I noticed the other day that the stump of the large oak at Clamshell Hill, cut down fifteen years ago or more, was quite rotten, while the trunk which lay by its side, having never been removed, was comparatively sound . . .

  P.M.—To Cedar Swamp up Assabet.

  There is at length a prospect of fair weather. It will clear up at evening this fourth clay of the rain. The river is nearly as lligli its it has been this spring . . .

  I leave my boat in Hosmer’s poke-logan and walk up the bank. A bluebird’s nest and five eggs in a hollow apple tree three feet from ground near the old bank swallow pit . . .