Thoreau writes in his journal:
Under an oak on the bank of the canal in Chelmsford. From Ball’s Hill to Billerica meeting house the river is a noble stream of water, flowing between gentle hills and occasional cliffs, and well wooded all the way. It can hardly be said to flow at all, but rests in the lap of the hills like a quiet lake. The boatmen call it a dead stream. For many long reaches you can see nothing to indicate that men inhabit its banks. Nature seems to hold a sabbath herself to-day,—a still warm sun on river and wood, and not breeze enough to ruffle the water. Cattle stand up to their bellies in the river, and you think Rembrandt should be here. Camped under some oaks in Tyngsboro, on the east bank of the Merrimack, just below the ferry.
