[Plymouth—Monday, 29 June 1868]

Monday. Went to drive at ½ past 6 up Mount Prospect. It was very fine. Personally however I am no great traveller being rather a lover of old haunts than a seeker of new ones, but the walk down was everything. There is a moon now and the nights bring all the glory of the summer in their arms. We go this afternoon to Willey’s in Campton.

I could almost wish to think less often of Europe. I awoke this morning dreaming I was packing for departure thither. Both my darling and I saw much of what made this world dear to us depart during April and May and I suppose we cannot wonder, one night he dreams of Longfellow, I, the next, perhaps, of Dickens and then of the reunion.

It is the season of roses here and J. brings them in to me many times in the day.

We are deep in the “Spanish Gipsy” a great book! Are re-reading it, aloud.

Drove to Campton in the splendor of the sunset. The place seemed set with a sacred seal of beauty.

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