Concord Days. Amos Bronson Alcott

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       Amos Bronson Alcott

      Concord Days

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664575791

Table of Contents

       APRIL.

       DIARIES.

       MY HOUSE.

       OUTLOOK.

       SELF-PRIVACY.

       SUNDAY LECTURES.

       EMERSON.

       RECREATION.

       GENEALOGIES.

       SCHOLARSHIP.

       MAY.

       RURAL AFFAIRS

       PASTORALS.

       CONVERSATION.

       MARGARET FULLER.

       CHILDHOOD.

       CONVERSATION WITH CHILDREN.

       PLUTARCH'S LETTER TO HIS WIFE.

       JUNE.

       BERRIES.

       LETTERS.

       BOOKS.

       SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.

       IDEAL CULTURE.

       GOETHE.

       JULY.

       INDEPENDENCE DAY.

       AGE OF IRON AND BRONZE.

       CONVERSATION ON ENTHUSIASM. 12

       HAWTHORNE.

       SLEEP AND DREAMS.

       GENESIS AND LAPSE.

       AUGUST.

       PLATO'S LETTERS.

       BOEHME.

       CRABBE ROBINSON'S DIARY.

       SELDEN'S TABLE TALK.

       WOMAN.

       SEPTEMBER.

       WALDEN POND.

       THE IDEAL CHURCH.

       IDEALS.

APRIL.

       Table of Contents

      1869.

      "Now fades the last long streak of snow."

      —Tennyson.

      CONCORD DAYS.

DIARIES.

       Table of Contents

      Thursday, 1.

      Come again into my study, having sat some time for greater comfort in the sunnier east room by an open fire, as needful in our climate, almost, as in that of changeable England. Busy days these last, with a little something to show for them. After all, I am here most at home, and myself surrounded by friendly pictures and books, free to follow the mood of the moment—read, write, recreate. I wish more came of it all. Here are these voluminous diaries, showy seen from without, with far too little of life transcribed within. Was it the accident of being shown, when a boy, in the old oaken cabinet, my mother's little journal, that set me out in this chase of myself, continued almost uninterruptedly, and now fixed by habit as a part of the day, like the rising and setting of the sun? Yet it has educated me into whatever skill I possess with the pen, I know not to how much besides; has made me emulous of attaining the art of portraying my thoughts, occupations, surroundings, friendships; and could I succeed in sketching to the life a single day's doings, should esteem myself as having accomplished the chiefest feat in literature. Yet the nobler the life and the busier, the less, perhaps, gets written, and that which