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  I notice the black willows from my boat’s place to Abner Buttrick’s, to see where they grow, distinguishing ten places . . .

  Wars are not yet over. I hear one in the outskirts learning to drum every night . . .

  When your last letter was written I was away in the far North-West, in search of health. My cold turned to bronchitis which made me a close prisoner almost up to the moment of my starting on that journey, early in May. As I had an incessant cough, my doctor told me that I must “clear out”—to the West Indies or elsewhere, so I selected Minnesota. I returned a few weeks ago, after a good deal of steady travelling, considerably, yet not essentially better, my cough still continuing. If I do not mend very quickly I shall be obliged to go to another climate again very soon.

  My ordinary pursuits, both indoor and out, have been for the most part omitted, or seriously interrupted—walking, boating, scribbling, &c. Indeed I have been sick so long that I have almost forgotten what it is to be well, yet I feel that it all respects only my envelope.

  Channing & Emerson are as well as usual, but Alcott, I am sorry to say, has for some time been more or less confined by a lameness, perhaps of a neuralgic character, occasioned by carrying too great a weight on his back while gardening.

  On returning home, I found various letters awaiting me, among others one from [Thomas] Cholmondeley & one from yourself.

  Of course I am sufficiently surprised to hear of your conversion, yet I scarcely know what to say about it, unless that judging by your account, it appears to me a change which concerns yourself peculiarly, and will not make you more valuable to mankind. However, perhaps, I must see you before I can judge.

  Remembering your numerous invitations, I write this short note now chiefly to say that, if you are to be at home, and it will be quite agreeable to you, I will pay you a visit next week, & take such rides or sauntering walks with you as an invalid may.

Yrs
Henry D. Thoreau

  You are not so far off but the affairs of this world still attach to you. Perhaps it will be so when we are dead. Then look out.—Joshua R. Holman of Harvard, who says he lived a month with Lane at Fruitlands wishes to hire said Lane’s farm for one or more years, and will pay $125 rent, taking out the same what is necessary for repairs—as, for a new bank-wall to the barn cellar, which he says is indispensable. [Joseph] Palmer is gone, Mrs Palmer is going. This is all that is known, or that is worth knowing.

  Yes or no—

  What to do?

  Hugh [Whelan]’s plot begins to thicken. He starts thus. 80 dollars on one side—Walden field & house on the other. How to bring these together so as to make a garden & a palace . . .

  —for when one asks—“What do you want? Twice as much room more,” the reply—Parlor kitchen & bedroom—these make the palace.—Well, Hugh, what will you do? Here are forty dollars to buy a new house 12 feet by 25 and add it to the old.—Well, Mr Thoreau, as I tell you, I know no more than a child about it. It shall be just as you say.—Then build it yourself—get it roofed & get in. Commence at one end & leave it half done, and let time finish what money’s begun.

  So you see we have forty dollars for a nest egg—sitting on which, Hugh & I, alternately & simultaneously, there may in course of time be hatched a house, that will long stand, and perchance even lay fresh eggs one day for its owner, that is, if when he returns he gives the young chick 20 dollars or more in addition by way of “swichin”—to give it a start in the world.

  Observe this—I got your check changed into thirty dollars the other day, & immediately paid away sixteen for Hugh. To-day Mr [John Milton] Cheney says that they in Boston refuse to answer it—not having funds enough to warrant it. There must be some mistake &c—We shall pay back the thirty dollars & await your orders.

  The Mass. Quart. Review came out on the 1st of Dec., but it does not seem to be making a sensation—at least not hereabouts. I know of none in Concord who takes, or has seen, it yet.

  We wish to get by all possible means some notion of your success or failure in England—more than your two letters have furnished—Can’t you send a fair sample both of Young & of Old England’s criticism, if there is any printed? [A. Bronson] Alcott & [William Ellery] Channing are equally greedy with myself.

Henry Thoreau

  One’s life, the enterprise he is here upon, should certainly be a grand fact to consider, not a mean or insignificant one. A man should not live without a purpose . . .

  9.30 A.M.—Surveying near Strawberry Hill for Smith and Brooks . . . (Journal, 6:17-18).