Because the distance between each degree of latitude is approximately 69 miles.

December 2. 

As the stars, though spheres, present an outline of many little points of light to our eyes, like a flower of light, so I notice to-night the horns of the new moon appear split.

The skeleton which at first sight excites only a shudder in all mortals becomes at last not only a pure but suggestive and pleasing object to science. The more we know of it, the less we associate it with any goblin of our imaginations. The longer we keep it, the less likely it is that any such will come to claim it. We discover that the only spirit which haunts it is a universal intelligence which has created it in harmony with all nature.

Science never saw a ghost, nor does it look for any, but it sees everywhere the traces, and it is itself the agent, of a Universal Intelligence.

A communication to a newspaper, dated Bangor, 28th (November), says of the Penobscot :

“The navigation is closed here, the anchor ice with the surface ice making an obstruction of several feet thickness. There are enclosed in the ice from 60 to 80 vessels with full cargoes, besides the steamers. The ice obstruction extends about five miles," etc.

There is still no ice in the Concord River, or the skimming which forms along the shore in the night almost entirely disappears in the day. On the 30th I paddled on it in the afternoon, and there was not a particle of ice, and even in the morning my constantly wet hands were not cold.

The latitude of Lynn church is 42° 27' 51".

Calling Concord, at a venture, 42° 27', Bangor being 44° 47' 50', the difference equals about 2° 21'.

The length of a degree of latitude in Italy (43° 1') being, according to Boscovich and Lemaire's measurement, 68.998 English miles, call it in this case 69 miles, and the difference of latitude in miles between B. and C. is about 162 miles.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 2, 1853

I notice to-night the horns of the new moon appear split. See August 8, 1851 (“The moon has not yet quite filled her horns”); December 23, 1851 (“ I detect, just above the horizon, the narrowest imaginable white sickle of the new moon.”); July 20, 1852 ("The horns of the moon only three or four days old look very sharp , still cloud like , in the midst of a blue space , prepared to shine a brief half - hour before it sets . . . and, as it sinks in the west . . . the outline of the old moon in its arms is visible if you do not look directly at it.”)

Penobscot navigation is closed. See January 20, 1857 (" I hear that Boston Harbor froze over on the 18th, down to Fort Independence.") ; January 26, 1857 ("Saw  Boston Harbor frozen over (for some time). Reminded me of, I think, Parry's Winter Harbor, with vessels frozen in . . . [Ice did not finally go out till about Feb. 15th.] ")

 

There is still no ice in the Concord River. . . the skimming which forms along the shore in the night almost entirely disappears in the day. See December 2, 1852 ("Started in boat before 9 A.M. down river to Billerica . . .. I do not remember when I have taken a sail or a row on the river in December before. . . . The banks are white with frost. The air is calm, and the water smooth.") Compare November 30, 1855 ("River skimmed over . . . remained iced over all day."); November 30, 1858 ("The river may be said to have frozen generally last night."); December 4, 1856("Dark waves are chasing each other across the river . . . Smooth white reaches of ice, as long as the river, on each side are threatening to bridge over its dark-blue artery any night. They remind me of a trap that is set for it, which the frost will spring. "); December 5, 1853 ("The river frozen over thinly in most places and whitened with snow, which was sprinkled on it this noon");. December 5, 1856 ("The river is well skimmed over in most places, . . .. The ice trap was sprung last night")

To relieve and ventilate the tree and, as well, to destroy its enemies.

December 2. 

The woodpeckers' holes in the apple trees are about a fifth of an inch deep or just through the bark and half an inch apart. 

They must be the decaying trees that are most frequented by them, and probably their work serves to relieve and ventilate the tree and, as well, to destroy its enemies.

The barberries are shrivelled and dried. I find yet cranberries hard and not touched by the frost.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 2, 1850


The woodpeckers' holes in the apple trees. See December 5, 1853 ("See and hear a downy woodpecker on an apple tree. Have not many winter birds, like this and the chickadee, a sharp note like tinkling glass or icicles?"); December 14, 1855 ("I heard the sound of a downy woodpecker tapping . . . Frequently, when I pause to listen, I hear this sound in the orchards or streets."); January 5, 1860 ("I see where the downy woodpecker has worked lately by the chips of bark and rotten wood scattered over the snow, though I rarely see him in the winter. Once to-day, however, I hear his sharp voice.") see also  Walter Harding, Walden’s Man of Science, VQR (Winter 1981) ("He mistook the distinctive hole-drilling of the yellow-bellied sapsucker for the work of the downy woodpecker,")

I find yet cranberries hard and not touched by the frost. See August 23, 1859 ("The cranberries (not vines) are extensively frost-bitten and spoiled.");  August 29, 1858 ("We saw where many cranberries had been frost-bitten, F. thinks the night of the 23d. They are much injured."); September 20, 1851 ("The cranberries, too, are touched."); September 24, 1855 ("Some still raking, others picking, cranberries. "); December 7 , 1853 ("I sent two and a half bushels of my cranberries to Boston and got four dollars for them.")

I wear only one coat.

December 2.

Nov. 30, Dec. 1 and 2 were remarkably warm and springlike days, — a moist warmth. 

The crowing of cocks and other sounds remind you of spring, such is the state of the air. 

I wear only one coat.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal,  December 2, 1859

Rmarkably warm and springlike days.  See December 1, 1852 (“The year looks back toward summer, and a summer smile is reflected in her face”)

Sounds remind you of spring, such is the state of the air. See December 2, 1852 ("The distant sounds of cars, cocks, hounds, etc.. . . remind me of spring. There is a certain resonance and elasticity in the air that makes the least sound melodious as in spring.")

I wear only one coat. See November 28, 1850 ("Within a day or two the walker finds gloves to be comfortable, and begins to think of an outside coat and of boots");  December 6, 1859 ("hat is an era, when, in the beginning of the winter, you change from the shoes of summer to the boots of winter.")

When I first saw that snow-cloud, all the rest was clear sky.

December 2

When I first saw that snow-cloud it stretched low along the northwest horizon, perhaps one quarter round and half a dozen times as high as the mountains, and was remarkably horizontal on its upper edge, but that edge was obviously for a part of the way very thin, composed of a dusky mist which first suggested snow. 

When, soon after, it had risen and advanced and was plainly snowing, it was as if some great dark machine was sifting the snow upon the mountains. 

There was at the same time the most brilliant of sunsets, the clearest and crispiest of winter skies. 

We have had every day since similar slight flurries of snow, we being in their midst.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 2, 1858

When I first saw that snow-cloud. See November 30, 1858 (“We saw a large, long, dusky cloud in the northwest horizon, apparently just this side of Wachusett, or at least twenty miles off, which was snowing, when all the rest was clear sky. . . . It was a rare and strange sight, that of a snow -storm twenty miles off on the verge of a perfectly clear sky. Thus local is all storm, surrounded by serenity and beauty”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, December Days and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Sunsets

December 2. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, December 2

Snow cloud stretched along

the horizon sifting snow 

upon the mountains 

and at the same time

the most brilliant of sunsets –

clearest winter skies. 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  When I first saw that snow-cloud.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2024

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Measuring Little Goose Pond

December 2. 

December 2, 2017

Measuring Little Goose Pond, I observed two painted tortoises moving about under the thin transparent ice. When I broke it with my fist over each in succession, it was stunned by the blow. I put them back through the hole; else they might have frozen outside. There was a brown leech spread broad and flat and roundish on the sternum of one, nearly an inch and a half across, apparently going to winter with it. 

Where are the respectabilities of sixty years ago, the village aristocracy, the Duncan Ingrahams who lived in the high house? An Englishman lived in the Vose house. How poor and short-lived a distinction to strive after! 

I find that, according to the deed of Duncan Ingraham to John Richardson in 1797, my old bean-field on Walden Pond then belonged to George Minott. (Minott thinks he bought it of an Allen.) This was Deacon George Minott, who lived in the house next below the East Quarter schoolhouse, and was a brother of my grandfather-in-law. He was directly descended from Thomas Minott, who, according to Shattuck, was secretary of the Abbot of Walden (!) in Essex, and whose son George was born at Saffron Walden (!) and afterwards was one of the early settlers of Dorchester. 

Roads were once described as leading to a meeting house, but not so often nowadays.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 2, 1857

Measuring Little Goose Pond, I observed two painted tortoises moving about under the thin transparent ice. See December 13, 1857 ("This and the like ponds are just covered with virgin ice just thick enough to bear,. . . I see those same two tortoises (of Dec. 2d), moving about in the same place under the ice, which I can not crack with my feet.”); December 4, 1853 ("Goose Pond apparently froze over last night, all but a few rods, but not thick enough to bear. I see a lizard on the bottom under the ice.“) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Painted Turtle (Emys picta)

The clear straw-colored grass and some weeds contrasting with the snow.

December 2. 

P. M. — Got in my boat, which before I had got out and turned up on the bank. It made me sweat to wheel it home through the snow, I am so unused to the work of late. 

Then walked up the railroad. The clear straw-colored grass and some weeds contrasting with the snow it rises above. Saw little in this walk. 

Saw Melvin's lank bluish-white black-spotted hound, and Melvin with his gun near, going home at eve. He follows hunting, praise be to him, as regularly in our tame fields as the farmers follow farming. Persistent Genius! How I respect him and thank him for him! I trust the Lord will provide us with another Melvin when he is gone. How good in him to follow his own bent, and not continue at the Sabbath-school all his days! What a wealth he thus becomes in the neighborhood! Few know how to take the census. I thank my stars for Melvin. I think of him with gratitude when I am going to sleep, grateful that he exists, — that Melvin who is such a trial to his mother. Yet he is agreeable to me as a tinge of russet on the hillside. I would fain give thanks morning and evening for my blessings. Awkward, gawky, loose-hung, dragging his legs after him. He is my contemporary and neighbor. He is one tribe, I am another, and we are not at war. 

I saw but little in my walk. Saw no bird, only a crow's track in the snow. 

How quickly men come out on to the highways with their sleds and improve the first snow! The farmer has begun to play with his sled as early as any of the boys. See him already with mittens on and thick boots well greased — been soaking in grease all summer, perhaps — and fur cap and red comforter about his throat, though it is not yet cold, walking beside his team with contented thoughts. 

This drama every day in the streets! This is the theatre I go to. There he goes with his venture behind him, and often he gets aboard for a change. 

As for the sensuality in Whitman's "Leaves of Grass," I do not so much wish that it was not written, as that men and women were so pure that they could read it without harm.

H. D.  Thoreau, Journal, December 2, 1856

Got in my boat.  See December 2, 1854 ("Got up my boat and housed it, ice having formed about it.”); December 2, 1852 ("I do not remember when I have taken a sail or a row on the river in December before.”) and also   A Book of the Seasons, Boat in. Boat out.

Melvin the hunter. See May 31, 1853  (“We went on down the brook, - Melvin and I and his dog, - and crossed the river in his boat, and he conducted me to where the Azalea nudiflora grew,”) Also December 3, 1856 ("I see Melvin all alone filling his sphere, in russet suit, which no other could fill or suggest. He takes up as much room in nature as the most famous.”)

I saw but little in my walk. Saw no bird, only a crow's track in the snow.  See December 11, 1854 ("I hear rarely a bird except the chickadee, or perchance a jay or crow.”)

Sensuality in Whitman. . . See Letter to Blake concerning Thoreau’s visit of November 10 1856 ("He said that I misapprehended him. I am not quite sure that I do.”) HDT is reading the second edition of Leaves of Grass, inscribed "H.D. Thoreau from Walt Whitman”, that he received on that visit--and is now writing under the influence? See December 1, 1856( “I love and could embrace the shrub oak with its scanty garment of leaves rising above the snow, lowly whispering to me. . .”).

As for the sensuality in Whitman's "Leaves of Grass,"  See Letter to Blake December 7,1856 :

That Walt Whitman , of whom I wrote to you , is the most interesting fact to me at present . I have just read his second edition ( which he gave me ) , and it has done me more good than any reading for a long time . Per- haps I remember best the poem of Walt Whitman , an American , and the Sun - Down Poem . There are two or three pieces in the book which are disagreeable , to say the least ; simply sensual . He does not celebrate love at all . It is as if the beasts spoke . I think that men have not been ashamed of themselves without reason . No doubt there have always been dens where such deeds were unblushingly recited , and it is no merit to compete with their inhabitants . But even on this side he has spoken more truth than any American or modern that I know . I have found his poem exhilarating , encouraging . As for its sensuality , — and it may turn out to be less sensual than it appears , -I do not so much wish that those parts were not written , as that men and women were so pure that they could read them without harm , that is , without understanding them . One woman told me that no woman could read it , as if a man could read what a woman could not . Of course Walt Whitman can communicate to us no experience , and if we are shocked , whose experience is it that we are reminded of ? 

On the whole , it sounds to me very brave and American , after whatever deductions . I do not believe that all the sermons , so called , that have been preached in this land put together are equal to it for preaching . We ought to rejoice greatly in him . He occasionally suggests something a little more than human . You can't confound him with the other inhabitants of Brooklyn or New York . How they must shudder when they read him ! He is awfully good . - To be sure I sometimes feel a little imposed on . By his heartiness and broad generalities he puts me into a liberal frame of mind prepared to see wonders , -as it were , sets me upon a hill or in the midst of a plain , stirs me well up , and then throws in a thousand of brick . Though rude , and sometimes ineffectual , it is a great primitive poem , — an alarum or trumpet - note ringing through the American camp . Wonderfully like the Orientals , too , considering that when I asked him if he had read them , he answered , " No : tell me about them . " - I did not get far in conversation with him , — two more being present , and among the few things which I chanced to say , I remember that one was , in answer to him as representing America , that I did not think much of America or of politics , and so on , which may have been somewhat of a damper to him . Since I have seen him , I find that I am not disturbed by any brag or egoism in his book . He may turn out the least of a braggart of all , having a better right to be confident . He is a great fellow . 

A Book of the Seasons: December 2.

The year is but a succession of days,

and I see that I could assign some office to each day

which, summed up, would be the history of the year.

Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852

December 2

This resonant air –

melodious sounds – looking

through winter to spring.

December 2, 1852

The crowing of cocks 

such is the state of the air

reminds you of spring. 

December 2, 1859

Walk up the railroad. 

Clear straw-colored grass and weeds –

crow's track in the snow.

December 2, 1856

December 2, 2017

On the 30th I paddled on it in the afternoon, and there was not a particle of ice, and even in the morning my constantly wet hands were not cold. December 2, 1853

Nov. 30, Dec. 1 and 2 were remarkably warm and springlike days, — a moist warmth. December 2, 1859

The distant sounds of cars, cocks, hounds, etc. . . remind me of spring. There is a certain resonance and elasticity in the air that makes the least sound melodious as in spring.  December 2, 1852

The crowing of cocks and other sounds remind you of spring, such is the state of the air. December 2, 1859

It is an anticipation, a looking through winter to spring. December 2, 1852

I wear only one coat. December 2, 1859

There is still no ice in the Concord River, or the skimming which forms along the shore in the night almost entirely disappears in the day. December 2, 1853

I do not remember when I have taken a sail or a row on the river in December before. We had to break the ice about the boat-house for some distance. December 2, 1852

We have had every day since [Nov. 30] similar slight flurries of snow, we being in their midst. December 2, 1858

Got up my boat and housed it, ice having formed about it. December 2, 1854 

Got in my boat, which before I had got out and turned up on the bank. December 2, 1856 

It made me sweat to wheel it home through the snow, I am so unused to the work of late.  December 2, 1856 

How quickly men come out on to the highways with their sleds and improve the first snow! The farmer has begun to play with his sled as early as any of the boys.  December 2, 1856 

Saw Melvin's lank bluish-white black-spotted hound, and Melvin with his gun near, going home at eve. He follows hunting, praise be to him, as regularly in our tame fields as the farmers follow farming. Persistent Genius! How I respect him and thank him for him! . . . How good in him to follow his own bent, . . .I thank my stars for Melvin.. ..  I would fain give thanks morning and evening for my blessings. Awkward, gawky, loose-hung, dragging his legs after him. He is my contemporary and neighbor. December 2, 1856 

The banks are white with frost. The air is calm, and the water smooth. December 2, 1852

The barberries are shrivelled and dried. December 2, 1850

I find yet cranberries hard and not touched by the frost. December 2, 1850

Then walked up the railroad. The clear straw-colored grass and some weeds contrasting with the snow it rises above. December 2, 1856 

Some parts of the meadow are covered with thin ice, through which we row, and the waves we make in the river nibble and crumble its edge, and produce a rustling of the grass and reeds, as if a muskrat were stirring. December 2, 1852

I saw but little in my walk. Saw no bird, only a crow's track in the snow. December 2, 1856 

There goes a muskrat. He leaves so long a ripple behind that in this light you cannot tell where his body ends, and think him longer than he is.  December 2, 1852

Above the bridge on the road from Chelmsford to Bedford we see a mink, slender, black, very like a weasel in form. He alternately runs along on the ice and swims in the water, now and then holding up his head and long neck looking at us. Not so shy as a muskrat. December 2, 1852

After searching long amid the very numerous young hickories at Britton's shanty and Smith's Hill . . . I do not think that a single hickory has been planted in either of these places for some years at least . . .Yet I still think that some must have been planted within a dozen years on Fair Haven Hill without the pines in a manner in which oaks are not.  December 2, 1860

I notice to-night the horns of the new moon appear split. December 2, 1853

*****

 A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Boat in. Boat out.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau. The Hickory

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Common Barberry

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November Sunsets

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Reminiscence and Prompting

*****

July 20, 1852 ("The horns of the moon only three or four days old look very sharp , still cloud like , in the midst of a blue space , prepared to shine a brief half - hour before it sets . . . and, as it sinks in the west . . . the outline of the old moon in its arms is visible if you do not look directly at it.”)

August 23, 1859 ("The cranberries (not vines) are extensively frost-bitten and spoiled."); 

August 29, 1858 ("We saw where many cranberries had been frost-bitten, F. thinks the night of the 23d. They are much injured.");

September 20, 1851("The cranberries, too, are touched.");

September 24, 1855 ("Some still raking, others picking, cranberries. ")

October 4, 1852 ("Barberries green, reddish, or scarlet. Cranberry beds at distance in meadows (from hill) are red, for a week or more.")

December 7 , 1853 ("I sent two and a half bushels of my cranberries to Boston and got four dollars for them.")

November 26, 1857 ("Got my boat up this afternoon. . . .One end had frozen in.”)

November 26, 1858 ("Got in boat on account of Reynolds’s new fence going up (earlier than usual”)

November 29, 1860 ("Get up my boat, 7 a. m. Thin ice of the night is floating down the river.”)

November 30, 1855 (“Got in my boat. River remained iced over all day.”)

December 1, 1860 (“What is most remarkable is that they should be planted so often in open land, on a bare hillside, where oaks rarely are.”);  

December 3, 1860 (“Under and about the hickory that stands near the white oak (under the north side of the hill), there are many small hickories two to four feet high amid the birches and pines. Yet, I find no young hickories springing up on the open hillside.”) 

December 5, 1853 ("Got my boat in.")

December 8, 1855 ("Still no snow, — nor ice noticeable. I might have left my boat out till now.")

December 10, 1859 ("Get in my boat, in the snow. The bottom is coated with a glaze”)

December 27, 1852 ("Not a particle of ice in Walden to-day. Paddled across it. I took my new boat out. Flint's and Fair Haven being frozen up. Ground bare. River open")

December 28, 1852 ("Brought my boat from Walden in rain. No snow on ground.")  

December 23, 1851 (“ I detect, just above the horizon, the narrowest imaginable white sickle of the new moon.”)

December 2, 2020

If you make the least correct

observation of nature this year,

 you will have occasion to repeat it

 with illustrations the next, 

and the season and life itself is prolonged.

  April 7, 1853 

December 1 <<<<<<<<  December 2  >>>>>>>> December 3

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, December 2 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

 "A book, each page written in its own season, 

out-of-doors, in its own locality."

 ~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx ©  2009-2022

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2023

A sign of Winter

December 2

Got up my boat and housed it, ice having formed about it.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 2, 1854

See December 2, 1852 ("I do not remember when I have taken a sail or a row on the river in December before.”);  December 2, 1856 ("Got in my boat, which before I had got out and turned up on the bank.") See also November 26, 1857 ("Got my boat up this afternoon . . . One end had frozen in.”); November 26, 1858 ("Got in boat on account of Reynolds’s new fence going up (earlier than usual”); November 29, 1860 ("Get up my boat, 7 a. m. Thin ice of the night is floating down the river.”); November 30, 1855 (“Got in my boat. River remained iced over all day.”); December 5, 1853 ("Got my boat in."); December 10, 1859 ("Get in my boat, in the snow. The bottom is coated with a glaze”); December 27, 1852 ("I took my new boat out") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Boat in. Boat out;

I love to have the river closed up for a season

and a pause put to my boating

to be obliged to get my boat in.

I shall launch it again in the spring

with so much more pleasure. 

I love best to have each thing in its season only

and enjoy doing without it at all other times. 

Henry Thoreau, December 5, 1856

December on the Concord: a Mink.

December 2.

Started in boat before 9 A.M. down river to Billerica with W.E.C.  I do not remember when I have taken a sail or a row on the river in December before. 

  December 2, 2017

We had to break the ice about the boat-house for some distance. The banks are white with frost. The air is calm, and the water smooth.

Some parts of the meadow are covered with thin ice, through which we row, and the waves we make in the river nibble and crumble its edge, and produce a rustling of the grass and reeds, as if a muskrat were stirring. 

The distant sounds of cars, cocks, hounds, etc., as we glide past N.Barrett's farm, remind me of spring. There is a certain resonance and elasticity in the air that makes the least sound melodious as in spring. It is an anticipation, a looking through winter to spring. 

There goes a muskrat. He leaves so long a ripple behind that in this light you cannot tell where his body ends, and think him longer than he is. 

Above the bridge on the road from Chelmsford to Bedford we see a mink, slender, black, very like a weasel in form. He alternately runs along on the ice and swims in the water, now and then holding up his head and long neck looking at us. 

Not so shy as a muskrat.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 2, 1852

I do not remember when I have taken a sail or a row on the river in December before. See December 8, 1855 ("Still no snow, — nor ice noticeable. I might have left my boat out till now."); December 27, 1852 ("Not a particle of ice in Walden to-day. Paddled across it. I took my new boat out. Flint's and Fair Haven being frozen up. Ground bare. River open"); December 28, 1852 ("Brought my boat from Walden in rain. No snow on ground.") See also November 26, 1857 ("Got my boat up this afternoon. . . .One end had frozen in.”); November 26, 1858 ("Got in boat on account of Reynolds’s new fence going up (earlier than usual”); November 29, 1860 ("Get up my boat, 7 a. m. Thin ice of the night is floating down the river.”); November 30, 1855 (“Got in my boat. River remained iced over all day.”); December 2, 1854 ("Got up my boat and housed it, ice having formed about it."); December 2, 1856 ("Got in my boat, which before I had got out and turned up on the bank.");December 5, 1853 ("Got my boat in."); December 10, 1859 ("Get in my boat, in the snow. The bottom is coated with a glaze”); ) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Boat in. Boat out.

There is a certain resonance and elasticity in the air that makes the least sound melodious as in spring. It is an anticipation, a looking through winter to spring. See December 2, 1859 ("The crowing of cocks and other sounds remind you of spring, such is the state of the air.") See also December 1, 1852 (“The year looks back toward summer, and a summer smile is reflected in her face”)

Above the bridge . . .we see a mink, slender, black. . . See November 27, 1855 ("A mink skin which he showed me was a darker brown than the one I saw last (he says they changed suddenly to darker about a fortnight since); and the tail was nearly all black.”); November 17, 1855 ("Mink seem to be more commonly seen now . . .”); November 13, 1855 (“Going over Swamp Bridge Brook at 3 P. M., I saw in the pond by the roadside, a few rods before me, the sun shining bright, a mink swimming . . . It was a rich brown fur . . . not black as it sometimes appears, especially on ice.”).

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