frater-

*:T. 20.] 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. [18-1.-J.

Aunt Jane. For three months I have not known
whether to think of Sophia as in Bangor or Con
cord, and now yon 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,

II. 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
Channing 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. [1S45,

on its staff to Margaret Fuller and her brother-
in-law Channing, 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. AVhile in the " Tribune "
office, Ellery Channing thus wrote to Thoreau,
after lie had returned home, disappointed with
New York, to make lead pencils in his father's
shop at Concord.

ELLERY CHAXXIXG TO THOREAU (AT COXCORD).

March :>, 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 : yon 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 yonr line, I have not done a great deal

JET. 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 Channing, 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. [1.S43,

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 184G to London, whence he
had come in 184'2, 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 LAXE TO TIIOREAIT (AT COXCORI)).
BOSTON. December 8. 184-'}.

DEAR FRIEND, — As well as my wounded
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

MT. 28.] CHARLES LANE TO THOREAU. 147

" at home," is the sincere wish of yours most
friendly,

CHARLES LANE.

MR. HEXRY THOUEAU,
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 GOLDEX AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1846,

My pen has l>een 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 GO. My
letter is like unto it.

I have only to add that your letter of the 2Gth
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. THORKAU,
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

AST. 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 Walden, 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
Iluirh the gardener, before he ran away from

O o */

Coneord, 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-
nothaerus odorntus ; 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 altfays 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
pi ice upon their heads, if the treasury of science
is full enough to warrant it.

«T.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 black 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. [1*47,

ones. I have counted ten transverse Lands on
some of the smaller.

Lampreys. Very scarce since the dams at
Lowell and Billerica were built.

China's. Lcucizcus chrysolcucas, silver and
golden.

What is the difference?

Roach or Chiverin, Leucixcus pulcJiellus^
arycnteiis, 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.

It c<] -finned Jfinnows, of which I sent you a
do/en 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,

JST.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-finned eel, it was a slip of the

154 GOLDEX AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1*47,

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 THORKAU (AT CONCORD).

In October, 1849, Agassiz, in reply to a re
quest from Thoreau that he would lecture in
Bangor, sent this characteristic letter : —

"* 1 remember with much pleasure the time
when you used to send me specimens from your
vicinity, and also our short interview in the
Maryborough Chapel.1 T 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 1 find it has been last

1 Where Agassiz was giving a course of Lowell lectures.

J3T.32.] AGASSI Z TO THOREAU. 155

winter such a heavy tax upon ray 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 GOLDEX AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1*47,

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 Sternothaerus
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 tubercuhitus) ; 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 Xew
York. Among the fishes there is one. and prob
ably two, new species. The fresh-water smelt
he does not know. lie 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-
c<ms), 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. [1817,

Soon after this scientific correspondence, Tho-
reau left his retreat l>y Walden to take the place
of Emerson in his household, while his friend
went to visit Carlyle and give lectures in K up
land. The letters that follow are among1 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 THOUEAU (AT BAXGOIi).

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
uyarbs" enoiigh to satisfy him. I went to Bos
ton the 5th of this month to see Mr. Emerson
off to Europe. lie 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 "\ car-

MT. 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. lie 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, [is 17

bridge glass ? 2000 ! ! I 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. 1
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-swellinV

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,

JET. 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 hou.se
that Alcott was building that summer-house at
which Thoreau, with his geometrical eye, makes
merry in the next letter.

TO R. W. EMERSON (iN ENGLAND).

CONCORD, November 14, 1847.

DEAR FRIEND, — 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

IG'2 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. lie 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-

asr. W.] TO #. TV. EMERSON. 163

Lie with him that I may not miss him, 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, 1 feel a little oppressed when I come
near it. It has no great disposition to be beau-

164 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1X47,

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] Ilosmer 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. Ilosmer 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

JST. 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 Vr'hich 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.

1GG GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1S47,

I have had a tragic correspondence, for the

most part all on one side, with Miss . She

did really wish to — 1 hesitate to write — many
me. That is the way they spell it. Of course
I did not write a deliberate answer. How could
1 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 VMS no
oilier 'i ray. 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.
AViley & Putnam, Munroe, 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 mi/ 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. 1

«T. :;o.] 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 clay 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 ayellum, 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-

1<»8 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1x47,

fortunately, the day after cattle show — the day
after small beer — lie 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
Coombs had n't told me. They have had. a
peace meeting here, — I should n't think of

JST. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 169

telling you if I did n'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 anon, 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 Merriniack 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 K. W. KMKKSON (IN ENGLAND).

CONCORD, December 1">, 1S47.

DEAR FRIEND, — You are not so far off but
the affairs of tills world still attract you. Per
haps it will be so when wre are dead. Then
look out. Joshua R. Ilolman, of Harvard, who
says he lived a month with [Charles] Lane at

ST. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 171

Fruitlands, wishes to hire said Lane's farm for
one or more years, ami 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 ?

House

D

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, \ve have already got.
$4 to bring the rocks to the field.

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 AdE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1S47,

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."

kk 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

JST. :'.<>.] 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.

HENKY THOEEAU.

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, —

1 74 (i OLDEN A GE OF A CUIE I 'EM EXT. [l> 47,

too weighty a subject for him, with his antitheti
cal definitions new-vamped, — what it /x, 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. Keally, 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. [II. X.] 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 1 have a good understanding. I
appreciate her genuineness. Edith tells me after
her fashion: " I>y 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

JET. 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 lie 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 Swedeiiborgian 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. [l.*47,

cessions, — into the ballroom \vith them ! I hear
the bell toll hourly over there.1

Lillian anil 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. lie 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 alnishouse was across the field from the Emer
son house.

JST. 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 riht.

TO R. W. EMERSOX (iN

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 r; OL DEN A (JE OF A CHIE VEU EN T. \\ S48.

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. lie 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. lie 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).
lie 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

-ET. 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 Parca3 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. [1F48.

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 tliis 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
^ot 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."

JOT. 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 (iX ENGLAXD).

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 Alcott had passed his forty-eighth year,
•while Channing' 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 back 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 Jicar 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,

MT. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 183

and are going1 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-

18-t GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. 1.1848,

ciplincd 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 011 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 Charming 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, \vhy then you may turn your back

1 See Sanborn's TAoreau, p. 214, and Channing's Thoreau,
pp. 196-199, 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. Received of Boston Savings Bank,
on account of Charles Lane, his deposit with
interest, $131.33. 16th. Received of Joseph
Palmer, on account of Charles Lane, three hun
dred twenty-three -j^60- dollars, being the balance
of a note on demand for four hundred dollars,
with interest, 8323.36."

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 THOREAU.

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.

CONCOKD, March 8, 1848.

DEAR SIR, — Mr. Emerson's address is as
yet, " R. "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-
ceiim this winter, mainly for my own pleasure
and advantage. I esteem it a rare happiness
to be able to write 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 you 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, — / am. — and yet here it is spoken of
with the utmost gravity, and I do not laugh."

188 GOLDEX 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 niaiiv 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.

MT. 30.] TO R. W. EMERSON. 189

TO R. W. EMERSOX.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 II. 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
be.' 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 lie
did at once, and thus : —

TO HARRISOX 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

asT.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 GOLD EX AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1S4S,

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.
AVhen the mathematician would solve a difficult
problem, he first frees the equation of all incuin-
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 tlaeyknew 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

JET. 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.

190 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1S4«,

My actual life is a fact, in view of which I
have no occasion to congratulate myself ; but
for my faith and aspiration 1 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 jjresent. 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. 1 know that I am. I
know that another is who knows more than 1,
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

MT. 30.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 197

it, bury 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 A(1E 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

JST. 30. 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-hunting, 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,

xr. 30.] TO HARRISON BLAKE.

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
neverMone 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 U OLDEN 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 proportionally
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 u 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.

a-T.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 110 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 on G. R. 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 : —

*T.30.] TO HORACE GREELEY. 205

TO HORACE GREELEY (AT NEW YORK).

CONCORD, May 19, 1848.

MY FRIEND GREELEY, — 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

20G GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [UMS,

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 ? "NVhy 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 good deeds are no less good because
their object is unworthy.

Yours 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 G. W. Curtis was editor. But he dif
fered with Thoreau on a matter of style or

208 GOLDEN AGE OF ACHIEVEMENT. [1S49,

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 HARRISOX BLAKE (AT MILTOX).

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 ean 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 wre stand erect
here, and do rot 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. AVe must act with
so rapid and resistless a purpose in one direc
tion, that our vices will necessarily trail behind.

jjT.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
Munroe'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 THOREAU.

I still owe you a worthy answer.

TO HARRISOX 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, [is-w,

ters, as I have just clone, 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-

^T. 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 Palmerston "
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
HENRY D. THOREAU.

P. S. — It is so long since I have seen you,
that, as you will perceive, I have to speak, as it
were, in vacuo, 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.

asr.32.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 213

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT MILTOx).

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 ! Wre 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.
WThen 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 tiling 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. r.,
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

^ET. 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

210 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 MILTOX).

CONCOKD, 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

^ET. 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.

slain 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.

1 will come on next Saturday and spend Sun
day with you if you wish it. Say so if you do.

JST. 32.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 219

" Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring."

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 lie " had occasion to go to New York to peddle
some pencils,'' as he says in his journal for November 20, 185:5.
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 1803) 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 J (AT COXCORD).

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 nightclothes,
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 raadilv 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 F-jbruary
15, 1S4''), from Emerson to Thoreau. represents them both as
taking much trouble about a house in Concord for Mrs. FulL r,
the mother of Margaret, who had just sold her Groton house,
and wished to live with her daughter near Emerson.

JIT. 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. [itso,

to Portland, New England, to-day. She and
Mrs. Fuller must, and probably will, come to
g-ether. The cook, the last to leave, and the
steward (?) will know the rest. 1 shall try to
see them. In the mean while I shall do what I
can to recover property and obtain particulars
hereabouts. William II. Channing — did I
write it? — has come with me. Arthur Fuller1
has this moment reached the house. lie 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 u 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, X. II., afterward
of Boston ; a brother of Margaret, who died a chaplain in the
Civil War.

jsT.33.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 223

TO HARRISON BLAKE (l>T MTLTON).

CONCORD, August 9, 1850.

MR. 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. Thatt 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, —
and 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-

KC. 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 FRIEXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [18.-.0,

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 honored, pririh'ytu, etc., <id (jradum tuum
pertinentia, without the formality of paying any
entrance fee, or annual subscription. Your du-

jsr.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 \vas 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-

xi. 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 Ley den 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, Adin 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 MARSTOX WATSOX (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 k% 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. u If they ask
for bread, will you give them a stone ? " AVhen
I have something of the right kind, depend iipoii
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

XT. 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 THOKEAU (AT BAXGOIt).

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 lie was ; and
that Hawthorne is writing a life of him, for
electioneering purposes.

Concord is just as idiotic as ever in relation

asT.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
coidd 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.

MR. BLAKE, — I am too stupidly well these
days to write to you. My life is almost altogether
outward, — all shell and 110 tender kernel ; so that
I fear the report of it would be only a nut for
you to craek, 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

jsT.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 011 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 on high tilings, but he has
also the ability to build himself a high staging.

As for passing through 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-

srr.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 HARRISOX 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. [ISM,

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 011 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-

MI. 35.] 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

o

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"

L/ove 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.

MI. 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 profouiidest 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 110 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
Trenck1 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 incantations 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 cloth disgust me.
O, I hate tliee with a hate
That would fain annihilate ;
Yet, sometimes, against my will,
My dear Friend, I love thee st ill.
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. AVe 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

JBT.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 Shakeis
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-

xr. 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 soeial and spirit
ual discipline must answer to his corporeal. lie
must lean on a friend who has a hard breast, as
he would lie on a hard bed. lie must drink cold
water for his only beverage. So he must not
hear sweetened and colored words, but pure and
refreshing1 truths. lie 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

arr.33.] 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 Botanica?,"
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. [1832,

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 thalamus, or bridal chamber ;
and the corolla the aulacum, 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 tiirn 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 amon<r the most fleetinir and irrecoverable in

O O

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

O O

marriage are one with this.

JET. 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

1 The Week.

252 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [185:\

hours, Imt cheap weeks and months; that is,
weeks which are bought at the rate I have
named. Xot 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 sold
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
I 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-

asT.35.] 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. full 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 rarelv, 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
iire ; but then, of course, it must have got well
a-going. Now, to tell the truth, I do not dream

*T.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
wrork 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-

asT.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 I 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

JET. 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-ion (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 no 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 .Fbwrself ?
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' $ Magazine.

^ET. 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 HARBISON 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-

20 2 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853,

pearing only like a vast scmp or chowder to the
eyes of the immortal navigators. It is wonder-
fid 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

*T. 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
should n'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 1 doubting what to

1 A town near Boston.

264 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1X33,

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 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.

MR. 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 on 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 Xew 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 (jo 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.

JET. 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 HARRISOIST' 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 AND 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. lie 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, /. c., 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

MT. 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 l 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 {sentential of the criminal sen-

JET. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. ffjn A, 7 * Q

\ • \ ' " K ' 0

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 HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, August 8, 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.

27G FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [isr,4,

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 crying1 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

MT. 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 fabulate 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 on 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 Fill ENDS 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 011 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
abo^-e. 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.''

JET. 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 ito

280 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1854,

TO MARSTON WATSON (AT PLYMOUTH).

CONCOHD, September 1!), 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 illness, in 1801-62. 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 18f)4, Thoreau
wrote these notes to Mr. Blake, touching on va
rious matters of friendly interest.

XT. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 281

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, 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 " "VValden " 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 want 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. [1S54,

CONCORD, October 5, 1854.

After I wrote to you, Mr. Watson postponed
my going1 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. e., anything which I
know ; and also to make an excursion to some
mountain with him. lie 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. AVhat do you say to visiting AVa-
chusett next Thursday? I will start at 7] A. M.
unless there is a jjroxpcct of a stormy day, go

JST.37.] NEW FRIENDS. 283

by cars to Westminster, and thence on 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. [1*54,

near Shrewsbury, which Thomas Cholmondeley
inherited, and which remains in his family's pos
session since his own death at Florence in 18G4.
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 Thnle," describ
ing that Australasian colony of England, where
he lived for part of a year, lie had previously
studied in Germany, and traveled on the Conti
nent, lie landed in America the iirst time in

J5T. 37.] THOREA U 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 Channing, 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 Branson Alcott, pp. -185-494. 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. [isr.4,

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. Rioketson 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
' Waldeii.' 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 k Walden.' In
reply he wrote, ' I had duly received your very

J5T.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 DAXIKL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCOKD, 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 u 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.

ST. 37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 280

A young 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 HARRISOX 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
iiist., 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. Kicketson, reaching his house on
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 wrore 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-
tiling to sell. Being finally satisfied that it was
not a peddler with his pack, the old man said,
" "Wai, it makes no odds what 't is you carry,
so long as you carry Truth along with ye." Mr.
Kicketson soon came to the same conclusion
about his visitor, and in the early September of
1855 returned the visit.

JET. 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.

dinner and supper ; but it will not directly an/-
swer any good purpose that 1 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 conies 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 rAr/yui.) 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

JST.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. [1S54,

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-
mann ? 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 ncm 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 HODXEl).

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 am surprised to hear that

296 FJUKNDS AND FOLLOWERS. [is.",,

you have joined the militia, after what I have
heard from your lips ; Imt I am glad to douht 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." 1
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 coiild 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 Carlyle 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 1 have some doubts whether I

^rr. 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. Channing
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. [is.",,

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 no 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 liussian 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

jsT.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 Lyman, 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 his trip to Min
nesota, were the only ones I received from him in a friendship
of seven years. See Sanborn's Thareau, pp. 195-200. Edwin
Morton was my classmate. See pp. 286, 353, 440.

300 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [18",,

TO F. B. SAXHORN (AT HAMPTON FALLS, N. II.).
CONCORD, February 2, 1855.

DEAR SIR, — I fear that you did not get the
note which I left with the Librarian for yon,
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 011 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
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. TIIOREAU.

At this time I was under engagement witli
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 u \\ al-

O O

den " in Cambridge. Soon after my settlement
at Concord, in the house of Mr. Channing, just

*rr.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 HARRISON 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. [I*",,

I do not know how the mistake arose about
the Cape Cod excursion. The nearest I have
eome to that with anybody is this : About a
month ago Charming 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 lony talks, and you and Brown will

J5T.37.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 303

have time enough for your own excursions be
sides.

I received a letter from Cholmondeley 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 TKURO, July 8, 1855.

There being no packet, I did not leave Bos
ton till last Thursday, though I came down on
Wednesday, and Chamiing 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. [1JC.5,

man in it. I shall probably stay here as much
as ten clays longer : board $3.50 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
Proviiicetown 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
iiicetown, and one from the lighthouse, about
G 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. Me thinks I
am be<nnnin<r to be better. I think to leave the

air. 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.

MR. 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

30G FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1S">,

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 Ilowitt. 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

*T. 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 on 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.

^ET. 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
proportionally. 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 FlilENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1853,

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. Ilosmer 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 pcr-
pctuo, 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.

arc. 38.] TO DANIEL RICKETS ON. 311

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 l
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 Burnham'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. Rick^tson ; 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 (Wni.), Dialogues on Various Subjects. Svo. 9s.

Cadell.

Essays on Picturesque Subjects. Svo. Ifis. Cadell.

Exposition of the New Testament. 2 vols. Svo. Ills.

Longman.

Forest Scenery, by Sir T. D. Lander. 2 vols. Svo.

ISs. Smith & E.

Lectures on the Catechism. 12mo. 3s. 6<7.

Longman.

Lives of the Reformers. 2 vols. 12mo. Ss.

Rivington.

Sermons Illustrative and Practical. Svo. 12s.

Hatchard.

Sermons to Country Congregations. 4 vols. Svo. _£ 1

10s. Longman.

Tour in Cambridge, Norfolk, &c. Svo. ISs. Cadell.

Tour of the River Wye. 12mo. 4s. With plates.

Svo. 17s. Cadell.

Gilpin (W. S. (?) ), Hints on Landscape Gardening. Royal

Svo. £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. — JV. J3. 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

*T. 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 stoppings
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 on 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. [is,",,

There will be no trouble about the chamber
in the old house, though, as I told you, Mr. IIos-
mer may expeet some compensation for it. lie
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 10, 1S55.

FRIEND RICKETSON, — 1 have got both your
letters at once. You must not think Concord
so barren a place when Charming l 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. Charming had gone. October, 185;"), to live in New Bed
ford, and help edit the Mercury there.

aiT.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 Charming 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 HARBISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, December 9, 1855.

MR. BLAKE, — Thank you ! thank yon 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 coidd 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.

xr. 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. [is:,:,,

Talk of 1 turning- your smoke after the wood
lias 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 on this I rolled my boat out.

Miss Mary Emerson 1 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.

*:T.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 l 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).

CONCOKD, 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 FRIEXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1KV,,

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 Hosiner is easy to
treat with.

Charming 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 such 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,

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. Charming became a frequent visitor at Brooklawn, in
the years of his residence at New Bedford, 18oO-58. See
p. 324.

XT. 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 note 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 Charming shall stand
before your shanty, and say, " 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.
1 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 "/c/iy,"

asT. 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 ; l 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. [1S5<;,

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 DAXIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, March 27, 1S56.

FRIEND RICKETSOX, - - 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 —

li 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. lM1.4t>7), and in Wa/ttrn (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. ;is mentioned in the Mosses.

*rr.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,
lie view 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 Channing. 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).

COXCOKD, 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.

1 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 ?

arr.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. [iHSti,

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? WTiile 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.

xr. 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 HARRISOX BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, May 21, 1856.

MR. 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. [18H6,

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.

^ET. 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 riot 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 l on

1 The New York newspaper.

332 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [185<>,

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 185G, Mr. Alcott, then living
in AValpole, N. II., 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 BROXSOX ALCOTT (AT WALI'OLE, X. II.).

CONCORD, September 1, 18;">6.

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-

JST. 3!).] 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,

HEXRY 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 Arnboy, N. J., in which
Mr. Spring and his friends, the Birneys, Welds,
Grimkes, etc., had united for social and educa-

*

334 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [IWHi,

tional purposes. It was a colony of radical opin
ions and old-fashioned culture ; the Grimkes
having been bred in Charleston, 8. 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.
P^merson 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.

JET. 39.] TO SOPHIA THOREAU. 335

TO SOPHIA THOREAU.

[Direct] EAGLESWOOD, 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.] Higgmson ; 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

33G FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1830,

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

JKI. 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),

MT. 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 HARBISON 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-

FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1H5<;,

fore, that I must go straight home. I feel some
objection to reading- that " What shall it profit "
lecture again in Worcester ; hut 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, — /. 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 Xe\v 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,

jsr.sn.] 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 HARRISOX BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, December 6, 1856.

MR. 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. [1X56,

first from Fitehburg, I did not spend the forenoon
with yon as I had anticipated, on account of
baggage, etc. If it had been a seasonable hour,
I should have seen yon, — i. e., if yon 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 f aet 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 oft'.
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.

JET. 39.] TO HARRISON BLAKE.

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.

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 howl laugh when I think of my
vagiie, 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?
AY hat 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-

XT. 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. Remind 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 losers.

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-

FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [185(5,

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
\\ hitman can communicate to us no experience,
and if wre 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

JUT. so.] 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
their later years made so deep an impression on
both as did this then almost unknown poet and

FllIEXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1KM5,

thinker, concerning whom Cholmondeley wrote
to Thorean in 1857 : " Is there actually such a
man as Whitman? Has anyone seen or han
dled him ? His is a tongue ' not nnderstanded '
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
' new book.' "

Mr. Alcott writes under date of November 7,
1856, in New York : " Henry Thoreau arrives
from Eagleswood, and sees Swmton, 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, tinder 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

*T.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 on his own account, having

FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [is.™,

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 TJtct)
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." lie 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 suj)-
port his head, is a state which has also its satis
faction. To be rich and honored by iniquitous

bong-lit back the unsalable first edition from bis 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 Conf u •
cius, tlie Hindoo philosopher, and Swedenborg.

«T. 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 Fill ENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1S.-.7,

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,
tiie 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 20, 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, Ilaydon 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 Coleridtre and Wordsworth.

MT. 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 ; bvit 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
voyagers 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, 185o).

354 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1S.V5,

and also to sonic fair (laughter 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 HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CoNCOuu, December 31, 1856.

MR. 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. II., 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 hopod
he had done something to upheave and demolish the structure
above," — the vestry being' beneath the church.

^ET. 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 shoiild 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. [1*37,

I am surveying, instead of lecturing, at pres
ent. Let me have a skimming from your " pan
of unwrinkled cream."

TO DANIEL RICKETSOX (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, April 1, 1857.

DEAR EICKKTSON, — 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 arc 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.

*ST. 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. THOEEAU.

TO HARBISON 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 1 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 "Wusson (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 lie <ret alon"-

JET. 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.

ME. 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.

3GO FRTEXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1857,

If more convenient, name some other time icithin
ten dai/s. 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
Chohnondeley, which may interest you some
what.

TO MARSTOX WATSON* (AT PLYMOUTH).

CONCORD, August 17, 1857.

MR. WATSON, — I am much indebted to yon
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 sino-ular 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

JET. 40.] TO MARSTON WATSON. 361

chance to have (and I am pretty well provided),
are 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 noctiluca ; 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.

MT. 40.] TO MARSTON 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 DAXIEL RICKETSOX (AT XEAV BEDFORD).

CONCORD, August 18, 1857.

DEAR SIR, — Your Wilson Flagg l 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
18.~>4, 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 Transcendentalisms 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 (18->G) 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 Uial, No. (i, I have written six
new stanzas in the margin of Friendship, and they are num
bered to show how they should run. 1 think Mrs. Brown gave
them to me."

1 A writer on scenery and natural history, who outlived

2ET. 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 conies, 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 up with a pole," which really might have been less graphic.

3GG FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1«57,

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

JET. 40.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON.

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 RICKETSOX (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 ounclest soli
tude the most sacred part of the day.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, August 18, 1857.

MR. 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 011 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,t/b/' 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

JET. 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. [1837,

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. AVith 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.

art. 40.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 371

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, November 16, 1857.

ME. 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 ; l 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.J 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 ani 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 \vill have no farther to go to return
to dust there, than in your garden ; but your
spirit inevitably comes away, and brings your

JET. 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 ? Wrhat 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, yon 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 my 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 l 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
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 my " 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 hotuess 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 Higgmson, 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 Xew 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.

*T.40.] TO T. W. HIGGINSON. 379

TO T. W. HIGGIXSOX (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 River 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 o-oing1 to

O O

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 ths Mada-

380 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1858,

waska and St. John's to Frederickton, or far.
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-htuiting 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 Coltou'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 011 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 Madawaska 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. lie knew the
route well. lie even said that this was easier,
and would take but little more time, though
much farther, than the route we decided on, —
i. c., by Webster Stream, the East Branch, and
main Penobscot to Oldtown ; but he may have

*rr.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 on 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 ran 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 Chaiming says (Tlioreau. p. 3."): " Thoreau made for
himself a knapsack, with partitions for books and papers, —
India-rubber cloth, strong- and large-spaced, — the common

JST. 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
' 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 lie 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 cam]), 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 cotdd 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 no 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
sion."

*T. 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 HARRISOX BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, June 29, 1858, 8 A. M.
MB. 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 botanical?!/, 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 ?

jBT.40.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 387

TO DANIEL RICKETSON" (AT 3STEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, June 30, 1858.

FRIEND RICKETSON, — I am on the point of
starting for the White Mountains in a wagon

o «— >

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. [185«,

lished (?) or printed by Munroe, which I have
liarclly had time to giance 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 tmst that you have
vanquished, ere this, those dusky demons that
seem to lurk around the Head of the lliver.1
You know that this warfare is nothing but a
kind of nightmare, and it is our thoughts alone
which give those WTiworthies 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 Xew Bedford, Mr. Rickctson 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.

jar. 41.] WHITE MOUNTAIN TRIP. 389

In July, 1858, as mentioned in this letter to
Mr. Ricketson, 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 FItlEXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [18.-.X.

" Yes, my brother is the guide ; but if he wont
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 they walked down the bed of the
Peabody Kiver, 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 moHix, 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

JET. 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 on 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 FRIEXDS 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. o. 8, f>. Charming1 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. II.. when
the minister mentioned in the ~\Vefk reproved Thoreau for not
going to meeting on Sunday. When I first lived in Concord
(March, IS;")), 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.

«p.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 DAXIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, November 6, 1858.

FRIEND RICKETSOX, — 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 (Cervus 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,

up from him as from a cottage on the moor. Jf
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 abotit 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

«r.4l.] 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
River, 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 DAXIEL RICKETSOX (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, November 28, 1858.

FRIEND RICKETSOX, — I thank you for your
" History." l 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.

J5T.41.] TO DANIEL RICKETS ON. 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 wajk 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. Ricketson : —

" 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 : —

'' AVe were all much pleased with Mr.
Cholmondeley. lie is a ^all 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, 18G1. At my
parting with him in Concord, he gave me money
with which to buy grapes for the invalid father

jsT.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. Ricketson.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, January 1, 1859.

MR. BLAKE, — It may interest you to hear
that Cholmondeley has been this way again, via
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 chib
The Dragon did drub ;
But More of More Hall,
With nothing1 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-

JET.H.] 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 l 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, Longfel
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. lie 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

JET. 41.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 403

you and I and all the world been trying, ever
since he 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 clay 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

*T.41.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 405

his ankle there. We have very few clear clays,
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 FRIEXDS 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 wdthin 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 Tuckermaii'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 RICKETSOX (AT Is'EW 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 difncul-

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. Xor 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 a^e of twenty-one,

O */

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

JET. 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. Bicketson, and
to the rest of your family.

TO HARBISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, September 26, 1859.

ME. 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. Sueh 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? Xot 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 husiness after pen
cil-making1 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.

*T.42.] TO HARRISON BLAKE.

try! How many enemies there are
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 think origi
nally, or as only he ever can, fails miserably.
Keep up the fires of thought, and all will go
weU.

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. [1850,

conquering hero comes ! You fail in your
thoughts, or you prcrail in your thoughts only.
Provided you tit Ink well, the heavens falling, or
the earth gaping, will be music for you to inarch
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 011 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 011 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.

«p. 42.] TO HARPdSON 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 eng-asred to read a lecture to Parker's

o o

society on the 9th of October next.
I am off — a barberry ing.

TO HARBISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, October 31, 1859.

MR. 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. [isr,«>,

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 readied 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,
lie 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.) Kicketson from New Bedford ar
rives ; he and Thoreau take supper with us.
Thoreau talks freely and enthusiastically about

JET. 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

41G FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [I860,

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 elysinm,
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 siirrounded 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
ing-place, and he is in the condition of a sick

JIT. 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. [I860,

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

arr.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.).

COXCORD, 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 FRIEXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [l«50,

mountains is more memorable than any other.
Have yon 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 X. P. Rogers who can tell
you where the kk 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 o\\t 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 lias 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 " wag
an indictment and civil suit against Silas C'arleton ft als. for an
attempt to kidnap F. H. Sanborn, who had refused to accept
the invitation of the Senate at Washington to testify in the
John Brown investigation.

MT. 43.] TO HARRISON BLAKE. 421

brown after his voyage. Pie 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).

CONCOKD, August 3, 18GO.

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. PI. She has returned,
— and accordingly, on receiving your note this
morning, I made known its contents to Chan-
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 ; l so I must defer

1 This is the excursion described by Thoreau in a subse
quent letter, — lasting six days, and the first that Charming
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 1 accompanied him,
and we again spent five nights on the plateau where he had
camped with Thoreau. At that time, one of the " two good
spruce houses, half a mile apart," mentioned by Thoreau,

422 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [isco,

making an excursion with you and Brown to
another season. Perhaps you will call as you
pass the mountain. I semi this by the earliest
mail.

P. S. — That was a very insufficient visit you
made here the last time. My mother is Letter,
though far from well ; and if you should chance
along- here any time after your journey, I trust
that we shall all do Letter.

The mention Ly Thoreau of John Brown and
my " case " recalls to me an incident of those
excited days which followed the attack Ly Brown
on slavery in Virginia. The day after Brown's
death, Lut Lefore 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 standing1, in ruins, — the place called Ly dimming
'' Henry's Camp,'' and thus described : —

We built our fortress where yon see
Yon group of spruce-trees, sidewise on the line
Where the horizon to the eastward bounds, —
A point selected by sapricious art,
Where all at once we viewed the Vermont hills,
And the long outline of the mountain-ridge,
• Kver renewing, changeful every hour.

See The Wanderer (.Boston, 1871), p. 61.

JET. 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. AVhile 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 FlilENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [is.vj,

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
u No, I am not," said Thorean, 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 Thoreau's Autumn, p. ool. Merriam mentioned Tlio-
reau's name to him, but never guessed who his companion
was.

JIT. 43.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 425

had spoken of the affair to his mother only since
his illness. So reticent and practically useful
could he be ; as Charming 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 DAXIEL RICKETSOX (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, November 4, 1860.

FRIEND RICKETSOX, — 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

42G FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [I860,

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 u the common courtesies of life ; -1 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 ne\v
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 RICKETS ON. 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 I
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 FItlEXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1SGO,

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, 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 • >, and in Chaiining's Wan
derer.

Mf.-Ki.-] 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, [is<;(>,

Get up a serious storm, that will send a-paeking
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

asT.43.] TO HARRISON BLAKE.

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. [1W50,

shorter and shorter, and, at each expiration,
some of their wits leave them, till, when they
reaeh 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-
noo " 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 a lying out
doors," and inquired what was the largest beast
that might nibble his legs there. I fear that lie
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.

"NVe 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 cam}). A\ e
saw one party of three ladies and two gentlemen
spread their blankets and spend the night on the

*T.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 l 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

o

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. [l«il,

or near ; how good, above all mere sentimental,
warm-blooded, short-lived, soft-hearted, moral
goodness, commonly so-called. (jive 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 pictnresqneness,
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 lie sent me more than the
price of the book, viz., a word from himself, for
which I am greatly his debtor.

TO DANIEL RICKETSOX (AT XEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, March 22, 1861.

FRIEND RICKETSOX, — 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

*rr.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 soon 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

430 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [ism,

at present, perhaps, the most successful man in
the town. lie 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 p. 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

AVe 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, ISof), Mr. Alcott was chosen superintendent of
tlie 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.

ST. 43.] TO PARKER PILLS BURY. 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 8|- 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 COXCORD, N. H.).
CONCORD, April 10, 1861.

FRIEXD 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 ?

FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [18(31,

I do not so much regret tlie present condition
of tilings in this country (provided I regret it
at all), as I do that I over 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,

HENRY D. THOKEAU.

Parker Pillsbury, to whom this letter went,
was an old friend of the Thoreau family, with

XT. 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 woidd 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 Xew 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
1 answered, and then forwarded to him at Red
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. [l«>l,

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 arg
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 Gen-it Smith, who went to England in October. 1S.">9. to
avoid testifying against his friends.

MT. 43.] CHOLMONDELEY 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
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 AXD 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 " Willu-lm Meister,"

JST. 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 HARRISOX 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 FItlEXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [l«Jl,

over my bronchitis. The doctor accordingly
tells me that I must " clear out " to the West
Indies, or elsewhere, — lie 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 1

MT. 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 COXCORD).

REDWING, Minnesota, June 26, 1861.

MR. SANBORX, — 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 FlilKXDS AND FOLLOWERS. [l«il,

bluff here, called Barn Bluff, or the Grange, or
Redwing 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 k' 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 xceined 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 Redwing 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)
River, 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

MT. 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

O

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. [IMii,

below with ;i lamp, expecting to find a hole, but
he did not. Snag's 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 Ked liiver.

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 thinl-)* 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

JST. 43.] TO F. B. SAN BORN. 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,

Redwood is a mere locality, — scarcely an In
dian village, — where there is a store, and some
houses have been built for them. \Ve 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, 011 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

J5T.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
ably start for Milwaukee and Mackinaw in a
day or two (or as soon as we hear from home)
via 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. Cholraondeley's last letter, explaining
that Thoreau was ill and absent.

454 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [isfil,

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 Redwood, in the
southwest of the State, where now is a thriving

O

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. II. 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.

J=T. 44.] TO DANIEL RICKETSON. 455

TO DANIEL KICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, August 15, 1861.

FRIEND EICKETSON, — 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. [18fil,

awaiting me ; among others, one from Cholmonde-
ley, and one from yourself.

Of course I am sufficiently surprised to hear
of your conversion ; l 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.

Remembering 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.

arc. 44.] TO DANIEL RICKETS ON. 457

TO DAXIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, October 14, 1861.

FRIEND 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. [iwil,

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. Charming 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.

jtT.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. [1802,

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.

BROXSOX ALCOTT TO DANIEL RICKKTSON (AT XEW
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

402 FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS. [1802,

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 Pougli-
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 (1S(>1-
C>2) by Moncure I). Conway, since distinguished as an author,
•who had resided for a time in Concord, after leaving- his native
Virginia. He wrote asking Thorean and all his Concord
friends to contribute to this new Dial, and several of them
did so.

jsT.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. T.).
CONCORD, 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 Conway'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. [18(52.

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 persona mentioned in this Index as were students there.

ABBT and Almira (Mrs. Miner and

Mrs. Small), 182.
Abercrombie, Scotch author, 29.
Abolition convention, 307.
Absence, from Concord, 58, "9-144,

281 ; in love and friendship, 88,

225.
Absorbing employment, 218, 269,

277, 315, 308.
" 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, 80, 92.
Accord in Friendship, 60, 177, 242,

308.

Acorns, 426, 427.
Action and Being, 191, 190, 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.

jEolian harp, 239.
Aerial effects, 105.
Aerial rivers, 67.
^Eschylus, translated, 70, 121.
Africa, 233.
Agassiz, Louis, and Thoreau, 149-

157 ; mentioned, 105, 170, 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, 101, 103, 173, 175, 181, 183-5,
189, 228-9, 287, 299, 332, 338, 357,
364, 388, 396, 402, 414, 436, 43S,
441, 400 ; acquaintance with Tho
reau, 58, 60, 75, 103, 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, 161-103 ; in Concord jail,
60 ; chosen school sup't, 436 ; di
ary of, 348 ; holds conversations
in Concord, 60, 75, 402 ; hi Eagles-
wood, N. J., 340 ; in New York,
333, 348 ; dines with Tboreau, 01 ;
visits with Thoreau in New Bed
ford, 357 ; in Plymouth, 304 ; 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.

Allegaah, Maine river, 382.

Allen, Phiueas, 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, 309, 452 ; mentioned,
321.

Americana, Encyclopedia, 20, 21.

American authors, vili, 20, 27, 51,
57, 59, 61, 68, 76, 80, 94-96, 110,

406

112, 123, 128, 133, 139, 143, 149,
154, 173, 174, 1«1, 1'JO, '.'03, 207,
'220, 228, 22'J, 263, 313, 321, 324, 340,
345, 348, 357, 304, 388, 396, 401,
421, 458, 401.

American bards, 137, 341.

American birds, 14, 23, 26, 31, 34,
48, 88, 184, 227, 270, 409, 425, 434.

American characteristics, 'J, 93, 101,
127, 130, 105, 252, 270, 434.

American cities, 81, 93, 130, 225,
335, 348, 397, 401.

American politics, 18, 19, 1G8, 334,
414.

American privateer, General Lin
coln, 3.

American Revolution, 11, 414.

Amherst, N. H., 3&4.

Amcenitatfs Jiotantcie, a book, 249.

Ana wan, an Indian, 10.

Anchoring a mountain, 376.

Ancients, wisdom of the, 13(5, 350,
351.

Annihilation Company, 233.

Anti-Sabbath convention, 189.

Anti-slavery meetings, 3(>2, 413, 414.

Anti-Slavery Standard, The, 03, 289.

Appearances, 213, 274.

Apples, Baldwin, 250 ; Dead Sea,
411 ; frozen-thawed, 214 ; of Hes-
perides, 256 ; planted by Thoreau,
427.

Architecture, Aloott's, 163.

"Architecture, Seven Lamps of"
(Ruskin), 374.

Arnica inollis, 389, 390.

Arnold, Benedict, 378, 379.

Arnold, Mr., 390.

Armies, 307, 378, 411.

Arrow-heads, 4,20, 114.

Art, 112, 374.

Ash-man, is God an ? 294.

Ask to see God, 197.

Asnebnmskit, 234, 329, 330.

Assabet, the river, vii, 318.

Assawampsett, 313.

Assisting Nature, 314.

Associations : Brook Farm, 372 ;
Fonrieritc, 96, 115, 124, 372.

Assyria, 253, 27o.

Astor House, New York, 131.

A.stor Library, 335.

Astronomy at Cambridge, 159, 164 ;
at Concord, 159.

Atlantic Monthly, 2.84, 458.

Atlantic Ocean, x. 15, 82, 98, 220,
230, 304, 353, 412.

Atlas, tlie Giant, 292, 418.

Aulus Persiiis, 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.
Autumnus, 44.
Awe at visiting mountains, 374.

BABYLOX, 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.
Bennet's account ol Middleborough,

313.

Benton, Myron B., 461.
Berkshire, mentioned, 324.
Berries, 25, ia3.

Betty's Neck, Middleborough, 313.
Biberg, J. (naturalist), quoted, 249.
Bible, inentioned, 74, 116, 130.
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. IT.
1835), 189-191, 228, 280, 329 ; let
ters from, 190, 209, 251, 281 ; let
ters to, 192, 197, 208, 209, 213,
21G, 223, 234, 237, 251, 2ljl, 266,
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 1 4>2

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, O. A., 4.
Buddhist, 128.
Buffaloes, 14, 17, 130.
Buffum, Arnold, 337.
Bull, E. W. (Concord grape), 436.
Bulwer, Lord Lytton, 31, 34.
Buusen, works of, 321.
B.imliain, 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,

109-172 ; 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, 309,

366, 412.
Cares, 310, 416.
Carlisle, Mass., 17, 19, 160.
i Carlton House, New York, 64.

468

INDEX.

Carlvle, Thomas, mentioned, 57, 73,
to; 112, !•_'(), 184, 185, 203, 290;
reviewed by Emerson, 112, 120;
by Thoreau, 203.

Carpet-race. 59, 04.

Carver, Mass., 311.

Cascade, Silver, 44.

Cases in court, Wyman's, 124 ; San-
born's, 420 ; other cases, 272.

Castle Garden, New York, 80.

Ca.stleton, Staten Island, 80, 84, 85,
«>7, 89, 92, 100, 124.

Catacombs, 193, 215.

C'ntiistomus tubercitltitus, etc., 150.
157.

Catherine, a Concord family, 2.

Catholic Church, 140, 293.

Cat-naps, 120.

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, 209.

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, Ellory (W. E. Channing
the Younger), 49, 08, 70, 94, 110-
112. 123, 135, 139, 143-145, 175,
1>1. 184, 229, 231, 283, 285-287,
297, 300, 302, 303, 305, 314, 320,
322-325, 359, 364, 383, 3S4, 389,
392. 390, 400, 401 ; quoted, viii, ix,
1, 77, 144.

Channing. Rev. William Henry (H.
U. 1829), cousin of Ellery,90. 114,
123, 140, 220, 222.

Channing, William Francis (son of
Dr. W. E. dimming, anil cousin
of the two named above), men
tioned, 2-29.

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. 90,
141 : of T. Cholmondeley, 284.321;
of D. Ricketson. 283, 300 ; ot 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,

Cliaudiere, the river, 380.

Cherries, 25, 84.

Cheshire, England. 284.

Chesuneook, 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.

C'hippeway Indians, 130.

Cholmondeley, Rev. Charles, 284,
285.

Cholmondeley, Thomas, 282-280,
289, 295, 299, 320, 321, 348, 358,
397-399, 400, 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, 109.

Clark's Island, 353. 304.

Clark, the Swedenborgian, 175.

Church, 93, 115, 235, 270, 272 ;
Catholic, 140, 293.

City and swamp, 225.

City of God, 208, 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, 1C8.

Concord, Mass., its academy. 10, 27,
50 ; aspect of, 14. 42, 43. 79, 109,
108, 210 ; cliffs of, 31, 34. 124, 184 ;
Lyceum, 4,50, 00, 01, 72, 173, 180,
185, 187,323; people, and houses,
25. 15, 19, 23. 39, 49. 50-58, 00-63,
75, 76, 110, 111 ; nchools, 4, 10, 25,
.50, 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, 276.
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 muster's chaise,

196.
Curtis, George William, 169, 309,

399

Cutler, E. J. (H. U. 1853), 336.
Cuttyhunk, the island, 394.
Cylherea chores 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.
Danesaz, 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,

4.

Dawn, 43, 181, 265.
Day and night, 291, 342, 343, 300.
Day-dreams, 44, 46, 110, 121, 217.
Day-owls, 270.
Day-wages, 205, 251.
Decalogue, for whom made, 201.
Delay, in life, 230 ; in dying, 407.
Demons, 108, 293, 315, 388.
Destiny, 51 ; our own work, 417.
Devil, 226, 2G5 ; the printer's, 378.
Dew of sixpences, 98
" Dial," the quarterly magazine, 44,
67, 69-74, 89, 9_>, 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, 2C6, 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.

Dunbar, Rev. Asa (H U. 1767),
Thoreau's grandfather, 6.

Dunbar Charles (uncle of Tho
reau), 3, 126.

Dunbar, Louisa, 118.

Dunbar, Mary (Jones), 2, 11.

Dundees, a nickname, 15, 17.

Dunleith, a town, 444, 447.

Durkee, Dr., a naturalist, 3G1, 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. 1803), 27.

Emerson, Edith (Mrs. W. H.
Forbes), 5'J, 03, 04, 122, 102, 170,
174, 189.

Emerson, Edward Waldo (H. U.
1800), 162, 170, 174, 183, 181).

Emerson, Ellen Tucker, 5'J, 02, 135,
102, 170, 174, ISO, 183, 18'J.

Emerson, Haven (son of William),
02.

Emerson, Miss Marv Moody (aunt
of R. W. E.), 318/401.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo (H. U. 1S211,
vi, viii, 5, 10, 18, 40, 50, 02, 144,
150, 158, 181, 180, 188. 220, 2211,
270, 284, 287, 207, 299, 301, 309,
318, 304, 377, 392, 401, 402, 414,415,
423, 424 ; children of, 59, 02-04,'
102, 170, 174, 183, 189 ; and Al-
cott, 73, 94, 99, 103, 229, 287, 299,

319, 304, 377, 402 ; and Charles
Lane, 73, 148, 149 ; and the " Dial,"
(17-74, 89, 92, 99, 111, 135-138, 187 ;
letters from, 50, 57, 07, 92, 99, 111,
122, 124, 143, 148, 170, l8(i ;
letters to (from Thoreau), 58-07,
69-75, 92-99, 109-113, 120-122.
127-129, 135-139, 101-18(1, 189,
202; quoted, 24, 137, 270, 285,
334. 339.

Emerson, Mrs. R. W. (Lidian Jack
son, of Plymouth), 40, 49, 53, 50,
(11, 02, 04, 75, 80, 89, 99, 113, 122,
128, 102, 182, 188; letter from, 75,
70 ; letters to, 89-92, 103-100, 133-
135.

Emerson, Madam Ruth (mother of
William, Ralph, and Charles), 02,
92, 113.

Emerson, Waldo (son of R. W. E.),
24. 25, 40, 48 ; death of, 25.

Emerson, William (H. U. 1818), of
Staten Island, 58, 98, 117. 124.

Emersonian influences, 10, 57.

Employment, 40, 44, 98, 127, 101,
190, 205, 338.

England, home of ancestors, 3 ; Em
erson in, 148-150, 107, 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, 1C9.

English opinion of Whitman, 321,

348.

Englishmen, 58, 131, 149, 109, 194,
283-28(), 443.

Entomology, 107, 300, 301, 303.

Epics, K17.

Epigrams of Thoreau, 22, 29. 31, 32,
47, 00, 05, 07, 71, 78, 81. 'JO, 98, 105,
110, 112, 141, 179, 188, 193, 190,
208, 211, 214, 224, 240, 2,4'J, 250.

Epistles of Thoreau, xii ; Latin and
English, 30-30; take the place of
lectures, 231.

Errington, Miss, a teacher, Sfi, 102.

Estabrook country (in Concord), 109.

Eternal life, 193,"l97, 209, 233, 271.

Eternal powers, 278.

Eternity, 215, 245, 308.

Ethnical Scriptures, 130, 139.

Ktzler 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. 09, 144, 151, 159. 108, 175, 278,
289,297,309, 310, 331, 300 ; else
where in Massachusetts, 230. 235,
'• 280, 282, 285, 289, 290. 303.311. 329;
to Maine, 301, SCO, 309, 378-383 ; to
Monadnoc, 383, 388, 421, 428-433 ;
to New Hampshire (White Moun
tains), 5, 385-391, 400; to New
York and New Jersey, 80-80, 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, 204. 310.

Explorations, Arctic, 418.

Extravagance in living, 257, 371, 373,
404.

Eyes and insight, 194.

Eyrie in the clouds, 258.

" TABULATE and paddle in the social

slush," 277.

Failure or success, 220, 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, 54,07, 201. 203,272; phases

INDEX.

471

of, 60, 95, 133, 141, 191, 195, 209,

214, 258, 270, 292, 439 ; intrusted,

GO, 07.

Faithful catechism, 95, 279.
Fall of the year, 5, 43, 427.
Falls of Niagara, 100, 297 ; of St.

Anthony, 447, 450.
Fama Marcelli, vi.
Fune, vii, 78, 110.
" Fame cannot tempt the bard," vii.
Family ancestry, 3, 0, 11, 124; de
mon of sleep, 108, 120.
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, 140.
F 'ebleness of mankind, 252.
Feeding, 198, 211, 200, 202, 303, 330,

382.

Feeling, acute, 40 ; indifferent, 202.
Fellowship, 325.
Feminine traits, 23S, 242.
Finch and thrush, 88.
Fire, 31, 34, 2G4, 344, 434 ; of drift
wood, 317 ; on Mt. Washington,

391 ; on Monadnoc, 429.
Fire Island, 220, 223.
Fitchburg, Mass., 342, 054.
Fitchburg Railroad depot in Boston,

401 ; in Acton, 423.
Flagg, Wilson, 304.
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,

101.
Friends, 65, 225, 248 ; their uses, 05,

07 ; estimate of, 224.
Friends and followers, 220-470.
Friendship, offense against, 05-07 ;

advantages of, GO, 111, 206, 225,

244; and love, 216, 244, 354;

verses on, 44, 304.

Frost, Rev. Barzillai (H. U. 1830),

10, 104.
Fruitlands (farm of Alcott and

Lane), 75, 107, 140, 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, 70-79.
Funeral processions, 176.

GAME we play, 359.

Game, woodland, 17, 391, 393.

Ganges, 310.

Garden, Paradise not a, 195.

Gardens, Emerson's, 40, 91, 101, 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, 190, 209, 214, 226,

300.
God, ask to see, 197 ; city of, 197,

208 ; not an ash-man, 294 ; reigns,

214, 371.

Godsend of books, 319.
Goethe, mentioned, 73, 202, 352 ; hi»

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, 09, 123.
Greeley, Farmer, 340.
Greeley, Horace, 80. 115, 120, 123,

190, 203-200, 340, 348.
Green, Calvin H., 454.
Grey, Mrs., 97.
Grief, cause of, 47, 55. 88, 105, 141,

201 ; remedy for, 47, 50, 55.
Grimk(5 sisters, 334, 337.
Gulf Stream, 322.
Gun-house, 178.
Gunnar (Norse hero), 441.
Gurnet, the (in Plymouth Bay), 35a

HABITS, ill, remedy for, 178, 251.
Habits of men, 272, 273.

472

INDEX.

Hale, Rev. Edward Everett (H. U.

183H), 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 & Brotliers, publishers, 125.

Harrison and Tyler, 431.

Harris, AV. T., 338.

Harvard College, 2, 10, 70, 123, 105,
28C, 299.

Harvard, a town, 52, 330.

Hast}', Captain, 221.

Hate, 243 ; and love. 111, 240.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, vi, 49, 59,
110, 128, 143, 420.

Hawthorne, Sophia, 51.

Haydon (Englh.h painter), 209, 372.

Head of the River, New Bedford,
388, 395.

Headley, Henrv, 77.

Hearts, 14.1. 241, 242, 344.

Heathen, 5'.l.

Heathenish. 230, 253.

Heaven, 103, 190, 215, 23C,, 2G5 ; ad
mission to, 197, 2t'i5, 2GS.

Hecker, Isaac, 145, 140.

Hens, 43, 74, 323.

Heraud, John A. (English critic), 72.

Herbert, George, 134, 430.

Hercules, 272, 400.

Hermitage, Waldeu, 185.

Hermit-life, 102, 190. •

Heron Lake, Maine, 382.

Hesperides, 251!.

Hester Street meeting, 115.

Hicginson, Thomas Wentwortli (H.
U. 1841). 227, 228, 307, 378-383.

Highland Light. Cape Cod, 303.

Hindoos, 105, 321, 347, 351.

History of New Bedford, 394, 390.

Hoar family. 15. 377.

Hoar. Ebene/er Rockwood (H. U.
1835). 15. 89, 92. 457.

Hoar, Edward Sherman (H. U.
1844), 89, 300, 385, 387, 389-392.

Hoar, Elizabeth, 59. 89, lid, 13S ;
letter from, IMS. 139.

Hoar, George Frisbie (H. U. 1S4C),
15, 119.

Hoar, S imnel (H. U. 1802), 15, 408.

Hobokon. N. Y., 130.

H.Mlnet. England, 284,285, 295, 321.

H >g, the. 208. 3(!3.

HOI. ie, vii, 25, 58, 74 ; affection of
Thoreau for, 118, 310.

Homer, 110, 237,288,341.
Hontr.n, French explorer, 450.
Hood's '• Song of the Shirt," 2G7-

270.

Hope, 22.
Hopeful, Sachem (John Thoreau),

14, 40.

Horace quoted, 31, 34.
Horses (plaything!-), 102, 170, 183,

320, 345, 37(!, 385. 3SO, 3b9, 395.
Horse-race, 335, 342.
Hosnier, Edmund (the " farmer-
man"), 110, 104, li-5, 309, 314, 320.
Hot ham, Edmund Stuart, (,9.
Hottentots, and Kuskin, 374.
House, Alcott's, 380.
Houses lived in by Thoreau. 2-5, 27,

08, 153, 109, 171, 172, 178-180, 429,

432.
Household of Emerson, 40, 49, 58,

02, 75, 102, 170, 17C, 182, 189.
Households of the Dunhars and

Thoreaus, 2-5, 27, 30-37, 118, 124-

120, 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, 190, 200, 210, 230, 244, 251,

257, 200.

Humor, Thoreau's sense of, ix, xii.
Hungry, eat when you are, 224.
Hunt family, 120, 309 ; farmhouse,

309.
Hut in the woods, 08, 150, 202.

ICE °47 °55 °97 3lK>

Iceberg,' 390.'

Idle hours, 19, 54, 251, 301,302.315.

Idolatry of money, 194,373, 387.

"I have heard no bad news," 190;

" I'll 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,

200.
India, 321 ; books concerning, 319-

321 ; sacred books of, 351.
India-rubber bags, 383.
Indian guide (Joe I'olis), 339, 380-

382, 391.

Indian life, 309, 370.
Indians, remarks on, 302, 309, 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, 353,304; Staten,

x, 76, 80, 140.

JACKSON, Dr. Charles Thomas (H.

U. 18-29), 40, 173.
Jackson, Miss Lidian (Mrs. K. 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.
Jain 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.
Judsea, 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, 303.
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, ISO,
185, 227-231, 280, 281, 289, 298,
326, 338, 355, 406.
Lecturing, results of, 298, 354.
Ledum (Labrador tea), 303.
Lee's Hill, 15, alias Nashawtuc or

Naushavvtuck, 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, 2C1, 266, 271,

275, 291, 301, 303, 305, 316, 326,

329, 339, 341, 354, 337, 359, 368,

385, 39J, 405, 409, 413, 415, 421,

428, 443.
From Myron B. Bentou, 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 Rirketson, 286 ; to

him, 287, 288, 309, 311, 314, 319,

322, 324, 356, 364, 367, 393, 390,

407, 425, 434.

To F. B. Saiiborn, 300, 447.
To Cynthia Thoreau, 80, 100, 106,

117, 124, 129.
To Helen Thoreau, 12, 27, 30, 37,

87, 113, 140.
From Henry Thorean, 12, 14, 20,

21, 25, 27, 30, 37, 40, 43, 45, 47,

474

INDEX.

49, 52, 53, 58, 02, 09, 73, 77, 80,
84, 87, 89, 92, '.15, 11)0, 103, lOli,
109, 113, 117, 120, 124, 127, 129,
133, 135, 140, 150, 153, 158, Kit,
170, 173, 177, 181, 18(5, 189, 11)2,
197, 2(14, 20S, 209, 213, 21(5, 22<l,
223, 227, 229, 230, 232, 234, 237,
251, 201, 200, 271, 275, 280, 281,
282, 288, 289, 291, 295, 300, 301,
303, 305, 309, 311, 314, 310, 319,
322, 324, 320, 329, 332, 335, 339,
341, 349, 352, 354, 350, 357, 359,
300, 302, 304, 307, 308, 371, 379,
385, 387, 393, 390, 399, 405, 407,
409, 413, 415, 419, 421, 425, 428,
434, 437, 443, 445, 455, 4C3.
To John Thoreau, Jr., 14, 20,21, 25.
To Sophia Thoreau, 30, 84, 158,

232, 335, 419.
From B. M. Watson, 229, 3G4 ; to

him, 229, 230, 300, 302.
To B. B. Wiley, 349, 352.
Leucisciis (rtrgentfiis, pulchdtus,

etc.), 152, 157.

Libraries, at Cambridge, 299, 300;
at Concord, 319 ; at New York,
90, 127, 130, 130, 145.
Life, emptiness of ordinary, 194,
21G, 252, 257, 277 ; eternal, 193,
197, 209, 233, 271; facts of, 51,
195, 255 ; labyrinth of, 208 ; perils
of, 175; phenomena of, x, xi, 40,
54, 239, 245, 200, 207, 273, 317,
303 ; qualifications for practical,
6, 11, 39, 69, 101, 205.
Lincoln, Abraham, 334, 437, 439.
Lincoln, the town, 303.
Liniiiinis, 250.

Literature, 31, 35, 50, 77, 80, 112,
125, 127, 134, 130, 180, 183, 195,
205, 207, 312, 319, 340, 352, 353,
441.

Lockwood (F. 3. Merriam), 423, 424.
Locust, the seventeen-year, 100, 107.
Log of driftwood, 318.
London, mentioned, 1C3, 187, 398,

418.

Longfellow, H. W., 120, 298, 401.
Long Pond, 313.
Long River (La Ririfre Lonf/>ie),

French for the Minnesota, 451.
Lost dove, horse and hound, 353.
Louisa, Aunt (Unnb'ir), 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, 45S.

Lowell, Mrs. (a cousin), 26.

Lowell, the city, 152.

Lucretius, quoted, x.

Lyceum, ot Concord, 4, 5G, GO. 61,
72, 138, 173, ISO, 185, 189,323; at
Salem, 230 ; at Worcester, 355.

"Lying out-doors," 432.

Lyman, Benjamin Smith (H. U.
185;")), 300.

Lyttelton, Lord, 443.

MACXULAY, Rev. Zachary, 321.

Mackerel, 276.

Mackinaw, 445.

Madawaska, 379-382.

McKean, Henry Swasey (H. U. 1828),
130, 130, 145.

Magazines : Atlantic, 284, 444 ;
Democratic Review, 59, 127-129,
132, 140 ; Dial, see " Dial " ; Har
vard, 299, 300, 353 ; Putnam's,

200, 342, 343.
Mahabharat, 351.
Maiden in the East, 364.
Maine, 4, 158, 173, 308.
Maine lumberer, 447.

Maine woods, 301, 302, 378, 380-382,

391.

Male and female, 238, 249.
Mallet for Hints, 20.
Man, 12, 35, 42; his activity, 201,

209, 257 ; his bread, 198 ; his duty,

201, 224 ; his education. 214, 207 ;
liis freedom, 210, 220, 230; his
generation, 250 ; his immortality,
300, 344; his meanness, 215, 272.

Mankind, 8, 35, 95, 102.
Manu, 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, 240, 249-251,

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, 2!>7, 3S9 ;

birds in the, 14, 42; cranberries

in, 245.

INDEX.

475

Mean aspects of life, 82, 93, 97, 276.

Meanness complained of, 101, 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," 166, 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, 447-151 ; trip to, 299, 439,
444, 446.

Minnows, 152, 157.

Minott, George (Concord rustic),
60, 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, 267, 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.

470

INDEX.

"New WorM " (the newspaper), 128.

New York, 19, 40, 5S, til, 72, 79, 82,
85, 93, !>4, 9."(, 98-103, 107, !]•_',
120, 127, 130, 140, 144, 333, 335,
341, 34C, 348, 437.

New Zealand, 284, 303, 440, 443.

Niagara, 100, 444.

Night on the mountain, 432 ; on the
river, 278.

Noah's dove, 50.

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, 24(1.

Nurture of the soul, 198, 210.

Nuts, 1, 200, 352.

OBJECTS of nature, 9, 42, 84, 88, 98,

103, 111, 108.
Ocean, its phenomena, x, 82, 159,

305, 353, 412.

Ode to Beauty, Emerson's, 137-139.
Ohio, 23, 334.
Olyinpia, G4.
Olympus. 59. 111.
Op'era, 2GO, 378.
Oracles of Quarles. 134.
Orchard House. 388.
Oriel College, Oxford, 284, 398.
'• Origin of Species," Darwin's, 442.
Osprey, 53.
Ossa and Pelion, 205.
Ossoli, Margaret Fuller, 220-223.
O-isoli, Mirquis of, 221-223.
O'Sullivan, 59, 122, 128.
Owls, 90, 184.

PACIFIC OCEAN, 284.

P.icks, of tourists, 390, 391, 428.

Paddling, 317.382.

Painted cup (a flower), 84.

Pile-face, 14-17.

P.ilmor, Edward, 97, 115.

Palmer, Joseph, at Fruitlands, 177,

ISO.

Palinerston mentioned, 211.
Pan, and Whitman, 349.
Pandora's box, 22.
ParadUe, 9, 132, 195.
Pare:.-, the, 179.
Parker House, 400, 401.
Parker, Theodore, 01, 280, 398, 410,

413.
Parkmcn, Deacon, of Concord, 5.

Parkman, Francis, 5.

Parkman House, 4.

Parlor lecture, 231, 409.

Partheaiina, 04.

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),

2G.
Peabody, Miss Elizabeth Palmer,

72, 335.

Peabody River, 290.
Peace, lecture on, GO ; remarks on,

109, 290.
Pedestrian tours, 127, 210, 235, 285,

359.

Peddler. Thoreau taken for, 290.
Pehlvi, dialect, 03.
1'ekin, 105.
Pellico, Silvio, 01.

Pencil-making, 5, 194, 210, 219, 410.
Penna, how pronounced. 28.
Pennsylvania, 115, 281, 320.
Penobscot, 100. 302, 381, 392.
Pepin. Lake, 440.
Persins, 5, 190.
Phalansteries, 115.
Phar-ra-oh (noise of locusts), 107.
Phenomenal and real, 07, 105, 175,

370, 404.

Philanthropic dogmas, 402.
Philanthropists, 14O, 231, 255. 334.
Phillips, Wendell (H. U. 1830), 302,

400.
Philosophers, 11, 29, 00, 75, 70, 184,

350, 351.

" Philosopher's Scales," 137.
Philosophy, mental. 28, 29 ; Oriental,

130, 319. 347. 351; Stoical, a. ;

the Transcendental, 95, 192.
Phoebus Apollo, 51.
Phosphorescence, 300. 301.
Pierce, President Franklin, 232, 254,

297.

Piety, 42. 48. 105.
Pickerel, 151. 15;'.. 157.
Picturesque, the (Gil] in), 288, 312.
Pilgrims, Canterbury. 4 13.
'• Pilgrim's Progress." 430.
Pillobiiry, Parker, (the abolitionist),

437-439.

Pinuur, translation. 121.
Pipes lor smoking, 215, 394, 395 ; of

the thro'it, 435.
Piracy. 185.
Pismire and his hillock, 202.

INDEX.

477

Plato, 180.

Plymouth Church, 348.

Plymouth, Mass., 40, 49, 228, 231,

280-282, 2S7, 353, 364, 440.
Poems of dimming, 70, 94, 137, 139,
185, 325, 387, 421 ; of Emerson,
137, 321, 432; of Herbert, 134,
43U ; of Quarles, 128, 134 ; of
Ricketson, 394 ; of Sanborn, 4C3 ;
of Thoreau, vii, x, 44, 50, 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.
Polls, Joe (Indian), 339, 362, 379,

391.

Polygamy, 353.
Pomotis, a fish, 157.
Pond, Fairh.vven, 31, 278; Long,
313 ; Walden, 31, 34, 68, 145, 149,
153, 153 ; White, 15.
Pots of beer, 393.
Pots of poor immigrants, 131.
Pouts, fish, 151, 153.
Poverty, 205, 208, 355.
Powers above us, 48, 54, 06, 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 tor 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),

170.

Pronunciation of Latin, 28, 29.
Prinse of Wales iii New England,
433.

QPAINTNESS of expression, 28, 59,

131, 134, 160, 172, 175, 184, 196, ,

210, 224.
Q-nker dress, 115; meetings, 116,

330, 395.
Quakers at Eagleswood, 33:'., 337 ; !

at New Bjltord, 395, 45G ; at

Nsw York, 115.
Quarantine Village, N. Y., 35.
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, 267-209, 292, 333, 370,
439 ; of literature, 32, 35, 44, 50,
71, 112, 127, 183, 1S8, 195, 203,
207, 2S7, 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 Chauning, 08, 77,
382, 384, 392, 422, 425 ; Confucius,

350, 351 ; Daniel, 204 ; Emerson,

II, 24, 57, 111, 122, 140, 143, 170,
187, 270, 339 ; Goethe, 202 ; Hor
ace, vi, 31 ; Lucretius, x ; Milton,

III, 324; Shakespeare, \i; Tho
reau, x, 87 ; Virgil, 32.

RACE, the aboriginal, 14, 339, 370,

452.
Rice characteristics, 179, 268, 276,

343.

Ramsay, Gov., of Minnesota, 451.
II ipping of spirits, 233.
R ivine, Tuckerman's, 389, 404, 400.
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, Ho,

191,. 205, 235, 287, 299, 314, 364.
Racollections of early life, x, 2-5,

19.

Regret, 47, 49, 51, 87, 88.
Religion, 9, 105, 118, 136, 191, 197,

230, 235, 257, 29;!, 318, 456.
Religious life, 192, 215.
Respectability, 93.
Restigouche, in Canada, 380.
Review, the Democratic, 59, 119.

121, 129, 140.

" Raview, 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, Thorean's vague, indefinite,
344.

Ricketson, Daniel, described, 283,
3liti ; letters from, 280 ; letters to,
287, 2>S, 3li'.l, 311, 314, 31!>, 322,
324, 350, 304, 307, 3'J3, 3'JO, 407,
425, 434, 4")."), 459, 4liO ; mentioned,
2MJ, 280, 300, 358, 398, 414, 441 ;
conversion of, 450.

Ricketson, Walton, sculptor, xii,
,",11.

Ridicule of Alcott, 103, 184 ; of man
kind, 277, 373 ; of table-tippers,
233.

Ripley, Rev. Ezra, D. D. (H. U.
1770), 3

Rivers : the Alpheus, 109 ; Assabet,
vii ; Chaudiere, 371'; Concord, 2,
88, 109, 150-153, 278, 305, 310.
331, 3:',3, 358; Hudson, 120;
L( ng, 451; Loup, 37 'J ; Miucius.
lO'J ; Minnesota, 448, 441) ; Mis
sissippi, 447, 452; 1'eabody, SIX);
Pt-nobseot, 38(1, 3>1, 3'J2 : St. John,
380 ; St. Lawrence, 37'J ; Shaw-
sheen, vii; Yellow Medicine, 452.

River, Head of the, at New Bedford,
39 ">

Ri\ it-re du Loup, 37'J; Loiigue,
451,452.

Roach, the fish, 152.

Roads traveled by Thoreau, 3, 5,
52, 85, 102, 108, 37'J, 384.

Roberts Brothers, mentioned, 76.

Robin Hood, mentioned, 111.

Rodman, Mr., of New Bedford, 457.

Romans, 7'J, 184.

Rome, 7'J.

Roxbury, Mass., mentioned, 25, 27,
30, 37.

Rubber coat, etc., 382, 3S3.

Rural life, 43, 71), 111), 138, 144, 1C1,
108, 205, 210.

Rynders, mentioned, 145.

SABATTIA CHLOROIDES, 313.
Sabbath-keeping, 118, 22'J, 235, 302.
Sachem Tahatawan (of Concord),

14, 10.

Sacred books, 130, 3T.O, 351.
Sadness, 47, 50, 54, 88, 105, 4CO.
Saint, a fair, 135.
Saint John, the River, 380.
Saint Lawrence, 370.
Silc'in, Mass., mentioned, 230.
Salop (Shropshire), 205, 443.
Sam, a cat, 33, 30.
Sunburn, Franklin Benjamin (H.

U. 1855), letters to, 68, 00, 300,
440-453 ; his Lite of Thoreau,
cited, 23, 107, 185, 200 ; his Me
moir of Alcott cited, 72, 285, 4ol ;
mentioned, 200, 330, 420, 422, 430,
441. 4(13 ; his school. 30O, 377 ; his
version of Thoreau's Latin, 33-30.

Sandy Hook, near New York, 82, 85,
08.

Sane and insane, 293.

Sap of the sugar-maple, 327-329.

Saratoga mentioned. 270.

Sanscrit books, 310, 321, 351.

Sarah, Aunt (Dunbar), 3.

Sargent, John Turner (H. U. 1827),
220.

Savings Bank. Boston, ISO.

Saturday evening daiice, 330.

Saturn, 150.

Scholars, their complaints, 205, 254,
270, 300; their duties, 110, 200 ;
their qualities, 110, 123, 174, 210,
310. 330.

Schools : of Thoreau, 4, 25-27 ; of
Lane, 140 ; of Sanborn, 300, 377.

Schools of Concord, 430.

Science, 232, 330.

Scott, Sir Walter, 130.

Scurvy life, 210.

Sea and land, x, 15, 81, 93, 98, 221,
302-304, 353.

Seashore verses, x ; walks, 303, 300,
412.

Sel ago Lake. Me., 44.

Seeming and being, 50, 104, 103,
258, 202, 274, 370.

Sensuality, 245, 200, 340.

Serenity and cheerfulness, 40, 48,
115, 328, 450.

Seven against Thebes, 121.

Seventeen-year locust, 100.

Sewing Circle in Concord, 32. 30

Sex and marriage, 238, 240, 245,
240.

Shabhiuess of Emerson's life, 270;
of Thoreau, 224.

Shackford. Rev. Charles Chauncy
(H. U. 1835), 220.

Shakers, 135, 240.

Shakespeare mentioned, ix, 50, 237.

Shame, 200, 238. 250, 315.

Shanty, of Thoreau, 08 ; of Ricket
son, 280. 311, 322

Shawmut (Boston), 17.

Shawsheen (river), vii.

Shiner, a fish, 152-157.

Shropshire, Eng., 283-285, 295, 208,
430, 443.

Simplicity, 104, 250, 350.

Skating, 207, 405.

INDEX.

479

Skipper, of Staten Island, 102 ; Tho-

reau as, 300.

Silence and speech, G3, 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, 3S9, 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,

447-150.

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.

I Study, a woodland, 68, 145, 153, 202.

Style in writing, ix, 78, 112, 3G5.

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.

Sunnier, 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.

Swa:up ami city compared, 225.

Swedenborg, 351.

Swedenbor?i in, H. James, 145; J.
Clark, 175

Switzer, a, 253.

"TACTICS," of Ssott, 411.
Tahatawan (Indian chief), 14-19.
" 'T ain't I, 't ain't I," 262.
Talking, 63, 120, 211, 277, 302, 353.
Tappan, William, of New York, 85,

80, 94, 96, 97, 112, 115, 121, 135,

140, 145.

Tarbell, Deacon, of Concord, 294.
Tarkiln Hill, New Bedford, 310,

356.

" Task," of Cowper, 306.
Taunton, mentioned, 14, 18, 20, 21.
Taxpaying, 58, 60.
Taylor, Jane, quoted, 137.
Tea, its value, 382, 383.
Teaching, by the Thcreaus, 4, 10, 25-

30, 98i
Teats, 269.
Temple, denned, 235 ; too close,

230.
Thanksgiving, the emotion, 344 ; the

festival, 333, 402.
Thinking, 167, 195, 411.
Thoreau, Cynthia (I)imbar), 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),

liis fame increasing, vi, 462 ; his

character, viii, xi ; industry of,

480

INDEX.

viii, 11,30, 101, 205, 338, 420 ; liis
Affection for li's family, viii, 3S,
80, 117, 141, Hi'; for his brother
John, 40, 47, 87 ; for the Emer-
sons, 58, 01, 111, 122, 102, 170,
18'J ; French elegance of, ix ; jest
ing habit of, ix ; birth and death,
2 ; ancestry and early days, 2-0 ;
epochs in his life, 4, 12, 40, 58,
1S»2 ; affairs of, 5, 25, 39, 44, 125,
127, 128, 150-157, 101, 204-200,
251, 410 ; books written by, 5, 100,
187, 2MI, 280, 2!>0, 321 ; college
"Part,'' 7-'.); philosophic mind
of, 10, 29 ; Emerson's view of, 11 ;
exaggeration by, 11, 244, 205,
270 ; letters from (see Letters) ;
Indian dialect of, 14-20 ; tastes
of, 19, 25, 38, 42, 51, 54. 57, 08,
75, 93, 97, 111, 135, 130, 232 ; his
Indian relics, 20-22 ; wish to go
AVest, 23; habits, 25, 20, 39, 101,
231, 382, 423, 424, 429 ; school, 20,
27 ; advises Helen, 27-35 ; a Tran
scendental brother, 37-39 ; ac
quaintance with Kmerson, 39, 50;
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 witli Hawthorne, 59;
with Alcott, 00. 75, 103, 175, 181,
184, 287, 332, 340, 348, 357, 304 ;
with Emerson's children, 03, 102,
180, 183, 189 ; with Mrs. Emerson,
02 (see Letters) ; with C. S. \Vhei-
ler, 08, 09 ; edits " Dial," 09-74 ;
admirers of, 70, 100, 190, 283, 287,
349, 401 ; his college life, 4, 7, 10,
08, 78, 304; college professors
and tutors, 08, 130, 1(4, 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, 90 ; 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, 110 ; regrets Concord and
separation, 117, 118 ; writes for
magazines, 119, 121, 127, 129;
mentions Channing, Oreeley,
James, Longfellow, 120; trans

lates Greek, 121 ; Bees publish
ers, 125; mentions Webster and
C. Dnnbar, 120; reads Quarles,
134 ; criticises Ellery Channing
and Lane, 135 ; Emerson too,
137 ; likes the Iri.-h, 13.S; but
not W. H. Channing, 140 ; hears
from Emerson, 143; and Ellery
Channing, 144 ; lives by Walden,
145, 148; hears from Lane, 140-
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, 1C1 ; helps Alcott with the
summer-house of Emerson, 103 ;
describes Scientific School, 105;
refuses marriage, 100 ; finds no
publisher, 1C*, 187; his account of
Hugh Whelau, 1C.7. 171, 172, 178;
hears from Emerson, 170 (see
Letters) ; hears Parker, Whipple,
and Hudson at Lyceum, 178, 179 ;
describes a dinner, 170 ; sends
verses, 177 ; describes the Emer
son household, 182, 183 ; and K.
Channing, 174; reads lectures, 4,
04, 185 ; writes to J. E. Cabot, 186
(see Letters) ; his mode of writ
ing, 188; meets H. G. 0. Blake,
190; their correspondence, 191-
445 (see Letters) ; believes in
simplicity, 194 ; defines his life,
190, 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, 200 ;
visits Fire Island, 220 ; elected to
Boston Society of Natural His
tory, 220 ; 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,
200 ; moralizes, 201-209; feeble
ness of, 202, 323 ; reads Haydon
and Layard, 209 ; gets anew coat,
271 ; lessons therefrom, 272-275 ;
finds fault with men. 270 ; pad
dles up river by night, 278 ; lec
tures in Worcester, 280, 355,
400, 413; publishes "Walden."
280 ; meets Hicketson and T.
Cholmondeley, 283 ; geniality of,

INDEX.

287, 325, 353 ; visits Nantucket and
New Bedford, 289 ; moralizes
to Blake, 291-294 ; writes to
Cholinoudeley, 295 ; to Sanborn,
300, 445 ; visits Cape Cod, 302-31)5 ;
describes Ricketsoii, 300 ; deals
with E. Hosmer for an old house,
309 ; praises Gilpiu, 311 ; finds the
rose-gentian, 313 ; gathers drift
wood, 310-318; meets Mary Einer-
son, 318 ; receives books from
Cholmondeley, 319, 321 ; describes
Ellery Channiug, 324; is the
greatest walker in Concord, 320 ;
idealizes sugar-making, 328 ; visits
Alcott in New Hampshire, 332,
333 ; and the Eagleswood com
munity, 335 ; describes it, 330-
338; meets Walt Whitman, 340;
visits Greeley, 340 ; his morning
in Worcester, 342 ; describes
Whitman, 315-347 ; hears H. W.
Beecher, 348 ; quotes Confucius
to Wiley, 350 (see Letters) ;
lands on Clark's Island, 353 ;
meets Alcott and Channiug in New
Be Uord, 357 ; goes to C.vpe Cod
with Chauning, 359 ; analyzes
glow-worms for M. Watson, 300
(see Letters) ; praises Hillside,
303, 304 ; criticises W. Flag?, 305 ;
in ILiine woods, 360, 309, 378-382
(see Letter to Higginson) ; his
camp outfit, 383 ; habit in tour
ing, 334 ; visits White Mountains
(iu 1858), 385-391 ; goes to Mouad-
noc, 388, 428 ; finds the arnica in
Tuckernian'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, 400 :
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, 410-418 ; 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 I
bv Blake and Brown, 435 ; men- j

tions Alcott's success, 436 ; writes
to P. Pillbsury, 437 ; falls ill
and goes to Minnesota, 439-444,
440-453 ; his last letter from
Cholinondeley, 439 ; describes his
illness 455 ; sits lor his portrait
in New Bedford, 456 ; writes for
the "Atlantic Monthly," 458;
grows worse, 459 ; writes his last
letter, 403 ; dies, 404.

Thoreau, Jane, mentioned, 142.

Thoreau, John (father of Henry),
2-6, 11, 23, 80, 80, 118, 133, 339,
397, 406 ; day-book of, 4 ; de
scribed by Thoreau, 407 ; dies, 400,
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, 404.

Thoreau, Philip (great-grandfather
of Henry), 3.

Thoreau, Sophia (sister of Henry)
(see Letters) ; 8, 20, 27. 32, 30, 39,
84, 133, 142, 158, 232, 334, 335, 419,
459,401,404; dies, 464.

" Tliule, Ultima " (Cholmondeley 'a
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, 301.

"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 THULE." 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.
Vnchts, Ronz 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 Vila, 40 ;

Memorial, TO ; quoted, 87, 17l!.
Vestry of the church, 354, 377, 414.
Views, distant : from Monadnoc, 384 ;

from Mt. Washington, 370.
" Vtiles ut alia stet nive candidum,"

30.

Virgil, vii ; quoted, 32.
Virginia, road, 2, 5 ; State, 39S, 40C,

414, 402.

irginity, 249.

ishnu Purana, 351.

on Hammer, 71.

ose, Henry (H. U. 1837), 19.

oting in Concord, 10, 19, 108.

owel sounds, '_'8.

oyages, 80, 295, 335, 447.

ulcan, 31, 34, 45.

WACHUSETT, a mountain, 99, 282,

2*5, 330, 370, 384, 433.
Wagon-journey to White Mountains,

385, 389.
Walden, the pond. 5, 31, 34, 08, 124,

145, 149, 158, 101-109 ; the book,

280, 281, 280, 321, 324, 437, 403,

404.
Walden woods, 138, 159, 108, 190,

392.
Waldo, Giles, of New York, 85, 94,

90, 99, 115, 125.
Walks of Thoreau, to Wachusett,

99.
Walker, Tom, 205; 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), 304, 421 : quoted, 422.
War, 108 ; stupidity of, 441 ; Cri

mean, 820, 294, 298, 320, 321 ; Rev

olutionary, 378, 414 ; of 1801, 440.
Ward, George, 85. 100.
Ward, Mrs., 00, 87.
Warm yourself, how to, 247, 204,

294, 318.

Washington, General, 11.
Washington, the city, 430 ; the moun

tain, 375, 389, 433.
Wasson, I). A., 357, 358.
Watson, Edward, 353, 3T-3.
Watson, B. M., 229, 230, 282, 287,

3IUI, 302 304. 3XX.
Watson, Mrs. Mary, 49, 304.

Wealth, folly of accumulating, 194,
3j 3.

Wearing clothes, 272, 274, 290, 310,
419.

Webster, Daniel, mentioned, 124,
120, 285.

" Week on the Concord and Merri-
mack " (tirst book of Thoreau J,
100 ; refused by publishers, 187,
207 ; debt for, 219, 251 ; cited,
321 ; mentioned, 392, 437, 402,
403.

Weld, Theodore (of Eagleswood),
334, 330.

Weld, Mrs. (Grimke), 333, 335.

West, the, Thoreau would go to, 22 ;
a friend in, 41 ; immigrants to
114, 131 ; Thoreau's tour in, 439,
444, 440-454.

West Indies, mentioned, 397, 444.

Weston, Mass., 11, 124.

Wheeler, Charles Stearns (H. U.
1S37), 08, 09, 71, 1(18, 110, 123.

Whclan, Hugh, the gardener, 91,
107, 171, 172, 178, 185.

Whipple, Edwin Percy, 173, 174.

While, Miss E., 32, 30.

White Pond (at Niue-Acre-Corner),
15.

Whitman, Walt, 321 ; seen by Tho
reau, 339-341 ; genius of, 340 ;
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 Tiouse,
309.

Wisconsin, 131, 44S.

Wisdom of the ancients, 130, 350,
351 ; of the Indian, 302, 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), 1S9, 192 (see Let
ters); Thoreau lectures at, 21S,
231, 280, etc. ; visits, 335, 341, 358.

Wordsworth, quoted, '_'75.

" World, the, a cow that is hard to
milk," 101 ; must look out, 175;

INDEX.

483

noble to stand aside from, 191 ;
idly complaining, 230 ; 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 Chauuiug)," 111, 135,

139.

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PS Thoreau, Henry David
3053 Familiar letters of

A3 Henry David Thoreau
1895

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