Thoreau writes in his journal:
Ralph Waldo Emerson writes to Thoreau:
I have your letter this evening by the advent of Mrs [Timothy] Fuller to [William] Ellery C[hanning] and am heartily glad of the robust greeting. Ellery brought it to me & as it was opened wondered whether he had not some right to expect a letter. So I read him what belonged to him. He is usually in good spirits & always in good wit, forms stricter ties with George Minott, and is always merry with the dulness of a world which will not support him. I am sorry you will dodge my hunters, T[appan] & W[aldo]. T. is a very satisfactory person only I could be very willing he should read a little more. he speaks seldom but easily & strongly, & moves like a deer. H James too has gone to England—I am the more sorry because you liked him so well. In Concord no events. We have had the new Hazlitt’s Montaigne which contained the “Journey into Italy”—new to me, & the narrative of the death of the renowned friend Etienne de la Boétie. Then I have had Saadis’ Gulistan Ross’s translation; and Marot; & Roman de la Rose; and Robert of Gloucester’s rhymed chronicle. Where are my translations of Pindar for the Dial? Fail not to send me something good & strong. They send us the “Revista Ligure,” a respectable magazine from Genoa; “la Democratie Pacifique,” a bright daily paper from Paris; the Deutsche Schnellpost,—German New York paper; and Phalanx from London; the New Englander from New Haven, which angrily affirms that the Dial is not as good as the Bible. By all these signs we infer that we make some figure in the literary world though we are not yet encouraged by a swollen publication list. Lidian says she will write you a note herself. If as we have heard, you will come home to Thanksgiving, you must bring something that will serve for Lyceum lecture—the craving thankless town!
Yours affectionately,
Waldo Emerson—
James Russell Lowell’s A Fable for Critics is published in which he refers to Thoreau:
Tread in Emerson’s tracks with legs painfully short;
How he jumps, how he strains, and gets red in the face,
To keep step with the mystagogue’s natural pace!
He follows as close as a stick to a rocket,
His fingers exploring the prophet’s each pocket.
Fie, for shame, brother bard; with good fruit of your own,
Can’t you let neighbor Emerson’s orchards alone?
Besides, ’tis no use, you’ll not find e’en a core,—
—has picked up all the windfalls before.
They might strip every tree, and E. never would catch ’em,
His Hesperides have no rude dragon to watch ’em;
When they send him a dishfull, and ask him to try ’em,
He never suspects how the sly rogues came by ’em;
He wonders why ’tis there are none such his trees on,
And thinks ’em best he has tasted this season.
Thoreau writes in his journal on 26 October:
Concord, Mass. Ralph Waldo Emerson records in his account book:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Another perfect Indian-summer day. One of my oars makes a creaking sound like a block in a harbor, such a sound as would bring tears into an old sailor’s eyes. It suggests to me adventure and seeking one’s fortune . . .
The autumnal tints grow gradually darker and duller, but not less rich to my eye. And now a hillside near the river exhibits the darkest, crispy reds and browns of every hue, all agreeably blended. At the foot, next the meadow, stands a front rank of smoke-like maples bare of leaves, intermixed with yellow birches . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
P.M.—Sailed down river to the pitch pine hill behind Abner Buttrick’s, with a strong northwest wind, and cold. Saw a telltale on Cheney’s shore, close to the water’s edge . . .
Thoreau writes to Ticknor & Fields on 24 February 1862:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
The maples being bare, the great hornet nests are exposed . . . (Journal, 7:66).
Cambridge, Mass. Thoreau checks out The Vishnu puráńa, a system of Hindu mythology and tradition from Harvard College Library (Companion to Thoreau’s Correspondence, 290).
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
On 1 November, Thoreau writes to his sister Sophia:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
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