THE appearance of a new and elegant edition of "Walden" may afford excuse, if excuse be needed, for recalling some of the facts about Thoreau's success, or lack of success, as an author.
Last February, I picked up Walden on a Saturday morning and hoped to get through the first chapter. But by evening, I had not started any work, had not eaten and had torn halfway through the book.
But one of these old houses, with its ivy-covered wall and horse chestnut tree, is different. It has a frontage, first put up in 1979 and seemingly not touched since: on fading yellow, green letters ...