Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in “The Allegash and East Branch” chapter of The Maine Woods:
The Penobscot Indians seem to be more social, even, than the whites. Ever and anon in the deepest wilderness of Maine, you come to the log but of a Yankee or Canada settler, but a Penobscot never takes up his residence in such a solitude. They are not even scattered about on their islands in the Penobscot, which are all within the settlements, but gathered together on two or three,—though not always on the best soil,—evidently for the sake of society. I saw one or two houses not now used by them, because, as our Indian Polis said, they were too solitary . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
P.M.—I see two or three birds which I take to be rose-breasted grosbeaks of this year . . .
Warren Miles tells me that in mowing lately he cut in two a checkered “adder,” by his account it was the chicken snake,—and there was in its stomach a green snake, dead and partly digested, and he was surprised to find that they ate them . . .
Ralph Waldo Emerson writes to Elizabeth Hoar:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau also writes to H. G. O. Blake:
I some time ago asked Channing [William Ellery Channing] if he would not spend a week with me on Monadnoc; but he did not answer decidedly. Lately he has talked of an excursion somewhere, but I said that now I must wait till my sister returned from Plymouth, N.H. She has returned,—and accordingly, on receiving your note this morning, I made known its contents to Channing, in order to see how far I was engaged with him. The result is that he decides to go to Monadnoc to-morrow morning; so I must defer making an excursion with you and Brown [Theophilus Brown] to another season. Perhaps you will call as you pass the mountain. I send this by the earliest mail.
P.S.—That was a very insufficient visit you made here the last time. My mother is better, though far from well; and if you should chance along here any time after your journey, I trust that we shall all do better.
Ralph Waldo Emerson writes to Samuel Gray Ward:
Concord, Mass. Sophia Peabody Hawthorne writes to Thoreau:
Will you be kind enough to take to New York the letter to Mr [John Louis] O’Sullivan, & if it be convenient for you, to carry my letters to Boston? If you cannot call at West st, it is just as well to put it into the Boston Post Office.
S A. Hawthorne
Boston, Mass. Charles Lane writes to Thoreau:
As well as my wounded hands permit I have scribbled something for friend [Isaac Thomas] Hecker which if agreeable may be the opportunity for entering into closer relations with him; a course I think likely to be mutually encouraging, as well as beneficial to all men. But let it reach him in the manner most conformable to your own feelings.
That from all perils of a false position you may shortly be relieved and landed in the position where you feel “at home” is the sincere wish of your most friendly
Charles Lane
M. M. Colburn writes to Thoreau:
Some years since, you repeated to me a quotation from an old book (Saxon I think)—part of the speech of a British noble on the question of admitting Christian teachers into England. The substance of the quotation was a comparison of ife with the flight of a bird through a warm & lighted room—coming from darkness, and going into darkness again. Can you favor me with the quotation in full, and also inform me of the source from which it was taken? By so doing you will lay me under great obligation to you.
Respectfully Yours
M. M. Colburn
T. W. Higginson writes to Thoreau:
I hear with pleasure that you are to lecture in Newburyport this week. Myself & wife are now living in town again, & we shall be very glad to see you at our house, if you like it better than a poor hotel. And you shall go as early as you please on Saturday—which is the great point, I find, with guests, however unflattering to the hosts.
If I do not hear to the contrary I shall expect you, & will meet you at the cars.
Very sincerely yours
T. W. Higginson
Thoreau writes in his journal:
I see that muskrats have not only erected cabins, but, since the river rose, have in some places dug galleries a rod into the bank, pushing the sand behind them into the water . . . One I explored this afternoon was formed in a low shore (Hubbard’s Bathing-Place), at a spot where there were no weeds to make a cabin of . . .
At J. Hosmer’s tub spring, I dug out a small bullfrog (?) in the sandy mud at the bottom of the tub—it was lively enough to hop – and brought it home . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
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