Log Search Results

  Mr. Bradshaw says that he got a little auk in Wayland last week, and heard of two more, one in Weston and the other in Natick . . . (Journal, 14:252-253).

  At 5 P.M. I found the fringed gentian now somewhat stale and touched by frost, being in the meadow toward Peter’s . . .

   . . . At Beck Stow’s, surveying, thinking to step upon a leafy shore from a rail, I got into water more than a foot deep and had to wring my stockings out; but this is anticipating.

  I see Mrs. Riordan and her little boy coming out of the woods with their bundles of fagots on their backs . . .

  Therien tells me, when I ask if he has seen or heard any large birds lately, that he heard a cock crow this morning, a wild one, in the woods . . .

  Walking in E.’s [Ralph Waldo Emerson] path west of the pond . . .

  Talking with [Frank H. T.] Bellew this evening about Fourierism and communities, I said that I suspected any enterprise in which two were engaged together . . .

  The fall, now and for some weeks, is the time for flocks of sparrows of various kinds flitting from bush to bush and tree to tree—and both bushes and trees are thinly leaved or bare—and from one seared meadow to another . . .

  I have often noticed the inquisitiveness of birds, as the other day of a sparrow, whose motions I should not have supposed to have any reference to me, if I had not watched it from first to last. I stood on the edge of a pine and birch wood. It flitted from seven or eight rods distant to a pine within a rod of me, where it hopped about stealthily and chirped awhile . . . I could see nothing peculiar about it. But when I brought my glass to bear on it, I found that it was almost steadily eying me and was all alive with excitement . . .

  P.M.—Ride to Sam Barrett’s mill . . .

  Hosmer says that the rill between him and Simon Brown generally runs all night and in the fore part of the day, but then dries up, or stops, and runs again at night, or it will run all day in cloudy weather . . .

  Standing on Hunt’s Bridge at 5 o’clock, the sun just ready to set, I notice that its light on my note-book is quite rosy or purple, though the sun itself and its halo are merely yellow, and there is no purple in the western sky . . .

  Walked along the dam and the broad bank of the canal with Hosmer . . .