Log Search Results

16 December 1859.

Concord, Mass. Thoreau writes in his journal:

  A.M.—To Cambridge, where I read in Gerard’s Herbal . . .

  Bought a book at Little & Brown’s, paying a nine-pence more on a volume than it was offered me for elsewhere . . . (Journal, 13:29-30).

Cambridge, Mass. Thoreau checks out Histoire des animaux d’Aristotle, avec la traduction françois par M. Camus and Θεοφραστου Ερεσιου τα σωζομενα, volume 2 from Harvard College Library (Companion to Thoreau’s Correspondence, 292).

16 February 1838. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  In imagination I hie me to Greece as to enchanted ground. No storms vex her coasts, no clouds encircle her Helicon or Olympus, no tempests sweep the peaceful Tempe or ruffle the bosom of the placid Aegean; but always the beams of the summer’s sun gleam along the entablature of the Acropolis, or are reflected through the mellow atmosphere from a thousand consecrated groves and fountains; always her sea-girt isles are dallying with their zephyr guests, and the low of kine is heard along the meads, and the landscape sleeps—valley and hill and woodland—a dreamy sleep. Each of her sons created a new heaven and a new earth for Greece.
(Journal, 1:29)
16 February 1840. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Divination is prospective memory (Journal, 1:120-121).
16 February 1843.

Thoreau writes to Ralph Waldo Emerson

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 complete Lane’s piece. He will place five hundred copies for sale at Munroe’s bookstore. Wheeler has sent you two fill sheet—more about the German Universities—and proper names, which will have to be printed on alphabetical order for convenience: what this one has done. that one is doing. and the otter intends to do. Hammer-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 saving sent to Lowell by the last steamer. a budget of literary news. which he will have communicated to you ere this. Mr Alcott has a letter from the Heraud, and a book written by him,—the Life of Savonarola.—which he wishes to have republished here. Mr. Lane will write a notice of it. (The latter says that what is in the New York post office may be directed to Mr. Alcott.) Miss [Elizabeth] Peabody has sent a “Notice to the readers of the Dial,” which is not good.

  Mr. Chapin lectured this evening, and so rhetorically that I forgot my duty and heard very little. I find myself better than I have been, and am meditating some other method of paying debts than by lectures and writing,—which will only do to talk about. If anything of that “other” sort should come to your ears in New York, will you remember it for me?

  Excuse this scrawl, which I have written over the embers in the dining-room. I hope that you live on good terms with yourself and the gods,

  Yours in haste,
  Henry

(The Emerson—Thoreau Correspondence; The Dial Period, 583-584)

16 February 1848. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau lectures on “The Rights and Duties of the Individual in Relation to the State” at the Unitarian Church for the Concord Lyceum (“The Rights and Duties of the Individual in Relation to the State“; Studies in the American Renaissance, 1995, 154-155).

16 February 1849. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes to George Augustus Thatcher:

Dear George,  

  I am going as far as Portland to lecture before their Lyceum on the 3d Wednesday in March.-By the way they pay me $25.00. Now I am not sure but I may have leisure then to go on to Bangor and so up river. I have a great desire to go up to Chesuncook before the ice breaks up-but I should not care if I had to return down the banks and so saw the logs running; and I write you chiefly to ask how late it will probably do to go up the river-or when on the whole would be the best time for me to start? Will the 3d week in March answer? . . .

(The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 236-237)

Boston, Mass. Ticknor & Co. writes to Thoreau:

Henry D. Thoreau Esq

Dear Sir,

  In reply to your fav. of 10th inst. we beg to say that we will publish for your acc “A Week on the Concord River.”

  The following general Estimate based upon vol. ⅓ larger than [Ralph Waldo] Emerson’s Essays first series (as suggested by you) we present for your consideration—

  Say—1000 Cops. 448 pages like Emerson’s Essays 1st series printed on good paper @ $4.00 pr ream will cost in sheets $381.21. The binding in our style fine cloth.

  12¢ pr Copy—of for the Edn 120.00

  $501.24

  In the above Estimate we have included for alterations and extractions say $15.00—It may be more or less—This will depend on yourself. The book can be condensed & of course cost less. Our Estimate is in accordance with sample copy. As you would not perhaps, care to bind more than ½ the Edn at once,—you would need to send $450.—to print 1000 cops. & bind ½ of the same.

Your very truly,

W. D. Ticknor & Co.

Nothing came of this proposal to publish The Week.

(The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 237-238)
16 February 1851. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Do we call this the land of the free? What is it to be free from King George the Fourth and continue the slaves of prejudice? What is it [to] be born free and equal, and not to live? What is the value of any political freedom, but as a means to moral freedom? Is it a freedom to be slaves or a freedom to be free, of which we boast? We are a nation of politicians, concerned about the outsides of freedom, the means and outmost defenses of freedom. It is our children’s children who may perchance be essentially free. We tax ourselves unjustly. There is a part of us which is not represented. It is taxation without representation. We quarter troops upon ourselves. In respect to virtue or true manhood, we are essentially provincial, not metropolitan,—mere Jonathans. We are provincial, because we do not find at home our standards; because we do not worship truth but the reflection of truth; because we are absorbed in and narrowed by trade and commerce and agriculture, which are but means and not the end. We are essentially provincial, I say, and so is the English Parliament. Mere country bumpkins they betray themselves, when any more important question arises for them to settle. Their natures are subdued to what they work in! The finest manners in the world are awkwardness and fatuity when contrasted with a finer intelligence. They appear but as the fashions of past days,—mere courtliness, small-clothes, and knee-buckles,—have the vice of getting out of date; an attitude merely. The vice of manners is that they are continually deserted by the character; they are cast-off clothes or shells, claiming the respect of the living creature. You are presented with the shells instead of the meat, and it is no excuse generally that, in the case of some fish, the shells are of more worth than the meat. The man who thrusts his manners upon me does as if he were to insist on introducing me to his cabinet of curiosities, when I wish to see himself. Manners are conscious; character is unconscious.My neighbor does not recover from his formal bow so soon as I do from the pleasure of meeting him.
(Journal, 2:162-163)
16 February 1852. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Down Turnpike . . . As I walk the bleak Walden road, it blows up over the highest drifts in the west, lit by the westering sun like the spray on a beach before the northwest wind (Journal, 3:304-307).
16 February 1854. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Walden and Flint’s; return by Turnpike . . . (Journal, 6:123-125).
16 February 1855. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Cliff via Spanish Brook.

  A thick fog without rain. Sounds sweet and musical through this air, as crows, cocks, and striking on the rails at a distance. In the woods by the Cut, in this soft air, under the pines draped with mist, my voice and whistling are peculiarly distinct and echoed back to me, as if the fog here a ceiling which made this hollow an apartment. Sounds are not dissipated and lost in the immensity of the heavens above you, but your voice, being confined by the fog, is distinct, and you hear yourself speak.

(Journal, 7:186-189)

Return to the Log Index

Donation

$