[Campton—Thursday, 6 June 1867]
Thursday June 6th Birthday. Jamie brought me from the woods the finest mass of wild violets I ever saw as well as other flowers—but the violets were a sight indeed.
Campton is so much the same as when we left last year that we have the old sense of not having been away. The melancholy hills with their shrouding pines & firs stand around as of old. Coming thither we heard a sad story, the bridge leading to the village broke the other night under a heavy load and went down into the flood carrying with it 4 men 4 horses and the load of merchandise. 3 men escaped as if by miracle, the wagoner was drowned. Only those who are here can understand the impression such an event must make and how fearful the aspect is of the roaring unbridged flood. I recall now with great vividness one night last spring when I walked across this same bridge to the office after my letters. Jamie was in town and the rain had been falling heavily all day. The roads were ancle deep in places with soft mud but the air was soft, & tempted me out, as well as the glowing sunset clouds. When I reached the river the sound appalled me. I had never seen it so high. The waters rushed with the fury of Niagara and we could hardly hear a voice above the tumult. I met the little school-mistress as I came to the opposite side who was standing as if irresolute about crossing nor could I wonder. But she was the only being I met that night or indeed ever met among the people who are familiar with these scenes who seemed at all impressed by them. We stood together deeply penetrated by the marvels and grandeur of the scene—both silent but deeply stirred by what was around us.
