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  Standing on the hill on the Baker Farm to-day, the level shrub oak plain under Fair Haven appeared as if Walden and other small ponds, and perhaps Fair Haven, had anciently sunk down in it, and the Cliffs been pushed up, for the level is continued in many cases even over extensive hollows . . .

  The Governor, Bout well (?), lectured before the Lyceum to-night. Quite democratic. He wore no badge of his office. I believe that not even his brass buttons were official, but, perchance, worn with some respect to his station. If he could have divested himself a little more completely in his tone and manner of a sense of the dignity which belonged to his office, it would have been better still.

  P.M.—To Walden and Andromeda Ponds.

  The place of the sun appears through the storm about three o’clock, a sign that it is near its end, though it still snows as hard as ever. An intenser, whiter light is reflected from the west side of drifts and hills, like another day, in comparison with which the level snow is dark. There is this recognition of fair weather. The west side of abrupt drifts toward the lit clouds reflects quite a glow of light, many shades brighter than the levels. It is a very light snow, lying like down or feathery scales. Examined closely, the flakes are beautifully regular six-rayed stars or wheels with a centre disk, perfect geometrical figures in thin scales . . .

  I go slumping four or five inches in the snow on the river, and often into water above the ice, breaking through a slight crust under the snow, which has formed in the night. Each cold day is this concealed overflow, mixing with the snow beneath, is converted into ice, and so raises it, makes the surface snow shallower, and improves the walking; but unless it is quite cold, this snow and water is apt to get a slight crust only, through which you sink . . .