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  Such a habit have cows in a pasture of moving forward while feeding that, in surveying on the Great Fields to-day, I was interrupted by a herd of a dozen cows, which successively passed before my line of vision, feeding forward, and I had to watch my opportunity to look between them. Sometimes, however, they were of use, when they passed behind a birch stake and made a favorable background against which to see it.

  One hundred and nine swallows on telegraph-wire at bridge within eight rods, and others flying about . . . (Journal, 6:384-385).

  Went to Gifford’s Union House (the old Tailor’s Inn) in Provincetown . . . Talked to Nahum Haynes, who is making fisherman’s boots there . . .

  Talked with a man who has the largest patch of cranberries here,—ten acres,—and there are fifteen or twenty acres in all . . .

  Pink-colored yarrow. Epilobium coloratum, a day or more. Young partridges (with the old bird), as big as robins . . .

  The large evening-primrose below the foot of our garden does not open till some time between 6.30 and 8 P.M. or sundown. It was not open when I went to bathe, but freshly out in the cool of the evening at sundown, as if enjoying the serenity of the hour.

  Potentilla argata abundantly out. Partridges big as quails. At Clamshell I found three arrowheads and a Small Indian chisel for my guests. Rogers determined the rate of the boat’s progress by observing by his second-hand how long the boat was going its length past a pad . . .

  There came out this morning, apparently from one of those hard stem-wound cocoons on a black birch in my window, a moth whose wings are spread four and a quarter inches, and it is about an inch and three quarters long. It is black, wings and body, with two short, broad feathery antennae. The wings all have a clay-colored border behind . . .

  Stop at Tamworth village for the night . . .

  Having sounded the river yesterday and to-day from entrance to Fair Haven Pond to oak at Ball’s Hill, the water being to-day three inches lower than yesterday,—or now a foot and a quarter above what I call summer level,—I make these observations . . .