It was her wish that we should be married, Sanborn wrote, when her death was seen to be near. The two were now united in name, he said -- as they had been in spirit from their first sight of each other. She died in my arms, the young widower and future reporter recorded, in her father's house in Peterborough, where her maternal relatives had settled in the middle of the last century.

Sanborn would preserve and cherish her letters and a treasured lock of her hair all his life. He said her voice remained ever with him: she spoke to him. He would now speak, and live, not only for himself but also for his beloved, departed Ariana.

Though deemed a hale and hardy forward-looking man of vigor, never far from the now melancholy mourner's thoughts would be the meek, the frail, the ailing, the dying, and the dead. Within months of Ariana's death, he would investigate the costs affiliated with having her body exhumed. The mourning Emerson had done this, wanting again to see his son, having been unable to accept as reality the infant's death and burial. As for Sanborn, he would not go forward with his plan.

The enormous burden of his grief was eased only by his investing himself in his expanding personal preoccupations and public responsibilities. He was now a teacher, and a committed antislavery man. He could hear Anna: she told him to go on, to go forward.

The stirring conversation over slavery grew every day more furious. Sanborn wanted just to jump in and get straight to the heart of it, righting the unacceptable, despicable injury done the nation by Daniel Webster's pro-slavery betrayal. There was one conclusion Daniel Webster had drawn that the angry young man agreed with: -- The United States is the greatest nation in the world, Webster had declared; -- and Massachusetts is the greatest state in the United States; and Concord is the greatest town in Massachusetts.

On September 7, 1854, Sanborn wrote to his wife’s uncle, Reverend James Walker, President of Harvard University, explaining he’d been absent because he’d married Ariana on the 23rd of August and, on the 31st, she ceased to be mortal. He hoped his kinsman, Dr. Walker, would understand that he was, for the present, in no fit state to continue his studies at Cambridge, though he intended to return by the first of November, if not sooner. But this would be up to President Walker, who could condemn him, and even expel him, for having wilfully broken that college law which forbids marriage.

Under the circumstances, Sanborn hoped, his actions would not be construed as an offense. He desired, both for his own sake and to comply with Ariana’s wishes, to return to Cambridge to join his class and resume his course of study. He volunteered to make up all omitted recitations, with a view to retaining his class ranking. He also pleaded to keep the scholarship he’d been granted. He very diplomatically added that he did not presume to believe he had a claim to these things, except as favors.

Sanborn remained through the fall at his father's farm in Hampton Falls, gathering his strength. He returned to college in October.

On November 2nd, he again sought out Emerson. He took a train to Concord, arriving at two in the afternoon. Emerson was just back from visiting Keene, New Hampshire. The two sat by the dining room fireplace and talked about Stonehenge. Then they went out for a walk. Emerson started telling Sanborn all about Thoreau’s enthusiastic new admirer from England, Thomas Cholmondeley, a graduate of Oxford, a student of philosophy in Germany, and the author of a book titled Ultima Thule, about New Zealand. He’d come to Concord on October 1st, and was staying at the Thoreau house, where Mrs. Thoreau sometimes took in lodgers.

While they were walking, speaking of Cholmondely, the man himself walked up. Emerson invited him to come to his house for dinner that evening and Cholmondely turned back toward the town. Sanborn and Emerson continued walking over the pastures and through pine groves, until they came to Walden Pond. They stood on the train tracks, then walked along the south shore to Emerson's woodland. They went back along the pond’s east shore just as the sun was setting. The turned rose, purple, and cool blue. A full moon rose over the trees. Emerson proposed Sanborn come to Concord to live. He could take over the school John and Henry Thoreau had once kept.

Back at the house, Mrs. Emerson served them tea. Sanborn couldn’t stay for dinner. Emerson gave him a copy of Thoreau's Walden and spoke compassionately, through only a few simple words, of Sanborn’s recent loss. He took the train to Boston and spent an hour at Theodore Parker's. Late at night, under the full moon's brightness, he walked back to Cambridge.

So there it was, Sanborn wrote. Emerson had proposed I take charge, in the spring, of the small school where I began my eight years of school-keeping

He talked the matter over with his family and friends and found he had good reasons for accepting the proposal. His sister Sarah had been a successful teacher, but had fallen into low spirits and ill health. He now proposed that Sarah should go with him him to Concord, to assist him in the school.

Here I was, Sanborn said, just twenty-three, asked to take charge of a new, private school in Concord. I was still in college! But Dr. Walker gave him a lot of leeway. Sanborn took a leave of absence and went to Concord to find an apartment and call on some of the parents of his prospective pupils. Emerson knew that Ellery Channing had some rooms available, him living alone in a big house opposite the Thoreau home on Main Street. He personally escorted Sanborn to Channing's house. He knocked on the door, then called up to Channing in his little garret study. He spends his time writing poetry up there, Emerson whispered. He’s given over the best room in the house, downstairs, to his housekeeper.

Emerson helped arrange things so that Frank and his sister would have use of Channing’s parlor. The best room in the house would be relinquished by the housekeeper to Sarah, and Frank would get a small chamber situated over the east entry. A huge guest room would also be made available to them, with the stipulation that Channing should have access to the room when he received visitors -- which was almost never.

In the meantime, Sanborn remained humbly ensconced in his Harvard student's quarters. He remembered returning from a lecture by Louis Agassiz one evening that winter to be surprised by Amos Bronson Alcott waiting for him in the tiny room. The two talked together for just a few minutes, then Sanborn volunteered to take him out. At dinner, they spoke of Agassiz and science, Alcott complaining that naturalists wrongly began their every investigation with matter. They should begin with Spirit, he insisted.

After, back in Sanborn’s room, Alcott shared his memories of Ariana Walker. Many of his formal Conversations in Boston had been written down, some by Ednah Littlerhale. One of them, he knew, Anna had recorded. Miss Walker caught the spirit, Alcott praised her. He'd called her Annie. He'd found her not only interesting, but extraordinary. At his suggestion she’d read Thoreau's Walden and had criticized the book intelligently, which Alcott had much appreciated.

In November, Sanborn visited Alcott. They talked for a while up in his study, then went down for a vegetarian dinner. Alcott spoke of his hometown, Woolcott, Connecticut, and of clockmaking (in Woolcott, the clockmaking center of the world, Alcott had worked an entire year, without monetary gain, putting clocks together).

On the first Saturday that December, in the afternoon, Sanborn walked with Alcott and Thomas Cholmondeley to Monroe's Bookstore to get, for Cholmondeley, a book of Ellery Channing's Poems. Afterwards, Sanborn strode over to Mrs. Clarke's boarding house to see about getting some of her famous fresh, hot tea.

Early in December, on a Saturday, Sanborn walked to Boston to visit Leavitt & Company, fishdealers, operating out of Boston's Philadelphia Packet Pier. His uncle, Benson Leavitt, had some bad news for him from Hampton Falls, New Hampshire. He’d learned that Sanborn’s parents were proposing drastic alterations to the family homestead. This hit Sanborn hard. No one had asked him. There was so much there still too dear, even sacred, to him. The place held priceless memories. He could still remember sitting with his Anna there, reading Shakespeare under a bright moon through many a splendid summer evening.

Benson Leavitt tried to cheer him up, inviting Frank to have dinner with him in his Woburn home. He assured his melancholy nephew that time was the great healer. The pain in Frank's aching heart, he said, would pass. Frank never would have guessed this process would begin that same day. He walked into his uncle’s home and there was his cousin, his uncle’s lovely, admiring daughter, Louisa -- the same Louisa who’d been present when Sanborn had first met their cousin Cate Langdon, through whom he’d met Ariana Walker.

Bronson Alcott was quick to see that a change had come over Sanborn. He showed up at Sanborn’s door the following week, merrily observing Frank’s apparent good mood. He invited Frank and his friend Edwin Morton to come have dinner with him that night. He said the Englishman Cholmondeley would be there, and he hoped the two young men would break bread with them. The two then went over to Morton's place on Massachusetts Avenue, where Morton was furiously scribbling page after page of notes on Thoreau. Alcott had a look over his shoulder. Thoreau is a beast, he said. He was now living life, both by day and by night, as the beasts did, living so close to nature that the brutes would do right to appoint him their king.

Neither Sanborn nor Morton joined Alcott and Cholmondeley for dinner that night but when Alcott invited them to join him at the Albion Club the next Saturday, they agreed to go along. When Saturday came along, Alcott told them to go the Albion without him. Alcott did show up eventually. At that point, the group was hotly discussing the controversial Henry David Thoreau. Those present drew in closer around the table, enjoying the apples, nuts, and wine. Alcott quoted Professor William T. Harris on Thoreau, repeating what they’d all heard before, if Emerson had not so spoiled him, he'd have made a good naturalist.

That evening, Sanborn went to Theodore Parker's, staying an hour, listening to Parker's summary of French law before and after the Revolution. He returned alone to Cambridge via the river and silent streets. He didn’t get to bed until midnight.

The following Wednesday, Sanborn met with Cholmondeley at Mrs. Manning's on Linden Street, near Harvard. The two parted, then met again later in Morton's room, warmed by a blazing fire. Cholmondeley talked the whole evening, telling of England's adventures colonizing the earth. He said those days would soon be over.

The next day Sanborn went back for still more of Cholmondeley’s talk in Morton's room. At sundown, the three walked over the bridge from Cambridge into Boston to hear Wendell Phillips speak. Sanborn walked over to Theodore Parker's to see if he might get a free pass, so that Cholmondeley could join them at Wendell Phillips' sold-out lecture that night. Parker told Sanborn Phillips had given away all his spare tickets. Now Edwin Morton came in, and Sanborn hit on an idea: Cholmondeley could go with Ednah Littlehale and Edwin’s sister Helen. Sanborn said he was sure Helen had a spare ticket. She did. And so they all did go together to hear Phillips, who advocated disunion as the only remedy against submitting to the slave power.

After the lecture, Sanborn departed with Morton and Cholmondeley for Parker's, where he and Cholmondeley spoke together while Morton sang. It was almost eleven at night when they got to the Albion, where Cholmondeley treated everyone to dinner. They sat and talked until midnight, at which time Morton made a toast, To The Pilgrim Fathers! Cholmondeley took it up, saying, Yes! And may the spirit which brought them here, return again to England, and may we have a Commonwealth, if not as great as yours, at least as happy and as well ordered. They all drank heartily to that. Frank reported he wasn’t back in his room and in his bed until some time after two in the morning.

On Christmas Eve, a Sunday, Sanborn arranged to stay at Mrs. Clarke's boardinghouse, then went to visit Bronson Alcott at his place before going on to an evening church service. Alcott was very pleased to see Sanborn, as he’d found the note he’d mentioned to Sanborn -- Ariana’s note to Alcott concerning Thoreau’s writings. Sanborn was moved by Alcott’s generosity and tenderness in simply sharing this.

The next morning Sanborn got up early, had breakfast, and headed over to the Orange Street wharf to bid Cholmondeley good-bye, but the talkative Cholmondeley didn’t appear to be going anywhere. By the time Sanborn finally broke away to head to the depot to catch the train going north to Peterborough, he found he was too late. Upset with himself, he set out on his two good long legs for nowhere in particular, and ended up at Commercial Wharf talking with James Russel Lowell's nephew Charley, who had a shop there. He returned to Mrs. Clarke's to arrange to stay over another night before again heading out, this time to East Boston, to attend a lecture being given by Emerson. To his surprise, Cholmondeley was there. Sanborn wondered if he would ever actually depart, keeping his word, going off to fight for England in the disastrous Crimean war.

After the lecture, Sanborn joined Emerson in his carriage, riding with him to the American House, where Emerson was staying. Along the way, Emerson reassured Sanborn that his proposal, that Sanborn should teach in Concord, was still on.

Early in the new year, 1855, Sanborn connected again with Bronson Alcott, this time in Cambridge, at Bartlett's bookshop. As editor of The Harvard Magazine, Sanborn had printed Morton's review of Thoreau's Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers and Walden. Alcott was pleased. Back in Cambridge, Sanborn gave Morton this news. Morton insisted they set out to visit Alcott together. The three then went to Bartlett's Bookshop, where Morton and Sanborn looked over a magazine that Alcott then took with him when they left the store. They were astonished, thinking they’d caught him, in his poverty and old age, succumbing to petty thievery, but Alcott, laughing merrily, explained he had a special arrangement with the store’s owner.

In mid-January, Sanborn called on Professor Wadsworth Longfellow in his parlor, where a late afternoon woodfire was burning in the ample fireplace. Outside, it was snowing, but within, Sanborn reported, all was bright, cheerful, and elegant. At six, he rose to go. Longfellow urged him to stay. Sanborn told him he knew that young men tended to receive more pleasure from such pilgrimages than they gave. Longfellow smiled and said this same feeling had prevented him from going to see Goethe in Germany. For that, he said, he’d long been sorry.

Mrs. Longfellow now served tea and joined them in talking about Spiritualism, but Sanborn seemed to be proccupied, his thoughts elsewhere. At eight, Sanborn suddenly but politely excused himself and departed, stomping through the snow, reeling and spinning with new resolve. Why, that was it! He'd go abroad; he'd study in Germany!

First, after giving his last recitation for the term, Sanborn went home. He went out of Boston along the north shore, and traveled north for three weeks of relaxation in Hampton Falls. There, he dashed off a note to Henry Thoreau who, in mid-January, had visited Cambridge to drop off worms for a librarian, Thaddeus William Harris, and to leave a complimentary copy of A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers with Sanborn. Thoreau had made a flying visit to Sanborn’s room in Holworthy Hall, Sanborn remembered. He’d left a book with him for Edwin Morton. Sanborn acknowledged his receipt of the book on January 30th, praising Thoreau for the marvellous beauty of his descriptions. Thinking to be clever -- trickier than the trickster --he wrote that whenever he was asked what he thought of Thoreau’s philosophy, he was apt to answer that it was not worth a straw.

From Hampton Falls, Sanborn traveled to Lowell, to Peterborough, Keene, Northampton, Springfield and Worcester. He recorded his enjoying a pleasant week with Anna's brother George, in Springfield, Massachusetts, reading the first two cantos of Dante's Inferno together. In Worcester, he visited the vigilante minister, Thomas Wentworth Higginson who, after a pleasant walk with Sanborn one fine morning, wrote a correspondent, -- We had a pleasant visit from the most interesting young man of the day: Frank Sanborn, a Senior at Cambridge, and editor of the Harvard Magazine. He is three inches above my head and very handsome, a person of great talent and noble character. Did you never hear of his romantic engagement, marriage, and bereavement? He is only twenty-three.

He got back to Boston and Cambridge on Thursday night, March 1st. On the 10th, he went in the afternoon to the Albion to speak with Emerson about starting up the college preparatory school in Concord. On March 13th, he got a definite written proposition, which even named his salary. Finding the salary ample, taken in connection with the advantages of the place and the prospects of the school, Sanborn accepted the job gladly, adding only that he hoped he could employ his sister Sarah as an assistant, which would give some Sanborn extra free time, which he’d be needing to keep up with his ongoing college studies. On these terms, he said, he’d be ready to open the school on Monday, March 26th.

On March 19th, Sanborn wrote to Harvard’s President Walker, petitioning for a leave of absence, in order to take charge of a School in Concord. He said he hoped to get permission to keep his present rank, and to graduate with his class. I begin at Concord next Monday, he wrote. He said he was sorry to be leaving Cambridge but, really, could he do otherwise than to accept such a good and pleasing proposal?

Sanborn would graduate seventh in his Harvard Class of 1855. He would decline his election to the Phi Beta Kappa society, denouncing it as an unjustifiable little intellectual aristocracy. He would keep his promise to Ariana and to himself -- to get his Bachelor of Arts degree. But he wouldn’t look back. He’d already moved on to other things.