by pines and maples of his grafting. There are few places where the entrance of the trolley seems more inept, if not sacrilegious, than in Concord. "Margaret Sidney," a loyal daughter of later Concord, has said, with pleasing truth and fancy mingled,—"When all things shall come up for a final adjustment in the last great day of days, it seems that Concord might be gently passed by and allowed, amid general dissolution, to hold herself together untouched. . . . With a not unpleasing indifference to material progress, she adjusts her opinions on every subject, considers this adjustment final, and rests by her river, gentle, sluggish, persistent as herself."
The river, thus fittingly characterized, is the primal element in the landscape. The expanse of meadow and bog is relieved of monotony by the tortuous, interwoven paths of the Assabet and Sudbury rivers, forming, at their juncture, the Concord. Overgrown with grasses, slowly meandering past the town, this river was a source of unfailing delight to Thoreau. Guiding his boat through its tortuous traces, bathing in its waters, skating over its narrow channel, or gathering from its banks and inlets some rare aquatic plants, the Concord river is associated with many happy hours and most poetic pages. He usually chose its Indian name, Musketa-
