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
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