[Campton—Friday, 21 June 1867]

Friday June 21st 1867. Rain fell heavily in the night leaving the morning resplendent for our early journey to Plymouth. We bade farewell to the good Willeys at 7 o’clock. We found Plymouth in the perfect fullness of summer beauty, for the continued rains have made the country more lovely than it has been for years. So long ago that it seems as if this were the first year of peace after a ten years war. We sat where we could drink in the beauty of the river and the hills and read aloud to each other (or J. to me while I sewed) nearly all day. From our window the river unwinds slowly through the wide intervale until it becomes lost among the hills. There are few places in the world so beautiful as Plymouth and by & by when our country’s lovers have sung and told its beauty as they should, these hills and this river will be invested with a garment of traditions which will make them as world-famous as the haunts of Europe which generations of men have made famous & beloved.


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