As the sun went down last night, round and red in a damp misty atmosphere, so now it rises in the same manner, though there is no dense fog . . .

  Three days in succession,—the 13th, 14th, and 15th,—thunder-clouds, with thunder and lightning, have risen high in the cast, threatening instant rain, and yet each time it has failed to reach us . . .

  There is a cool east wind,—and has been afternoons for several days,—which has produced a very thick haze or a fog- . . . There is a fine ripple and sparkle on the pond, seen through the mist. But what signifies the beauty of nature when men are base? We walk to lakes to see our serenity reflected in them. When we are not serene, we go not to them. Who can be serene in a country where both rulers and ruled are without principle? The remembrance of the baseness of politicians spoils my walks. My thoughts are murder to the State; I endeavor in vain to observe nature; my thoughts involuntarily go plotting against the State. I trust that all just men will conspire . . .