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  The bobolink still sings, though not as in May. The tall buttercups do not make so much show in the meadows, methinks, as the others did. Or are they beaten down by last night’s rain? The small Solomon’s-seal is going out of flower and shows small berries . . .

  I sit on one of these boulders and look south to Ponkawtasset. Looking west, whence the wind comes, you do not see the under sides of the leaves, but, looking east, every bough shows its under side; those of the maples are particularly white. All leaves tremble like aspen leaves. Perhaps on those westward hills where I walked last Saturday the fields are somewhat larger than commonly with us, and I expand with a sense of freedom . . .

  The red morning-glory partly open at 5.45. Looking down on it, it is [a] regular pentagon, with sides but slightly incurved.

  1.30 P.M.—to White Pond.

  Sultry, dogdayish weather, with moist mists or low clouds hanging about,—the first of this kind we have had. I suspect it may be the result of a -warm southwest wind met by a cooler wind from the sea. It is hard to tell if these low clouds most shade the earth or reflect its heat back upon it. At any rate a fresh, cool moisture and a suffocating heat are strangely mingled . . .

  After bathing I paddled to the middle in the leaky boat . . . Now, at about 5 P. M., only at long intervals is a bullfrog’s trump heard . . .I was just roused from my writing by the engine’s whistle, and, looking out, saw shooting through the town two enormous pine sticks stripped of their bark, just from the Northwest and going to Portland Navy-Yard, they say. Before I could call Sophia, they had got round the curve and only showed their ends on their way to the Deep Cut . . .

  P.M.—Walden and Cliffs.

  I see by the railroad causeway young barn swallows on the fences learning to fly . . .

  Lysimachia stricta, perhaps yesterday, at Lincoln bound, Walden. After one or two cold and rainy days the air is now clearer at last. From the Cliffs the air is beautifully clear, showing the glossy and light-reflecting greenness of the woods. It is a great relief to look into the horizon . There is more room under the heavens . . .

  In R.’s mowing, apparently lueerne, out some days. His son Walton showed me one of four perfectly white eggs taken from a hole in an apple tree eight feet from ground. I examined the hole. He had seen a bluebird there, and I saw a blue feather in it and apparently a bluebird’s nest . . .

  P.M.—Looked for the black duck’s nest, but could find no trace of it . . .

  I returned from Cape Cod last evening, and now take the first opportunity to invite you men of Worcester to this quiet Mediterranean shore. Can you come this week on Friday or next Monday? I mention the earliest days on which I suppose you can be ready. If more convenient name some other time within ten days. I shall be rejoiced to see you, and to act the part of skipper in the contemplated voyage. I have just got another letter from Cholmondeley, which may interest you somewhat.

H.D.T.

  2 P.M.—To Bare Hill road . . .

  At 7 P.M. the river is fifteen and three fourths inches above summer level . . . (Journal, 13:369-371).