A great brassy moon going down in the west. A flock of neat sparrows, small, striped-throated, whitish over eye, on an apple tree by J. Potter’s. At Hayden’s orchard, quite a concert from sonic small sparrows, forked-tailed, many jingling together like canaries. Their note still sonnewhat like the chip-sparrow’s. Can it be this?

  Fair Haven. How cheering and glorious any landscape viewed from an eminence! For every one has its horizon and sky . It is so easy to take wide views. Snow on the mountains. The wood thrush reminds me of cool mountain springs and morning walks . . .

  Evening.—The moon is full. The air is filled with a certain luminous, liquid, white light. You can see the moonlight, as it were reflected from the atmosphere, which some might mistake for a haze,—a glow of mellow light, somewhat like the light I saw in the afternoon sky some weeks ago; as if the air were a very thin but transparent liquid, not dry, as in winter, nor gross, as in summer. It has depth, and not merely distance (the sky) . . . .