Chapter XXV: Introduction (15)

* * * * *

All things are in revolution; it is the one law of nature by which order is preserved, and time itself lapses and is measured. Yet some things men will do from age to age, and some things they will not do.

"Fisherman's Acct. for 1805[503] Began March 25

cts.
Dd Mr. Saml Potter 2 qts W I 3/ 1 lb sugar 10d $0.64
One Cod line 5/ 84
April 8 Qt W I 1/6 & 1 lb Sugar 10d & Brown Mug 48
9 Qt N E rum 1/ 10th Do. of Do 1/ 33
13 Qt N E rum & 1 lb Sugar 15th 2 Qts N E rum 2/ 62
17 Qt W I 1/6 Do N E 1/ lb Sugar 9d & Qt N E Rum 71
22 Qt N E rum 1/ lb sugar 9d & Qt N E rum 1/ 44½
23 Qt N E rum 1/ Do of Do & sugar 5d 39
24 Qt N E rum 1/ lb sugar 9d 28½
29 Qt N E rum 1/ & lb sugar 9d—30th Rum 1/ 44½
May first Qt rum ½ lb Sugar 1/5d 22
Qt N E rum 1/ & ½ lb Loaf Sugar 9d 29
4 Qt rum 1/ Sugar 5d 22
6 Qt N E rum 1/ & lb good sugar 11d 31
7 Qt N E rum 1/8th Qt N E rum 1/ & ½ lb Sugar 5d 40
11 Qt N E rum 11d lb Sugar 10d 29
15 Qt rum & lb Sugar 1/9 & Qt N E rum 44
16 To a Line for the Sceene 3/ 0.50
20 To Qt N E rum 11d lb Sugar 10d 0.29
21 To Qt N E rum 11d & lb Sugar 10d 0.29
27 To Qt W I 1/6 & lb Sugar 10d 0.39
June 5th 1805 Settled this acct by Recev.g Cash in Full $8.82½

How many young finny contemporaries of various character and destiny, form and habits, we have even in this water! And it will not be forgotten by some memory that we _were_ contemporaries. It is of _some_ import. We shall be some time friends, I trust, and know each other better. Distrust is too prevalent now. We are so much alike! have so many faculties in common! I have not yet met with the philosopher who could, in a quite conclusive, undoubtful way, show me _the_, and, if not _the_, then how _any_, difference between man and a fish. We are so much alike! How much could a really tolerant, patient, humane, and truly great and natural man make of them, if he should try? For they are to be understood, surely, as all things else, by no other method than that of sympathy. It is easy to say what they are not to us, _i. e._, what we are not to them; but what we might and ought to be is another affair.

* * * * *

In the tributaries the brook minnow and the trout. Even in the rills emptying into the river, over which you stride at a step, you may see small trout not so large as your finger glide past or hide under the bank.

* * * * *

The character of this [the horned pout], as indeed of all fishes, depends directly upon that of the water it inhabits, those taken in clear and sandy water being of brighter hue and cleaner and of firmer and sweeter flesh. It makes a peculiar squeaking noise when drawn out, which has given it the name of the minister or preacher.

* * * * *

The bream is the familiar and homely sparrow, which makes her nest everywhere, and is early and late.

The pickerel is the hawk, a fish of prey, hovering over the finny broods.

The pout is the owl, which steals so noiselessly about at evening with its clumsy body.

The shiner is the summer yellowbird, or goldfinch, of the river.

The sucker is the sluggish bittern, or stake-driver.

The minnow is the hummingbird.

The trout is the partridge woodpecker.

The perch is the robin.[504]

* * * * *

We read Marlowe as so much poetical pabulum. It is food for poets, water from the Castalian Spring, some of the atmosphere of Parnassus, raw and crude indeed, and at times breezy, but pure and bracing. Few have so rich a phrase! He had drunk deep of the Pierian Spring, though not deep enough, and had that fine madness, as Drayton says,

"Which justly should possess a poet's brain."

We read his "Dr. Faustus," "Dido, Queen of Carthage," and "Hero and Leander," especially the last, without being wearied. He had many of the qualities of a great poet, and was in some degree worthy to precede Shakespeare. But he seems to have run to waste for want of seclusion and solitude, as if mere pause and deliberation would have added a new element of greatness to his poetry. In his unquestionably fine, heroic tone it would seem as if he had the rarest part of genius, and education could have added the rest. The "Hero and Leander" tells better for his character than the anecdotes which survive.

I fain would stretch me by the highway-side,
To thaw and trickle with the melting snow,
That mingled soul and body with the tide
I too might through the pores of Nature flow,[505]

Might help to forward the new spring along,
If it were mine to choose my toil or day,
Scouring the roads with yonder sluice-way throng,
And so work out my tax on _Her_ highway.

* * * * *

Yet let us thank the purblind race
Who still have thought it good
With lasting stone to mark the place
Where braver men have stood.

In Concord, town of quiet name
And quiet fame as well, ...

* * * * *

I've seen ye, sisters, on the mountain-side,
When your green mantles fluttered in the wind;
I've seen your footprints on the lake's smooth shore,
Lesser than man's, a more ethereal trace;
I have heard of ye as some far-famed race,
Daughters of gods, whom I should one day meet,
Or mothers, I might say, of all our race.
I reverence your natures, so like mine
Yet strangely different, like but still unlike.
Thou only stranger that hast crossed my path,
Accept my hospitality; let me hear
The message which thou bring'st.
Made different from me,
Perchance thou'rt made to be
The creature of a different destiny.
I know not who ye are that meekly stand
Thus side by side with man in every land.
When did ye form alliance with our race,
Ye children of the moon, who in mild nights
Vaulted upon the hills and sought this earth?
Reveal that which I fear ye cannot tell,
Wherein ye are not I, wherein ye dwell
Where I can never come.
What boots it that I do regard ye so?
Does it make suns to shine or crops to grow?
What boots [it] that I never should forget
That I have sisters sitting for me yet?
And what are sisters?
The robust man, who can so stoutly strive,
In this bleak world is hardly kept alive.
And who is it protects _ye_, smooths _your_ way?

We can afford to lend a willing ear occasionally to those earnest reformers of the age. Let us treat them hospitably. Shall we be charitable only to the poor? What though they are fanatics? Their errors are likely to be generous errors, and these may be they who will put to rest the American Church and the American government, and awaken better ones in their stead.

Let us not meanly seek to maintain our delicate lives in chambers or in legislative halls by a timid watchfulness of the rude mobs that threaten to pull down our baby-houses. Let us not think to raise a revenue which shall maintain our domestic quiet by an impost on the liberty of speech. Let us not think to live by the principle of self-defense. Have we survived our accidents hitherto, think you, by virtue of our good swords,—that three-foot lath that dangles by your side, or those brazen-mouthed pieces under the burying hill which the trainers keep to hurrah with in the April and July mornings? Do our protectors burrow under the burying-ground hill, on the edge of the bean-field which you all know, gorging themselves once a year with powder and smoke, and kept bright and in condition by a chafing of oiled rags and rotten stone? Have we resigned the protection of our hearts and civil liberties to that feathered race of wading birds and marching men who drill but once a month?—and I mean no reproach to our Concord train-bands, who certainly make a handsome appearance—and dance well. Do we enjoy the sweets of domestic life undisturbed, because the naughty boys are all shut up in that whitewashed "stone-yard," as it is called, and see the Concord meadows only through a grating.

No, let us live amid the free play of the elements. Let the dogs bark, let the cocks crow, and the sun shine, and the winds blow!

Ye do commend me to all virtue ever,
And simple truth, the law by which we live.
Methinks that I can trust your clearer sense
And your immediate knowledge of the truth.
I would obey your influence, one with fate.

There is a true march to the sentence, as if a man or a body of men were actually making progress there step by step, and these are not the mere _disjecta membra_, the dispersed and mutilated members though it were of heroes, which can no longer walk and join themselves to their comrades. They are not perfect nor liberated pieces of art for the galleries, yet they stand on the natural and broad pedestal of the living rock, but have a principle of life and growth in them still, as has that human nature from which they spring.[506]

* * * * *

It is a marvel how the birds contrive to survive in this world. These tender sparrows that flit from bush to bush this evening, though it is so late, do not seem improvident, [but appear] to have found a roost for the night. They must succeed by weakness and reliance, for they are not bold and enterprising, as their mode of life would seem to require, but very weak and tender creatures. I have seen a little chipping sparrow, come too early in the spring, shivering on an apple twig, drawing in its head and striving to warm it in its muffled feathers; and it had no voice to intercede with nature, but peeped as helpless as an infant, and was ready to yield up its spirit and die without any effort. And yet this was no new spring in the revolution of the seasons.

* * * * *

Our offense is rank, it smells to heaven. In the midst of our village, as in most villages, there is a slaughterhouse, and throughout the summer months, day and night, to the distance of half a mile, which embraces the greater part of the village, the air [is] filled with such scents as we instinctively avoid in a woodland walk; and doubtless, if our senses were once purified and educated by a simpler and truer life, we should not consent to live in such a neighborhood.

* * * * *

George Melvin, our Concord trapper, told me that in going to the spring near his house, where he kept his minnows for bait, he found that they were all gone, and immediately suspected that a mink had got them; so he removed the snow all around and laid open the trail of a mink underneath, which he traced to his hole, where were the fragments of his booty. There he set his trap, and baited it with fresh minnows. Going again soon to the spot, he found one of the mink's fore legs in the trap gnawed off near the body, and, having set it again, he caught the mink with his three legs, the fourth having only a short bare bone sticking out.

When I expressed some surprise at this, and said that I heard of such things but did not know whether to believe them, and was now glad to have the story confirmed, said he: "Oh, the muskrats are the greatest fellows to gnaw their legs off. Why I caught one once that had just gnawed his third leg off, this being the third time he had been trapped; and he lay dead by the trap, for he couldn't run on one leg." Such tragedies are enacted even in this sphere and along our peaceful streams, and dignify at least the hunter's trade. Only courage does anywhere prolong life, whether of man or beast.

When they are caught by the leg and cannot get into the water to drown themselves, they very frequently gnaw the limb off. They are commonly caught under water or close to the edge, and dive immediately with the trap and go to gnawing and are quackled and drowned in a moment, though under other circumstances they will live several minutes under water. They prefer to gnaw off a fore leg to a hind leg, and do not gnaw off their tails. He says the wharf rats are very common on the river and will swim and cross it like a muskrat, and will gnaw their legs and even their tails off in the trap.

These would be times that tried men's souls, if men had souls to be tried; aye, and the souls of brutes, for they must have souls as well as teeth. Even the water-rats lead sleepless nights and live Achillean lives. There are the strong will and the endeavor. Man, even the hunter, naturally has sympathy with every brave effort, even in his game, to maintain that life it enjoys. The hunter regards with awe his game, and it becomes at last his medicine.[507]

* * * * *

Of Cadew or Case worms there are the Ruff-coats or Cockspurs, whose cases are rough and made of various materials, and the Piper Cadis or Straw-worm, made of reed or rush, and straight and smooth.

* * * * *

Carlyle's works are not to be studied,—hardly re-read. Their first impression is the truest and the deepest. There is no reprint. If you look again, you will be disappointed and find nothing answering to the mood they have excited. They are true natural products in this respect. All things are but once, and never repeated. The first faint blushes of the morning gilding the mountain-tops, with the pale phosphorus and saffron-colored clouds,—they verily transport us to the morning of creation; but what avails it to travel eastward, or look again there an hour hence. We should be as far in the day ourselves, mounting toward our meridian. There is no _double entendre_ for the alert reader; in fact the work was designed for such complete success that it serves but for a single occasion. It is the luxury of wealth and art when for every deed its own instrument is manufactured. The knife which sliced the bread of Jove ceased to be a knife when that service was rendered.

* * * * *

For every inferior, earthly pleasure we forego, a superior, celestial one is substituted.

To purify our lives requires simply to weed out what is foul and noxious and the sound and innocent is supplied, as nature purifies the blood if we will but reject impurities.

Nature and human life are as various to our several experiences as our constitutions are various. Who shall say what prospect life offers to another? Could a greater miracle take place than if we should look through each other's eyes for an instant? We should live in all the ages of the world in an hour,—aye, in all the worlds of the ages. What I have read of rhapsodists, of the primitive poets, Argonautic expeditions, the life of demigods and heroes, Eleusinian mysteries, etc., suggests nothing so ineffably grand and informing as this would be.

* * * * *

The phœbe came into my house to find a place for its nest, flying through the windows.

* * * * *

It was a bright thought, that of man's to have bells; no doubt the birds hear them with pleasure.

* * * * *

To compete with the squirrels in the chestnut harvest, picking ofttimes the nuts that bear the mark of their teeth.

* * * * *

I require of any lecturer that he will read me a more or less simple and sincere account of his own life, of what he has done and thought,—not so much what he has read or heard of other men's lives and actions, but some such account as he would send to his kindred from a distant land,—and if he has lived sincerely, it must have been in a distant land to me,—describing even his outward circumstances and what adventures he has had, as well as his thoughts and feelings about them. He who gives us only the results of other men's lives, though with brilliant temporary success, we may in some measure justly accuse of having defrauded us of our time. We want him to give us that which was most precious to him,—not his life's blood but even that for which his life's blood circulated, what he has got by living. If anything ever yielded him pure pleasure or instruction, let him communicate it. Let the money-getter tell us how much he loves wealth, and what means he takes to accumulate it. He must describe those facts which he knows and loves better than anybody else. He must not write on foreign missions. The mechanic will naturally lecture about his trade, the farmer about his farm, and every man about that which he, compared with other men, knows best. Yet incredible mistakes are made. I have heard an owl lecture with perverse show of learning upon the solar microscope, and chanticleer upon nebulous stars, when both ought to have been sound asleep, the one in a hollow tree, the other on his roost.

After I lectured here before, this winter, I heard that some of my townsmen had expected of me some account of my life at the pond. This I will endeavor to give to-night.

* * * * *

I know a robust and hearty mother who thinks that her son, who died abroad, came to his end by living too low, as she had since learned that he drank only water. Men are not inclined to leave off hanging men to-day, though they will be to-morrow. I heard of a family in Concord this winter which would have starved, if it had not been for potatoes—and tea and coffee.

It has not been my design to live cheaply, but only to live as I could, not devoting much time to getting a living. I made the most of what means were already got.

* * * * *

To determine the character of our life and how adequate it is to its occasion, just try it by any test, as for instance that this same sun is seen in Europe and in America at the same time, that these same stars are visible in twenty-four hours to two thirds the inhabitants of the globe, and who knows how many and various inhabitants of the universe. What farmer in his field lives according even to this somewhat trivial material fact.

I just looked up at a fine twinkling star and thought that a voyager whom I know, now many days' sail from this coast, might possibly be looking up at that same star with me. The stars are the apexes of what triangles! There is always the possibility—the possibility, I say—of being _all_, or remaining a particle, in the universe.

* * * * *

In these days and in this country, a few implements, as the axe, shovel, etc., and, to the studious, light and stationery and access to a few books, will rank next to necessaries, but can all be obtained at a very trifling cost. Under the head of clothing is to be ranked bedding, or night-clothes.

We are very anxious to keep the animal heat in us. What pains we take with our beds! robbing the nests of birds and their breasts, this shelter within a shelter, as the mole has a bed of leaves and grass at the end of its burrow.

* * * * *

In the summer I caught fish occasionally in the pond, but since September have not missed them.

* * * * *

In a man or his work, over all special excellence or failure, prevails the general authority or value.

* * * * *

Almost any man knows how to earn money, but not one in a million knows how to spend it. If he had known so much as this, he would never have earned it.

* * * * *

All matter, indeed, is capable of entertaining thought.

* * * * *

The complete subjugation of the body to the mind prophesies the sovereignty of the latter over the whole of nature. The instincts are to a certain extent a sort of independent nobility, of equal date with the mind, or crown,—ancient dukes and princes of the regal blood. They are perhaps the mind of our ancestors subsided in us, the experience of the race.

A small sum would really do much good, if the donor spent himself with it and did not merely relinquish it to some distant society whose managers do the good or the evil with it. How much might be done for this town with a hundred dollars! I could provide a select course of lectures for the summer or winter with that sum, which would be an incalculable benefit to every inhabitant. With a thousand dollars I could purchase for this town a more complete and select library than exists in the State out of Cambridge and Boston, perhaps a more available one than any. Men sit palsied and helpless by the side of their buried treasures.[508]

After all those who do most good with money, do it with the least, because they can do better than to acquire it.

_March 13, 1846._ The song sparrow and blackbird heard to-day. The snow going off. The ice in the pond one foot thick.

* * * * *

Men talk much of coöperation nowadays, of working together to some worthy end; but what little coöperation there is, is as if it were not, being a simple result of which the means are hidden, a harmony inaudible to men. If a man has faith, he will coöperate with equal faith everywhere. If he has not faith he will continue to live like the rest of the world, whatever company he is joined to. To coöperate thoroughly implies to get your living together. I heard it proposed lately that two young men should travel together over the world, the one earning his means as he went, the other carrying a bill of exchange in his pocket. It was easy to see that they could not long be companions, or coöperate, since one would not operate at all. They would part company at the first and most interesting crisis in their adventures.

END OF VOLUME I

The Riverside Press

H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY
CAMBRIDGE
MASSACHUSETTS

FOOTNOTES

[1] In many cases the punctuation seems to be absolutely
without significance; as if the writer had simply fallen into
the habit of dropping dashes in an absent-minded way as he
passed along. The following examples (the longest an extreme
case) will show what is meant:—

"I heard from time to time—a new note."

"The _Equisetum sylvaticum_—there is now of a reddish cast."

"It is very difficult—to find a suitable place to camp near
the road—affording—water—a good—prospect and retirement."

"Another alighted near—by—and a third a little further off."

[2] Under date of June 9, 1854, we find him writing: "I
should like to know the birds of the woods better. What birds
inhabit our woods? I hear their various notes ringing through
them. What musicians compose our woodland quire? They must be
forever strange and interesting to me." Even the glass that
he finally bought was not an opera-glass, but a "spy-glass"
(monocular) so called, and must have been of comparatively
little help in the identification of woodland species.

[3] Once he saw it (August 3, 1858), and then it proved to
be a Maryland yellow-throat. At other times it was almost
certainly an oven-bird.

[4] [_Week_, p. 375; Riv. 464.]

[5] [_Week_, p. 314; Riv. 390.]

[6] [_Week_, p. 352; Riv. 435, 436.]

[7] [_Week_, p. 348; Riv. 430.]

[8] [_Week_, p. 383; Riv. 473.]

[9] [_Week_, p. 417; Riv. 515.]

[10] [_Week_, p. 93; Riv. 116. _Excursions_, p. 138; Riv.
169.]

[11] [_Week_, p. 373; Riv. 461.]

[12] [_Excursions_, pp. 126, 127; Riv. 155, 156.]

[13] [_Week_, pp. 347, 348; Riv. 429, 430.]

[14] [Later.] We must consider war and slavery, with many
other institutions and even the best existing governments,
notwithstanding their apparent advantages, as the abortive
rudiments of nobler institutions such as distinguish man in
his savage and half-civilized state.

[15] [_Excursions_, pp. 127, 128; Riv. 157.]

[16] [_Week_, p. 186; Riv. 231. _The Service_, Boston, 1902,
p. 21]

[17] [A fanciful derivation of the word "Saxons"?]

[18] [_Excursions_, p. 128; Riv. 158.]

[19] [_Excursions_, p. 128; Riv. 157, 158.]

[20] [_Familiar Letters_, Sept. 8, 1841.]

[21] [_Week_, p. 163; Riv. 203.]

[22] [_Excursions_, p. 141; Riv. 173.]

[23] [_Excursions_, p. 127; Riv. 156.]

[24] [_Excursions_, p. 112; Riv. 138.]

[25] [_Week_, pp. 347, 348; Riv. 429-431.]

[26] [_Week_, p. 66; Riv. 82, 83.]

[27] [_Week_, p. 66; Riv. 83.]

[28] [_Week_, p. 96; Riv. 119, 120.]

[29] [_Week_, p. 65; Riv. 81.]

[30] [_Week_, p. 96; Riv. 120.]

[31] ["Carlyleish" is written in the margin against this
passage.]

[32] [The word seems to be a new one, but its meaning is
clear.]

[33] [_Week_, p. 129; Riv. 161.]

[34] [_Excursions_, p. 108; Riv. 133.]

[35] [_Week_, p. 78; Riv. 97.]

[36] [_Week_, pp. 94, 95; Riv. 117, 119.]

[37] [_Week_, p. 79; Riv. 98, 99. _The Service_, p. 4.]

[38] [_Week_, pp. 9-11; Riv. 11, 13.]

[39] [_Week_, p. 96; Riv. 120.]

[40] [_Week_, p. 319; Riv. 395.]

[41] [See _Week_, p. 95 (Riv. 118), where the passages
referred to appear in translation.]

[42] [_Excursions_, pp. 181, 182; Riv. 221, 222.]

[43] [All but the last stanza, somewhat revised and without
title, appears in _Excursions_, pp. 176, 177; Riv. 215, 216.]

[44] [Cf. _Week_, pp. 417-420; Riv. 515-518.]

[45] [_Excursions_, p. 108; Riv. 133. "Drinking" for "Sipping"
in l. 3 is the only change.]

[46] [_Excursions_, pp. 109, 110; Riv. 135.]

[47] [_Week_, p. 244; Riv. 302. Lines 2 and 3 are altered.]

[48] [_Excursions_, p. 112; Riv. 138.]

[49] [_Excursions, and Poems_, pp. 120 and 409; _Excursions_,
Riv. 147.]

[50] [_Week_, p. 180; Riv. 224.]

[51] [_Week_, pp. 364, 365; Riv. 451, 452.]

[52] [This poem will be found in _Excursions, and Poems_, p.
417, under the title "Ding Dong," somewhat revised and without
the last stanza.]

[53] [_Excursions_, p. 109; Riv. 134.]

[54] [_Walden_, p. 8; Riv. 14, 15.]

[55] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 278; _Misc._, Riv. 36,
37. _The Service_, pp. 5, 6.]

[56] [_Week_, pp. 276, 277; Riv. 343, 344.]

[57] [_Week_, p. 188; Riv. 234.]

[58] [_Week_, p. 188; Riv. 234.]

[59] [_Week_, p. 200; Riv. 248.]

[60] [_Week_, pp. 302, 303; Riv. 375, 376.]

[61] [_Week_, p. 38; Riv. 47.]

[62] [_Week_, p. 38; Riv. 47.]

[63] [_Week_, p. 39; Riv. 48.]

[64] [_Week_, p. 39; Riv. 48, 49.]

[65] [_Week_, p. 39; Riv. 49.]

[66] [_Week_, p. 43; Riv. 54.]

[67] [_Week_, p. 118; Riv. 147.]

[68] [_Week_, p. 179; Riv. 222.]

[69] [_Week_, p. 248; Riv. 307.]

[70] [_Week_, p. 309; Riv. 383.]

[71] [See_ Week_, pp. 318-322; Riv. 394-399.]

[72] [The original name of Woodstock, N. H.]

[73] [See _Week_, pp. 335-353; Riv. 414-437.]

[74] [See _Week_, pp. 356-420; Riv. 442-518.]

[75] [_Week_, pp. 110, 111; Riv. 137.]

[76] [_Week_, p. 110; Riv. 137.]

[77] [_Excursions_, p. 107; Riv. 132.]

[78] [_Excursions_, p. 107; Riv. 131, 132.]

[79] [This comes at the end of the first book of Journal
transcripts (1837-39) and follows immediately a bit of verse
dated Oct. 16, 1838, which has been included in its proper
chronological place.]

[80] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 277: _Misc._, Riv. 35.
_The Service_, p. 1.]

[81] [_Excursions_, p. 107; Riv. 132.]

[82] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 277; _Misc._, Riv. 35.
_The Service_, p. 1.]

[83] [_Week_, p. 376; Riv. 465. _The Service_, pp. 8, 9.]

[84] [Plutarch's _Morals_, "Roman Questions," lxviii.]

[85] [_The Service_, p. 9.]

[86] [_The Service_, p. 12.]

[87] [A pencil interlineation in this paragraph is as
follows:] The soldier is the degenerate hero, as the priest
is the degenerate saint; and the soldier and the priest are
related as the hero and [the] saint. The one's virtue is
bravery, the other's bravery virtue. Mankind still pay to the
soldier the honors due only to the hero. They delight to do
him honor. He is adorned with silver and gold and the colors
of the rainbow, invested with outward splendor; music is for
him especially, and his life is a holiday.

[88] [_The Service_, p. 11.]

[89] [_Week_, p. 183; Riv. 228.]

[90] [_The Service_, p. 11.]

[91] [_The Service_, p. 12.]

[92] [_Week_, p. 183; Riv. 228.]

[93] [_Week_, p. 183; Riv. 227. _The Service_, p. 13.]

[94] [_Week_, p. 183; Riv. 228. _The Service_, p. 14.]

[95] [_The Service_, p. 14. See also p. 151 of this volume.]

[96] [_The Service_, p. 15.] [In pencil on a fly-leaf of the
Journal:] The coward substitutes for this thrilling sphere
music a universal wail, for this melodious chant a nasal cant,
and but whistles to keep his courage up. He blows a feeble
blast of slender melody and can compel his neighborhood only
into a partial concord with himself, because nature has but
little sympathy with such a soul. Hence he hears no accordant
note in the universe, and is a coward, or consciously outcast
and deserted man. But the brave man, without drum or trumpet,
compels concord everywhere by the universality and tunefulness
of his soul.

[97] [_The Service_, p. 13.]

[98] [_Week_, pp. 183, 184; Riv. 228. _The Service_, p. 13.
The quotation is from Plutarch's _Morals_, "Of Superstition."]

[99] [_The Service_, pp. 7, 8. See p. 154 of this volume.]

[100] [_The Service_, pp. 23, 24.]

[101] [Cf. _Week_, pp. 274-307; Riv. 341-381.]

[102] [_Excursions_, p. 108; Riv. 133.]

[103] [Stanzas 8, 10, 11, 12, with revision, _Week_, p.
255; Riv. 317. Stanzas 2-5, 9, 13, _Familiar Letters,
Introduction_.]

[104] [Week, p. 93; Riv. 116.]

[105] [_Week_, p. 93; Riv. 116.]

[106] [_Week_, p. 132; Riv. 164.]

[107] [_Week_, p. 132; Riv. 165.]

[108] [The criticism was not transcribed here. The title was
inserted doubtless as a memorandum and to record the date of
its composition. See Week, p. 327; Riv. 405.]

[109] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 279; _Misc._, Riv.
37.]

[110] [_The Service_, p. 20.]

[111] [_Week_, p. 351; Riv. 434.]

[112] [_Week_, p. 351; Riv. 434. A sheet with specimens of
this familiar school-boy amusement is slipped into one of the
manuscript Journal volumes.]

[113] [_Excursions_, p. 118; Riv. 146.]

[114] [_Week_, p. 406; Riv. 501.]

[115] [_Excursions_, p. 114; Riv. 141.]

[116] [_Excursions_, pp. 120, 121; Riv. 148, 149.]

[117] [See pp. 174 and 263.]

[118] [_Week_, p. 300; Riv. 373.]

[119] [_Excursions_, p. 114; Riv. 140.]

[120] [_Excursions_, pp. 119, 120; Riv. 147, 148.]

[121] [Stanzas 3, 2, and 5, in this order, with slight
alterations, are printed in _Week_, p. 366 (Riv. 453), under
the title of "The Poet's Delay."]

[122] [_Walden_, p. 352; Riv. 493.]

[123] [_Week_, p. 383; Riv. 474.]

[124] [_The Service_, p. 15.]

[125] [_Week_, p. 12; Riv. 15.]

[126] [_Week_, p. 17; Riv. 21.]

[127] [T. finally sold this boat to Hawthorne, who changed the
name from Musketaquid to Pond-Lily; and later it passed into
Channing's hands. See Hawthorne's _American Note-Books_, Riv.
pp. 318-321, and Channing, p. 13.]

[128] [_Week_, pp. 12, 13; Riv. 15-17.]

[129] [_Week_, p. 19; Riv. 24.]

[130] [_Week_, p. 37; Riv. 47.]

[131] [_Week_, p. 17; Riv. 21.]

[132] [_Week_, p. 250; Riv. 310, 311.]

[133] [This was Thoreau's first journal, from which he made
the transcripts which are now the only representatives of his
early diarizing. See p. 188, where Journal of 396 pages ends.]

[134] [_Week_, p. 386; Riv. 476.]

[135] [Wordsworth, incorrectly quoted. The line reads,—

"Following his plough, along the mountain-side."]

[136] [_Week_, pp. 44, 45; Riv. 56.]

[137] [_Week_, pp. 37, 38; Riv. 47.]

[138] [_Week_, p. 38; Riv. 47, 48.]

[139] [_Week_, pp. 319, 320; Riv. 395, 396.]

[140] [_Week_, p. 45; Riv. 56, 57.]

[141] [_The Service_, p. 6.]

[142] [_Week_, p. 280; Riv. 347.]

[143] [_Week_, p. 163; Riv. 203.]

[144] [_Week_, p. 45; Riv. 57.]

[145] [_The Service_, p. 14.]

[146] [_Week_, p. 181; Riv. 224, 225.]

[147] [_Week_, pp. 39, 40; Riv. 49, 50.]

[148] [_Week_, p. 304; Riv. 378.]

[149] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 277; _Misc._, Riv.
35.]

[150] [_The Service_, p. 2.]

[151] [_The Service_, p. 13.]

[152] [_The Service_, p. 24.]

[153] [_Week_, pp. 93, 94; Riv. 116, 117.]

[154] [See p. 104.]

[155] [See p. 106.]

[156] [See p. 106.]

[157] [_The Service_, p. 12.]

[158] [_Week_, pp. 384, 385; Riv. 475.]

[159] [_The Service_, pp. 15, 16.]

[160] [_The Service_, p. 23.]

[161] [_The Service_, p. 23.]

[162] [_The Service_, p. 23.]

[163] [_The Service_, p. 23.]

[164] [_The Service_, p. 23.]

[165] [_The Service_, pp. 25, 26.]

[166] [_The Service_, pp. 21, 22.]

[167] [_The Service_, p. 22.]

[168] [_The Service_, p. 14.]

[169] [_The Service_, p. 12.]

[170] I have heard a strain of music issuing from a soldiers'
camp in the dawn, which sounded like the morning hymn
of creation. The birches rustling in the breeze and the
slumberous breathing of the crickets seemed to hush their
murmuring to attend to it. [Written in pencil on a fly-leaf
of the Journal.]

[171] [_The Service_, p. 7. Mr. Sanborn, in a note to this
passage, says, "The allusion here is to the extraordinary
sight of the gravest citizens of Concord, in that summer
[1840], ... turning out to roll a huge ball, emblematic of
the popular movement against President Van Buren, from the
battle-ground of Concord to that of Bunker Hill, singing as
they rolled:—

'It is the Ball a-rolling on
For Tippecanoe and Tyler too.'"]

[172] [_Week_, p. 129; Riv. 161.]

[173] [_Week_, p. 129; Riv. 160, 161.]

[174] [_Week_, p. 129; Riv. 161.]

[175] [_Excursions_, p. 119; Riv. 146.]

[176] [_The Service_, p. 13.]

[177] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 277; _Misc._, Riv.
36.]

[178] [_The Service_, pp. 3, 4.]

[179] [_Week_, p. 265; Riv. 329.]

[180] [_Week_, p. 79; Riv. 99. _The Service_, p. 5.]

[181] [_Week_, p. 301; Riv. 374.]

[182] [_The Service_, p. 24.]

[183] [_The Service_, p. 26.]

[184] [_The Service_, p. 23.]

[185] [_The Service_, p. 10.]

[186] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 277; _Misc._, Riv.
36. _The Service_, p. 3.]

[187] [_The Service_, p. 3.]

[188] [_Week_, p. 407; Riv. 502. _The Service_, p. 17.]

[189] [_The Service_, p. 17.]

[190] [_Week_, p. 407; Riv. 502. _The Service_, p. 17.]

[191] [_The Service_, p. 9.]

[192] [The last two sentences appear also in pencil on a
fly-leaf, preceded by, "It sleeps securely within its camp,
not even dreaming of a foe."]

[193] [_Week_, p. 230; Riv. 285.]

[194] [_Week_, p. 229; Riv. 284, 285.]

[195] [_Week_, p. 229; Riv. 285. See also p. 124 of this
volume.]

[196] [_Excursions_, p. 106; Riv. 131.]

[197] [See _Excursions_, p. 110; Riv. 135.]

[198] [_Week_, p. 315; Riv. 390, 391. See also below.]

[199] [See above.]

[200] [_Week_, p. 304; Riv. 377, 378. See also p. 205.]

[201] _Excursions_, p. 117; Riv. 144.

[202] [_Excursions_, p. 117; Riv. 144.]

[203] [_Excursions_, pp. 117, 118; Riv. 144, 145.]

[204] [_Week_, p. 184; Riv. 228.]

[205] [See Emerson's Journal (1841), quoted in E. W. Emerson's
_Emerson in Concord_, p. 99.]

[206] [_Walden_, p. 28; Riv. 43.]

[207] [_Week_, p. 415; Riv. 512.]

[208] [See p. 214,—bronchitis!]

[209] [_Excursions_, p. 167; Riv. 203, 204.]

[210] [_Excursions_, p. 173; Riv. 211.]

[211] [_Week_, p. 289; Riv. 359.]

[212] [See p. 180.]

[213] [_Week_, p. 236; Riv. 293.]

[214] [_Week_, p. 50; Riv. 63.]

[215] [_Week_, p. 305; Riv. 379.]

[216] [_Week_, p. 406; Riv. 501.]

[217] [_Excursions_, p. 182; Riv. 222.]

[218] [_Week_, p. 288; Riv. 358.]

[219] [See his sister's account of his last sickness in
Sanborn's _Thoreau_, pp. 310-313.]

[220] [_Week_, p. 106; Riv. 132.]

[221] [_Week_, p. 157; Riv. 195.]

[222] [_Excursions_, p. 182; Riv. 223.]

[223] [See _Week_, p. 45; Riv. 57.]

[224] [_Week_, p. 40; Riv. 50.]

[225] [An interpretation of Emerson's poem. The numbers refer
to the stanzas.]

[226] [The italics are Thoreau's.]

[227] [_Week_, pp. 111, 112; Riv. 138-140.]

[228] [_Week_, p. 108; Riv. 134.]

[229] [_Week_, p. 79; Riv. 98.]

[230] [_Week_, p. 283; Riv. 351.]

[231] [See p. 299.]

[232] [_Walden_, p. 25; Riv. 39.]

[233] [_Week_, p. 54; Riv. 67, 68.]

[234] [See _Week_, p. 131; Riv. 163.]

[235] [_Week_, p. 131; Riv. 163.]

[236] [_Week_, p. 129; Riv. 161.]

[237] [_Week_, pp. 318, 319; Riv. 395. Tree sparrow = chipping
sparrow? The "hair-bird" of _Week_, p. 317 (Riv. 393), is
called tree sparrow in the commonplace-book referred to on p.
438.]

[238] [Field sparrow, Nuttall's _Fringilla juncorum_. Nuttall
gives both field sparrow and rush sparrow as its vernacular
names.]

[239] [_Week_, p. 336; Riv. 416.]

[240] [_Week_, p. 336; Riv. 416.]

[241] [_Week_, p. 54; Riv. 67.]

[242] [In _Excursions_, p. 135 (Riv. 165), these lines are
printed as part of a poem beginning, "With frontier strength
ye stand your ground." The poem appears also, in extended
form, in _Week_, pp. 170-173; Riv. 212-215.]

[243] [_Week_, p. 132; Riv. 164.]

[244] [_Week_, p. 132; Riv. 164.]

[245] [_Excursions_, p. 133; Riv. 163.]

[246] [This poem appears in _Week_, p. 50 (Riv. 62), with some
variations and without title.]

[247] [_Walden_, p. 354; Riv. 496.]

[248] [See _Week_, p. 154; Riv. 192.]

[249] [_Week_, p. 140; Riv. 174, 175.]

[250] [See pp. 124 and 174.]

[251] [_Week_, p. 155; Riv. 193.]

[252] [_Week_, p. 12; Riv. 15.]

[253] [_Week_, p. 394; Riv. 486.]

[254] [_Week_, p. 155; Riv. 193.]

[255] [_Week_, p. 109; Riv. 136.]

[256] [_Week_, p. 157; Riv. 195, 196.]

[257] [_Week_, p. 157; Riv. 195.]

[258] [_Week_, pp. 161-163; Riv. 200-204.]

[259] [_Excursions_, p. 148; Riv. 181.]

[260] [_Week_, p. 339; Riv. 419. The "double spruce" is now
generally known as the black spruce. Thoreau makes it "single
spruce" (_i. e._, white spruce) in the book, but the tree he
was familiar with was the black. He confused these two species
for a time, but eventually discovered his error.]

[261] [_Excursions_, pp. 125, 126; Riv. 154, 155.]

[262] [_Week_, p. 363; Riv. 449.]

[263] [_Week_, p. 56; Riv. 70.]

[264] [_Week_, p. 341; Riv. 422.]

[265] [_Week_, p. 229; Riv. 284.]

[266] [_Week_, p. 341; Riv. 421, 422.]

[267] [_Week_, p. 353; Riv. 436, 437.]

[268] [_Week_, p. 363; Riv. 450.]

[269] [_Week_, p. 365; Riv. 453.]

[270] [_Week_, p. 159; Riv. 198.]

[271] [_Week_, p. 159; Riv. 199.]

[272] [_Week_, p. 155; Riv. 194.]

[273] [_Week_, p. 155; Riv. 193.]

[274] [_Week_, p. 155; Riv. 194.]

[275] [_Week_, p. 156; Riv. 195.]

[276] [_Week_, p. 159; Riv. 198.]

[277] [_Week_, p. 402; Riv. 496.]

[278] [_Week_, p. 159; Riv. 198.]

[279] [_Week_, p. 156; Riv. 194.]

[280] [_Week_, p. 156; Riv. 195.]

[281] [_Week_, p. 358; Riv. 443.]

[282] [_Week_, p. 155; Riv. 193.]

[283] [_Excursions_, p. 119; Riv. 146, 147.]

[284] [_Excursions_, pp. 331, 332; Riv. 408.]

[285] [_Week_, p. 358; Riv. 443.]

[286] [_Week_, p. 48; Riv. 60.]

[287] [_Week_, p. 393; Riv. 486.]

[288] [_Week_, pp. 393, 394; Riv. 486.]

[289] [_Week_, p. 394; Riv. 486.]

[290] [_Week_, p. 111; Riv. 138.]

[291] [See p. 213 for the possible origin of this figure.]

[292] [On the back lining-page of the manuscript Journal
volume which ends with this date are the following sentences
in pencil:

There is another young day let loose to roam the earth.

Happiness is very unprofitable stock.

The love which is preached nowadays is an ocean of new milk
for a man to swim in. I hear no surf nor surge, but the winds
coo over it.]

[293] [See _Week_, pp. xx, xxi; _Misc._, Riv. 8, 9 (Emerson's
Biographical Sketch of Thoreau).]

[294] [_Week_, p. 291; Riv. 361.]

[295] [_Week_, p. 363; Riv. 450.]

[296] [_Week_, p. 395; Riv. 488.]

[297] [_Week_, p. 395; Riv. 488.]

[298] [This poem, with the four additional stanzas of the
next date, appears in the _Week_, pp. 313, 314 (Riv. 388, 389)
under the title of "The Inward Morning." The second stanza is
there omitted and there are other alterations.]

[299] [_Familiar Letters_, Sept., 1852.]

[300] [See p. 347.]

[301] [_Week_, p. 373; Riv. 461.]

[302] [_Week_, p. 54; Riv. 67.]

[303] [_Excursions_, p. 174; Riv. 212.]

[304] [Written in pencil on a fly-leaf of the Journal:] A man
might well pray that he may not taboo or curse any portion of
nature by being buried in it.

[305] [Channing, p. 241.]

[306] [See p. 244.]

[307] [_Excursions_, p. 173; Riv. 212.]

[308] [_Week_, p. 314; Riv. 389.]

[309] [_Week_, p. 133; Riv. 166.]

[310] [_Week_, p. 280; Riv. 347.]

[311] [_Week_, p. 314; Riv. 390.]

[312] [_Week_, p. 384; Riv. 474.]

[313] [_Week_, p. 396; Riv. 489.]

[314] [_Week_, p. 397; Riv. 490.]

[315] [_Week_, p. 398; Riv. 491.]

[316] [_Week_, p. 397; Riv. 490.]

[317] [_Week_, p. 398; Riv. 491, 492.]

[318] [_Excursions_, pp. 103, 104; Riv. 127, 128.]

[319] [_Excursions_, pp. 103-105; Riv. 127-129.]

[320] [_Week_, p. 362; Riv. 449.]

[321] [_Excursions_, p. 105; Riv. 129, 130.]

[322] [_Week_, pp. 77, 78; Riv. 96, 97.]

[323] [_Week_, p. 396; Riv. 489.]

[324] [_Week_, p. 398; Riv. 492.]

[325] [_Week_, p. 396; Riv. 489, 490.]

[326] [_Week_, pp. 237, 238; Riv. 294, 295.]

[327] [_Week_, pp. 108-110; Riv. 134-136.]

[328] [_Week_, p. 110; Riv. 136, 137.]

[329] [_Excursions_, p. 104; Riv. 128.]

[330] [_Week_, p. 184; Riv. 228.]

[331] [_Week_, p. 182; Riv. 226.]

[332] [_Week_, p. 183; Riv. 227.]

[333] [It was about a year after the date of this entry that
Richard F. Fuller made Thoreau a present of a music-box (see
_Familiar Letters_, March 2, 1842, and Jan. 16 and 24, 1843),
which a few months later, on departing for Staten Island, he
lent to Hawthorne (_American Note-Books_, Riv. pp. 333, 338).]

[334] [_Week_, p. 184; Riv. 228.]

[335] [_Week_, p. 184; Riv. 228.]

[336] [_Week_, p. 303; Riv. 377.]

[337] [Thoreau's brother John died Jan. 11, 1842.]

[338] [Two lines missing from the manuscript here.]

[339] [_Week_, p. 398; Riv. 492.]

[340] [_Week_, p. 397; Riv. 490.]

[341] [_Week_, p. 288; Riv. 357.]

[342] [_Week_, p. 288; Riv. 358.]

[343] [At the head of this paragraph appears the following in
pencil:

What has music to do with the lives of the Great Composers? It
is the great composer who is not yet dead whose life should
be written. Shall we presume to write such a history as the
former while the winds blow?]

[344] [_Week_, pp. 398, 399; Riv. 492.]

[345] [_Week_, p. 303; Riv. 377.]

[346] [_Week_, pp. 397, 398; Riv. 491.]

[347] [_Week_, pp. 397, 398; Riv. 491, 492.]

[348] [_Week_, p. 156; Riv. 195.]

[349] [_Week_, p. 157; Riv. 196.]

[350] [_Week_, pp. 339, 340; Riv. 420.]

[351] [_Week_, p. 138; Riv. 172, 173.]

[352] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 336; _Misc._, Riv.
106, 107.]

[353] [See pp. 443, 444.]

[354] [See _Journal_, vol. ii, p. 128.]

[355] [_Week_, p. 283; Riv. 351.]

[356] [_Week_, pp. 130, 131; Riv. 163.]

[357] Set the red hen, Sunday, March 21st [=20th]. [This
memorandum is written in the margin. It is pretty good proof
that by now we have come to the original Journal. Just where
the transcripts end, however, it seems to be impossible to
determine.]

[358] [_Week_, p. 107; Riv. 133.]

[359] [_Week_, p. 130; Riv. 162.]

[360] [_Week_, p. 160; Riv. 199.]

[361] [_Week_, p. 109; Riv. 135, 136.]

[362] [_Week_, p. 153; Riv. 191.]

[363] [_Week_, p. 153; Riv. 191.]

[364] [_Week_, p. 153; Riv. 191.]

[365] [_Week_, p. 105; Riv. 130.]

[366] [_Week_, p. 153; Riv. 191.]

[367] [See pp. 295, 296.]

[368] [_Week_, p. 137; Riv. 170.]

[369] [_Week_, p. 301; Riv. 374, 375.]

[370] [_Week_, p. 351; Riv. 434.]

[371] [_Week_, p. 130; Riv. 163.]

[372] [In _Excursions_, p. 110 (Riv. 136), what appears to be
the same bird is described, and is called the fish hawk.]

[373] [_Week_, pp. 105, 106; Riv. 131, 132.]

[374] [_Week_, pp. 34, 35; Riv. 42, 43.]

[375] [_Excursions_, p. 110; Riv. 136.]

[376] [_Week_, p. 110; Riv. 137.]

[377] [On the margin of this page appears the memorandum: "Set
the gray hen April 1st."]

[378] [_Week_, p. 397; Riv. 490, 491.]

[379] [_Excursions_, p. 111; Riv. 137.]

[380] [_Walden_, p. 94; Riv. 134.]

[381] [_Walden_, p. 106; Riv. 150.]

[382] [_Walden_, pp. 171, 172; Riv. 242.]

[383] [_Walden_, p. 145; Riv. 205.]

[384] [_Walden_, pp. 145, 146; Riv. 206.]

[385] [Plainly "neat" in Journal, though _Walden_ has
"great."]

[386] [_Walden_, pp. 159, 160; Riv. 224, 225.]

[387] [_Walden_, p. 161; Riv. 227.]

[388] [_Walden_, pp. 12, 13; Riv. 21.]

[389] [_Walden_, p. 39; Riv. 59.]

[390] [_Walden_, p. 41; Riv. 61.]

[391] [_Walden_, p. 41; Riv. 61.]

[392] [_Walden_, p. 309; Riv. 433.]

[393] [_Walden_, p. 250; Riv. 351.]

[394] [_Walden_, pp. 112-114; Riv. 159-161.]

[395] [_Walden_, p. 114; Riv. 162.]

[396] [See _Excursions_, p. 295; Riv. 362.]

[397] [Eight lines, somewhat altered, _Week_, pp. 407, 408;
Riv. 503.]

[398] [_Week_, p. 407; Riv. 503.]

[399] [By Eliot Warburton, London, 1844, and New York, 1845.]

[400] [_Week_, pp. 266, 267; Riv. 331.]

[401] [_Week_, pp. 266, 267; Riv. 330-332.]

[402] [_Walden_, p. 111; Riv. 157, 158.]

[403] [_Walden_, p. 127; Riv. 179, 180.]

[404] [_Walden_, pp. 137, 138; Riv. 194-196.]

[405] [_Walden_, pp. 139, 140; Riv. 197, 198.]

[406] [_Walden_, p. 242, where he makes his age four instead
of five at the time of this early visit.]

[407] [_Walden_, p. 139; Riv. 197.]

[408] [_Walden_, p. 181; Riv. 255.]

[409] [_Walden_, p. 182; Riv. 256.]

[410] [_The Legend of Good Women_, ll. 1218, 1219.]

[411] [_Walden_, pp. 225-227, 229, 231; Riv. 317-320, 322,
325, 326.]

[412] [_Walden_, p. 232; Riv. 327.]

[413] [_Walden_, pp. 230, 231; Riv. 323-325.]

[414] [See _Walden_, pp. 271, 272; Riv. 380, 381.]

[415] [_Walden_, p. 44; Riv. 65, 66.]

[416] [_Walden_, pp. 32, 33; Riv. 48, 49.]

[417] [_Walden_, pp. 33, 34; Riv. 50, 51.]

[418] [_Walden_, pp. 37, 38; Riv. 56.]

[419] [_Walden_, p. 34; Riv. 51, 52.]

[420] [_Walden_, p. 35; Riv. 53.]

[421] [_Walden_, p. 36; Riv. 55.]

[422] [_Walden_, p. 39; Riv. 58.]

[423] [_Week_, p. 264; Riv. 328.]

[424] [_Week_, p. 65; Riv. 81.]

[425] [_Week_, p. 58; Riv. 72.]

[426] [_Week_, p. 61; Riv. 76.]

[427] [_Week_, p. 136; Riv. 169.]

[428] [_Week_, p. 58; Riv. 72, 73.]

[429] [_Week_, p. 57; Riv. 72.]

[430] [_Walden_, p. 275; Riv. 386.]

[431] [_Walden_, p. 275; Riv. 386.]

[432] [_Walden_, p. 4; Riv. 9.]

[433] [_Walden_, p. 7; Riv. 12, 13.]

[434] [_Walden_, p. 301; Riv. 422.]

[435] [See _Journal_, vol. vii, Feb. 1, 1855.]

[436] [_Walden_, pp. 12, 13; Riv. 21.]

[437] [_Walden_, p. 306; Riv. 429.]

[438] [_Walden_, p. 162; Riv. 228.]

[439] [_Walden_, p. 304; Riv. 426.]

[440] [_Walden_, pp. 344, 345; Riv. 481, 482.]

[441] [_Walden_, pp. 183, 184; Riv. 258, 259.]

[442] [_Walden_, p. 345; Riv. 482.]

[443] [_Walden_, p. 345; Riv. 482, 483.]

[444] [Twenty-six lines of this, somewhat revised, appear
under the title of "Pilgrims" in _Excursions, and Poems_, p.
413.]

[445] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, pp. 352, 353; _Misc._,
Riv. 127, 128.]

[446] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 344; _Misc._, Riv.
116, 117.]

[447] [_Walden_, pp. 288, 289; Riv. 405.]

[448] [_Walden_, p. 289; Riv. 405, 406.]

[449] [_Walden_, pp. 24, 26; Riv. 36, 40.]

[450] [_Walden_, p. 24; Riv. 37.]

[451] [_Walden_, p. 25; Riv. 38.]

[452] [_Walden_, p. 25; Riv. 38, 39.]

[453] [_Walden_, pp. 283, 284, 287, 288; Riv. 397-400, 404.]

[454] [_Walden_, pp. 289-291; Riv. 406-408.]

[455] [_Walden_, pp. 282, 283; Riv. 396, 397.]

[456] [_Walden_, pp. 258, 259; Riv. 363, 364.]

[457] [_Walden_, p. 345; Riv. 483.]

[458] [_Walden_, p. 262; Riv. 368.]

[459] [_Walden_, p. 259; Riv. 364.]

[460] [_Walden_, p. 305; Riv. 428.]

[461] ["Hilda" was originally written where "Nutting" appears
on p. 420.]

[462] [_Walden_, p. 292; Riv. 408, 409.]

[463] [_Walden_, pp. 323, 324; Riv. 452, 453.]

[464] [_Walden_, p. 313; Riv. 438.]

[465] [_Walden_, pp. 289, 290; Riv. 406, 407.]

[466] [_Walden_, p. 285; Riv. 400.]

[467] [See _Week_, p. 102; Riv. 127.]

[468] [_Walden_, p. 280; Riv. 392, 393.]

[469] [_Walden_, p. 309; Riv. 434.]

[470] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, pp. 325-327; _Misc._,
Riv. 93-95 ("Thomas Carlyle and his Works").]

[471] [_Walden_, pp. 4, 5; Riv. 9, 10.]

[472] [_Walden_, pp. 6, 8; Riv. 11, 14.]

[473] [_Walden_, p. 8; Riv. 14, 15.]

[474] [_Walden_, pp. 5, 6; Riv. 10, 11.]

[475] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 327; _Misc._, Riv. 95
("Thomas Carlyle and his Works").]

[476] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 325; _Misc._, Riv. 93
("Thomas Carlyle and his Works").]

[477] [_Walden_, pp. 283-285, 287, 288; Riv. 397-400, 404.]

[478] [_Walden_, pp. 68, 69; Riv. 99, 100.]

[479] [_Cape Cod, and Miscellanies_, p. 348; _Misc._, Riv.
121 ("Thomas Carlyle and his Works").]

[480] [_Walden_, p. 296; Riv. 415, 416.]

[481] [_Walden_, p. 296; Riv. 415.]

[482] [_Walden_, p. 310; Riv. 434, 435.]

[483] [_Walden_, pp. 19-21; Riv. 30-33.]

[484] [_Walden_, p. 12; Riv. 19, 20.]

[485] [_Walden_, p. 12; Riv. 20.]

[486] [_Week_, p. 45; Riv. 57.]

[487] [This follows matter used on p. 81 of _Week_ (Riv.
101).]

[488] [The boatman's. See _Week_, p. 222; Riv. 276.]

[489] [See p. 337.]

[490] [This and the succeeding paragraphs on the Indian were
written in pencil on loose sheets of paper and slipped between
the pages of the Journal.]

[491] [See _Week_, pp. 286, 287; Riv. 356.]

[492] _Vide_ the Fall of the Leaf poem. [This note is written
in pencil between this line and the following stanza. The poem
referred to is reprinted (without these lines) in _Excursions,
and Poems_, p. 407.]

[493] [This refers to the middle of September and follows
matter used in _Week_, on p. 357 (Riv. 443).]

[494] [_Week_, p. 387; Riv. 478.]

[495] [_Week_, p. 133; Riv. 166.]

[496] [The first four lines of a poem the rest of which
appears on pp. 234, 235 of _Week_ (Riv. 290, 291).]

[497] [This poem appears, slightly abridged and altered, in
_Week_, p. 201 (Riv. 249).]

[498] [There is a blank space here before "musty," as if
Thoreau had sought another adjective to go with it.]

[499] [See _Excursions_, p. 208; Riv. 255.]

[500] [_Week_, p. 377; Riv. 465.]

[501] [_Week_, p. 302; Riv. 375.]

[502] [_Week_, p. 302; Riv. 375.]

[503] [See _Week_, pp. 33, 34; Riv. 41, 42.]

[504] [This appears in pencil on a loose sheet of paper
inclosed between the pages of the Journal.]

[505] [_Excursions, and Poems_, p. 409. See also p. 71.]

[506] [Here follows matter printed on pp. 105, 106 of _Week_
(Riv. 130-132).]

[507] [See _Journal_, vol. vi, Feb. 5, 1854.]

[508] [See _Walden_, pp. 120, 121; Riv. 171, 172.]