I thank you for your very kind letter, which, ever since I
received it, I have intended to answer before I died, however
briefly. I am encouraged to know, that, so far as you are
concerned, I have not written my books in vain. I was
particularly gratified, some years ago, when one of my friends
and neighbors said, “I wish you would write another book,—write
it for me.” He is actually more familiar with what I have written
than I am myself.
The verses you refer to in Conway’s “Dial,” were written
by F. B. Sanborn of this town. I never wrote for that journal.
I am pleased when you say that in “The Week” you like
especially “those little snatches of poetry interspersed through
the book,” for these, I suppose, are the least attractive to
most readers. I have not been engaged in any particular work on
Botany, or the like, though, if I were to live, I should have
much to report on Natural History generally.
You ask particularly after my health. I suppose that I have
not many months to live; but, of course, I know nothing about
it. I may add that I am enjoying existence as much as ever, and
Henry D. Thoreau,
by S. E. Thoreau.
(Traducción de Guillermo Ruiz)