Some Unpublished Letters of Henry D. and Sophia E. Thoreau/Appendix
APPENDIX.
Two Visits to Concord, Mass.
From an old Diary.
Sept. 1st, 1863. Arrived at Concord about 5 p. m. Stopped at the Middlesex House. Soon after, went across the way to a bookstore and bought a copy of the "Boston Commonwealth." On the first page found Thoreau's poem "The Departure,"
In this roadstead I have ridden.
This is the first publication of it. I accepted it as a sort of introduction meant for me.
This [place] appears like a quite orderly, staid New England town and somewhat reminds me of Oberlin, Ohio, twenty years ago.
Somehow, I feel a singular contentedness and as if my good genius had, for the time, got the upper hand of all obstacles and alone presided. In the morning, if my health will permit, intend viewing some scenes and places more dear to me than I can well tell.
Sept. 2nd. After breakfast went into the "old" and also the "new" burying ground; then to the new cemetery—"Sleepy Hollow." The ground is rolling and finely shaded with pines and oaks. Did not find what I was in pursuit of. Enquired of a man at work there where the Thoreaus' burying place was. He said, "At the new grounds." I also asked if I pronounced the name Thoreau right. Went to the place specified and found one grave with headstone marked, "John Thoreau, Jr.," and another near by newer and unmarked.
Then left for the Walden woods by the old Lincoln road. Found the pond, beanfield and site of Thoreau's house. The beanfield is now growing trees, pine, birch, etc., in rows, quincunx order—a fine sight!
P. M. To the old Battle-ground back of the old Manse. Found two other men there, visitors like myself. One of them read off the inscriptions on the monument in a clear, loud tone of voice, bordering somewhat on the pompous.
After supper at the hotel, called upon the Thoreaus, mother and sister. Found them rather expecting me. Was made quite welcome and urgently requested to get my things from the hotel and stop with them—did so.
They are decidedly bright-appearing women—the mother, I should say, about sixty-five, the daughter [Sophia] forty. The conversation drifted readily to [the subject of] the son and brother. Mr. X. called and planned a walk for both of us to-morrow. Found him sociable and attentive. During the evening more talk about Thoreau's last illness. His mother said: "Why, this room [their parlor] did not seem like a sick-room. My son wanted flowers and pictures and books all around here; and he was always so cheerful and wished others to be so while about him. And during the nights he wanted the lamp set on the floor and some chairs put around it so that in his sleepless hours he could amuse himself with watching the shadows."
Sept. 4. Fitful sleeping last night: too full of thinking. This A. M. called upon Alcott with Miss Thoreau. Had a fine interview with him. He talked about Carlyle, Thoreau, books, his own experience, etc. I did not see his daughter Louise. She had just come back from the Army Hospital at Washington; had lost part of her hair and so was unpresentable.
This P. M., X. Y. Z. and I took our walk. Went off to the S. W. of the village (on 'the old Marlborough Road,' I think) and finally struck Concord river in a. curve where X. said he and Thoreau used to go in bathing. X. wanted me to repeat that performance with him; I let him go in, while I took notes. The opposite and sunward bank is lined with a thick growth of evergreens which cast their dark shadow into the water below. The faint ripple on its surface gave the view the appearance of an inverted forest seen through a huge sheet of frosted glass. From here we went up on to the Concord Cliffs. X. showed me the Hollowell Place, Baker Farm, and the house where John Field the Irishman once lived. Thence to Walden Pond through a growth of young timber, where X. showed me a patch, a rod or so square, of "American Yew" [Taxus Canadensis] which, he said, Thoreau was very partial to, not showing it to everybody.
From the Pond and house-plot (the building itself has been moved away some three miles North) through the deserted beanfleld, to the Lincoln Road where, following North, through a hollow, X. pointed out to me, a few rods away, "Blister's Spring," whither I went, lay down and took a good, cold drink to the memory of the writer who has given it its consequence.
Sept. 4th. At home with the Thoreau family. P. M. Went with Miss Thoreau up, N. W., on to the hill ("Nashawtuck"?). A fine view! Ponkawtasset off to the N. E. a mile or so. The Assabet, at the north of us, winding its way to the Concord River below. The old North Bridge, the Monument near by and the village spread out in its beauty.
Sept. 5th. A. M. Took a ride with the two Misses Thoreau, maiden aunts of Thoreau, and Sophia. Called on Mr. [Edmund] Hosmer—not at home. Then on Mr. Platt; a pleasant time with him. Afterwards drove to Mr. Bull's home. He is the originator of the Concord grape that I had already sent for. Found Mr. B. a splendid talker and an enthusiastic garden man. P. M. Went alone to Walden Pond. Took a swim in it. Called at the patch of American Yew and at the Cliffs. Evening with the Thoreaus at their home.
Sept. 6th. Before breakfast, visited the "new" burying ground. Found Thoreau's grave. After breakfast, took quite a walk, N. E. of the town and mostly in the woods. (I have doubtless crossed and recrossed the dear, absent man's path so many times in this morning's trip!) Found, on my return, that Mr. Hosmer had been at the Thoreaus' to return my call of yesterday. Went soon after dinner to see him and stayed there until X. came, by agreement, to visit the "Estabrook Country" (they call it) to take a look at the Thoreau hut. It had been moved there some years before. Took a memento, a broken shingle, as a fitting emblem. Here is the field of boulders, some from eight to ten feet high, and such clumps of barberry bushes! Evening at Mrs. Horace Mann's with Miss Thoreau. Met there Miss Elizabeth Peabody, Mrs. Mann's sister, and her eldest son [Mrs. Horace Mann's], who accompanied Thoreau on his trip West seeking health. Found the young man greatly interested in Botany. Miss Peabody spoke very feelingly and freely of Margaret Fuller of blessed memory.
Sept. 7th. Arose rather early this morning and took a walk westward some mile and a half to a mill on the Assabet. On returning, found a branch from a young maple already turned of a fire-red, a part of which I broke off and took back with me and threw up into the branches of an evergreen that faced one side of the Thoreau house. After breakfast, it caught Mrs. Thoreau's eye and she began wondering what it meant. When I showed her, she exclaimed: "There! that was just like my son, Henry." I could n't help but feel a little flattered.
Afternoon. Took a ride up the Assabet with Mr. S. That was a very pleasant interview: Mr. S. seemed so easily to make it such—he talked so kindly and well of Thoreau.
After this, called upon Mr. Alcott, in company with X., also upon Mr. Emerson. A pleasant fifteen or twenty minutes' interview. Mr. Emerson enquired if I knew much about the Michigan University, spoke in high terms of President Tappan; asked if the young men of the West were not, some of them at least, seeking for more light and truth.
After dinner, when I bade the Thoreaus good bye, Mrs. Thoreau's sister, having come down from her room, stood at the foot of the stairs weeping. It was a tender leave-taking.
Second Visit to Concord.
Eleven years later.
August 21th, 1874. At the Middlesex House once more, arriving a little after noon. Dined and then started for Walden Pond. On my way out, on the Lincoln Road, I stopped at Blister's Spring, and as it had become a sacred fountain, I lay down and deliberately drank seven swallows of its cool, clear water to the memory of its absent poet. And now upon the site of that house in which Henry Thoreau lived nearly thirty years ago, I sit writing up this diary of to-day.
It is a beautiful place! The book "Walden," telling of his life here, first notified me of its author and his writings: that formed an epoch in my life.
The cabin is gone, long since moved away, but, Thank God! they cannot move this foundation nor the pleasant memories.
Passed along the pond side toward the S. W. to find the Concord Cliffs. Found a man in charge of the picnic grounds on the railroad side of the pond, of whom I enquired the way. He had never heard of such a place, but I got there all the same. The vale, lake, river running through it, looked much as they did eleven years ago. The [Irishman's] house on the Baker Farm has disappeared. Went around West and North to the village, and then to Sleepy Hollow cemetery. I found all the Thoreau graves (the remains having been removed thither since my visit, eleven years ago) up back on a little, shaded hill, and having neat, plain brown headstones. A little farther on I found a short, thick slab of marble, at the head of a grave and on it was marked "Hawthorne." A silent farewell to the graves of the Thoreaus and then I went to the hotel.
After supper went to visit once more the old 
Burial-plot of the Thoreau Family.
The grave of Henry's brother John is behind the large stone,
between Sophia and Helen.
Battle-ground and the Monument. On my return, took a look at the new monument (erected to the memory of the fallen friends in the late war) standing on the public square. When here before in '63, it was war time and soldiers were being mustered into service, and they were encamped on the same open square. Now only some of their names are on record there. Such is life!
Aug 29th. Arose at 5 o'clock and took an early walk on North side of R. R. This is a grand old town! How quiet and restful the people seem! After breakfast went to call upon X. His housekeeper went up stairs and notified him, and he came down with quite a visible scowl on his countenance, but when I told him who I was, he soon called me to mind, brightened up, was quite cordial and made me welcome to his room below, for reading, writing, and so forth. I accepted this offer with pleasure, in the meantime making an arrangement for a walk together in the afternoon.
2 o'clock, P. M. Started out with Mr. X. for a trip of over one and a half or two miles S. E., on what they call the Old Virginia Road, to see the house where Thoreau was born. I found my companion a little captious and uneasy—I did not keep to the foot-path beside the road! In our conversing, I forgot to do it, which seemed to annoy him. (His whims showed themselves otherwise during that walk.)
We found the house; X. was good-natured and communicative j he pointed out to me the corner room wherein Channing's "Poet-Naturalist" first saw daylight. We returned by the way of Mr. Alcott's, took tea with the family and stayed there until nearly nine o'clock. The older daughter, Louise, was away from home, but I met her sister May. She is quite an artist; bright, active, a good talker, somewhat forward, and she reminded me of some shrewd, sprightly young man that had travelled. She is quite busy, painting and selling her work—her father said—to raise money for taking a third trip to Europe. For a few moments I thought of patronising her a little; so, pricing a piece of her painting on a black panel about the size of a chair slat, I found it to be $25.00. I "threw up the sponge."
Mr. A. read to me from the manuscript of a forthcoming book. I liked it much, but X. became visibly restive (A. noticed it) and finally left the room to go and talk with the women. Afterwards, X. evidently felt that he had misdone, so on leaving he protested that he was interested in hearing A.'s writings read by him, and he made an appointment thereupon to go with me there tomorrow afternoon for that very purpose. Returned to the hotel at 9.30 P. M. (The idea of repeating that call at Alcotts to gratify a whim!)
Aug. 30th. Up at six o'clock for a walk past the old Monument and up Ponkawtasset hill, on the side of which William Ellery Channing once lived and got the credit for going farther to visit Thoreau in his hut in midwinter than any other living man—"that was not a poet!" It was pleasant to stand there and see the placid Concord running through the meadows, where thirty-five years ago, near this time of the year, Henry Thoreau and his brother rowed down this stream upon that trip on the account whereof were strung the beads that glitter and gleam in Thoreau's first book.
In the afternoon, called upon X. to go to Mr. Alcott's to hear him read. A. did "read"; and X. and I sat and [X.] very civilly listened to him.
During the reading Mrs. Alcott came in, and I had the pleasure of making farther acquaintance with her. She seemed a kind, sweet, motherly woman. After the reading broke up, a pleasant general chat ensued.[1]
Tea was announced, and contrary to my intention, I ate there again. After that Alcott gave me some of his books.
Mr. S. had learned that I was in town. So he found X. and myself and invited us to his house this evening. I found that he was living in the Thoreau home of eleven years ago. In the meantime Mrs. Thoreau has died, and her daughter, Sophia, gone to live with relatives in Maine. He gave me some interesting information about William B. Wright, author of "The Brook and other Poems," Shelley's later publishers, Walt Whitman, John Burroughs, Wilson Flagg, etc. After which cake and ale were served, and X. and I left.
Aug. 31st. Arose this morning about Four o'clock and started for a last visit to Walden Pond. I shall probably not see it again. Here I sit with my back against a little pine sapling, now growing on the site where once stood the hut. A few feet in front of me is a small but gradually increasing pile of stones to which every friend of Thoreau is expected to add his unit. I brought one up from the pond as my contribution and pencilled on it the word "Bethel." I also set out near by a plant of "Life-everlasting" that I had found while on the way here.
As I sit here facing the pond, I observe on my left, about fourteen or fifteen rods distant, a grove of those tall "arrowy" pines, such as Thoreau used for his house-building twenty-nine years ago. There is apparently not a breath of air stirring. Birds are singing about me and even the hum of an occasional mosquito is still heard. I left the pond, passing out by the beanfield. The grove of trees that Thoreau planted thereon in payment for his occupancy, looked quite sorry from the effects of a fire that had run through there some time previously.
A very genial last visit to X. He gave me a number of books, just as he had done at my first visit. As I bade him good bye, saying this would be my last visit to Concord—that I should not see it again, he answered: "Oh, yes, you will."
Our last glimpse of Thoreau's Western correspondent shall be a fragment from one of his letters to Thoreau's sister, Sophia.
"I often meet your brother in my dreams and with this peculiarity about these meetings: while, as you know, our night-visions are often abnormal, grotesque, and disappointing, in this case I uniformly find my high ideal of him while [I am] awake, fully sustained. Occasionally he has become as it were transfigured to me, beyond my power to describe. So I have for some time been in the habit of associating him with the North pole-star, as through every hour of the twenty-four it keeps its one position in the heavens."
It is much to have inspired such a friendship, and it passeth riches to have been capable of such an inspiration. It fitly marks an epoch in a man's life.
- ↑ "A general chat"—and Alcott, the Great Converser, present! We trust that our diarist is truthful.—Ed.