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  In the evening went to the phrenological lecture which was pretty interesting. (N.B. I made an erroneous statement about this lecturer a few days ago. I said he had not come up from Boston. He had been engaged on the supposition that Mr Haskins would not come but as Mr H. did come he had to give place).

  I have but this moment received yours of 31st ult. and was greatly relieved by the breaking of your long silence. Yet it saddens and surprises me to know that your article was not paid for by Graham; and, since my honor is involved in the matter, I will see that you are paid, and that at no distant day. I shall not forget the matter, and hope you will not feel annoyed at my interference in the business. I choose to speak about it, and don’t believe Graham will choose to differ with me. Don’t fear for my time; I expect to visit Philadelphia on my own business next week, and will have time to look into the matter.

  As to “Katahdin and the Maine Woods,” I will take it and send you the money if I cannot dispose of it more to your advantage within the week ensuing. I hope I can.

Yours,
Horace Greeley

We wonder that the sinner does not confess his sin. When we are weary with travel, we lay down our load and rest by the wayside. So, when we are weary with the burden of life, why do we not lay down this load of falsehoods which we have volunteered to sustain, and be refreshed as never mortal was? Let the beautiful laws prevail. Let us not weary ourselves by resisting them. When we would rest our bodies we cease to suppose them; we recline on the lap of the earth. So, when we would rest our spirits, we must recline on the Great Spirit. Let things alone; let them weigh what they will; let them soar or fall. To succeed is letting only one thing alone in a winter morning, if it be only one poor frozen-thawed apple that hangs on a tree, what a glorious achievement! Methinks it lightens though the dusky universe. What an infinite wealth we have discovered! God reigns, i.e., when we take a liberal view,—when a liberal view is presented us.

Let God alone if need be. Methinks, if I loved him more, I should keep him, I should keep myself rather,—at a more respectable distance. It is not when I am going to meet him, but when I am just turning away and leaving him alone, that I discovered that God is. I say, God. I am not sure that that is the name. You will know whom I mean.

If for a moment we make way with our petty selves, wish no ill to anything, apprehend no ill, cease to be but as the crystal which reflects a ray,—what shall we not reflect! What a universe will appear crystallized and radiant around us!

I should say, let the Muse lead the Muse,—let the understanding lead the understanding, though in any case it is the farthest forward which leads them both. If the Muse accompany, she is no muse, but an amusement. The Muse should lead like a star which is very far off; but that does not imply that we are to follow foolishly, falling into sloughs and over precipices, for it is not foolish, but understanding, which is to follow, which is the Muse appointed to lead, as a fit guide of a fit follower.

Will you will? or will you be embalmed? Will you live, though it be astride of a sunbeam; or will or will you repose safely in the catacombs for a thousand years? In the former case, the worst accident that can happen is that you may break your neck. Will you break your heart, your soul, to save your neck? Necks and pipe-stems are fated to be broken. Men make a great ado about folly of demanding too much of life (or of eternity?) and of endeavoring to live according to that demand It is much ado about nothing. No harm ever come from that quarter. I am not afraid that I shall exaggerate the value and significance of life, but that I shall not be up to the occasion which it is. I shall be sorry to remember that I was there, but I noticed nothing remarkable,—not so much as a principle in disguise; lived in the golden age of hired man; visited Olympus even, but fell asleep after differ, and did not hear the conversation of the gods. I lived in Judæa eighteen hundred years ago, but I never knew that there was such a one as Christ among my contemporaries! If there is anything more glorious than a congress of men a-framing or amending of a constitution going on, which I suspect there is, I desire to see the morning papers. I am greedy of the faintest rumor, though it were got by listening at the key-hole. I will dissipate myself in that direction.

I am glad to know that you find what I have said on Friendship worthy of attention. I wish I could have the benefit of your criticism; it would be a rare help to me. Will you not communicate it?

  The bluebird carries the sky on his back.

  I am going over the hills in the rear of the windmill site and along Peter’s path . . .

  One side of the village street, which runs east and west, appears a month in advance of the other. I go down the street on the wintry side; I return through summer . . .

  The moon appears to be full to-night. About 8.30 P. M. I walked to the Clamshell Hill . . .

  Henry D. Thoreau

  I wish you to write me an article on Ralph Waldo Emerson, his Works and Ways, extending to one hundred pages, or so, of letter sheet like this, to take the form of a review of his writings, but to give some idea of the Poet, the Genius, the Man,—with some idea of the New England scenery and home influence, which have combined to make him what he is. Let it be calm, searching, and impartial; nothing like adulation, but a just summing up of what he is and what he has done. I mean to get this into the “Westminster Review,” but if not acceptable there, I will publish it elsewhere. I will pay you fifty dollars for the article when delivered; in advance, if you desire it. Say the word, and I will send the money at once. It is perfectly convenient to do so. Your “Carlyle” article is my model, but you can give us Emerson better than you did Carlyle. I presume he would allow you to write extracts for this purpose from his lectures not yet published. I would delay the publication of the article to suit his publishing arrangements, should that be requested.

  Yours,

  Horace Greeley

  At Hayden’s I hear hylas on two keys or notes . . . The female Populus tremuliformis catkins, narrower and at present more red and somewhat less downy than the male, west side of railroad at Deep Cut.

  P.M.—To Cliffs by boat.

  Did I see crow blackbirds with the red-wings and hear their harsher chattering?

  The water has gone down so much . . .

  P.M.—I go to sail down to the Island and up to Hubbard’s Causeway.

  Most would call it cold to-day. I paddle without gloves. It is a coolness like that of March 29th and 30th, pleasant to breathe, and, perhaps, like that, presaging decidedly warmer weather. It is an amelioration, as nature does nothing suddenly.