[Plymouth—Sunday, 5 July 1868]

Sunday at Plymouth with cool breezes flowing. What a refreshing change. The heat of yesterday and of the three days past will be long remembered. People have been very warm here. Thermometer ranging from 90 to 100 degrees in the shade.

Landor says, speaking of the manner of receiving the vicissitudes of life among ordinary mortals, “Old servants have shaken their heads, as if somebody had deceived them; when they found that beauty and nobility could perish.”

I have seldom seen moonlight to compare in beauty with that of last night, nor a moonlit scene. It flooded the valley with such brilliancy that the very color of the trees, and the bloom of distance was preserved. The atmosphere too, cool without being windy made it possible to sit on the piazza or with wide opened windows. It was a night to sit up in, and to sleep away like ordinary seasons, a night when life may suddenly grow and flower into new loveliness. We were content however with an added two hours and then lay down to most refreshing slumber.

As I write the distance is full of the music from the village choir. How beautiful it is to share it afar off; if we were nearer the discords of ignorance would afflict us; here we can feel the soul’s uplifting and join in worship.

I dreamed we had letters from Dickens last night.

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