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15 April 1859. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P.M.—To Cliffs and Well Meadow . . .

  It is surprising how quickly the earth, which was covered half an inch deep this morning, and since so wet, has become comparatively dry, so that we sit on the ground or on the dry leaves in woods at 3 P.M. and smell the pines and see and hear the flies, etc., buzz about, though the sun did not come out till 12 M . . .

(Journal, 12:142-147)
15 April 1860. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  2 P.M.—Thermometer 37. To Conantum . . . (Journal, 13:247).
15 August 1844. New York, N.Y.

Isaac Thomas Hecker writes in reply to Thoreau’s letter of 14 August:

  I know not but that I shall receive an answer to the letter I sent you a fortnight ago before you will receive this one, however as the idea of making an indefinite pedestrian tour on the other side of the Atlantic has in all possible ways increased in my imagination and given me a desire to add a few more words on the project I will do it in the hope of stimulating you to a decision. How the thought has struck you I know not, its impractibility or impossibility in the judgment of others would not I feel assured deter you in any way from the undertaking, it would rather be a stimulus to the purpose I think in you as it is in me. Tis impossible; Sir, therefore we do it. The conceivable is possible, it is in harmony with the inconceivable, we should act. Our true life is in the can-not, to do what we can do is to do nothing, is death. Silence is much more respectable than repetition. The idea of making such a tour I have opened to one or two who I thought might throw some light on the subject. I asked the opinion of the Catholic Bishop [John McCloskey] who has travelled considerable in Europe but I find that in every man there are certain things within him which are beyond the ken & counsel of others. The age is so effeminate that it is too timid to give heroic counsel. It neither will enter the kingdom of heaven or have others to do so. I feel, and believe you feel so too, that to doubt the ability to realize such a thought is only worthy of a smile & pity. We feel ourself mean in conceiving such a feasable [sic] thing and would keep it silent. This is not sufficient self abandonment for our being, scarce enough to affect it. To die is easy, scarce worth a thought, but to be and live is an inconceivable greatness. It would be folly to sit still and starve from mere emptiness, but to leave behind the casement in battling for some hidden idea is an attitude beyond conception a monument more durable than the chisel can sculptor. I imagine us walking among the past and present greatness of our ancestors (for the present in fact the present of the old world to us is ancient) doing reverence to their remaining glory. If tho I am inclined to bow more lowly to the spiritual hero than the exhibition of great physical strength still not all of that primitive heroic blood of our forefathers has been lost before it reached our veins. We feel it exult some times as tho it were cased in steel and the huge broad axe of Co[e]ur de Lion seems glitter[i]ng before us and we awake in another world as in a dream. I know of no other person but you that would be induced to go on such an excursion. The idea and yourself were almost instantaneous. If needs be for a few dollars we can get across the ocean. The ocean, if but to cross this being like being it were not unprofitable. The Bishop thought it might be done with a certain amount of funds to depend on. If this makes it practible for others to us it will be but sport. It is useless for me to speak thus to you for if there are reasons for your not going they are others than these.

  You will inform me how you are inclined as soon as practible. Half inclined I sometimes feel to go alone if I cannot get your company. I do not know now what could have directed my steps to Concord other than this. May it prove so. It is only the fear of death makes us reason of impossibilities. We shall possess all if we but abandon ourselves.

Yours sincerely
Isaac-

(The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau, 158)
15 August 1845. Walden Pond.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  The sounds heard at this hour, 8.30, are the distant rumbling of wagons over bridges,—a sound farthest heard of any human at night,—the baying of dogs, the lowing of cattle in the distant yards (Journal, 1:382).
15 August 1851. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Friday. Hyperieum Canadense, Canadian St. John’s-wort, distinguished by its red capsules. The petals shine under the microscope, as if they had a golden dew on them.  

  Cnicus pumilus, pasture thistle. How many insects a single one attracts! While you sit by it, bee after bee will visit it, and busy himself probing for honey and loading himself with pollen, regardless of your overshadowing presence. He sees its purple flower from afar, and that use there is in its color.

  Oxalis stricta, upright wood-sorrel, the little yellow ternate-leaved flower in pastures and corn-fields.

  Sagittaria sagittif olia, or arrowhead. It has very little root that I can find to eat.

  Campanula crinoides, var. 2nd, slender bellflower, vine-like like a galium, by brook-side in Depot Field.

  Impatiens, noli-me-tangere, or touch-me-not, with its dangling yellow pitchers or horns of plenty, which I have seen for a month by damp causeway thickets, but the whole plant was so tender and drooped so soon I could not get it home.

  May I love and revere myself above all the gods that men have ever invented. May I never let the vestal fire go out in my recesses.

(Journal, 2:389-390)
15 August 1852. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Some birds fly in flocks. I see a dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note like a ripe crop as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies . . .
(Journal, 4:296-297)
15 August 1853. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Rain again in the night, but now clear. Though the last week has been remarkably warm, the warmest in the year, the river, owing to the rains, has not been warm enough for perfect bathing, as in July, ’52. It was lowest (thus far) in July this year, before these rains. It has been melting weather; hundreds sunstruck in New York. Sultry, mosquitoey nights, with both windows and door open, and scarcely a sheet to be endured. But now it is cooler at last.

  P.M.—To White’s Pond via Dugan’s.

  The air is somewhat cooler and beautifully clear at last after all these rains. Instead of the late bluish mistiness, I see a distinct, dark shade under the edge of the woods, tlrc effect of the luxuriant foliage seen through the clear air . . .

(Journal, 5:375-377)

Thoreau writes in his journal on 16 August:

  Yesterday also in the Marlborough woods, perceived everywhere that offensive mustiness of decaying fungi (Journal, 5:377).
15 August 1854. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  5.15 A.M.—To Hill by boat . . .

  By 5.30 the fog has withdrawn from the channel here and stands southward over the Texas Plain, forty or fifty feet high . . .

  9 A.M.—Walk all day with W. E. C., [William Ellery Channing] northwest into Acton and Carlisle . . .

  At evening, Mr. [John] Russell showed me his microscope at Miss Mackay’s. Looked at a section of pontederia leaf . . .

(Journal, 6:440-446)

Albany, N.Y. Walden is reviewed in the Albany Argus.

15 August 1856. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  P. M.—To Minot Pratt’s.

  Pratt is collecting his parsnip seed. This the second or third cutting. It takes three cuttings, the central umbellets ripening first. It takes a sharp knife not to shake out the seeds . . . (Journal, 8:468)

15 August 1857. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Lycopodium lucidulum, how long (Journal, 10:8)?

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