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30 November 1853. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  8 A.M.—To river, to examine roots . . .

  P.M.—Down river by boat and inland to the green house beyond Blood’s . . .

  Though there were some clouds in the west, there was a bright silver twilight before we reached our boat. C. remarked it descending into the hollows immediately after sunset . . .

(Journal, 5:527-532)

Concord, Mass. Barzillai Frost writes to Thomas Wentworth Higginson:

  I have been in this evening to see Mr. Thoreau, in order to learn any facts in regard to Mr. [William Ellery] Channing. He has been out in the boat with Mr. T. this afternoon and appears as usual (MS, Channing family papers. Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston, Mass.)
30 November 1854. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—Sail down river.

  No ice, but strong cold wind; river slightly over meadows. Was that large diver which was on the edge of the shore and scooted away down-stream as usual, throwing the water about for a quarter of a mile, then diving, some time afterward flying up-stream over our head, the goosandcr or red-breasted merganser? . . .

(Journal, 7:77)
30 November 1855. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  River skimmed over behind Dodd’s and elsewhere. Got in my boat. River remained iced over all day.

  This evening I received [Thomas] Cholmondeley’s gift of Indian books, forty-four volumes in all, which came by Canada, reaching Boston on the morning of the 24th. Left Liverpool the 10th.

  Goodwin and Farmer think that a dog will not ouch the dead body of a mink, it smells so strongly . . .

  I asked Aunt L. [Louisa Dunbar] to-night why Scheeter Potter was so called. She said, because his neighbors regarded him so small a man that they said in jest that it was his business to make mosquitoes’ bills. He was accused of catching his neighbor’s hens in a trap and eating them. But he was crazy.

  William Wheeler says that he went a-spearing on the 28th (night before Thanksgiving) and, besides pouts and pickerel, caught two great suckers . . .

(Journal, 8:36-37)
30 November 1856. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Cliffs vice Hubbard’s Grove.

  Several inches of snow, but a rather soft and mild air still. Now see the empty chalices of the blue-curls and the rich brown-fruited pinweed above the crust. (The very cat was full of spirits this morning, rushing about and frisking on the snow-crust, which bore her alone: When I came home from New Jersey the other day, was struck with the sudden growth and stateliness of our cat Min,—his cheeks puffed out like a regular grimalkin. I suspect it is a new coat of fur against the winter chiefly. The cat is a third bigger than a month ago, like a patriarch wrapped in furs; and a mouse a day, I hear, is nothing to him now.) This as I go through the Depot Field, where the stub ends of corn-stalks rise above the snow . . .

  Sophia, describing the first slight whitening of snow a few weeks ago, said that when she awoke she noticed a certain bluish-white reflection on the wall and, looking out, saw the ground whitened with snow . . .

(Journal, 9:140-143)
30 November 1857. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  A still, warm, cloudy, rain-threatening day.

  Surveying the J. Richardson lot.

  The air is full of geese. I saw five flocks within an hour, about 10 A.M., containing from thirty to fifty each, and afterward two more flocks, making in all from two hundred and fifty to three hundred at least, all flying southwest over Goose and Walden Ponds . . .

(Journal, 10:216-217)
30 November 1858. Concord, Mass.
Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Walden with Channing, and Fair Haven Hill . . .

  Just before the sun disappeared we saw, just in the edge of the horizon westward from Acton, maybe eight miles off, a very brilliant fire or light, just like a star of the first magnitude or the house burning without smoke, and this, though so far and so brilliant, was undoubtedly only the sun reflected from some gilt weathercock there . . .

(Journal, 11:352-360)
30 November 1859. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  I am one of a committee of four, viz. Simon Brown (Ex-Lieutenant-Governor), R. W. Emerson, myself, and John Keyes (late High Sheriff), instructed by a meeting of citizens to ask liberty of the selectmen to have the bell of the first parish tolled at the time Captain Brown [John Brown] is being hung, and while we shall be assembled in the town house to express our sympathy with him. I applied to the selectmen yesterday. Their names are George M. Brooks, Barzillai Hudson, and Julius Smith. After various delays they at length answer me to-night that they “are uncertain whether they have any control over the bell, but that, in any case, they will not give their consent to have the bell tolled.” Beside their private objections, they are influenced by the remarks of a few individuals. Dr. Bartlett tells me that Rockwood Hoar said he “hoped no such foolish thing would be done,” and he also named Stedman Buttrick, John Moore, Cheney (and others added Nathan Brooks, senior, and Francis Wheeler) as strongly opposed to it; said that he had heard “five hundred” (!) damn me for it, and that he had no doubt that if it were done some counter-demonstration would be made . . .
(Journal, 12:457-458)

A. Bronson Alcott writes in his journal:

  See Thoreau again, and Emerson, concerning the Brown Services on Friday. We do not intend to have any speeches made on the occasion, but have selected appropriate passages from Brown’s words, from the poets, and from the Scriptures, to be read by Thoreau, Emerson, and myself, chiefly; and the selection and arrangement is ours.
(The Journals of Bronson Alcott, 322)
30 October 1837. Concord, Mass.
Thoreau writes in his journal:
  First we have the gray twilight of the poets, with dark and barry clouds diverging to the zenith. Then glows the intruding cloud in the east, as if it bore a precious jewel in its bosom; a deep round gulf of golden gray indenting its upper edge, while slender rules of fleecy vapor, radiating from the common centre, like light-armed troops, fall regularly into their places.
(Journal, 1:8)
30 October 1852. Concord, Mass.

On 1 November, Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Day before yesterday to the Cliffs in the rain, misty rain. As I approached their edge, I saw the woods beneath, Fair Haven Pond, and the hills across the river,—which, owing to the mist, was as far as I could see, and seemed much further in consequence . . .
(Journal, 4:405)
30 October 1853. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Sunday. A white frost this morning, lasting late into the day. This has settled the accounts of many plants which lingered still.

  P. M.—To Hubbard’s Meadow Wood . . .

  What with the rains and frosts and winds, the leaves have fairly fallen now. You may say the fall has ended. Those which still hang on the trees are withered and dry. I am surprised at the change since last Sunday. Looking at the distant woods, I perceive that there is no yellow nor scarlet there now. They are (except the evergreens) a mere dull, dry red. The autumnal tints are gone . . .

(Journal, 5:460-462)

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