Thoreau attends church with Ralph Waldo Emerson (The Letters of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 2:404).
Charles Stearns Wheeler, Thoreau’s roommate at Harvard University, dies (Studies in the American Renaissance 1989, 198; Boston Courier, 11 July 1843).
Bronson Alcott writes to his mother in Oriskany Falls, N.Y.:
*Thoreau’s A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers was not in press at this time and would not be published until 1849.
The New-York Daily Tribune reviews A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.
Thoreau surveys the Courthouse and Town House lots for the Town of Concord (A Catalog of Thoreau’s Surveys in the Concord Free Public Library, 5; Henry David Thoreau papers. Special Collections, Concord (Mass.) Free Public Library).
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Thoreau writes in his journal on 14 June:
Thoreau writes in his journal:
A warm day. It has been cold, and we have had fires the past week sometimes. Clover begins to show red in the fields, and the wild cherry is not out of blossom. The river has a summer midday look, smooth to a cobweb, with green shores, and shade from the trees on its banks . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
Find that there are two young hawks; one has left the nest and is perched on a small maple seven or eight rods distant. This one appears much smaller than the former one. I am struck by its large, naked head, so vulture-like, and large eyes, as if the vulture’s were an inferior stage through which the hawk passed. Its feet, too, are large, remarkably developed, by which it holds to its perch securely like an old bird, before its wings can perform their office. It has a buff breast, striped with dark brown. Pratt, when I told him of this nest, said he would like to carry one of his rifles down there. But I told him that I should be sorry to have them killed. I would rather save one of these hawks than have a, hundred hens and chickens. It was worth more to see them soar, especially now that they are so rare in the landscape. It is easy to buy eggs, but not to buy hen-hawks. My neighbors would not hesitate to shoot the last pair of hen-hawks in the town to save a few of their chickens! But such economy is narrow and grovelling. It is unnecessarily to sacrifice the greater value to the less. I would rather never taste chickens’ meat nor hens’ eggs than never to see a hawk sailing through the upper air again. This sight is worth incomparably more than a chicken soup or a boiled egg.
Thoreau writes in his journal:
2 P.M.—By boat to Bittern Cliff and so to Lee’s Cliff.
I hear muttering of thunder and see a dark cloud in the west-southwest horizon; am uncertain how far up-stream I shall get . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
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