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24 February 1840. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes his poem “The Freshet” in his journal:

A stir is on the Worcester hills,
And Nobscot too the valley fills;
Where scarce you’d fill an acorn cup
In summer when the sun was up,
No more you’ll find a cup at all,
But in its place a waterfall.

O that the moon were in conjunction
To the dry land’s extremest unction,
Till every (like and pier were flooded,
And all the land with islands studded,
For once to teach all human kind,
Both those that plow and those that grind,
There is no fixture in the land,
That all unstable is as sand . . .

(Journal, 1:122-124)
24 February 1849. Salem, Mass.

The Salem Observer notes:

  Next week, we hear, the members are to be favored with a concluding lecture on Economy, from H. T. Thoreau, the pencil-maker and philosopher (Studies in the American Renaissance, 1995, 166).
24 February 1852.

Concord, Mass. Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—Railroad causeway . . .

  Talked to two men and a boy fishing on Fair Haven, just before sunset. (Heard the dog bark in Baker’s wood as I came down the brook.) They had caught a fine parcel of pickerel and perch. The perch especially were full of spawn. the boy had caught a large bream which had risen to the surface, in his hands. They had none of them ever seen one before in the winter, though they sometimes catch chivins. They had also kicked to death a muskrat that was crossing the southwest end of the pond on the snow. They told me of two otters being killed in Sudbury this winter, beside some coons near here.

(Journal, 3:319-320)

New York, N.Y. Horace Greeley writes to Thoreau:

  My Friend Thoreau,—

  Thank you for your remembrance, though the motto you suggest is impracticable, The People’s Course is full for the season; and even if it were not, your name would probably not pass; because it is not merely necessary that each lecturer should continue well the course, but that he shall be known as the very man beforehand. Whatever draws less than fifteen hundred hearers damages the finances of the movement, so low is the admission, and so large the expense. But, Thoreau, you are a better speaker than many, but a far better writer still. Do you wish to swap any of your “wood-notes wild” for dollars? If yea, and you will sell me some articles, shorter, if you please, than the former, I will try to coin them for you. Is it a bargain? Yours,

  Horace Greeley

(The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 276-278)
24 February 1854. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Walden and Fair Haven. In Wheeler’s Wood by railroad . . . In Moore’s Swamp it is frozen about 4 inches deep in open land . . . (Journal, 6:138-139).
24 February 1855. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Staples said the other day that he heard Phillips speak at the State-House. By thunder! he never heard a man that could speak like him. His words come so easy. It was just like picking up chips.

  Minott says that Messer tells him he saw a striped squirrel (!) yesterday. His cat caught a mole lately, not a star-nosed one, but one of those that heave up the meadow.

(Journal, 7:210-212)
24 February 1856. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Dr. Jarvis tells me that he thinks there was as much snow as this in ’35, when he lived in the Parkman house and drove his sleigh from November 23rd to March 30th excepting one day.
(Journal, 8:186)
24 February 1857. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  A fine spring morning. The ground is almost completely bare again. There has been a frost in the night. Now, at 8.30, it is melted and wets my feet like a dew. The water on the meadow this still, bright morning is smooth as in April. I am surprised to hear the strain of a song sparrow from the riverside, and as I cross from the causeway to the hill, thinking of the bluebird, I that instant hear one’s note from deep in the softened air . . .

  If I should make the least concession, my friend would spurn me. I am obeying his law as well as my own.

  Where is the actual friend you love? Ask from what hill the rainbow’s arch springs! It adorns and crowns the earth.

  Our friends are our kindred, of our species. There are very few of our species on the globe . . .

  P.M.—To Walden . . .

(Journal, 9:278-280)
24 February 1858. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  I see, at Minot Pratt’s, rhodora in bloom in a pitcher with water andromeda. Went through that long swamp northeast of Boaz’s Meadow . . . On the side of the meadow moraine just north of the boulder field, I see barberry bushes three inches in diameter and ten feet high . . .
(Journal, 10:285-286)
24 February 1859. Worcester, Mass.

A. Bronson Alcott writes to his wife Abigail:

  Thoreau left Blake’s [H.G.O. Blake] last Thursday morning. He read two lectures in B.’s [H.G.O. Blake] parlours, and won many praises from his auditors. Mr. B. as true and devoted as ever (The Letters of A. Bronson Alcott, 300).
24 February 1860. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  2 P.M.—Thermometer 42. A very springlike day, so much sparkling light in the air.

  The clouds reflecting a dazzling brightness from their edges, and though it is rather warm (the wind raw) there are many, finely divided, in a stream southwest to northeast all the afternoon, and some most brilliant mother-o’-pearl. I never saw the green in it more distinct . . .

(Journal, 13:160-161)

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