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18 November 1834. Cambridge, Mass.

Thoreau attends a meeting of the Institute of 1770, in which the topic “Do the dead languages deserve so much time as is required in our present course of study?” is debated (The Transcendentalists and Minerva, 1:82).

18 November 1837. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Nature makes no noise. The howling storm, the rustling leaf, the pattering rain are no disturbance, there is an essential and unexplored harmony in them. Why is it that thought flows with so deep and sparkling a current when the sound of distant music strikes the ear? When I would muse I complain not of a rattling tune on the piano—a Battle of Prague even—if it be harmony, but an irregular, discordant drumming is intolerable.
(Journal, 1:11-12)
18 November 1842. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau is elected curator of the Concord Lyceum, despite his protests (Concord Lyceum records. Special Collections, Concord (Mass.) Free Public Library; Thoreau Society Bulletin 30 (January 1950), 2).

18 November 1848. New York, N.Y.

New York, N.Y. The New-York Daily Tribune publishes further excerpts from The Maine Woods, continuing its series of excerpts from the previous day.

18 November 1850. Cambridge, Mass.

Thoreau checks out Les voyages du sieur de Champlain Xaintctogeois, captiaine ordinaire pour le Roy, en la marine by Samuel de Champlain and Histoire de la Nouvelle-France by Marc Lescarbot, vols. 1 and 2, from Harvard College Library (Companion to Thoreau’s Correspondence, 289).

18 November 1851. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Surveying these days the Ministerial Lot.

  Now at sundown I hear the hooting of an owl,—hoo hoo hoo, hoorer hoo . . .

  Deacon Brown told me to-day of a tall, raw-boned fellow by the name of Hosmer who used to help draw the seine behind the Jones house, who once, when he had hauled it up without getting a single shad, held up a little perch in sport above his face, to show what he had got. At that moment the perch wiggled and dropped right down his throat head foremost, and nearly suffocated him; and it was only after considerable time, during which the man suffered much, that he was extracted or forced down. He was in a worse predicament than a fish hawk would have been.

  In the woods south of the swamp are many great holes made by digging for foxes.

(Journal, 3:122-124)
18 November 1852. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Measured a stick of round timber, probably white pine, on the cars this afternoon . . . (Journal, 4:413)
18 November 1853. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Conchologists call those shells “which are fished up from the depths of the ocean” and are never seen on the shore, which are the rarest and most beautiful, Pelagii, but those which are cast on shore and are never so delicate and beautiful as the former, on account of exposure and abrasion, Littorales. So it is with the thoughts of poets . . .
(Journal, 5:509)
18 November 1854.

Concord, Mass. Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Saw sixty geese go over the Great Fields, in one waving line, broken from time to time by their crowding on each other and vainly endeavoring to form into a harrow, honking all the while.
(Journal, 7:72)

Liverpool, England. Nathaniel Hawthorne writes to Monckton Milnes:

  I wish anything could be done to make [Thoreau’s] books known to the English public; for certainly they deserve it, being the work of a true man and full of true thought. You must not think that he is a particular friend of mine. I do not speak with quite this freedom of my friends. We have never been intimate, though my house is near his residence.
(Thoreau Society Bulletin, no. 121 (Fall 1972):7; MS, Norman Holmes Pearson collection, Yale University)
18 November 1855. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  It [the snow] clears up at noon, and at 2 P.M. I go to Fair Haven Hill via Hubbard’s Grove. As I sat in the house, I was struck with the brightness and heat of the sun reflected from this our first snow . . .
(Journal, 8:28-31)

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