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  We accuse savages of worshipping only the bad spirit, or devil, though they may distinguish both a good and a bad; but they regard only that one which they fear and worship the devil only. We too are savages in this, doing precisely the same thing. This occurred to me yesterday as I sat in the woods admiring the beauty of the blue butterfly. We are not chiefly interested in birds and insects, for example, as they are ornamental to the earth and cheering to man, but we spare the lives of the former only on condition that they cat more grubs than they do cherries . . .

  P.M.—To Second Division . . .

  What is that rush at Second Division? It now forms a dense and very conspicuous mass some four rods long and one foot high. The top for three inches is red, and the impression at a little distance is like that made by sorrel . . .

  Ed. Emerson’s snails (the simplest kind) spawned March 28. I see young now as big as the head of a pin . . . (Journal, 13:270).

  This on my way to Conantum, 2.30 P.M. It is a bright, clear, warm November day. I feel blessed. I love my life I ward toward all nature . . .

  Minott says that G. M. Barrett told him that Amos Baker told him that during Concord Fight he went over behind the hill to the old Whittaker place (Sam Buttrick’s) and stayed. Yet he was described as the only survivor of Concord Fight. Received a pension for running away? . . .

  The rain of night before last has raised the river at least two feet, and the meadows wear a late-fall look . . .

  Saw a canoe birch by road beyond the Abel Minott house; distinguished it thirty rods off by the chalky whiteness of its limbs . . .

  It is remarkable how native man proves himself to the earth, after all, and the completeness of his life in all its appurtenances. His alliances, how wide! He has domesticated not only beasts and fowl . . .

  P.M.—Went after pink azaleas and walnuts by boat . . .

  As I paddle under the Leaning Hemlocks, the breeze rustles the boughs, and showers of their fresh winged seeds come wafted down to the water and are carried round and onward in the great eddy there . . .

  Returning in the twilight, I see a bat over the river (Journal, 8:3-5).

  I have hardly had time & repose enough to write to you before. I spent the afternoon of Friday (it seems some months ago) in Worcester, but failed to see Blake, he having “gone to the horse race”! in Boston;—to atone for which I have just received a letter from him, asking me to stop at Worcester & lecture on my return—I called on [Theo] Brown & [T.W.] Higginson, & in the evening came by way of Norwich to N.Y. in the steamer Commonwealth, and though it was so windy in land, had a perfectly smooth passage, and about as good a sleep as usually at home. Reached N Y about 7am, too late for the John Potter (there was’nt any Jonas) so I spent the forenoon there, called on Greeley (who was not in) met [F.A.T] Bellew in Broadway and walked into his workshop, red at the Astor Library &c &c—I arrived here about 30miles from N.Y. about 5pm Saturday, in company with Miss E. Peabody, who was returning in the same covered wagon from the Landing to Eagleswood, which last place she has just left for the winter. This is a queer place—There is no large long stone building, which cost some $40000, in which I do not know exactly who or how many work—(one or two familiar faces, & more familiar names have turned up)—a few shops & offices, an old farm house and Mr. [Marcus} Spring’s perfume privately residence within 20 rods of the main building. “The City of Perth Amboy” is about as big as Concord and Eagleswood is 1 ¼ miles S W of it, on the bay side. The central fact here is evidently Mr. [Theodore] Wel’d school—recently established—around which various other things revolve. Saturday evening I went to the school room, hall, or what not, to see the children & their teachers & patrons dance. Mr Weld, a kind looking man with a long white beard, danced with them, & Mr [E.J.] Cutler his assistant, lately from Cambridge, who is acquainted [with] Sanborn, Mr Spring—and others. This Sat. eve-dance is a regular thing, & it is thought something strange if you dont attend. They take it for granted that you want society!

  Sunday forenoon, I attended a sort of Quaker meeting at the same place—(The Quaker aspect & spirit prevails here—Mrs Spring says “—does thee not?”) where it was expected that the spirit would move me I having been previously spoken to about it) & it, or something else, did, an inch or so. I said just enough to set them a little by the ears & make it lively. I had excused myself by saying that I could not adapt myself to a particular audience, for all the speaking & lecturing here has reference to the children, who are far the greater part of the audience, & they are not so bright as N.E. children Imagine them sitting close to the wall all around a hall—with old Quaker looking men & women here & there. There sat Mrs. Weld (Grimke) & her sister, two elderly grayheaded ladies, the former in extreme Bloomer costume, which was what you may call remarkable Mr. [Arnold] Buffin with broad face & a great white beard, looking like a pier head made of the cork tree with the bark on, as if he could buffet a considerable wave;—James G Birney, formerly candidate for the Presidency, with another particularly white head & beard—Edward Palmer, the anti-money man (for whom communities were made) with [word] ample beard some-what grayish. Some of them I suspect are very worth people. Of course you are wondering to what extent all these make one family—to what extent 20. Mrs [Caroline] Kirkland, and this [a name] only to me, I saw—She has just bought a lot here. They all know more about your neighbors & acquaintances than you suspected.

  On sunday evening, I read the moose—story to the children to their satisfaction. Ever since I have been constantly engaged in surveying Eagleswood—though woods ravines marshes & along the shore, dodging the tide—though cat briar mud & beggar ticks—having no time to look up or to think where I am (it takes 10 or 15 minute before each meal to pick the beggar ticks out of my clothes—burrs & the rest are left—rents mended at the first convenient opportunity) ( shall be engaged perhaps as much longer. Mr Spring wants me to help him about setting out an orchard & vineyard—Mr Birney asks me to survey a small piece for him, & Mr. Alcott who has just come down here for the 3d Sunday—says that Greeley (I left my name for him) invites him & me to go to his home with him next Sunday morning & spend the Sunday.

  It seems a twelve-month since I was not here—but I hope to get settled deep into my den again ere long. The hardest thing to find here is solitude & Concord. I am at Mr Spring’s house- Both he & she & their family are quite agreeable.

  I want you to write to me immediately—(just left off to talk French with the servant man—) & let Father & Mother put in a word-to them & to aunts—

  Love from
  Henry

  Another cloudy afternoon after a clear morning.

  When I enter the woods I notice the drier crispier rustle of withered leaves on the oak trees,—a sharper susurrus . . .

  As I return by the Well Meadow Field and then Wheeler’s large wood, the sun shines from over Fair Haven Hill into the wood, and I see that the sun, when low, will shine into a thick wood, which you had supposed always dark, as much as twenty rods, lighting it all up, making the gray, lichen-clad sterns of the trees all warm and bright with light, and a distinct black shadow behind each. As if every grove, however dense, had its turn. A higher truth, though only dimly hinted at, thrills us more than a lower expressed . . .