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Updated: June 8, 2025
The new school of nature writers will afford many samples of the former method; read Thoreau's description of the wood thrush's song or the bobolink's song, or his account of wild apples, or of his life at Walden Pond, or almost any other bit of his writing, for a sample of the latter. In his best work he uses language in the imaginative way of the poet.
Thoreau's hook nose and features could be transformed in rare instances into a look of command that no man dare question it was the look of the fatalist the benign fanatic the look of Marat the look of a man who has nothing but his life to lose, and places small store on that. "A little more ambition, and a trifle less sympathy, and the world would have had a Cæsar to deal with," says Blake.
A storm in the winter is the time to visit it a lighthouse or a fisherman's hut the true hotel. A man may stand there and put all America behind him." This was all true in Thoreau's day and long after.
They make conscious our sub-conscious dependence upon earth that bore us. Move a civilization and its literature from one hemisphere to another, and their adapting, adjusting services become most valuable. Men like Thoreau are worth more than we have ever guessed. No one has ever written more honest books than Thoreau's "Walden," his "Autumn," "Summer," and the rest.
There has been but one Thoreau, and we should devoutly thank the gods of New England for the precious gift. Thoreau's work lives and will continue to live because, in the first place, the world loves a writer who can flout it and turn his back upon it and yet make good; and again because the books which he gave to the world have many and very high literary and ethical values.
He did not hear the whine, but there came to him distinctly a moment later the dog's racking cough, and he shivered, and his eyes burned into Thoreau's broad back as he thought of the fresh blood-clots that were staining the white snow.
Only Thoreau's constant and unquenchable thirst for intellectual activity, and to supply material for that all-devouring Journal, can, to me, account for his main occupation during the greater part of the last two years of his life, which consisted in traversing the woods and measuring the trees and stumps and counting their rings.
"Most of its framework," she says, "was written seven or eight years earlier and delivered in September, 1855. Some parts of it he may have used at Mr. Thoreau's funeral and some sentences of it may have been written then, but the main work was done long before, and it was enlarged twice afterwards." Happy were they who heard him speak at the funeral of Henry Thoreau.
A loud voice began to announce that the moment of departure had arrived, and as the passengers began scrambling back into their coaches, Father Roland led the way to the baggage car. "They're going to let us ride with the dunnage so there won't be any mistake or time lost when we get to Thoreau's," he said.
The communion between human and tree life is well illustrated by a passage from Thoreau's Walden: "I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beech tree, or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines."
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