[Campton—Tuesday, 11 June 1867]

Tuesday. Still sufficiently cool to be all day in the sun and air; the foliage deepens every hour and we can seem to see Summer walking towards us her feet shod with rich and tender green. The maples leaves delicate and gossamer, ready to be torn by a gale grow more sturdy and ample as they fan themselves in the soft blue of the sky.

Walked up to the cottage on the hill at noon time—towards sunset drove for our letters and loitered about until night and moonlight came again.


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