Log Search Results

  The increased length of the days is very observable of late. What is a winter unless you have risen and gone abroad frequently before sunrise and by starlight? . . .

  At noon, go to Worcester.

  You will be glad to hear that I am safe at my mothers home on Salop after a most disagreeable passage to England in the steamer America.

  I have accepted the offer of a Captaincy in the Salop Militia, & it is probably that we shall be sent before very long to relieve other troops who are proceeding to the seat of the war: but if the strife continue to consume men at its present rate of 1000 a week we shall be involved in it before the year is out by volunteering into the Line.

  Meanwhile I shall use my best diligence to learn all I can of my men & prepare myself for the active service to which I impatiently look forward. Nothing can be more awful than the position of our poor army. At the present rate of mortality they will be finished up by the time they are most wanted; & it will be reserved for the French to take Sevastopol.

  We are learning a tremendous lesson: I hope we shall profit by it & so far from receding I trust we shall continue hostilities with greater energy & greater wisdom than before.

  I would rather see the country decimated than an unglorious or even accommodating peace.

  My passion is to see the fellow crushed or to die in the attempt.

  Lord John [Russell] has resigned & the ministry is, we all think, breaking up. It was high time considering the mismanagement of New Castle.

  We are in the midst of a great snow (great at least for us). Colds are rifle in the Parish so that “coughing drowns the Parsons saw.”

  I find the red brick houses are the most striking feature in revisiting this country. Though a great deal smaller than your elegant villas or cottages on the whole please my eye & look more homey, a very suggestion of good cheer.

  There is such a quietness & excessive sleepiness about Shropshire—the only excitement being an occasional alehouse brawl—that is it hardly possible to imagine we are at war!

  The fact is the common people never see a newspaper—& such is their confidence in “the Queen’s army” that they believe prolonged resistance on the past of any power would be impossible & absurd. My cousin in the Crimea still serves contrary to my expectations. We have heard a good anecdote from him. Early on Christmas morning the remains of the regiment to wh. he belongs gathering painfully together, & as day dawned they all sung the fine English Carol “Christmas Awake.” It is rather touching.

  I find all here quite well & hearty & hope you people will be the same when this arrives at Concord—a place I shall often revisit in spirit. Pray remember me to your father mother & sister—to Mr. Emerson, Channing, & Do not forget your promise to come over sometime to England, which you will find a very snug & hospitable country—though perhaps decaying, & not on such a huge scale as America.

  My romance—the Dream of my life—without which it is not worth living for me—is—a glorious commonwealth. I am persuaded that things must in their way to this, be greatly worse before they can become better. Turn it how you will, our English nation no longer stands upon the Living Laws of the Eternal God—we have turned ourselves to an empire & cotton bags & leprosy of prodigious manufacture. Let that all go & let us grow great men again instead of dressing up dolls for the market. I feel we are strong enough to live a better life than this one which now festers in all our joints.

  So much for the confession of all thorough English conservative as you know me to be!

  You have my direction so pray write. Your letter will be forwarded to wherever I may be

  Dear Thoreau
  Ever affectionately yours
  Thos Cholmondeley

  Measured, this afternoon, the snow in the same fields which I measured just a week ago, to see how it had settled . . .

  I have been so busy surveying of late, that I have scarcely had time to “think” of your proposition, or ascertain what I have for you. The more fatal objection to printing my last Maine-wood experience, is that my Indian guide, whose words & deeds I report very faithfully,—and they are the most interesting part of the story,—knows how to read, and takes a newspaper, so that I could not face him again.

  The most available paper which I have is an account of an excursion into the Maine woods in ’53; the subjects of which are the Moose, the Pine Tree & the Indian. Mr. Emerson could tell you about it, for I remember reading it to his family, after having read it as a lecture to my townsmen. It consists of about one hundred manuscript pages, or a lecture & a half, as I measure. The date could perhaps be omitted, if in the way. On account of other engagements, I could not get it ready for you under a month from this date.

  If you think that you would like to have this, and will state the rate of compensation, I will inform you at once whether I will prepare it for you.

Yrs truly
Henry D. Thoreau

  Walking on the ice by the side of the river this very pleasant morning, I see many minnows (may be dace) from one and a half to four inches long which have come out, through holes or cracks a foot wide more or less, where the current has worn through . . .

  Each pleasant morning like this all creatures recommence life with new resolutions,—even these minnows, methinks.

  That snow which in the afternoons these days is thawing and dead—in which you slump—is now hard and crisp, supporting your weight, and has a myriad brilliant sparkles in the sunlight . . .

Dear Sir

  Enclosed please find note of my brother L.L. Smith for $100 payable in three months with my endorsement and acknowledge the receipt thereof to him

Yours truly
Chauncey Smith