Thoreau attends a meeting of the Institute of 1770 in which the topic “Whether the banishment of Napoleon to St. Helena was justifiable” is debated (The Transcendentalists and Minerva, 1:83).
Margaret Fuller writes to Ralph Waldo Emerson:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Since the rains and the sun, great fungi, six inches in diameter, stand in the woods, warped upward on their edges, showing their gills, so as to hold half a gill of water . . .
The rippled blue surface of Fair Haven from the Cliffs, with its smooth white border where weeds preserve the surface smooth, a placid silver-plated rim. The pond is like the sky with a border of whitish clouds in the horizon . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
P.M.—To Fringed Gentian Meadow over Assabet and to Dugan Desert. I find the mud turtle’s eggs at the Desert all hatched . . .
Rochester, N.Y. Walden is reviewed in the Rochester Daily American.
Portland, Maine. The Portland Transcript prints a notice of Walden and an excerpt of the “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For” chapter.
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Aster lævis apparently in prime; very handsome its long, slanting, broad-topped wands by the roadside, even in dry soil, its rays longer and richer purple than usual . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Walked through that beautiful soft white pine grove on the west of the road in John Flint’s pasture. These trees are large, but there is ample space between them, so that the ground is left grassy. Great pines two or more feet in diameter branch sometimes within two feet of the ground on each side, sending out large horizontal branches on which you can sit. Like great harps on which the wind makes music. There is no finer tree . . .
Watson gave me three glow-worms which he found by the roadside in Lincoln last night. They exhibit a greenish light, only under the caudal extremity, and intermittingly, or at will. As often as I touch one in a dark morning, it stretches and shows its light for a moment, only under the last segment . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
It rained as hard as I remember to have seen it for about five minutes at six o’clock P. M., when I was out, and then suddenly, as it were in an instant, the wind whirled round to the westward, and clear sky appeared there and the storm ended,—which had lasted all day and part of the previous night . . .
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