Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thunder-showers in the night, and it still storms, with holdings-up . . . (Journal, 5:171).
Boston, Mass. George William Curtis writes in the [Daily?] Commonwealth:
If every quiet country town in New England had a son, who, with a lore like Shelborne’s, and an eye like Buffon’s, had watched and studied its landscape and history, and then published the result, as Thoreau has done, in a book as redolent of genuine and perceptive sympathy with nature, as a clover-field of honey, New England would seem as poetic and beautiful as Greece.
