Thoreau writes in his journal:
About 8.30 A.M., I go down the river to Ball’s Hill . . .
P.M.—To Walden. R. W. E. [Ralph Waldo Emerson] is sure that he heard a cuckoo to-day . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thermometer at 2 P.M., 71 . . .
P.M.—To Bateman’s Pond . . .
Going over the hill behind S. Brown’s, when the crossed the triangular space between the roads beyond the pump-maker’s, I saw countless little heaps of sand like the small ant-hills, but, looking more closely, the size of the holes (a little less than a quarter of an inch) and the comparative irregularity of the heaps—as if the sand had been brought forth and dropped in greater quantity at once—attracted my attention and I found they were the work of bees . . .
Ellen Tucker Emerson writes to her sister, Edith:
The Boston Transcipt and the Salem Observer note Thoreau’s death.
Concord, Mass. The Concord Monitor prints “Thoreau” by Franklin B. Sanborn, which is later printed in a corrected form on 24 May:
And something plaintive let the robin sing;
Gone is our Woodman, leaving us forlorn,
And veiled with tears the merry face of Spring.
Our woods and pastures he for other groves
Forsakes and wanders now by fairer streams;
Yet not forgetful of his earthly loves,—
Ah, no! for so affection fondly dreams.
Dear One! ’T were shame to weep above thy grave,
Or doubtingly thy soul’s far flight pursue;
Peace and Delight must there await the brave,
And Love attend the loving, wise, and true.
Thy well-kept vows our broken aims shall mend,
Oft as we think of thee, great-hearted friend!
Thoreau attends a meeting of the Institute of 1770 in which Edward Augustus Renouf reads passages from A Few Weeks in Paris during the Residence of the Allied Sovereigns in that Metropolis by Theodore Lyman and the topic “Ought gambling to be punished as a criminal offence?” is debated (The Transcendentalists and Minerva, 1:83).
Henry D. Thoreau checks out The works of the late William Cowper, volume 3 from Harvard College Library (Companion to Thoreau’s Correspondence, 288).
Ralph Waldo Emerson writes in his journal:
Sewall also writes to her aunt Prudence Ward on 18 November:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
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