[Campton—Saturday, 9 June 1866]
Saturday June 9. Cold and northeasterly; we have had but one thoroughly beautiful day since we left home on the first. However we are thankful for this weather which the farmers call “real growin’ weather.”
Our favorite bridge over Mad river is unsafe, the farmers are mending it. The “buttonments” are weak says Mr W. The ford too is impassable because of the heavy rains. The apple blossoms have not all fallen yet. Finished Niebuhr’s letters and Jamie has read also the memoirs of Lord Herbert of Cherbury aloud to me, while I enjoy the quiet luxury of sewing. Our only external excitement is when the country wagons pass up and down the road to or from Plymouth.
We have heard the Peabody bird here for the first time. Night before last we were driving later than we intended because of the bridge mending and we heard him hand in hand with the thrushes and whippo[o]rwills.
The streams are very full. They make a music for us all the day and night.
