Thoreau writes in his journal:
Hear and see, of birds, only a tree sparrow in the willows on the Turnpike . . . (Journal, 8:38).
Thoreau writes in his journal:
How I love the simple, reserved countrymen, my neighbors, who mind their own business and let me alone, who never waylaid nor shot at me, to my knowledge, when I crossed their fields, though each one has a gun in his house! For nearly twoscore years I have known, at a distance, these long-suffering men, whom I never spoke to, who never spoke to me, and now feel a certain tenderness for them, as if this long probation were but the prelude to an eternal friendship . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
I carry hatchet and rake in order to explore the Pout’s Nest for frogs and fish,—the pond not being frozen . . . R. W. E. [Ralph Waldo Emerson] saw quite a flock of ducks in the pond (Walden) this afternoon . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
When I hear of John Brown and his wife weeping at length, it is as if the rocks sweated.
Concord, Mass. Thoreau writes in his journal:
Talking with Walcott and Staples to-day, they declared that John Brown did wrong. When I said that I thought he was right, they agreed in asserting that he did wrong because he threw his life away, and that no man had a right to undertake anything which he knew would cost him his life . . .
Boston, Mass. Hobart & Robbins writes to Thoreau:
Dr. Sir
Enclosed are Nine Dollars, to pay our order of the 26th.
Return the enclosed bill receipted.
Yr’s Resp’y
Hobart & Robbins
Thoreau writes his poems “The deeds of kings and meanest hedger” and “The Evening Wind” in his journal:
The eastern mail comes lumbering in,
With outmost waves of Europe’s din;
The western sighs adown the slope,
Or ‘mid the rustling leaves doth grope,
Laden with news from Californ’,
Whate’er transpired hath since morn,
How wags the world by brier and brake,
From hence to Athabasca lake.
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Ralph Waldo Emerson writes in his journal on 4 February:
Lidian Jackson Emerson writes to her husband Ralph Waldo:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Snow quite deep. The sun had set without a cloud in the sky,—a rare occurrence, but I missed the clouds, which make the glory of evening . . .
Venus is now like a little moon in the west, and the lights in the village twinkle like stars. It is perfectly still and not very cold . . .
The reflector of the cars, as I stand over the Deep Cut, makes a large and dazzling light in this air . . .
Now through the Spring Woods and up Fair Haven Hill. Here, in the midst of a clearing where the choppers have been leaving the woods in pieces to-day, and the tops of the pine trees are strewn about half buried in snow, only the saw-logs being carried off, it is stiller and milder than by day . . .
The moonlight now is very splendid in the untouched pine woods above the Cliffs, alternate patches of shade and light . . .
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