[Boston—Thursday, 25 October 1866]
Thursday Oct. 24 [sic]. Clear cool day. The bay dancing and sparkling in the sunshine. A schooner is being unladen of hard wood slabs at the wharf. I see but one man at work just now flinging out the wood, another has been sitting on the side of the vessel farthest from shore swinging his feet as if he had thoroughly earned his enjoyment after his sea-voyage.
The distant shores are burning with a low red flush upon the foliage but the hills themselves are green. Yesterday we walked in Cambridge—the moon came up large and red and slow, later in the evening the whole world looked blue wherever the moonlight touched.
Stopped at the Howells. They received us most cordially but he seemed languid from work and study. She amused me. She had hung a small bouquet he had brought her from the city of their courtship, over the stove!! to dry, that she might the better preserve it. The baby was in “disgrace” up stairs amusing herself alone. Their tiny house is a paradise to them. Just the right size she says—“I couldn’t have two girls if I wanted them, the house is too small.”
