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Thoreau writes in his journal:

Pretty good skating on the Great Meadows, slightly raised and smoothed by the thaw and also the rain of (I think) the 23d-24th . . .

P.M.—To Eleazer Davis’s Hill, and made a fire on the ice, merely to see the flame and smell the smoke . . .

(Journal, 13:108)

26 January 1862. Concord, Mass.

A. Bronson Alcott writes in his journal:

I take tea again with Thoreau. He is no better, as busy as ever with his books and manuscripts, enjoys his friends, and seems anticipating his summons at any moment (The Journals of Bronson Alcott, 346).

26 July 1840. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

When I consider how, after sunset, the stars come our gradually in troops from behind the hills and woods. I confess that I could not have contrived a more curious and inspiring night (Journal, 1:170).

26 July 1846. Concord, Mass.

Bronson Alcott writes in his journal:

Thoreau spent an hour or two, conversing mostly on his late imprisonment in jail (The Journals of Bronson Alcott, 184).

26 July 1849. Concord, N.H.

The New Hampshire Patriot carries a review of A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers:

This is a remarkable volume and it[s] author is a remarkable man. The title is very unpretending and gives but a faint idea of the contents of the work. Few men think as much as they should. All is action; and if one is only busy about something, it is enough; no one can say contemptuously that he is idle—Now to us it seems that this fedeting, itching, hustling turn of mind might frequently with profit be exchanged for a more meditative and thoughtful habit, which should enlarge the understanding and open the heart, develop the rason and chasten the passions. The author of the work before us, is a man of thought—retired from the busy scenes of life, he turns the mental eye inward and endeavors to read the mysterious page of his own soul. Again looking at objects around which meet his senses. he reads lessons of wisdom. To him the very stones preach sermons and the reeds become eloquent. The thread of his narrative is very simple, but upon it he has strung pearls. With a single companion in his little boat, he courses leisurely down the Concord and up the Merrimack Rivers, some sixty miles or more and gives us the reflections and observations of each day. He discourses to us about old inhabitants—describes the genius of fishes—hears the “church-going bell” and talks about modern religion and its inconsistencies—seems strangely inclined to sympathize with the Ancient Greeks and Romans, with their Myths and many Gods—utters deep-felt thoughts about conscience, its office and uses—touches his lyre and gives us a sweet poem—discourses of the old Poets and with them glories over our relics and antiquities, and cares more for them than those of Egypt—moralizes on Friendship, and in fine, gives utterance to a thousand beautiful thoughts upon material and immaterial earth, air and heaven, until on closing the book we find ourselves in love with the author, satisfied with ourselves and at peace with the world. We do not by any means endorse the author’s Pantheism, but will let it stand or fall for itself.

26 July 1850.

New York, N.Y. The New-York Daily Tribune reports:

Among the remains [of the Elizabeth], however, was a trunk belonging to the late Margaret Fuller Ossoli. We were promptly notified of its arrival by Mr. E. J. Fowler, Assistant Store-Keeper, through whose kind aid and that of the Custom-House Officers, the necessary formalities were speedily adjusted, and little time was lost in placing the sad relics in the hands of her family. The lock of the trunk had been wrenched off by the plunderers of Fire Island, and no doubt some of the contents removed. Fortunately, the manuscripts are still capable of restoration, though it is to be feared the most valuable papers are lost . . .

Mr. Henry D. Thoreau is still on Fire Island, and Mr. W[illiam]. E[llery]. Channing, the brother in law of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, leaves this morning for the same place. We shall probably receive further intelligence in the course of the day.

Boston, Mass. A. Bronson Alcott writes in his journal:

He tells me (Emerson) [Ralph Waldo Emerson] that W. H. Channing [William Henry Channing] and Henry Thoreau have gone to Fire Island in hopes of recovering the remains; also the work on Italy (The Journals of Bronson Alcott, 232).

26 July 1851.

Concord, Mass. Thoreau writes in his journal:

At Cohasset.—Called on Captain Snow, who remembered hearing fishermen say that they ‘fitted out at Thoreau’s;’ remembered him.¹ He had commanded a packet between Boston or New York and England. Spoke of the wave which he sometimes met on the Atlantic coming against the wind, and which indicated that the wind was blowing from an opposite quarter at a distance, the undulation travelling faster than the wind.

(Journal, 2:348-349)

New York, N.Y. Isaac Thomas Hecker writes to Thoreau (Paulist Archives, Washington, D.C.).

¹^{Thoreau’s grandfather, Jean Thoreau, kept a sea-outfitting store in Boston.}

26 July 1852. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

By my intimacy with nature I find myself withdrawn from man. My interest in the sun and the moon, in the morning and the evening, compels me to solitude.

The grandest picture in the world is the sunset sky. in your higher moods what man is there to meet? You are of necessity isolated. The mind that perceives clearly any natural beauty is in that instant withdrawn from human society. My desire for society is infinitely increased; my fitness for any actual society is diminished.

Went to Cambridge and Boston to-day . . .

(Journal, 4:258-260)

Thoreau writes to William H. Sweetser:

Wm H. Sweetser This is the way I write when I have a poor pen and still poorer ink.

Yrs,
Henry D. Thoreau

(The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 287)

Thoreau also writes to H.G.O. Blake:

Mr. Blake,

Here come the sentences which I promised you. You may keep them if you will regard & use them as the disconnected fragments of what I may find to be a completer essay, on looking over my journal at last, and may claim again.

I send you the thoughts on chastity & sensuality with diffidence and shame, not knowing how far I speak to the condition o£ men generally, or how far I betray my peculiar defects. Pray enlighten me on this point if you can.

Henry D. Thoreau

(The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 288)

26 July 1853. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

I reckon that about nine tenths of the flowers of the year have now blossomed. Dog-days,—sultry, sticky (?) weather,—now when the corn is topped out. Clouds without rain. Rains when it will. Old spring and summer signs fail.

P. M.—To Fair Haven Hill.

The lycopodium which I see not yet out. The Potentilla Norvegica is common and tall, the tallest and now most flourishing of the potentillas. The xyris, some time, on Hubbard’s meadow, south of the water-plantain, whose large, finely branched, somewhat pyramidal panicle of flowers is attractive. The bobolinks are just beginning to fly in flocks, and I hear their link link . . .

(Journal, 5:335-337)

26 July 1854. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

P.M.—To lime-kiln via rudbeckia . . . (Journal, 6:411).

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