the Thoreau Log.
22 January 1852. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  I love to look at Ebby Hubbard’s oaks and pines on the hillside from Brister’s Hill. Am thankful that there is one old miser who will not sell nor cut his woods, though it is said that they are wasting. It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good.

  It is a sharp, cutting cold day, stiffening the face. Thermometers have lately sunk to 20° . . .

(Journal, 3:214-219)

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