Thoreau checks out Six Month’s Residence and Travels in Mexico by William Bullock from Harvard College Library (Companion to Thoreau’s Correspondence, 286).
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Ralph Waldo Emerson notes in his journal that he sent a copy of his book Essays to “D. H Thoreau” and 47 other people. The inscription reads “Henry D. Thoreau, from his friend, R.W.E. 19 March 1841” (The Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 7:546; Studies in the American Renaissance 1983, 161).
See 21 March.
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal on 20 March:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Saw in Mill Brook behind Shannon’s three or four shiners (the first), poised over the sand with a distinct longitudinal light-colored line midway along their sides and a darker line below it . . .
Goodwin killed a pigeon yesterday.
Flint’s Pond almost entirely open,—much more than Fair Haven.
Thoreau writes in his journal:
P.M.—Paddled to Fair Haven Pond.
Very pleasant and warm, when the wind lulls and the water is perfectly smooth. I make the voyage without gloves. The snow of March 14th is about gone, and the landscape is once more russet. The thick ice of the meadows lies rotting on each side of the stream . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
pleasured the snow again. West of railroad, 15; east of railroad, 11 4/5, average 13 2/5, Trillium Woods, 16 3/4. The last measurement was on the 7th, when it averaged about sixteen inches in the open land . . .
The thickness of the ice on Walden in the long cove on the south side, about five rods from shore, where the water is nineteen and a half feet deep, is just twentysix inches, about one foot being snow ice. In the middle it was twenty-four and a quarter on the 11th. It is the same there now, and undoubtedly it was then twenty-six in the long cove . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Met Channing [William Ellery Channing] and walked on with him to what we will call Grackle Swamp, admiring the mosses . . .
It is a fine evening, as I stand on the bridge. The waters are quite smooth; very little ice to be seen . . .
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