part I have not been idle since I saw you. How does the world go with

you? or rather, how do you get along without it? I have not yet learned to live, that I can see, and I fear that I shall not very soon. I find, however, that in the long run things correspond to my original idea,--that they correspond to nothing else so much; and thus a man may really be a true prophet without any great exertion. The day is never so dark, nor the night even, but that the laws at least of light still prevail, and so may make it light in our minds if they are open to the truth. There is considerable danger that a man will be crazy between dinner and supper; but it will not directly answer any good purpose that I know of, and it is just as easy to be sane. We have got to know what both life and death are, before we can begin to live after our own fashion. Let us be learning our a-b-c's as soon as possible. I never yet knew the sun to be knocked down and rolled through a mud-puddle; he comes out honor-bright from behind every storm. Let us then take sides with the sun, seeing we have so much leisure. Let us not put all we prize into a football to be kicked, when a bladder will do as well.

When an Indian is burned, his body may be broiled, it may be no more than a beefsteak. What of that? They may broil his _heart_, but they do not therefore broil his _courage_,--his principles. Be of good courage! That is the main thing.

If a man were to place himself in an attitude to bear manfully the greatest evil that can be inflicted on him, he would find suddenly that there was no such evil to bear; his brave back would go a-begging. When Atlas got his back made up, that was all that was required. (In this case _a priv._, not _pleon._, and τλῆμι.) The world rests on principles. The wise gods will never make underpinning of a man. But as long as he crouches, and skulks, and shirks his work, every creature that has weight will be treading on his toes, and crushing him; he will himself tread with one foot on the other foot.

The monster is never just there where we think he is. What is truly monstrous is our cowardice and sloth.

Have no idle disciplines like the Catholic Church and others; have only positive and fruitful ones. Do what you know you ought to do. Why should we ever go abroad, even across the way, to ask a neighbor's advice? There is a nearer neighbor within us incessantly telling us how we should behave. But we wait for the neighbor without to tell us of some false, easier way.

They have a census-table in which they put down the number of the insane. Do you believe that they put them all down there? Why, in every one of these houses there is at least one man fighting or squabbling a good part of his time with a dozen pet demons of his own breeding and cherishing, which are relentlessly gnawing at his vitals; and if perchance he resolve at length that he will courageously combat them, he says, "Ay! ay! I will attend to you after dinner!" And, when that time comes, he concludes that he is good for another stage, and reads a column or two about the _Eastern War_! Pray, to be in earnest, where is Sevastopol? Who is Menchikoff? and Nicholas behind there? who the Allies? Did not we fight a little (little enough to be sure, but just enough to make it interesting) at Alma, at Balaclava, at Inkermann? We love to fight far from home. Ah! the Minié musket is the king of weapons. Well, let us get one then.

I just put another stick into my stove,--a pretty large mass of white oak. How many men will do enough this cold winter to pay for the fuel that will be required to warm them? I suppose I have burned up a pretty good-sized tree to-night,--and for what? I settled with Mr. Tarbell for it the other day; but that was n't the final settlement. I got off cheaply from him. At last, one will say, "Let us see, how much wood did you burn, sir?" And I shall shudder to think that the next question will be, "What did you do while you were warm?" Do we think the ashes will pay for it? that God is an ash-man? It is a fact that we have got to render an account for the deeds done in the body.

Who knows but we shall be better the next year than we have been the past? At any rate, I wish you a really _new_ year,--commencing from the instant you read this,--and happy or unhappy, according to your deserts.

TO HARRISON BLAKE.

CONCORD, December 22, 1854.

MR. BLAKE,--I will lecture for your Lyceum on the 4th of January next; and I hope that I shall have time for that good day out of doors. Mr. Cholmondeley is in Boston, yet _perhaps_ I may invite him to accompany me. I have engaged to lecture at New Bedford on the 26th inst., stopping with Daniel Ricketson, three miles out of town; and at Nantucket on the 28th, so that I shall be gone all next week. They say there is some danger of being weather-bound at Nantucket; but I see that others run the same risk. You had better acknowledge the receipt of this at any rate, though you should write nothing else; otherwise I shall not know whether you get it; but perhaps you will not wait till you have seen me, to answer my letter (of December 19). I will tell you what I think of lecturing when I see you. Did you see the notice of "Walden" in the last _Anti-Slavery Standard_? You will not be surprised if I tell you that it reminded me of you.

* * * * *

On the Christmas Day that Thoreau reached New Bedford, he had left home in the forenoon, as usual in his Cambridge visits, spent some time at Harvard College, and gone on by the train in the afternoon, which accounted for his delay. His host, who then saw him for the first time, says:--

"I had expected him at noon, but as he did not arrive, I had given him up for the day. In the latter part of the afternoon I was clearing off the snow from my front steps, when, looking up, I saw a man walking up the carriage-road, bearing a portmanteau in one hand and an umbrella in the other. He was dressed in a long overcoat of dark color, and wore a dark soft hat. I had no suspicion it was Thoreau, and rather supposed it was a peddler of small wares."

This was a common mistake to make. When Thoreau ran the gantlet of the Cape Cod villages,--"feeling as strange," he says, "as if he were in a town in China,"--one of the old fishermen could not believe that he had not something to sell. Being finally satisfied that it was not a peddler with his pack, the old man said, "Wal, it makes no odds what 't is you carry, so long as you carry Truth along with ye." Mr. Ricketson came to the same conclusion about his visitor, and in the early September of 1855 returned the visit.

On the 4th of January, 1855, Ricketson wrote, saying, "Your visit, short as it was, gave us all at Brooklawn much satisfaction;" adding that he might visit Concord late in January, when he expected to be in Boston. Thoreau replied:--

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, January 6, 1855.

MR. RICKETSON,--I am pleased to hear from the shanty, whose inside and occupant I have seen. I had a very pleasant time at Brooklawn, as you know, and thereafter at Nantucket. I was obliged to pay the usual tribute to the sea, but it was more than made up to me by the hospitality of the Nantucketers. Tell Arthur that I can now compare notes with him; for though I went neither before nor behind the mast, since we had n't any, I went with my head hanging over the side all the way.

In spite of all my experience, I persisted in reading to the Nantucket people the lecture which I read at New Bedford, and I found them to be the very audience for me. I got home Friday night, after being lost in the fog off Hyannis.[55] I have not yet found a new jackknife, but I had a glorious skating with Channing the other day, on the skates found long ago.

Mr. Cholmondeley sailed for England direct, in the America, on the 3d, after spending a night with me. He thinks even to go to the East and enlist. Last night I returned from lecturing in Worcester.

I shall be glad to see you when you come to Boston, as will also my mother and sister, who know something about you as an abolitionist. Come directly to our house. Please remember me to Mrs. Ricketson, and also to the young folks.

* * * * *

After writing that he expected to be at the anti-slavery meetings in Boston, January 24 and 25, ill health and a snow-storm detained Ricketson at Brooklawn, whereupon Thoreau wrote:--

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, February 1, 1855.

DEAR SIR,--I supposed, as I did not see you on the 24th or 25th, that some track or other was obstructed; but the solid earth still holds together between New Bedford and Concord, and I trust that as this time you stayed away, you may live to come another day.

I did not go to Boston, for with regard to that place I sympathize with one of my neighbors, an old man, who has not been there since the last war, when he was compelled to go. No, I have a real genius for staying at home.

I have been looking of late at Bewick's tail-pieces in the "Birds,"--all they have of him at Harvard. Why will he be a little vulgar at times? Yesterday I made an excursion up our river,--skated some thirty miles in a few hours, if you will believe it. So with reading and writing and skating the night comes round again.

* * * * *

The early part of 1855 was spent by Thomas Cholmondeley in a tiresome passage to England, whence he wrote (January 27) to say to Thoreau that he had reached Shropshire, and been commissioned captain in the local militia, in preparation for service at Sevastopol, but reminding his Concord friend of a half promise to visit England some day. To this Thoreau made answer thus:--

TO THOMAS CHOLMONDELEY (AT HODNET).

CONCORD, Mass., February 7, 1855.

DEAR CHOLMONDELEY,--I am glad to hear that you have arrived safely at Hodnet, and that there is a solid piece of ground of that name which can support a man better than a floating plank, in that to me as yet purely historical England. But have I not seen you with my own eyes, a piece of England herself, and was not your letter come out to me thence? I have now reason to believe that Salop is as real a place as Concord; with at least as good an underpinning of granite, floating on liquid fire. I congratulate you on having arrived safely at that floating isle, after your disagreeable passage in the steamer America. So are we not all making a passage, agreeable or disagreeable, in the steamer Earth, trusting to arrive at last at some less undulating Salop and brother's house?

I cannot say that I am surprised to hear that you have joined the militia, after what I have heard from your lips; but I am glad to doubt if there will be occasion for your volunteering into the line. Perhaps I am thinking of the saying that it "is always darkest just before day." I believe it is only necessary that England be fully awakened to a sense of her position, in order that she may right herself, especially as the weather will soon cease to be her foe. I wish I could believe that the cause in which you are embarked is the cause of the people of England. However, I have no sympathy with the idleness that would contrast this fighting with the teachings of the pulpit; for, perchance, more true virtue is being practiced at Sevastopol than in many years of peace. It is a pity that we seem to require a war, from time to time, to assure us that there is any manhood still left in man.

I was much pleased with [J. J. G.] Wilkinson's vigorous and telling assault on Allopathy, though he substitutes another and perhaps no stronger _thy_ for that. Something as good on the whole conduct of the war would be of service. Cannot Carlyle supply it? We will not require him to provide the remedy. Every man to his trade. As you know, I am not in any sense a politician. You, who live in that snug and compact isle, may dream of a glorious commonwealth, but I have some doubts whether I and the new king of the Sandwich Islands shall pull together. When I think of the gold-diggers and the Mormons, the slaves and the slaveholders and the flibustiers, I naturally dream of a glorious private life. No, I am not patriotic; I shall not meddle with the Gem of the Antilles. General Quitman[56] cannot count on my aid, alas for him! nor can General Pierce.[57]

I still take my daily walk, or skate over Concord fields or meadows, and on the whole have more to do with nature than with man. We have not had much snow this winter, but have had some remarkably cold weather, the mercury, February 6, not rising above 6° below zero during the day, and the next morning falling to 26°. Some ice is still thirty inches thick about us. A rise in the river has made uncommonly good skating, which I have improved to the extent of some thirty miles a day, fifteen out and fifteen in.

Emerson is off westward, enlightening the Hamiltonians [in Canada] and others, mingling his thunder with that of Niagara. Channing still sits warming his five wits--his sixth, you know, is always limber--over that stove, with the dog down cellar. Lowell has just been appointed Professor of Belles-Lettres in Harvard University, in place of Longfellow, resigned, and will go very soon to spend another year in Europe, before taking his seat.

I am from time to time congratulating myself on my general want of success as a lecturer; apparent want of success, but is it not a real triumph? I do my work clean as I go along, and they will not be likely to want me anywhere again. So there is no danger of my repeating myself, and getting to a barrel of sermons, which you must upset, and begin again with.

My father and mother and sister all desire to be remembered to you, and trust that you will never come within range of Russian bullets. Of course, I would rather think of you as settled down there in Shropshire, in the camp of the English people, making acquaintance with your men, striking at the root of the evil, perhaps assaulting that rampart of cotton bags that you tell of. But it makes no odds where a man goes or stays, if he is only about his business.

Let me hear from you, wherever you are, and believe me yours ever in the good fight, whether before Sevastopol or under the wreken.

* * * * *

While Cholmondeley's first letter from England was on its way to Concord, Thoreau was one day making his occasional call at the Harvard College Library (where he found and was allowed to take away volumes relating to his manifold studies), when it occurred to him to call at my student-chamber in Holworthy Hall, and there leave a copy of his "Week." I had never met him, and was then out; the occasion of his call was a review of his two books that had come out a few weeks earlier in the _Harvard Magazine_, of which I was an editor and might be supposed to have had some share in the criticism. The volume was left with my classmate Lyman, accompanied by a message that it was intended for the critic in the Magazine. Accordingly, I gave it to Edwin Morton, who was the reviewer, and notified Thoreau by letter of that fact, and of my hope to see him soon in Cambridge or Concord.[58] To this he replied in a few days as below:--

TO F. B. SANBORN (AT HAMPTON FALLS, N. H.).

CONCORD, February 2, 1855.

DEAR SIR,--I fear that you did not get the note which I left with the Librarian for you, and so will thank you again for your politeness. I was sorry that I was obliged to go into Boston almost immediately. However, I shall be glad to see you whenever you come to Concord, and I will suggest nothing to discourage your coming, so far as I am concerned; trusting that you know what it is to take a partridge on the wing. You tell me that the author of the criticism is Mr. Morton. I had heard as much,--and indeed guessed more. I have latterly found Concord nearer to Cambridge than I believed I should, when I was leaving my Alma Mater; and hence you will not be surprised if even I feel some interest in the success of the _Harvard Magazine_.

Believe me yours truly, HENRY D. THOREAU.

At this time I was under engagement with Mr. Emerson and others in Concord to take charge of a small school there in March; and did so without again seeing the author of "Walden" in Cambridge. Soon after my settlement at Concord, in the house of Mr. Channing, just opposite Thoreau's, he made an evening call on me and my sister (April 11, 1855), but I had already met him more than once at Mr. Emerson's, and was even beginning to take walks with him, as frequently happened in the next six years. In the following summer I began to dine daily at his mother's table, and thus saw him almost every day for three years.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, June 27, 1855.

MR. BLAKE,--I have been sick and good for nothing but to lie on my back and wait for something to turn up, for two or three months. This has _compelled me_ to postpone several things, among them writing to you, to whom I am so deeply in debt, and inviting you and Brown to Concord,--not having brains adequate to such an exertion. I should feel a little less ashamed if I could give any name to my disorder,--but I cannot, and our doctor cannot help me to it,--and I will not take the name of any disease in vain. However, there is one consolation in being sick; and that is the possibility that you may recover to a better state than you were ever in before. I expected in the winter to be deep in the woods of Maine in my canoe, long before this; but I am so far from this that I can only take a languid walk in Concord streets.

I do not know how the mistake arose about the Cape Cod excursion. The nearest I have come to that with anybody is this: About a month ago Channing proposed to me to go to Truro on Cape Cod with him, and board there a while,--but I declined. For a week past, however, I have been a little inclined to go there and sit on the seashore a week or more; but I do not venture to propose myself as the companion of him or of any peripatetic man. Not that I should not rejoice to have you and Brown or C. sitting there also. I am not sure that C. really wishes to go now; and as I go simply for the medicine of it, I should not think it worth the while to notify him when I am about to take my bitters. Since I began this, or within five minutes, I have begun to think that I will start for Truro next Saturday morning, the 30th. I do not know at what hour the packet leaves Boston, nor exactly what kind of accommodation I shall find at Truro.

I should be singularly favored if you and Brown were there at the same time; and though you speak of the 20th of July, I will be so bold as to suggest your coming to Concord Friday night (when, by the way, Garrison and Phillips hold forth here), and going to the Cape with me. Though we take short walks together there, we can have _long_ talks, and you and Brown will have time enough for your own excursions besides.

I received a letter from Cholmondeley last winter, which I should like to show you, as well as his book.[59] He said that he had "accepted the offer of a captaincy in the Salop Militia," and was hoping to take an active part in the war before long.

I thank you again and again for the encouragement your letters are to me. But I must stop this writing, or I shall have to pay for it.

NORTH TRURO, July 8, 1855.

There being no packet, I did not leave Boston till last Thursday, though I came down on Wednesday, and Channing with me. There is no public house here; but we are boarding in a little house attached to the Highland Lighthouse with Mr. James Small, the keeper. It is true the table is not so clean as could be desired, but I have found it much superior in that respect to a Provincetown hotel. They are what are called "good livers." Our host has another larger and very good house, within a quarter of a mile, unoccupied, where he says he can accommodate several more. He is a very good man to deal with,--has often been the representative of the town, and is perhaps the most intelligent man in it. I shall probably stay here as much as ten days longer. Board $3.50 per week. So you and Brown had better come down forthwith. You will find either the schooner Melrose or another, or both, leaving Commerce Street, or else T Wharf, at 9 A. M. (it commonly means 10), Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays,--if not other days. We left about 10 A. M., and reached Provincetown at 5 P. M.,--a very good run. A stage runs up the Cape every morning but Sunday, starting at 4½ A. M., and reaches the post-office in North Truro, seven miles from Provincetown, and one from the lighthouse, about 6 o'clock. If you arrive at P. before night, you can walk over, and leave your baggage to be sent. You can also come by cars from Boston to Yarmouth, and thence by stage forty miles more,--through every day, but it costs much more, and is not so pleasant. Come by all means, for it is the best place to see the ocean in the States.... I _hope_ I shall be worth meeting.

July 14.

You say that you hope I will excuse your frequent writing. I trust you will excuse my infrequent and curt writing until I am able to resume my old habits, which for three months I have been compelled to abandon. Methinks I am beginning to be better. I think to leave the Cape next Wednesday, and so shall not see you here; but I shall be glad to meet you in Concord, though I may not be able to go _before the mast_, in a boating excursion. This is an admirable place for coolness and sea-bathing and retirement. You must come prepared for cool weather and fogs.

P. S.--There is no mail up till Monday morning.

* * * * *

During the spring and early summer of 1855, Thoreau was much occupied with his home duties, or was ill,--the earlier approaches of that disease of which he languished, taking medical advice in 1860-61. This must have prevented an earlier visit to Concord by his friend Ricketson than September, 1855, and I find no letters intervening, although there must have been one or two, to arrange the visit. He reached Concord about September 20, and found me living in the lower stories of Channing's house, while the owner chiefly occupied the attic, where, no doubt, as in the old Hunt house, Ricketson smoked with him. They went together to call on Edmund Hosmer, and it was at the sight of this old house that Ricketson formed the plan of occupying a chamber there. It stood a half-mile down the river, a little below where the Assabet runs into the main channel. Writing to Thoreau, Sunday, September 23, Ricketson said:--

"How charmingly you, Channing, and I dovetailed together! Few men smoke such pipes as we did,--the real Calumet; the tobacco that we smoked was free labor produce. I haven't lost sight of Solon Hosmer, the wisest-looking man in Concord, and a real _feelosofer_. I want you to see him, and tell him not to take down the old house where the _feelosofers_ met. I think I should like to have the large chamber for an occasional sojourn in Concord. It can be easily tinkered up so as to be a comfortable roost for a _feelosofer_,--a few old chairs, a table, bed, etc., would be all-sufficient; then you and Channing could come over in your punt and rusticate."

The "punt" was Thoreau's boat, in which he sometimes set up a small mast and sail, and which he kept at the foot of Channing's garden, where, that summer, my heavy four-oared boat also lay, when my pupils were not rowing in it. In his letter to Blake of September 26, Thoreau described Ricketson, and the next day he answered Ricketson's letter. Cholmondeley in the meantime, the war being not yet over, was making his way to the Crimea through southern Europe.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, September 26, 1855.

MR. BLAKE,--The other day I thought that my health must be better,--that I gave at last a sign of vitality,--because I experienced a slight chagrin. But I do not see how strength is to be got into my legs again. These months of feebleness have yielded few, if any, thoughts, though they have not passed without serenity, such as our sluggish Musketaquid suggests. I hope that the harvest is to come. I trust that you have at least warped up the stream a little daily, holding fast by your anchors at night, since I saw you, and have kept my place for me while I have been absent.

Mr. Ricketson of New Bedford has just made me a visit of a day and a half, and I have had a quite good time with him. He and Channing have got on particularly well together. He is a man of very simple tastes, notwithstanding his wealth; a lover of nature; but, above all, singularly frank and plain-spoken. I think that you might enjoy meeting him.

Sincerity is a great but rare virtue, and we pardon to it much complaining, and the betrayal of many weaknesses. R. says of himself, that he sometimes thinks that he has all the infirmities of genius without the genius; is wretched without a hair pillow, etc.; expresses a great and awful uncertainty with regard to "God," "Death," his "immortality;" says, "If I only knew," etc. He loves Cowper's "Task" better than anything else; and thereafter perhaps, Thomson, Gray, and even Howitt. He has evidently suffered for want of sympathizing companions. He says that he sympathizes with much in my books, but much in them is naught to him,--"namby-pamby,"--"stuff,"--"mystical." Why will not I, having common sense, write in plain English always; _teach_ men in detail how to live a simpler life, etc.; not go off into ----? But I say that I have no scheme about it,--no designs on men at all; and, if I had, my mode would be to tempt them with the fruit, and not with the manure. To what end do I lead a simple life at all, pray? That I may teach others to simplify their lives?--and so all our lives be _simplified_ merely, like an algebraic formula? Or not, rather, that I may make use of the ground I have cleared, to live more worthily and profitably? I would fain lay the most stress forever on that which is the most important,--imports the most to me,--though it were only (what it is likely to be) a vibration in the air. As a preacher, I should be prompted to tell men, not so much how to get their wheat bread cheaper, as of the bread of life compared with which _that_ is bran. Let a man only taste these loaves, and he becomes a skillful economist at once. He'll not waste much time in earning those. Don't spend your time in drilling soldiers, who may turn out hirelings after all, but give to undrilled peasantry a _country_ to fight for. The schools begin with what they call the elements, and where do they end?

I was glad to hear the other day that Higginson and ---- were gone to Ktaadn; it must be so much better to go to than a Woman's Rights or Abolition Convention; better still, to the delectable primitive mounts within you, which you have dreamed of from your youth up, and seen, perhaps, in the horizon, but never climbed.

But how do _you_ do? Is the air sweet to you? Do you find anything at which you can work, accomplishing something solid from day to day? Have you put sloth and doubt behind, considerably?--had one redeeming dream this summer? I dreamed, last night, that I could vault over any height it pleased me. That was _something_; and I contemplated myself with a slight satisfaction in the morning for it.

Methinks I will write to you. Methinks you will be glad to hear. We will stand on solid foundations to one another,--I a column planted on this shore, you on that. We meet the same sun in his rising. We were built slowly, and have come to our bearing. We will not mutually fall over that we may meet, but will grandly and eternally guard the straits. Methinks I see an inscription on you, which the architect made, the stucco being worn off to it. The name of that ambitious worldly king is crumbling away. I see it toward sunset in favorable lights. Each must read for the other, as might a sailer-by. Be sure you are star-y-pointing still. How is it on your side? I will not require an answer until you think I have paid my debts to you.

I have just got a letter from Ricketson, urging me to come to New Bedford, which possibly I may do. He says I can wear my old clothes there.

Let me be remembered in your quiet house.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, September 27, 1855.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I am sorry that you were obliged to leave Concord without seeing more of it,--its river and woods, and various pleasant walks, and its worthies. I assure you that I am none the worse for my walk with you, but on all accounts the better. Methinks I am regaining my health; but I would like to know first what it was that ailed me.

I have not yet conveyed your message to Mr. Hosmer,[60] but will not fail to do so. That idea of occupying the old house is a good one,--quite feasible,--and you could bring your hair pillow with you. It is an _inn_ in Concord which I had not thought of,--a philosopher's inn. That large chamber might make a man's idea expand proportionately. It would be well to have an interest in some old chamber in a deserted house in every part of the country which attracted us. There would be no such place to receive one's guests as that. If old furniture is fashionable, why not go the whole house at once? I shall endeavor to make Mr. Hosmer believe that the old house is the chief attraction of his farm, and that it is his duty to preserve it by all honest appliances. You might take a lease of it _in perpetuo_, and done with it.

I am so wedded to my way of spending a day,--require such broad margins of leisure, and such a complete wardrobe of old clothes,--that I am ill fitted for going abroad. Pleasant is it sometimes to sit at home, on a single egg all day, in your own nest, though it may prove at last to be an egg of chalk. The old coat that I wear is Concord; it is my morning robe and study gown, my working dress and suit of ceremony, and my nightgown after all. Cleave to the simplest ever. Home,--home,--home. _Cars_ sound like _cares_ to me.

I am accustomed to think very long of going anywhere,--am slow to move. I hope to hear a response of the oracle first. However, I think that I will try the effect of your talisman on the iron horse next Saturday, and dismount at Tarkiln Hill. Perhaps your sea air will be good for me. I conveyed your invitation to Channing, but he apparently will not come.

Excuse my not writing earlier; but I had not decided.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, October 12, 1855.

MR. RICKETSON,--I fear that you had a lonely and disagreeable ride back to New Bedford through the Carver woods and so on,--perhaps in the rain, too, and I am in part answerable for it. I feel very much in debt to you and your family for the pleasant days I spent at Brooklawn. Tell Arthur and Walton[61] that the shells which they gave me are spread out, and make quite a show to inland eyes. Methinks I still hear the strains of the piano, the violin, and the flageolet blended together. Excuse _me_ for the noise which I believe drove you to take refuge in the shanty. That shanty is indeed a favorable place to expand in, which I fear I did not enough improve.

On my way through Boston I inquired for Gilpin's works at Little, Brown & Co.'s, Munroe's, Ticknor's, and Burnham's. They have not got them. They told me at Little, Brown & Co.'s that his works (not complete), in twelve vols., 8vo, were imported and sold in this country five or six years ago for about fifteen dollars. Their terms for importing are ten per cent on the cost. I copied from the "London Catalogue of Books, 1846-51," at their shop, the following list of Gilpin's Works:--

Gilpin (Wm.), Dialogues on Various Subjects. 8vo. 9_s._ Cadell.

---- Essays on Picturesque Subjects. 8vo. 15_s._ Cadell.

---- Exposition of the New Testament. 2 vols. 8vo. 16_s._ Longman.

---- Forest Scenery, by Sir T. D. Lauder. 2 vols. 8vo. 18_s._ Smith & E.

---- Lectures on the Catechism. 12mo. 3_s._ 6_d._ Longman.

---- Lives of the Reformers. 2 vols. 12mo. 8_s._ Rivington.

---- Sermons Illustrative and Practical. 8vo. 12_s._ Hatchard.

---- Sermons to Country Congregations. 4 vols. 8vo. £1 16_s._ Longman.

---- Tour in Cambridge, Norfolk, etc. 8vo. 18_s._ Cadell.

---- Tour of the River Wye. 12mo. 4s. With plates. 8vo. 17_s._ Cadell.

Gilpin (W. S. (?)), Hints on Landscape Gardening. Royal 8vo. £1. Cadell.

Beside these, I remember to have read one volume on "Prints;" his "Southern Tour" (1775); "Lakes of Cumberland," two vols.; "Highlands of Scotland and West of England," two vols.--_N. B._ There _must_ be plates in every volume.

I still see an image of those Middleborough ponds in my mind's eye, broad shallow lakes, with an iron mine at the bottom,--comparatively unvexed by sails,--only by Tom Smith and his squaw Sepit's "sharper." I find my map of the State to be the best I have seen of that district. It is a question whether the islands of Long Pond or Great Quitticus offer the greatest attractions to a Lord of the Isles. That plant which I found on the shore of Long Pond chances to be a rare and beautiful flower,--the _Sabbatia chloroides_,--referred to Plymouth.

In a Description of Middleborough in the Hist. Coll., vol. iii, 1810, signed Nehemiah Bennet, Middleborough, 1793, it is said: "There is on the easterly shore of Assawampsitt Pond, on the shore of Betty's Neck, two rocks which have curious marks thereon (supposed to be done by the Indians), which appear like the steppings of a person with naked feet which settled into the rocks; likewise the prints of a hand on several places, with a number of other marks; also there is a rock on a high hill a little to the eastward of the old stone fishing wear, where there is the print of a person's hand in said rock."

It would be well to look at those rocks again more carefully; also at the rock on the hill.

I should think that you would like to explore Snipatuit Pond in Rochester,--it is so large and near. It is an interesting fact that the alewives used to ascend to it,--if they do not still,--both from Mattapoisett and through Great Quitticus.

There will be no trouble about the chamber in the old house, though, as I told you, Mr. Hosmer _may_ expect some compensation for it. He says, "Give my respects to Mr. Ricketson, and tell him that I cannot be at a large expense to preserve an antiquity or curiosity. Nature must do its work." "But," says I, "he asks you only not to assist nature."

* * * * *

It was on October 1 that Thoreau made this visit to New Bedford, spending the best part of a week with his friends there. They sailed about the bay and visited the ponds in Middleborough, and on Saturday, October 6, he parted with Ricketson at Plymouth, and returned home. At that time Ricketson proposed to return Thoreau's visit before October 20, but, in a note now lost, Thoreau sent him word that Channing had left Concord, "perhaps for the winter." The visit was then given up,--which accounts for the tone of Thoreau's next letter, of October 16.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, October 16, 1855.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I have got both your letters at once. You must not think Concord so barren a place when Channing[62] is away. There are the river and fields left yet; and I, though ordinarily a man of business, should have some afternoons and evenings to spend with you, I trust,--that is, if you could stand so much of me. If you can spend your time profitably here, or without _ennui_, having an occasional ramble or _tête-à-tête_ with one of the natives, it will give me pleasure to have you in the neighborhood. You see I am preparing you for our awful unsocial ways,--keeping in our dens a good part of the day,--sucking our claws perhaps. But then we make a religion of it, and that you cannot but respect.

If you know the taste of your own heart, and like it, come to Concord, and I'll warrant you enough here to season the dish with,--aye, even though Channing and Emerson and I were all away. We might paddle quietly up the river. Then there are one or two more ponds to be seen, etc.

I should very much enjoy further rambling with you in your vicinity, but must postpone it for the present. To tell the truth, I am planning to get seriously to work after these long months of inefficiency and idleness. I do not know whether you are haunted by any such demon which puts you on the alert to pluck the fruit of each day as it passes, and store it safely in your bin. True, it is well to live abandonedly from time to time; but to our working hours that must be as the spile to the bung. So for a long season I must enjoy only a low slanting gleam in my mind's eye from the Middleborough ponds far away.

Methinks I am getting a little more strength into those knees of mine; and, for my part, I believe that God _does_ delight in the strength of a man's legs.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, December 9, 1855.

MR. BLAKE,--Thank you! thank you for going a-wooding with me,--and enjoying it,--for being warmed by my wood fire. I have indeed enjoyed it much alone. I see how I might enjoy it yet more with company,--how we might help each other to live. And to be admitted to Nature's hearth costs nothing. None is excluded, but excludes himself. You have only to push aside the curtain.

I am glad to hear that you were there too. There are many more such voyages, and longer ones, to be made on that river, for it is the water of life. The Ganges is nothing to it. Observe its reflections,--no idea but is familiar to it. That river, though to dull eyes it seems terrestrial wholly, flows through Elysium. What powers bathe in it invisible to villagers! Talk of its shallowness,--that hay-carts can be driven through it at midsummer; its depth passeth my understanding. If, forgetting the allurements of the world, I could drink deeply enough of it; if, cast adrift from the shore, I could with complete integrity float on it, I should never be seen on the Mill-Dam again.[63] If there is any depth in me, there is a corresponding depth in it. It is the cold blood of the gods. I paddle and bathe in their artery.

I do not want a stick of wood for so trivial a use as to burn even, but they get it overnight, and carve and gild it that it may please my eye. What persevering lovers they are! What infinite pains to attract and delight us! They will supply us with fagots wrapped in the daintiest packages, and freight paid; sweet-scented woods, and bursting into flower, and resounding as if Orpheus had just left them,--these shall be our fuel, and we still prefer to chaffer with the wood-merchant!

The jug we found still stands draining bottom up on the bank, on the sunny side of the house. That river,--who shall say exactly whence it came, and whither it goes? Does aught that flows come from a higher source? Many things drift downward on its surface which would enrich a man. If you could only be on the alert all day, and every day! And the nights are as long as the days.

Do you not think you could contrive thus to get woody fibre enough to bake your wheaten bread with? Would you not perchance have tasted the sweet crust of another kind of bread in the meanwhile, which ever hangs ready baked on the bread-fruit trees of the world?

Talk of burning your smoke after the wood has been consumed! There is a far more important and warming heat, commonly lost, which precedes the burning of the wood. It is the smoke of industry, which is incense. I had been so thoroughly warmed in body and spirit, that when at length my fuel was housed, I came near selling it to the ash-man, as if I had extracted all its heat.

You should have been here to help me get in my boat. The last time I used it, November 27th, paddling up the Assabet, I saw a great round pine log sunk deep in the water, and with labor got it aboard. When I was floating this home so gently, it occurred to me why I had found it. It was to make wheels with to roll my boat into winter quarters upon. So I sawed off two thick rollers from one end, pierced them for wheels, and then of a joist which I had found drifting on the river in the summer I made an axletree, and on this I rolled my boat out.

Miss Mary Emerson[64] is here,--the youngest person in Concord, though about eighty,--and the most apprehensive of a genuine thought; earnest to know of your inner life; most stimulating society; and exceedingly witty withal. She says they called her old when she was young, and she has never grown any older. I wish you could see her.

My books[65] did not arrive till November 30th, the cargo of the Asia having been complete when they reached Liverpool. I have arranged them in a case which I made in the meanwhile, partly of river boards. I have not dipped far into the new ones yet. One is splendidly bound and illuminated. They are in English, French, Latin, Greek, and Sanscrit. I have not made out the significance of this godsend yet.

Farewell, and bright dreams to you!

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, December 25, 1855.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--Though you have not shown your face here, I trust that you did not interpret my last note to my disadvantage. I remember that, among other things, I wished to break it to you, that, owing to engagements, I should not be able to show you so much attention as I could wish, or as you had shown to me. How we did scour over the country! I hope your horse will live as long as one which I hear just died in the south of France at the age of forty. Yet I had no doubt you would get quite enough of me. Do not give it up so easily. The old house is still empty, and Hosmer is easy to treat with.

Channing was here about ten days ago. I told him of my visit to you, and that he too must go and see you and your country.[66] This may have suggested his writing to you.

That island lodge, especially for some weeks in a summer, and new explorations in your vicinity, are certainly very alluring; but _such are my engagements to myself_, that I dare not promise to wend your way, but will for the present only heartily thank you for your kind and generous offer. When my vacation comes, then look out.

My legs have grown considerably stronger, and that is all that ails me.

But I wish now above all to inform you,--though I suppose you will not be particularly interested,--that Cholmondeley has gone to the Crimea, "a complete soldier," with a design, when he returns, if he ever returns, to buy a cottage in the South of England, and tempt me over; but that, before going, he busied himself in buying, and has caused to be forwarded to me by Chapman, a royal gift, in the shape of twenty-one distinct works (one in nine volumes,--forty-four volumes in all), almost exclusively relating to ancient Hindoo literature, and scarcely one of them to be bought in America.[67] I am familiar with many of them, and know how to prize them. I send you information of this as I might of the birth of a child.

Please remember me to all your family.

* * * * *

On the date of Thoreau's letter of December 25, 1855, another event occurred, of some note in these annals of friendship. Channing, from his Dorchester abode, suddenly showed himself at Ricketson's door. "I had just written his name when old Ranger announced him.... He arrived on Christmas day" (as Thoreau had done the year before) "and his first salutation on meeting me at the front door of my house was, 'That's your shanty,' pointing towards it. He is engaged with the editor of the N. B. _Mercury_, and boards in town, but whereabout I have not yet [February 26, 1856] discovered. He usually spends Saturday and a part of Sunday with me." In replying to this information, Thoreau gives that admirable character of his poet neighbor which has often been quoted.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, March 5, 1856.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I have been out of town, else I should have acknowledged your letter before. Though not in the best mood for writing, I will say what I can now. You plainly have a rare, though a cheap, resource in your shanty. Perhaps the time will come when every country-seat will have one,--when every country-seat will _be one_. I would advise you to see that shanty business out, though you go shanty-mad. Work your vein till it is exhausted, or conducts you to a broader one; so that Channing shall stand before your shanty, and say, "That is your house."

This has indeed been a grand winter for me, and for all of us. I am not considering how much I have enjoyed it. What matters it how happy or unhappy we have been, if we have minded our business and advanced our affairs? I have made it a part of my business to wade in the snow and take the measure of the ice. The ice on one of our ponds was just two feet thick on the first of March; and I have to-day been surveying a wood-lot, where I sank about two feet at every step.

It is high time that you, fanned by the warm breezes of the Gulf Stream, had begun to "_lay_" for even the Concord hens have, though one wonders where they find the raw material of egg-shell here. Beware how you put off your laying to any later spring, else your cackling will not have the inspiring early spring sound.

I was surprised to hear the other day that Channing was in New Bedford. When he was here last (in December, I think), he said, like himself, in answer to my inquiry where he lived, "that he did not know the name of the place;" so it has remained in a degree of obscurity to me. As you have made it certain to me that he is in New Bedford, perhaps I can return the favor by putting you on the track to his boarding-house there. Mrs. Arnold told Mrs. Emerson where it was; and the latter thinks, though she may be mistaken, that it was at a Mrs. Lindsay's.

I am rejoiced to hear that you are getting on so bravely with him and his verses. He and I, as you know, have been old cronies,[68]--

"Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill, Together both, ere the high lawns appeared Under the opening eyelids of the morn, We drove afield, and both together heared," etc.

"But O, the heavy change," now he is gone. The Channing you have seen and described is the real Simon Pure. You have seen him. Many a good ramble may you have together! You will see in him still more of the same kind to attract and to puzzle you. How to serve him most effectually has long been a problem with his friends. Perhaps it is left for you to solve it. I suspect that the most that you or any one can do for him is to appreciate his genius,--to buy and read, and cause others to buy and read, his poems. That is the hand which he has put forth to the world,--take hold of that. Review them if you can,--perhaps take the risk of publishing something more which he may write. Your knowledge of Cowper will help you to know Channing. He will accept sympathy and aid, but he will not bear questioning, unless the aspects of the sky are particularly auspicious. He will ever be "reserved and enigmatic," and you must deal with him at arm's length.

I have no secrets to tell you concerning him, and do not wish to call obvious excellences and defects by far-fetched names. I think I have already spoken to you more, and more to the purpose, on this theme, than I am likely to write now; nor need I suggest how witty and poetic he is, and what an inexhaustible fund of good fellowship you will find in him.

As for visiting you in April, though I am inclined enough to take some more rambles in your neighborhood, especially by the seaside, I dare not engage myself, nor allow you to expect me. The truth is, I have my enterprises now as ever, at which I tug with ridiculous feebleness, but admirable perseverance, and cannot say when I shall be sufficiently fancy-free for such an excursion.

You have done well to write a lecture on Cowper. In the expectation of getting you to read it here, I applied to the curators of our Lyceum;[69] but, alas, our Lyceum has been a failure this winter for want of funds. It ceased some weeks since, with a debt, they tell me, to be carried over to the next year's account. Only one more lecture is to be read by a Signor Somebody, an Italian, paid for by private subscription, as a deed of charity to the lecturer. They are not rich enough to offer you your expenses even, though probably a month or two ago they would have been glad of the chance.

However, the old house has not failed yet. That offers you lodging for an indefinite time after you get into it; and in the meanwhile I offer you bed and board in my father's house,--always excepting hair pillows and new-fangled bedding.

Remember me to your family.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, March 13, 1856.

MR. BLAKE,--It is high time I sent you a word. I have not heard from Harrisburg since offering to go there, and have not been invited to lecture anywhere else the past winter. So you see I am fast growing rich. This is quite right, for such is my relation to the lecture-goers, I should be surprised and alarmed if there were any great call for me. I confess that I am considerably alarmed even when I hear that an individual wishes to meet me, for my experience teaches me that we shall thus only be made certain of a mutual strangeness, which otherwise we might never have been aware of.

I have not yet recovered strength enough for such a walk as you propose, though pretty well again for circumscribed rambles and chamber work. Even now, I am probably the greatest walker in Concord,--to its disgrace be it said. I remember our walks and talks and sailing in the past with great satisfaction, and trust that we shall have more of them ere long,--have more woodings-up,--for even in the spring we must still seek "fuel to maintain our fires."

As you suggest, we would fain value one another for what we are absolutely, rather than relatively. How will this do for a symbol of sympathy?

/ * * * * \ / * * * \ / * * \ A B

As for compliments, even the stars praise me, and I praise them. They and I sometimes belong to a mutual admiration society. Is it not so with you? I know you of old. Are you not tough and earnest to be talked at, praised, or blamed? Must _you_ go out of the room because you are the subject of conversation? Where will you go to, pray? Shall we look into the "Letter Writer" to see what compliments are admissible? I am not afraid of praise, for I have practiced it on myself. As for my deserts, I never took an account of that stock, and in this connection care not whether I am deserving or not. When I hear praise coming, do I not elevate and arch myself to hear it like the sky, and as impersonally? Think I appropriate any of it to my weak legs? No. Praise away _till all is blue_.

I see by the newspapers that the season for making sugar is at hand. Now is the time, whether you be rock, or white maple, or hickory. I trust that you have prepared a store of sap-tubs and sumach spouts, and invested largely in kettles. Early the first frosty morning, tap your maples,--the sap will not run in summer, you know. It matters not how little juice you get, if you get all you can, and boil it down. I made just one crystal of sugar once, one twentieth of an inch cube, out of a pumpkin, and it sufficed. Though the yield be no greater than that, this is not less the season for it, and it will be not the less sweet, nay, it will be infinitely the sweeter.

Shall, then, the maple yield sugar, and not man? Shall the farmer be thus active, and surely have so much sugar to show for it, before this very March is gone,--while I read the newspaper? While he works in his sugar-camp let me work in mine,--for sweetness is in me, and to sugar it shall come,--it shall not all go to leaves and wood. Am I not a _sugar maple_ man, then? Boil down the sweet sap which the spring causes to flow within you. Stop not at syrup,--go on to sugar, though you present the world with but a single crystal,--a crystal not made from trees in your yard, but from the new life that stirs in your pores. Cheerfully skim your kettle, and watch it set and crystallize, making a holiday of it if you will. Heaven will be propitious to you as to him.

Say to the farmer: There is your crop; here is mine. Mine is a sugar to sweeten sugar with. If you will listen to me, I will sweeten your whole load,--your whole life.

Then will the callers ask, Where is Blake? He is in his sugar-camp on the mountainside. Let the world await him. Then will the little boys bless you, and the great boys too, for such sugar is the origin of many condiments,--Blakians in the shops of Worcester, of new form, with their mottoes wrapped up in them. Shall men taste only the sweetness of the maple and the cane the coming year?

A walk over the crust to Asnebumskit, standing there in its inviting simplicity, is tempting to think of,--making a fire on the snow under some rock! The very poverty of outward nature implies an inward wealth in the walker. What a Golconda is he conversant with, thawing his fingers over such a blaze! But--but--

Have you read the new poem, "The Angel in the House"? Perhaps you will find it good for you.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, May 21, 1856.

MR. BLAKE,--I have not for a long time been _putting such thoughts together_ as I should like to read to the company you speak of. I have enough of that sort to say, or even read, but not time now to arrange it. Something I have prepared might prove for their entertainment or refreshment perchance; but I would not like to have a hat carried round for it. I have just been reading some papers to see if they would do for your company; but though I thought pretty well of them as long as I read them to myself, when I got an auditor to try them on, I felt that they would not answer. How could I let you drum up a company to hear them? In fine, what I have is either too scattered or loosely arranged, or too light, or else is too scientific and matter-of-fact (I run a good deal into that of late) for so hungry a company.

I am still a learner, not a teacher, feeding somewhat omnivorously, browsing both stalk and leaves; but I shall perhaps be enabled to speak with the more precision and authority by and by,--if philosophy and sentiment are not buried under a multitude of details.

I do not refuse, but accept your invitation, only changing the time. I consider myself invited to Worcester once for all, and many thanks to the inviter. As for the Harvard excursion,[70] will you let me suggest another? Do you and Brown come to Concord on Saturday, if the weather promises well, and spend the Sunday here on the river or hills, or both. So we shall save some of our money (which is of next importance to our souls), and lose--I do not know what. You say you _talked_ of coming here before; now _do_ it. I do not propose this because I think that I am worth your spending time with, but because I hope that we may prove flint and steel to one another. It is at most only an hour's ride farther, and you can at any rate do what you please when you get here.

Then we will see if we have any apology to offer for our existence. So come to Concord,--come to Concord,--come to Concord! or--your suit shall be defaulted.

As for the dispute about solitude and society, any comparison is impertinent. It is an idling down on the plane at the base of a mountain, instead of climbing steadily to its top. Of course you will be glad of all the society you can get to go up with. Will you go to glory with me? is the burden of the song. I love society so much that I swallowed it all at a gulp,--that is, all that came in my way. It is not that we love to be alone, but that we love to soar, and when we do soar, the company grows thinner and thinner till there is none at all. It is either the _Tribune_[71] on the plain, a sermon on the mount, or a very private ecstasy still higher up. We are not the less to aim at the summits, though the multitude does not ascend them. Use all the society that will abet you. But perhaps I do not enter into the spirit of your talk.

* * * * *

In the spring of 1856, Mr. Alcott, then living in Walpole, N. H., visited Concord, and while there suggested to Thoreau that the upper valley of the Connecticut, in which Walpole lies, was good walking-ground, and that he would be glad to see him there. When autumn began to hover in the distance, Thoreau recalled this invitation, and sent the letter below.

TO BRONSON ALCOTT (AT WALPOLE, N. H.).

CONCORD, SEPTEMBER 1, 1856.

MR. ALCOTT,--I remember that, in the spring, you invited me to visit you. I feel inclined to spend a day or two with you and on your hills at this season, returning, perhaps, by way of Brattleboro. What if I should take the cars for Walpole next Friday morning? Are you at home? And will it be convenient and agreeable to you to see me then? I will await an answer.

I am but poor company, and it will not be worth the while to put yourself out on my account; yet from time to time I have some thoughts which would be the better for an airing. I also wish to get some hints from September on the Connecticut to help me understand that season on the Concord; to snuff the musty fragrance of the decaying year in the primitive woods. There is considerable cellar-room in my nature for such stores; a whole row of bins waiting to be filled, before I can celebrate my Thanksgiving. Mould is the richest of soils, yet _I_ am not mould. It will always be found that one flourishing institution exists and battens on another mouldering one. The Present itself is parasitic to this extent.

Your fellow-traveler, HENRY D. THOREAU.

As fortune would have it, Mr. Alcott was then making his arrangements for a conversational tour in the vicinity of New York; but he renewed the invitation for himself, while repeating it in the name of Mrs. Alcott and his daughters. Thoreau made the visit, I believe, and some weeks later, at the suggestion of Mr. Alcott, he was asked by Marcus Spring of New York to give lectures and survey their estate for a community at Perth Amboy, N. J., in which Mr. Spring and his friends, the Birneys, Welds, Grimkés, etc., had united for social and educational purposes. It was a colony of radical opinions and old-fashioned culture; the Grimkés having been bred in Charleston, S. C., which they left by reason of their opposition to negro slavery, and the elder Birney having held slaves in Alabama until his conscience bade him emancipate them, after which he, too, could have no secure home among slaveholders. He was the first presidential candidate of the voting Abolitionists, as Lincoln was the last; and his friend, Theodore Weld, who married Miss Grimké, had been one of the early apostles of emancipation in Ohio. Their circle at Eagleswood appealed to Thoreau's sense of humor, and is described by him in a letter soon to be given.

* * * * *

In June, 1856, Thoreau made a long visit at Brooklawn. In August, Mr. Ricketson, who had proposed a summer visit to Concord, found himself prevented by feeble health, and received the two following letters from Thoreau:--

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, September 2, 1856.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--My father and mother regret that your indisposition is likely to prevent your coming to Concord at present. It is as well that you do not, if you depend on seeing me, for I expect to go to New Hampshire the latter part of the week. I shall be glad to see you afterward, if you are prepared for and can endure my unsocial habits.

I would suggest that you have one or two of the teeth which you can best spare extracted at once, for the sake of your general, no less than particular health. This is the advice of one who has had quite his share of toothache in this world. I am a trifle stouter than when I saw you last, yet far, far short of my best estate.

I thank you for two newspapers which you have sent me; am glad to see that you have studied out the history of the ponds, got the Indian names straightened,--which means made more crooked,--etc., etc. I remember them with great satisfaction. They are all the more interesting to me for the lean and sandy soil that surrounds them. Heaven is not one of your fertile Ohio bottoms, you may depend on it. Ah, the Middleborough ponds!--Great Platte lakes. Remember me to the perch in them. I trust that I may have some better craft than that oarless pumpkin-seed[72] the next time I navigate them.

From the size of your family I infer that Mrs. Ricketson and your daughters have returned from Franconia. Please remember me to them, and also to Arthur and Walton; and tell the latter that if, in the course of his fishing, he should chance to come across the shell of a terrapin, and will save it for me, I shall be exceedingly obliged to him.

Channing dropped in on us the other day, but soon dropped out again.

CONCORD, September 23, 1856.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I have returned from New Hampshire, and find myself _in statu quo_. My journey proved one of business purely. As you suspected, I saw Alcott, and I spoke to him of you, and your good will toward him; so now you may consider yourself introduced. He would be glad to hear from you about a conversation in New Bedford. He was about setting out on a conversing tour to Fitchburg, Worcester, and, three or four weeks hence, Waterbury, Ct., New York, Newport (?) or Providence (?). You may be sure that you will not have occasion to repent of any exertions which you may make to secure an audience for him. I send you one of his programmes, lest he should not have done so himself.

You propose to me teaching the following winter. I find that I cannot entertain the idea. It would require such a revolution of all my habits, I think, and would sap the very foundations of me. I am engaged to Concord and my own private pursuits by 10,000 ties, and it would be suicide to rend them. If I were weaker, and not somewhat stronger, physically, I should be more tempted. I am so busy that I cannot even think of visiting you. The days are not long enough, or I am not strong enough to do the work of the day, before bedtime.

Excuse my paper. It chances to be the best I have.

* * * * *

In October, 1856, Mr. Spring, whom Mr. Alcott was then visiting, wrote to Thoreau inviting him to come to Eagleswood, give lectures, and survey two hundred acres of land belonging to the community, laying out streets and making a map of the proposed village. Thoreau accepted the proposal, and soon after wrote the following letter, which Miss Thoreau submitted to Mr. Emerson for publication, with other letters, in the volume of 1865; but he returned it, inscribed, "Not printable at present." The lapse of time has removed this objection.

TO SOPHIA THOREAU.

[Direct] EAGLESWOOD, PERTH AMBOY, N. J., Saturday eve, November 1, 1856.

DEAR SOPHIA,--I have hardly had time and repose enough to write to you before. I spent the afternoon of Friday (it seems some months ago) in Worcester, but failed to see [Harrison] Blake, he having "gone to the horse-race" in Boston; to atone for which I have just received a letter from him, asking me to stop at Worcester and lecture on my return. I called on [Theo.] Brown and [T. W.] Higginson; in the evening came by way of Norwich to New York in the steamer Commonwealth, and, though it was so windy inland, had a perfectly smooth passage, and about as good a sleep as usually at home. Reached New York about seven A. M., too late for the John Potter (there was n't any Jonas), so I spent the forenoon there, called on Greeley (who was not in), met [F. A. T.] Bellew in Broadway and walked into his workshop, read at the Astor Library, etc. I arrived here, about thirty miles from New York, about five P. M. Saturday, in company with Miss E. Peabody, who was returning in the same covered wagon from the Landing to Eagleswood, which last place she has just left for the winter.

This is a queer place. There is one large long stone building, which cost some forty thousand dollars, in which I do not know exactly who or how many work (one or two familiar places and more familiar names have turned up), a few shops and offices, an old farmhouse, and Mr. Spring's perfectly private residence, within twenty rods of the main building. The city of Perth Amboy is about as big as Concord, and Eagleswood is one and a quarter miles southwest of it, on the Bay side. The central fact here is evidently Mr. [Theodore] Weld's school, recently established, around which various other things revolve. Saturday evening I went to the schoolroom, hall, or what not, to see the children and their teachers and patrons dance. Mr. Weld, a kind-looking man with a long white beard, danced with them, and Mr. [E. J.] Cutler, his assistant (lately from Cambridge, who is acquainted with Sanborn), Mr. Spring, and others. This Saturday evening dance is a regular thing, and it is thought something strange if you don't attend. They take it for granted that you want society!

Sunday forenoon I attended a sort of Quaker meeting at the same place (the Quaker aspect and spirit prevail here,--Mrs. Spring says, "Does thee not?"), where it was expected that the Spirit would move me (I having been previously spoken to about it); and it, or something else, did,--an inch or so. I said just enough to set them a little by the ears and make it lively. I had excused myself by saying that I could not adapt myself to a particular audience; for all the speaking and lecturing here have reference to the children, who are far the greater part of the audience, and they are not so bright as New England children. Imagine them sitting close to the wall, all around a hall, with old Quaker-looking men and women here and there. There sat Mrs. Weld [Grimké] and her sister, two elderly gray-headed ladies, the former in extreme Bloomer costume, which was what you may call remarkable; Mr. Arnold Buffum, with broad face and a great white beard, looking like a pier-head made of the cork-tree with the bark on, as if he could buffet a considerable wave; James G. Birney, formerly candidate for the presidency, with another particularly white head and beard; Edward Palmer, the anti-money man (for whom communities were made), with his ample beard somewhat grayish. Some of them, I suspect, are very worthy people. Of course you are wondering to what extent all these make one family, and to what extent twenty. Mrs. Kirkland[73] (and this a name only to me) I saw. She has just bought a lot here. They all know more about your neighbors and acquaintances than you suspected.

On Monday evening I read the moose story to the children, to their satisfaction. Ever since I have been constantly engaged in surveying Eagleswood,--through woods, salt marshes, and along the shore, dodging the tide, through bushes, mud, and beggar-ticks, having no time to look up or think where I am. (It takes ten or fifteen minutes before each meal to pick the beggar-ticks out of my clothes; burs and the rest are left, and rents mended at the first convenient opportunity.) I shall be engaged perhaps as much longer. Mr. Spring wants me to help him about setting out an orchard and vineyard, Mr. Birney asks me to survey a small piece for him, and Mr. Alcott, who has just come down here for the third Sunday, says that Greeley (I left my name for him) invites him and me to go to his home with him next Saturday morning and spend the Sunday.

It seems a twelvemonth since I was not here, but I hope to get settled deep into my den again ere long. The hardest thing to find here is solitude--and Concord. I am at Mr. Spring's house. Both he and she and their family are quite agreeable.

I want you to write to me immediately (just left off to talk French with the servant man), and let father and mother put in a word. To them and to Aunts, love from

HENRY.

The date of this visit to Eagleswood is worthy of note, because in that November Thoreau made the acquaintance of the late Walt Whitman, in whom he ever after took a deep interest. Accompanied by Mr. Alcott, he called on Whitman, then living at Brooklyn; and I remember the calm enthusiasm with which they both spoke of Whitman upon their return to Concord. "Three men," said Emerson, in his funeral eulogy of Thoreau, "have of late years strongly impressed Mr. Thoreau,--John Brown, his Indian guide in Maine, Joe Polis, and a third person, not known to this audience." This last was Whitman, who has since become well known to a larger audience.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

EAGLESWOOD, N. J., November 19, 1856.

MR. BLAKE,--I have been here much longer than I expected, but have deferred answering you, because I could not foresee when I should return. I do not know yet within three or four days. This uncertainty makes it impossible for me to appoint a day to meet you, until it should be too late to hear from you again. I think, therefore, that I must go straight home. I feel some objection to reading that "What shall it profit" lecture again in Worcester; but if you are quite sure that it will be worth the while (it is a grave consideration), I will even make an independent journey from Concord for that purpose. I have read three of my old lectures (that included) to the Eagleswood people, and, unexpectedly, with rare success,--_i. e._, I was aware that what I was saying was silently taken in by their ears.

You must excuse me if I write mainly a business letter now, for I am sold for the time,--am merely Thoreau the surveyor here,--and solitude is scarcely obtainable in these parts.

Alcott has been here three times, and, Saturday before last, I went with him and Greeley, by invitation of the last, to G.'s farm, thirty-six miles north of New York. The next day A. and I heard Beecher preach; and what was more, we visited Whitman the next morning (A. had already seen him), and were much interested and provoked. He is apparently the greatest democrat the world has seen. Kings and aristocracy go by the board at once, as they have long deserved to. A remarkably strong though coarse nature, of a sweet disposition, and much prized by his friends. Though peculiar and rough in his exterior, his skin (all over (?)) red, he is essentially a gentleman. I am still somewhat in a quandary about him,--feel that he is essentially strange to me, at any rate; but I am surprised by the sight of him. He is very broad, but, as I have said, not fine. He said that I misapprehended him. I am not quite sure that I do. He told us that he loved to ride up and down Broadway all day on an omnibus, sitting beside the driver, listening to the roar of the carts, and sometimes gesticulating and declaiming Homer at the top of his voice. He has long been an editor and writer for the newspapers,--was editor of the _New Orleans Crescent_ once; but now has no employment but to read and write in the forenoon, and walk in the afternoon, like all the rest of the scribbling gentry.

I shall probably be in Concord next week; so you can direct to me there.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, December 6, 1853.

MR. BLAKE,--I trust that you got a note from me at Eagleswood, about a fortnight ago. I passed through Worcester on the morning of the 25th of November, and spent several hours (from 3.30 to 6.20) in the travelers' room at the depot, as in a dream, it now seems. As the first Harlem train unexpectedly connected with the first from Fitchburg, I did not spend the forenoon with you as I had anticipated, on account of baggage, etc. If it had been a seasonable hour, I should have seen you,--_i. e._, if you had not gone to a horse-race. But think of making a call at half past three in the morning! (would it not have implied a three-o'clock-in-the-morning courage in both you and me?) as it were, ignoring the fact that mankind are really not at home,--are not out, but so deeply in that they cannot be seen,--nearly half their hours at this season of the year.

I walked up and down the main street, at half past five, in the dark, and paused long in front of Brown's store, trying to distinguish its features; considering whether I might safely leave his _Putnam_ in the door-handle, but concluded not to risk it. Meanwhile a watchman (?) seemed to be watching me, and I moved off. Took another turn around there, and had the very earliest offer of the _Transcript_[74] from an urchin behind, whom I actually could not see, it was so dark. So I withdrew, wondering if you and B. would know if I had been there. You little dream who is occupying Worcester when you are all asleep. Several things occurred there that night which I will venture to say were not put into the _Transcript_. A cat caught a mouse at the depot, and gave it to her kitten to play with. So that world-famous tragedy goes on by night as well as by day, and nature is _emphatically_ wrong. Also I saw a young Irishman kneel before his mother, as if in prayer, while she wiped a cinder out of his eye with her tongue; and I found that it was never too late (or early?) to learn something. These things transpired while you and B. were, to all practical purposes, nowhere, and good for nothing,--not even for society,--not for horse-races,--nor the taking back of a _Putnam's Magazine_. It is true, I might have recalled you to life, but it would have been a cruel act, considering the kind of life you would have come back to.

However, I would fain write to you now by broad daylight, and report to you some of my life, such as it is, and recall you to your life, which is not always lived by you, even by daylight. Blake! Brown! are you awake? are you aware what an ever-glorious morning this is,--what long-expected, never-to-be-repeated opportunity is now offered to get life and knowledge?

For my part, I am trying to wake up,--to wring slumber out of my pores; for, generally, I take events as unconcernedly as a fence-post,--absorb wet and cold like it, and am pleasantly tickled with lichens slowly spreading over me. Could I not be content, then, to be a cedar post, which lasts twenty-five years? Would I not rather be that than the farmer that set it? or he that preaches to the farmer? and go to the heaven of posts at last? I think I should like that as well as any would like it. But I should not care if I sprouted into a living tree, put forth leaves and flowers, and bore fruit.

I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite,--only a sense of existence. Well, anything for variety. I am ready to try this for the next ten thousand years, and exhaust it. How sweet to think of! my extremities well charred, and my intellectual part too, so that there is no danger of worm or rot for a long while. My breath is sweet to me. O how I laugh when I think of my vague, indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.

What are all these years made for? and now another winter comes, so much like the last? Can't we satisfy the beggars once for all?

Have you got in your wood for this winter? What else have you got in? Of what use a great fire on the hearth, and a confounded little fire in the heart? Are you prepared to make a decisive campaign,--to pay for your costly tuition,--to pay for the suns of past summers,--for happiness and unhappiness lavished upon you?

Does not Time go by swifter than the swiftest equine trotter or racker?

Stir up Brown. Remind him of his duties, which outrun the date and span of Worcester's years past and to come. Tell him to be sure that he is on the main street, however narrow it may be, and to have a lit sign, visible by night as well as by day.

Are they not patient waiters,--they who wait for us? But even they shall not be losers.

December 7.

That Walt Whitman, of whom I wrote to you, is the most interesting fact to me at present. I have just read his second edition (which he gave me), and it has done me more good than any reading for a long time. Perhaps I remember best the poem of Walt Whitman, an American, and the Sun-Down Poem. There are two or three pieces in the book which are disagreeable, to say the least; simply sensual. He does not celebrate love at all. It is as if the beasts spoke. I think that men have not been ashamed of themselves without reason. No doubt there have always been dens where such deeds were unblushingly recited, and it is no merit to compete with their inhabitants. But even on this side he has spoken more truth than any American or modern that I know. I have found his poem exhilarating, encouraging. As for its sensuality,--and it may turn out to be less sensual than it appears,--I do not so much wish that those parts were not written, as that men and women were so pure that they could read them without harm, that is, without understanding them. One woman told me that no woman could read it,--as if a man could read what a woman could not. Of course Walt Whitman can communicate to us no experience, and if we are shocked, whose experience is it that we are reminded of?

On the whole, it sounds to me very brave and American, after whatever deductions. I do not believe that all the sermons, so called, that have been preached in this land put together are equal to it for preaching.

We ought to rejoice greatly in him. He occasionally suggests something a little more than human. You can't confound him with the other inhabitants of Brooklyn or New York. How they must shudder when they read him! He is awfully good.

To be sure I sometimes feel a little imposed on. By his heartiness and broad generalities he puts me into a liberal frame of mind prepared to see wonders,--as it were, sets me upon a hill or in the midst of a plain,--stirs me well up, and then--throws in a thousand of brick. Though rude, and sometimes ineffectual, it is a great primitive poem,--an alarum or trumpet-note ringing through the American camp. Wonderfully like the Orientals, too, considering that when I asked him if he had read them, he answered, "No: tell me about them."

I did not get far in conversation with him,--two more being present,--and among the few things which I chanced to say, I remember that one was, in answer to him as representing America, that I did not think much of America or of politics, and so on, which may have been somewhat of a damper to him.

Since I have seen him, I find that I am not disturbed by any brag or egoism in his book. He may turn out the least of a braggart of all, having a better right to be confident.

He is a great fellow.

* * * * *

There is in Alcott's diary an account of this interview with Whitman, and the Sunday morning in Ward Beecher's Brooklyn church, from which a few passages may be taken. Hardly any person met by either of these Concord friends in their later years made so deep an impression on both as did this then almost unknown poet and thinker, concerning whom Cholmondeley wrote to Thoreau in 1857: "Is there actually such a man as Whitman? Has any one seen or handled him? His is a tongue 'not understanded' of the English people. I find _the gentleman_ altogether left out of the book. It is the first book I have ever seen which I should call a 'new book.'"

Mr. Alcott writes under date of November 7, 1856, in New York: "Henry Thoreau arrives from Eagleswood, and sees Swinton, a wise young Scotchman, and Walt Whitman's friend, at my room (15 Laight Street),--Thoreau declining to accompany me to Mrs. Botta's parlors, as invited by her. He sleeps here. (November 8.) We find Greeley at the Harlem station, and ride with him to his farm, where we pass the day, and return to sleep in the city,--Greeley coming in with us; Alice Cary, the authoress, accompanying us also. (Sunday, November 9.) We cross the ferry to Brooklyn, and hear Ward Beecher at the Plymouth Church. It was a spectacle,--and himself the preacher, if preacher there be anywhere now in pulpits. His auditors had to weep, had to laugh, under his potent magnetism, while his doctrine of justice to all men, bond and free, was grand. House, entries, aisles, galleries, all were crowded. Thoreau called it pagan, but I pronounced it good, very good,--the best I had witnessed for many a day, and hopeful for the coming time. At dinner at Mrs. Manning's. Miss M. S. was there, curious to see Thoreau. After dinner we called on Walt Whitman (Thoreau and I), but finding him out, we got all we could from his mother, a stately, sensible matron, believing absolutely in Walter, and telling us how good he was, and how wise when a boy; and how his four brothers and two sisters loved him, and still take counsel of the great man he has grown to be. We engaged to call again early in the morning, when she said Walt would be glad to see us. (Monday, 10th.) Mrs. Tyndale of Philadelphia goes with us to see Walt,--Walt the satyr, the Bacchus, the very god Pan. We sat with him for two hours, and much to our delight; he promising to call on us at the International at ten in the morning to-morrow, and there have the rest of it." Whitman failed to call at his hour the next day.

TO B. B. WILEY (AT CHICAGO).

CONCORD, December 12, 1856.

MR. WILEY,[75]--It is refreshing to hear of your earnest purpose with respect to your culture, and I can send you no better wish than that you may not be thwarted by the cares and temptations of life. Depend on it, _now_ is the accepted time, and probably you will never find yourself better disposed or freer to attend to your culture than at this moment. When _They_ who inspire us with the idea are ready, shall not we be ready also?

I do not remember anything which Confucius has said directly respecting man's "origin, purpose, and destiny." He was more practical than that. He is full of wisdom applied to human relations,--to the private life,--the family,--government, etc. It is remarkable that, according to his own account, the sum and substance of his teaching is, as you know, to do as you would be done by.

He also said (I translate from the French), "Conduct yourself suitably towards the persons of your family, then you will be able to instruct and to direct a nation of men."

"To nourish one's self with a little rice, to drink water, to have only his bended arm to support his head, is a state which has also its satisfaction. To be rich and honored by iniquitous means is for me as the floating cloud which passes."

"As soon as a child is born he must respect its faculties: the knowledge which will come to it by and by does not resemble at all its present state. If it arrive at the age of forty or fifty years without having learned anything, it is no more worthy of any respect." This last, I think, will speak to your condition.

But at this rate I might fill many letters.

Our acquaintance with the ancient Hindoos is not at all personal. The full names that can be relied upon are very shadowy. It is, however, tangible works that we know. The best I think of are the Bhagvat Geeta (an episode in an ancient heroic poem called the Mahabarat), the Vedas, the Vishnu Purana, the Institutes of Menu, etc.

I cannot say that Swedenborg has been directly and practically valuable to me, for I have not been a reader of him, except to a slight extent; but I have the highest regard for him, and trust that I shall read his works in some world or other. He had a wonderful knowledge of our interior and spiritual life, though his illuminations are occasionally blurred by trivialities. He comes nearer to answering, or attempting to answer, literally, your questions concerning man's origin, purpose, and destiny, than any of the worthies I have referred to. But I think that that is not _altogether_ a recommendation; since such an answer to these questions cannot be discovered any more than perpetual motion, for which no reward is now offered. The noblest man it is, methinks, that knows, and by his life suggests, the most about these things. Crack away at these nuts, however, as long as you can,--the very exercise will ennoble you, and you may get something better than the answer you expect.

TO B. B. WILEY (AT CHICAGO).

CONCORD, April 26, 1857.

MR. WILEY,--I see that you are turning a broad furrow among the books, but I trust that some very private journal all the while holds its own through their midst. Books can only reveal us to ourselves, and as often as they do us this service we lay them aside. I should say, read Goethe's autobiography, by all means, also Gibbon's, Haydon the painter's, and our Franklin's of course; perhaps also Alfieri's, Benvenuto Cellini's, and De Quincey's "Confessions of an Opium-Eater,"--since you like autobiography. I think you must read Coleridge again, and further, skipping all his theology, _i. e._, if you value precise definitions and a discriminating use of language. By the way, read De Quincey's Reminiscences of Coleridge and Wordsworth.

How shall we account for our pursuits, if they are original? We get the language with which to describe our various lives out of a common mint. If others have their losses which they are busy repairing, so have I mine, and their hound and horse may _perhaps_ be the symbols of some of them.[76] But also I have lost, or am in danger of losing, a far finer and more ethereal treasure which commonly no loss, of which they are conscious, will symbolize. This I answer hastily and with some hesitation, according as I now understand my words....

Methinks a certain polygamy with its troubles is the fate of almost all men. They are married to two wives: their genius (a celestial muse), and also to some fair daughter of the earth. Unless these two were fast friends before marriage, and so are afterward, there will be but little peace in the house.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, December 31, 1856.

MR. BLAKE,--I think it will not be worth the while for me to come to Worcester to lecture at all this year. It will be better to wait till I am--perhaps unfortunately--more in that line. My writing has not taken the shape of lectures, and therefore I should be obliged to read one of three or four old lectures, the best of which I have read to some of your auditors before. I carried that one which I call "Walking, or the Wild," to Amherst, N. H., the evening of that cold Thursday,[77] and I am to read another at Fitchburg, February 3. I am simply their hired man. This will probably be the extent of my lecturing hereabouts.

I must depend on meeting Mr. Wasson some other time.

Perhaps it always costs me more than it comes to to lecture before a promiscuous audience. It is an irreparable injury done to my modesty even,--I become so indurated.

O solitude! obscurity! meanness! I never triumph so as when I have the least success in my neighbor's eyes. The lecturer gets fifty dollars a night; but what becomes of his winter? What consolation will it be hereafter to have fifty thousand dollars for living in the world? I should like not to exchange _any_ of my life for money.

These, you may think, are reasons for not lecturing, when you have no great opportunity. It is even so, perhaps. I could lecture on dry oak leaves; I could, but who could hear me? If I were to try it on any large audience, I fear it would be no gain to them, and a positive loss to me. I should have behaved rudely toward my rustling friends.[78]

I am surveying, instead of lecturing, at present. Let me have a skimming from your "pan of unwrinkled cream."

* * * * *

The proposition about Mr. Alcott in Thoreau's letter of September 23, 1856, to Mr. Ricketson took effect in the spring of 1857, and early in April he went to visit the Ricketsons in New Bedford, going down from Walpole, and there met his younger friends Channing and Thoreau. Anticipating Mr. Alcott's visit, Thoreau wrote thus:--

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, March 28, 1857.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--If it chances to be perfectly agreeable and convenient to you, I will make you a visit next week (say Wednesday or Thursday), and we will have some more rides to Assawampset and the seashore. Have you got a boat on the former yet? Who knows but we may camp out on the island? I propose this now, because it will be more novel to me at this season, and I should like to see your early birds, etc.

Your historical papers have all come safely to hand, and I thank you for them. I see that they will be indispensable _mémoires pour servir_. By the way, have you read Church's "History of Philip's War," and looked up the localities? It should make part of a chapter.

I had a long letter from Cholmondeley lately, which I should like to show you,

I will expect an answer to this straightway,--but be sure you let your own convenience and inclinations rule it. Please remember me to your family.

* * * * *

He was welcomed, of course, and went down April 2, as indicated in the letter of the day before. But he had not been informed that Alcott was already there, writing in his Diary of April 1, this sketch of Brooklawn and its occupants:--

"A neat country residence, surrounded by wild pastures and low woods,--the little stream Acushnet flowing east of the house, and into Fairhaven Bay. The hamlet of Acushnet at the 'Head of the River' lies within half a mile of Ricketson's house. His tastes are pastoral, simple even to wildness; and he passes a good part of his day in the fields and woods,--or in his rude 'Shanty' near his house, where he writes and reads his favorite authors, Cowper having the first place. He is in easy circumstances, and has the manners of an English gentleman,--frank, hospitable, and with positive persuasions of his own; mercurial, perhaps, and wayward a little sometimes, but full of kindness and sensibility to suffering."

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, April 1, 1857.

DEAR RICKETSON,--I got your note of welcome night before last. Channing is not here; at least I have not seen nor heard of him, but depend on meeting him in New Bedford. I expect, if the weather is favorable, to take the 4.30 train from Boston to-morrow, Thursday, P. M., for I hear of no noon train, and shall be glad to find your wagon at Tarkiln Hill, for I see it will be rather late for going across lots.

Alcott was here last week, and will probably visit New Bedford within a week or two.

I have seen all the spring signs you mention, and a few more, even here. Nay, I heard one frog peep nearly a week ago,--methinks the very first one in all this region. I wish that there were a few more signs of spring in myself; however, I take it that there _are_ as many within us as we think we hear _without_ us. I am decent for a steady pace, but not yet for a race. I have a little cold at present, and you speak of rheumatism about the head and shoulders. Your frost is not quite out. I suppose that the earth itself has a little cold and rheumatism about these times; but all these things together produce a very fair general result. In a concert, you know, we must sing our parts feebly sometimes, that we may not injure the general effect. I should n't wonder if my two-year-old invalidity had been a positively charming feature to some amateurs favorably located. Why not a blasted man as well as a blasted tree, on your lawn?

If you should happen not to see me by the train named, do not go again, but wait at home for me, or a note from

Yours, HENRY D. THOREAU.

On that Thursday, April 2, Alcott wrote in his Diary, "Henry Thoreau comes to tea, also Ellery Channing, and we talk till into the evening late." This visit of Thoreau was his longest, lasting until April 15, and it was during the fortnight that he sang "Tom Bowling" and danced with vigor in the Brooklawn drawing-room, a scene which Alcott loved to describe. Sophia Thoreau, writing in 1862, said: "I have so often witnessed the like that I can easily imagine how it was, and I remember that Henry gave me some account. I recollect he said that he did not scruple to tread on Mr. Alcott's toes."

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, April 17, 1857.

MR. BLAKE,--I returned from New Bedford night before last. I met Alcott there, and learned from him that probably you had gone to Concord. I am very sorry that I missed you. I had expected you earlier, and at last thought that I should get back before you came; but I ought to have notified you of my absence. However, it would have been too late, after I had made up my mind to go. I hope you lost nothing by going a little round.

I took out the celtis seeds at your request, at the time we spoke of them, and left them in the chamber on some shelf or other. If you have found them, very well; if you have not found them, very well; but tell Hale[79] of it, if you see him. My mother says that you and Brown and Rogers and Wasson (titles left behind) talk of coming down on me some day. Do not fail to come, one and all, and within a week or two, if possible; else I may be gone again. Give me a short notice, and then come and spend a day on Concord River,--or say that you will come if it is fair, unless you are confident of bringing fair weather with you. Come and be Concord, as I have been Worcestered.

Perhaps you came nearer to me for not finding me at home; for trains of thought the more connect when trains of cars do not. If I had actually met you, you would have gone again; but now I have not yet dismissed you. I hear what you say about personal relations with joy. It is as if you had said: "I value the best and finest part of you, and not the worst. I can even endure your very near and real approach, and prefer it to a shake of the hand." This intercourse is not subject to time or distance.

I have a very long new and faithful letter from Cholmondeley which I wish to show you. He speaks of sending me more books!!

If I were with you now, I could tell you much of Ricketson, and my visit to New Bedford; but I do not know how it will be by and by. I should like to have you meet R., who is the frankest man I know. Alcott and he get along very well together. Channing has returned to Concord with me,--probably for a short visit only.

Consider this a business letter, which you know _counts_ nothing in the game we play. Remember me particularly to Brown.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, June 6, 1857, 3 P. M.

MR. BLAKE,--I have just got your note, but I am sorry to say that I this very morning sent a note to Channing, stating that I would go with him to Cape Cod next week on an excursion which we have been talking of for some time. If there were time to communicate with you, I should ask you to come to Concord on Monday, before I go; but as it is, I must wait till I come back, which I think will be about ten days hence. I do not like this delay, but there seems to be a fate in it. Perhaps Mr. Wasson will be well enough to come by that time. I will notify you of my return, and shall depend on seeing you all.

June 23d. I returned from Cape Cod last evening, and now take the first opportunity to invite you men of Worcester to this quiet _Mediterranean_ shore. Can you come this week on Friday, or next Monday? I mention the earliest days on which I suppose you can be ready. If more convenient, name some other time _within ten days_. I shall be rejoiced to see you, and to act the part of skipper in the contemplated voyage. I have just got another letter from Cholmondeley, which may interest you somewhat.

TO MARSTON WATSON (AT PLYMOUTH).

CONCORD, August 17, 1857.

MR. WATSON,--I am much indebted to you for your glowing communication of July 20th. I had that very day left Concord for the wilds of Maine; but when I returned, August 8th, two out of the six worms remained nearly, if not quite, as bright as at first, I was assured. In their best estate they had excited the admiration of many of the inhabitants of Concord. It was a singular coincidence that I should find these worms awaiting me, for my mind was full of a phosphorescence which I had seen in the woods. I have waited to learn something more about them before acknowledging the receipt of them. I have frequently met with glow-worms in my night walks, but am not sure they were the same kind with these. Dr. Harris once described to me a larger kind than I had found, "nearly as big as your little finger;" but he does not name them in his report.

The only authorities on Glow-worms which I chance to have (and I am pretty well provided) are Kirby and Spence (the fullest), Knapp ("Journal of a Naturalist"), "The Library of Entertaining Knowledge" (Rennie), a French work, etc., etc.; but there is no minute, scientific description of any of these. This is apparently a female of the genus _Lampyris_; but Kirby and Spence say that there are nearly two hundred species of this genus alone. The one commonly referred to by English writers is the _Lampyris noctiluca_; but judging from Kirby and Spence's description, and from the description and plate in the French work, this is not that one, for, besides other differences, both say that the light proceeds from the abdomen. Perhaps the worms exhibited by Durkee (whose statement to the Boston Society of Natural History, second July meeting, in the _Traveller_ of August 12, 1857, I send you) were the same with these. I do not see how they could be the _L. noctiluca_, as he states.

I expect to go to Cambridge before long, and if I get any more light on this subject I will inform you. The two worms are still alive.

I shall be glad to receive the drosera at any time, if you chance to come across it. I am looking over Loudon's "Arboretum," which we have added to our library, and it occurs to me that it was written expressly for you, and that you cannot avoid placing it on your own shelves.

I should have been glad to see the whale, and might perhaps have done so, if I had not at that time been seeing "the elephant" (or moose) in the Maine woods. I have been associating for about a month with one Joseph Polis, the chief man of the Penobscot tribe of Indians, and have learned a great deal from him, which I should like to tell you some time.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, August 18, 1857.

DEAR SIR,--Your Wilson Flagg[80] seems a serious person, and it is encouraging to hear of a contemporary who recognizes Nature so squarely, and selects such a theme as "Barns." (I would rather "Mount Auburn" were omitted.) But he is not alert enough. He wants stirring up with a pole. He should practice turning a series of somersets rapidly or jump up and see how many times he can strike his feet together before coming down. Let him make the earth turn round now the other way, and whet his wits on it, whichever way it goes, as on a grindstone; in short, see how many ideas he can entertain at once.

His style, as I remember, is singularly vague (I refer to the book), and, before I got to the end of the sentences, I was off the track. If you indulge in long periods, you must be sure to have a snapper at the end. As for style of writing, if one has anything to say, it drops from him simply and directly, as a stone falls to the ground. There are no two ways about it, but down it comes, and he may stick in the points and stops wherever he can get a chance. New ideas come into this world somewhat like falling meteors, with a flash and an explosion, and perhaps somebody's castle-roof perforated. To try to polish the stone in its descent, to give it a peculiar turn, and make it whistle a tune, perchance, would be of no use, if it were possible. Your polished stuff turns out not to be meteoric, but of this earth. However, there is plenty of time, and Nature is an admirable schoolmistress.

Speaking of correspondence, you ask me if I "cannot turn over a new leaf in that line." I certainly could if I were to receive it; but just then I looked up and saw that your page was dated "May 10," though mailed in August, and it occurred to me that I had seen you since that date this year. Looking again, it appeared that your note was written in '56!! However, it was a _new_ leaf to me, and I _turned it over_ with as much interest as if it had been written the day before. Perhaps you kept it so long in order that the manuscript and subject-matter might be more in keeping with the old-fashioned paper on which it was written.

I traveled the length of Cape Cod on foot, soon after you were here, and, within a few days, have returned from the wilds of Maine, where I have made a journey of three hundred and twenty-five miles with a canoe and an Indian, and a single white companion,--Edward Hoar, Esq., of this town, lately from California,--traversing the head waters of the Kennebec, Penobscot, and St. John.

Can't you extract any advantage out of that depression of spirits you refer to? It suggests to me cider-mills, wine-presses, etc., etc. All kinds of pressure or power should be used and made to turn some kind of machinery.

Channing was just leaving Concord for Plymouth when I arrived, but said he should be here again in two or three days.

Please remember me to your family, and say that I have at length learned to sing "Tom Bowlin" according to the notes.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, September 9, 1857.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I thank you for your kind invitation to visit you, but I have taken so many vacations this year,--at New Bedford, Cape Cod, and Maine,--that any more relaxation--call it rather dissipation--will cover me with shame and disgrace. I have not earned what I have already enjoyed. As some heads cannot carry much wine, so it would seem that I cannot bear so much society as you can. I have an immense appetite for solitude, like an infant for sleep, and if I don't get enough of it this year, I shall cry all the next.

My mother's house is full at present; but if it were not, I would have no right to invite you hither, while entertaining such designs as I have hinted at. However, if you care to storm the town, I will engage to take some afternoon walks with you,--retiring into profoundest solitude the most sacred part of the day.

* * * * *

Ricketson had written to invite Thoreau to visit him again, saying among other things, "Walton's small sailboat is now on Assawampset Pond." After visiting Concord that autumn, he proposed another visit in December, saying (December 11, 1857), "I long to see your long beard. Channing says it is terrible to behold, but improves you mightily." This fixes the date, late in that year, when Thoreau first wore his full beard, as shown in his latest portraits.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, August 18, 1857.

MR. BLAKE,--Fifteenthly. It seems to me that you need some absorbing pursuit. It does not matter much what it is, so it be honest. Such employment will be favorable to your development in more characteristic and important directions. You know there must be impulse enough for steerageway, though it be not toward your port, to prevent your drifting helplessly on to rocks or shoals. Some sails are set for this purpose only. There is the large fleet of scholars and men of science, for instance, always to be seen standing off and on every coast, and saved thus from running on to reefs, who will at last run into their proper haven, we trust.

It is a pity you were not here with Brown and Wiley. I think that in this case, _for a rarity_, the more the merrier.

You perceived that I did not entertain the idea of our going together to Maine on such an excursion as I had planned. The more I thought of it, the more imprudent it appeared to me. I did think to have written you before going, though not to propose your going also; but I went at last very suddenly, and could only have written a business letter, if I had tried, when there was no business to be accomplished. I have now returned, and think I have had a quite profitable journey, chiefly from associating with an intelligent Indian. My companion, Edward Hoar, also found his account in it, though he suffered considerably from being obliged to carry unusual loads over wet and rough "carries,"--in one instance five miles through a swamp, where the water was frequently up to our knees, and the fallen timber higher than our heads. He went over the ground three times, not being able to carry all his load at once. This prevented his ascending Ktaadn. Our best nights were those when it rained the hardest, on account of the mosquitoes. I speak of these things, which were not unexpected, merely to account for my not inviting you.

Having returned, I flatter myself that the world appears in some respects a little larger, and not, as usual, smaller and shallower, for having extended my range. I have made a short excursion into the new world which the Indian dwells in, or is. He begins where we leave off. It is worth the while to detect new faculties in man,--he is so much the more divine; and anything that fairly excites our admiration expands us. The Indian, who can find his way so wonderfully in the woods, possesses so much intelligence which the white man does not,--and it increases my own capacity, as well as faith, to observe it. I rejoice to find that intelligence flows in other channels than I knew. It redeems for me portions of what seemed brutish before.

It is a great satisfaction to find that your oldest convictions are permanent. With regard to essentials, I have never had occasion to change my mind. The aspect of the world varies from year to year, as the landscape is differently clothed, but I find that the _truth_ is still _true_, and I never regret any emphasis which it may have inspired. Ktaadn is there still, but much more surely my old conviction is there, resting with more than mountain breadth and weight on the world, the source still of fertilizing streams, and affording glorious views from its summit, if I can get up to it again. As the mountains still stand on the plain, and far more unchangeable and permanent,--stand still grouped around, farther or nearer to my maturer eye, the ideas which I have entertained,--the everlasting teats from which we draw our nourishment.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, November 16, 1857.

MR. BLAKE,--You have got the start again. It was I that owed you a letter or two, if I mistake not.

They make a great ado nowadays about hard times;[81] but I think that the community generally, ministers and all, take a wrong view of the matter, though some of the ministers preaching according to a formula may pretend to take a right one. This general failure, both private and public, is rather occasion for rejoicing, as reminding us whom we have at the helm,--that justice is always done. If our merchants did not most of them fail, and the banks too, my faith in the old laws of the world would be staggered. The statement that ninety-six in a hundred doing such business surely break down is perhaps the sweetest fact that statistics have revealed,--exhilarating as the fragrance of sallows in spring. Does it not say somewhere, "The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice"? If thousands are thrown out of employment, it suggests that they were not well employed. Why don't they take the hint? It is not enough to be industrious; so are the ants. What are you industrious about?

The merchants and company have long laughed at transcendentalism, higher laws, etc., crying, "None of your moonshine," as if they were anchored to something not only definite, but sure and permanent. If there was any institution which was presumed to rest on a solid and secure basis, and more than any other represented this boasted common sense, prudence, and practical talent, it was the bank; and now those very banks are found to be mere reeds shaken by the wind. Scarcely one in the land has kept its promise.... It would seem as if you only need live forty years in any age of this world, to see its most promising government become the government of Kansas, and banks nowhere. Not merely the Brook Farm and Fourierite communities, but now the community generally has failed. But there is the moonshine still, serene, beneficent, and unchanged. Hard times, I say, have this value, among others, that they show us what such promises are worth,--where the _sure_ banks are. I heard some Mr. Eliot praised the other day because he had paid some of his debts, though it took nearly all he had (why, I've done as much as that myself many times, and a little more), and then gone to board. What if he has? I hope he's got a good boarding-place, and can pay for it. It's not everybody that can. However, in my opinion, it is cheaper to keep house,--_i. e._, if you don't keep too big a one.

Men will tell you sometimes that "money's hard." That shows it was not made to eat, I say. Only think of a man in this new world, in his log cabin, in the midst of a corn and potato patch, with a sheepfold on one side, talking about money being hard! So are flints hard; there is no alloy in them. What has that got to do with his raising his food, cutting his wood (or breaking it), keeping indoors when it rains, and, if need be, spinning and weaving his clothes? Some of those who sank with the steamer the other day found out that money was _heavy_ too. Think of a man's priding himself on this kind of wealth, as if it greatly enriched him. As if one struggling in mid-ocean with a bag of gold on his back should gasp out, "I am worth a hundred thousand dollars." I see them struggling just as ineffectually on dry land, nay, even more hopelessly, for, in the former case, rather than sink, they will finally let the bag go; but in the latter they are pretty sure to hold and go down with it. I see them swimming about in their greatcoats, collecting their rents, really _getting their dues_, drinking bitter draughts which only increase their thirst, becoming more and more water-logged, till finally they sink plumb down to the bottom. But enough of this.

Have you ever read Ruskin's books? If not, I would recommend [you] to try the second and third volumes (not parts) of his "Modern Painters." I am now reading the fourth, and have read most of his other books lately. They are singularly good and encouraging, though not without crudeness and bigotry. The themes in the volumes referred to are Infinity, Beauty, Imagination, Love of Nature, etc.,--all treated in a very living manner. I am rather surprised by them. It is remarkable that these things should be said with reference to painting chiefly, rather than literature. The "Seven Lamps of Architecture," too, is made of good stuff; but, as I remember, there is too much about art in it for me and the Hottentots. We want to know about matters and things in general. Our house is as yet a hut.

You must have been enriched by your solitary walk over the mountains. I suppose that I feel the same awe when on their summits that many do on entering a church. To see what kind of earth that is on which you have a house and garden somewhere, perchance! It is equal to the lapse of many years. You must ascend a mountain to learn your relation to matter, and so to your own body, for _it_ is at home there, though _you_ are not. It might have been composed there, and will have no farther to go to return to dust there, than in your garden; but your spirit inevitably comes away, and brings your body with it, if it lives. Just as awful really, and as glorious, is your garden. See how I can play with my fingers! They are the funniest companions I have ever found. Where did they come from? What strange control I have over them! _Who_ am I? What are they?--those little peaks--call them Madison, Jefferson, Lafayette. What is _the matter_? _My_ fingers, do I say? Why, ere long, they may form the topmost crystal of Mount Washington. I go up there to see my body's cousins. There are some fingers, toes, bowels, etc., that I take an interest in, and therefore I am interested in all their relations.

Let me suggest a theme for you: to state to yourself precisely and completely what that walk over the mountains amounted to for you,--returning to this essay again and again, until you are satisfied that all that was important in your experience is in it. Give this good reason to yourself for having gone over the mountains, for mankind is ever going over a mountain. Don't suppose that you can tell it precisely the first dozen times you try, but at 'em again, especially where, after a sufficient pause, you suspect that you are touching the heart or summit of the matter, reiterate your blows there, and account for the mountain to yourself. Not that the story need be long, but it will take a long while to make it short. It did not take very long to get over the mountain, you thought; but have you got over it indeed? If you have been to the top of Mount Washington, let me ask, what did you find there? That is the way they prove witnesses, you know. Going up there and being blown on is nothing. We never do much climbing while we are there, but we eat our luncheon, etc., very much as at home. It is after we get home that we really go over the mountain, if ever. What did the mountain say? What did the mountain do?

I keep a mountain anchored off eastward a little way, which I ascend in my dreams both awake and asleep. Its broad base spreads over a village or two, which does not know it; neither does it know them, nor do I when I ascend it. I can see its general outline as plainly now in my mind as that of Wachusett. I do not invent in the least, but state exactly what I see. I find that I go up it when I am light-footed and earnest. It ever smokes like an altar with its sacrifice. I am not aware that a single villager frequents it or knows of it. I keep this mountain to ride instead of a horse.

Do you not mistake about seeing Moosehead Lake from Mount Washington? That must be about one hundred and twenty miles distant, or nearly twice as far as the Atlantic, which last some doubt if they can see thence. Was it not Umbagog?

Dr. Solger[82] has been lecturing in the vestry in this town on Geography, to Sanborn's scholars, for several months past, at five P. M. Emerson and Alcott have been to hear him. I was surprised when the former asked me, the other day, if I was not going to hear Dr. Solger. What, to be sitting in a meeting-house cellar at that time of day, when you might possibly be outdoors! I never thought of such a thing. What was the sun made for? If he does not prize daylight, I do. Let him lecture to owls and dormice. He must be a wonderful lecturer indeed who can keep me indoors at such an hour, when the night is coming in which no man can walk.

Are you in want of amusement nowadays? Then play a little at the game of getting a living. There never was anything equal to it. Do it temperately, though, and don't sweat. Don't let this secret out, for I have a design against the Opera. OPERA!! Pass along the exclamations, devil.[83]

Now is the time to become conversant with your wood-pile (this comes under Work for the Month), and be sure you put some warmth into it by your mode of getting it. Do not consent to be passively warmed. An intense degree of that is the hotness that is threatened. But a positive warmth within can withstand the fiery furnace, as the vital heat of a living man can withstand the heat that cooks meat.

* * * * *

After returning from the last of his three expeditions to the Maine woods (in 1846, 1853, and 1857), Thoreau was appealed to by his friend Higginson, then living in Worcester, for information concerning a proposed excursion from Worcester into Maine and Canada, then but little visited by tourists, who now go there in droves. He replied in this long letter, with its minute instructions and historical references. The Arnold mentioned is General Benedict Arnold, who in 1775-76 made a toilsome march through the Maine forest with a small New England army for the conquest of Canada, while young John Thoreau, Henry's grandfather, was establishing himself as a merchant in Boston (not yet evacuated by British troops), previous to his marriage with Jane Burns.

TO T. W. HIGGINSON (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, January 28, 1858.

DEAR SIR,--It would be perfectly practicable to go to the Madawaska the way you propose. As for the route to Quebec, I do not find the Sugar Loaf Mountains on my maps. The most direct and regular way, as you know, is substantially Montresor's and Arnold's and the younger John Smith's--by the Chaudière; but this is less wild. If your object is to see the St. Lawrence River below Quebec, you will probably strike it at the Rivière du Loup. (_Vide_ Hodge's account of his excursion thither _via_ the Allegash,--I believe it is the second Report on the Geology of the Public Lands of Maine and Massachusetts in '37.) I think that our Indian last summer, when we talked of going to the St. Lawrence, named another route, near the Madawaska,--perhaps the St. Francis,--which would save the long portage which Hodge made.

I do not know whether you think of ascending the St. Lawrence in a canoe; but if you should, you might be delayed not only by the current, but by the waves, which frequently run too high for a canoe on such a mighty stream. It would be a grand excursion to go to Quebec by the Chaudière, descend the St. Lawrence to the Rivière du Loup, and return by the Madawaska and St. John to Fredericton, or farther,--almost all the way _down-stream_--a very important consideration.

I went to Moosehead in company with a party of four who were going a-hunting down the Allegash and St. John, and thence by some other stream over into the Restigouche, and down that to the Bay of Chaleur,--to be gone six weeks. Our northern terminus was an island in Heron Lake on the Allegash. (_Vide_ Colton's railroad and township map of Maine.)

The Indian proposed that we should return to Bangor by the St. John and Great Schoodic Lake, which we had thought of ourselves; and he showed us on the map where we should be each night. It was then noon, and the next day night, continuing down the Allegash, we should have been at the Madawaska settlements, having made only one or two portages; and thereafter, on the St. John there would be but one or two more falls, with short carries; and if there was not too much wind, we could go down that stream one hundred miles a day. It is settled all the way below Madawaska. He knew the route well. He even said that this was easier, and would take but little more time, though much farther, than the route we decided on,--_i. e._, by Webster Stream, the East Branch, and main Penobscot to Oldtown; but he may have wanted a longer job. We preferred the latter, not only because it was shorter, but because, as he said, it was wilder.

We went about three hundred and twenty-five miles with the canoe (including sixty miles of stage between Bangor and Oldtown); were out twelve nights, and spent about $40 apiece,--which was more than was necessary. We paid the Indian, who was a very good one, $1.50 per day and 50 cents a week for his canoe. This is enough in ordinary seasons. I had formerly paid $2 for an Indian and for white batteau-men.

If you go to Madawaska in a leisurely manner, supposing no delay on account of rain or the violence of the wind, you may reach Mt. Kineo by noon, and have the afternoon to explore it. The next day you may get to the head of the lake before noon, make the portage of two and a half miles over a wooden railroad, and drop down the Penobscot half a dozen miles. The third morning you will perhaps walk half a mile about Pine Stream Falls, while the Indian runs down,--cross the head of Chesuncook, reach the junction of the Caucomgomock and Umbazookskus by noon, and ascend the latter to Umbazookskus Lake that night. If it is low water, you may have to walk and carry a little on the Umbazookskus before entering the lake. The fourth morning you will make the carry of two miles to Mud Pond (Allegash water),--and a very wet carry it is,--and reach Chamberlain Lake by noon, and Heron Lake, perhaps, that night, after a couple of very short carries at the outlet of Chamberlain. At the end of two days more you will probably be at Madawaska. Of course the Indian _can_ paddle twice as far in a day as he commonly does.

Perhaps you would like a few more details. We used (three of us) exactly twenty-six pounds of hard bread, fourteen pounds of pork, three pounds of coffee, twelve pounds of sugar (and could have used more), besides a little tea, Indian meal, and rice,--and plenty of berries and moose-meat. This was faring very luxuriously. I had not formerly carried coffee, sugar, or rice. But for solid food, I decide that it is not worth the while to carry anything but hard bread and pork, whatever your tastes and habits may be. These wear best, and you have no time nor dishes in which to cook anything else. Of course you will take a little Indian meal to fry fish in; and half a dozen lemons also, if you have sugar, will be very refreshing,--for the water is warm.[84]

To save time, the sugar, coffee, tea, salt, etc., should be in separate water-tight bags, labeled, and tied with a leathern string; and all the provisions and blankets should be put into two large india-rubber bags, if you can find them water-tight. Ours were not. A four-quart tin pail makes a good kettle for all purposes, and tin plates are portable and convenient. Don't forget an india-rubber knapsack, with a large flap,--plenty of dish-cloths, old newspapers, strings, and twenty-five feet of strong cord. Of india-rubber clothing, the most you can wear, if any, is a very light coat,--and that you cannot work in. I could be more particular,--but perhaps have been too much so already.

TO MARSTON WATSON (AT PLYMOUTH).

CONCORD, April 25, 1858.

DEAR SIR,--Your unexpected gift of pear trees reached me yesterday in good condition, and I spent the afternoon in giving them a good setting out; but I fear that this cold weather may hurt them. However, I am inclined to think they are insured, since you have looked on them. It makes one's mouth water to read their names only. From what I hear of the extent of your bounty, if a reasonable part of the trees succeed, this transplanting will make a new era for Concord to date from.

Mine must be a lucky star, for day before yesterday I received a box of mayflowers from Brattleboro, and yesterday morning your pear trees, and at evening a hummingbird's nest from Worcester. This looks like fairy housekeeping.

I discovered two new plants in Concord last winter, the Labrador tea (_Ledum latifolium_), and yew (_Taxis baccata_).

By the way, in January I communicated with Dr. Durkee, whose report on glow-worms I sent you, and it appeared, as I expected, that he (and by his account Agassiz, Gould, Jackson, and others to whom he showed them) did not consider them a distinct species, but a variety of the common, or _Lampyris noctiluca_, some of which you got in Lincoln. Durkee, at least, has never seen the last. I told him that I had no doubt about their being a distinct species. His, however, were luminous throughout every part of the body, as those which you sent me were not, while I had them.

Is nature as full of vigor to your eyes as ever, or do you detect some falling off at last? Is the mystery of the hog's bristle cleared up, and with it that of our life? It is the question, to the exclusion of every other interest.

I am sorry to hear of the burning of your woods, but, thank Heaven, your great ponds and your sea cannot be burnt. I love to think of your warm, sandy wood-roads, and your breezy island out in the sea. What a prospect you can get every morning from the hilltop east of your house![85] I think that even the heathen that I am could say, or sing, or dance, morning prayers there of some kind.

Please remember me to Mrs. Watson, and to the rest of your family who are helping the sun shine yonder.

* * * * *

Of his habits in mountain-climbing, Channing says:[86] "He ascended such hills as Monadnoc by his own path; would lay down his map on the summit and draw a line to the point he proposed to visit below,--perhaps forty miles away on the landscape, and set off bravely to make the 'short-cut.' The lowland people wondered to see him scaling the heights as if he had lost his way, or at his jumping over their cow-yard fences,--asking if he had fallen from the clouds. In a walk like this he always carried his umbrella; and on this Monadnoc trip, when about a mile from the station [in Troy, N. H.], a torrent of rain came down; without the umbrella his books, blankets, maps, and provisions would all have been spoiled, or the morning lost by delay. On the mountain there being a thick, soaking fog, the first object was to camp and make tea. He spent five nights in camp, having built another hut, to get varied views. Flowers, birds, lichens, and the rocks were carefully examined, all parts of the mountain were visited, and as accurate a map as could be made by pocket compass was carefully sketched and drawn out, in the five days spent there,--with notes of the striking aerial phenomena, incidents of travel and natural history. The outlook across the valley over to Wachusett, with its thunder-storms and battles in the cloud; the farmers' back-yards in Jaffrey, where the family cotton can be seen bleaching on the grass, but no trace of the pigmy family; the dry, soft air all night, the lack of dew in the morning; the want of water,--a pint being a good deal,--these, and similar things make up some part of such an excursion."

The Monadnock excursion above mentioned began June 3d, and continued three days. It inspired Thoreau to take a longer mountain tour with his neighbor and friend Edward Hoar, to which these letters relate, giving the ways and means of the journey,--a memorable one to all concerned.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, June 29, 1858, 8 A. M.

MR. BLAKE,--Edward Hoar and I propose to start for the White Mountains in a covered wagon, with one horse, on the morning of Thursday the 1st of July, intending to explore the mountain-tops botanically, and camp on them at least several times. Will you take a seat in the wagon with us? Mr. Hoar prefers to hire the horse and wagon himself. Let us hear by express, as soon as you can, whether you will join us here by the earliest train on Thursday morning, or Wednesday night. Bring your map of the mountains, and as much _provision_ for the road as you can,--hard bread, sugar, tea, meat, etc.,--for we intend to live like gipsies; also, a blanket and some thick clothes for the mountain-top.

* * * * *

July 1st. Last Monday evening Mr. Edward Hoar said that he thought of going to the White Mountains. I remarked casually that I should like to go well enough if I could afford it. Whereupon he declared that if I would go with him, he would hire a horse and wagon, so that the ride would cost me nothing, and we would explore the mountain-tops _botanically_, camping on them many nights. The next morning I suggested you and Brown's accompanying us in another wagon, and we could all camp and cook, gipsy-like, along the way,--or, perhaps, if the horse could draw us, you would like to bear half the expense of the horse and wagon, and take a seat with us. He liked either proposition, but said that if you would take a seat with us, he would prefer to hire the horse and wagon himself. You could contribute something else if you pleased. Supposing that Brown would be confined, I wrote to you accordingly, by _express_ on Tuesday morning, _via_ Boston, stating that we should start to-day, suggesting provision, thick clothes, etc., and asking for an answer; but I have not received one. I have just heard that you _may_ be at Sterling, and now write to say that we shall still be glad if you will join us at Senter Harbor, where we expect to be next Monday morning. In any case, will you please direct a letter to us there _at once_?

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, June 30, 1858.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I am on the point of starting for the White Mountains in a wagon with my neighbor Edward Hoar, and I write to you now rather to apologize for not writing, than to answer worthily your three notes. I thank you heartily for them. You will not care for a little delay in acknowledging them, since your date shows that you can afford to wait. Indeed, my head has been so full of company, etc., that I could not reply to you fitly before, nor can I now.

As for preaching to men these days in the Walden strain, is it of any consequence to preach to an audience of men who _can_ fail, or who can be _revived_? There are few beside. Is it any success to interest these parties? If a man has _speculated_ and _failed_, he will probably do these things again, in spite of you or me. I confess that it is rare that I rise to sentiment in my relations to men,--ordinarily to a mere patient, or may be wholesome, good-will. I can imagine something more, but the truth compels me to regard the ideal and the actual as two things.

Channing has come, and as suddenly gone, and left a short poem, "Near Home," published (?) or printed by Munroe, which I have hardly had time to glance at. As you may guess, I learn nothing of you from him.

You already foresee my answer to your invitation to make you a summer visit: I am bound for the mountains. But I trust that you have vanquished, ere this, those dusky demons that seem to lurk around the Head of the River.[87] You know that this warfare is nothing but a kind of nightmare, and it is our thoughts alone which give those _un_worthies any body or existence.

I made an excursion with Blake, of Worcester, to Monadnock, a few weeks since. We took our blankets and food, spent two nights on the mountain, and did not go into a house.

Alcott has been very busy for a long time repairing an old shell of a house, and I have seen very little of him.[88] I have looked more at the houses which birds build. Watson made us all very generous presents from his nursery in the spring. Especially did he remember Alcott.

Excuse me for not writing any more at present, and remember me to your family.

* * * * *

In explanation of the next letter (October 31, 1858), it may be said that Ricketson had formed a plan for visiting Europe, which he gave up, and had recommended an "English Australian" who proposed to see Concord. In Thoreau's reply, he mentions Mr. Hoar, who was not only his companion in later journeys, but, while in college or the Harvard Law School, had assisted Thoreau in that accidental forest fire, mentioned in the Journal, which brought both the young men into much disrepute among the Concord farmers and owners of wood-lots. At the date of the letter, Channing was flitting between New Bedford and Concord, and soon returned to spend the rest of his days in Thoreau's town, where he died, December 23, 1901, the last survivor of the group of friends to whom these letters relate.

In July, 1858, as mentioned in this letter to Mr. Ricketson, Thoreau journeyed from Concord to the White Mountains, first visited with his brother John in 1839. His later companion was Edward Hoar, a botanist and lover of nature, who had been a magistrate in California, and in boyhood a comrade of Thoreau in shooting excursions on the Concord meadows. They journeyed in a wagon and Thoreau disliked the loss of independence in choice of camping-places involved in the care of a horse. He complained also of the magnificent inns ("mountain houses") that had sprung up in the passes and on the plateaus since his first visit. "Give me," he said, "a spruce house made in the rain," such as he and Channing afterward (1860) made on Monadnock in his last trip to that mountain. The chief exploit in the White Mountain trip was a visit to Tuckerman's Ravine on Mt. Washington, of which Mr. Hoar, some years before his death (in 1893), gave me an account, containing the true anecdote of Thoreau's finding the arnica plant when he needed it.

On their way to this rather inaccessible chasm, Thoreau and his comrade went first to what was then but a small tavern on the "tip-top" of Mt. Washington. It was a foggy day; and when the landlord was asked if he could furnish a guide to Tuckerman's Ravine, he replied, "Yes, my brother is the guide; but if he went to-day he could never find his way back in this fog." "Well," said Thoreau, "if we cannot have a guide we will find it ourselves;" and he at once produced a map he had made the day before at a roadside inn, where he had found a wall map of the mountain region, and climbed on a table to copy that portion he needed. With this map and his pocket compass he "struck a bee-line," said Mr. Hoar, for the ravine, and soon came to it, about a mile away. They went safely down the steep stairs into the chasm, where they found the midsummer iceberg they wished to see. But as they walked down the bed of the Peabody River, flowing from this ravine, over boulders five or six feet high, the heavy packs on their shoulders weighed them down, and finally, Thoreau's foot slipping, he fell and sprained his ankle. He rose, but had not limped five steps from the place where he fell, when he said, "Here is the arnica, anyhow,"--reached out his hand and plucked the _Arnica mollis_, which he had not before found anywhere. Before reaching the mountains they had marked in their botany books forty-six species of plants they hoped to find there, and before they came away they had found forty-two of them.

When they reached their camping-place, farther down, Thoreau was so lame he could not move about, and lay there in the camp several days, eating the pork and other supplies they had in their packs, Mr. Hoar going each day to the inn at the mountain summit. This camp was in a thicket of dwarf firs at the foot of the ravine, where, just before his accident, by carelessness in lighting a fire, some acres of the mountain woodland had been set on fire; but this proved to be the signal for which Thoreau had told his Worcester friends to watch, if they wished to join him on the mountain. "I had told Blake," says Thoreau in his Journal, "to look out for a smoke and a white tent. We had made a smoke sure enough. We slept five in the tent that night, and found it quite warm." Mr. Hoar added: "In this journey Thoreau insisted on our carrying heavy packs, and rather despised persons who complained of the burden. He was chagrined, in the Maine woods, to find his Indian, Joe Polis (whom, on the whole, he admired), excited and tremulous at sight of a moose, so that he could scarcely load his gun properly. Joe, who was a good Catholic, wanted us to stop traveling on Sunday and hold a meeting; and when we insisted on going forward, the Indian withdrew into the woods to say his prayers,--then came back and picked up the breakfast things, and we paddled on. As to Thoreau's courage and manliness, nobody who had seen him among the Penobscot rocks and rapids--the Indian trusting his life and his canoe to Henry's skill, promptitude, and nerve--would ever doubt it."

Channing says:[89] "In his later journeys, if his companion was footsore or loitered, he steadily pursued his road. Once, when a follower was done up with headache and incapable of motion, hoping his associate would comfort him and perhaps afford him a sip of tea, he said, 'There are people who are sick in that way every morning, and go about their affairs,' and then marched off about his. In such limits, so inevitable, was he compacted.... This tone of mind grew out of no insensibility; or, if he sometimes looked coldly on the suffering of more tender natures, he sympathized with their afflictions, but could do nothing to admire them. He would not injure a plant unnecessarily. At the time of the John Brown tragedy, Thoreau was driven sick. So the country's misfortunes in the Union war acted on his feelings with great force: he used to say he 'could never recover while the war lasted.'" Hawthorne had an experience somewhat similar, though he, too, was of stern stuff when need was, and had much of the old Salem sea-captains in his sensitive nature.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, October 31, 1858.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I have not seen anything of your English author yet. Edward Hoar, my companion in Maine and at the White Mountains, his sister Elizabeth, and a Miss Prichard, another neighbor of ours, went to Europe in the Niagara on the 6th. I told them to look out for you under the Yardley Oak, but it seems they will not find you there.

I had a pleasant time in Tuckerman's Ravine at the White Mountains in July, entertaining four beside myself under my little tent through some soaking rains; and more recently I have taken an interesting walk with Channing about Cape Ann. We were obliged to "dipper it" a good way, on account of the scarcity of fresh water, for we got most of our meals by the shore. Channing is understood to be here for the winter, but I rarely see him.

I should be pleased to see your face here in the course of the Indian summer, which may still be expected, if any authority can tell us when that phenomenon _does_ occur. We would like to hear the story of your travels; for if you have not been fairly intoxicated with Europe, you have been half-seas-over, and so can probably tell more about it.

* * * * *

This alludes to the fact that Ricketson got as far as Halifax in his attempt at Europe; and in his reply (November 3, 1858) he gave Thoreau an account of his short voyage, on which the next letter comments.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, November 6, 1858.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I was much pleased with your lively and lifelike account of your voyage. You were more than repaid for your trouble after all. The coast of Nova Scotia, which you sailed along from Windsor westward, is particularly interesting to the historian of this country, having been settled earlier than Plymouth. Your "Isle of Haut" is properly "Isle Haute," or the High Island of Champlain's map. There is another off the coast of Maine. By the way, the American elk of _American authors_ (_Cervus Canadensis_) is a distinct animal from the moose (_Cervus alces_), though the latter is called elk by many.

You drew a very vivid portrait of the Australian,--short and stout, with a pipe in his mouth, and his book inspired by beer, Pot First, Pot Second, etc. I suspect that he must be potbellied withal. Methinks I see the smoke going up from him as from a cottage on the moor. If he does not quench his genius with his beer, it may burst into a clear flame at last. However, perhaps he intentionally adopts the low style.

What do you mean by that ado about smoking, and my "purer tastes"? I should like his pipe as well as his beer at least. Neither of them is so bad as to be "highly connected," which you say he is, unfortunately. No! I expect nothing but pleasure in "smoke from _your_ pipe."

You and the Australian must have put your heads together when you concocted those titles,--with pipes in your mouths over a pot of beer. I suppose that your chapters are, Whiff the First, Whiff the Second, etc. But of course it is a more modest expression for "Fire from my Genius."

You must have been very busy since you came back, or before you sailed, to have brought out your History, of whose publication I had not heard. I suppose that I have read it in the _Mercury_. Yet I am curious to see how it looks in a volume, with your name on the title-page.

I am more curious still about the poems. Pray put some sketches into the book: your shanty for frontispiece; Arthur and Walton's boat (if you can) running for Cuttyhunk in a tremendous gale; not forgetting "Be honest boys," etc., near by; the Middleborough ponds with a certain island looming in the distance; the Quaker meeting-house, and the Brady house, if you like; the villagers catching smelts with dip-nets in the twilight, at the Head of the River, etc., etc. Let it be a local and villageous book as much as possible. Let some one make a characteristic selection of mottoes from your shanty walls, and sprinkle them in an irregular manner, at all angles, over the fly-leaves and margins, as a man stamps his name in a hurry; and also canes, pipes, and jackknives, of all your patterns, about the frontispiece. I can think of plenty of devices for tail-pieces. Indeed, I should like to see a hair pillow, accurately drawn, for one; a cat, with a bell on, for another; the old horse, with his age printed in the hollow of his back; half a cocoanut-shell by a spring; a sheet of blotted paper; a settle occupied by a settler at full length, etc., etc., etc. Call all the arts to your aid.

Don't wait for the Indian summer, but bring it with you.

P. S.--Let me ask a favor. I am trying to write something about the autumnal tints, and I wish to know how much our trees differ from English and European ones in this respect. Will you observe, or learn for me, what English or European trees, if any, still retain their leaves in Mr. Arnold's garden (the gardener will supply the true names); and also if the foliage of any (and what) European or foreign trees there have been brilliant the past month. If you will do this you will greatly oblige me. I return the newspaper with this.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, November 22, 1858.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I thank you for your "History."[90] Though I have not yet read it again, I have looked far enough to see that I like the homeliness of it; that is, the good, old-fashioned way of writing, as if you actually lived where you wrote. A man's interest in a single bluebird is worth more than a complete but dry list of the fauna and flora of a town. It is also a considerable advantage to be able to say at any time, "If D. R. is not here, here is his book." Alcott being here, and inquiring after you (whom he has been expecting), I lent the book to him almost immediately. He talks of going West the latter part of this week. Channing is here again, as I am told, but I have not seen him.

I thank you also for the account of the trees. It was to my purpose, and I hope you got something out of it too. I suppose that the cold weather prevented your coming here. Suppose you try a winter walk on skates. Please remember me to your family.

* * * * *

Late in November, 1858, Cholmondeley, who had not written for a year and six months, suddenly notified Thoreau from Montreal that he was in Canada, and would visit Concord the next week. Accordingly he arrived early in December, and urged his friend to go with him to the West Indies. John Thoreau, the father, was then in his last illness, and for that and other reasons Thoreau could not accept the invitation; but he detained Cholmondeley in Concord some days, and took him to New Bedford, December 8th, having first written this note to Mr. Ricketson:--

"Thomas Cholmondeley, my English acquaintance, is here, on his way to the West Indies. He wants to see New Bedford, a whaling town. I tell him I would like to introduce him to you there,--thinking more of his seeing you than New Bedford. So we propose to come your way to-morrow. Excuse this short notice, for the time is short. If on any account it is inconvenient to see us, you will treat us accordingly."

Of this visit and his English visitor, Mr. Ricketson wrote in his journal the next day:--

"We were all much pleased with Mr. Cholmondeley. He is a tall spare man, thirty-five years of age, of fair and fresh complexion, blue eyes, light-brown and fine hair, nose small and Roman, beard light and worn full, with a mustache. A man of fine culture and refinement of manners, educated at Oriel College, Oxford, of an old Cheshire family by his father, a clergyman. He wore a black velvet sack coat, and lighter-colored trousers,--a sort of genteel traveling suit; perhaps a cap, but by no means a fashionable 'castor.' He reminded me of our dear friend, George William Curtis." Few greater compliments could this diarist give than to compare a visitor to Curtis, the lamented.

Mr. Cholmondeley left Concord for the South, going as far as to Virginia, in December and January; then came back to Concord the 20th of January, 1859, and after a few days returned to Canada, and thence to England by way of Jamaica. He was in London when Theodore Parker reached there from Santa Cruz, in June, and called on him, with offers of service; but does not seem to have heard of Parker's death till I wrote him in May, 1861. At my parting with him in Concord, he gave me money with which to buy grapes for the invalid father of Thoreau,--an instance of his constant consideration for others; the Thoreaus hardly affording such luxuries as hothouse grapes for the sick. Sophia Thoreau, who perhaps was more appreciative of him than her more stoical brother, said after his death, "We have always had the truest regard for him, as a person of rare integrity, great benevolence, and the sincerest friendliness." This well describes the man whose every-day guise was literally set down by Mr. Ricketson.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, January 1, 1859.

MR. BLAKE,--It may interest you to hear that Cholmondeley has been this way again, _via_ Montreal and Lake Huron, going to the West Indies, or rather to Weiss-nicht-wo, whither he urges me to accompany him. He is rather more demonstrative than before, and, on the whole, what would be called "a good fellow,"--is a man of principle, and quite reliable, but very peculiar. I have been to New Bedford with him, to show him a whaling town and Ricketson. I was glad to hear that you had called on R. How did you like him? I suspect that you did not see one another fairly.

I have lately got back to that glorious society called Solitude, where we meet our friends continually, and can imagine the outside world also to be peopled. Yet some of my acquaintance would fain hustle me into the almshouse for _the sake of society_, as if I were pining for that diet, when I seem to myself a most befriended man, and find constant employment. However, they do not believe a word I say. They have got a club, the handle of which is in the Parker House at Boston, and with this they beat me from time to time, expecting to make me tender or minced meat, so fit for a club to dine off.

"Hercules with his club The Dragon did drub; But More of More Hall With nothing at all, He slew the Dragon of Wantley."

Ah! that More of More Hall knew what fair play was. Channing, who wrote to me about it once, brandishing the club vigorously (being set on by another, probably), says _now_, seriously, that he is sorry to find by my letters that I am "absorbed in politics," and adds, begging my pardon for his plainness, "Beware of an extraneous life!" and so he does his duty, and washes his hands of me. I tell him that it is as if he should say to the sloth, that fellow that creeps so slowly along a tree, and cries _ai_ from time to time, "Beware of dancing!"

The doctors are all agreed that I am suffering for want of society. Was never a case like it. First, I did not know that I was suffering at all. Secondly, as an Irishman might say, I had thought it was indigestion of the society I got.

As for the Parker House, I went there once, when the Club[91] was away, but I found it hard to see through the cigar smoke, and men were deposited about in chairs over the marble floor, as thick as legs of bacon in a smoke-house. It was all smoke, and no salt, Attic or other. The only room in Boston which I visit with alacrity is the Gentlemen's Room at the Fitchburg Depot, where I wait for the cars, sometimes for two hours, in order to get out of town. It is a paradise to the Parker House, for no smoking is allowed, and there is far more retirement. A large and respectable club of us hire it (Town and Country Club), and I am pretty sure to find some one there whose face is set the same way as my own.

My last essay, on which I am still engaged, is called "Autumnal Tints." I do not know how readable (_i. e._, by me to others) it will be.

I met Mr. James the other night at Emerson's, at an Alcottian conversation, at which, however, Alcott did not talk much, being disturbed by James's opposition. The latter is a hearty man enough, with whom you can differ very satisfactorily, on account of both his doctrines and his good temper. He utters _quasi_ philanthropic dogmas in a metaphysic dress; but they are for all practical purposes very crude. He charges society with all the crime committed, and praises the criminal for committing it. But I think that all the remedies he suggests out of his head--for he goes no farther, hearty as he is--would leave us about where we are now. For, of course, it is not by a gift of turkeys on Thanksgiving Day that he proposes to convert the criminal, but by a true sympathy with each one,--with him, among the rest, who lyingly tells the world from the gallows that he has never been treated kindly by a single mortal since he was born. But it is not so easy a thing to sympathize with another, though you may have the best disposition to do it. There is Dobson over the hill. Have not you and I and all the world been trying, ever since he was born, to sympathize with him? (as doubtless he with us), and yet we have got no farther than to send him to the house of correction once at least; and he, on the other hand, as I hear, has sent us to another place several times. This is the real state of things, as I understand it, at least so far as James's remedies go. We are now, alas! exercising what charity we actually have, and new laws would not give us any more. But, perchance, we might make some improvements in the house of correction. You and I are Dobson; what will James do for us?

Have you found at last in your wanderings a place where the solitude is sweet?

What mountain are you camping on nowadays? Though I had a good time at the mountains, I confess that the journey did not bear any fruit that I know of. I did not expect it would. The mode of it was not simple and adventurous enough. You must first have made an infinite demand, and not unreasonably, but after a corresponding outlay, have an all-absorbing purpose, and at the same time that your feet bear you hither and thither, travel much more in imagination.

To let the mountains slide,--live at home like a traveler. It should not be in vain that these things are shown us from day to day. Is not each withered leaf that I see in my walks something which I have traveled to find?--traveled, who can tell how far? What a fool he must be who thinks that his El Dorado is anywhere but where he lives!

We are always, methinks, in some kind of ravine, though our bodies may walk the smooth streets of Worcester. Our souls (I use this word for want of a better) are ever perched on its rocky sides, overlooking that lowland. (What a more than Tuckerman's Ravine is the body itself, in which the "soul" is encamped, when you come to look into it! However, eagles always have chosen such places for their eyries.)

Thus is it ever with your fair cities of the plain. Their streets may be paved with silver and gold, and six carriages roll abreast in them, but the real _homes_ of the citizens are in the Tuckerman's Ravines which ray out from that centre into the mountains round about, one from each man, woman, and child. The masters of life have so ordered it. That is their _beau-ideal_ of a country-seat. There is no danger of being _tuckered_ out before you get to it.

So we live in Worcester and in Concord, each man taking his exercise regularly in his ravine, like a lion in his cage, and sometimes spraining his ankle there. We have very few clear days, and a great many small plagues which keep us busy. Sometimes, I suppose, you hear a neighbor halloo (Brown, maybe) and think it is a bear. Nevertheless, on the whole, we think it very grand and exhilarating, this ravine life. It is a capital advantage withal, living so high, the excellent drainage of that city of God. Routine is but a shallow and insignificant sort of ravine, such as the ruts are, the conduits of puddles. But these ravines are the source of mighty streams, precipitous, icy, savage, as they are, haunted by bears and loup-cerviers; there are born not only Sacos and Amazons, but prophets who will redeem the world. The at last smooth and fertilizing water at which nations drink and navies supply themselves begins with melted glaciers, and burst thunder-spouts. Let us pray that, if we are not flowing through some Mississippi valley which we fertilize,--and it is not likely we are,--we may know ourselves shut in between grim and mighty mountain walls amid the clouds, falling a thousand feet in a mile, through dwarfed fir and spruce, over the rocky insteps of slides, being exercised in our minds, and so developed.

CONCORD, January 19, 1859.

MR. BLAKE,--If I could have given a favorable report as to the skating, I should have answered you earlier. About a week before you wrote there was good skating; there is now none. As for the lecture, I shall be glad to come. I cannot now say when, but I will let you know, I think within a week or ten days at most, and will then leave you a week clear to make the arrangements in. I will bring something else than "What shall it profit a Man?" My father is very sick, and has been for a long time, so that there is the more need of me at home. This occurs to me, even when contemplating so short an excursion as to Worcester.

I want very much to see or hear your account of your adventures in the Ravine,[92] and I trust I shall do so when I come to Worcester. Cholmondeley has been here again, returning from Virginia (for he went no farther south) to Canada; and will go thence to Europe, he thinks, in the spring, and never ramble any more. (January 29.) I am expecting daily that my father will die, therefore I cannot leave home at present. I will write you again within ten days.

* * * * *

The death of John Thoreau (who was born October 8, 1787) occurred February 3d, and Thoreau gave his lecture on "Autumnal Tints" at Worcester, February 22, 1859. Mrs. Thoreau survived all her children except Sophia, and died in 1872.

At his fathers death, Thoreau sent a newspaper announcement of it to Ricketson, who had already seen it mentioned by Channing in the _Mercury_. Ricketson at once wrote, to pay his tribute to the character of the elder Thoreau, saying: "I have rarely met a man who inspired me with more respect. I remember with pleasure a ramble I took with him about Concord some two or three years ago, at a time when you were away from home; on which occasion I was much impressed with his good sense, his fine social nature, and his genuine hospitality." Of this remark Thoreau took notice in his interesting reply.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, 12th February, 1859.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I thank you for your kind letter. I sent you the notice of my father's death as much because you knew him as because you knew me. I can hardly realize that he is dead. He had been sick about two years, and at last declined rather rapidly, though steadily. Till within a week or ten days before he died he was hoping to see another spring, but he then discovered that this was a vain expectation, and, thinking that he was dying, he took his leave of us several times within a week before his departure. Once or twice he expressed a slight impatience at the delay. He was quite conscious to the last, and his death was so easy that, though we had all been sitting around the bed for an hour or more expecting that event (as we had sat before), he was gone at last, almost before we were aware of it.

I am glad to read what you say of his social nature. I think I may say that he was wholly unpretending; and there was this peculiarity in his aim, that though he had pecuniary difficulties to contend with the greater part of his life, he always studied how to make a _good_ article, pencil or other (for he practiced various arts), and was never satisfied with what he had produced. Nor was he ever disposed in the least to put off a poor one for the sake of pecuniary gain,--as if he labored for a higher end.

Though he was not very old, and was not a native of Concord, I think that he was, on the whole, more identified with Concord street than any man now alive, having come here when he was about twelve years old, and set up for himself as a merchant here, at the age of twenty-one, fifty years ago. As I sat in a circle the other evening with my mother and sister, my mother's two sisters, and my father's two sisters, it occurred to me that my father, though seventy-one, belonged to the youngest four of the eight who recently composed our family.

How swiftly at last, but unnoticed, a generation passes away! Three years ago I was called with my father to be a witness to the signing of our neighbor Mr. Frost's will. Mr. Samuel Hoar, who was there writing it, also signed it. I was lately required to go to Cambridge to testify to the genuineness of the will, being the only one of the four who could be there, and now I am the only one alive.

My mother and sister thank you heartily for your sympathy. The latter, in particular, agrees with you in thinking that it is communion with still living and healthy nature alone which can restore to sane and cheerful views. I thank you for your invitation to New Bedford, but I feel somewhat confined here for the present.

I did not know but we should see you the day after Alger was here. It is not too late for a winter walk in Concord. It does me good to hear of spring birds, and singing ones too,--for spring seems far away from Concord yet. I am going to Worcester to read a parlor lecture on the 22d, and shall see Blake and Brown. What if you were to meet me there, or go with me from here? You would see them to good advantage. Cholmondeley has been here again, after going as far south as Virginia, and left for Canada about three weeks ago. He is a good soul, and I am afraid I did not sufficiently recognize him.

Please remember me to Mrs. Ricketson, and to the rest of your family.

* * * * *

A long silence had passed on Thoreau's part before he wrote again to Ricketson,--nearly two years, in fact,--and his friend complained of it. He had followed the public utterances of Thoreau with entire sympathy, although much in advance, in 1859-60, of public opinion respecting John Brown and slavery, and he had sent him letters and complimentary verses. Finally, he almost implored Thoreau to renew the bond of friendship. This will explain the tenor of Thoreau's reply.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON, (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, November 4, 1860.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I thank you for the verses. They are quite too good to apply to me. However, I know what a poet's license is, and will not get in the way.

But what do you mean by that prose? Why will you waste so many regards on me, and not know what to think of my silence? Infer from it what you might from the silence of a dense pine wood. It is its natural condition, except when the winds blow, and the jays scream, and the chickadee winds up his clock. My silence is just as inhuman as that, and no more. You know that I never promised to correspond with you, and so, when I do, I do more than I promised.

Such are my pursuits and habits that I rarely go abroad; and it is quite a habit with me to decline invitations to do so. Not that I could not enjoy such visits, if I were not otherwise occupied. I have enjoyed very much my visits to you, and my rides in your neighborhood, and am sorry that I cannot enjoy such things oftener; but life is short, and there are other things also to be done. I admit that you are more social than I am and far more attentive to "the common courtesies of life;" but this is partly for the reason that you have fewer or less exacting private pursuits.

Not to have written a note for a year is with me a very venial offense. I think that I do not correspond with any one so often as once in six months.

I have a faint recollection of your invitation referred to; but I suppose that I had no new nor particular reason for declining, and so made no new statement. I have felt that you would be glad to see me almost whenever I got ready to come; but I only offer myself as a rare visitor, and a still rarer correspondent.

I am very busy, after my fashion, little as there is to show for it, and feel as if I could not spend many days nor dollars in traveling; for the shortest visit must have a fair margin to it, and the days thus affect the weeks, you know. Nevertheless, we cannot forego these luxuries altogether. You must not regard me as a regular diet, but at most only as acorns, which, too, are not to be despised,--which, at least, we love to think are edible in a bracing walk. We have got along pretty well together in several directions, though we are such strangers in others.

I hardly know what to say in answer to your letter. Some are accustomed to write many letters, others very few. I am one of the last. At any rate, we are pretty sure, if we write at all, to send those thoughts which we cherish, to that one who, we believe, will most religiously attend to them.

This life is not for complaint, but for satisfaction. I do not feel addressed by this letter of yours. It suggests only misunderstanding. Intercourse may be good; but of what use are complaints and apologies? Any complaint _I_ have to make is too serious to be uttered, for the evil cannot be mended.

Turn over a new leaf.

My outdoor harvest this fall has been one Canada lynx, a fierce-looking fellow, which, it seems, we have hereabouts; eleven barrels of apples from trees of my own planting; and a large crop of white oak acorns, which I did not raise.

Please remember me to your family. I have a very pleasant recollection of your fireside, and I trust that I shall revisit it;--also of your shanty and the surrounding regions.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, September 26, 1859.

MR. BLAKE,--I am not sure that I am in a fit mood to write to you, for I feel and think rather too much like a business man, having some very irksome affairs to attend to these months and years on account of my family.[93] This is the way I am serving King Admetus, confound him! If it were not for my relations, I would let the wolves prey on his flocks to their bellies' content. Such fellows you have to deal with! herdsmen of some other king, or of the same, who tell no tale, but in the sense of counting their flocks, and then lie drunk under a hedge. How is your grist ground? Not by some murmuring stream, while you lie dreaming on the bank; but, it seems, you must take hold with your hands, and shove the wheel round. You can't depend on streams, poor feeble things! You can't depend on worlds, left to themselves; but you've got to oil them and goad them along. In short, you've got to carry on two farms at once,--the farm on the earth and the farm in your mind. Those Crimean and Italian battles were mere boys' play,--they are the scrapes into which truants get. But what a battle a man must fight everywhere to maintain his standing army of thoughts, and march with them in orderly array through the always hostile country! How many enemies there are to sane thinking! Every soldier has succumbed to them before he enlists for those other battles. Men may sit in chambers, seemingly safe and sound, and yet despair, and turn out at last only hollowness and dust within, like a Dead Sea apple. A standing army of numerous, brave, and well-disciplined thoughts, and you at the head of them, marching straight to your goal,--how to bring this about is the problem, and Scott's Tactics will not help you to it. Think of a poor fellow begirt only with a sword-belt, and no such staff of athletic thoughts! his brains rattling as he walks and _talks_! These are your prætorian guard. It is easy enough to maintain a family, or a state, but it is hard to maintain these children of your brain (or say, rather, these guests that trust to enjoy your hospitality), they make such great demands; and yet, he who does only the former, and loses the power to _think_ originally, or as only he ever can, fails miserably. Keep up the fires of thought, and all will go well.

Zouaves?--pish! How you can overrun a country, climb any rampart, and carry any fortress, with an army of _alert_ thoughts!--thoughts that send their bullets home to heaven's door,--with which you can _take_ the whole world, without paying for it, or robbing anybody. See, the conquering hero comes! You _fail_ in your thoughts, or you _prevail_ in your thoughts only. Provided you _think_ well, the heavens falling, or the earth gaping, will be the music for you to march by. No foe can ever see you, or you him; you cannot so much as _think_ of him. Swords have no edges, bullets no penetration, for such a contest. In your mind must be a liquor which will dissolve the world whenever it is dropt in it. There is no universal solvent but this, and all things together cannot saturate it. It will hold the universe in solution, and yet be as translucent as ever. The vast machine may indeed roll over our toes, and we not know it, but it would rebound and be staved to pieces like an empty barrel, if it should strike fair and square on the smallest and least angular of a man's thoughts.

You seem not to have taken Cape Cod the right way. I think that you should have persevered in walking on the beach and on the bank, even to the land's end, however soft, and so, by long knocking at Ocean's gate, have gained admittance at last,--better, if separately, and in a storm, not knowing where you would sleep by night, or eat by day. Then you should have given a day to the sand behind Provincetown, and ascended the hills there, and been blown on considerably. I hope that you like to remember the journey better than you did to make it.

I have been confined at home all this year, but I am not aware that I have grown any rustier than was to be expected. One while I explored the bottom of the river pretty extensively. I have engaged to read a lecture to Parker's society on the 9th of October next.

I am off--a-barberrying.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, October 31, 1859.

MR. BLAKE,--I spoke to my townsmen last evening on "The Character of Captain Brown, now in the Clutches of the Slaveholder." I should like to speak to any company at Worcester who may wish to hear me; and will come if only my expenses are paid. I think we should express ourselves at once, while Brown is alive. The sooner the better. Perhaps Higginson may like to have a meeting. Wednesday evening would be a good time. The people here are deeply interested in the matter. Let me have an answer as soon as may be.

P. S.--I may be engaged toward the end of the week.

HENRY D. THOREAU.

This address on John Brown was one of the first public utterances in favor of that hero; it was made up mainly from the entries in Thoreau's journals, since I had introduced Brown to him, and he to Emerson, in March, 1857; and especially from those pages that Thoreau had written after the news of Brown's capture in Virginia had reached him. It was first given in the vestry of the old parish church in Concord (where, in 1774, the Provincial Congress of Massachusetts had met to prepare for armed resistance to British tyranny); was repeated at Worcester the same week, and before a great audience in Boston, the following Sunday,--after which it was published in the newspapers, and had a wide reading. Mr. Alcott in his diary mentions it under date of Sunday, October 30, thus: "Thoreau reads a paper on John Brown, his virtues, spirit, and deeds, this evening, and to the delight of his company,--the best that could be gathered at short notice,--and among them Emerson. (November 4.) Thoreau calls and reports about the reading of his lecture on Brown at Boston and Worcester. He has been the first to speak and celebrate the hero's courage and magnanimity; it is these that he discerns and praises. The men have much in common,--the sturdy manliness, straightforwardness, and independence. (November 5.) Ricketson from New Bedford arrives; he and Thoreau take supper with us. Thoreau talks freely and enthusiastically about Brown,--denouncing the Union, the President, the States, and Virginia particularly; wishes to publish his late speech, and has seen Boston publishers, but failed to find any to print it for him." It was soon after published, along with Emerson's two speeches in favor of Brown, by a new Boston publishing house (Thayer & Eldridge), in a volume called "Echoes of Harper's Ferry," edited by the late James Redpath, Brown's first biographer. In the following summer, Thoreau sent a second paper on Brown (written soon after his execution) to be read at a commemoration of the martyr, beside his grave among the Adirondack Mountains. This is mentioned in his letter to Sophia Thoreau, July 8, 1860. He took an active part in arranging for the funeral service in honor of Brown, at Concord, the day of his death, December 2, 1859.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, May 20, 1860.

MR. BLAKE,--I must endeavor to pay some of my debts to you. To begin where we left off, then.

The presumption is that _we_ are always the same; our opportunities, and Nature herself, fluctuating. Look at mankind. No great difference between two, apparently; perhaps the same height, and breadth, and weight; and yet, to the man who sits most east, this life is a weariness, routine, dust and ashes, and he drowns his imaginary _cares_ (!) (a sort of friction among his vital organs) in a bowl. But to the man who sits most west, his _contemporary_ (!), it is a field for all noble endeavors, an elysium, the dwelling-place of heroes and demigods. The former complains that he has a thousand affairs to attend to; but he does not realize that his affairs (though they may be a thousand) and he are one.

Men and boys are learning all kinds of trades but how to make _men_ of themselves. They learn to make houses; but they are not so well housed, they are not so contented in their houses, as the woodchucks in their holes. What is the use of a house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?--if you cannot tolerate the planet it is on? Grade the ground first. If a man believes and expects great things of himself, it makes no odds where you put him, or what you show him (of course _you_ cannot put him anywhere, nor show him anything), he will be surrounded by grandeur. He is in the condition of a healthy and hungry man, who says to himself,--How sweet this crust is! If he despairs of himself, then Tophet is his dwelling-place, and he is in the condition of a sick man who is disgusted with the fruits of finest flavor.

Whether he sleeps or wakes,--whether he runs or walks,--whether he uses a microscope or a telescope, or his naked eye,--a man never discovers anything, never overtakes anything, or leaves anything behind, but himself. Whatever he says or does, he merely reports himself. If he is in love, he _loves_; if he is in heaven, he _enjoys_; if he is in hell, he _suffers_. It is his condition that determines his locality.

The principal, the only, thing a man makes, is his condition of fate. Though commonly he does not know it, nor put up a sign to this effect, "My own destiny made and mended here." (Not _yours_.) He is a master workman in the business. He works twenty-four hours a day at it, and gets it done. Whatever else he neglects or botches, no man was ever known to neglect this work. A great many pretend to make _shoes_ chiefly, and would scout the idea that they make the hard times which they experience.

Each reaching and aspiration is an instinct with which all nature consists and coöperates, and therefore it is not in vain. But alas! each relaxing and desperation is an instinct too. To be active, well, happy, implies rare courage. To be ready to fight in a duel or a battle implies desperation, or that you hold your life cheap.

If you take this life to be simply what old religious folks pretend (I mean the effete, gone to seed in a drought, mere human galls stung by the devil once), then all your joy and serenity is reduced to grinning and bearing it. The fact is, you have got to take the world on your shoulders like Atlas, and "put along" with it. You will do this for an idea's sake, and your success will be in proportion to your devotion to ideas. It may make your back ache occasionally, but you will have the satisfaction of hanging it or twirling it to suit yourself. Cowards suffer, heroes enjoy. After a long day's walk with it, pitch it into a hollow place, sit down and eat your luncheon. Unexpectedly, by some immortal thoughts, you will be compensated. The bank whereon you sit will be a fragrant and flowery one, and your world in the hollow a sleek and light gazelle.

Where is the "unexplored land" but in our own untried enterprises? To an adventurous spirit any place--London, New York, Worcester, or his own yard--is "unexplored land," to seek which Frémont and Kane travel so far. To a sluggish and defeated spirit even the Great Basin and the Polaris are trivial places. If they can get there (and, indeed, they are there now), they will want to sleep, and give it up, just as they always do. These are the regions of the Known and of the Unknown. What is the use of going right over the old track again? There is an adder in the path which your own feet have worn. You must make tracks into the Unknown. That is what you have your board and clothes for. Why do you ever mend your clothes, unless that, wearing them, you may mend your ways? Let us sing.

TO SOPHIA THOREAU (AT CAMPTON, N. H.).

CONCORD, July 8, 1860.

DEAR SOPHIA,--Mother reminds me that I must write to you, if only a few lines, though I have sprained my thumb, so that it is questionable whether I can write legibly, if at all. I can't "bear on" much. What is worse, I believe that I have sprained my brain too--that is, it sympathizes with my thumb. But that is no excuse, I suppose, for writing a letter in such a case is like sending a newspaper, only a hint to let you know that "all is well,"--but my thumb.

I hope that you begin to derive some benefit from that more mountainous air which you are breathing. Have you had a distinct view of the Franconia Notch Mountains (blue peaks in the northern horizon)? which I told you you could get from the road in Campton, probably from some other points nearer. Such a view of the mountains is more memorable than any other. Have you been to Squam Lake or overlooked it? I should think that you could make an excursion to some mountain in that direction from which you could see the lake and mountains generally. Is there no friend of N. P. Rogers who can tell you where the "lions" are?

Of course I did not go to North Elba,[94] but I sent some reminiscences of last fall. I hear that John Brown, Jr., has now come to Boston for a few days. Mr. Sanborn's case, it is said, will come on after some murder cases have been disposed of here.

I have just been invited formally to be present at the annual picnic of Theodore Parker's society (that was), at Waverley, next Wednesday, and to make some remarks. But that is wholly out of my line. I do not go to picnics, even in Concord, you know.

Mother and Aunt Sophia rode to Acton in time yesterday. I suppose that you have heard that Mr. Hawthorne has come home. I went to meet him the other evening and found that he has not altered, except that he was looking quite brown after his voyage. He is as simple and childlike as ever.

I believe that I have fairly scared the kittens away, at last, by my pretended fierceness, which was. I will consider my thumb--and your eyes.

HENRY.

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, August 3, 1860.

MR. BLAKE,--I some time ago asked Channing if he would not spend a week with me on Monadnock; but he did not answer decidedly. Lately he has talked of an excursion somewhere, but I said that _now_ I must wait till my sister returned from Plymouth, N. H. She has returned,--and accordingly, on receiving your note this morning, I made known its contents to Channing, in order to see how far I was engaged with him. The result is that he decides to go to Monadnock to-morrow morning;[95] so I must defer making an excursion with you and Brown to another season. Perhaps you will call as you pass the mountain. I send this by the earliest mail.

P. S.--That was a very insufficient visit which you made here the last time. My mother is better, though far from well; and if you should chance along here any time after your journey, I trust that we shall all do better.

* * * * *

The mention by Thoreau of John Brown and my "case" recalls to me an incident of those excited days which followed the attack by Brown on slavery in Virginia. The day after Brown's death, but before the execution of his comrades, I received a message from the late Dr. David Thayer of Boston, implying, as I thought, that a son of Brown was at his house, whither I hurried to meet him. Instead, I found young F. J. Merriam of Boston, who had escaped with Owen Brown from Harper's Ferry, and was now in Boston to raise another party against the slaveholders. He was unfit to lead or even join in such a desperate undertaking, and we insisted he should return to safety in Canada,--a large reward being offered for his seizure. He agreed to go back to Canada that night by the Fitchburg Railroad; but in his hot-headed way he took the wrong train, which ran no farther than Concord,--and found himself in the early evening at my house, where my sister received him, but insisted that I should not see him, lest I might be questioned about my guest. While he had supper and went to bed, I posted down to Mr. Emerson's and engaged his horse and covered wagon, to be ready at sunrise,--he asking no questions. In the same way I engaged Mr. Thoreau to drive his friend's horse to South Acton the next morning, and there put on board the first Canadian train a Mr. Lockwood, whom he would find at my house. Thoreau readily consented, asked no questions, walked to the Emerson stable the next morning, found the horse ready, drove him to my door, and took up Merriam, under the name of Lockwood,--neither knowing who the other was. Merriam was so flighty that, though he had agreed to go to Montreal, and knew that his life might depend on getting there early, he declared he must see Mr. Emerson, to lay before him his plan for invading the South, and consult him about some moral questions that troubled his mind. His companion listened gravely,--and hurried the horse towards Acton. Merriam grew more positive and suspicious,--"Perhaps YOU are Mr. Emerson; you look somewhat like him."[96] "No, I am not," said Thoreau, and drove steadily away from Concord. "Well, then, I am going back," said the youth, and flung himself out of the wagon. How Thoreau got him in again, he never told me; but I suspected some judicious force, accompanying the grave persuasive speech natural to our friend. At any rate, he took his man to Acton, saw him safe on the train, and reported to me that "Mr. Lockwood had taken passage for Canada," where he arrived that night. Nothing more passed between us until, more than two years after, he inquired one day, in his last illness, who my fugitive was. Merriam was then out of danger in that way, and had been for months a soldier in the Union army, where he died. I therefore said that "Lockwood" was the grandson of his mother's old friend, Francis Jackson, and had escaped from Maryland. In return he gave me the odd incidents of their drive, and mentioned that he had spoken of the affair to his mother only since his illness. So reticent and practically useful could he be; as Channing says, "He made no useless professions, never asked one of those questions which destroy all relation; but he was on the spot at the time, he meant friendship, and meant nothing else, and stood by it without the slightest abatement."

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, November 4, 1860.

MR. BLAKE,--I am glad to hear any particulars of your excursion. As for myself, I looked out for you somewhat on that Monday, when, it appears, you passed Monadnock; turned my glass upon several parties that were ascending the mountain half a mile on one side of us. In short, I came as near to seeing you as you to seeing me. I have no doubt that we should have had a good time if you had come, for I had, all ready, two good spruce houses, in which you could stand up, complete in all respects, half a mile apart, and you and B. could have lodged by yourselves in one, if not with us.

We made an excellent beginning of our mountain life.[97] You may remember that the Saturday previous was a stormy day. Well, we went up in the rain,--wet through,--and found ourselves in a cloud there at mid-afternoon, in no situation to look about for the best place for a camp. So I proceeded at once, through the cloud, to that memorable stone, "chunk yard," in which we made our humble camp once, and there, after putting our packs under a rock, having a good hatchet, I proceeded to build a substantial house, which Channing declared the handsomest he ever saw. (He never camped out before, and was, no doubt, prejudiced in its favor.) This was done about dark, and by that time we were nearly as wet as if we had stood in a hogshead of water. We then built a fire before the door, directly on the site of our little camp of two years ago, and it took a long time to burn through its remains to the earth beneath. Standing before this, and turning round slowly, like meat that is roasting, we were as dry, if not drier, than ever, after a few hours, and so at last we "turned in."

This was a great deal better than going up there in fair weather, and having no adventure (not knowing how to appreciate either fair weather or foul) but dull, commonplace sleep in a useless house, and before a comparatively useless fire,--such as we get every night. Of course we thanked our stars, when we saw them, which was about midnight, that they had seemingly withdrawn for a season. We had the mountain all to ourselves that afternoon and night. There was nobody going up that day to engrave his name on the summit, nor to gather blueberries. The genius of the mountains saw us starting from Concord, and it said, There come two of our folks. Let us get ready for them. Get up a serious storm, that will send a-packing these holiday guests. (They may have their say another time.) Let us receive them with true mountain hospitality,--kill the fatted cloud. Let them know the value of a spruce roof, and of a fire of dead spruce stumps. Every bush dripped tears of joy at our advent. Fire did its best, and received our thanks. What could fire have done in fair weather? Spruce roof got its share of our blessings. And then, such a view of the wet rocks, with the wet lichens on them, as we had the next morning, but did not get again!

We and the mountain had a sound season, as the saying is. How glad we were to be wet, in order that we might be dried! How glad we were of the storm which made our house seem like a new home to us! This day's experience was indeed lucky, for we did not have a thunder-shower during all our stay. Perhaps our host reserved this attention in order to tempt us to come again.

Our next house was more substantial still. One side was rock, good for durability; the floor the same; and the roof which I made would have upheld a horse. I stood on it to do the shingling.

I noticed, when I was at the White Mountains last, several nuisances which render traveling thereabouts unpleasant. The chief of these was the mountain houses. I might have supposed that the main attraction of that region, even to citizens, lay in its wildness and unlikeness to the city, and yet they make it as much like the city as they can afford to. I heard that the Crawford House was lighted with gas, and had a large saloon, with its band of music, for dancing. But give me a spruce house made in the rain.

An old Concord farmer tells me that he ascended Monadnock once, and danced on the top. How did that happen? Why, he being up there, a party of young men and women came up, bringing boards and a fiddler; and, having laid down the boards, they made a level floor, on which they danced to the music of the fiddle. I suppose the tune was "Excelsior." This reminds me of the fellow who climbed to the top of a very high spire, stood upright on the ball, and hurrahed for--what? Why, for Harrison and Tyler. That's the kind of sound which most ambitious people emit when they culminate. They are wont to be singularly frivolous in the thin atmosphere; they can't contain themselves, though our comfort and their safety require it; it takes the pressure of many atmospheres to do this; and hence they helplessly evaporate there. It would seem that as they ascend, they breathe shorter and shorter, and, at each _expiration_, some of their wits leave them, till, when they reach the pinnacle, they are so light-headed as to be fit only to show how the wind sits. I suspect that Emerson's criticism called "Monadnoc" was inspired, not by remembering the inhabitants of New Hampshire as they are in the valleys, so much as by meeting some of them on the mountain-top.

After several nights' experience, Channing came to the conclusion that he was "lying outdoors," and inquired what was the largest beast that might nibble his legs there. I fear that he did not improve all the night, as he might have done, to sleep. I had asked him to go and spend a week there. We spent five nights, being gone six days, for C. suggested that six working days made a week, and I saw that he was ready to _decamp_. However, he found his account in it as well as I.

We were seen to go up in the rain, grim and silent, like two genii of the storm, by Fassett's men or boys; but we were never identified afterward, though we were the subject of some conversation which we overheard. Five hundred persons at least came on to the mountain while we were there, but not one found our camp. We saw one party of three ladies and two gentlemen spread their blankets and spend the night on the top, and heard them converse; but they did not know that they had neighbors who were comparatively old settlers. We spared them the chagrin which that knowledge would have caused them, and let them print their story in a newspaper accordingly.

Yes, to meet men on an honest and simple footing, meet with rebuffs, suffer from sore feet, as you did,--ay, and from a sore heart, as perhaps you also did,--all that is excellent. What a pity that that young prince[98] could not enjoy a little of the legitimate experience of traveling--be dealt with simply and truly, though rudely. He might have been invited to some hospitable house in the country, had his bowl of bread and milk set before him, with a clean pinafore; been told that there were the punt and the fishing-rod, and he could amuse himself as he chose; might have swung a few birches, dug out a woodchuck, and had a regular good time, and finally been sent to bed with the boys,--and so never have been introduced to Mr. Everett at all. I have no doubt that this would have been a far more memorable and valuable experience than he got.

The snow-clad summit of Mt. Washington must have been a very interesting sight from Wachusett. How wholesome winter is, seen far or near; how good, above all mere sentimental, warm-blooded, short-lived, soft-hearted, _moral_ goodness, commonly so called. Give me the goodness which has forgotten its own deeds,--which God has seen to be good, and let be. None of your _just made perfect_,--pickled eels! All that will save them will be their picturesqueness, as with blasted trees. Whatever is, and is not ashamed to be, is good. I value no moral goodness or greatness unless it is good or great, even as that snowy peak is. Pray, how could thirty feet of bowels improve it? Nature is goodness crystallized. You looked into the land of promise. Whatever beauty we behold, the more it is distant, serene, and cold, the purer and more durable it is. It is better to warm ourselves with ice than with fire.

Tell Brown that he sent me more than the price of the book, viz., a word from himself, for which I am greatly his debtor.

* * * * *

Thoreau began to be more seriously ill than he had been for some years, early in December, 1860. He exposed himself unduly in one of his walks, while counting the rings on stumps of trees, amid snow. He ceased much of his small activity of letter-writing; but, in addressing Ricketson the next spring, he took the unusual pains of writing him a letter of some length which he never sent. It was found among his papers after death,--the first draft of it, which ran as follows, but was left a fragment:--

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

Concord, March 19, 1861.

FRIEND R,--Your letter reached me in due time, but I had already heard the bluebirds. They were here on the 26th of February at least,--but not yet do the larks sing or the flickers call, with us. The bluebirds come again, as does the same spring, but it does not find the same mortals here to greet it. You remember Minott's cottage on the hillside,--well, it finds some change there, for instance. The little gray hip-roofed cottage was occupied at the beginning of February, this year, by George Minott and his sister Mary, respectively 78 and 80 years old, and Miss Potter, 74. These had been its permanent occupants for many years. Minott had been on his last legs for some time,--at last off his legs, expecting weekly to take his departure,--a burden to himself and friends,--yet dry and natural as ever. His sister took care of him, and supported herself and family with her needle, as usual. He lately willed his little property to her, as a slight compensation for her care. Feb. 13 their sister, 86 or 87, who lived across the way, died. Miss Minott had taken cold in visiting her, and was so sick that she could not go to her funeral. She herself died of lung fever[99] on the 18th (which was said to be the same disease that her sister had),--having just willed her property back to George, and added her own mite to it. Miss Potter, too, had now become ill,--too ill to attend the funeral,--and she died of the same disease on the 23d. All departed as gently as the sun goes down, leaving George alone.

I called to see him the other day,--the 27th of February, a remarkably pleasant spring day,--and as I was climbing the sunny slope to his strangely deserted house, I heard the first bluebirds upon the elm that hangs over it. They had come as usual, though some who used to hear them were gone. Even Minott had not heard them, though the door was open,--for he was thinking of other things. Perhaps there will be a time when the bluebirds themselves will not return any more.

I hear that George, a few days after this, called out to his niece, who had come to take care of him, and was in the next room, to know if she did not feel lonely? "Yes, I do," said she. "So do I," added he. He said he was like an old oak, all shattered and decaying. "I am sure, Uncle," said his niece, "you are not much like an oak!" "I mean," said he, "that I am like an oak or any other tree, inasmuch as I cannot stir from where I am."

* * * * *

Either this topic was too pathetic for Thoreau to finish the letter, or perchance he thought it not likely to interest his friend; for he threw aside this draft for three days, and then, with the same beginning, wrote a very different letter. The Minotts were old familiar acquaintance, and related to that Captain Minott whom Thoreau's grandmother married as a second husband. George was his "old man of Verona," who had not left Concord for more than forty years, except to stray over the town bounds in hunting or wood-ranging; and Mary was the "tailoress" who for years made Thoreau's garments.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, March 22, 1861.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--The bluebird was here the 26th of February, at least, which is one day earlier than you date; but I have not heard of larks nor pigeon woodpeckers. To tell the truth, I am not on the alert for the signs of spring, not having had any winter yet. I took a severe cold about the 3d of December, which at length resulted in a kind of bronchitis, so that I have been confined to the house ever since, excepting a very few experimental trips as far as the post-office in some particularly fine noons. My health otherwise has not been affected in the least, nor my spirits. I have simply been imprisoned for so long, and it has not prevented my doing a good deal of reading and the like.

Channing has looked after me very faithfully; says he has made a study of my case, and knows me better than I know myself, etc., etc. Of course, if I knew how it began, I should know better how it would end. I trust that when warm weather comes I shall begin to pick up my crumbs. I thank you for your invitation to come to New Bedford, and will bear it in mind; but at present my health will not permit my leaving home.

The day I received your letter, Blake and Brown arrived here, having walked from Worcester in two days, though Alcott, who happened in soon after, could not understand what pleasure they found in walking across the country in this season, when the ways were so unsettled. I had a solid talk with them for a day and a half--though my pipes were not in good order--and they went their way again.

You may be interested to hear that Alcott is at present, perhaps, the most successful man in the town. He had his second annual exhibition of all the schools in the town, at the Town Hall last Saturday; at which all the masters and misses did themselves great credit, as I hear, and of course reflected some on their teachers and parents. They were making their little speeches from one till six o'clock P. M., to a large audience, which patiently listened to the end. In the meanwhile, the children made Mr. Alcott an unexpected present of a fine edition of "Pilgrim's Progress" and Herbert's Poems, which, of course, overcame all parties. I inclose an order of exercises.[100]

We had, last night, an old-fashioned northeast snow-storm, far worse than anything in the winter; and the drifts are now very high above the fences. The inhabitants are pretty much confined to their houses, as I was already. All houses are one color, white, with the snow plastered over them, and you cannot tell whether they have blinds or not. Our pump has another pump, its ghost, as thick as itself, sticking to one side of it. The town has sent out teams of eight oxen each, to break out the roads; and the train due from Boston at 8½ A. M. has not arrived yet (4 P. M.). All the passing has been a train from above at 12 M., which also was due at 8½ A. M. Where are the bluebirds now, think you? I suppose that you have not so much snow at New Bedford, if any.

TO PARKER PILLSBURY (AT CONCORD N. H.).

CONCORD, April 10, 1861.

FRIEND PILLSBURY,--I am sorry to say that I have not a copy of "Walden" which I can spare; and know of none, unless possibly Ticknor & Fields may have one. I send, nevertheless, a copy of "The Week," the price of which is one dollar and twenty-five cents, which you can pay at your convenience.

As for your friend, my prospective reader, I hope he ignores Fort Sumter, and "Old Abe," and all that; for that is just the most fatal, and, indeed, the only fatal weapon you can direct against evil, ever; for, as long as you _know of it_, you are _particeps criminis_. What business have you, if you are an "angel of light," to be pondering over the deeds of darkness, reading the _New York Herald_, and the like?

I do not so much regret the present condition of things in this country (provided I regret it at all), as I do that I ever heard of it. I know one or two, who have this year, for the first time, read a President's Message; but they do not see that this implies a _fall_ in themselves, rather than a _rise_ in the President. Blessed were the days before you read a President's Message. Blessed are the young, for they do not read the President's Message. Blessed are they who never read a newspaper, for they shall see Nature, and, through her, God.

But, alas! _I_ have heard of Sumter and Pickens, and even of Buchanan (though I did not read his Message). I also read the _New York Tribune_; but then, I am reading Herodotus and Strabo, and Blodget's "Climatology," and "Six Years in the Desert of North America," as hard as I can, to counterbalance it.

By the way, Alcott is at present our most popular and successful man, and has just published a volume in size, in the shape of the Annual School Report, which I presume he has sent to you.

Yours, for remembering all good things,

HENRY D. THOREAU.

Parker Pillsbury, to whom this letter went, was an old friend of the Thoreau family, with whom he became intimate in the antislavery agitation, wherein they took part, while he was a famous orator, celebrated by Emerson in one of his essays. Mr. Pillsbury visited Thoreau in his last illness, when he could scarcely speak above a whisper, and, having made to him some remark concerning the future life, Thoreau replied, "My friend, one world at a time." His petulant words in this letter concerning national affairs would hardly have been said a few days later, when, at the call of Abraham Lincoln, the people rose to protect their government, and every President's Message became of thrilling interest, even to Thoreau.

Arrangements were now making for the invalid, about whose health his friends had been anxious for some years, to travel for a better climate than the New England spring affords, and early in May Thoreau set out for the upper Mississippi. He thus missed the last letter sent to him by his English friend Cholmondeley, which I answered, then forwarded to him at Redwing, in Minnesota. It is of interest enough to be given here.

T. CHOLMONDELEY TO THOREAU (IN MINNESOTA).

SHREWSBURY [England], April 23, 1861.

MY DEAR THOREAU,--It is now some time since I wrote to you or heard from you, but do not suppose that I have forgotten you, or shall ever cease to cherish in my mind those days at dear old Concord. The last I heard about you all was from Morton,[101] who was in England about a year ago; and I hope that he has got over his difficulties and is now in his own country again. I think he has seen rather more of English country life than most Yankee tourists; and appeared to find it _curious_, though I fear he was dulled by our ways; for he was too full of ceremony and compliments and bows, which is a mistake here; though very well in Spain. I am afraid he was rather on pins and needles; but he made a splendid speech at a volunteer supper, and indeed the _very best_, some said, ever heard in this part of the country.

We are here in a state of alarm and apprehension, the world being so troubled in East and West and everywhere. Last year the harvest was bad and scanty. This year our trade is beginning to feel the events in America. In reply to the northern tariff, of course we are going to smuggle as much as we can. The supply of cotton being such a necessity to us, we must work up India and South Africa a little better. There is war even in old New Zealand, but not in the same island where my people are! Besides, we are certainly on the eve of a continental blaze, _so we are making merry and living while we can_; not being sure where we shall be this time a year.

Give my affectionate regards to your father, mother, and sister, and to Mr. Emerson and his family, and to Channing, Sanborn, Ricketson, Blake, and Morton and Alcott and Parker. A thought arises in my mind whether I may not be enumerating some dead men! Perhaps Parker is!

These rumors of wars make me wish that we had got done with this brutal stupidity of war altogether; and I believe, Thoreau, that the human race will at last get rid of it, though perhaps not in a creditable way; but such _powers_ will be brought to bear that it will become monstrous even to the French. Dundonald declared to the last that he possessed secrets which from their tremendous character would make war impossible. So peace may be begotten from the machinations of evil.

Have you heard of any good books lately? I think "Burnt Njal" good, and believe it to be genuine. "Hast thou not heard" (says Steinrora to Thangbrand) "how Thor challenged Christ to single combat, and how he did not dare to fight with Thor?" When Gunnar brandishes his sword, three swords are seen in air. The account of Ospah and Brodir and Brian's battle is the only historical account of that engagement, which the Irish talk so much of; for I place little trust in O'Halloran's authority, though the outline is the same in both.

Darwin's "Origin of Species" may be fanciful, but it is a move in the right direction. Emerson's "Conduct of Life" has done me good; but it will not go down in England for a generation or so. But _these_ are some of them already a year or two old. The book of the season is Du Chaillu's "Central Africa," with accounts of the Gorilla, of which you are aware that you have had a skeleton at Boston for many years. There is also one in the British Museum; but they have now several stuffed specimens at the Geographical Society's rooms in Town. I suppose you will have seen Sir Emerson Tennent's "Ceylon," which is perhaps as complete a book as ever was published; and a better monument to a governor's residence in a great province was never made.

We have been lately astonished by a foreign Hamlet, a supposed impossibility; but Mr. Fechter does real wonders. No doubt he will visit America, and then you may see the best actor in the world. He has carried out Goethe's idea of Hamlet as given in the "Wilhelm Meister," showing him forth as a fair-haired and fat man. I suppose you are not got fat yet?

Yours ever truly, THOS. CHOLMONDELEY.[102]

TO HARRISON BLAKE (AT WORCESTER).

CONCORD, May 3, 1861.

MR. BLAKE,--I am still as much an invalid as when you and Brown were here, if not more of one, and at this rate there is danger that the cold weather may come again, before I get over my bronchitis. The doctor accordingly tells me that I must "clear out" to the West Indies, or elsewhere,--he does not seem to care much where. But I decide against the West Indies, on account of their muggy heat in the summer, and the South of Europe, on account of the expense of time and money, and have at last concluded that it will be most expedient for me to try the air of Minnesota, say somewhere about St. Paul's. I am only waiting to be well enough to start. Hope to get off within a week or ten days.

The inland air may help me at once, or it may not. At any rate, I am so much of an invalid that I shall have to study my comfort in traveling to a remarkable degree,--stopping to rest, etc., etc., if need be. I think to get a through ticket to Chicago, with liberty to stop frequently on the way, making my first stop of consequence at Niagara Falls, several days or a week, at a private boarding-house; then a night or day at Detroit; and as much at Chicago as my health may require. At Chicago I can decide at what point (Fulton, Dunleith, or another) to strike the Mississippi, and take a boat to St. Paul's.

I trust to find a private boarding-house in one or various agreeable places in that region, and spend my time there. I expect, and shall be prepared, to be gone three months; and I would like to return by a different route,--perhaps Mackinaw and Montreal.

I have thought of finding a companion, of course, yet not seriously, because I had no right to offer myself as a companion to anybody, having such a peculiarly private and all-absorbing but miserable business as _my_ health, and not altogether _his_, to attend to, causing me to stop here and go there, etc., etc., unaccountably.

Nevertheless, I have just now decided to let you know of my intention, thinking it barely possible that you might like to make a part or the whole of this journey at the same time, and that perhaps your own health may be such as to be benefited by it.

Pray let me know if such a statement offers any temptations to you. I write in great haste for the mail, and must omit all the moral.

TO F. B. SANBORN (AT CONCORD).

REDWING, MINNESOTA, June 26, 1861.

MR. SANBORN,--I was very glad to find awaiting me, on my arrival here on Sunday afternoon, a letter from you. I have performed this journey in a very dead and alive manner, but nothing has come so near waking me up as the receipt of letters from Concord. I read yours, and one from my sister (and Horace Mann, his four), near the top of a remarkable isolated bluff here, called Barn Bluff, or the Grange, or Redwing Bluff, some four hundred and fifty feet high, and half a mile long,--a bit of the main bluff or bank standing alone. The top, as you know, rises to the general level of the surrounding country, the river having eaten out so much. Yet the valley just above and below this (we are at the head of Lake Pepin) must be three or four miles wide.

I am not even so well informed as to the progress of the war as you suppose. I have seen but one Eastern paper (that, by the way, _was_ the _Tribune_) for five weeks. I have not taken much pains to get them; but, necessarily, I have not seen any paper at all for more than a week at a time. The people of Minnesota have _seemed_ to me more cold,--to feel less implicated in this war than the people of Massachusetts. It is apparent that Massachusetts, for one State at least, is doing much more than her share in carrying it on. However, I have dealt partly with those of Southern birth, and have seen but little way beneath the surface. I was glad to be told yesterday that there was a good deal of weeping here at Redwing the other day, when the volunteers stationed at Fort Snelling followed the regulars to the seat of the war. They do not weep when their children go _up_ the river to occupy the deserted forts, though they _may_ have to fight the Indians there.

I do not even know what the attitude of England is at present.

The grand feature hereabouts is, of course, the Mississippi River. Too much can hardly be said of its grandeur, and of the beauty of this portion of it (from Dunleith, and probably from Rock Island to this place). St. Paul is a dozen miles below the Falls of St. Anthony, or near the head of uninterrupted navigation on the main stream, about two thousand miles from its mouth. There is not a "rip" below that, and the river is almost as wide in the upper as the lower part of its course. Steamers go up the Sauk Rapids, above the Falls, near a hundred miles farther, and then you are fairly in the pine woods and lumbering country. Thus it flows from the pine to the palm.

The lumber, as you know, is sawed chiefly at the Falls of St. Anthony (what is not rafted in the log to ports far below), having given rise to the towns of St. Anthony, Minneapolis, etc., etc. In coming up the river from Dunleith, you meet with great rafts of sawed lumber and of logs, twenty rods or more in length, by five or six wide, floating down, all from the pine region above the Falls. An old Maine lumberer, who has followed the same business here, tells me that the sources of the Mississippi were comparatively free from rocks and rapids, making easy work for them; but he thought that the timber was more knotty here than in Maine.

It has chanced that about half the men whom I have spoken with in Minnesota, whether travelers or settlers, were from Massachusetts.

After spending some three weeks in and about St. Paul, St. Anthony, and Minneapolis, we made an excursion in a steamer, some three hundred or more miles up the Minnesota (St. Peter's) River, to Redwood, or the Lower Sioux Agency, in order to see the plains, and the Sioux, who were to receive their annual payment there. This is eminently _the_ river of Minnesota (for she shares the Mississippi with Wisconsin), and it is of incalculable value to her. It flows through a very fertile country destined to be famous for its wheat; but it is a remarkably winding stream, so that Redwood is only half as far from its mouth by land as by water. There was not a straight reach a mile in length as far as we went,--generally you could not see a quarter of a mile of water, and the boat was steadily turning this way or that. At the greater bends, as the Traverse des Sioux, some of the passengers were landed, and walked across to be taken in on the other side. Two or three times you could have thrown a stone across the neck of the isthmus, while it was from one to three miles around it. It was a very novel kind of navigation to me. The boat was perhaps the largest that had been up so high, and the water was rather low (it had been about fifteen feet higher). In making a short turn, we repeatedly and designedly ran square into the steep and soft bank, taking in a cart-load of earth,--this being more effectual than the rudder to fetch us about again; or the deeper water was so narrow and close to the shore, that we were obliged to run into and break down at least fifty trees which overhung the water, when we did not cut them off, repeatedly losing a part of our outworks, though the most exposed had been taken in. I could pluck almost any plant on the bank from the boat. We very frequently got aground, and then drew ourselves along with a windlass and a cable fastened to a tree, or we swung round in the current, and completely blocked up and blockaded the river, one end of the boat resting on each shore. And yet we would haul ourselves round again with the windlass and cable in an hour or two, though the boat was about one hundred and sixty feet long, and drew some three feet of water, or, often, water and sand. It was one consolation to know that in such a case we were all the while damming the river, and so raising it. We once ran fairly on to a concealed rock, with a shock that aroused all the passengers, and rested there, and the mate went below with a lamp, expecting to find a hole, but he did not. Snags and sawyers were so common that I forgot to mention them. The sound of the boat rumbling over one was the ordinary music. However, as long as the boiler did not burst, we knew that no serious accident was likely to happen. Yet this was a singularly navigable river, more so than the Mississippi above the Falls, and it is owing to its very crookedness. Ditch it straight, and it would not only be very swift, but soon run out. It was from ten to fifteen rods wide near the mouth, and from eight to ten or twelve at Redwood. Though the current was swift, I did not see a "rip" on it, and only three or four rocks. For three months in the year I am told that it can be navigated by small steamers about twice as far as we went, or to its source in Big Stone Lake; and a former Indian agent told me that at high water it was thought that such a steamer might pass into the Red River.

In short, this river proved so very _long_ and navigable, that I was reminded of the last letter or two in the voyage of the Baron la Hontan (written near the end of the seventeenth century, I _think_), in which he states, that, after reaching the Mississippi (by the Illinois or Wisconsin), the limit of previous exploration westward, he voyaged up it with his Indians, and at length turned up a great river coming in from the west, which he called "La Rivière Longue;" and he relates various improbable things about the country and its inhabitants, so that this letter has been regarded as pure fiction, or, more properly speaking, a lie. But I am somewhat inclined now to reconsider the matter.

The Governor of Minnesota (Ramsay), the superintendent of Indian affairs in this quarter, and the newly appointed Indian agent were on board; also a German band from St. Paul, a small cannon for salutes, and the money for the Indians (ay, and the gamblers, it was said, who were to bring it back in another boat). There were about one hundred passengers, chiefly from St. Paul, and more or less recently from the northeastern States; also half a dozen young educated Englishmen. Chancing to speak with one who sat next to me, when the voyage was nearly half over, I found that he was the son of the Rev. Samuel May,[103] and a classmate of yours, and had been looking for us at St. Anthony.

The last of the little settlements on the river was New Ulm, about one hundred miles this side of Redwood. It consists wholly of Germans. We left them one hundred barrels of salt, which will be worth something more when the water is lowest than at present.

Redwood is a mere locality,--scarcely an Indian village,--where there is a store, and some houses have been built for them. We were now fairly on the great plains, and looking south; and, after walking that way three miles, could see no tree in that horizon. The buffalo were said to be feeding within twenty-five or thirty miles.

A regular council was held with the Indians, who had come in on their ponies, and speeches were made on both sides through an interpreter, quite in the described mode,--the Indians, as usual, having the advantage in point of truth and earnestness, and therefore of eloquence. The most prominent chief was named Little Crow. They were quite dissatisfied with the white man's treatment of them, and probably have reason to be so. This council was to be continued for two or three days,--the payment to be made the second day; and another payment to other bands a little higher up, on the Yellow Medicine (a tributary of the Minnesota), a few days thereafter.

In the afternoon, the half-naked Indians performed a dance, at the request of the Governor, for our amusement and their own benefit; and then we took leave of them, and of the officials who had come to treat with them.

Excuse these pencil marks, but my inkstand is _unscrewable_, and I can only direct my letter at the bar. I could tell you more, and perhaps more interesting things, if I had time. I am considerably better than when I left home, but still far from well.

Our faces are already set toward home. Will you please let my sister know that we shall _probably_ start for Milwaukee and Mackinaw in a day or two (or as soon as we hear from home) _via_ Prairie du Chien, and not La Crosse.

I am glad to hear that you have written Cholmondeley,[104] as it relieves me of some _responsibility_.

* * * * *

The tour described in this long letter was the first and last that Thoreau ever made west of the Mohawk Valley, though his friend Channing had early visited the great prairies, and lived in log cabins of Illinois, or sailed on the chain of great lakes, by which Thoreau made a part of this journey. It was proposed that Channing should accompany him this time, as he had in the tour through Lower Canada, and along Cape Cod, as well as in the journeys through the Berkshire and Catskill mountains, and down the Hudson; but some misunderstanding or temporary inconvenience prevented. The actual comrade was young Horace Mann, eldest son of the school-reformer and statesman of that name,--a silent, earnest, devoted naturalist, who died early. The place where his party met the Indians--only a few months before the Minnesota massacre of 1862--was in the county of Redwood, in the southwest of the State, where now is a thriving village of 1500 people, and no buffaloes within five hundred miles. Red Wing, whence the letter was written, is below St. Paul, on the Mississippi, and was even then a considerable town,--now a city of 7000 people. The Civil War had lately begun, and the whole North was in the first flush of its uprising in defense of the Union,--for which Thoreau, in spite of his earlier defiance of government (for its alliance with slavery), was as zealous as any soldier. He returned in July, little benefited by the journey, of which he did not take his usual sufficiency of notes, and to which there is little allusion in his books. Nor does it seem that he visited on the way his correspondent since January, 1856,--C. H. Greene, of Rochester, Michigan, who had never seen him in Concord. The opinion of Thoreau himself concerning this journey will be found in his next letter to Daniel Ricketson.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, August 15, 1861.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--When your last letter was written I was away in the far Northwest, 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 traveling, considerably, yet not essentially, better; my cough still continuing. If I don't mend very quickly, I shall be obliged to go to another climate again very soon.

My ordinary pursuits, both indoors and out, have been for the most part omitted, or seriously interrupted,--walking, boating, scribbling, etc. Indeed, I have been sick so long that I have almost forgotten what it is to be well; and yet I feel that it is in all respects only my envelope. Channing and 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 Cholmondeley, and one from yourself.

Of course I am sufficiently surprised to hear of your conversion;[105] 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, and take such rides or sauntering walks with you as an invalid may.

* * * * *

The visit was made, and we owe to it the preservation of the latest portraiture of Thoreau, who, at his friend's urgency, sat to a photographer in New Bedford; and thus we have the full-bearded likeness of August, 1861; from which, also, and from personal recollection, Mr. Walton Ricketson made the fine profile medallion reproduced in photogravure for this volume.

TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, October 14, 1861.

FRIEND RICKETSON,--I think that, on the whole, my health is better than when you were here; but my faith in the doctors has not increased. I thank you all for your invitation to come to New Bedford, but I suspect that it must still be warmer here than there; that, indeed, New Bedford is warmer than Concord only in the winter, and so I abide by Concord.

September was pleasanter and much better for me than August, and October has thus far been quite tolerable. Instead of riding on horseback, I ride in a wagon about every other day. My neighbor, Mr. E. R. Hoar, has two horses, and he, being away for the most part this fall, has generously offered me the use of one of them; and, as I notice, the dog throws himself in, and does scouting duty.

I am glad to hear that you no longer chew, but eschew, sugar-plums. One of the worst effects of sickness is, that it may get one into the _habit_ of taking a little something--his bitters, or sweets, as if for his bodily good--from time to time, when he does not need it. However, there is no danger of this if you do not dose even when you are sick.

I went with a Mr. Rodman, a young man of your town, here the other day, or week, looking at farms for sale, and rumor says that he is inclined to buy a particular one. Channing says that he received his book, but has not got any of yours.

It is easy to talk, but hard to write.

From the worst of all correspondents,

HENRY D. THOREAU.

No later letter than this was written by Thoreau's own hand; for he was occupied all the winter of 1861-62, when he could write, in preparing his manuscripts for the press. Nothing appeared before his death, but in June, 1862, Mr. Fields, then editing the _Atlantic_, printed "Walking,"--the first of three essays which came out in that magazine the same year. Nothing of Thoreau's had been accepted for the _Atlantic_ since 1858, when he withdrew the rest of "Chesuncook," then coming out in its pages, because the editor (Mr. Lowell) had made alterations in the manuscript. In April, just before his death, the _Atlantic_ printed a short and characteristic sketch of Thoreau by Bronson Alcott, and in August, Emerson's funeral oration, given in the parish church of Concord. During the last six months of his illness, his sister and his friends wrote letters for him, as will be seen by the two that follow.

SOPHIA THOREAU TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, December 19, 1861.

MR. RICKETSON:

_Dear Sir_,--Thank you for your friendly interest in my dear brother. I wish that I could report more favorably in regard to his health. Soon after your visit to Concord, Henry commenced riding, and almost every day he introduced me to some of his familiar haunts, far away in the thick woods, or by the ponds; all very new and delightful to me. The air and exercise which he enjoyed during the fine autumn days were a benefit to him; he seemed stronger, had a good appetite, and was able to attend somewhat to his writing; but since the cold weather has come, his cough has increased, and he is able to go out but seldom. Just now he is suffering from an attack of pleurisy, which confines him wholly to the house. His spirits do not fail him; he continues in his usual serene mood, which is very pleasant for his friends as well as himself. I am hoping for a short winter and early spring, that the invalid may again be out of doors.

I am sorry to hear of your indisposition, and trust that you will be well again soon. It would give me pleasure to see some of your newspaper articles, since you possess a hopeful spirit. My patience is nearly exhausted. The times look _very_ dark. I think the next soldier who is shot for sleeping on his post should be Gen. McClellan. Why does he not do something in the way of fighting? I despair of ever living under the reign of Sumner or Phillips.

BRONSON ALCOTT TO DANIEL RICKETSON (AT NEW BEDFORD).

CONCORD, January 10, 1862.

DEAR FRIEND,--You have not been informed of Henry's condition this winter, and will be sorry to hear that he grows feebler day by day, and is evidently failing and fading from our sight. He gets some sleep, has a pretty good appetite, reads at intervals, takes notes of his readings, and likes to see his friends, conversing, however, with difficulty, as his voice partakes of his general debility. We had thought this oldest inhabitant of our Planet would have chosen to stay and see it fairly dismissed into the Chaos (out of which he has brought such precious jewels,--gifts to friends, to mankind generally, diadems for fame to coming followers, forgetful of his own claims to the honors) before he chose simply to withdraw from the spaces and times he has adorned with the truth of his genius. But the masterly work is nearly done for us here. And our woods and fields are sorrowing, though not in sombre, but in robes of white, so becoming to the piety and probity they have known so long, and soon are to miss. There has been none such since Pliny, and it will be long before there comes his like; the most sagacious and wonderful Worthy of his time, and a marvel to coming ones.

I write at the suggestion of his sister, who thought his friends would like to be informed of his condition to the latest date.

Ever yours and respectfully,

A. BRONSON ALCOTT.

The last letter of Henry Thoreau, written by the hand of his sister, was sent to Myron Benton, a young literary man then living in Dutchess County, New York, who had written a grateful letter to the author of "Walden" (January 6, 1862), though quite unacquainted with him. Mr. Benton said that the news of Thoreau's illness had affected him as if it were that "of a personal friend whom I had known a long time," and added: "The secret of the influence by which your writings charm me is altogether as intangible, though real, as the attraction of Nature herself. I read and reread your books with ever fresh delight. Nor is it pleasure alone; there is a singular spiritual healthiness with which they seem imbued,--the expression of a soul essentially sound, so free from any morbid tendency." After mentioning that his own home was in a pleasant valley, once the hunting-ground of the Indians, Mr. Benton said:--

"I was in hope to read something more from your pen in Mr. Conway's _Dial_,[106] but only recognized that fine pair of Walden twinlets. Of your two books, I perhaps prefer the 'Week'--but after all, 'Walden' is but little less a favorite. In the former, I like especially those little snatches of poetry interspersed throughout. I would like to ask what progress you have made in a work some way connected with natural history,--I think it was on Botany,--which Mr. Emerson told me something about in a short interview I had with him two years ago at Poughkeepsie.... If you should feel perfectly able at any time to drop me a few lines, I would like much to know what your state of health is, and if there is, as I cannot but hope, a prospect of your speedy recovery."

Two months and more passed before Thoreau replied; but his habit of performing every duty, whether of business or courtesy, would not excuse him from an answer, which was this:--

TO MYRON B. BENTON (AT LEEDSVILLE, N. Y.).

CONCORD, March 21, 1862.

DEAR SIR,--I thank you for your very kind letter, which, ever since I received it, I have intended to answer before I died, however briefly. I am encouraged to know, that, so far as you are concerned, I have not written my books in vain. I was particularly gratified, some years ago, when one of my friends and neighbors said, "I wish you would write another book,--write it for me." He is actually more familiar with what I have written than I am myself.

The verses you refer to in Conway's _Dial_ were written by F. B. Sanborn of this town. I never wrote for that journal.

I am pleased when you say that in the "Week" you like especially "those little snatches of poetry interspersed through the book," for these, I suppose, are the least attractive to most readers. I have not been engaged in any particular work on Botany, or the like, though, if I were to live, I should have much to report on Natural History generally.

You ask particularly after my health. I _suppose_ that I have not many months to live; but, of course, I know nothing about it. I may add that I am enjoying existence as much as ever, and regret nothing.

Yours truly, HENRY D. THOREAU, by SOPHIA E. THOREAU.

He died May 6, 1862; his mother died March 12, 1872, and his sister Sophia, October, 1876. With the death of his aunt, Maria Thoreau, nearly twenty years after her beloved nephew, the last person of the name in America (or perhaps in England) passed away.

FOOTNOTES:

[42] It will readily be seen that this letter relates to the shipwreck on Fire Island, near New York, in which Margaret Fuller, Countess Ossoli, with her husband and child, was lost. A letter with no date of the year, but probably written February 15, 1840, from Emerson to Thoreau, represents them both as taking much trouble about a house in Concord for Mrs. Fuller, the mother of Margaret, who had just sold her Groton house, and wished to live with her daughter near Emerson.

[43] Rev. A. B. Fuller, then of Manchester, N. H., afterward of Boston; a brother of Margaret, who died a chaplain in the Civil War.

[44] The name of a political party, afterwards called "Republicans."

[45] Baron Trenck, the famous prisoner.

[46] The _Week_.

[47] Of _Putnam's Magazine_.

[48] A town near Boston.

[49] A Massachusetts town, the birthplace of Whittier.

[50] An American seaman, wrecked on the coast of Arabia,--once a popular book.

[51] "The world is too much with us."--_Wordsworth._

[52] A lady who made such a night voyage with Thoreau, years before, says: "How wise he was to ask the elderly lady with a younger one for a row on the Concord River one moonlit night! The river that night was as deep as the heavens above; serene stars shone from its depths, as far off as the stars above. Deep answered unto deep in our souls, as the boat glided swiftly along, past low-lying fields, under overhanging trees. A neighbor's cow waded into the cool water,--she became at once a Behemoth, a river-horse, hippopotamus, or river-god. A dog barked,--he was Diana's hound, he waked Endymion. Suddenly we were landed on a little isle; our boatman, our boat glided far off in the flood. We were left alone, in the power of the river-god; like two white birds we stood on this bit of ground, the river flowing about us; only the eternal powers of nature around us. Time for a prayer, perchance,--and back came the boat and oarsman; we were ferried to our homes,--no question asked or answered. We had drank of the cup of the night,--had left the silence and the stars."

[53] See Memoir of Bronson Alcott, pp. 485-494. The remark of Emerson quoted on p. 486, that Cholmondeley was "the son of a Shropshire squire," was not strictly correct, his father being a Cheshire clergyman of a younger branch of the ancient race of Cholmondeley. But he was the _grandson_ of a Shropshire squire (owner of land), for his mother was daughter and sister of such gentlemen, and it was her brother Richard who presented Reginald Heber and Charles Cholmondeley to the living of Hodnet, near Market Drayton.

[54] Mr. Ricketson's immediate reply was received by Thoreau before he wrote to Blake on the 22d. He set out from Concord for Cambridge on Christmas Day, and reached Brooklawn, the country-house of his friend, towards evening of that short day, on foot, with his umbrella and traveling-bag, and he made so striking a figure in the eyes of Ricketson that he sketched it roughly in his shanty-book. His children have engraved it in their pleasing volume _Daniel Ricketson and his Friends_, from the pages of which several of these letters are taken. It is by no means a bad likeness of the plain and upright Thoreau.

[55] Hyannis was once a port for the sailing of the steamers to Nantucket, where probably Thoreau was to land on his return. He had visited the Cape before, but never Nantucket. Thomas Cholmondeley went home with the distinct purpose of going to the Crimean war, and did so. The subject of the New Bedford lecture was "Getting a Living."

Channing, his wife and children having left him, was living by himself in his house opposite to Thoreau. Late in 1855 he rejoined Mrs. Channing, in a household near Dorchester, and became one of the editors of the New Bedford _Mercury_, residing in that city in 1856-57, after the death of Mrs. Channing.

[56] Quitman, aided perhaps by Laurence Oliphant, was aiming to capture Cuba with "filibusters" (flibustiers).

[57] Then President of the United States, whose life Hawthorne had written in 1852.

[58] I had been visiting Emerson occasionally for a year or two, and knew Alcott well at this time; was also intimate with Cholmondeley in the autumn of 1854, but had never seen Thoreau, a fact which shows how recluse were then his habits. The letter below, and the long one describing his trip to Minnesota, were the only ones I received from him in a friendship of seven years. See Sanborn's _Thoreau_, pp. 195-200. Edwin Morton was my classmate. See pp. 286, 353, 440.

[59] The book was _Ultima Thule_, describing New Zealand.

[60] This was Edmund Hosmer, a Concord farmer, before mentioned as a friend of Emerson, who was fond of quoting his sagacious and often cynical remarks. He had entertained George Curtis and the Alcotts at his farm on the "Turnpike," southeast of Emerson's; but now was living on a part of the old manor of Governor Winthrop, which soon passed to the ownership of the Hunts; and this house which Mr. Ricketson proposed to lease was the "old Hunt farmhouse,"--in truth built for the Winthrops two centuries before. It was soon after torn down.

[61] Sons of Mr. Ricketson; the second, a sculptor, modeled the medallion head of Thoreau reproduced in photogravure for the frontispiece of this volume.

[62] Mr. Channing had gone, October, 1855, to live in New Bedford, and help edit the _Mercury_ there.

[63] The centre of Concord village, where the post-office and shops are,--so called from an old mill-dam where now is a street.

[64] The aunt of R. W. Emerson, then eighty-one years old, an admirer of Thoreau, as her notes to him show. For an account of her see Emerson's _Lectures and Biographical Sketches_, Centenary Ed., pp. 397-433; Riverside Ed., pp. 371-404.

[65] The books on India, Egypt, etc., sent by Cholmondeley. See p. 271. They were divided between the Concord Public Library and the libraries of Alcott, Blake, Emerson, Sanborn, etc.

[66] Mr. Channing became a frequent visitor at Brooklawn in the years of his residence at New Bedford, 1856-58. See p. 274.

[67] These books were ordered by Cholmondeley in London, and sent to Boston just as he was starting for the Crimean War, in October, 1855, calling them "a nest of Indian books." They included Mill's _History of British India_, several translations of the sacred books of India, and one of them in Sanscrit; the works of Bunsen, so far as then published, and other valuable books. In the note accompanying this gift, Cholmondeley said, "I think I never found so much kindness in all my travels as in your country of New England." In return, Thoreau sent his English friend, in 1857, his own _Week_, Emerson's Poems, Walt Whitman's _Leaves of Grass_, and F. L. Olmsted's book on the Southern States (then preparing for the secession which they attempted four years later). This was perhaps the first copy of Whitman seen in England, and when Cholmondeley began to read it to his stepfather, Rev. Z. Macaulay, at Hodnet, that clergyman declared he would not hear it, and threatened to throw it in the fire. On reading the _Week_ (he had received _Walden_ from Thoreau when first in America), Cholmondeley wrote me, "Would you tell dear Thoreau that the lines I admire so much in his _Week_ begin thus:--

'Low-anchored cloud, Newfoundland air,' etc.

In my mind the best thing he ever wrote."

[68] Ellery Channing is mentioned, though not by name, in the _Week_ (pp. 169, 378), and in _Walden_ (p. 295). He was the comrade of Thoreau in Berkshire, and on the Hudson, in New Hampshire, Canada, and Cape Cod, and in many rambles nearer Concord. He was also a companion of Hawthorne in his river voyages, as mentioned in the _Mosses_.

[69] The Concord Lyceum, founded in 1829, and still extant, though not performing its original function of lectures and debates. See pp. 51, 154, etc.

[70] This was the town of Harvard, not the college. Perhaps the excursion was to visit Fruitlands, where Alcott and Lane had established their short-lived community, in a beautiful spot near Still River, an affluent of the Nashua, and half-way from Concord to Wachusett. "Asnebumskit," mentioned in a former letter, is the highest hill near Worcester, as "Nobscot" is the highest near Concord. Both have Indian names.

[71] The New York newspaper.

[72] An odd boat.

[73] Mrs. Caroline Kirkland, wife of Prof. William Kirkland, then of New York,--a writer of wit and fame at that time.

[74] A Worcester newspaper.

[75] B. B. Wiley, then of Providence, since of Chicago (deceased), had written to Thoreau, September 4, for the _Week_, which the author was then selling on his own account, having bought back the unsalable first edition from his publisher, Munroe. In a letter of October 31, to which the above is a reply, he mentions taking a walk with Charles Newcomb, then of Providence, since of London and Paris, now dead,--a _Dial_ contributor, and a special friend of Emerson; then inquires about Confucius, the Hindoo philosophers, and Swedenborg.

[76] When, in 1855 or 1856, Thoreau started to wade across from Duxbury to Clark's Island, and was picked up by a fishing-boat in the deep water, and landed on the "back side" of the island (see letter to Mr. Watson of April 25, 1858), Edward Watson ("Uncle Ed") was "saggin' round" to see that everything was right alongshore, and encountered the unexpected visitor. "How did _you_ come here?" "Oh, from Duxbury," said Thoreau, and they walked to the old Watson house together. "You say in one of your books," said Uncle Ed, "that you once lost a horse and a hound and a dove,--now I should like to know what you meant by that?" "Why, everybody has met with losses, haven't they?" "H'm,--pretty way to answer a fellow!" said Mr. Watson; but it seems this was the usual answer. In the long dining-room of the old house that night he sat by the window and told the story of the Norse voyagers to New England,--perhaps to that very island and the Gurnet near by,--as Morton fancies in his review of Thoreau in the _Harvard Magazine_ (January, 1855).

[77] This was when he spoke in the vestry of the Calvinistic church, and said, on his return to Concord, "that he hoped he had done something to upheave and demolish the structure above,"--the vestry being beneath the church.

[78] Notwithstanding this unwillingness to lecture, Thoreau did speak at Worcester, February 13, 1857, on "Walking," but scrupulously added to his consent (February 6), "I told Brown it had not been much altered since I read it in Worcester; but now I think of it, much of it must have been new to you, because, having since divided it into two, I am able to read what before I omitted. Nevertheless, I should like to have it understood by those whom it concerns, that I am invited to read in public (if it be so) what I have already read, in part, to a private audience." This throws some light on his method of preparing lectures, which were afterwards published as essays; they were made up from his journals, and new entries expanded them.

[79] Rev. Edward E. Hale, then pastor at Worcester. Others mentioned in the letter are Rev. David A. Wasson and Dr. Seth Rogers,--the latter a physician with whom Mr. Wasson was living in Worcester.

[80] A writer on scenery and natural history, who outlived Thoreau, and never forgave him for the remark about "stirring up with a pole," which really might have been less graphic.

[81] The panic of 1857,--the worst since 1837.

[82] Reinhold Solger, Ph. D.,--a very intellectual and well-taught Prussian, who was one of the lecturers for a year or two at my "Concord School," the successor of the Concord "Academy," in which the children of the Emerson, Alcott, Hawthorne, Hoar, and Ripley families were taught. At this date the lectures were given in the vestry of the parish church, which Thoreau playfully termed "a meeting-house cellar." It was there that Louisa Alcott acted plays.

[83] Exclamation points and printer's devil.

[84] Channing says (_Thoreau, the Poet-Naturalist_, new ed., pp. 41, 42): "He made for himself a knapsack, with partitions for his books and papers,--india-rubber cloth (strong and large and spaced, the common knapsacks being unspaced).... After trying the merit of cocoa, coffee, water, and the like, tea was put down as the felicity of a walking '_travail_,'--tea plenty, strong, with enough sugar, made in a tin pint cup.... He commended every party to carry 'a junk of heavy cake' with plums in it, having found by long experience that after toil it was a capital refreshment."

[85] Marston Watson, whose uncle, Edward Watson, with his nephews, owned the "breezy island" where Thoreau had visited his friends (Clark's Island, the only one in Plymouth Bay), had built his own house, "Hillside," on the slope of one of the hills above Plymouth town, and there laid out a fine park and garden, which Thoreau surveyed for him in the autumn of 1854, Alcott and Mr. Watson carrying the chain. For a description of Hillside, see Channing's _Wanderer_ (Boston, 1871) and Alcott's _Sonnets and Canzonets_ (Boston: Roberts, 1882). It was a villa much visited by Emerson, Alcott, Channing, Thoreau, George Bradford, and the Transcendentalists generally. Mr. Watson graduated at Harvard two years after Thoreau, and in an old diary says, "I remember Thoreau in the college yard (1836) with downcast thoughtful look intent, as if he were searching for something; always in a green coat,--green because the authorities required black, I suppose." In a letter he says: "I have always heard the 'Maiden in the East' was Mrs. Watson,--Mary Russell Watson,--and I suppose there is no doubt of it. I may be prejudiced, but I have always thought it one of his best things,--and I have highly valued his lines. I find in my _Dial_, No. 6, I have written six new stanzas in the margin of Friendship, and they are numbered to show how they should run. I think Mrs. Brown gave them to me."

[86] _Thoreau, the Poet-Naturalist_, new ed., pp. 42-45.

[87] Near which, at New Bedford, Mr. Ricketson lived.

[88] This was the "Orchard House," near Hawthorne's "Wayside." The estate on which it stands, now owned by Mrs. Lothrop, who also owns the "Wayside," was surveyed for Mr. Alcott by Thoreau in October, 1857.

[89] Channing's _Thoreau, the Poet-Naturalist_, new ed., pp. 6, 15, 16. Channing himself was, no doubt, the "follower" and "companion" here mentioned; no person so frequently walked with Thoreau in his long excursions. They were together in New Boston, N. H., when the minister mentioned in the _Week_ reproved Thoreau for not going to meeting on Sunday. When I first lived in Concord (March, 1855), and asked the innkeeper what Sunday services the village held, he replied, "There's the Orthodox, an' the Unitarian, an' th' Walden Pond Association,"--meaning by the last what Emerson called "the Walkers,"--those who rambled in the Walden woods on Sundays.

[90] Of New Bedford, first published in the _Mercury_ of that city, while Channing was one of the editors, and afterwards in a volume.

[91] The club with which Thoreau here makes merry was the Saturday Club, meeting at Parker's Hotel in Boston the last Saturday in each month, of which Emerson, Agassiz, Longfellow, Holmes, Lowell, Henry James, and other men of letters were members. Thoreau, though invited, never seems to have met with them, as Channing did, on one memorable occasion, at least, described by Mr. James in a letter cited in the _Memoir of Bronson Alcott_, who also occasionally dined with this club. The conversation at Emerson's next mentioned was also memorable for the vigor with which Miss Mary Emerson, then eighty-four years old, rebuked Mr. James for what she thought his dangerous Antinomian views concerning the moral law.

[92] This was Tuckerman's Ravine at the White Mountains, where Thoreau met with his mishap in the preceding July.

[93] He was looking after the manufacture of fine plumbago for the electrotypers, which was the family business after pencil-making grew unprofitable. The Thoreaus had a grinding-mill in Acton, and a packing-shop attached to their Concord house. "Parker's society," mentioned at the close of the letter, was the congregation of Theodore Parker, then in Italy, where he died in May, 1860.

[94] He was invited to a gathering of John Brown's friends at the grave in the Adirondack woods. "Mr. Sanborn's case" was an indictment and civil suit against Silas Carleton _et als._ for an attempt to kidnap F. B. Sanborn, who had refused to accept the invitation of the Senate at Washington to testify in the John Brown investigation.

[95] This is the excursion described by Thoreau in a subsequent letter,--lasting six days, and the first that Channing had made which involved "camping out." It was also Thoreau's last visit to this favorite mountain; but Channing continued to go there after the death of his friend; and some of these visits are recorded in his poem "The Wanderer." The last one was in September, 1869, when I accompanied him, and we again spent five nights on the plateau where he had camped with Thoreau. At that time, one of the "two good spruce houses, half a mile apart," mentioned by Thoreau, was still standing, in ruins,--the place called by Channing "Henry's Camp," and thus described:--

We built our fortress where you see Yon group of spruce-trees, sidewise on the line Where the horizon to the eastward bounds,-- A point selected by sagacious art, Where all at once we viewed the Vermont hills, And the long outline of the mountain-ridge, Ever renewing, changeful every hour.

See _The Wanderer_ (Boston, 1871), p. 61.

[96] See Thoreau's _Journal_, Dec. 3, 1859. Merriam mentioned Thoreau's name to him, but never guessed who his companion was.

[97] This was Thoreau's last visit to Monadnock, and the one mentioned in the note of August 3, and in Channing's _Wanderer_.

[98] The Prince of Wales (now King Edward VII), then visiting America with the Duke of Newcastle.

[99] Now termed pneumonia.

[100] In April, 1859, Mr. Alcott was chosen superintendent of the public schools of Concord, by a school committee of which Mr. Bull, the creator of the Concord grape, and Mr. Sanborn, were members, and for some years he directed the studies of the younger pupils, to their great benefit and delight. At the yearly "exhibitions," songs were sung composed by Louisa Alcott and others, and the whole town assembled to see and hear. The stress of civil war gradually checked this idyllic movement, and Mr. Alcott returned to his garden and library. It was two years after this that Miss Alcott had her severe experience as hospital nurse at Washington.

[101] Edwin Morton of Plymouth, Mass., a friend of John Brown and Gerrit Smith, who went to England in October, 1859, to avoid testifying against his friends.

[102] A word may be said of the after life of this magnanimous Englishman, who did not long survive his Concord correspondent. In March, 1863, being then in command of a battalion of Shropshire Volunteers, which he had raised, he inherited Condover Hall and the large estate adjacent, and took the name of Owen as a condition of the inheritance. A year later he married Miss Victoria Cotes, daughter of John and Lady Louisa Cotes (Co. Salop), a godchild of the Queen, and went to Italy for his wedding tour. In Florence he was seized with a malignant fever, April 10, 1864, and died there April 20,--not quite two years after Thoreau's death. His brother Reginald, who had met him in Florence, carried back his remains to England, and he is buried in Condover churchyard. Writing to an American friend, Mr. R. Cholmondeley said: "The whole county mourned for one who had made himself greatly beloved. During his illness his thoughts went back very much to America and her great sufferings. His large heart felt for your country as if it were his own." It seems that he did not go to New Zealand with the "Canterbury Pilgrims," as suggested in the _Atlantic Monthly_ (December, 1893), but in the first of Lord Lyttelton's ships (the Charlotte Jane), having joined in Lord L.'s scheme for colonizing the island, where he remained only six months, near Christchurch.

[103] Rev. Joseph May, a cousin of Louisa Alcott.

[104] I had answered T. Cholmondeley's last letter, explaining that Thoreau was ill and absent.

[105] A return to religious Quakerism, of which his friend had written enthusiastically.

[106] This was a short-lived monthly, edited at Cincinnati (1861-62) by Moncure D. Conway, since distinguished as an author, who had resided for a time in Concord, after leaving his native Virginia. He wrote asking Thoreau and all his Concord friends to contribute to this new _Dial_, and several of them did so.

APPENDIX

The letters of Thoreau, early or late, which did not reach me in time to be used in the original edition of this book, and have since appeared in print here and there, are included either in order of their date in the preceding pages (in the case of the additional Ricketson letters) or in this Appendix. I owe the right to use the following correspondence to Mr. E. H. Russell of Worcester and to Dr. S. A. Jones of Ann Arbor, Michigan, who first obtained from the family of Calvin H. Greene of Rochester, Michigan, the Greene letters, five in number, all short, but characteristic. Dr. Jones printed these in a small edition at Jamaica, N. Y., and along with them some letters of Miss Sophia Thoreau to Mr. Greene, and portions of Greene's Diary during his two visits to Concord in September, 1863, and August, 1874. In these papers he left initials, or letters commonly used for unknown quantities, to stand for certain names occurring there. "X." and "X. Y. Z." in this Diary, and in Miss Thoreau's letters, signify Ellery Channing, to whom in March, 1863, Mr. Greene had sent the manzanita cane, headed with buffalo-horn and tipped with silver, which he had made with his own hands and intended for Thoreau, and which Mr. Channing gave to me, as the mutual friend of the two Concord poets. In the Diary I am "Mr. S." This Diary and the letters of Miss Thoreau supply some useful facts for a Thoreau biography, which this collection of Familiar Letters was meant to be,--a biography largely in the words of its subject. Notice is taken of such facts in footnotes.

The earlier letters to Isaac Hecker, afterwards known as Father Hecker of New York, grew out of an acquaintance formed with him while he was living at Mrs. Thoreau's, and taking lessons of the late George Bradford, brother of Mrs. Ripley. They were subsequent to Hecker's brief stay at Brook Farm and Fruitlands, and when he was studying to be a Catholic priest. He cherished the vain hope of converting Thoreau to his own newly acquired faith, amid the influences of Catholic Europe. The brief correspondence is printed in the _Atlantic Monthly_ for September, 1902.

Isaac Hecker, born in December, 1819, two and a half years after Thoreau, was the son of a German baker in New York city, and of little education until he came to Massachusetts at the age of twenty-three, as the disciple and friend of Dr. Brownson, then a Protestant preacher and social democrat. In January, 1843, he entered the Brook Farm community, not as a member, but as a worker and student, making the bread for the family and taking lessons of George Ripley, George Bradford, Charles Dana, and John S. Dwight,--all friends of the Concord circle of authors. But he was restless, and yearned for a more ascetic life, and before he had been at Brook Farm a month he was writing to Bronson Alcott about entering the as yet unopened Fruitlands convent, between which and Brook Farm Concord was a half-way station, both physically and spiritually. Hecker tried all three; was at Brook Farm, off and on, for six months, at Fruitlands two weeks (from July 11 to July 25, 1843), and at Concord two months (from April 22 to June 20, 1844). Then, August 1, he was baptized in the Catholic faith at New York. The day before this final step, towards which he had been tending for a year, he wrote to Thoreau, proposing a journey through Europe on foot and without money. During his brief Concord life he had been a lodger at the house of John Thoreau (the Parkman house, where now the Public Library stands), and had seen Henry Thoreau daily. Hecker thus describes his room, his rent, and his landlady, who was Thoreau's mother:

"All that is needed for my comfort is here,--a room of good size, very good people, furnished and to be kept in order for 75 cents a week, including lights,--wood is extra pay; a good straw bed, a large table, carpet, wash-stand, bookcase, stove, chairs, looking-glass,--all, all that is needful. The lady of the house, Mrs. Thoreau, is a _woman_. The only fear I have about her is that she is too much like dear mother,--she will take too much care of me. If you were to see her, Mother, you would be perfectly satisfied that I have fallen into good hands, and met a second mother, if that is possible. I have just finished my dinner,--unleavened bread from home, maple-sugar, and apples which I purchased this morning. Previous to taking dinner I said my first lesson to Mr. Bradford in Greek and Latin."

Hecker "boarded himself," but no doubt often partook of Mrs. Thoreau's hospitality, and took long walks with Thoreau. Writing to him three months after the first meeting at Concord, Hecker said: "I have formed a certain project which your influence has no slight share in forming. It is, to work our passage to Europe, and to walk, work, and beg, if need be, as far, when there, as we are inclined to do."

TO ISAAC HECKER (AT NEW YORK).

CONCORD, August 14, 1844.

FRIEND HECKER,--I am glad to hear your voice from that populous city, and the more so for the tenor of its discourse. I have but just returned from a pedestrian excursion somewhat similar to that you propose, _parvis componere magna_, to the Catskill Mountains, over the principal mountains of this State, subsisting mainly on bread and berries, and slumbering on the mountain-tops. As usually happens, I now feel a slight sense of dissipation. Still, I am strongly tempted by your proposal, and experience a decided schism between my outward and inward tendencies. Your method of traveling, especially,--to live along the road, citizens of the world, without haste or petty plans,--I have often proposed this to my dreams, and still do. But the fact is, I cannot so decidedly postpone exploring the _Farther Indies_, which are to be reached, you know, by other routes and other methods of travel. I mean that I constantly return from every external enterprise with disgust, to fresh faith in a kind of Brahminical, Artesian, Inner Temple life. All my experience, as yours probably, proves only this reality. Channing wonders how I can resist your invitation, I, a single man--unfettered--and so do I. Why, there are Roncesvalles, the Cape de Finisterre, and the Three Kings of Cologne; Rome, Athens, and the rest, to be visited in serene, untemporal hours, and all history to revive in one's memory, as he went by the way, with splendors too bright for this world,--I know how it is. But is not here, too, Roncesvalles with greater lustre? Unfortunately, it may prove dull and desultory weather enough here, but better trivial days with faith than the fairest ones lighted by sunshine alone. Perchance, my _Wanderjahr_ has not arrived, but you cannot wait for that. I hope you will find a companion who will enter as heartily into your schemes as I should have done.

I remember you, as it were, with the whole Catholic Church at your skirts. And the other day, for a moment, I think I understood your relation to that body; but the thought was gone again in a twinkling, as when a dry leaf falls from its stem over our heads, but is instantly lost in the rustling mass at our feet.

I am really sorry that the Genius will not let me go with you, but I trust that it will conduct to other adventures, and so, if nothing prevents, we will compare notes at last.

* * * * *

When this invitation reached Concord, Thoreau was absent on a tour with Channing to the Berkshire Mountains and the Catskills,--Channing coming up the Hudson from New York (where he then lived, aiding Horace Greeley in the _Tribune_ office), and meeting his friend at the foot of the Hoosac Mountain. On its summit Thoreau had spent the night, sleeping under a board near the observatory tower built by the Williams College students, as related by him in the _Week_. They then crossed the Hudson and journeyed on to the Catskills, returning together to Concord.[107] Meantime Hecker had got impatient, and wrote again, to which Thoreau replied, August 17, thus briefly:--

TO ISAAC HECKER (AT NEW YORK).

I improve the occasion of my mother's sending to acknowledge the receipt of your stirring letter. You have probably received mine by this time. I thank you for not anticipating any vulgar objections on my part. _Far_ travel, very _far_ travel, or travail, comes near to the worth of staying at home. Who knows whence his education is to come! Perhaps I may drag my anchor at length, or rather, when the _winds_ which blow _over_ the deep fill my sails, may stand away for distant parts,--for now I seem to have a firm _ground_ anchorage, though the harbor is low-shored enough, and the traffic with the natives inconsiderable. I may be away to Singapore by the next tide.

I like well the ring of your last maxim, "It is only the fear of death makes us reason of impossibilities." And but for fear, death itself is an impossibility.

Believe me, I can hardly let it end so. If you do not go soon, let me hear from you again.

Yrs. in great haste, HENRY D. THOREAU.

Hecker did not in fact go to Europe till a year later, and when he walked over a part of central Europe, it was in company with one or two young Catholic priests,--men very unlike Thoreau.

The short correspondence with Calvin Greene (longer than that with Hecker) occurred at intervals, a dozen years and more after the Fruitlands period, when the Walden experience had been lived through and recorded, and the friendship with the Ricketson family was in its earlier stages. Mr. Greene, when he called on me at his first visit to the Thoreau family in 1863, mentioned that he had just read Thoreau's poem, "The Departure," which at Sophia's request I had lately printed in the Boston _Commonwealth_, a weekly that I had been editing since Moncure Conway had left Concord for London, in the winter of 1862-63. Greene was a plain, sincere man, never in New England before, who amused Channing by saying he had "taken a boat-ride on the Atlantic." He came once more in 1874, and spent an evening with me in the house where Thoreau lived and died,--Mrs. Thoreau then being dead, and Sophia at Bangor, where she died in 1876.

TO CALVIN H. GREENE (AT ROCHESTER, MICH.).

CONCORD, January 18, 1856.

DEAR SIR,--I am glad to hear that my "Walden" has interested you,--that perchance it holds some truth still as far off as Michigan. I thank you for your note.

The "Week" had so poor a publisher that it is quite uncertain whether you will find it in any shop. I am not sure but authors must turn booksellers themselves. The price is $1.25. If you care enough for it to send me that sum by mail (stamps will do for change), I will forward you a copy by the same conveyance.

As for the "more" that is to come, I cannot speak definitely at present, but I trust that the mine--be it silver or lead--is not yet exhausted. At any rate, I shall be encouraged by the fact that you are interested in its yield.

Yours respectfully, HENRY D. THOREAU.

CONCORD, February 10, 1856.

DEAR SIR,--I forwarded to you by mail on the 31st of January a copy of my "Week," post paid, which I trust that you have received. I thank you heartily for the expression of your interest in "Walden" and hope that you will not be disappointed by the "Week." You ask how the former has been received. It has found an audience of excellent character, and quite numerous, some 2000 copies having been dispersed.[108] I should consider it a greater success to interest one wise and earnest soul, than a million unwise and frivolous.

You may rely on it that you have the best of me in my books, and that I am not worth seeing personally, the stuttering, blundering clod-hopper that I am. Even poetry, you know, is in one sense an infinite brag and exaggeration. Not that I do not stand on all that I have written,--but what am I to the truth I feebly utter?

I like the name of your county.[109] May it grow men as sturdy as its trees! Methinks I hear your flute echo amid the oaks. Is not yours, too, a good place to study theology? I hope that you will ere long recover your turtle-dove, and that it may bring you glad tidings out of that heaven in which it disappeared.

Yours sincerely, HENRY D. THOREAU.

CONCORD, May 31, 1856.

DEAR SIR,--I forwarded by mail a copy of my "Week," post paid to James Newberry, Merchant, Rochester, Oakland Co., Mich., according to your order, about ten days ago, or on the receipt of your note.

I will obtain and forward a copy of "Walden" and also of the "Week" to California, to your order, post paid, for $2.60. The postage will be between 60 and 70 cents.

I thank you heartily for your kind intentions respecting me. The West has many attractions for me, particularly the lake country and the Indians, yet I do [not] foresee what my engagements may be in the fall. I have once or twice come near going West a-lecturing, and perhaps some winter may bring me into your neighborhood, in which case I should probably see you. Yet lecturing has commonly proved so foreign and irksome to me, that I think I could only use it to acquire the means with which to make an independent tour another time.

As for my pen, I can say that it is not altogether idle, though I have finished nothing new in the book form. I am drawing a rather long bow, though it may be a feeble one, but I pray that the archer may receive new strength before the arrow is shot.

With many thanks, yours truly, HENRY D. THOREAU.

CONCORD, Saturday, June 21, 1856.

DEAR SIR,--On the 12th I forwarded the two books to California, observing your directions in every particular, and I trust that Uncle Sam will discharge his duty faithfully. While in Worcester this week I obtained the accompanying daguerreotype,[110] which my friends think is pretty good, though better-looking than I.

Books and postage $2.64 Daguerreotype .50 Postage .16 ---- 3.30

5.00 You will accordingly 3.30 ---- find 1.70 enclosed with my shadow.

Yrs., HENRY D. THOREAU.

CONCORD, July 8, 1857.

DEAR SIR,--You are right in supposing that I have not been Westward. I am very little of a traveler. I am gratified to hear of the interest you take in my books; it is additional encouragement to write more of them. Though my pen is not idle, I have not published anything for a couple of years at least. I like a private life, and cannot bear to have the public in my mind.

You will excuse me for not responding more heartily to your notes, since I realize what an interval there always is between the actual and imagined author and feel that it would not be just for _me_ to appropriate the sympathy and good will of my unseen readers.

Nevertheless, I should like to meet you, and if I ever come into your neighborhood shall endeavor to do so. Can't you tell the world of your life also? Then I shall know you, at least as well as you me.

Yours truly, HENRY D. THOREAU.

CONCORD, November 24, 1859.

DEAR SIR,--The lectures which you refer to were reported in the newspapers, _after a fashion_,--the last one in some half-dozen of them,--and if I possessed one, or all, I would send them to you, bad as they are. The best, or at least longest one of the Boston lectures was in the Boston _Atlas and Bee_ of November 2d,--maybe half the whole. There were others in the _Traveller_, the _Journal_, etc., of the same date.

I am glad to know that you are interested to see my things, and I wish I had them in printed form to send to you. I exerted myself considerably to get the last discourse printed and sold for the benefit of Brown's family, but the publishers are afraid of pamphlets, and it is now too late.[111]

I return the stamps which I have not used.

I shall be glad to see you if I ever come your way.

Yours truly, HENRY D. THOREAU.

FOOTNOTES:

[107] Channing more than once described to me Thoreau's disheveled appearance as he came down the mountain the next morning, after rather a comfortless night. He was carrying for valise a green leather satchel that had been Charles Emerson's, having but recently been the guest of both William and Waldo Emerson. In depicting the scene from the Berkshire mountain, he recurred (in the _Week_) to the homesteads of the Huguenots on Staten Island, where he had rambled the year before this Berkshire experience, while living at William Emerson's and giving lessons to his sons.

[108] This was ten times as many in eighteen months as the _Week_ sold in five years.

[109] Mr. Greene lived in Oakland County.

[110] This fixes the date of the Worcester portrait,--June, 1856, two years after the Rowse crayon.

[111] This "last discourse" was the long one on John Brown, now included in Thoreau's _Miscellanies_, and formerly in the volume beginning with "A Yankee in Canada."

GENERAL INDEX

The following are the titles of the volumes covered by this index and the numbers by which they are designated:--

1. A WEEK ON THE CONCORD AND MERRIMACK RIVERS. 2. WALDEN. 3. THE MAINE WOODS. 4. CAPE COD, AND MISCELLANIES. 5. EXCURSIONS, AND POEMS. 6. FAMILIAR LETTERS.

GENERAL INDEX

[The titles of chapters and general divisions are set in SMALL CAPITALS.]

"A finer race and finer fed," verse, =1=, 407.

Abbot (Me.), =3=, 97.

Abby and Almira (Mrs. Miner and Mrs. Small), =6=, 152.

Abercrombie, =6=, 26.

Abolitionist Journal, an, =4=, 306-310; convention, =6=, 260.

Aboljacarmegus Falls, =3=, 58, 82; meaning of the name, 157.

Aboljacarmegus Lake, =3=, 51.

Aboljacknagesic Stream, =3=, 51, 58, 59, 62.

Absence, from Concord, =6=, 50, 67-121, 233; in love and friendship, 74, 187.

"Abuse of the Bible," Mrs. Mott's, =6=, 97.

Academy at Concord, =6=, 72.

Acclimation, =6=, 73, 78.

Achilles, The Youth of, translation, =5=, 385.

Acorns, =6=, 354, 355.

Acre, an, as long measure, =5=, 60.

ACROSS THE CAPE, =4=, 129-149.

Action and Being, =6=, 159, 163, 178, 179, 210, 221.

Acton (Mass.), =2=, 136; =5=, 136; =6=, 355, 364, 366, 367.

Adams, John, =6=, 5, note.

Adams' Latin Grammar, =6=, 25.

Adirondacks, =6=, 360, 364, note.

Admetus, =6=, 39, 44, 45, 223, 355.

Admiration, =6=, 153, 214, 337.

Adolescentula, E. White, =6=, 29, 32.

Adoration of Nature, =6=, 36, 37, 64.

Advertisements, the best part of newspapers, =1=, 194.

Advice, =6=, 25, 26, 66, 67, 121, 134, 143, 144, 178, 186.

Æolian harp, =6=, 199.

Aerial effects, =6=, 88.

Aerial rivers, =6=, 58.

_Aes alienum_, another's brass, a very ancient slough, =2=, 7.

Æschylus, The Prometheus Bound of, translation, =5=, 337-375.

Æschylus, translated, =6=, 60, 102.

Æsculapius, that old herb-doctor, =2=, 154.

Æsculapius, translation, =5=, 380.

AFTER THE DEATH OF JOHN BROWN, =4=, 451-454.

Agassiz, Louis, =1=, 26, 31; and T., =6=, 125-132; mentioned, 138, 147, 328.

Age and youth, =2=, 9.

Age of achievement, =6=, 120-182.

Agiocochook, =1=, 335; =6=, 107.

Agriculture, the new, =4=, 291; the task of Americans, =5=, 229-231; newspaper, =6=, 107.

"Ah, 't is in vain the peaceful din," verse, =1=, 15.

Aims in life, =6=, xi, 47, 59, note, 67, 88, 89, 118, 159, 164, 173, 187, 242, 260, 278.

Aitteon, Joe, =3=, 94, 99, 100, 210, 233, 313.

Ajax, The Treatment of, translation, =5=, 387.

Alcott, A. Bronson (b. 1799, d. 1888), =6=, 50, 52, 60, 61, 62-65, 83, note, 104, 124, 134, 136, 144, 146, 151, 153, 154, 158, 190, 238, 252, note, 281, 289, 306, 328, 333, 341, 346, 359, 379, 381, 397; acquaintance with Thoreau, 50, 52, 64, 136, 137, 151; at home in Fruitlands, 64, 83, 84; in Boston, 236, 237; in Walpole, 281; in Concord, at Orchard House, 333, 376; builds Emerson's summer-house, 134-137; in Concord jail, 52; chosen school superintendent, 377; diary of, 297; holds conversations in Concord, 52, 64, 346; in Eagleswood, N. J., 291; in New York, 282, 283, 297; dines with Thoreau, 52; visits with Thoreau in New Bedford, 306, 307; in Plymouth, 328, note; in Brooklyn, 298; describes Walt Whitman, 298; at Thoreau's funeral, 65, note; letter from, 397; letter to, 282.

Alcott, Mrs. A. B., =6=, 283.

Alcott, Louisa May, =6=, 321, note, 377, note.

Alewives, =1=, 32.

Alexander the Great, =6=, x.

"All things are current found," verse, =1=, 415.

ALLEGASH AND EAST BRANCH, THE, =3=, 174-327.

Allegash Lakes, the, =3=, 78, 175, 250, 257.

Allegash River, the, =3=, 40, 80, 161, 178, 233, 250, 254-257, 260, 270.

Allen, Phineas, =6=, 10, note.

Alms-House Farm, =2=, 283.

Alms-House (of Concord), =6=, 34, 77, 146.

Alphonse, Jean, quoted, =4=, 238; and Falls of Montmorenci, =5=, 38, 39; quoted, 91.

Ambejijis Falls, =3=, 50; portage round, 52, 84.

Ambejijis Lake, =3=, 45-47, 49, 50, 84, 291.

Ambejijis Stream, =3=, 50.

America, the only true, =2=, 228; the newness of, =3=, 90; not truly free, =4=, 476, 477; provincialism of, 477; superiorities of, =5=, 220-224.

American, money in Quebec, =5=, 24; the, and government, 82, 83, =6=, 8-10.

American privateer, General Lincoln, =6=, 5.

Amherst (N. H.), =6=, 302.

_Amoenitates Botanicae_, =6=, 207.

"Amok" against T., society running, =2=, 190.

Amonoosuck, the, =1=, 334.

Amoskeag Falls, =1=, 259, 260, 337.

Amoskeag (N. H.), =1=, 261, 262, 271, 273, 307.

Amphiaraus, The death of, translation, =5=, 387.

Amusements, games and, despair concealed under, =2=, 8, 9.

"An early unconverted saint," verse, =1=, 42.

Anacreon, =1=, 238-240; translations from, 240-244; quoted, =5=, 108, 109, 110.

Anawan, an Indian, =6=, 15.

Anchors, dragging for, =4=, 162.

Ancients, wisdom of the, =6=, 114, 299, 300.

Andover (Mass.), =1=, 124.

Andropogons, or beard-grasses, =5=, 225-258.

Ange Gardien Parish, =5=, 42; church of, 46.

Angler's Souvenir, the, =5=, 119.

Animal food, objections to, =2=, 237.

Animal labor, man better without the help of, =2=, 62, 63.

Animal life and heat nearly synonymous, =2=, 14.

Animals, man's duty to the lower, =4=, 283-286.

Annihilation Company, =6=, 194.

Anti-Sabbath Convention, =6=, 157, 158.

Anti-Slavery meetings, =6=, 255, 358, 359.

Anti-Slavery Standard, The, =6=, 46, 245.

Antiquities, =1=, 264, 265-267.

Ants, battle of the, =2=, 253-257.

Apmoojenegamook Lake, =3=, 244, 260; meaning of, 250; a storm on, 263, 264; hard paddling on, 267.

Apollo, translation, =5=, 383.

Appearances, =6=, 177, 227, 228.

Apple, history of the tree, =5=, 290-298; the wild, 299, 300; the crab, 301, 302; growth of the wild, 302-308; cropped by cattle, 303-307; the fruit and flavor of the, 308-314; beauty of the, 314, 315; naming of the, 315-317; last gleaning of the, 317-319; the frozen-thawed, 319, 320; dying out of the wild, 321, 322.

Apple-howling, =5=, 298.

Apples, the world eating, green =2=, 86; Baldwin, =6=, 213; Dead Sea, 356; frozen-thawed, 177, 178; of Hesperides, 213; planted by T., 355.

"Apple-tree, Elisha's," =1=, 380.

Apple trees, Cape Cod, =4=, 32-34.

Apprentices, the abundance of, =1=, 129.

Archer, Gabriel, quoted, =4=, 244.

Architecture, need of relation between man, truth and, =2=, 51, 52; American, =4=, 28, 29; the new, 293.

"Architecture, Seven Lamps of" (Ruskin), 319.

Aristotle, quoted, =1=, 133, 386.

Arm-chairs for fishermen, =1=, 91.

Arnica mollis, =6=, 334, 335.

Arnold, Benedict, =6=, 323.

Arnold, Mr., =6=, 341.

Aroostook (Me.), road, =3=, 3, 13, 14; river, 4; wagon, an, 14; valley, 23; sleds of the, 261.

Armies, =6=, 260, 323, 356.

Arpent, the, =5=, 60.

Arrowheads, =1=, 18; =6=, 19, note, 96.

Art, Nature and, =1=, 339; works of, 9; =6=, 94, 319.

Ashburnham (Mass.), =5=, 3; with a better house than any in Canada, 100.

Ash trees, =5=, 6.

Asiatic, Russia, Mme. Pfeiffer in, =2=, 25.

Asnebumskit, =6=, 195, 279, 280.

Assabet (or North) River, the, =1=, 4; =5=, 136; =6=, viii, 269.

Assawampsitt, =6=, 265.

Asters, =3=, 97.

Astronomy, =1=, 411-413; at Cambridge, =6=, 133, 137, 138; at Concord, 133.

Atlantic Monthly, =6=, 235, 395, 396.

Atlantides, The, verse, =1=, 278.

Atlas, =2=, 93.

Atlas, the General, =3=, 95; =6=, 243, 362.

Atropos, as name for engine, =2=, 131.

Aubrey, John, quoted, =1=, 112.

Auction, of a deacon's effects, =2=, 75; or increasing, 75.

Audubon, John James, reading, =5=, 103; 109, note; 112, note.

Aulus Persius Flaccus, =6=, 6, 158.

Aurora of Guido, The, verse, =5=, 399.

Australia, gold-hunters in, =4=, 465, 466.

Autumn, the coming of, =1=, 356; flowers of, 377-379; 403; landscape near Provincetown, =4=, 193-195; foliage, brightness of, =5=, 249-252; a poem on, =6=, 115; delights of, 37, 38, 282.

AUTUMNAL TINTS, =5=, 249-289.

Autumnal tints, =6=, 340, 350.

Autumnus, =6=, 38.

Average ability, man's success in proportion to his, =1=, 133; the law of, in nature and ethics, =2=, 321.

"Away! away! away! away!" verse, =1=, 186.

_Axy_, a Bible name, =4=, 95.

Baboosuck Brook, =1=, 232.

Babylon, ancient, =6=, 224.

Babylon (N. Y.), =6=, 102.

Bacchus, Whitman compared to, =6=, 298.

Background, all lives want a, =1=, 45.

Bailey, Prof. J. W., =3=, 4.

BAKER FARM, =2=, 223-231.

Baker Farm, =2=, 307.

Baker's barn, =2=, 286.

Baker's River, =1=, 87, 268.

Ball's Hill, =1=, 19, 37, 43.

Bands of music in distance, =2=, 177, 178.

Bangor (Me.), =3=, 3, 4, 9, 12; =6=, 119, 132, 325; passage to, =3=, 16; 23, 36, 38, 74, 86, 91, 94-98; the deer that went a-shopping in, 154; 160, 161, 166, 167, 174, 175; House, the, 177; 250, 251, 256, 257, 290, 307.

Bank swallow, the, =4=,164.

Banks, =6=, 162, failures of, 317, 318; stock in, 162, 213, 317, 318.

Barberries, =6=, 156, 175, 358.

Barber's Historical Collections, quoted, =4=, 222.

Barnstable (Mass.), =4=, 22.

Bartlett, Dr. Josiah (H. U. 1816), =6=, 137, 138, 152, 254.

Bartlett, Robert (H. U. 1836), =6=, 58.

Bartram, William, quoted, =2=, 75; =5=, 199.

Bascom, Rev. Jonathan, =4=, 55.

Baskets, strolling Indian selling, =2=, 20, 21.

Bass-tree, the, =1=, 166.

Bathing, sea, =4=, 16, 17; feet in brooks, =5=, 140.

Batteaux, =3=, 6, 35.

Battle-ground, first, of the Revolution, =1=, 14.

Battles, =6=, 356; in the clouds, 330.

Bayberry, the, =4=, 102, 103.

BEACH, THE, =4=, 57-78.

BEACH AGAIN, THE, =4=, 102-128.

Beaches, Cape Cod the best of Atlantic, =4=, 269-271.

Beach-grass, =4=, 200, 201, 204-209.

Beach-plums, =1=, 381.

BEAN-FIELD, THE, =2=, 171-184.

Beard-grasses, Andropogons or, =5=, 255-258.

Bears, abundance of, =3=, 235.

Beaumont, Francis, quoted, =1=, 69.

Beauport (Que.), and _le Chemin de_, =5=, 30; getting lodgings in, 35-38; church in, 69; Seigniory of, 96.

Beaupré, Seigniory of the Côte de, =5=, 41.

Beauties of Ancient English Poetry, =6=, 66.

Beauty, =6=, 198, 199; Emerson's Ode to, 115-117; Ruskin on, 319.

Beaver River, =1=, 92.

Bed, a cedar-twig, =3=, 60; of arbor-vitæ twigs, 265; the primitive, by all rivers, 317.

Bedford (Mass.), =1=, 4, 37; petition of planters of, 50; 53, 62; =2=, 136.

Bedford (N. H.), =1=, 247, 248, 251, 252.

Beecher, Henry Ward, =6=, 291.

Bees, the keeping of, =4=, 284, 285.

Beggar-ticks, =6=, 289.

Behavior, repentance for good, =2=, 11.

Behemoth, =6=, 231.

"Behold, how Spring appearing," verse, =5=, 109.

Belknap, Jeremy, quoted, =1=, 91, 127, 189, 201.

Bellamy, the pirate, wrecked off Wellfleet, =4=, 160, 161.

Bellew, F., an artist, =6=, 287.

Bellows, Rev. H. W. (H. U. 1832), =6=, 105.

Bellows, valley called the, =1=, 189.

Bellows Falls (Vt.), =1=, 91; =5=, 5.

Bells, the sound of Sabbath, =1=, 78; of Lincoln, Acton, Bedford, Concord, the, =2=, 136.

Bemis, George, Concord printer, =6=, 18.

Benjamin, Park, =6=, 107, note.

Benton, Myron B., =6=, 398. _See_ Letters.

"Best room," the pine wood behind house, =2=, 157.

Betty's Neck, Middleborough, =6=, 265.

Bewick, Thomas, =6=, 248.

Beverley, Robert, History of Virginia, quoted, =4=, 15, 102, 103.

Bhagvat-Geeta, the, quoted, =1=, 140; pure thought of the, 142; beauty of the, 148; 153.

Biberg, J. (naturalist), quoted, =6=, 207.

Bible, =6=, 63, 98, 114.

Bibles of several nations, the, =1=, 72; of mankind, 72; =2=, 118, 119.

Bigelow, Dr. J., =6=, 19.

Billerica (Mass.), =1=, =4=, 32, 36, 38, 43; age of the town of, 49; 51, 53, 62, 119, 391.

Billingsgate, part of Wellfleet called, =4=, 82.

Billingsgate Island, =4=, 89.

Biography, autobiography the best, =1=, 163.

Birch, yellow, =5=, 6.

Birds, =6=, 21, 23, 30, 42, 75; living with the, =2=, 95; in the wilderness, =3=, 118; about Moosehead Lake, 186; about Mud Pond Carry, 237; near Chamberlain Lake, 240, 241; on Heron Lake, 255; on East Branch, 309; on Cape Cod, =4=, 113, 114, 131, 164; and mountains, =5=, 149. See under names of species.

Birney, James G., =6=, 283, 288.

Biscuit Brook, =1=, 380.

Bittern (Ardea minor, stake-driver), =1=, 249; booming of the, =5=, 111.

Black Knight, The, verse, =5=, 415, note.

Black, Mrs., =6=, 82.

Black Sam, =2=, 29, 31.

Blackfish, driven ashore in storm, =4=, 142-147.

Black flies, protection against, =3=, 236, 246.

Blake, Harrison Gray Otis (H. U. 1835), =6=, 158, 159, 190, 233, 279; letter from, 158, 159; letters to, 160, 164, 173, 174, 177, 179, 185, 194, 197, 209, 217, 221, 225, 229, 241, 244, 253-261, 267, 276-281, 290-296, 302, 307, 308, 314-322, 343, 358, 360-368, 383; tours with, 195, 234, 333; visits from, 158, 253, 267.

Blakians, sugar candy, =6=, 279.

Blood, Perez, =6=, 133, 134, 137.

Blueberries, =3=, 66, 298; =6=, 23, 369; and milk, supper of, =5=, 144.

Bluebird, the, =5=, 110; =6=, 14, 21, 22, 341, 374-376.

Blue-eyed grass, =6=, 36.

Boat, T.'s, =1=, 12; hints for making a, 13.

Boat-building, =1=, 228.

Boatmen, the pleasant lives of, =1=, 220-226.

Bobolink, the, =5=, 113.

Bodæus, quoted, =5=, 317.

Body, a temple, man's, =2=, 245; and soul, 164, 165, 181, 213, 214.

Bogs with hard bottom, =2=, 363.

Bolton (Mass.), =5=, 137.

Bonaparte, anecdote of, =6=, 270.

Bonsecours Market (Montreal), =5=, 11.

Books, the reading and writing of, =1=, 93-112; how to read, =2=, 112; the inheritance of nations, 114; catalogue of, =6=, 59, 63, 263; T.'s gift of, 264; on natural history, reading, =5=, 103-105.

Boots, Canadian, =5=, 51;

Borde, Sieur de la, quoted, =4=, 156.

Boston (Mass.), countrified minds in towns about, =3=, 24; a big wharf, =4=, 268; newspapers of, 398-400; =5=, 3, 7, 9; Agassiz in, =6=, 125-132; Alcott in, 190, 236, 237; clubs ridiculed, 345; "Dial" mentioned, 38, 58-63, 75, 78, 84, 87, 94, 108, 113-117, 129; lectures and lecturers, 189, 190, 192, 358; Miscellany, 83, note, 87, 102; packet for Cape Cod, 255, 256; publishers, 83, 102, 139, 182, 233, 263, 332, 395.

Botany, T.'s skill in, =6=, 3, 234, 238.

Botta, Mrs. Anne Lynch, =6=, 297.

Botta, Paul Emile, quoted, =1=, 107, 130.

Boucher, quoted, =5=, 91.

Boucherville (Que.), =5=, 20.

Bouchette, Topographical Description of the Canadas, quoted, =5=, 41, 42, 63, 64, 89, 92, 94, 95.

Bound Rock, =1=, 5.

Bout de l'Isle, =5=, 20.

Bowlin Stream, =3=, 308.

Box, living in a, =2=, 32.

Boys, Provincetown, =4=, 218.

Bradbury and Soden, =6=, 83, 102.

Bradford (N. H.), =1=, 380.

Bradford, George P. (H. U. 1825), =6=, 63, 328, 404, 405.

Bradford, T. G. (H. U. 1822), =6=, 19, note.

Brahm, the bringing to earth of, =1=, 141.

Brahman, virtue of the, =1=, 146.

Brahmins, =6=, 224, 299, 300; their forms of conscious penance, =2=, 4, 5; Walden ice makes T. one with the, 329.

Brand's Popular Antiquities, quoted, =5=, 297, 298.

Brave man and the coward, the, =4=, 277-279.

Bravery of science, the, =5=, 106, 107.

Bread without yeast, =2=, 68-70; discourse on, =6=, 121, 164-166, 260, 268.

Breakers, =4=, 58, 209.

Bream, =1=, 24-26.

Breed's hut, =2=, 285.

Brereton, John, quoted, =4=, 245.

Brewster (Mass.), =4=, 22, 28, 29.

Briars, a field near Walden, =6=, 170, 171.

Bricks, mortar growing harder on, =2=, 266.

Bride and bridegroom, =6=, 199, 200, 207, 302.

Bridgewater (Mass.), =4=, 19.

Brighton--or Bright-town, =2=, 148.

Brister's Hill, =2=, 252, 283, 284, 289, 294.

Brister's Spring, =2=, 289, 291.

Britania's Pastorals, quoted, =1=, 121.

Broadway, New York, =6=, 70, 85, 287, 291.

Brook Farm, =6=, 318, 404.

Brook Island in Cohasset, =4=, 4.

Brooklawn, New Bedford, =6=, 263, 271, 305.

Brooklyn, N. Y., =6=, 70, 290, 296, 297.

"Brother, where dost thou dwell?" verse, =5=, 403; =6=, 74.

Brown, Deacon Reuben, =6=, 141.

Brown, John, the truth about, =4=, 409; the Kansas troubles, 410, 413-416; occupation, descent, and character, 410-414; newspaper opinions of, 416-425; absurdly called insane, 426-428; small following of, 432; example of death of, 434, 435; feeling of divine appointment, 436, 437; why guilty of death, 437; quoted, 439, 440; last days of, 441-450; effect of the words of, 444; editors' opinions of, 445; not dead, 449, 450; T.'s speech in Concord after the death of, 451-454; =6=, 290; 337, 359, 364; comes to Concord, 358, 359; his capture and execution, 358-360; is eulogized by T., 359; his companions, 365-367.

Brown, John, Jr., son of preceding, visits North Elba and Boston, =6=, 364.

Brown, Mrs. See Jackson.

Brown, Theo., of Worcester, =6=, 238, 254, 280, 286, 292, 294, 307, 315, 331.

Browne, Sir Thomas, quoted, =1=, 69; =4=, 157, 158.

Brownson, O. A., =6=, 5, 404.

BRUTE NEIGHBORS, =2=, 247-262.

Buckland, Francis T., Curiosities of Natural History, =4=, 84.

Buddha and Christ, =1=, 68.

Buddhist, =6=, 108.

Buffaloes, =6=, 14, 17, 109.

Buffum, Arnold, =6=, 288.

Bug from an egg in table of apple wood, the, =2=, 366.

Building one's own house, significance of, =2=, 50, 51.

Bull, E. W. (Concord grape), =6=, 377, note.

Bulwer, Lord Lytton, =6=, 28, 30.

Buried money, =1=, 208.

Burlington (Vt.), =5=, 7, 99.

Burnham, a Boston bookseller, =6=, 263.

Burns, T.'s grandmother, =6=, 7.

Burns, Anthony, =4=, 405.

Burnt Land, the, =3=, 29, 77.

"Burntibus," =3=, 319.

Burton, Sir Richard Francis, =5=, 228.

Business habits indispensable, strict, =2=, 21, 22; remarks on, =6=, 8, 9, 107, 169-171, 317, 318, 355, 356.

Busk, Indian feast of first fruits, =2=, 75.

"But since we sailed," verse, =1=, 16.

"Butternuts," in New York, =6=, 18.

Butternut tree, =5=, 6.

Buttrick's Plain, =1=, 51.

Cabmen of New York, =6=, 69, 70.

Cabot, the discoveries of, =4=, 232, 233.

Cabot, J. Elliot (H. U. 1840), =6=, 125, 130, 188; letters to, 126-129, 155; letters from, 130, 131, 188.

Cabs, Montreal, =5=, 18; Quebec, 69, 70.

Cactus, =6=, 29, 32.

Caddis-worms, =5=, 170.

Caen, Emery de, quoted, =5=, 52.

Caleche, the (see Cabs), =5=, 69, 70.

Calf, the young hunting, =6=, 135.

Calidas, the Sacontala, quoted, =1=, 183; =2=, 351.

California, the rush to, =4=, 463-465; =6=, 210, 216.

Calling, choice of a, =6=, 66, 67, 108, 109, 121, 156, 163, 168, 171, 174, 175, 181, 195, 211, 219.

Calyx, =6=, 199; the thalamus, or bridal chamber, 208.

Cambria, steamer, aground, =4=, 93.

Cambridge, college room rent compared with T.'s, =2=, 55; crowded hives of, 150; =6=, 5, 7, 8, 10, note, 45, 66-68, 109, 129, 133, 138, 226, 237, 252, 253, 287, 311; observatory, 133, 137.

Camp, loggers', =3=, 20; reading matter in a, 37, 38; on side of Ktaadn, a, 68; the routine for making, 210-212; darkness about a, 303, 304.

Camping out, =6=, 365, 368, 369, 371.

Camp-meetings, Eastham, =4=, 46-48; _versus_ Ocean, 67.

Canaan (N. H.), =1=, 263.

Canada, apparently older than the United States, =5=, 80, 81; population of, 81, 82; the French in, a nation of peasants, 82; mentioned, =6=, 215, 251, 323, 324.

_Canadense_, _Iter_, and the word, =5=, 101.

Canadian, woodchopper, a, =2=, 159-166; boat-song, =3=, 42; a blind, 234; French, =5=, 9; horses, 34; women, 34; atmosphere, 34; love of neighborhood, 42, 43; houses, 44, 59; clothes, 45; salutations, 47; vegetables and trees, 47, 48; boots, 51; tenures, 63, 64.

Canal, an old, =1=, 62.

Canal-boat, appearance of a, =1=, 150; passing a, in fog, 200; later and early thoughts about a, 221-226; with sails, 273, 274.

Candor, in friendship, =6=, 57, 80, 137.

Cane, a straight and a twisted, =5=, 184, 185.

Canoe, water-logged in Walden Pond, =2=, 212; a birch, =3=, 106; used in third excursion to Maine woods, 181; shipping water in a, 189; crossing lakes in a, 206; carrying a, 207, 208; running rapids in a, 275-277, 279, 280; =6=, 109, 254, 324, 325.

"Canst thou love with thy mind," verse, =6=, 202.

Canton, Mass., T.'s school at, =6=, 5.

Cap aux Oyes, =5=, 93.

Cape Cod, T.'s various visits to, =4=, 3; derivation of name of, 4; formation of, 4, 20; barrenness of, 36-38; the real, 65; houses, 80; landscape, a, 132-137; men, the Norse quality of, 140; western shore of, 142; changes in the coast-line of, 151-155; clothes-yard, a, 220; and its harbors, various names for, 226-229; Gosnold's discovery of, 242-247; people, 257, 258; =6=, 246, 255, 256, 312, 313; T.'s excursions to, 254, 255, 309, 312, 357.

"Cape Cod Railroad," the, =4=, 19.

Cape Diamond, =5=, 22, 40; signal-gun on, 85; the view from, 88.

Cape Rosier, =5=, 92.

Cape Rouge, =5=, 21, 95.

Cape Tourmente, =5=, 41, 89, 96.

Carbuncle Mountain, =3=, 291.

Cardinals, =1=, 18.

Cards left by visitors, =2=, 143, 144.

Cares, =6=, 262, 360.

Carew, Thomas, quoted, =2=, 89.

Caribou Lake, =3=, 216.

Carlisle (Mass.), =1=, 4, 37, 50, 53; =6=, 16, 18, 134.

Carlisle Bridge, =1=, 20, 37.

Carlton House, New York, =6=, 55.

CARLYLE, THOMAS, AND HIS WORKS, =4=, 316-355.

Carlyle, Thomas, circumstances of his life, =4=, 316-320; his books, 320-322; not a German nor a mystic, 322-325; English style of, 324-333; quoted, upon Richter, 331, 338; humor of, 333-337, as critic and looker-on, 339-343; not blithe enough for a poet, 343, 344; sympathy with the Reformer class, 344-346; compared with Emerson, 345; a philosopher of action, 346-349; objections to, 349; a typical specimen from, on Heroes, 350-352; his exaggeration, 352-354; quoted, on the writing of history, 354; pointing to the summits of humanity, 355; mentioned, =6=, 49, 62, 81, 94, 101, 154, 169, 250; reviewed by Emerson, 94, 101; by Thoreau, 169.

Carnac, =1=, 267.

Carry, Indian's method with canoe at a, =3=, 207, 208; a wet, 235-244; berries at each, 305, 306; race at a, 314, 315.

Cartier, Jacques, =5=, 7; and the St. Lawrence, 89-91; quoted, 97; 98, 99.

Caryatides, gossips leaning against barn like, =2=, 186.

Cascade, Silver, =6=, 39.

Cases in court, Wyman's, =6=, 104; Sanborn's, =6=, 364; other cases, 226.

Castleton, Staten Island, =6=, 68, 71-73, 76, 78, 84, 104.

Castor and Pollux, translation, =5=, 388.

Cat, the Collins's, =2=, 48; in the woods, domestic and "winged," 257, 258.

Catacombs, =6=, 161, 178.

_Catastomus tuberculatus_, =6=, 131.

Catherine, a Concord family, =6=, 4.

Catholic Church, =6=, 243, 406.

Cat-naps, =6=, 106.

Cato, Major, quoted, =2=, 70, 93, 183, 268.

Cattle-show, the Concord, =1=, 358-361; men at, =5=, 184.

Caucomgomoc Lake, meaning of the name, =3=, 156; 222, 223.

Caucomgomoc Mountain, =3=, 233.

Caucomgomoc Stream, =3=, 142, 147, 219, 229, 247, 297; =6=, 325.

Caves, birds do not sing in, =2=, 31.

Cedar-post, life of, =6=, 293.

Cedar tea, arbor-vitæ, or, =3=, 60.

Celebrating, men, a committee of arrangements, always, =2=, 363.

Celestial Cows, =6=, 223.

Celestial Empire, conditions of successful trade with, =2=, 22; =6=, 89.

"Celestial Railroad," =6=, 120.

Cellar, a burrow to which house is but a porch, =2=, 49.

Cellini, Benvenuto, quoted, =2=, 224, 225.

Cemetery of fallen leaves, =5=, 269, 270.

Chairs for society, three, =2=, 155.

Chaleur, Bay of, =3=, 178; =5=, 90; =6=, 324.

Chalmers, Dr. Thomas, in criticism of Coleridge, =5=, 324.

Chamberlain Farm, the, =3=, 245, 264, 265.

Chamberlain, Lake, =3=, 101, 145, 161, 233, 237, 239, 240; Apmoojenegamook or, 244; dams about, 251; 262, 267; =6=, 325.

Chambers of Silence, =6=, 231.

Chambly (Que.), =5=, 11.

Champlain, Samuel, quoted, =4=, 85; records and maps of, 227-233; quoted, =5=, 8; whales in map of, 91.

Change of air, =2=, 352.

Channing, Ellen Fuller, wife of Ellery, =6=, 43, note.

Channing, W. E., quoted, =1=, 42; =2=, 225; =6=, 43, note, 58, note, 65, 79, 92-94, 104, 113, 117, 120-122, 146, 151, 153, 190, 192, 235-238, 251, 253, 254, 257, 259, 266, 270, 272, 273-275, 308, 326, note, 328, 334, 336, 341, 344, 345, 406, 407; quoted, ix, x, 3, 65, note, 121.

Channing, Rev. William Henry (H. U. 1829), cousin of Ellery, =6=, 81, 96, 104, 118, 183, 184.

Channing, William Francis (son of Dr. W. E. Channing, and cousin of the two named above), mentioned, =6=, 190.

Chapin, Rev. E. H. (H. U. 1845), =6=, 61.

Chapman, George, quoted, =2=, 37.

Chapman, John, London publisher, =6=, 271.

Charity, cold, =4=, 78.

Charles I, the only martyr in Church of England liturgy, =4=, 446.

Charleston, S. C., =6=, 283.

Charlevoix, quoted, =5=, 52, 91.

Chastity, the flowering of man, =2=, 242, 243; and sensuality, =6=, 192, 204-209, 295.

Château, Richer, church of, =5=, 46; 49; lodgings at, 59.

Chateaubriand, quoted, =1=, 137.

Chatham (Mass.), =4=, 26.

Chaucer, Geoffrey, quoted, =1=, 293, 352, 353; in praise of, 391-400; quoted, =2=, 234; quoted, =5=, 159, 160, =6=, 103; mentioned, 76.

Chaudière River, the, =5=, 21; Falls of the, 69, 70.

Cheap men, =5=, 29, 30.

Checkerberry-Tea Camp, =3=, 301.

Chelmsford (Mass.), =1=, 53, 63, 81, 85, 88, 92, 113, 268, 384, 391.

Cherries, =6=, 23, 71.

Cherry-stones, transported by birds, =5=, 188.

CHESUNCOOK, =3=, 93-173.

Chesuncook Deadwater, =3=, 217.

Chesuncook Lake, =3=, 5, 11, 36, 73, 80, 86, 94, 104, 105, 117, 119, 136, 137; meaning of the word, 156; 176; going to church on, 214; 234, 250, 254; mentioned, =6=, 325, 395.

Chicago, visited by T., =6=, 384; by B. B. Wiley, 298.

Chickadee, coming of the, =2=, 304; =5=, 108; =6=, 253.

Chief end of man, =2=, 9.

Chien, La Rivière au, =5=, 56.

Child, Mrs. Lydia Maria, =6=, 100.

China, =6=, 89, 246.

Chippeway Indians, =6=, 109.

Chivin, Dace, Roach or Cousin Trout, =1=, 27; =3=, 59; 312; =6=, 127, 131, 132.

Cholmondeley, Rev. Charles, =6=, 236.

Cholmondeley, Thomas, =6=, 234-237, 240, 241, 247-249, 252, 258, 271, 297, 308, 342-344, 349, 352, 380-383; books sent by, 270, 271; letter from, 272, 297, 380; letter to, 249-251.

Christ, =6=, 179, 194.

Christian, the modern, =4=, 420; being a, 445; the prayer of a, =6=, 89.

"Christian Examiner," =6=, 99.

Christianity, practical and radical, =1=, 141; adopted as an improved method of _agri_-culture, =2=, 41.

Church of England, prayer for a martyr, =4=, 446.

Churches, Catholic and Protestant, =5=, 12-14; =6=, 79, 97, 195, 224, 226, 243; roadside, 46.

Cigar-smoke, the gods not to be appeased with, =4=, 42.

Circulating library, =2=, 116, 117.

Cities, as wharves, =4=, 268; American, =6=, 69, 79, 187, 287, 297, 345.

City and country opinions, =4=, 396, 397.

City and Swamp, =6=, 187.

CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE, =4=, 356-387.

Civilization, not all a success, =2=, 34; and landscape, =3=, 171-173.

_Claire Fontaine_, _La_, =5=, 26.

Clams, Cape Cod, =4=, 35, 36; large, 72; or quahogs, catching birds 86; stones shaped like, 109.

Clark, Farmer, =6=, 141.

Clark's Island, =6=, 301, note, 328, note.

Clark, the Swedenborgian, =6=, 146.

Classics, study of the, =1=, 238; =2=, 111-113; must be read in the original, 115.

Clay Pounds, the, =4=, 132; why so called, 158; the Somerset wrecked on, 162.

Clothes, =6=, 227, 228, 245, 255, 256, 262, 363; bad-weather, =5=, 28; Canadian, 45.

Clothing, a necessary of life, =2=, 13, 14; not always procured for true utility, 23; new and old, 25, 26.

Cloud, entering a, =3=, 70; factory, a, 70.

Clouds. _See_ Rain.

Clover, tree. _See_ Melilot.

Club at Parker House, =6=, 345; Town and Country, 345, 346.

Coat-of-arms, a Concord, =1=, 7.

Cock-crowning, the charms of, =2=, 140-142.

Codman place, the, =2=, 286.

Coffee-grounds, =6=, 180.

Cohass Brook, =1=, 238.

Cohasset, the Indian, =1=, 251.

Cohasset (Mass.), the wreck at, =4=, 5-13; Rocks, sea-bathing at, 16, 17.

Cold Friday, dating from, =2=, 280.

Cold Stream Pond, =3=, 9.

Cold weather, =6=, 14, 27-32, 250.

Collins, James, Irishman whose shanty T. bought, =2=, 47.

Colors, names and joy of, =5=, 273-275. _See_ Autumnal Tints, Clouds, etc.

Colton's Map of Maine, =3=, 104, 308.

Comet, nucleus of, =6=, 173.

Commerce, =1=, 224; in praise of, =2=, 131-136, =6=, 102.

Common sense, uncommon and, =1=, 414; the sense of men asleep, =2=, 357, 358.

Compost, better part of man soon plowed into soil for, =2=, 6.

Conantum, =1=, 374; =6=, 140.

Concord (Mass.), settlement of, =1=, 3; historian of, quoted, 3; 5; coat-of-arms for, 7; territory of, in 1831, 8; described by Johnson, 8; meadows, 9; a port of entry, 12; 14; poet, a, 14; 36, 43, 49, 51, 61, 64, 82, 124; History of, quoted, 125; 169; Cliffs, 170; 227, 345; Cattle-show in, 358-361; return to, 420; Walden Pond in =2=, 3; traveled a good deal in 4; the farmers of, 35; house surpassing the luxury of, 54; little fresh meal and corn sold in, 70; Battle Ground, 95; effect of a fire bell on people living near, 103, 104; culture, 117, 118, wiser men than produced by soil of, 119; hired man of, 120; liberal education in, 121; "its soothing sound is--," 127; sign of a trader in, 133; bells of, 136; two-colored waters of, 195; Walden bequeathed to, 214, 215; fight of ants, 255; D. Ingraham, Esq., of, 283; "to the rescue," 286; 291, 308; =3=, 1, 24, 76, 117; meaning of Indian name for, 157, 187; 214, 268; the Assabet in; 278; the _trainers_ of, =4=, 392; =5=, 3, 6, 8; History of, quoted, 115; 133, 149, 152; its academy, =6=, 10, 24, 49; aspect of, 14, 38, 67, 92, 104; cliffs of, 28, 30, 104; Lyceum, 6, 52, 53, 61, 145, 154, 156, 275; people and houses, 4-7, 14, 17, 18, 21, 34, 35, 42, 43, 48-50, 52-54, 64, 65, 92, 93; schools, 5, 6, 10, 22, 23, 48, 49, 321, 322; T's fondness for, 285.

Concord (N.H.), =1=, 88, 89; =2=, 68, 308; entertained in, and origin of, 322.

CONCORD RIVER, =1=, 3-11.

Concord River, =1=, 3; course of, 3; gentleness of, 7; 10, 11, 19, 20, 62, 90, 113; a canal-boat on, and Fair Haven, 222-224; Conantum on the, 374; reaching the, 391; =2=, 215, 219; =3=, 229, 278, 299; =5=, 115, 139; =6=, 3, 92, 262.

Condover, England, =6=, 235, 383.

Conduct, regulation of, =6=, ix, 9, 10, 33, 34, 57, 76, 88, 89, 118, 161, 162, 166, 167, 177, 186, 187, 205.

Confucius, quoted, =1=, 288, 299; =2=, 12, 149; =6=, 299.

Connecticut River, the, =1=, 87, 88, 89, 212, 263; =5=, 5, 145, 147; =6=, 282.

"Conscience is instinct bred in the house," verse, =1=, 75.

Conscience, the, =1=, 75, 138; the chief of conservatives, 140.

Conservatism, the wisest, =1=, 140.

Contoocook, =1=, 87.

Conversation, the shallowness of most, =4=, 471; =6=, 64, 65, 346.

Conway, Moncure Daniel (H. U. 1854), =6=, 398.

Cooking, =1=, 237.

Coombs, Neighbor, =6=, 141, 154.

Coöperation, difficulties of, =2=, 79, 80.

Coos Falls, =1=, 248, 353.

Coreopsis, =1=, 18.

Corn, great crops of, =4=, 37-39.

Cost, the amount of life exchanged for a thing, =2=, 34; of house, items of, 54; of food for eight months, 65, 66; total, of living, 66; bean-field, 179, 180.

Cotes, Lady Louisa, =6=, 383.

Cotton, Charles, quoted, =1=, 249.

Country and city opinions, =4=, 396, 397.

_Coureurs de bois_ and _de risques_, =5=, 43.

Cousin Trout. _See_ Chivin.

Cowper, William, quoted, =2=, 92; =6=, 254, 275.

Cows fed on fishes' heads, =4=, 214, 215.

Cranberries, mountain, =3=, 27; tree, 147.

Cranberry Island, =1=, 6.

Cranks, the turning of, =4=, 297.

Crantz, account of Greenland, quoted, =4=, 60, 149.

Crickets, the creaking of, =5=, 108.

Crimea, =6=, 266; war in the, 237, 244, 251.

Criticism, =1=, 401.

Cromwell's Falls, =1=, 88; story of Cromwell and, 206, 207.

Crooked River, the Souhegan or, =1=, 231.

Crookneck squash seeds, Quebec, =5=, 87.

Crosses in the wilderness, =3=, 50; roadside, =5=, 45, 46.

Crow, the, =5=, 108; not imported from Europe, 113.

Crusoe, Robinson, among the Arabs, =1=, 60.

Crystalline botany, =5=, 126, 127.

Cuckoo characters, =6=, 161.

Culm, bloom in the, =5=, 253.

Cultivation, wildness, and, =1=, 55.

Cummings, slave of Squire, =2=, 284.

Cupid Wounded, verse, =1=, 244.

Curing moose meat and hide, =3=, 149, 150, 208.

Curtis, George William, =6=, 142, 256, note, 343.

Custom, the grave of, =1=, 136; immemorial, 140.

Cutler, E. J. (H. U. 1853), =6=, 287.

_Cytherea choros ducit_, =6=, 27.

Dace. _See_ Chivin.

Damodara, quoted, =2=, 97.

Dana, Charles, =6=, 404.

Danesaz, =6=, 122.

Daniel, Samuel, quoted, =1=, 106, 132, 407; =6=, 219.

Darby, William, quoted, =5=, 93, 94.

Darien, Isthmus of, robbing graveyards, on the, =4=, 467.

Darwin, Charles R., quoted, =2=, 14; =4=, 122; =6=, 382.

Davenant, Sir William Gondibert, quoted, =2=, 286.

Davis, Josiah, of Concord, his house, =6=, 5.

Day, deliberately, like nature, spending one, =2=, 108; and right, =6=, 242, 292, 293, 310.

Day-dreams, =6=, 38-40, 92, 93, 121, 122, 180, 181.

D. D.'s and chickadee-dees, =4=, 469.

Dead body on the shore, a, =4=, 107, 108.

De Bry's _Collectio Peregrinationum_, =3=, 149.

Debt, getting in and out of, =2=, 7.

Decalogue, for whom made, =6=, 167.

Deep Cove, =3=, 45, 84.

Deer, =3=, 154.

Deer Island, =3=, 100, 183, 185, 188.

Delay, verse, =5=, 418.

Delay, in life, =6=, 196; in dying, 350.

Demons, =6=, 91, 243, 267, 333.

De Monts, Sieur, quoted, =1=, 42; Champlain and, =4=, 228.

Dennis (Mass.), =4=, 22; described, 25, 26.

Departure, The, verse, =5=, 414.

Desperation, mass of men lead lives of quiet, =2=, 8, 9.

Destiny, =6=, 44; our own work, 361.

Devil, =6=, 188, 220; the printer's, 322.

Dew of sixpences, =6=, 44.

"Dial," quarterly magazine, =6=, 38, 58-63, 78, 84, 87, 94, 108, 113-117, 125, 156, 158.

Dialect, abominable, =6=, 63.

Dialogue between Hermit and Poet, =2=, 247-249.

"Die and be buried who will," verse, =3=, 90.

Digby, Sir Kenelm, quoted, =2=, 179.

Ding Dong, verse, =5=, 417.

Diogenes, =6=, x.

Diploma, =6=, 138.

Dippers, a brood of, =3=, 184.

Discipline, =6=, 212, 243.

Discontented, speaking mainly to the, =2=, 17, 18.

Discovery, inner, =1=, 409.

Dissipation, not allied to love, =6=, 206; to be shunned by T., =6=, 313.

Divinity in man! Look at the teamster, =2=, 8.

Doane, Heman, verses by, on Thomas Prince's pear tree, =4=, 44, 45.

Doane, John, =4=, 45.

Dobson, the criminal, and Henry James, =6=, 346, 347.

Doctrine of Sorrow, =6=, 168; of Happiness, 173, 174; of letting alone, 177, 178.

Dog, in the woods, a village Bose, =2=, 257; a troublesome, =3=, 177; at the churn, a, =4=, 285.

Dog-barking, =1=, 40.

Dogmas, =6=, 346.

Dogs on the seashore, =4=, 185, 186; in harness, =5=, 30.

Doing and Being, =6=, 221, 230.

Doing-good, a crowded profession, =2=, 81.

"Dong, sounds the brass in the East," verse, =1=, 50.

Donne, Dr. John, quoted, =1=, 315, 356.

Double Top Mountain, =3=, 49.

Douglass, Frederick, Wendell Phillips on, =4=, 313.

Dracut (Mass.), =1=, 81.

Drake, Sir Francis, quoted, =5=, 325.

Dream of fishing, a, =3=, 61.

Dreams, =1=, 119, 315; =6=, 216.

Dress, of Cholmondeley, =6=, 342; of the Quakers, 97, 288; of T., 226.

Driftwood, Cape Cod and Greenland, =4=, 59-61.

Drosera, =6=, 310.

Du Chaillu, =6=, 382.

Drum, sound of a, by night, =1=, 181.

Drummond of Hawthornden, William, quoted, =2=, 219.

Dubartas, quoted, translation of Sylvester, =5=, 328, 329.

Ducks, on Walden Pond, =2=, 262.

Dug-out houses of American colonists, =2=, 42, 43.

Duke of Newcastle, and Prince of Wales, =6=, 372.

Dunbar, Rev. Asa (H. U. 1767), T.'s grandfather, =6=, 7.

Dunbar, Charles (uncle of T.), =6=, 5, 106.

Dunbar, Louisa, =6=, 99.

Dunbar, Mary, =6=, 12, note.

Dundees, a nickname, =6=, 14, 16.

Dunstable (Mass.), =1=, 64, 114, 123, 124, 174, 175, 177, 208, 227; History of, 175; quoted, 113, 126.

Durkee, Dr., a naturalist, =6=, 310, 327.

Dustan, Hannah, escape with nurse and child from Indians, =1=, 341-345.

Duties, =6=, 162, 167, 222, 223, 229.

Duty, sense of, =6=, 196.

Duxbury (Mass.), =6=, 301 note.

Dwelling-house, what not to make it, =2=, 31.

Dwight, John S., =6=, 404.

Dwight, Timothy, quoted, =4=, 212, 225.

Dying, real, =4=, 434, 435.

"Each summer sound," verse, =5=, 112.

Eagle-Beak, =6=, 15, note, 16.

Eagle Lake, =3=, 101, 161; road, 261.

Eagleswood, =6=, 286-291.

Earth, probing of, =6=, 194.

EAST BRANCH, THE ALLEGASH AND, =3=, 174-327.

East Branch, mouth of the, =3=, 19; 23, 161, 175, 176, 249, 256, 257, 268; Hunt's house on the, 269, 270, 273, 274, 288, 289, 298, 312, 315, 316.

East Harbor Village, in Truro, =4=, 137.

East Main, Labrador and, health in the words, =5=, 104.

Easterbrooks Country, =5=, 299, 303.

"Easter Brooks," =6=, 106.

Eastern Mountain anchored, =6=, 321.

Eastham (Mass.), the history of, =4=, 43-56; ministers of, 45-55; Table-Lands of, 62; the Pilgrims, 256.

Echo, in nature, =6=, 176, 177.

"Echoes of Harper's Ferry," =6=, 359.

ECONOMY, =2=, 3-89.

Edda, the Prose, quoted, =5=, 291.

Edith, the Saxon (daughter of Emerson), =6=, 113.

Education, tuition bills pay for the least valuable part of, =2=, 55, 56.

Eel, the common, the Lamprey, =1=, 31.

Eel River, =3=, 256.

Eggs, a master in cooking, =5=, 61, 62.

Egotism in writers, =2=, 3, 4.

Election-birds, =1=, 56.

Elegy in a Country Churchyard, =3=, 19, quoted, 19.

Eliot, John, =1=, 82.

Elm, the, =5=, 263, 264, 276.

Eloquence a transient thing, =2=, 113.

Elysian life, summer makes possible, =2=, 15.

Elysium, translation, =5=, 375.

Emerson, Charles Chauncy (H. U. 1828), his Notes from the Journal of a Scholar, =6=, 94.

Emerson, Charles (H. U. 1863), =6=, 24, note.

Emerson, Edith (Mrs. W. H. Forbes), =6=, 51, 54, 55, 103, 136, 145, 157.

Emerson, Edward Waldo (H. U. 1866), =6=, 136, 145, 152, 157.

Emerson, Ellen Tucker, =6=, 51, 53, 113, 136, 142, 145, 150, 153, 157.

Emerson, Haven (son of William), =6=, 78.

Emerson, George B., quoted, =5=, 200.

Emerson, Miss Mary Moody (aunt of R. W. E.), =6=, 269, 345, note.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo (H. U. 1821), quoted =1=, 3, 14, 103, 104, 317; Carlyle compared with, =4=, 345, 346; =6=, vii, ix, 6, 10, note, 17, note, 48, 120, 125, 132, 151, 155, 157, 183, 190, 229, 236, 238, 251, 252, note, 253, 269, 322, 328, 337, note, 345, 346, 358, 359, 366, 367; children of, 51, 53-55, 136, 142, 145, 152, 153, 157; and Alcott, 63, 80, 83, 84, note, 136, 322, 328, 346; and Charles Lane, 62, 124, 125; and the "Dial," 58-63, 75, 78, 84, 94, 113-115; letters from, 48, 49, 58, 78, 94, 102, note, 104, 120, 125, 142, 155; letters to (from Thoreau), 50-58, 59-64, 78-84, 92-95, 101-103, 107, 108, 113-116, 135-155, 157, 169; quoted, 22, 115, 229, 237, note, 286, 290.

Emerson, Mrs. R. W. (Lidian Jackson, of Plymouth), =6=, 35, 42, note, 46, 53, 55, 64, 75, 95, 103, 135, 136, 152, 157; letter from, 64, 65; letters to, 75-78, 87-89, 112, 113.

Emerson, Madam Ruth (mother of William, Ralph, and Charles), =6=, 54, 78, 95.

Emerson, Waldo (son of R. W. E.), =6=, 22, 35, 42; death of, 22.

Emerson, William (H. U. 1818), of Staten Island, =6=, 50, 83, 98, 104.

Emersonian influences, =6=, 10, 49.

Employment, =6=, 15, 35, 39, 83, 107, 135, 181, 221, 222, 267, 315.

End of Nature's creatures, the, =1=, 236.

Enfield (Me.), =3=, 9.

England, last news from, =2=, 105; home of ancestors, =6=, 5, note, Emerson in, 124, 125, 148, 150, 154, 155.

English and French in the New World, =5=, 66, 67.

Englishmen, =6=, 50, 110, 125, 162, 235-238, 383, note.

Entomology, the study of, =5=, 107, 108; =6=, 90, 309, 310, 327, 328.

Epidermis, our outside clothes, =2=, 26.

Epigrams of Thoreau, =6=, 20, 26, 28, 41, 52, 56, 57, 60, 66, 67, 69, 76, 77, 83, 88, 93, 94, 118, 149, 156, 160, 161, 163, 173, 176, 178, 186, 199, 200, 201, 208.

Epistles of Thoreau, =6=, xii; Latin and English, 27-32; take the place of lectures, 192.

Epitaphs, =1=, 177, 178.

Epitome of the year, the day, =2=, 332.

Errington, Miss, a teacher, =6=, 73, 86.

Eternal life, =6=, 160, 161, 164, 173, 174, 194, 225.

Eternity, =6=, 178, 179, 204, 260, 261.

Etesian winds, news simmers through men like, =2=, 186.

Ethnical Scriptures, =6=, 114, 117.

Etymologies, =6=, 33, 34, 243.

Etzler, J. H., review of The Paradise within the Reach of all Men, by, =4=, 280-305; quoted, 280, 281, 292-300; "Mechanical System," 286, 292, 300, 303; merits and faults of the books, 301-304; criticised, =6=, 102.

Evelyn, John, quoted, =2=, 10, 179; quoted, =5=, 310, 311.

Everett, Edward (H. U. 1811), =6=, 372.

Everlasting (life-everlasting), the pearly, =3=, 97.

Evil spirits, =6=, 208, 226.

_Ex Oriente Lux: ex Occidente Frux_, =5=, 221.

Exaggeration, the need of, =4=, 352, 353.

Excursions, in Concord, =6=, 16, 18, 28, 49, 50, 59, note, 121, 126, 146, 230, 245, 250, 261, 267, 280, 281, 309; elsewhere in Massachusetts, 191, 196, 233, 234, 237, 244, 245, 255, 263, 279; to Maine, 254, 309, 315, 322-327; to Monadnoc, 329, 332, 364, 368-372; to New Hampshire (White Mountains), 6, 330-336, 349; to New York and New Jersey, 68-73, 77-80, 82-86, 95-97, 107-110, 183, 286-291, 295-298; to the West and Northwest, 380, 383, 391; estimate of, =6=, 170, 171; reducing, 171, 182, 262.

Expenses, farm, =2=, 60, 61; outgo and income, bean-field, 179-181. _See_ Cost.

Experiences, the paucity of men's, =5=, 241, 242.

Exploration, of one's self, =2=, 353-355.

Extemporaneous living, =1=, 332.

_Extra Vagance_, depends on how you are yarded, =2=, 357.

Extravagance in living, =6=, 213, 214, 317-319, 348.

Eyes, movement of the, =1=, 80, the sight of different men's, =5=, 285-288; and insight, =6=, 161, 162.

Fable, the universal appeal of, =1=, 58; the Christian, 67.

"Fabulate and paddle in the social slush," =6=, 230.

Face, imaginary formation by thawing of the, =2=, 339, 340.

Factory system, not best mode of supplying clothing, =2=, 29.

Failure or success, =6=, 188, 225.

Faineancy, =6=, 230.

Fair Cities of the plain, =6=, 348.

Fair Haven, a canal-boat on, =1=, 224; =2=, 205, 219, 225, 274, 300, 307, 330; huckleberries on hill, 190, 192; ledges, 308; late ice on pond, 335; =6=, 28, 30, 50, 116, 231.

Faith, =6=, 47, 57, 167, 169, 226; phases of, 56, 57, 81, 112, 118, 159, 173, 174, 178, 214, 215, 224, 242, 243, 379.

Fall. _See_ Autumn.

Fall of the Leaf, the verse, =5=, 407.

Fallen Leaves, =5=, 264-270.

Falls, a drug of, =5=, 58.

Fama Marcelli, =6=, viii.

Fame, translation, =5=, 378.

Fame, to be distrusted, =4=, 403; =6=, vii, 66, 67, 92, 93.

"Fame cannot tempt the bard," verse, =6=, viii.

Family ancestry, =6=, 3, 7, 11, 104; demon of sleep, 91, 106.

Farm, the Hollowell, =2=, 92; a model, 218.

Farmer, John, reflections of, =2=, 245.

Farmer, visits from a long-headed, =2=, 294.

Farmers, interesting in proportion as they are poor, =2=, 218.

Farms in Concord, =6=, 256, note; in Staten Island, 86, 95; at Chappaqua, 297.

Farwell of Dunstable, =1=, 174-176, 208.

Fashion, worship of, =2=, 28.

Fate, what a man thinks of himself, his, =2=, 8; =6=, 39, 77, 112, 361; the Fates, 74, 108, 149.

Father Hecker, =6=, 122, 123, 404, 405, 408.

Father tongue, written language our, =2=, 112.

Feeling, acute, =6=, 35; indifferent, 168.

Fellowship, =6=, 268.

Feminine traits, =6=, 198, 201.

Fences in Truro, =4=, 138, 139.

Fenda, wife of "Sippio Brister," =2=, 284.

Fenwick, Bishop, =3=, 323.

Field, John, an Irishman, story of, =2=, 226.

Finch, =6=, 75.

Fine art, no place for a work of, =2=, 41, 42.

Fire, purification by, =2=, 75; "my housekeeper," 279; man and, 280; an alarm of, 285; a camp, =3=, 43, 115, 116; =6=, 28, 30, 294, 333, 334, 373; of driftwood, 268; on Mt. Washington, 336; on Monadnoc, 369.

Fire Island, =6=, 183, 185.

Fire-weed, =3=, 95, 282.

Fish, A Religious, newspaper clipping, =4=, 116; uses of, in Provincetown, 212-215; spearing, =5=, 119, 121-123. _See_ Bream, Eel, Pickerel, Pout, Shiner.

Fisher, the pickerel, =5=, 180, 181.

Fisherman, the, =1=, 21; Account Current of a, 33.

Fishes, the nature of, =1=, 23; schools of, in Walden Pond, =2=, 210, 211; of thought, 297; driven ashore by storm, =4=, 143-147; described in Massachusetts Report, =5=, 118.

Fish-hawk, the, =1=, 205; =5=, 110.

Fishing, with silent man, =2=, 192; at night, 194; alone detains citizens at Walden Pond, 235, 236; impossible to T. without loss of self-respect, 236, 237; in winter, 313, 314; =3=, 58; in the Caucomgomoc, 226, 227; for bass, =4=, 117; mackerel, 179-184, 189, 190.

Fish stories, ancient, =4=, 215, 216.

Fitchburg (Mass.), going to, =2=, 59; =5=, 3; =6=, 292, 302.

Fitchburg Railroad, =2=, 127; depot in Boston, =6=, 345; in Acton, 366.

Fitzwilliam (N. H.), =5=, 4.

Five Islands, the, =3=, 11, 31, 87, 320.

Flagg, Wilson, =6=, 311.

Flat, the weak person, =4=, 278.

Flea, deserts made by bite of a, =1=, 209.

Flesh and bones, =6=, 110.

Fletcher, Giles, quoted, =1=, 199, 202.

Fletcher, Phineas, quoted, =1=, 414 ("By them went Fido").

Flint's Pond, =2=, 201, 223, 330-333; or Sandy, in Lincoln, 216-219; covered with snow, like Baffin's Bay, 299.

Floating in a skiff, =1=, 48.

Flowers, autumn, =1=, 377.

Fog, early morning, =1=, 188, 200, 201; picturesque effect of, 201, 202; =6=, 257, 329, 334, 335. _See_ Clouds, Haze, Mist.

Follen, Dr. Charles, =6=, 30.

Food, a necessary of life, =2=, 13; the fuel of man's body, 14; general consideration of, 60-72; objections to animal, 237; desirability of simple, 238-241; =6=, 164, 165, 175, 216, 218.

Football, spiritual, =6=, 217.

Foreign country, quickly in a, =5=, 31.

Forests, nations preserved by, =5=, 229.

FORMER INHABITANTS, AND WINTER VISITORS, =2=, 282-298.

Fortifications, ancient and modern, =5=, 77, 78.

Fort Sumter, =6=, 378, 379.

Fourier, communities of, =6=, 81, 96, 97, 104, 318.

Fowler, Thomas, sheltered and joined by, =3=, 29-34.

Fox, shooting a, =2=, 307; starting up a, =4=, 148; the, =5=, 117.

Fox Island, =1=, 43.

Foxes outside T.'s house, =2=, 301.

Fragrance, of flowers and political life, =4=, 408.

Framingham (Mass.), =1=, 4, 53.

Franconia (N. H.), =1=, 89.

Franklin, wreck of the ship, =4=, 73; wreckage from the, 92, 114, 115.

Fredericton (N. B.), =3=, 16.

Freedom, of one's time, =4=, 460, 461; advantages of, =6=, 8, 12, 33, 34; for the scholar, 171, 174, 175.

Freeman, "Sippio Brister," =2=, 284.

Free-Soilers, =6=, 196.

Frémont, J. C., =6=, 362.

French, coin found on beach at Wellfleet, =4=, 161; explorers in and about New England, 227-242; difficulties in talking, =5=, 35-37, 47; strange, 50; pure, 52; in the New World, English and, 66-68; in Canada, 81, 82; the, spoken in Quebec streets, 86, 87.

Freshet, on the Merrimack, =1=, 379; the Great, =3=, 58.

Fresh-Water or River Wolf, =1=, 29.

FRIDAY, =1=, 356-420.

Friend, office of a, =6=, 44, 53, 80, 93, 94, 135.

Friends, =1=, 275-307; =6=, 56, 187, 206; their uses, 56, 57; estimate of, 186, 187; and followers, 183-464.

Friends, The Value of, translation, =5=, 387.

Friendship, offense against, =6=, 56-58; advantages of, =6=, 57, 93, 94, 171, 187, 203; and love, 203, 302; verses on, 38, 329, note; accord in, 57, 201, 260, 261.

Fringilla, _Fring. Melod._, =6=, 23.

Frogs, _troonk_ of bull-, =2=, 139, 140. _See_ Toad.

Froissart, good place to read, =5=, 23.

Frontier houses, =3=, 144.

Frontiers, wherever men front, =1=, 323.

Frost, Rev. Barzillai (H. U. 1830), =6=, 10, note, 137.

Frost-smoke, =5=, 166.

Fruitlands (farm of Alcott and Lane), =6=, 64, 90, 122, 142, 155, 404.

Fruits, gathering autumn, =2=, 263.

Fruit trees, paucity of, in Cape towns, =4=, 34.

Fuel, a necessary of life, =2=, 13, 14; of man's body, food, 14.

Fugitive Slave Law, the, =4=, 388, 389, 401-403, 426.

Fuller, Rev. Arthur (H. U. 1843), =6=, 184.

Fuller, Ellen (Mrs. Channing), =6=, 43.

Fuller, Margaret (Countess Ossoli), =6=, 39, 94, 107, 120, 183-186.

Fuller, Richard E. (H. U. 1844), =6=, 43, 45, 65.

Fuller, Thomas, quoted, =1=, 265, 414.

Fundy, Bay of, =3=, 254.

Funeral Bell, The, verse, =5=, 405.

Funeral processions, =6=, 146.

Fur Countries, inspiring neighborhood of the, =5=, 105.

"_Furdustrandas_," =4=, 187, 191.

Furniture, generally considered, =2=, 72-76; moved out of doors, 125.

Galway, Ireland, the wrecked brig from, =4=, 6.

Game, woodland, =6=, 16, 336, 339.

Ganges, =6=, 267.

Gardens, Emerson's, =6=, 35, 77, 135, 149, 150; Thoreau's, 86, 355.

Garget, poke or, =5=, 253-255.

Garrison, W. L., =6=, 255.

Gazette, news of political parties, not of nature, printed in the, =2=, 19.

Gazetteer, reading the, =1=, 92; quoted, 206, 207, 259, 260, 269-271; =4=, 25, 28.

Geese, first flock of, =5=, 110.

Genius, order in the development of, =1=, 329; the Man of, 350; a man and his, 362; of the mountain, =6=, 369; of the storm, 369.

Gerard, the English herbalist, quoted, =4=, 206.

Gerardia, purpurea (purple gerardia), =1=, 18.

Gesner, Konrad, von, quoted, =1=, 389; =5=, 318.

Gifts, =6=, 22.

Gilbert, Sir Humphrey, =4=, 123.

Gilpin, William, quoted, =2=, 276, 317; =4=, 119; =6=, 239, 263, 264.

God, T.'s idea of, =1=, 65, 66; men's impertinent knowledge of, 70, 71; the personality of, 79; clothes fit to worship, in, =2=, 25; =6=, 159, 163, 174, 188, 259; ask to see, 164; city of, 164; 223; not an ash man, 244; reigns, 178, 317.

"God's Drop," proposed as name for Walden Pond, =2=, 215.

Goethe, =1=, 347-350; quoted, 351-353; =6=, 62, 168, 301.

Goff's Falls, =1=, 251.

Goffstown (N. H.), =1=, 205, 260, 271, 274.

Gold craze, California and Australia, =4=, 463-467.

Goldenrod, =3=, 97.

Good deeds, =6=, 171.

Good Genius, advice of T.'s, =2=, 230.

Good and Wise, verse, =6=, 147.

Goodwin, Prof. William Watson (H. U. 1851), =6=, 103.

Gookin, Daniel, quoted, =1=, 82, 114, 175, 176, 267; =2=, 32.

Goose, stray, cackling like spirit of the fog, =2=, 46; honking of, 300, 345. _See_ Geese.

Goose Pond, =2=, 219; muskrats in, 299.

Gorilla, =6=, 382.

Goshawk, American, =6=, 188, 189.

Gosnold, Captain Bartholomew, =4=, 4; discovery of Cape Cod by, 242-247.

Gosse, P. A., Canadian Naturalist, =5=, 91.

Gossip, stroll to village to hear, =2=, 185.

Government, the best, =4=, 356; the American, 356-360; resistance to, 360-362, 365-381; T. and the, 381-387; good and bad, 405; a representative, 429; the small business of, 478-480; too much, =5=, 82, 83; =6=, 154, 359, 378, 379.

Governor, a Massachusetts, =4=, 389, 390.

Gower, John, quoted, =1=, 57, 121.

Grampus Rock, in Cohasset, =4=, 7, 11.

Grand Falls of the Penobscot, =3=, 31; portage to avoid the, 32.

Grand Lake, =3=, 268; Indian name for, 295; 297, 307.

Grand Portage, the, =3=, 80.

Grange Bluff, =6=, 385.

Grape Island, =1=, 43.

Grass-ground River, =1=, 3, 32.

Graves, Indian, =1=, 251.

Graveyard, a Cape Cod, =4=, 148.

Graveyards, monuments and, =1=, 177.

Great Brook, =5=, 137.

Great Fields, the, =5=, 257.

"Great God! I ask thee for no meaner pelf," verse, =5=, 418.

Great Meadows, =1=, 3, 16.

Great Quitticus, =6=, 264.

Great River, the, or St. Lawrence, =5=, 89, 90, 91, 92.

Greece, verse, =5=, 404.

Greece, The Freedom of, translation, =5=, 390.

"Greece, who am I that should remember thee," verse, =1=, 54.

Greeley, Horace, =6=, 68, 96, 101, 104, 158, 169-172, 291, 297, 407.

Green Mountains, the, =5=, 6, 100, 145, 147.

Greenbush (Me.), =3=, 324.

Greene, Calvin H., =6=, 392, 403, 409; letters to, 408-412.

Greenland, driftwood in, =4=, 60.

Greenleaf's Map of Maine, =3=, 16.

Greenville (Me.), =3=, 99, 101, 188, 194, 209.

Grey, Mrs., =6=, 82.

Grey, the traveler, quoted, =5=, 94.

Grief, cause of, =6=, 41, 47, 48, 75, 89, 118, 168; remedy for, 41, 43, 48.

Griffith's Falls, =1=, 257.

Grimké sisters, =6=, 283, 288.

Grippling for apples, =5=, 309.

Groton (Mass.), =1=, 169; =5=, 139, 152.

Ground-nuts, the, =2=, 263-265.

Gulls, methods of catching, =4=, 71, 72; =5=, 110.

Gunnar (Norse hero), =6=, 382.

Guns, sound of distant big, =2=, 176.

Guyot, Arnold, =5=, 93; quoted, 93, 94, 220, 221.

Habington, William, quoted, =1=, 56, 102.

HABITS, ill, remedy for, =6=, 148, 149, 208, 226, 227.

Hafiz, quoted, =1=, 415.

Hale, Rev. Edward Everett (H. U. 1839), =6=, 307.

Hale, Nathan (H. U. 1838), =6=, 83, note.

Half lives, how the other, =1=, 227.

Hall, Leyden, at Plymouth, =6=, 190; Masonic, at Concord, 6; Music, Boston, 359.

Hamlet, Fechter's, =6=, 382.

Hampstead (N. H.), =1=, 185, 202.

Hard times, =6=, 317, 318.

Hare, the, =2=, 309, 310.

Harebell, the, =1=, 92.

Harivansa, the, quoted, =2=, 95.

Harper & Brothers, =6=, 105.

Harrison and Tyler, =6=, 371.

Harvard (Mass.), =5=, 151, 152; =6=, 45, 280.

Harvard College, =6=, 4, 10, 65, 104, 138, 237, 252.

Hastings, Warren, quoted, =1=, 142, 143.

Hasty, Captain, =6=, 184.

Hasty-pudding, friends flee approach of, =2=, 271.

Hate, =6=, 202; and love, 93, 199, 200.

Haverhill (Mass.), =1=, 87, 89, 185, 202; historian of, quoted, 322; 342.

"Have you not seen," verse, =5=, 413.

Hawk, fish, =5=, 110.

Hawk, watching a, =2=, 348, 349. _See_ Nighthawk.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, =6=, vii, 42, note, 51, 93, 107, 120, 364.

Hawthorne, Sophia, =6=, 45.

Haydon (English painter), =6=, 224, 301.

Haystack, the, =1=, 86.

Haze, =1=, 229. _See_ Fog.

Head, Sir Francis, quoted, =5=, 47, 221, 222.

Head of the River, New Bedford, =6=, 332, 333, 340.

Headley, Henry, =6=, 65.

Hearts, =6=, 200, 201, 294.

Heathenish, =6=, 191, 210.

Heaven, =1=, 405-409; =6=, 87, 163, 179, 196, 220, 284; admission to, 164, 220, 223.

Hebe, a worshiper of, =2=, 154.

Hecker, Isaac, =6=, 122, 123; letters to, 405, 407.

Hedgehog, shooting a, =3=, 130.

Heetopades of Veeshnoo Sarma, =1=, 153.

Height of Glory, The, translation, =5=, 384.

Hell, living in Massachusetts, or, =4=, 405, 406.

Henry, Alexander, Adventures of, =1=, 228, 230, 231; Wawatam's friendship with, 291.

Hens, =6=, 38, 63, 273.

HERALD OF FREEDOM, =4=, 306-310.

Heraud, John A., =6=, 61.

Herbert, George, =6=, 113, 377.

Hercules, labors of, trifling compared with those of T.'s neighbors, =2=, 5; =6=, 226, 344.

Hercules names the Hill of Kronos, translation, =5=, 377.

Hercules' Prayer concerning Ajax, son of Telamon, translation, =5=, 390.

Herds, the keepers of men, =2=, 62.

Hermit. _See_ Dialogue.

Hermitage, Walden, =6=, 154.

Hermit-life, =6=, 135, 158.

Herndon, William Lewis, quoted, =4=, 479, 480.

Heron, =1=, 416.

Heron Lake, =3=, 254, 255; =6=, 325.

Herrick, Robert, =5=, 298.

Herring River, =4=, 80.

Hesiod, quoted, =1=, 64.

Hester Street, meeting at, =6=, 97.

Hibiscus, =1=, 19.

Hickory, the, =5=, 264, 265.

Hide, stretching a, =3=, 147, 148; sale of a moose, 152.

Higginson, Thomas Wentworth (H. U. 1841), =6=, 189, 190, 260, 323-327.

HIGHER LAWS, =2=, 232-246.

HIGHLAND LIGHT, THE, =4=, 150-175.

Highland Light, =4=, 132, 150; description and stories of, 167-175; =6=, 255.

Highlanders in Quebec, =5=, 25-27, 28, 29, 79.

"Highlands" between the Penobscot and St. John, =3=, 238.

Hilton's clearing, =3=, 105.

Hindoos, =6=, 89, 271, 299, 300.

Hippocrates, on cutting the nails, =2=, 10, 11.

"His steady sails he never furls," verse, =5=, 109.

History, the reading and the antiquity of, =1=, 161-163; reading, =3=, 87.

Hoar family, =6=, 15, note, 321.

Hoar-frost, =5=, 126, 127.

Hoar, Ebenezer Rockwood (H. U. 1835), =6=, 15, 75, 78, 395.

Hoar, Edward Sherman (H. U. 1844), =6=, 75, 313, 330, 332-336.

Hoar, Elizabeth, =6=, 51, 75, 93, 116.

Hoar, George Frisbie (H. U. 1846), =6=, 15, note, 100.

Hoar, Samuel (H. U. 1802), =6=, 15, note, 351.

Hobble-bush, wayfarer's tree or, =3=, 96.

Hoboken (N.J.), =6=, 109.

Hochelaga, =5=, 89, 97, 99.

Hodge, assistant geologist, quoted, =3=, 29, 80.

Hodnet, England, =6=, 236, 237, note, 249, 272, note.

Hog Island, inside of Hull, =4=, 15.

Hog, the, =6=, 222, 328.

Holland, the King of, in his element, =3=, 239.

Hollowell place, the, =2=, 91, 92.

Home, =6=, ix, 50, 63; affection of T. for, 99, 262.

Homer, =1=, 97, 394; Iliad, =2=, 111; never yet printed in English, 115; quoted, 160; =5=, 181; =6=, 92, 197, 239, 291.

Hontan, French explorer, =6=, 389.

Hood's "Song of the Shirt," =6=, 224.

Hooksett (N. H.), =1=, 225, 251, 260, 273, 274, 308, 309, 335; Pinnacle, 318; Falls, 322.

Hoosac Mountain, T.'s ascent of, =1=, 189-200.

Hoosac Mountains, =5=, 147.

Hop, culture of the, =5=, 136, 137.

Hope, =6=, 20.

Hopeful, Sachem (John Thoreau), =6=, 13, 35.

Hopkinton (Mass.), =1=, 4, 32.

Horace, quoted, =6=, 27, 30.

Horns, uses for deer's, =3=, 97, 98.

Hornstone, =3=, 194.

Horses, to hang clothes on, wooden, =2=, 23, 24; men's work for, =4=, 286; Canadian, =5=, 34; =6=, 136, 142, 153, 294, 321, 334, 340.

"Horses have the mark," verse, =1=, 243.

Horse-race, =6=, 286, 293.

Horseshoe Interval, the, =1=, 126, 377.

_Hortus siccus_, nature in winter a, =5=, 179.

Hosmer, Edmund (the "farmer-man"), =6=, 93, 137, 154, 257, 261, 265, 270.

Hosmer, Solon, =6=, 257.

_Hospitalality_, not hospitality but, =2=, 168.

Hotham, Edmund Stuart, =6=, 59, note.

Hottentots and Ruskin, =6=, 319.

Houlton (Me.), road, the, =3=, 3, 8, 9, 12, 13.

Hounds hunting woods in winter, =2=, 305-309.

House, every spot possible site for a, =2=, 90; the ideal, 266-271; the perfect, =5=, 153.

Household, of Emerson, =6=, 35, 53, 54, 64, 135, 136, 142, 147, 152; of the Dunbars and Thoreaus, 4-7, 24, 27-32, 99, 104-106, 351.

House-raising at Walden Pond, =2=, 49, 50.

Houses, superfluities in our, =2=, 39; Canadian, =5=, 44, 59; American compared with Canadian, 100; lived in by Thoreau, =6=, 4-7, 24, 58, 141, 143, 144, 148-150; 369.

HOUSE-WARMING, =2=, 263-281.

Housework, a pleasant pastime, =2=, 125.

Howitt, William, =4=, 465; quoted on Australian gold-diggings, 467; =6=, 84, 235.

Huckleberries never reach Boston, =2=, 192.

Hudson (N. H.), =1=, 151, 152, 153, 169.

Hudson, Rev. Henry N., described, =6=, 145.

Hudson River, =6=, 70, 109, 392.

Huguenots of Staten Island, =1=, 190.

Hull (Mass.), =4=, 15.

Humane Society, huts of the, =4=, 63, 74-78.

Human nature, =6=, 8, 9, 37, 47, 96, 110, 160, 163, 166, 180, 196, 203, 208, 209.

Humboldt, Alexander von, quoted, =4=, 121; =5=, 92, 93.

Humor, the quality of, =4=, 335-337; T.'s sense of, =6=, xi, xii.

Hunt family, =6=, 106, 256, note.

Hunt House, the old, =5=, 201.

Hunter, a "gentlemanly," =3=, 178, 179; Indian, with hides, 231; enviable life of a, 269, 270.

Hunters, boys to be made first sportsmen, then, =2=, 234.

Hunting, the degradation of, =3=, 132-134.

Hut for shipwrecked sailors, =4=, 63, 74-78; in the woods, =6=, 58, 59, note, 125, 168.

Hyde, Tom, the tinker, quoted, =2=, 360, 361.

Hygeia, no worshiper of, =2=, 154.

Hypseus' Daughter Cyrene, translation, =5=, 383.

I, the first person, retained in this book, =2=, 3, 4.

"I am a parcel of vain strivings tied," verse, =1=, 410.

"I am bound, I am bound for a distant shore," verse, =1=, 2.

"I am the autumnal sun," verse, =1=, 404.

"I hearing get, who had but ears," verse, =1=, 392.

"I make ye an offer," verse, =1=, 69.

"I sailed up a river with a pleasant wind," verse, =1=, 2.

"I see the civil sun drying earth's tears," verse, =5=, 120.

"I've searched my faculties around," verse, =5=, 418.

"I wish to sing the Atridæ," verse, =1=, 240.

Ice, looking through the, on Walden Pond, =2=, 272; whooping of the, 301; cutting through, to get water, 312, 313; cutting on Walden Pond, 323-329; beauty of Walden, 327; booming of the, 333; =5=, 176; =6=, 206, 212, 250, 251, 273.

Iceberg, =6=, 335.

Ice formations in a river-bank, =5=, 128, 129.

Idle hours, =6=, 18, 47, 209, 254, 267.

"If I am poor," verse, =5=, 412.

"If thou wilt but stand by my ear," verse, =5=, 418.

"If with light head erect I sing," verse, =5=, 396.

Ignorance, Society for the Diffusion of Useful, =5=, 239.

Imagination, not exercised, =6=, 26; discussed by Ruskin, 319.

Imitations of charette-drivers, Yankee, =5=, 99.

Immigrants, =6=, 96, 110.

Immortality, =6=, 194, 225.

"In the East fames are won," verse, =4=, 346.

"In this roadstead I have ridden," verse, =5=, 414.

"In two years' time 't had thus," verse, =5=, 303.

"In vain I see the morning rise," verse, =1=, 366.

"Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell," verse, =6=, 202.

Independence, verse, =5=, 415.

India, books on, Cholmondeley's gift of, =6=, 270, note, 271.

Indian, crowding out of the, by whites, =1=, 53; civilizing the, 55; conversion of the, 82-85; capture of two Dunstable men, 174; attacks, letters to governor about expected, 232, 233; captivity, escape of Hannah Dustan and others from, 341-345; houses in Massachusetts Colony, =2=, 32, 33; extinction, =3=, 7; guides secured, 11; belief that river ran two ways, 35; words for some birds and animals, 108; camp, an, 146-159; language, 151; words for Maine waters, 155-157; houses at Oldtown, 161; relics, 166; speech, 187; singing, 198; methods of guiding, 204-206; manner of carrying canoes, 207, 208; inscription, an, 220; wardrobe, 249, 250; failure to understand avoidance of settlers, 258; medicines, 259; travel, 260, 261; as umpire, 267; skill in retracing steps, 277; relics and geographical names, 297; good manners, 300; devil (or cougar), the, 306; reticence and talkativeness, 318, 319; sickness, 319, 320; indifference, 326, habitation, signs of previous, =4=, 84, 85; =6=, 311, 315, 316, 336.

Indian Island, =3=, 92, 174, 326, 327.

Indian summer, =6=, 38, 340.

Indoors, living, =5=, 207-209.

Infidelity, the real, =1=, 77.

Ingraham, Cato, slave of Duncan, =2=, 283.

Inherited property a misfortune, =2=, 5.

Injustice, =6=, 228.

Inn, inscription on wall of Swedish, =5=, 141.

Insect foes, =3=, 246.

Inspector of storms, self-appointed, =2=, 19, 20.

Inspiration, quatrain, =5=, 418.

Inspiration, verse, =5=, 396.

Institutions, the burden of, =1=, 135, 136.

Invertebrate Animals, report on quoted, =5=, 129.

Inward Morning, The, verse, =1=, 313.

Iolaus, and hydra's head, =2=, 5.

Ireland, Alexander, =6=, 155, 157.

Irish, physical condition of the poor, =2=, 38, 39.

Irishmen, =6=, 116, 149.

Islands, =1=, 257, 258; Clark's, =6=, 301, 328; Staten, xi, 65, 68, 117.

"It doth expand my privacies," verse, =1=, 182.

"It is no dream of mine," verse, =2=, 215.

Italian discoverers, =4=, 234, 235.

Jackson, Dr. Charles T., =3=, 4, 10; quoted, regarding altitude of Ktaadn, 72; on Moosehead Lake, 104; sketches in Reports of, 120; quoted, regarding hornstone on Mount Kineo, 194, 195; =6=, 35, note, 144.

Jackson, Miss Lidian (Mrs. R. W. Emerson.) _See_ Emerson.

Jackson, Miss Lucy (Mrs. Brown), =6=, 35, note, 42, note, 49, 50, 113, 136, 329, note; letters to, 35-49.

Jaffrey (N. H.), =6=, 330.

Jail in Concord, =6=, 52.

Jamblichus, quoted, =1=, 184.

James, Henry, Sr., meets T., =6=, 68, 80; mentioned, 85, 101; his sons, 103, 122, 346, 347.

Jarvis, Dr. Edward (H. U. 1826), =6=, 21.

Jaundice, =6=, 118, 152.

Jays, arrival of the, =2=, 303, 304; =5=, 108, 199.

Jeremiah's Gutter, =4=, 36.

Jerusalem Village (Mass.), =4=, 16.

Jesuit Relations, quoted, =5=, 96.

Jesuits, and Indian torture, =2=, 83; early in New England, =4=, 232; Barracks, the, in Quebec, =5=, 24.

Jesus Christ, the effect of the story of, =1=, 67; prince of Reformers and Radicals, 142; liberalizing influence of, =2=, 120.

Joe Merry Lakes, the, =3=, 45.

Joe Merry Mountain, =3=, 38, 51, 218.

Joel, the prophet, quoted, =5=, 322.

Johnson, Edward, quoted, =1=, 8; =2=, 42, 43.

Jones, Dr. S. A., =6=, 403.

Jones family, =6=, 12, note, 91, 104.

Jones, Sir William, =1=, 154.

Jonson, Ben, quoted, =5=, 226.

Josselyn, John, =1=, 27, 29; quoted, =3=, 156, 164; =4=, 98; quoted, =5=, 2.

Judge and criminal, =6=, 227, 228.

Justice, the administration of, =4=, 395, 396.

Kalm, Travels in North America, quoted, =4=, 126, 201; =5=, 21, 30, 39, 65; on sea-plants near Quebec, 93.

Kalmiana. _See_ Nuphar.

Kane, Dr. E. K., =6=, 362.

Katepskonegan Falls, =3=, 52; Carry, 81.

Katepskonegan Lake, =3=, 50, 57.

Katepskonegan Stream, =3=, 50.

Kearsage, =1=, 86.

Keene (N. H.) Street, =5=, 4; heads like, 4.

Kelp, =4=, 67-70.

Kenduskeag, meaning of, =3=, 156.

Kennebec River, the, =3=, 5, 40, 103, 183, 188, 233, 272.

Kent, the Duke of, property of, =5=, 38.

Khoung-tseu, =2=, 105.

Kieou-he-yu, =2=,105.

Killington Peak, =5=, 6.

Kineo, Mount, =3=, 101-103, 156, 183, 186, 189; Indian tradition of origin of, 190; hornstone on, 194; 196, 203, 260, 299; =6=, 325.

Kirby, William, and Spence, quoted, =2=, 237, 256.

Kirkland, Mrs. Caroline, =6=, 288.

Kittlybenders, let us not play at, =2=, 363.

Knife, an Indian, =3=, 156.

Knots of the Alcott arbor, =6=, 136, 137.

Knowledge, the slow growth of, =5=, 181; Society for the Diffusion of Useful, 239; true, 240.

Kossuth, the excitement about, =4=, 470, 471.

Kreeshna, teachings of, =1=, 144-146.

KTAADN, =3=, 3-90.

Ktaadn, Mount, =3=, 1; ascents of, 3-5; view of, 23; first view of, 36; 38; the flat summit of, 49; 58, 61; T.'s ascent of, 63-76; altitude of, 72; 96, 121, 136, 167, 215, 218, 249, 257, 260, 297, 312, 313; =6=, 132, 255.

LABOR, uses of, =6=, 63, 116, 170, 171, 221, 222; results of, 165, 166, 170, 171, 182, note.

Laborer, choosing occupation of a day, =2=, 77; falling in pond with many clothes on, 83.

Laboring man has no time to be anything but a machine, the, =2=, 6, 7.

Labrador and East Main, health in the words, =5=, 104.

Labrador tea, =6=, 327.

Ladies'-tresses, =1=, 18.

"Lady's Companion," a magazine, =6=, 107, 108.

Laing, Samuel, quoted, =2=, 29, 30.

Lake, the earth's eye, a, =2=, 206; country of New England, the, =3=, 40; a woodland, in winter, =5=, 174, 175.

Lake Champlain, Long Wharf to, =2=, 132; =5=, 6-8.

Lake St. Peter, =5=, 96, 97.

Lalemant, Hierosme, quoted, =5=, 22.

Lamentations, =6=, 41, 42, 179, 180, 213, 214, 226, 229.

Lamprey eel, =1=, 31; =6=, 127.

_Lampyris noctiluca_, =6=, 310, 327, 328.

Lancaster (Mass.), =1=, 169; =5=, 138, 139, 149.

Land and water, =6=, xi, 14, 69, 83, 267, 268, 301.

LANDLORD, THE, =5=, 153-162.

Landlord, qualities of the, =5=, 153-162.

Lane, Charles (English reformer), =6=, 52, 58, 64, 90, 104, 125; writes for the "Dial," 59-63.

La Prairie (Que.), =5=, 11, 18, 99.

Lar, =6=, 67.

Larch, extensive wood of, =3=, 231.

Lark, the, =5=, 109, 110.

LAST DAYS OF JOHN BROWN, THE, =4=, 441-450.

"Lately, alas, I knew a gentle boy," verse, =1=, 276.

Latin, grammars, =6=, 25; epistle, 27-29; pronunciation, 25; writers mentioned or quoted, viii, xi, 27, 28.

Lawrence (Mass.), =1=, 89.

Laws, beautiful, =6=, 177; eternal, 173.

"Leach-hole" in Walden Pond, =2=, 322.

Lead, rain of, =5=, 26.

Leaf, resemblance of sand-formation to a, =2=, 338.

Leaves, fallen, =5=, 264-270; scarlet oak, 278-281.

Lectures, by T., =6=, 6, 145, 150, 154, 189-192, 232, 233, 244, 251, 276, 289, 303, 349.

Ledum (Labrador tea), =6=, 327.

Lee's Hill, =6=, 15, note; alias Nashawtuc or Naushawtuck, =6=, 15, 27, 30.

Lee-vites, a nickname, =6=, 15, note.

Legs, the, as compasses, =4=, 88.

Lescarbot, quoted, regarding abundance of fishes, =3=, 60; =4=, 240, 249.

"Let such pure hate still underprop," verse, =1=, 305.

_Leuciscus (argenteus, pulchellus)_, =6=, 127, 131.

Letters: From Louis Agassiz, =6=, 129. From A. B. Alcott, =6=, 397; to him, 282. From H. G. O. Blake, =6=, 158, 159; to him, 160, 164, 173, 174, 177, 179, 185, 194, 197, 209, 217, 221, 225, 229, 258, 292, 302, 307, 308, 314, 330, 343, 349, 358, 360, 364, 368, 383. From Myron B. Benton, =6=, 398; to him, 399. To Mrs. Lucy Cotton Brown, =6=, 35, 37, 40, 43, 46. From J. E. Cabot, =6=, 130, 131; to him, 126, 128, 155. From Ellery Channing, =6=, 121, 271. From Thomas Cholmondeley, =6=, 380; to him, 245. From R. W. Emerson, =6=, 49, 58, 83, note, 94, note, 102, 104, 120, 125, 142, 155; to him, 50, 54, 59, 62, 78, 80, 92, 101, 107, 113, 135, 142, 144, 148, 151, 157, 183. From Mrs. R. W. Emerson, =6=, 64; to her, 76, 87, 112. To Calvin H. Greene, =6=, 408-412. To Isaac Hecker, =6=, 405, 407. To T. W. Higginson, =6=, 189, 323. From Miss Elizabeth Hoar, =6=, 116. To Parker Pillsbury, =6=, 378. From James Richardson, =6=, 10, note. From Daniel Ricketson, =6=, 238, 246, 257; to him, 239, 240, 246, 261, 263, 266, 270, 273, 284, 285, 304, 311, 313, 337, 341, 350, 353, 376. To F. B. Sanborn, =6=, 249, 385. To Cynthia Thoreau, =6=, 68, 84, 89, 98, 104, 108. To Helen Thoreau, =6=, 12, 25, 27, 32, 74, 95, 117. To John Thoreau, Jr., =6=, 13, 19, 23. To Sophia Thoreau, =6=, 31, 71, 132, 193, 286, 363. From B. M. Watson, =6=, 190, 327; to him, 6, 191, 309, 327. To B. B. Wiley, =6=, 298, 300.

Lexington (Mass.), =2=, 306.

Libraries, at Cambridge, =6=, 252; at Concord, 270; at New York, 81, 106, 109, 114, 122.

Liebig, J. F. von, quoted, 2, 14.

Life, the world and, =1=, 310-316; cares and labors of, =2=, 6, 7; an experiment, 10; students not to play or study, but to live, 56, 57; purposes of, 100, 101; one has imagined living the, 356; live your, however mean, 361; in us, like the water in the river, 366; emptiness of ordinary, =6=, 161, 162, 179, 209, 210, 213, 214, 230; eternal, 161, 164, 173, 174, 194, 225; facts of, 44, 162, 212; labyrinth of, 173; mean aspects of, 79, 82, 229; phenomena of, xi, xii, 40, 47, 199, 203, 204, 216, 221, 222, 268, 328; qualifications for practical, 7, 11, 34, 59, 135, 171; spiritual and material, 9, 88, 160, 214, 227.

LIFE WITHOUT PRINCIPLE, =4=, 455-482.

Light. _See_ Moonlight and Sunset.

"Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird," verse, =2=, 279.

Lilac, growing by deserted houses, =2=, 290.

Lily, the yellow, =3=, 209, 291; roots, gathering, 309; roots, soup of, 317.

Lily Bay, =3=, 97, 99.

Limits of living, =2=, 7.

Lincoln, Abraham, =6=, 283, 378, 380.

Lincoln (Me.), =3=, 9, 85, 260, 319, 321, 322.

Lincoln (Mass.), =1=, 5; =2=, 95, 136, 173, 282; owls in woods of, 138, 139; Flint's Pond in, 216; chestnut woods of, 263; burying-ground, 284, 299; =5=, 282, 283.

Lining of beauty for houses, =2=, 44.

Linnæus (Linné, Karl von), quoted, =5=, 222; =6=, 207, 208.

Litchfield (N. H.), =1=, 204, 206, 227.

Little Reading, =2=, 116.

Little Schoodic River, the, =3=, 23.

Living, getting a, =4=, 457-462. _See_ Life.

Lobster Pond, =3=, 106, 210.

Lobster Stream, =3=, 105, 210.

Lockwood. _See_ F. J. Merriam.

Locusts, =3=, 254; =6=, 90.

Log house, a, =3=, 138.

Loggers, camps of, =3=, 20; a gang of, 38.

Logs, from woods to market, sending, =3=, 46-49.

London, =6=, 137, 155, 343, 362.

Londonderry (N. H.), =1=, 92, 268.

Loneliness, desirable, =2=, 147, 151, 152.

Long Pond, =6=, 264.

Long River (La Rivière Longue), =6=, 389.

Long Wharf, taking a place at, =4=, 267.

Longfellow, H. W., =6=, 101, 251, 345, note.

Longueuil (Que.), =5=, 20.

Loon, hunting, and a game with the, =2=, 258-262; Indian word for, =3=, 182; cry of the, 247, 248.

Loring, E. G., =4=, 389, 393, 394.

Lost, in the lakes, experienced woodmen. =3=, 41; in the woods, T.'s companion, 285-290.

Lost dove, horse, and hound, =6=, 301.

Loudon, John Claudius, quoted, =5=, 197, 200, 291, 292, 310.

Louisa, Aunt (Dunbar), =6=, 99.

Love, the power of, =4=, 304, 305; charms of, 198-200, 204, 205, 206, 208; corrupted, 199, 206, 208; potency of, 201, 203, 204; and marriage, 198-209, 302. _See_ Friendship.

"Love once among roses," verse, =1=, 244.

"Love walking swiftly," verse, =1=, 242.

"Lovely dove," verse, =1=, 241.

Lovewell, Captain, and his Indian fight, =1=, 123; John, father of, 168, 176; =3=, 245.

"Low-anchored cloud," verse, =1=, 201.

"Low in the eastern sky," verse, =1=, 46; =5=, 400.

Lowell, James Russell (H. U. 1838), =6=, 61, 251, 345, 395.

Lowell (Mass.), =1=, 4, 31, 32, 39, 85, 87, 89, 115, 117, 225, 251, 264.

Lowell, Mrs., =6=, 24.

Lucretius, =6=, xi.

Luxury, fruit of a life of, =2=, 16.

Lyceum, the, =1=, 102; =2=, 121, 122; =6=, 6, 49, 51, 52, 61, 115, 145, 150, 154, 275; at Salem, 191; at Worcester, 303.

Lydgate, John, quoted, =1=, 57.

Lyman, Benjamin Smith (H. U. 1855), =6=, 252.

Lynx, Canada, =6=, 355.

Lyttelton, Lord, =6=, 383.

Macaulay, Rev. Zachary, =6=, 272, note.

McCauslin, or "Uncle George," weather-bound at farm of, =3=, 23-29; good services as guide by, 40-42.

McCulloch's Geographical Dictionary, quoted, =5=, 49.

McGaw's Island, =1=, 245.

McKean, Henry Swasey (H. U. 1828), =6=, 109, 114, 122.

Mackerel, fishing for, =4=, 179-184, 189, 190; =6=, 229; fleet, the, 198, 261.

McTaggart, John, quoted, =5=, 94.

MacTavish, Simon, =5=, 98.

Mad River, =1=, 87.

Madawaska, the, =3=, 80; =6=, 323-326.

Mahabarat, =6=, 300.

Maiden in the East, =6=, 329, note.

Maine, mountainous region of, =3=, 4; intelligence of backwoodsmen in, 24; view of, 73; the forest of, 88; =6=, 6, 132, 145, 254, 311, 315, 322, 324-326.

Make-a-Stir, Squire, =2=, 8.

Male and female, =6=, 198, 207.

Mallet for flints, =6=, 19.

Man, =6=, 12, 31, 37; his activity, 167, 173, 213, 214; his bread, 164, 165; his duty, 167, 186; his education, 178, 221, 222; his freedom, 175, 188, 196; his generation, 208; his immortality, 259, 294; his meanness, 179, 226.

Man, translation, =5=, 383.

Man, The Divine in, translation, =5=, 386.

Manchester (N. H.), =1=, 89, 225, 250, 251; Mfg. Co., 259, 260; 264, 268, 274.

Manilla hemp, =2=, 132.

Mankind, =6=, 8, 9, 31, 80, 136, 209, 210.

Mann, Horace, Jr., =6=, 385, 392.

"Man's little acts are grand," verse, =1=, 224.

Manse, the Old, =6=, 42, 51.

Map, of the Public Lands of Maine and Massachusetts, =3=, 17, 101, 104, 308; drawing, on kitchen table, =5=, 60; of Canada, inspecting a, 95.

Maple, the red and sugar, =5=, 6; the red, 258-263, 265; the sugar, 261, 271-278.

Maple sugar, =6=, 278.

Maples, autumn colors of, =2=, 265; =5=, 6, 258-263, 265, 271-278.

Maps of Cape Cod, and New England, =4=, 227-231, 234; of walking tours, =6=, 329, 335.

Marañon, the river, =5=, 93.

Maria, Aunt (Thoreau's), =6=, 118.

Mark-Lane Gazette, =6=, 124.

Marlborough (Mass.), =5=, 214.

Marlborough Chapel, =6=, 129.

Marriage, a sign of, =3=, 232; =6=, 139, 199, 200, 204, 205, 207-209, 302.

Mars' Hill, =3=, 8.

Marston, John, of Taunton, =6=, 21.

Marston-Watson, Benjamin (H. U. 1839), =6=, 43. _See_ Watson.

Marvell, Andrew, quoted, =4=, 451.

Massabesic, Lake, =1=, 89; Pond, 250.

Massachusetts, T.'s wish not to be associated with, =1=, 135; the attitude of, towards slavery, =4=, 362, 363; duty of the Abolitionists in, 369; slavery in, 388; the governor of, 389-392; judges, 401, 402; unworthy to be followed, 403-406; the share of, in Harper's Ferry, 430, 431; election in, =6=, 16, 18, 141.

Massachusetts Bay, shallowness of, =4=, 124.

Massachusetts Historical Society, Collections of the, =4=, 20.

Massachusetts Quarterly Review, =6=, 144.

Massasoit, visited by Winslow, =2=, 158.

Matahumkeag, =3=, 107; meaning of the word, 157; 210.

Matanancook River, the, =3=, 321.

Mathematics, =1=, 386.

Mattaseunk, =3=, 18.

Mattawamkeag, the, =3=, 12, 13, 16; meaning of the name, 157; 256.

Mattawamkeag Point, =3=, 4, 11, 38, 88, 316, 319.

Matungamook Lake, =3=, 295.

Maturing, no need of haste towards, =2=, 359.

Maxims. _See_ Aphorisms.

May, Rev. Joseph, (H. U. 1857), =6=, 451.

May, Rev. Samuel Joseph, (H. U. 1818), =6=, 390.

Meadow River, Musketaquid or, =1=, 8.

Meadows, of Concord, =6=, 36, 92, 250, 334; birds in the, 14; cranberries in, 204.

Meanness complained of, =6=, 88, 173, 175, 176, 187.

Meat and drink, =6=, 164, 165.

Medicine, =6=, 15-17.

Medicine, Yellow-river, =6=, 391.

Meeting-houses, =6=, 195, 336, 359; meeting-house cellar, 322.

Melancholy, =6=, 41, 182, 209.

Melon, buying a, =1=, 335; =6=, ix.

Memorial Verses, by Channing, =6=, 65, note.

Memory, =6=, 26, 41, 42, 93, 106; of former life, 179, 210, 211.

Men, in crowds, =6=, 79, 82, 83; of God, 214.

"Men are by birth equal in this, that given," verse, =1=, 311.

"Men dig and dive but cannot my wealth spend," verse, =1=, 373.

Mencius, quoted, =1=, 280; =2=, 242, 243.

Mending, =6=, 108, 363.

Menhaden, schools of, =4=, 120.

Mentors, of little use, =2=, 10.

Menu, the laws of, =1=, 154-161.

Merit and demerit, =6=, 87, 88, 97, 98, 145, 161, 162.

Merlin, =6=, 227.

Merriam, Francis Jackson, =6=, 366-368.

Merrimack (N. H.), =1=, 225, 227, 251, 353, 357, 391.

Merrimack River, =1=, 8, 19, 62, 63, 80, 81; origin and course of the, 85-92; 113, 122, 150, 169, 170, 174, 177, 181, 189, 200, 202, 203, 204; the Gazetteer quoted, 206, 207, 209, 210, 225, 226, 227, 232, 251, 259, 260, 263, 269, 271, 309, 321, 345, 354; freshet on the, 379, 383, 391; =5=, 147; =6=, 6.

Message, the President's, =6=, 379.

Methods of action, =6=, 8, 9, 33, 47, 56, 67, 88, 89, 108, 118.

Mice, visited by, on Hoosac Mountain, =1=, 196; sent to Agassiz, =6=, 128, 132.

Michaux on lumbering, quoted, =3=, 48.

Michaux, André, quoted, =5=, 269.

Michaux, François André, quoted, =5=, 220, 261, 301.

Microscope, =6=, 361.

Middleborough, Bennet's Account of, =6=, 264, 265.

Middlesex (Mass.), =1=, 62, 80, 226, 385.

Middlesex Cattle Show, =2=, 36.

Midnight, exploring the, =5=, 323.

Mikania, the climbing, =1=, 43.

Milford (Me.), =3=, 7.

Milky Way? Is not our planet in the, =2=, 147.

Miller, a crabbed, =5=, 69.

Millinocket Lake, =3=, 29, 41, 73, 260.

Millinocket River, =3=, 29, 31, 86-88, 223.

Mill's "British India," =6=, 271, note.

Milne, Alexander, quoted, =5=, 193, 194.

Milton, John, quoted, =6=, 274.

Milton, the town, =6=, 219.

Minding his business, till ineligible as town officer, T., =2=, 20.

Minerva, Momus objects to house of, =2=, 37.

Ministers, on Monday morning, =1=, 123; with, on Ktaadn, =3=, 214; salaries of country, =4=, 45; some old Cape Cod, 48-55.

Minnesota, Indians of, =6=, 389, 390; rivers of, 386-389; trip to, 252, note, 380, 384-386.

Minnows, =6=, 127, 128, 131, 132.

Minot's Ledge, the light on, =4=, 262, 263.

Minott, George, =6=, 52, 91, 92, 106, 374, 375.

Minott, Mary, =6=, 374, 376.

Mîr Camar Uddin Mast, quoted, =2=, 111.

Mirabeau, on highway robbery, quoted, =2=, 355.

Mirages on sand and sea, =4=, 190-193.

Mirror, New York Weekly, =6=, 107, 111.

Misanthropy, not a trait of T., =6=, xii, 238.

Miscellany, Boston, =6=, 83, note, 102, note.

Mission, verse, =5=, 418.

Mississippi, discovery of the, =5=, 90; extent of the, 93; a panorama of the, 224; =6=, 384, 386, 389.

Missouri Compromise, =4=, 408.

Mizzling of sixpences, =6=, 83.

Model farm, a, =2=, 218.

"Modern improvements," an illusion about, =2=, 57, 58.

"Modern Painters," =6=, 319.

Mohawk Rips, the, =3=, 322.

Mohawk traditions, =3=, 154.

Moisture in Cape Cod air, =4=, 165.

Molasses, Molly, =3=, 174.

Molunkus (Me.), =3=, 13, 15.

Momus, objection to Minerva's house by, =2=, 37.

Monadnock Mountain, =1=, 173; =5=, 4, 143, 145, 147; =6=, 329, 330, 364, 365, 368-372.

MONDAY, =1=, 121-187.

Money, making, the evil of, =4=, 458-461; =6=, 161, 162, 318, 332; hard, 318.

Monhegan Island, =3=, 94.

Monson (Me.), =3=, 97, 98, 161.

Montcalm, Wolfe and, monument to, =5=, 73, 74.

Montmorenci County, =5=, 62; the habitans of, 64-68.

Montmorenci, Falls of, =5=, 29, 37-39.

Montreal (Que.), =5=, 9, 11; described, 14-16; the mixed population of, 17, 18; from Quebec to, 96, 97; and its surroundings, beautiful view of, 98; the name of, 98.

Monuments, graveyards and, =1=, 177; descendants more dead than, 269; good sense worth more than, =2=, 64; at Concord, =6=, 24.

Moon, The, verse, =5=, 406.

MOONLIGHT, NIGHT AND, =5=, 323-333.

Moonlight, reading by, =5=, 145.

Moonshine, =5=, 324, 325.

Moore, Thomas, =5=, 98.

Moore's Falls, =1=, 245.

Moose, sign of, =3=, 58, 65, 108; carcass of a, 109; night expedition in vain hunt for, 110-115; shooting at and wounding a, 122-124; found, measured, and skinned, 125-130; Indian ideas about, 153; Indian tradition of evolution of, from the whale, 163; shooting and skinning a, on Second Lake, 292-295; =6=, 311, 326, 336, 339.

Moose River, =3=, 189.

Moose wardens, laxness of, =3=, 231.

Moose-flies, =3=, 246.

Moosehead Lake, =3=, 45, 46, 73, 95, 97, 99, 100; steamers and sail-boats on, 104, 108, 117, 145, 150, 152, 155; Indian name for, 159, 175, 176, 181, 183; extent of, 184, 188, 193, 231, 252, 255; dragon-fly on, 272, 299, 322; =6=, 321, 324.

Moosehillock, =1=, 86.

Moosehorn Deadwater, =3=, 109.

Moosehorn Stream, the, =3=, 111, 113, 117, 118, 145, 216.

Moose-wood, =3=, 65; phosphorescent light in, 199.

Morning, impressions of, =1=, 42; work, a man's, =2=, 40; renewal of, 98-100; work in the early, 172, 173; winter, early, =5=, 163-166. _See_ Sunrise.

Morrison, John, head of a lumber-gang, =3=, 38.

Mortgages, abundance of, in Concord, =2=, 35, 36.

Morton, Edwin (H. U. 1855), =6=, 252, 301, note, 380.

Morton, Thomas, =5=, 2.

Mosquitoes, =3=, 246, 310, 311.

Mott, Mrs. Lucretia, =6=, 97.

Mount Ararat in Provincetown, =4=, 190.

Mount Monadnock. _See_ Monadnock.

Mount Royal (Montreal), =5=, 11.

Mount Washington, =6=, 320, 321, 334.

Mountain-ash, =3=, 94.

Mountain-tops, =3=, 71.

Mountains, the use of, =5=, 148, 149; and plain, influence of the, 150, 151; =6=, 195, 196, 215, 316, 319, 323, 329, 330, 334-336, 347, 360, 363, 368, 369.

Mourt's Relation, quoted, =4=, 38, 94, 251.

Mouse, in T.'s house, =2=, 249, 250; the wild, 309.

Mud Pond, =3=, 233, 237, 238, 240, 243, 244; =6=, 325.

Mud-puddle, the sun in a, =6=, 242.

Munroe, James, publisher, =6=, 61, 125, 182, 332.

Murch Brook, =3=, 58, 64, 74.

Muse, The Venality of the, translation =5=, 389.

Muses, =6=, 45, 178.

Music, the suggestions of, =1=, 183-209; =6=, 41, 42, note, 45, 46, 75, 193, 231, 263. _See_ Earth-song, Sounds.

Musketaquid, Grass-ground, Prairie, or Concord River, the, =1=, 3, 8; =5=, 115; =6=, 13, 60, 258.

Muskrat (musquash), a colony, =2=, 185; in Goose Pond, 299; calling a, =3=, 227; =5=, 114-117; house of, =6=, 221.

Musquash. _See_ Muskrat.

Mussel, the, =5=, 129.

"My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read," verse, =1=, 320.

"My life has been the poem I would have writ," verse, =1=, 365.

"My life is like a stroll upon the beach," verse, =1=, 255.

"My life more civil is and free," verse, =5=, 415.

"My love must be as free," verse, =1=, 297.

Myself and Yourself, =6=, 215, 361.

Mystics, =6=, 150.

Mythology, ancient history, =1=, 60.

Nahant (Mass.), =3=, 170.

Names, of places, longing for English, =1=, 54; poetry in, =5=, 20; of places, French, 56, 57; men's, 236, 237; of colors, 273, 574.

Nantasket (Mass.), =4=, 16.

Nashua (N. H.), =1=, 87, 89, 115, 116, 126, 151, 152, 169, 170, 173, 179, 391.

Nashua River, the, =1=, 375.

Nashville (N. H.), =1=, 175, 179.

Naticook Brook, =1=, 227.

NATURAL HISTORY OF MASSACHUSETTS, =5=, 103-131.

Natural history, reading books of, =5=, 103, 105.

Natural life, the, =1=, 405.

Nature, adorned, =1=, 18, 19; laws of, for man, 34; indifference of, 117; provisions of, for end of her creatures, 236; tame and wild, 337; and Art, 339; composing her poem Autumn, 403; adapted to our weakness as to our strength, =2=, 12; a liberty in, 143; no melancholy or solitude in the midst of, 145-147; the medicines of, 153; known only as a robber by the farmer, 183; men who become a part of, 232, 233; questions and answers of, 312; our knowledge of the laws of, 320; helping lay the keel of, 334; principle of operations of, 340; man's need of, 350; the earth as made by, =3=, 77, 78; always young, 89, 90; the coarse use of, 133; health to be found in, =5=, 105; man's work the most natural compared with that of, 119; the hand of, upon her children, 124, 125; different methods of work, 125; the civilized look of, 141; the winter purity of, 167; a _hortus siccus_ in, 179; men's relation to, 241, 242; love of, =6=, 3, 37, 64, 231, 277; objects of, 9, 36, 37, 71, 74, 75, 83, 87, 93.

Nature, verse, =5=, 395.

"Nature doth have her dawn each day," verse, =1=, 302.

"Nature has given horns," verse, =1=, 242.

Nauset Harbor, in Orleans, =4=, 31, 64.

Nauset Lights, =4=, 41.

Nawshawtuct Hill, =5=, 384.

Nebraska Bill, the, =4=, 403.

Necessaries of life, =2=, 12, 13.

Necessity, a seeming fate, commonly called, =2=, 6.

Negro slavery, =2=, 8.

Neighborhood, avoiding a bad, ourselves, =2=, 37.

Neptune, Louis, =3=, 10, 86; a call on governor, 162, 163; the old chief, 174.

Neptune, the god, =6=, 28; the planet, 138.

Nerlumskeechticook Mountain, =3=, 249, 260, 291, 297, 298, 301.

Nesenkeag, =1=, 206.

Nests, fishes', =1=, 24, 25; =6=, 63, 161.

Neva marshes at Walden Pond, no, =2=, 23.

New Bedford, =6=, 235-240, 258, 261, 263, 265, 271, 274, 313, 333, 341, 342, 352, 359, 396.

New clothes, beware of all enterprises requiring, =2=, 26.

Newcomb, Charles, =6=, 298, note.

New England, Arcadian element in the life of, =1=, 256; "Walden" of and for people of, =2=, 4; hardships endured that men may die in, 15; wealth causes respect in, 25; mean life lived by inhabitants of, 107; can hire all the wise men of the world to teach her, 122; natural sports of, 233; Rum, 285; Night's entertainment, a, 297.

New Hampshire, =1=, 85; for the Antipodes, leaving, 151; man, a, 211; line, crossing the, 377; =6=, 329, 331, 334-336, 363, 365.

New Hollander, naked when European shivers in clothes, =2=, 14.

New Jersey, =6=, 70, 283-290.

New Netherland, Secretary of Province, quoted, =2=, 43.

"New Orleans Crescent" and Whitman, =6=, 291.

New Testament, the, =1=, 72-75, 142; practicalness of, 146; =6=, 137.

New things to be seen near home, =5=, 211, 212.

Newbury (Mass.), =1=, 87.

Newbury port (Mass.), =1=, 87-89.

Newfound Lake, =1=, 87, 89.

News, getting the, from ocean steamers, =1=, 253; "What's the," =2=, 104; futility of the, 104.

Newspapers, reading, on Hoosac Mountain, =1=, 194; influence and servility of Boston, =4=, 398-400; and John Brown, 416, 417; evils of reading the, 471-476; =6=, 175, 176, 180, 186.

Newton, Sir Isaac, =6=, 136.

"New World," =6=, 107, note.

New York, =6=, 18, 35, 50, 53, 62, 68, 70, 72, 78-80, 83-87, 90, 95, 101, 107, note, 109, 117, 121, 283, 287, 291, 296, 297.

New Zealand, =6=, 236, 255, 381, 383, note.

Niagara, =6=, 384.

Nicketow (Me.) =3=, 7, 19, 260, 316, 319.

Niebuhr, Barthold George, quoted, =5=, 290.

Niepce, Joseph Nicéphore, quoted, =5=, 238.

Night, thoughts in the, =1=, 354; walking the woods by, =2=, 187-190; in the woods, a, =3=, 43-45; thoughts by a stream at, 131; sounds in the woods at, 247, 248; on Wachusett, =5=, 146; the senses in the, =5=, 327, 328; on the mountain, =6=, 371; on the river, 231. _See_ Sunset.

NIGHT AND MOONLIGHT, =5=, 323-333.

Nightfall, =1=, 37-40, 117.

Nilometer. _See_ Realometer.

Nine Acre Corner, =1=, 5; White Pond in, =2=, 199.

Nix's mate, story of, =4=, 267.

"No Admittance," never painted on T.'s gate, =2=, 18.

"No generous action can delay," verse, =5=, 418.

Noah's dove, =6=, 48.

Nobscot Hill, =5=, 303, 304; =6=, 280.

Noliseemack, Shad Pond or, =3=, 29.

North Adams (Mass.), =1=, 185.

North Bridge, =1=, 14, 16, 33.

North River (Assabet), =1=, 4.

North Twin Lake, =3=, 39, 80, 84.

Northeaster, a, =4=, 204, 209-211.

Norumbega, =4=, 239; =5=, 90.

Norwegian immigrants, =6=, 110.

No-see-em, midge called, =3=, 245, 246.

"Not unconcerned Wachusett rears his head," verse, =5=, 144.

Notes from the Journal of a Scholar (Charles Emerson), =6=, 94.

Notre Dame (Montreal), =5=, 11; a visit to, 12-14.

Notre Dame des Anges, Seigniory of, =5=, 96.

Nova Scotia, =6=, 338.

Novel-reading, =2=, 116, 117.

"Now chiefly is my natal hour," verse, =1=, 182.

Nuptials, of plants, =6=, 207; of mankind, 204, 205.

Nurse-plants, =5=, 193.

Nuthatch, the, =5=, 108.

Nuts, =6=, 3, 216, 300.

Nuttall, Thomas, quoted, =5=, 111, 112.

Nutting, in Lincoln woods, =2=, 263, 264.

Nutting, Sam, an old hunter, =2=, 308.

Oak, succeeding pine, and vice versa, =5=, 185, 187, 189; the scarlet, 278-281; leaves, scarlet, 278-280.

Oak Hall hand-bill and carry, =3=, 55, 83.

Observatory on Hoosac Mountain, the, =1=, 197.

Ocean, calm, rough, and fruitful, =4=, 124-128; beaches across the, 177, 178; its phenomena, =6=, xi, 70, 133.

October, the best season for visiting the Cape, =4=, 272.

Ode to Beauty, Emerson's, =6=, 115-117.

"Oft, as I turn me on my pillow o'er," verse, =1=, 384.

Ogilby, America of 1670, quoted, =5=, 91.

Olamon Mountains, =3=, 323.

Olamon River, the, and meaning of word, =3=, 324.

Olata, the swift-sailing yacht, =4=, 265.

Old Fort Hill, =3=, 166.

Old Marlborough Road, The, verse, =5=, 214.

Oldtown (Me.), =3=, 4, 6, 7, 9, 88, 142, 152, 153, 160, 161, 166, 167, 174, 192, 202, 204, 222, 226, 259, 272, 274, 313, 320, 322, 323, 325-327.

Olympia, =6=, 55.

Olympia at Evening, translation, =5=, 378.

Olympus, the outside of the earth, everywhere, =2=, 94; =6=, 93.

Omnipresence, verse, =5=, 417.

"O nature! I do not aspire," verse, =5=, 395.

On a Silver Cup, verse, =1=, 240.

On Himself, =1=, 241.

On His Lyre, verse, =1=, 240.

On Love, verse, =1=, 242.

On Lovers, verse, =1=, 243.

"On Ponkawtasset, since we took our way," verse, =1=, 16.

On Women, verse, =1=, 242.

"One more is gone," verse, =5=, 405.

Opera, =6=, 216, 322.

Opposition to society, =2=, 355.

Oracles of Quarles, =6=, 112.

Orchard House, =6=, 333, note.

Orchis, the great round-leaved, =3=, 240.

Organ-grinders on the Cape, =4=, 30.

Oriel College, Oxford, =6=, 236, 342.

Oriental, Occidental and, =1=, 147; exclusion of the, in Western learning, 148, 149; quality in New England life, the, 256, 257.

Origin of Rhodes, translation, =5=, 376.

"Origin of Species," Darwin's, =6=, 382.

Orinoco, the river, =5=, 93.

Orleans (Mass.), =4=, 22; Higgins's tavern at, 29.

Orleans, Isle of, =5=, 41, 42.

Ornaments, significance of architectural, =2=, 52.

Orono (Me.), =3=, 92.

Orsinora, =5=, 90.

Ortelius, _Theatrum Orbis Terrarum_, =5=, 89.

Osborn, Rev. Samuel, =4=, 52, 53.

Osier, red, Indian word for, =3=, 188.

Osprey, =6=, 46.

Ossian, =1=, 366-571, 393; quoted, =5=, 332.

Ossoli, Margaret Fuller, =6=, 183-186.

Ossoli, Marquis of, =6=, 184-186.

O'Sullivan, =6=, 51, 102, 107.

Ottawa River, the, =5=, 41, 94, 98.

Otternic Pond, =1=, 169.

_Oui_, the repeated, =5=, 60.

"Our unenquiring corpses lie more low," verse, =1=, 227.

Overseer, yourself the worst, =2=, 8.

Ovid, quoted, =1=, 2, 228; =2=, 6, 346, 348.

Owl, winged brother of the cat, watching an, =2=, 293.

Owls, wailing of, =2=, 138-140; in Walden woods in winter, 300, 301; =6=, 77, 154.

"Packed in my mind lie all the clothes," verse, =1=, 313.

Packs, of tourists, =6=, 335, 336, 368.

Paddling, a lesson in, =3=, 325, 326.

Painted-cup, =6=, 71.

Paley, William, on Duty of Submission to Civil Government, quoted, =4=, 361, 362.

Palladius, quoted, =5=, 294, 308.

Palmer, Edward, =6=, 82, 97.

Palmer, Joseph, at Fruitlands, =6=, 143, 155.

Pamadumcook Lakes, the, =3=, 30, 45, 47, 84; meaning of the word, 156; 260.

Pamet River, =4=, 134.

Pan, not dead, =1=, 65; and Whitman, =6=, 298.

Pandora's box, =6=, 20.

Pantaloons, not to be mended like legs, =2=, 24.

PARADISE (TO BE) REGAINED, =4=, 280-305.

Paradise, =6=, 10, 111, 162.

Parcæ, the, =6=, 149.

Parker House, =6=, 344, 345.

Parker, Theodore, =6=, 53, 237, 343, 355.

Parkman, Deacon, =6=, 6, note.

Parkman, Francis, =6=, 6.

Parkman house, =6=, 6.

Parliament, provinciality of the English, =4=, 477, 478.

Parlor lectures, =6=, 192, 352.

Partheanna, =6=, 55.

Parthian army, =6=, 153.

Partridge, the, =2=, 250-252, 304, 311; =6=, 60.

Partridge-berries, =6=, 195.

Pasaconaway, =1=, 267, 269.

Pascal and Henry James, =6=, 122.

Passadumkeag River, the, =3=, 8, 9, 323, 324.

Passamagamet Falls, =3=, 51; "warping up," 53; 84.

Passamagamet Lake, =3=, 50, 51.

Passamagamet Stream, =3=, 50, 51.

Passamaquoddy River, the, =3=, 5, 91.

"Past and Present," =6=, 81, 101.

Past, darkness of the, =1=, 163.

Patent Office, seeds sent by the, =5=, 203.

Patmore, Coventry, his "Angel in the House," =6=, 279.

Pauper, visit from half-witted, =2=, 167.

Pawtucket Falls, the lock-keeper at, =1=, 80; Dam, 88; Canal, deepening the, 263.

Pea, beach, =4=, 90, 206, 207.

Peabody (a classmate of T.), =6=, 24.

Peabody, Miss Elizabeth Palmer, =6=, 61, 287.

Peace, lecture on, =6=, 52; remarks on, 141, 249, 250.

Peaked Mountain, =3=, 254.

Pear tree, the, planted by Thomas Prince, =4=, 43.

Peddler, T., taken for, =6=, 245.

Peetweets, Indian word for, =3=, 182.

Pehlvi, dialect, =6=, 54.

Pekin, =6=, 89.

Peleus and Cadmus, translation, =5=, 381

Pelham (N. H.), =1=, 92.

Pellico, Silvio, =6=, 53.

Pembroke (N. H.), =1=, 124.

Pemigewasset, the, =1=, 85, 86, 88, 333; Basin, on the, 261.

Penacook, now Concord (N. H.), founding of, =1=, 322.

Penance, people of Concord doing, =2=, 4.

Pencil-making, =6=, 6, 174, 182, note, 335, note.

Penhallow, Samuel, History, quoted, =4=, 235.

Penichook Brook, =1=, 179, 202, 374.

Penna, how pronounced, =6=, 25.

Pennsylvania, =6=, 96, 276, 281.

Pennyroyal, =1=, 272.

Penobscot County, =3=, 73.

Penobscot Indians, living in cotton tents, =2=, 31; sociability of, =3=, 321; use of muskrat-skins by, =5=, 116, 117.

Penobscot River, the, =3=, 3, 5, 6; Indian islands in the, 7; 17, 18, 24, 29, 31, 32, 40, 41, 54, 77, 80, 87, 91, 95, 96, 103-105, 107, 108; between Moosehead and Chesuncook Lakes, described, 117; 145, 148; meaning of the word, 157, 158, 161 166, 176, 193, 202; West Branch of, 203, 208, 209, 233, 234, 238, 270-272; main boom of the, 329.

Pepin Lake.

Perch, the common, =1=, 26; =5=, 123; =6=, 134, 311, 322, 325, 336.

Perfection, artist of Kouroo who strove after, =2=, 359.

Persius Flaccus, Aulus, =1=, 327-333; =6=, 6, 158.

Petrel, the storm, =4=, 114.

Pfeiffer, Mme. Ida, quoted, =2=, 25.

Phar-ra-oh (noise of locusts), =6=, 90.

Phenomenal and real, =6=, 57, 58, 88, 89, 146, 321, 347, 348.

Philanthropy, generally considered, =2=, 82-86; =6=, 118, 192, 212, 283, 346.

Phillips, Wendell, before the Concord Lyceum, =4=, 311; qualities of, as reformer and orator, 311-315; =6=, 255, 397.

Philosopher, what he is and is not, =2=, 16; visits from a, 295-298.

Philosophers, ancient, poor in outward, rich in inward riches, =2=, 15, 16; =6=, 11, 26, 52, 64, 65, 153, 299, 300.

"Philosopher's Scales," =6=, 115.

Philosophy, Asiatic, =1=, 140, 141; loftiness of the Oriental, 142, 143; Stoical, =6=, x; mental, =6=, 25-27; Transcendental, 81, 159; 114, 270, 296, 299, 300.

Phoebe, the, =5=, 112.

Phoebus Apollo, =6=, 44.

Phosphorescence, =6=, 309, 310.

Phosphorescent wood, =3=, 199-201.

Physician, priest and, =1=, 272.

Pickerel, the, =1=, 29; Walden, =2=, 204, 205, 314; =6=, 126-128, 131.

Pickerel-fisher, the, =5=, 180, 181.

Pickerel-weed (pontederia), =1=, 18.

Picturesque, =6=, 239, 264.

Pierce, President Franklin, =6=, 193, 211, 250.

Pies, no, in Quebec, =5=, 86.

Piety, =6=, 37, 42, 89.

Pigeons, =1=, 235; =6=, 21.

Pilgrims, arrival of the, =4=, 251-257.

Pilgrims, verse, =5=, 413.

Pilgrims, Canterbury, =6=, 383.

Pilgrim's Progress, the best sermon, =1=, 72; =6=, 377.

Pillsbury, Parker, =6=, 378-380.

_Pinbéna_, the, =5=, 48.

Pindar, quoted, =1=, 259; =6=, 102.

Pindar, Translations from, =5=, 375.

Pine, felling a, =2=, 47; oak succeeding, and _vice versa_, =5=, 185, 187, 189; family a, 243, 244.

Pine, pitch, tracts of, =4=, 22.

Pine, white, =3=, 160; forests, 169; red, 268; Labrador and red, 296.

Pine cone, stripped by squirrels, =5=, 196.

Pine Stream, =3=, 122, 136, 216.

Pine Stream Deadwater, =3=, 121.

Pine Stream Falls, =3=, 136, 216.

Pinnacle, Hooksett, =1=, 318, 321.

Pioneers, old and new, =1=, 124.

Piracy, =6=, 154.

Piscataqua, the, =1=, 202.

Piscataquis Falls, =3=, 322.

Piscataquis River, the, =3=, 101; meaning of the word, 157, 179, 260, 327.

Piscataquoag, =1=, 87, 259.

Pismire, and his hillock, =6=, 218.

Pitching a canoe, =3=, 105.

Plain and mountain, life of the, =5=, 151.

PLAINS OF NAUSET, THE, =4=, 31-56.

Plaistow (N. H.), =1=, 185.

Plants, the nobler valued for their fruit in air and light, =2=, 17; abundance of strange, by Moosehead Lake, =3=, 103, 104, 188; observed on Mount Kineo, 195; about camp on the Caucomgomoc, 223; along the Umbazookskus, 229, 230; in cedar swamp by Chamberlain Lake, 239-241; on East Branch, 302; on Cape Cod beach, =4=, 111; about Highland Light, 135, 167; about the Clay Pounds, 165; on Cape Diamond, Quebec, =5=, 27.

Plato, =2=, 119; definition of a man, 165; =6=, 150.

PLEA FOR JOHN BROWN, A, =4=, 409-440.

Pleasant Cove, in Cohasset, =4=, 18.

Pleasant Meadow, adjunct to Baker Farm, =2=, 225.

Plicipennes, =5=, 170.

Pliny, the Elder, quoted, =5=, 292.

Plover, the piping of, =4=, 71; the, =5=, 112.

Plum, beach, =5=, 201.

Plum Island, =1=, 86, 88, 210.

Plutarch, quoted, =1=, 183.

"Ply the oars! away! away!" verse, =1=, 1, 88.

Plymouth (Mass.), =6=, 35, 42, 190, 192, 232-234, 238, 301, note, 328, 380.

Plymouth (N. H.), =1=, 89.

Plymouth Church, =6=, 297.

Pockwockomus Falls, =3=, 56, 57, 83.

Pockwockomus Lake, =3=, 50.

POEMS, =5=, 393-419.

Poet, poems and the, =1=, 362-366; 400-403; visits from a, =2=, 295.

Poetry, the nature of, =1=, 93-98; the mysticism of mankind, 350; of the "Dial," =6=, 38, 60, 115, 124; Greek, 60; English, 65, 66, 112-114, 153, 235, 259, 275.

Poets, never yet read by mankind, =2=, 115, 116; =6=, xi, 27, 93.

Poet's Delay, The, verse, =1=, 366.

Point Allerton, =4=, 15.

Point Levi, by ferry to, =5=, 70; a night at, 71; 89.

Pointe aux Trembles, =5=, 20, 21.

Poke, or garget, the, =5=, 253-255.

Poke-logan, a, =3=, 56.

Polaris, =6=, 362.

Pole, stirring up with, =6=, 311.

Poling a batteau, =3=, 34, 35, 53, 54.

Polis, Joe, =3=, 174; secured as guide, 175; puzzled about white men's law, 192; travels and opinions of, 217, 218; calls upon Daniel Webster, 279; as a boy, hard experience in traveling of, 308; good-by to, 327; =6=, 290, 311, 323, 336.

Politics, the unimportance of, =4=, 480-482; =6=, 17, 18, 141, 283, 359.

Political conditions and news, =1=, 133.

Politicians, country, =3=, 9.

Poluphloisboios Thalassa, the Rev., =4=, 67.

Polygamy, =6=, 302.

Polygonum, =1=, 18.

_Pommettes_, =5=, 39.

Pomotis, =6=, 131.

POND IN WINTER, THE, =2=, 312-329.

Pond Village, =4=, 142.

PONDS THE, =2=, 192-222.

Ponds, in Wellfleet, =4=, 89. _See_ Flint's, Goose, Loring's, Walden, White's Ponds.

Pongoquahem Lake, =3=, 260.

Ponkawtasset, =1=, 16.

Poor, houses of the, =2=, 37, 38.

"Poor bird! destined to lead thy life," verse, =5=, 411.

Poplar Hill, =1=, 16, 51.

Portage, a rough, =3=, 33; round Ambejijis Falls, 51.

Post-office, easily dispensed with, =2=, 104; the domestic, =4=, 24.

Postel, _Charte Géographíque_, quoted, =4=, 249.

Potherie, quoted, =5=, 52.

Pot-holes, various, =1=, 261-263.

Pout, the horned, =1=, 29, 30; =6=, 127, 128.

Poverty, =6=, 170, 171, 303.

Poverty, verse, =5=, 412.

Poverty-grass, =4=, 25; as the Barnstable coat-of-arms, 135.

Practicalness, the triviality of, =1=, 145.

Prairie River, Musketaquid or, =5=, 115.

Prayer, verse, =5=, 418.

Preaching, =6=, 192, 213.

Precipice for suicides, =6=, 149.

Preëxistence, =6=, 179, 185, 186; recollections of, 210, 211.

Present, moment, meeting of two eternities, past and future, =2=, 18.

"Present, The" (the periodical), =6=, 112, 117, 118.

Press, influence and servility of the, =4=, 397-400.

Priest, physician and, =1=, 272.

Prince, Thomas, =4=, 43.

Prince of Wales in New England, =6=, 372.

Pring, Martin, New England discoveries of, =4=, 228, 229, 246, 247.

Prison, a, the true place for just men, =4=, 370; T. in Concord, 374-380.

Professor, the traveling (Agassiz), =6=, 147.

Prometheus Bound of Æschylus, The, translation, =5=, 337.

Prose, a poem in, =1=, 404.

Province man, a green, =3=, 16.

PROVINCETOWN, =4=, 212-273.

Provincetown (Mass.), walking to, =4=, 31, 57, 58; Bank, T. suspected of robbing, 176, 177; approach to, 193; described, 195-197; fish, 212-215; boys, 218; Harbor, 225.

Provinciality, American and English, =4=, 477, 478.

Public opinion, compared with private, =2=, 8.

Pumpkin, sitting alone on a, =2=, 41; none so poor that he need sit on a, 72.

Purana, the, quoted, =5=, 327.

Purple Grasses, The, =5=, 252-258.

Purple Sea, the, =4=, 119.

Purslane, dinner of, =2=, 68.

Pythagoras, quoted, =1=, 338.

Quail, a white, =5=, 109, note.

Quakers, dress of, =6=, 97; meetings, 98, 288, 340; at Eagleswood, 288; at New Bedford, 340, 393; at New York, 97.

Quakish Lake, =3=, 33, 36, 85.

Quarles, Francis, quoted, =1=, 12, 407, 414; =6=, 108, 112.

Quarterly of the Transcendentalists, =6=, 120; its fame in England, 156, note.

Quebec (Que.), meaning of the word, =3=, 157; 257; =5=, 3, 20, 21; approach to, 22; harbor and population of, 22; mediævalism of, 23, 26; the citadel, 27-30; 76-80; fine view of, 49; reëntering, through St. John's Gate, 69; lights in the Lower Town, 71; landing again at, 72; walk round the Upper Town, 72-76; the walls and gates, 74, 75; artillery barracks, 75; mounted guns, 76; restaurants, 85, 86; scenery of, 87-89; origin of word, 88; departure from, 95.

Questioning to be avoided, =6=, 201, 275.

Quincy, Josiah (H. U. 1790), President of Harvard University, =6=, 10.

Quitticus in Middleborough, =6=, 264.

Quoil, Hugh, an Irishman, =2=, 288.

Rabbit, the, =2=, 310.

Rabbit Island, =1=, 113.

Race characteristics, =6=, 149, 222, 229.

Race Point, =4=, 64, 193, 200.

Ragmuff Stream, =3=, 118, 121, 145, 216.

Railroad, car, growing luxuries in, =2=, 41; slowness and heedlessness of, 58, 59; men overridden by, 102, 103; listening with praise to sound of, 127-136; Iron, Trojan Horse ruining Walden, 213, 214.

Rain, enjoyment of, =2=, 147; =3=, 33, 265, 266.

Rainbow, standing in light of, =2=, 224; in the Falls of the Chaudière, =5=, 70, 71.

Raleigh, Sir Walter, as a master of style, =1=, 106; quoted, =2=, 6; "The Soul's Errand" attributed to, =4=, 452; quoted, =5=, 329.

Rapids, shooting, =3=, 81.

Rasles, Father, Dictionary of the Abenaki Language, =3=, 154.

READING, =2=, 110-122.

Reading, =6=, 28, 31, 65, 66, 112-114, 153, 300, 301, 379, 382.

Read's Ferry, =1=, 245.

Reality, finding, =2=, 108, 109.

Realometer, not Nilometer, but a, =2=, 109.

Recluse, habits of a, =6=, 18, 36, 37, 59, note, 79, 122, 159, 170, 195, 238, 252, note, 266, 328.

Red shirts, =3=, 31, 145.

Reformers, =1=, 130; objection to, 118.

Reforms in mechanics and ethics, =4=, 281-286.

Religion, ligature and, =1=, 64, 79; =6=, 9, 10, 89, 99, 114, 159, 164, 179, 191, 195, 213, 214, 243, 297, 393.

Rent, annual tax that would buy a village of wigwams, =2=, 33.

_Repaired_ road, a, =3=, 98.

Reporter, with labor for pains, =2=, 19.

Reports on the natural history of Massachusetts, =5=, 103, 114, 118, 123, 129, 130.

Resignation, confirmed desperation, =2=, 8.

Respectability, =6=, 79.

Restigouche River, the, =3=, 178; =6=, 324.

Return of Spring, verse, =5=, 109.

Review, Democratic, =6=, 51, note, 100, 102, 108, 118; Massachusetts Quarterly, =6=, 144, 156.

Review, of Carlyle by Emerson, =6=, 94, 101; of Emerson in Revue des Deux Mondes, 157.

Rhexia, =1=, 18; =5=, 252.

Rice, story of the mountaineer, =1=, 212-220.

Richardson, Rev. James (H. U. 1837), =6=, 10.

Richelieu, Isles of, =5=, 96.

Richelieu or St. John's River, =5=, 8.

Richelieu Rapids, the, =5=, 21.

Richter, Jean Paul, quoted, =5=, 330, 331.

Ricketson, Daniel, described, =6=, 235, 239, 305; letters from, 237, 246, 257; letters to, 239, 240, 246, 248, 261, 266, 270, 273, 284, 285, 304, 305, 311, 313, 337, 341, 350, 368, 374, 376, 393, 396, 397; mentioned, 237, 245, 257, 261, 265, 308, 342, 359, 381; visited by T., 265; plans trip abroad, 333; conversion of, 393.

Ricketson, Walton, sculptor, =6=, xiii, 263, 485.

Ripley, Rev. Ezra, D. D. (H. U. 1776), =6=, 4.

Ripley, George, =6=, 404.

Ripogenus Portage, =3=, 80.

River, the flow of a, =5=, 178.

River-bank, ice formations, in a, =5=, 128, 129.

River Wolf, Fresh-Water or, =1=, 29.

Rivers, of history, the famous, =1=, 10.

Rivière du Loup, =6=, 323.

Rivière du Sud, the, =5=, 92.

Rivière more meandering than River, =5=, 56.

Roach. _See_ Chivin.

Roaches, silvery, =3=, 59.

Road, a supply, =3=, 212; recipe for making a, 244.

Roberval, Sieur de, =5=, 95, 96.

Robin, the evening, =2=, 344; =5=, 109; a white, 109, note.

Robin Hood Ballads, quoted, =1=, 121, 174, 175; =5=, 150, 207.

Rock-Ebeeme, =3=, 20.

Rock hills, singular, =3=, 282.

Rogers, Nathaniel P., editor of "Herald of Freedom," =4=, 306-308; quoted, 308-310.

Romans, vestiges of the, =1=, 264.

Room for thoughts, =2=, 156.

Roots of spruce, as thread, =3=, 225, 226.

Ross, Sir James Clark, quoted, =1=, 390.

Rowlandson, Mrs., =5=, 149.

Roxbury, Mass., mentioned, =6=, 22, 24.

Ruff, the, =1=, 24-26.

Rumors from an Æolian Harp, verse, =1=, 184.

Runaway slave, =2=, 168, 169.

Rural life, =6=, 38, 67, 93, 115, 116, 121, 135.

Russell, E. H., =6=, 403.

Russell Stream, =3=, 104.

"Rut," the, a sound before a change of wind, =4=, 97, 98.

Rynders, =6=, 122.

Sabbatia chloroides, =6=, 264.

Sabbath-keeping, =6=, 99, 195, 336.

Sachem Tahatawan, =6=, 13, 18.

Saddle-back Mountain, =1=, 189.

Sadi of Shiraz, Sheik, quoted, =2=, 87.

Sadness, =6=, 41, 43, 47, 75, 89, 397.

Saguenay River, =5=, 91, 94.

St. Anne, the Falls of, =5=, 40; Church of _La Bonne_, 49; lodgings in village of, 49-51; interior of the church of _La Bonne_, 51, 52; Falls of, described, 52-55.

St. Ann's of Concord voyageurs, Ball's Hill, the, =1=, 19.

St. Charles River, the, =5=, 30.

St. Francis Indian, =3=, 146, 208.

St. George's Bank, =4=, 123, 124.

St. Helen's Island (Montreal), =5=, 11.

St. John, the wrecked brig, =4=, 6.

St. John River, the, =3=, 5, 40, 80, 101, 137, 176, 178, 203, 233, 238, 251, 256, 257, 270, 271, 274.

St. John's (Que.), =5=, 9, 10.

St. John's River, =5=, 8.

St. Lawrence River, =3=, 80, 233, 238; =5=, 11; cottages along the, 21; banks of the, above Quebec, 40, 41; breadth of, 49; or Great River, 89-95; old maps of, 89, 90, 92; compared with other rivers, 90, 92-95; =6=, 323.

St. Maurice River, =5=, 94.

Saint Vitus' dance, =2=, 103.

Salmon, =1=, 32.

Salmon Brook, =1=, 167, 168, 375; Lovewell's house on, 345.

"Salmon Brook," verse, =1=, 375.

Salmon River, =3=, 19.

Salop (Shropshire), =6=, 249, 383.

Salt, as manufactured by Captain John Sears, =4=, 27, 28; works, 218, 219.

Salutations, Canadian, =5=, 47.

"Sam," a cat, =6=, 29, 31.

Sanborn, Franklin Benjamin (H. U. 1855), letters to, =6=, 58, 59, note, 252, 385-392; his Life of Thoreau, 22, 61, 90, 154, note, 252; his Memoir of Alcott cited, 61, note, 237, note, 252, note, 345; mentioned, 252, 287, 364, 365, 377, 381, 400; his school, 253, 322; his version of T.'s Latin, 29-32.

Sand, tract of, near Nashua, =1=, 152, 209, 210; blowing, =4=, 204; inroads of the, 204, 205; Provincetown, 220-223.

Sandbar Island, =3=, 100, 188, 189.

Sand cherry, tasted out of compliment to Nature, =2=, 126.

Sand formations due to thaw, =2=, 336-340.

Sandwich (Mass.), =4=, 19; described, 20-22.

Sandwich (N. H.), =1=, 86.

Sandy Hook, =6=, 70, 72, 83.

Sanjay, quoted, =1=, 147.

Sanscrit books, =6=, 270, 271, note, 300.

Sap of sugar maple, =6=, 278, 279.

Sarah, Aunt (Dunbar), =6=, 5.

Sardanapalus, at best houses traveler considered a, =2=, 40.

Sargent, John Turner (H. U. 1827), =6=, 190.

Satire, poetry and, =1=, 328-330.

SATURDAY, =1=, 12-40.

Saturn, =6=, 133.

Sault à la Puce, Rivière du, =5=, 48, 58.

Sault Norman, =5=, 11.

Sault St. Louis, =5=, 11.

Saunter, derivation of the word, =5=, 205, 206.

Savage, instinct, the, =1=, 55; his advantage over civilized men, =2=, 35; life, instinct towards, 231.

Scarecrow taken for man whose clothes it wears, =2=, 24.

Scarlet Oak, The, =5=, 278-285.

Scene-shifter, the, =1=, 118.

Scholars, their complaints, =6=, 171, 211, 229, 230, 259; their duties, 98, 171; their qualities, 98, 103, 145, 175, 262, 280.

Schoodic Lake, =3=, 256.

School, the _uncommon_, =2=, 122; question, the, among Indians, =3=, 323, 324.

Schoolhouse, a Canadian, =5=, 46.

Schooner, origin of word, =4=, 199.

Science, =1=, 386-391; the bravery of, =5=, 106, 107; =6=, 193, 280.

Scotchman, dissatisfied with Canada, a, =5=, 75.

Scott, Sir Walter, =6=, 114.

Scriptures, of the world, =1=, 150; Hebrew, inadequacy of, regarding winter, =5=, 183.

"Sea and land are but his neighbors," verse, =1=, 279.

SEA AND THE DESERT, THE, =4=, 176-211.

Sea, the roar of the, =4=, 40, 66; remoteness of the bottom of the, 123; and land, =6=, xi, 14, 69, 79, 83, 183, 184, 254-256, 301.

Sea-fleas, =4=, 113.

Sea-plants near Quebec, =5=, 93.

Sears, Captain John, and salt manufacture, =4=, 27, 28.

Seashore, verses, =6=, xi; walks, 312, 328, 457.

Sebago Lake, =6=, 38.

Seboois Lakes, =3=, 222, 261, 310.

Second Lake, =3=, 274, 276, 281; beauty of, 290-292, 297.

Seeds, the use of, =1=, 129; of virtues, not beans, =2=, 181; the transportation of, by wind, =5=, 186, 187; by birds, 187-189; by squirrels, 190-200; the vitality of, 200-203.

Seeing, individual, =5=, 285-288.

Seeming and being, =6=, 44, 88, 161, 214, 217, 218, 227, 228, 321.

Selenites, =5=, 323.

Sensuality, in eating and other appetites, =2=, 241-246; =6=, 204, 216, 295.

Serenade, like the music of the cow, =2=, 137.

Serenity and cheerfulness, =6=, 40, 41, 97, 278, 396.

SERVICE, THE, QUALITIES OF THE RECRUIT, =4=, 277-279.

Seven against Thebes, =6=, 102.

Sewing, work you may call endless, =2=, 25; circle in Concord, =6=, 29, 32.

Sex and marriage, =6=, 198-200, 204, 207.

Shackford, Rev. Charles Chauncy, (H. U. 1835), =6=, 190.

Shad, =1=, 32, 35, 36; train-band nicknamed the, 33.

Shad-flies, ephemeræ or, =3=, 255.

Shad Pond, or Noliseemack, =3=, 29, 30, 86.

Shadows, =1=, 375. _See_ Moonlight.

Shakers, =6=, 114, 204.

Shakespeare, =6=, x, 44, 197.

Shame, =6=, 166, 197, 198, 208, 295.

Shank-Painter Swamp, =4=, 200, 217.

Shanty, purchase of Collins's, =2=, 47, 48.

Sharks, =4=, 112, 113.

Shawmut (Boston), =6=, 16.

Sheep, alarm of a flock of, =1=, 317.

Shelburne Falls, =1=, 261.

Sheldrakes, Indian word for, =3=, 182; 254, 274, 276.

Shellfish on Cape Cod, beach, =4=, 110, 111.

Shelter, a necessary of life, =2=, 13; how it became a necessary, 29, 30; generally considered, 29-45.

Sherman's Bridge, =1=, 4.

Shiners, =1=, 28; =6=, 127-131.

Shingles of thought, whittling, =2=, 297.

SHIPWRECK, THE, =4=, 3-18.

Shirts, our liber, or true bark, =2=, 26.

Short's Falls, =1=, 257.

Sign language, =5=, 61.

Signals, old clothes as, =4=, 22.

Silence, =1=, 417-420; and speech, =6=, 54, 156, 230; of the woods, 353.

Sillery (Que.), =5=, 22.

Silliman, Benjamin, quoted, =5=, 98.

Simpkins, the Rev. John, quoted, =4=, 30.

Simplicity of life, =2=, 101, 102; =6=, 161, 212, 213, 299.

Sims case, the, =4=, 390, 391.

"Since that first 'Away! Away!'" verse, =1=, 200.

Singing, =3=, 41, 42.

Skating, =5=, 177, 178; =6=, 250, 349.

Sincerity, a rare virtue, =6=, 259.

Skies, the, =1=, 383.

Skins, sale of, =2=, 308.

Slavery, Massachusetts and, =4=, 362, 363; what it is, 394; how to deal with, 433, 434; =6=, 97, 283, 358-360, 366, 392.

SLAVERY IN MASSACHUSETTS, =4=, 388-408.

Sleepers, railroad, =2=, 102, 103.

Sloth, =6=, 205, 222, 243; the animal, 345.

Small, James, of Truro, =6=, 255.

Smith, Ansell, clearing and settlement of, =3=, 137-145.

Smith, Captain John, quoted, =1=, 91, 92; =4=, 180, 255; map of New England by, 229.

Smith, Captain, =6=, 86.

Smith's River, =1=, 87.

Smoke, winter morning, =5=, 165; seen from a hilltop, 173, 174.

Smoothness of ocean, =4=, 125.

Snake, under water in torpid state, =2=, 45, 46; the, =5=, 123, 124.

Snake-head, =1=, 18.

Snipe-shooting grounds, =5=, 48.

Snow, walking in the, =2=, 292; =5=, 181, 182; not recognized in Hebrew Scriptures, 183; -storm, =6=, 27, 29, 377, 378.

Snow, the Great, =2=, 132, 142, 292; dating from, 280.

Snowberry, creeping, used as tea, =3=, 227.

Snowbird, the, =5=, 109.

Snow's Hollow, =4=, 61.

Soapwort gentian, the, =1=, 18.

Society, commonly too cheap, =2=, 151; health not to be found in, =5=, 105; lecture on, =6=, 6, 158, 164, 229, 230, 281, 313, 346; pretences of, 213, 274.

Society Islanders, gods of, =1=, 55, 66.

Society of Natural History, =6=, 188, 189.

Soldier, a young, =1=, 334.

Soldiers, English, in Canada, =5=, 9, 10, 16, 17; in Quebec, 24-27, 79, 80.

Solitude, =2=, 143-154.

Solitude, =6=, 76, 83, 174, 175, 231, 319.

Solomon, quoted, =5=, 291.

"Some tumultuous little rill," verse, =1=, 62.

Somebody & Co., =3=, 14.

Somerset, British ship of war, wrecked on Clay Pounds, =4=, 162.

"Sometimes I hear the veery's clarion," verse, =5=, 112.

Sophocles, the Antigone of, quoted, =1=, 139.

Sorel River, =5=, 8.

Sorrow, doctrine of, =6=, 41, 167.

Soucook, =1=, 87.

Souhegan, =1=, 87, 357; or Crooked River, 231.

Soul, and body, =6=, 164, 165, 174, 175, 180, 193, 194, 213, 214, 219; nurture of, 164, 165, 174, 175.

SOUNDS, =2=, 123-142.

Sounds, winter morning, =5=, 163, 164.

Souneunk Mountains, the, =3=, 218, 260.

South, laborers a staple production of the, =2=, 39.

South Adams (Mass.), =1=, 192.

South Twin Lake, =3=, 39.

Southborough (Mass.), =1=, 3, 5.

Sowadnehunk Deadwater, =3=, 58.

Sowadnehunk River, the, =3=, 31, 79.

Spain, specimen news from, =2=, 105.

Spanish discoverers, =4=, 234, 235.

Sparrow, the first, of spring, =2=, 342.

Sparrow, the rush, =6=, 23.

Sparrow, the song, =5=, 109; =6=, 14.

Sparrow, the white-throated, =3=, 213, 249, 262.

Spaulding's farm, =5=, 243.

Spearing fish, =5=, 121-123.

Spectator, the part of man which is, =2=, 149, 150.

Speech, country, =5=, 137.

Spencer Bay Mountain, =3=, 183.

Spencer Mountains, =3=, 108.

Spenser, Edmund, quoted, =1=, 356; =2=, 158.

Spirit, motions of the, =6=, 97, 288; the Great, 14, 17, 177; Bad, of the Indians, 15.

"Spokelogan," =3=, 268.

Sportsmen, making boys, =2=, 234.

SPRING, =2=, 330-351.

Spring, coming of the, =2=, 333, 334; morning, moral effect of a, 346, 347; on the Concord River, =5=, 119-121; signs of, =6=, 21, 28, 30, 71, 306, 376.

Spring, Marcus, =6=, 183, 283, 286-289.

Springer, J. S., Forest Life, quoted, =3=, 21, note; on lumbering, quoted, 48, note; on the spruce tree, quoted, 75; about the digging of a canal, quoted, 270, 271.

Springs, river-feeding, =1=, 203; cool, =3=, 280.

Spruce, the, =3=, 104; Indian words for black and white, 209; difference between black and white, 225.

Spruce beer, a draught of, =3=, 30.

Squam (N. H.), =1=, 86, 87, 89.

Squash, the large yellow, =5=, 203.

Squaw Mountain, =3=, 183.

Squire Make-a-stir, =2=, 8.

Squirrel, red, =1=, 206; watching, =2=, 301-303; in spring, coming of, 342; =3=, 241; burying nuts, =5=, 190, 191; with nuts under snow, 195; pine cones stripped by the, 196.

Squirrel, striped, chipping, or ground, =1=, 205, 206; with filled cheek-pouches, =5=, 198.

Staff, the artist's, which became the fairest creation of Brahma, =2=, 359.

STAGE-COACH VIEWS, =4=, 19-30.

Staples, Samuel, constable and sheriff, =6=, 50, 52, 141.

Stark, General John, =1=, 268.

Stars, known to Indian, =3=, 247; =5=, 328, 329.

State and Church, =6=, 52, 224, 225.

Staten Island, view from, =1=, 190; looking at ships from, 253; =6=, 6, 50, 65, 68, 71-73, 77, 83, 86, 95, 100, 116, 120, 121.

Statistics. _See_ Cost.

Sternothærus, =6=, 126, 131.

Stillriver Village (Mass.), =5=, 151.

Stillwater (Me.), =3=, 4, 167.

Stillwater, the, =5=, 140, 142.

Stoicism, =6=, x, 47, 48, 123, 132, 170, 171, 238, 239, 337.

Stone, nations' pride in hammered, =2=, 63.

Stone, the Rev. Nathan, =4=, 55.

Stones, rarity of, on Cape Cod, =4=, 223-225.

Storm, in New York, =6=, 105; on Monadnock, 370.

Stove, disadvantages of cooking, =2=, 280, 281.

Stow (Mass.), =5=, 136.

Stratten, now the Almshouse Farm, =2=, 283; family, homestead of, 284.

Students, poor, Walden addressed to, =2=, 4; their economy, =6=, 58, 59, note; of Greek, 58, 102, 103; of law, 17, 106.

Sturgeon River, Merrimack or, =1=, 85, 117.

Style, literary, =4=, 325, 326, 330, 331; a man's, in writing, =6=, x, 67, 94, 311, 312.

Success in life, =6=, 70, 79, 85, 96, 109, 123, 124, 159, 164, 173, 178, 216, 294, 318, 362.

SUCCESSION OF FOREST TREES, THE, =5=, 184-204.

"Such near aspects had we," verse, =1=, 253.

"Such water do the gods distil," verse, =1=, 86.

Suckers, common and horned, =1=, 30; =6=, 127, 130-132, 221.

Sudbury (Mass.), =1=, 3, 4, 5, 36, 53; early church of, described by Johnson, 9; =2=, 97, 335; =5=, 303.

Sudbury River, =1=, 4.

Suet, in Dennis (Mass.), =4=, 27.

Sugar, =6=, 278, 279.

Sugar Island, =3=, 101, 183, 194; near Olamon River, 324.

Sugar Maple, The, =5=, 271-278.

Sumach growing by T.'s house, =2=, 126.

Summer life, =6=, 23, 63, 93.

Sumner, Charles, (H. U. 1830), =6=, 183.

Sumner, Horace, lost at sea, =6=, 184.

Sun, in a mud-puddle, =6=, 242.

Suncook, =1=, 87.

SUNDAY, =1=, 42-120.

Sunday, the keeping of, =1=, 63, 64, 76, 77; an Indian's, =3=, 201, 202, 214, 215, 223, 229; in Provincetown, =4=, 252, 253; discourses, =6=, 79, 97, 190, 233, 289, 291, 297.

Sun-fish, bream, or ruff, the fresh-water, =1=, 24-26.

Sunkhaze, the, =3=, 8, 325, 326.

Sunrise on Hoosac Mountain, =1=, 198. _See_ Morning.

Sunset, =1=, 416-418; a remarkable, =5=, 246-248.

Sunshine, the power of, =4=, 290, 291.

Sun-squall, sea-jellies called, =4=, 70.

Survey of Walden Pond, =2=, 315-324.

Surveying, =6=, 100, 209, 220, 234, 289, 291, 328, note, 333.

Surveyor of forest paths and across-lot routes, =2=, 20.

Suttle, Mr., of Virginia, =4=, 392.

Sutton (Mass.), =2=, 292.

Swamp, the luxury of standing in a, =1=, 319.

"Swampers," =3=, 242.

Swedenborg, Emanuel, =1=, 68; =6=, 300.

"Sweet cakes," =3=, 12.

Table-lands of Eastham, =4=, 62.

Tacitus, translation by T. from, =4=, 452-454.

"Tactics" of Scott, =6=, 356.

Tahatawan, =6=, 13-18.

Talking, =6=, 54, 106, 175, 176, 230, 255, 301.

Tamias, the steward squirrel, =5=, 198.

Tansy, =1=, 18.

Tappan, William, of New York, =6=, 72, 73, 79, 81, 82, 95, 97, 101, 113, 117, 122.

Tarbell, Deacon, =6=, 244.

Tarkiln Hill, New Bedford, =6=, 262, 305.

Taunton, =6=, 13, 17-19.

Tavern, the gods' interest in the, =5=, 153; compared with the church, the, 161, 162.

Taxes, T.'s experience with, =4=, 369, 370; in jail for refusal to pay, 374-381.

Taxpaying, =6=, 50, 52.

Taylor, Jane, =6=, 115.

Tching-thang, quoted, =2=, 98.

Tea, varieties of forest, =3=, 227; hemlock, its value, =6=, 326.

Teaching, =6=, 6, 10, 23-27, 83.

Teats, =6=, 223.

Telasinis Lake, =3=, 267.

Telos Lake, =3=, 235, 245, 264, 267; Indian name for, 270, 274, 281, 290, 299.

Temperature, of pond water in spring, =2=, 330.

Temple, defined, =6=, 195; too close, 191.

Tent, description of, =3=, 196, 197.

Tenures, Canadian, =5=, 63.

Tests, our lives tried by a thousand simple, =2=, 11.

"Thank God, who seasons thus the year," verse, =5=, 407.

Thanksgivings, cattle-shows and so-called, =2=, 183; emotion of, =6=, 294; the festival, 282, 346.

"That Phaeton of our day," =1=, 103.

Thaw, sand formations due to, =2=, 336; Thor and, 341.

Thaw, The, verse, =5=, 409.

"The full-orbed moon with unchanged ray," verse, =5=, 406.

"The god of day his car rolls up the slopes," verse, =5=, 399.

"The Good how can we trust?" verse, =1=, 298; =6=, 177.

"The needles of the pine," verse, =5=, 133.

"The rabbit leaps," verse, =5=, 410.

"The respectable folks," verse, =1=, 7.

"The river swelleth more and more," verse, =5=, 120.

"The sluggish smoke curls up from some deep dell," verse, =5=, 165.

"The smothered streams of love, which flow," verse, =1=, 278.

"The waves slowly beat," verse, =1=, 229.

"The western wind came lumbering in," verse, =1=, 180.

"Then idle Time ran gadding by," verse, =1=, 181.

"Then spend an age in whetting thy desire," verse, =1=, 111.

Theophrastus, =5=, 292.

"There is a vale which none hath seen," verse, =1=, 184.

"Therefore a torrent of sadness deep," verse, =1=, 183.

"They," an authority impersonal as the Fates, =2=, 27.

Thieving, practiced only where property is unevenly divided, =2=, 191.

Thinking, =6=, 139, 162, 356, 357.

"This is my Carnac, whose unmeasured dome," verse, =1=, 267.

Thistle, the Canada, =3=, 96.

Thomson, James, quoted, =5=, 249.

Thor and Thaw, =2=, 341.

Thoreau, Cynthia (Dunbar), mother of Henry, =6=, 4, 11, 29, 68, 193, 225, 236, 251, 253, 289, 350, 351, 363, 364, 365, 381, 400, 405. _See under_ Letters.

Thoreau, Helen, sister of Henry, =6=, 4, 11, 21, 23, 29, 32, 49, 52, 73, 74, 86, 92, 95, 98, 100, 111, 117. _See under_ Letters.

Thoreau, Henry David, starts on Concord and Merrimack journey, =1=, 12; ascent of Hoosac Mountain, 189-200; experience with an uncivil mountain man, 214-220; invited to do various sorts of work, 324; begins return voyage, 335; goes to live by Walden Pond, =2=, 3; prefers to talk in the first person singular, 3, 4; beginning in the woods, 45; purchase of Collins's shanty, 47; begins to occupy house, 49; plants beans, 60; earnings and spendings, 65-67; making bread, 68; declines offer of a mat, 74; imaginary purchase of Hollowell farm, 92; situation of house, 95, 126; purpose in going to woods, 100, 101; hoed beans, did not read books, 123; listening to various sounds, 127-142; friendship with Canadian woodchopper, 159-166; devotion to husbandry, 179; earnings and spendings on bean-field, 180, 181; put in jail for not paying taxes, 190; fishing in Walden Pond, 192-195; boiling chowder about 1824, 200; earliest days on Walden Pond, 212, 213; first begins to inhabit house in cold weather, 268; finishes house with plastering, 271; surveys Walden Pond, 315; leaves Walden, Sept. 6, 1847, 351; leaves Concord for Maine, Aug. 31, 1846, =3=, 3; starts "up river" from Bangor, 4; strikes into the wilderness, 15; starts for summit of Ktaadn, 61, 62; begins descent, 72; leaves Boston by steamer for Bangor, Sept. 13, 1853, 93; takes Moosehead Lake steamer for return home, 159; starts on third excursion to Maine Woods, July 20, 1857, 174; reaches farthest northern point, 259; lands at Oldtown, the journey finished, 326; various visits to Cape Cod, =4=, 3; starts for Cape Cod, Oct. 9, 1849, 5; goes on a mackerel cruise, 182; takes leave of Cape Cod, 257; experience with taxes, 368, 370; in jail for unpaid taxes, 374-381; leaves Concord for Canada, Sept. 25, 1850, =5=, 3; traveling outfit of, 31-34; leaves Quebec for Montreal on return trip, 95; leaves Montreal for Boston, 99; total expense of Canada excursion 100, 101; walk from Concord to Wachusett and back, 133-152; observation of a red squirrel, 190, 191; experience with government squash seed, 203; his fame increasing, =6=, vii, 398, 399; his character, ix, xii; industry of, ix, 11, 34, 170, 171, 289, 368, 369; his affection for his family, ix, 33, 34, 68, 98, 99, 118, 119; for his brother John, 35, 41, 74; for the Emersons, 50, 53, 93, 103, 135, 136, 142, 157; French elegance of, x; jesting habit of, x; birth and death, 3; ancestry and early days, 3-7; epochs in his life, 5, 6, 11, 12, note, 35, 50, 160; affairs of, 6, 7, 23, 34-38, 105, 107, 108, 126-132, 135, 169-172, 209, 355; books written by, 6, 7, 139, 156, 233, 238, 252, 272; college "part," 7-10; philosophic mind of, 11, 26; Emerson's view of, 11; exaggeration by, 11, 203, 220, 224; Indian dialect of, 13-18; tastes of, 18, 23, 33, 34, 36, 37, 44, 45, 47, 49, 58, 64, 79, 82, 93, 114, 115, 193; his Indian relics, 19, 20; wish to go West, 20; habits, 23, 24, 34, 135, 192, 326, 366-369; school, 23, 24; advises Helen, 25-31; a Transcendental brother, 32-34; acquaintance with Emerson, 34, 35, 48, 49; with Mrs. Brown, 35-42 (_see_ Letters); with R. F. Fuller, 45 (_see_ Letters); love of music, 41, 45, 46; writes to Emerson, 49 (_see_ Letters); at Emerson's house, 35, 50; intimate with Hawthorne, 51; with Alcott, 52, 64, 136, 146, 151, 153, 238, 281, 291, 297, 307, 328, note; with Emerson's children, 54, 136, 150, 152, 153; with Mrs. Emerson, 53 (_see_ Letters); with C. S. Wheeler, 58, 59, note; edits "Dial," 59-63; admirers of, 65, 138, 139, 158, 235, 238, 239, 298, 397, 398; his college life, 5, 7, 8, 10, 58, 67, 328; college professors and tutors, 58, 109, 137, 145; college studies, 65-67; goes to Staten Island, 68; meets Horace Greeley, Henry James, etc., 68; describes New York, 69-72, 78, 79, 82, etc.; verses on his brother John, 74; describes James, Channing, and Brisbane, 80, 81; and other friends, 82; at W. Emerson's, 85, 86; his pursuits, 84-91; criticises Concord and the "Dial," 92-94; describes immigration in 1843, 96, 109, 110; hears Lucretia Mott, 97; laments Stearns Wheeler, 97, 98; regrets Concord and separation, 99; writes for magazines, 100, 102, 107, 108, 109; mentions Channing, Greeley, James, Longfellow, 101; translates Greek, 102; sees publishers, 105; mentions Webster and C. Dunbar, 105; reads Quarles, 113; criticises Ellery Channing and Lane, 113, 114; Emerson too, 115; likes the Irish, 116; objection to W. H. Channing, 118; hears from Emerson, 120; and Ellery Channing, 121; lives by Walden, 122, 125; hears from Lane, 122-125; sends fish to Agassiz, 125-132; returns to Emerson's house, 132; writes to Sophia, 132 (_see_ Letters); cares for the Emerson family, 135; helps Alcott with the summer-house of Emerson, 136; describes Scientific School, 138; refuses marriage, 138, 139; finds no publisher, 139, 156; his account of Hugh Whelan, 140, 143, 144, 148, 149; hears from Emerson, 142 (_see_ Letters); hears Parker, Whipple, and Hudson at Lyceum, 145; describes a dinner, 147; sends verses, 147; describes the Emerson household, 152, 153; and W. E. Channing, 153; reads lectures, 6, 55, 154; writes to J. E. Cabot, 155 (_see_ Letters); his mode of writing, 156; meets H. G. O. Blake, 158; their correspondence, 158-383 (_see_ Letters); believed in simplicity, 161; defines his life, 163, 168, 174, 175, 178, 179, 186; lectures on bread, 164-166; on duties, 167; corresponds with Greeley, 169; fathoming character, 169; lives by hand-labor, 170, 171; writes for "Graham" and "Putnam," 169, 172; his debts, 219, note, 221; visits Fire Island, 183; elected to Boston Society of Natural History, 188; lectures in Boston, 190; in Plymouth, Salem, etc., 190-192; satirizes spiritism, 193, 194; will be a scarecrow, 195; his temples, 195, 196; essay on Chastity, 197-209; goes land-surveying, 209; on "doing good," 211; reflects on life, 212-215; differs with G. W. Curtis, 216; moralizes, 217-223; feebleness of, 217, 218, 275; reads Haydon and Layard, 224; gets a new coat, 225; lessons therefrom, 226-228; finds fault with men, 229; paddles up river by night, 230, 231; lectures in Worcester, 232, 233, 303, 349, 358; publishes "Walden," 233; meets Ricketson and T. Cholmondeley, 235; geniality of, 238, 239, 274, 301; visits Nantucket and New Bedford, 240, 245, 247; moralizes to Blake, 241-244; writes to Cholmondeley, 249; to Sanborn, 252, 385; prefers home to city, 248; visits Cape Cod, 254-257; incipient disease, 257; his boat, 258; describes Ricketson, 259; deals with E. Hosmer for an old house, 261, 262; praises Gilpin, 263; visits New Bedford, 265, 283; gathers driftwood, 267-269; meets Mary Emerson, 269; receives books from Cholmondeley, 270, 271; the greatest walker in Concord, 277; idealizes sugar-making, 278; visits Alcott in New Hampshire, 282, 283, 285; invited to teach, 285; fondness for home, 285; the Eagleswood community described, 287-289; meets Walt Whitman, 291; visits Greeley, 291; his morning in Worcester, 292, 293; describes Whitman, 295-297; hears H. W. Beecher, 297; quotes Confucius to Wiley, 299 (_see_ Letters); lands on Clark's Island, 301, note; meets Alcott and Channing in New Bedford, 306, 307; goes to Cape Cod with Channing, 308; analyzes glow-worms for M. Watson, 309 (_see_ Letters); praises Hillside, 328, 329; criticises W. Flagg, 311; in Maine woods, 312, 315, 322-326 (_see_ Letter to Higginson); his camp outfit, 326, 327; habit in touring, 329, 330; visits White Mountains (in 1858), 330-336; goes to Monadnock, 333, 368; finds the arnica in Tuckerman's Ravine, 335; his camp on Mt. Washington, 335, 336; writes on autumn tints, 340; is visited by Cholmondeley in 1858-59, 342; ridicules Boston clubs, 344, 345; criticises H. James, 346; his parable of the mountain ravine, 347, 348; his father dies, 350; returns to hand-labor, 355, 356; praises John Brown, 358; his speech published, with Emerson's, by Redpath, 359; reflections on man and fate, 360-362; invited to John Brown's grave, 363; goes with Channing to Monadnock, 364; speeds Frank Merriam to Canada, 366, 367; explains his silence to Ricketson, 354; gets a Canada lynx, 355; describes life on Monadock, 371, 372; hints for the Prince of Wales, 372; is visited by Blake and Brown, 376; mentions Alcott's success, 377; writes to P. Pillsbury, 378; falls ill and goes to Minnesota, 373, 380-384, 385-391; his last letter from Cholmondeley, 380; describes his illness, 393; sits for his portrait in New Bedford, 394; writes for the "Atlantic Monthly," 395; grows worse, 396; writes his last letter, 399; dies, 400; expedition to Catskills and Berkshires, 406, 407; visited by Greene, 409; self-criticism, 410; lecturing irksome, 411; daguerreotype taken, 411.

Thoreau, Jane (aunt), mentioned, =6=, 120.

Thoreau, John (father of Henry), =6=, 4-7, 11, 21, 68, 73, 99, 111, 289, 342, 349; day-book of, 5; lines to, 87; described by Thoreau, 350; dies, 350, 351.

Thoreau, John (grandfather of Henry), =6=, 5, note, 323.

Thoreau, John, brother, lines to, =1=, 2, 12; brings Nathan, a country boy, to the boat, 308; =6=, 4, 7, 13, 14, 17-24, 32, 35; his death, 41, 74, 75; his bluebird-box, 21, 22. _See_ Letters.

Thoreau, Maria, =6=, 118.

Thoreau, Philip (great-grandfather of Henry), =6=, 5.

Thoreau, Sophia (sister of Henry), =6=, 4, 24, 25, 29, 31, 34, 71, 111, 119, 132, 193, 286, 363, 396, 398, 400; dies, 400. _See_ Letters.

Thor-finn, and Thor-eau, =4=, 191, 192; voyage of, 247, 248.

Thorhall, the disappointment of, =4=, 187.

Thorn-apple, the, =4=, 14, 15.

Thornton's Ferry, =1=, 174, 227, 232.

Thorwald, voyage of, =4=, 247, 248.

"Thou dusky spirit of the wood," verse, =5=, 113.

"Thou, indeed, dear swallow," verse, =1=, 240.

"Thou sing'st the affairs of Thebes," verse, =1=, 241.

"Though all the fates should prove unkind," verse, =1=, 151.

Thoughts, sell your clothes and keep your, =2=, 361.

"Thracian colt, why at me," verse, =1=, 243.

Thrasher, brown, =2=, 175.

Three Rivers (Que.), =5=, 21, 93.

Three-o'clock courage, =5=, 208, 209.

Thrush, wood, Indian word for, =3=, 186; =6=, 75.

Thseng-tseu, quoted, =2=, 241.

Thunder-storm, violent, =3=, 261, 262.

THURSDAY, =1=, 317-355.

"Thus, perchance, the Indian hunter," verse, =1=, 247.

Tide and waves, power of, =4=, 288-290.

Tierra del Fuego, =2=, 14.

Timber, =3=, 18; land, best in Maine, 235.

Time, measurement of the world's, =1=, 346; but a stream to fish in, =2=, 109.

Tintinnabulum from without, the noise of contemporaries, =2=, 362.

To a Colt, verse, =1=, 243.

To a Dove, verse, =1=, 241.

To a Stray Fowl, verse, =5=, 411.

To a Swallow, verse, =1=, 240, 243.

To Aristoclides, Victor at the Nemean Games, translation, =5=, 384.

To Asopichus, or Orchomenos, on his Victory in the Stadic Course, translation, =5=, 378.

To My Brother, verse, =5=, 403.

To the Maiden in the East, verse, =5=,400.

To the Lyre, translation, =5=, 379.

Toil, translation, =5=, 389.

"Tom Bowling," sung by T., =6=, 313.

Tomhegan Stream, =3=, 203.

Tools, men the tools of their, =2=, 41.

Tortoise, mud, =6=, 128.

Tortoise, painted, =6=, 128.

"Trainers" in Concord, =4=, 392.

TRANSLATIONS, =5=, 337-392.

Translations from Pindar, =5=, 375-392.

"Transcript," Worcester, =6=, 292, 293.

Trappers, =5=, 115.

Traps, a find of steel, =3=, 302.

Travelers, good humor of, =4=, 23.

Traveling, the profession of, =1=, 325; outfit, the best, =5=, 31-34. _See_ Walking.

"Traveller," Boston, =6=, 310.

Traverse, the, =5=, 92.

Treat, Rev. Samuel, =4=, 48-52.

Tree, fall of a, at night, =3=, 115; a dangerous, 221.

Trees, visits to particular, =2=, 223; varieties of, =3=, 22, 116; along the Penobscot, 107, 120; about camp on the Caucomgomoc, 223; along the Umbazookskus, 231; on island in Heron Lake, farthest northern point, 259; on East Branch, 302; on Cape Cod, =4=, 129-131; disappearance of, 254, 255; Canadian, =5=, 48; the suggestions of, 125; the natural planting of, 186-202; a town's need of, 272-278; for seasons, 276. _See_ Leaves, Woods, and under names of species.

Tree-tops, a walk over, =3=, 67; appearance of various, 121; things seen and found on, =5=, 245, 246.

"Tribune," New York, =6=, 46, 68, 120, 169, 281.

Trinity, the, =1=, 70.

Trout, true and cousin, =3=, 59.

Trout Stream, =3=, 235, 269; Indian name for, 295.

Troy (N. H.), =5=, 4.

Trumpet-weed, =1=, 18.

Truro (Mass.), =4=, 104, 137-139; the wrecks of, 159; =6=, 254, 256, 357.

Trust, =6=, 56.

Truth, contact with, =1=, 310; to be preferred to all things, =2=, 364.

"Truth along with ye," =6=, 246.

Tuckerman's Ravine, =6=, 334, 348, 349.

TUESDAY, =1=, 188-248.

Tulip-trees, =6=, 71, 77, 90.

"Turning the silver," verse, =1=, 240.

Turkey, the country, =6=, 147, 175; the fowl, 147.

Turpentine-makers, Indian capture of, =1=, 174.

Turtles, land and sea, =4=, 202. _See_ Tortoise.

Turtle, the snapping, =5=, 124.

Turtle-dove, long ago lost hound, bay horse, and, =2=, 18, 19.

Tyngsborough (Mass.), origin of, =1=, 113; 114, 118, 123, 126, 152, 170, 325, 377, 379, 382, 384.

Tyndale, Mrs., =6=, 298.

ULTIMA THULE, =6=, 236, 255.

Umbagog Lake, =6=, 321.

Umbazookskus Lake, =3=, 233, 238.

Umbazookskus River, =3=, 219, 222; Much Meadow River, 229; 230, 232; =6=, 325.

Unappropriated Land, the, =1=, 334.

Uncannunuc, =1=, 169, 205, 271, 308, 318, 321, 335.

Uncivil mountain farmer, an, =1=, 212-220.

"Uncle Bill," somebody's (or everybody's), =4=, 141.

Union Canal, the, =1=, 245.

"Union Magazine," =6=, 170.

Union, War for the, =6=, 380, 386, 392, 397.

Universalist Church, =6=, 52.

"Upon the lofty elm tree sprays," verse, =5=, 112.

Usnea lichen, Indian word for, =3=, 186.

_Vaches, Ranz des_, =6=, 51.

Val Cartier (Que.), =5=, 89.

Valhalla's kitchen, =6=, 44.

Vallandigham, Clement L., quoted, =4=, 415, 428, 429.

Vandalic verses, =6=, 39.

Varennes, the church of, =5=, 97, 98.

Varro, Marcus Terentius, quoted, =1=, 382; =2=, 183.

Veazie's mills, =3=, 166.

Vedas, the, quoted, =2=, 99, 240; and Zendavestas, 115.

Veery, the, =5=, 112; =6=, 300.

"Veeshnoo Sarma," quoted, =4=, 303.

Vegetable-made bones, oxen with, =2=, 10.

Vegetables in the oysterman's garden, =4=, 100.

Vegetation, the type of all growth, =5=, 128.

Vergennes (Vt.), =5=, 7.

Vessels seen from Cape Cod, =4=, 105, 106, 118, 120-123.

Vestry, of church, =6=, 302, note, 322, 359.

View, the point of, =1=, 372.

VILLAGE, THE, =2=, 185-191.

Village, should play part of a nobleman as patron of art, =2=, 121, 122; a great news-room, 185; running the gantlet in the, 186; a continuous, =5=, 42, 43; the, 213; trees in a, 275-278.

Virgil, quoted, =1=, 93; =6=, viii, 28; reading, =5=, 138, 143, 144.

Virginia Road, =6=, 4, 6, note.

Virginity, =6=, 207.

Virid Lake as a name for White Pond, =2=, 219.

Vishnu Purana, the, quoted, =2=, 298; =6=, 300.

VISITORS, =2=, 155-170.

Von Hammer, =6=, 61.

Vose, Henry (H. U. 1837), =6=, 18.

Voting, =4=, 363, 364, 402, 403; =6=, 15, 18, 141.

Voyageurs, Canadian, =3=, 6.

Vulcan, =6=, 28, 31, 39.

Wachusett Mountain, =1=, 169, 173; a view of, =5=, 138; range, the, 139; ascent of, 142; birds or vegetation on summit of, 143; night on, 145, 146; an observatory, 147; =6=, 83, 234, 237, 280, 321, 330, 372.

Wagon journey to White Mountains, =6=, 330, 334.

Waite's farm, =3=, 23.

"Walden," the book, =6=, 233, 238, 272, note, 274, note, 378, 399.

Walden Pond, house on the shore of, =2=, 3; purpose in living by, to transact private business, 21; advantages of, as a place of business, 23; March, 1845, went to woods by, 45; of their own natures, fishing in the, 145; no more lonely than, 152; old settler who dug, 152; bottomless as, 166; scenery of, 195-216; origin of paving of, 202; temperature of water in, 203, 204; animals in, 204-206; purity of, 214; fishing alone detains citizens at, 235; ducks on, 262; first ice on, 272; dates of first freezing over, 275; 291; bare of snow, 299; fox on thin ice of, 306; pickerel of, 314; surveying and sounding, 315-324; cutting ice on, 323-329; breaking up of ice in, 329-334; =6=, 7, 28, 30, 59, note, 104, 122, 125, 132, 135-141.

Walden road, snow in, =2=, 294.

Walden vale, giving notice, by smoke, to inhabitants of, 279; making amends for silence to, 295.

Walden Woods, geese alighting in, =2=, 274; Cato Ingraham living in, 283; Zilpha living in, 283; Hugh Quoil living in, 288; owl's hooting the _lingua vernacula_ of, 300; fox-hunting in, 306; =6=, 116, 133, 140, 158, 337, note.

Waldenses, pickerel, =2=, 315.

Waldo, Giles, =6=, 72, 79, 82, 84, 97, 105.

WALK TO WACHUSETT, A, =5=, 133-152.

Walkers, the order of, =5=, 206, 207; =6=, 337.

WALKING, =5=, 205-248.

"Walking," a lecture on, =6=, 302, 395.

Walks, not on beaten paths, =5=, 213, 214; the direction of, 216-219; adventurous, 285; by night, 326; =6=, 84.

Walls, Quebec and other, =5=, 74.

Walpole (N. H.), =6=, 281.

Walton of Concord River, the, =1=, 22.

Wamesit, =1=, 82.

"Wanderer, The," =6=, 328, note, 365, note.

Wannalancet, =1=, 268, 269.

War, =6=, 91; stupidity of, 381; Crimean, 237, 244, 251, 271; Revolutionary, 323, 359; of 1861, 380, 386, 392, 397.

Ward, George, =6=, 72, 84.

Ward, Mrs., =6=, 52, 73.

Warmth, bodily and spiritual, =6=, 205, 219, 244, 269.

"Warping up," =3=, 57.

Washing in a lake, =3=, 249.

Wasps, visits from, =2=, 265.

Wassataquoik River, the, =3=, 312.

Wasson, D. A., =6=, 307, 309.

Watatic Mountain, =5=, 137, 147.

Water, colors of, =2=, 195-197; transparency of, 197-199; Cape Cod, =4=, 225.

Water-lily, the white, =1=, 19.

Water-troughs, =3=, 97.

Watson, Edward, =6=, 301, note, 328, note.

Watson, B. M., =6=, 190, 191, 234, 238, 309, 327-329, 333.

Watson, Mrs. Mary, =6=, 43, 329.

Waves on the shore, =4=, 155-158.

Wawatam, the friendship of, =1=, 291.

Wayfarer's-tree, or hobble-bush, =3=, 96.

Wayland (Mass.), =1=, 3, 4, 5, 36, 37; =2=, 173.

"We pronounce thee happy, Cicada," verse, =5=, 108.

"We see the _planet_ fall," verse, =1=, 390.

Wealth, folly of accumulating, =6=, 161, 162, 318, 319.

Webb, Rev. Benjamin, =4=, 54, 55.

Webb's Island, the lost, =4=, 152.

Webster, Daniel, Joe Polis's call upon, =3=, 279; quoted, =4=, 125; the power of, 384, 385; quoted, 385; and the Fugitive Slave Law, 395; mentioned, =6=, 105, 237.

Webster Pond, =3=, 270, 273; Indian name for, 273.

Webster Stream, =3=, 161, 264, 273; Indian name for, 275, 289, 297, 299, 300.

WEDNESDAY, =1=, 249-316.

Weeds, destruction of various, =2=, 178.

"Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, A," =6=, 139, 336, note, 378, 399, 400, 409-111; refused by publishers, 156, 172; debt for, 182, 209; cited, 274.

"Welcome, Englishmen!" =2=, 170.

Weld, Theodore, =6=, 283, 287.

Weld, Mrs. (Grimké), =6=, 283.

Well Meadow, =2=, 307.

Wellfleet (Mass.), oysters, =4=, 82; Bellamy wrecked off, 160; a good headquarters for visitors to the Cape, 271.

WELLFLEET OYSTERMAN, THE, =4=, 79-102.

WENDELL PHILLIPS BEFORE THE CONCORD LYCEUM, =4=, 311-315.

West, walking towards the, =5=, 217-220; general tendency towards the, 219-224; T. would go to, =6=, 20, 21; a friend in, 36; immigrants to, 96, 110; T.'s tour in, 380, 384-392.

West Branch, tramp up the, =3=, 17; 20, 31, 32, 291, 316.

West Indies, =6=, 342, 383.

West Indian provinces of the fancy and imagination, =2=, 8.

Westborough (Mass.), =1=, 3, 32.

Westford (Mass.), =1=, 113.

Westmoreland, etymology of, =5=, 6.

Weston (Mass.), =2=, 308.

Whales, in the St. Lawrence, =5=, 91.

"What dost thou wish me to do to thee?" verse, =1=, 243.

"What's the railroad to me?" verse, =2=, 135, 136.

"Whate'er we leave to God, God does," verse, =5=, 396.

Wheeler, Charles Stearns (H. U. 1837), =6=, 58, 59, note, 60, 91, 97, 103.

Whelan, Hugh, the gardener, =6=, 77, 140, 143, 144, 148, 154.

"When descends on the Atlantic," Longfellow, quoted, =4=, 69.

"When life contracts into a vulgar span," verse, =5=, 404.

"When the world grows old by the chimney-side," verse, =5=, 417.

"When Winter fringes every bough," verse, =5=, 176.

"Where gleaming fields of haze," verse, =1=, 234.

WHERE I LIVED, AND WHAT I LIVED FOR, =2=, 90-109.

"Where they once dug for money," verse, =5=, 214.

"Where'er thou sail'st who sailed with me," verse, =1=, 2.

Whetstone Falls, =3=, 313.

Whim, centrifugal force of, =6=, 154.

Whipple, Edwin Percy, =6=, 145.

Whip-poor-wills, singing of, =2=, 137.

White, Miss E., =6=, 29, 32.

White Mountains, the, =1=, 85, 89; =3=, 4; =6=, 320, 330, 332, 334, 347, 348, 370.

White Pond, =2=, 199, 201, 219, 221; plan of, 320; =6=, 15.

Whitehead, near Cohasset, =4=, 10.

Whitehead Island, =3=, 94.

Whitman, Walt, =6=, 272, note; seen by T., 290, 291, genius of, 295, 296; brag of, 297; seen by Alcott, 298.

Whitney, Peter, quoted, =5=, 312.

Whittier, John Greenleaf, =6=, 51, note.

"Who equaleth the coward's haste," verse, =5=, 417.

"Who sleeps by day and walks by night," verse, =1=, 41.

"Whoa," the crying of, to mankind, =5=, 235.

Wicasuck Island, =1=, 113, 115, 381, 382.

Wigwam, in Indian gazettes, symbol of a day's march, =2=, 30.

Wild, the, a lecture on, =6=, 302; T.'s love of, 16, 36, 37, 121, 174, 175.

WILD APPLES, =5=, 290-322.

Wilderness, the need of, =1=, 179.

Wildness, cultivation and, =1=, 55; the necessity of, =5=, 224-236; in literature, 230-233; in domestic animals, 234-236.

Wiley, B. B., =6=, 298-302. _See_ Letters.

Williams, I. T., =6=, 40.

Williamstown (Mass.), =1=, 192, 197, 244.

Willow, the narrow-leaved, =1=, 18; the water, 43.

Willow, golden leaves, =5=, 266.

Wind, power of the, =4=, 286-288.

Windham (N. H.), =1=, 92.

Windmills, Cape Cod, =4=, 34, 35.

Windows in Cape Cod houses, =4=, 79, 80.

Windsor, N. S., =6=, 338.

Winnepiseogee, Lake, =1=, 85, 87, 89, 90, 91.

Winslow, Edward, quoted, =2=, 158.

Winter, warmth in, =5=, 167, 168; the woods in, 168, 169; nature a _hortus siccus_ in, 179; as represented in the almanac, 182; ignored in Hebrew revelation, 183; evening, 183.

WINTER ANIMALS, =2=, 299-311.

Winter Scene, A, verse, =5=, 410.

WINTER VISITORS, FORMER INHABITANTS AND, =2=, 282-298.

WINTER WALK, A, =5=, 163-183.

"Winter Walk, A," the essay, =6=, 94.

Winthrop, Gov., quoted, =4=, 236; his Concord house, =6=, 261, note.

Wisconsin, =6=, 110, 387.

Wise, Henry A., quoted, =4=, 428.

Wise man, the, =4=, 462, 463.

Wisdom, of the ancients, =6=, 114, 299, 300; of the Indian, 311, 316.

"With frontier strength ye stand your ground," verse, =1=, 170; =5=, 133.

"Within the circuit of this plodding life," verse, =5=, 103.

Wolfe and Montcalm, monument to, =5=, 73.

Wolfe's Cove, =5=, 22.

Wolff, Joseph, quoted, =1=, 60, 131.

Wolofs, the, =1=, 109, 138.

Woman, her quarrel with man, =6=, 198; her beauty, 198, 199; a merely sentimental, 200.

Women, pinched up, =4=, 24; Canadian, =5=, 34.

Wood, gathering, =2=, 275; relative value of in different places, 277.

Wood, William, quoted, =4=, 85.

Wood End, wreck at, =4=, 259, 260.

Woodbine, =5=, 3, 4, 276.

Woodchopper, a Canadian, =2=, 159-166; winter represented as a, =5=, 182.

Woodchuck, eating a, =2=, 66; =6=, 168, 372.

Woodman, hut and work of a, =5=, 172, 173. _See_ Woodchopper.

Wood-pile, the, =2=, 278.

Woods, turning face to the, =2=, 21; wetness of the, =3=, 22; characteristics of Maine, and uses of all, 167-173; destruction of the, 252-254; in winter, the, =5=, 168, 169. _See_ Trees.

Woodstock (N. B.), =3=, 256.

"Woof of the sun, ethereal gauze," verse, =1=, 229.

Worcester, =6=, 158, 160; T. lectures at, 181, 192, 232; visits, 286, 292, 308.

Wordsworth, =5=, 143, 144; reading, =6=, 229.

Work, quiet, =1=, 110; exaggerated importance of our, =2=, 12; our excess of, =4=, 456.

World, a cow that is hard to milk, =6=, 135; must look out, 146; noble to stand aside from, 159; idly complaining, 196; its way, 209; and Atlas, 243; no match for a thought, 357; pitch it into a hollow place, sit down and eat your luncheon, 362; one world at a time, 379.

Worms, glow (_Lampyris noctiluca_), =6=, 310, 327.

Wreck, of the Franklin, =4=, 73; of Bellamy, the pirate, 160, 161; of the British ship of war Somerset, 162; story of a man from a, 259, 260.

Wreckage, =4=, 115-117.

Wrecker, a Cape Cod, =4=, 59, 60.

Wrecks, Truro, =4=, 159; the consequences of, 163, 164.

Writing, grace and power in, =1=, 108-111; correct, =6=, 94, 156; remarks on, ix, 26, 28, 38, 67, 94, 156, 311, 312, 354.

Wyman, the potter, =2=, 288.

Wyman trial, the, =6=, 104.

YANKEE IN CANADA, A, =5=, 1-101.

"Yankee in Canada, A," publication of, =6=, 172, 215.

Yankees, how first called, =1=, 53.

Yarmouth (Mass.), =4=, 22; =6=, 256.

Yellow house, =6=, 7.

Yellow Medicine, river, =6=, 391.

Yellow Pine Lake, =2=, 219.

Yoga (Hindoo observance), =6=, 175.

Yogi, =6=, 175.

"Yorrick," the, =5=, 1, 12, note.

Young, Arthur, =2=, 61.

Youth, and age, =2=, 9.

"Youth of the Poet and Painter," Channing's, =6=, 94, 113, note, 117.

Zendavestas, Vedas and, =2=, 115.

Zilpha, a colored woman, =2=, 283.

Zoroaster, let the hired man commune with, =2=, 120.

The Riverside Press H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY CAMBRIDGE MASSACHUSETTS