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his most notable parables: "I took a walk on Spauld- 

 ing's Farm the other afternoon. I saw the setting 

 sun lighting up the opposite side of a stately pine 

 wood. Its golden rays straggled into the aisles of the 

 wood as into some noble hall. I was impressed as if 

 some ancient and altogether admirable and shining 

 family had settled there in that part of the land called 

 Concord, unknown to me. I saw their park, their 

 pleasure-ground, beyond through the wood, in 

 Spaulding's cranberry meadow," etc. But the most 

 diligent inquiry failed to locate this place. Finally, 

 a good lady of Concord came to the rescue. She said, 

 "I know an old man who used to drive a butcher's 

 cart through this part of the country, and he will 

 know if anybody does." So, meeting him shortly 

 after, she said, "Mr. D., can you tell me where 

 Spaulding's Farm used to be in Concord.''" "Spauld- 

 ing's Farm?" — the old man thought a moment. 

 "There never was any such place in Concord, 

 ma'am." "But Henry Thoreau says there was, in his 

 journal." "Henry Thoreau.''" — with an expression 

 of undisguised contempt — "I knew Henry Thoreau 

 ever since he was a boy, and I never had much of an 

 opinion of him. And I hain't seen nothing since to 

 change my mind!" 



But Spaulding's Farm was eventually discovered, 

 — not in Concord, but in Carlisle, the village just 

 to the north which used to be a part of Concord, — 

 and a visit to the farm proved most interesting. The 



