Sophia Thoreau writes to Daniel Ricketson, telling him of Thoreau’s condition. Ricketson replies 13 April (The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 652).
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes to Ralph Waldo Emerson:
I fear I have nothing to send you worthy of so good an opportunity. Of New-York I still know but little, though out of so many thousands there are no doubt many units whom it would be worth my while to know. Mr James talks of going to Germany soon with his wife—to learn the language. He says he must know it—can never learn it here—there he may absorb it and is very anxious to learn beforehand where he had best locate himself, to enjoy the advantage of the highest culture, learn the language in its purity, and not exceed his limited means. I referred him to Longfellow—Perhaps you can help him.
I have had a pleasant talk with [W. H.] Channing—and Greeley too it was refreshing to meet. They were both much pleased with your criticism on Carlyle, but thought that you had overlooked what chiefly concerned them in the book — its practical aim and merits.
I have also spent some pleasant hours with W[aldo] & T[appan] at their counting room, or rather intelligence office.
I must still reckon myself with the innumerable army of invalids—undoubtedly in a fair field they would rout the well—though I am tougher than formerly. Methinks I could paint the sleepy God more truly than the poets have done, from more intimate experience. Indeed I have not kept my eyes very steadily open to the things of this world of late, and hence have little to report concerning them. However I trust the awakening will come before the last trump—and then perhaps I may remember some of my dreams.
I study the aspects of commerce at the Narrows here, where it passes in review before me, and this seems to be beginning at the right end to understand this Babylon.—I have made a very rude translation of the Seven Against Thebes and Pindar too I have looked at, and wish he was better worth translating. I believe even the best things are not equal to their fame. Perhaps it would be better to translate fame itself—or is not that what poets themselves do? However I have not done with Pindar yet. I sent a long article on Etzler’s book to the Dem Rev six weeks ago, which at length they have determined not to accept as they could not subscribe to all the opinions, but asked for other matter—purely literary I suppose. O’ Sullivan wrote me that article of this kind have to be referred to the circle, who, it seems are represented by this journal, and said something about “collective we,” and “homogeneity.”
Pray dont think of Bradbury and Soden any more
Is sold and bought too dear I wis
To herte that of great valor is.”
Say to Mrs. Emerson that I am glad to remember how she too dwells there in Concord, and shall send her anon some of the thoughts that belong to her. As for Edith—I seem to see a star in the east over where the young child is.—Remember me to Mrs. Brown.
Yr friend
Henry D. Thoreau.
Ralph Waldo Emerson pays Thoreau $2.41 for work (Ralph Waldo Emerson’s account books. Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.).
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
The krigia has bloomed again The purple gerardia now fairly out, which I found almost out last Stunday in another place. Elder-berries begin to be ripe, bending their steins. I also see Viburnum dentatum berries just beginning to turn on one side. Their turning or ripening looks lilac decay,—a dark spot,—and so does the rarely ripe state of the naked viburnum and the sweet; but we truly regard it as a ripening still, and not falsely a decaying as when we describe the tint, of the autumnal foliage.
I think that within a week I have heard the alder cricket,—a clearer and shriller sound from the leaves in low grounds, a clear shrilling out of a cool moist shade, an autumnal sound. The year is in the grasp of the crickets . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
From Peter’s I look over the Great Meadows . . . A wasp stung me at one high blueberry bush on the forefinger of my left hand, just above the second joint . . . (Journal, 6:426-428).
New York, N.Y. The New-York Herald prints a notice of Walden.
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Very few berries this year (Journal, 7:452).
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Heard this forenoon what I thought at first to be children playing on pumpkin stems in the next yard, but it turned out to be the new steam-whistle music, what they call the Calliope (!) in the next town . . .
P. M.—With a berry party, ride to Conantum.
At Blackberry Steep, apparently an early broadleafed variety of Desmodium paniculatum, two or three days. This and similar plants are common there . . .
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