[Portland—Tuesday, 7 July 1868]

Tuesday walked about Portland and read in Elsie Venner with some amusement Dr. Holmes prophecy regarding this city when it should have a modern hotel. Left by train in the afternoon for Rye Beach the weather proving unsuitable for Mt. Desert.

Stopped in the stage at night at the door of the little farm house where mother and Sarah are by and by & stay. There was no company there yet although we have had the warmest of our weather and the sweet freshness of the spring and luxury of mid summer days—all these have past. It was like one of Isaac Walton’s haunts into which we dropped said Dear J. For my own part, any word which will express all sweet odors, all repose, the rustle of leaves and the surging of the sea in one, that word will do. It was Paradise for us.


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