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  What, indeed, is this earth to us of New England but a field for Yankee speculation? The Nantucket whaler goes a-fishing round it, and so knows it,-wlbe the lord of creation . . .

The fire, we understand, was communicated to the thoughtlessness of two of our citizens, who kindled it in a pine stump, near the Pond.

The lecturer stated that he never had more than three letters that were worth the postage. That might possibly be accounted for by his limited correspondence, or by the character of his correspondents, or even by the relative estimate which he may put upon the amount of the root of evil which is required to pay the postage of a letter. At any rate, there is one consolation for him in the case—that probably another year will not pass away without a reduction in the rates of letter postage . . .

The third lecture of this course will be given at Brinley Hall, this evening . . . We hope our readers will go to the lecture, this evening, and hear for themselves. We would not miss going on any consideration of an ordinary character. We are to have, among other things, the lecturer’s experience, during his two years’ seclusion from the world, in raising beans! Farmers and horticulturalists will probably be elevated upon the philosophical influence of that avocation.

  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) . . . .

  The river rising still. What I have called the small peewee on the willow by my boat,—quite small, uttering a short tchevet from time to time. Some common cherries are quite forward in leafing . . .

  Hard-hack leafed two or maybe three days in one place. Early pyrus leafed yesterday or day before . . .

  I first observed the stillness of birds, etc., at noon, with the increasing warmth, on the 23d of April. Sitting on the bank near the stone-heaps, I see large suckers rise to catch insects,—sometimes leap. A butterfly one inch in alar extent, dark, velvety brown with slate-colored tips, on dry leaves. On the north of Groton Turnpike beyond Abel Hosmer’s . . .