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22 December 1860. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  This evening and night, the second important snow, there having been sleighing since the 4th . . . (Journal, 14:294).
22 February 1840. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  The river is unusually high owing to the melting of the snow. Men go in boats over their gardens and potato-fields, and all the children in the village are on tiptoe to see whose fence will be carried away next (Journal, 1:121-122).
22 February 1841. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Love is the tenderest mood of that which is tough —and the toughest mood of that which is tender. It may be roughly handled as the nettle, or gently as the violet. It has its holidays, but is not made for them (Journal, 1:220-221).
22 February 1843. Concord, Mass.

Lidian Jackson Emerson writes to her husband Ralph Waldo:

  Henry will not write. He too having nothing to say—I believe it is partly because he will not deny himself an hour of Susan Jackson’s society to spend it in writing (The Selected Letters of Lidian Jackson Emerson, 132).
22 February 1847. Concord, Mass.

Ralph Waldo Emerson pays Thoreau $1 on balance owed, including 42¢ for pencils sold (Ralph Waldo Emerson’s account books. Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.).

22 February 1852. Plymouth, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Went to Plymouth to lecture or preach all day . . . (Journal, 3:318-319).

Thoreau lectures on “Life in the Woods” at Leyden Hall (“Life in the Woods“).

22 February 1854. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  I measured the thickness of the frozen ground at the deep cut on the New Bedford road, about half-way up the hill . . . Saw in Sleepy Hollow a small hickory stump, about six inches in diameter and six inches high, so completely, regularly, and beautifully covered by that winkle-like fungus in concentric circles and successive layers that the core was concealed and you would have taken it for some cabbage-like plant . . .
(Journal, 6:136-137)
22 February 1855. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To J. Farmer’s.

  Remarkably warm and pleasant weather, perfect spring. I even listen for the first bluebird. I see a seething in the air over clean russet fields. The westerly wind is rather raw, but in sheltered places it is deliciously warm.

(Journal, 7:206-209)
22 February 1856. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Assabet stone bridge and home on river.

  It is a pleasant and warm afternoon, and the snow is melting. Yet the river is still perfectly closed (as it has been for many weeks), both against Merrick’s and in the Assabet, excepting directly under this upper stone bridge . . .

(Journal, 8:184-185)
22 February 1857. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Dugan Desert.

  The Tonnmy Wheeler house, like the Hunt house, has the sills projecting inside. Its bricks are about the same size with those of the Lee chimney . . . I think that by the size of the bricks you cannot tell the age of an old house within fifty years.

(Journal, 9:275-276)

Thomas Cholmondeley writes to Thoreau:

Dear Thoreau

  You see I’ve saved this letter which is the best I ever wrote you (for I burnt the rest) & posted it in Town. For Rome being so uncertain a Post I thought `better wait till I get to Town’; & send it properly.

  I am just going now on an expedition to search for a little cottage somewhere in Kent or Sussex where I may henceforth dwell & endeavour to gather a little moss. I hope to get a few acres of land with it on lease—for as to buying, it is almost out of the question. They ask about £500 an acre now for anything like decent in the land in England. In fact land is worth too much. It is a shame. I suppose I could buy a good farm in new England for £2000 couldnt I? I shouldn’t wonder if I was to settle in New England after all—for ties which hold me here are very slender.

  However if I do succeed in getting my cottage in Kent remember there will be a room for you there, & as much as ever you can eat & drink. I am staying in town with my brother Reginald who is a painter, & has very agreeable rooms. He is very good to me & trots me out to see people whom otherwise I should scarcely be able to meet.

  I heard [Frederick] Maurice preach today in Lincolns Inn. It was on Faith, Hope, & Charity. He explained that this charity is not human—but Divine—& to be enjoyed in communion with God. It was a good & strictly orthodox sermon, & not extempore in any sense. I called at John Chapmans the other day, but he was out, being they said engaged in one of the Hospitals. He has turned Doctor it seems. The fact is I fear that Chapman has done himself mischief by publishing books containing new views & philosophy which the English from the Lord to the Cabmen hate & sneer at. The very beggars in the streets are all conservatives except on the subject of their sores. To speculate in thought in this country in ruin—& sure to lead if persuaded that the Turks & the Chinese are nothing to us. Perhaps we are more like the Japanese than any other people—I mean as regards what Swedenborg would call “our interiors.” The prophets prophesy as they did among the ancient Hebrews & the smooth prophets bear away the bells.

  I met [James] Spedding the other day & had much talk with him but nothing real—but he is a good man & in expression like your Alcott. He is now bringing out his Bacon the work of his whole life. Farewell

  Ever yrs
  Thos Chol.ley

(The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 466-467)

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