[Campton—Sunday, 17 June 1866]

Sunday June 17. Warm and soft with a veil of mist over the sky deepening as the day ripened and giving us rain by night.

Walked with Lucy to Goodhue’s woods & sat by Mad River several hours reading Wordsworth aloud, dreaming by ourselves and taking lunch together.

The thrushes sang to us on our return, the Peabody bird started his note close to us and a sweet disconsolate little songster lured us from tree to tree looking for him in vain.

Late dinner, talk over flowers which we had discovered (maiden-hair fern & others, mitrewort, “umbelliferae” etc.) a longer talk in our room and sleep to the voice of the rain.


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