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26 August 1857. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—Up Assabet with Bradford and Hoar.

  B[radford]. tells me he found the Malaxis lilifolia on Kineo. Saw there a tame gull as large as a hen, brown dove-color . . .

(Journal, 10:14)
26 August 1858. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Great Meadows . . .

  Minott tells me that once, one very dry summer, when but part of these meadows had been cut, Moore and Hosmer got the owners to agree to have them burnt over, in the expectation that it would improve the quality of the grass, and they made quite an affair of it,—had a chowder, cooked by Moore’s boys, etc.; but the consequence was that this wool-grass came in next year more than ever . . .

(Journal, 11:125-129)
26 August 1859. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  The dust is laid, the streets washed, the leaves—the first ripe crop—fallen, owing to yesterday’s copious rain. It is clearer weather, and the creak of the crickets is more distinct, just as the air is clearer . . .

  P.M.—To Fair Haven Hill . . . (Journal, 12:292-296).

26 August 1860. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  2 P.M.—To White Pond.

  I am interested by the little ridge or cliff of foam which the breeze has raised along the White Pond shore, the westerly breeze causing the wavelets to lapse on the shore and mix the water with the air graduallv. Though this is named White Pond from the whiteness of its sandy shore, the line of foam is infinitely whiter . . .

(Journal, 14:62-64)
26 December 1839. Scituate, Mass.

Ellen Sewall writes to her aunt Prudence Ward:

  The poems Henry so kindly sent Father, came safely and pleased us much. Several of them I liked very much. “The fossil flower”, “The prayer”, and the sonnet entitled “Beauty”, are my favorites I think . . .

  I have wished you and John and Henry here a thousand times this week, for the ocean has, if possible, looked finer than it did last week . . . I hope dear Aunty you have had no more occasion for Thorough Wort, alias Thoreauwort . . .

  Does Dr. Thoreau continue to give advice gratis? I do not clean my brasses half as quick without the accompaniment of his flute.

(transcript in The Thoreau Society Archives at the Thoreau Institute at Walden Woods; MS, private owner)
26 December 1841. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  When I hear this bell ring, I am carried back to years and Sabbaths when I was newer and more innocent, I fear, than now, and it seems to me as if there were a world within a world (Journal, 1:300).
26 December 1847. Manchester, England.

Ralph Waldo Emerson writes to his wife Lidian:

  Our Spartan-Buddhist Henry is a Père or bon-homme malgré lui. and it is a great comfort daily to think of him there with you (The Letters of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 3:455).
26 December 1848. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes to George Thatcher:

  I hear that the Gloucester paper has me in print again, and the Republican—whatever they may say is not to the purpose only as it serves as an advertisement of me. There are very few whose opinion I value (The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 234).
26 December 1850. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  The pine woods seen from the hilltops, now that the ground is covered with snow, are not green but a dark brown, greenish-brown perhaps . . . Walden not yet more than half frozen over (Journal, 2:130).
26 December 1851. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  I observed this afternoon that when Edmund Hosmer came home from sledding wood and unyoked his oxen, they made a business of stretching and scratching themselves with their horns and rubbing against the posts, and licking themselves in those parts which the yokes had prevented their reaching all day. The human way in which they behaved affected me even pathetically. They were too serious to be glad that their day’s work was done; they had not spirits enough left for that. They behaved as a tired woodchopper might. This was to me a new phase in the life of the laboring ox. It is painful to think how they may sometimes be overworked. I saw that even the ox could be weary with toil.
(Journal, 3:158)

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