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9 October 1854. Plymouth, Mass.

A. Bronson Alcott writes in his journal:

  I help Thoreau survey Hillside, also discuss matters generally (A. Bronson Alcott: His Life and Philosophy, 2:484).
9 October 1857. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  It has come to this,—that the lover of art is one, and the lover of nature another, though true art is but the expression of our love of nature. It is monstrous when one cares but little about trees but much about Corinthian columns, and yet this is exceedingly common . . .
(Journal, 10:78-81)
9 October 1858. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Cold and northwest wind still. The maple swamps begin to look smoky, they are already so bare. Their fires, so faded, are pale-scarlet or pinkish . . .

  I go to the Cliffs. The air is clear, with a cold north-west wind, and the trees beginning to be bare . . .

(Journal, 11:202-203)
9 October 1859. Boston, Mass.

Thoreau lectures on “Life Misspent” at the Music Hall for the Twenty-Eighth Congregational Society (Studies in the American Renaissance 1996, 304-308).

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—Boston. Read a lecture to Theodore Parker’s society . . . (Journal, 12:374).
9 October 1860. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—Up Assabet . . .

  I met in the street afterward a young lady who rowed up the river after me, and I could tell exactly where she plucked the maple twig which she held in her hand . . . (Journal, 14:107-109).

9 September 1839.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  At Crawford’s (Journal, 1:91).
9 September 1846. Mt. Katahdin, Maine.

Thoreau writes:

  In the morning we carried our boat over and launched it, making haste lest the wind should rise… We made a hasty breakfast at the head of Ambejijis Lake on the remainder of our pork, and were soon rowing across its smooth surface again, under a pleasant sky, the mountain being now clear of clouds in the northeast . . .
(The Maine Woods, 84-88)
9 September 1851. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  2 A.M.—The moon not quite full. To Conantum via road . . . The fog in the lowlands on the Corner road is never still . . . The moon is getting low. I hear a wagon cross one of the bridges leading into the town . . . On the first top of Conantum. I hear the farmer harnessing his horse and starting for the distant market, but no man harnesses himself, and starts for worthier enterprises . . . The clock strikes four. A few dogs bark. A few more wagons start for market, their faint rattling heard in the distance . . . 5 o’clock.- The light now reveals a thin film of vapor like a gossamer veil cast over the lower hills beneath the Cliffs and stretching to the river, thicker in the ravines, thinnest on the even slopes . . . I went down to Tupelo Cliff to bathe. A great bittern, which I had scared, flew heavily across the stream. The redness had risen at length above the dark cloud, the sun approaching.
(Journal, 2:482-487)
9 September 1852. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  There arc enough who will flatter me with sweet words, and anon use bitter ones to balance them, but they are not my friends. Simple sincerity and truth are rare indeed. One acquaintance criticises me to my face, expecting every moment that I will become his friend to pay for it. I hear my acquaintance thinking his criticism aloud. We love to talk with those who can make a good guess at us, not with those who talk to us as if we were somebody else all the while. Our neighbors invite us to be amiable toward their vices. How simple is the law of love! One who loves us acts accordingly, and anon we come together and succeed together without let or hindrance . . .
(Journal, 4:348-349)
9 September 1853. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Half a bushel of handsome pears on the ground under the wild pear tree on Pedrick’s land; some ripe, many more on tree. J. Wesson, who is helping me survey to-day, says that, when they dug the cellar of Stacy’s shop, he saw where they cut through (with a spade) birches six inches in diameter, on which the Mill-Dam had been built; also that Nathan Hosmer, Sr., since dead, told him that he had cut meadow-grass between the bakehouse and the Middlesex Hotel. I find myself covered with green and winged lice from the birches.
(Journal, 5:421)

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