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  In the side of the high bank by the Leaning Hemlocks, there were some curious crystallizations. Wherever the water, or other causes, had formed a hole in the bank, its throat and outer edge, like the entrance to a citadel of the olden time, bristled with a glistening ice armor. In one place you might see minute ostrich feathers, which seemed the waving plumes of the warriors filing into the fortress, in another the glancing fan-shaped banners of the Lilliputian host, and in another the needle-shaped particles, collected into bundles resembling the plumes of the pine, might pass for a phalanx of spears. The whole hill was like an immense quartz rock, with minute crystals sparkling form innumerable crannies. I tried to fancy that there was a disposition in these crystallizations to take the forms of the contiguous foliage.

  We believe that concerning this lecture there are various opinions in the community. With all deference to the sagacity of those who can see a good deal when there is little to be seen—hear much where there is hardly anything to be heard—perceive a wonderful depth of meaning where in fact nothing is really meant, we would take the liberty of expressing the opinion that a certain ingredient to a good lecture was, in some instances, wanting.

The lecturer’s remarks on the actual cost of living, were not at all startling, there are, we have been often told, families of eight or ten souls in this town, who live a year on one hundred and fifty dollars, which falls considerably within Mr. T.’s estimate. We were pleased with his observations on philanthropy; doing good, he said, does not agree with his constitution; and if he should see a man coming towards his house with such intentions towards himself, he would run for his life. There are many people in this world whose spiritual constitutions seem to lack all the elements of good, and when they undertake to be philanthropic, if they do not burn buildings in heaven and make deserts on earth, or commit any other havoc, ascribed to Phaethon by Mr. Thoreau, and not mentioned in Ovid, they scorch the souls of the hapless victims of their charity, and exert an influence fatal as the Sirce, on whatever they approach.

Mr. Thoreau’s lecture certainly lacked system, and some of his flights were rather too lofty for the audience; but in originality of thought, force of expression, and flow of genuine humor, he has few equals. His frequent and apposite classical allusions allowed that he is well versed in ancient lore, and possesses a retentive memory. His style and enunciation alternately dwelling on, and jerking out his words—are decidedly Emersonian, and it is evident that in this respect, he is an imitator; a consideration which always detracts much from the force of genius: the affectation of another’s style creates in the mind feelings akin to those which arise on beholding an ambitious urchin dressed in his father’s coat and boots. We guess Mr. Thoreau often relieved the “tedium” of his secluded life by frequent intercourse with his neighbor, Mr. [Ralph Waldo] Emerson. Some of the lecturer’s Latin Antitheses, and quaint puns, we fear, were not exactly appreciated; and many local allusions might have been omitted, having no interest of a Gloucester audience.

On the whole, though the lecture was entertaining and original, it was not calculated to do much good, and we think may be considered rather a literary curiosity, than a practical dissertation on economy.

  By half past three the sun is fairly out. I go to the Cliffs . . .

  Now all the clouds grow black, and I give up to-night; but unexpectedly, half an hour later when I look out, having got home, I find that the evening star is shining brightly, and, beneath all, the west horizon is glowing red,—that dun atmosphere instead of clouds reflecting the sun,—and I detect, just above the horizon, the narrowest imaginable white sickle of the new moon.

  A very bright and pleasant day with remarkably soft wind from a little north of west. The frost has come out so in the rain of yesterchty that I avoid the muddy plowed fields and keep on the grass ground, which shines with moisture. I think I do not remember such and so much pleasant, springlike weather as this and some other days of this month . . .

  Think of the life of a kitten, ours for instance: last night her eyes set in a fit, doubtful if she will ever come out of it, and she is set away in a basket and submitted to the recuperative powers of nature; this morning running up the clothes-pole and erecting her back in frisky sport to every passer.

  P.M.—Surveying for Cyrus Jarvis.

  Snows more or less all day, making an inch or two.