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  Young Nealy says that there are blue-winged teal about now . . . (Journal, 12:329-333).

  I have been hurried about a thousand things, including a Charter Election, and have not yet settled your business with Graham. I went to Philadelphia last Wednesday, and called twice at Graham’s office without finding him; and though I did see him in the evening, it was at a crowded dinner party where I had no chance to speak with him on business. But I have taken that matter in hand, and I will see that you are paid,—within a week, I hope, but at any rate soon.

  I enclose you $25 for your article on Maine Scenery, as promised. I know it is worth more though I have not yet found time to read it; but I have tried once to sell it without success. It is rather long for my columns and too fine for the million; but I consider it a cheap bargain, and shall print it myself if I do not dispose of it to better advantage. You will not of course consider yourself under any sort of obligation to me, for my offer was in the way of business and I have got more than the worth of my money. Send me a line acknowledging the receipt of the money, and say if all is right between us. I am a little ashamed of Graham’s tardiness, but I shall correct it, and I would have done so long ago if I had known he had neglected you. I shall make it come round soon.

  If you will write me two or three articles in the course of the summer, I think I can dispose of them for your benefit, But write not more than half as long as your article just sent me, for that is too long for the Magazines. If that were in two it would be far more valuable.

  What about your book? Is any thing going on about it now? Why did not Emerson try it in England? I think the Howitts could get it favorably before the British public. If you can suggest any way wherein I can put it forward, do not hesitate, but command me.

Yours,
Horace Greeley

  It is my intention to leave Concord for Worcester, via Groton, at 12 o’clock on Friday of this week. Mr Emerson tells me that it will take about two hours to go by this way. At any rate I shall try to [secure] 3 or 4 hours in which to see you & Worcester before the lecture.

  Yrs in haste
Henry D. Thoreau

  It is remarkable how the American mind runs to statistics. Consider the number of meteorological observers and other annual phenomena . . . John Brown, merchant, tells me this morning that the martins first came to his box on the 13th, he “made a minute of it.” Besides so many entries in their day-books and ledgers, they record these things . . .

  Very little frost; a clear morning. The oars still cold to the hand at this hour. Did I not hear an F. juncorum at a distance? ? Saw some crow blackbirds inspecting that old nest of theirs. I believe I see a tree sparrow still, but I do not remember an F. hyemalis for two days. Geese went over at noon, when warm and sunny.

  P.M.—To Lee’s Cliff.

  I leave off my greatcoat, though the wind rises rather fresh before I return. It is worth the while to walk so free and light, having got off both boots and greatcoat. Great flocks of grackles and red-wings about the Swamp Bridge Brook willows, perching restlessly on an apple tree all at once . . .

  P.M.—Start for Conantum in boat, wind southwest. I can hide my oars and sail up there and come back another day. A moist muggy afternoon, rain-threatening, true April weather . . . Meanwhile it grows more and more rain-threatening, – all the air moist and muggy, a great ill-defined cloud darkening all the west, -but I push on till I feel the first drops, knowing that the wind will take me back again . . .

  Now comes the rain with a rush. In haste I put my boat about, raise my sail, and, cowering under my umbrella in the stern, with the steering oar in my hand, begin to move homeward. The rain soon fulls up my sail, and it catches all the little wind. From under the umbrella I look out on the scene . . . Even in the midst of this rain I am struck by the variegated surface of the water, different portions reflecting the light differently, giving what is called a watered appearance. Broad streams of light water stretch away between streams of dark, as if they were different kinds of water unwilling to mingle, though all are equally dimpled by the rain, and you detect no difference in their condition. As if Nature loved variety for its own sake . . .