[Sandwich—Thursday, 20 June 1872]
Thursday 20th Warm night—rainy day. We have had a fine walk together and sat in the deserted mill. Here is poetry itself—where are the poems? The roses are out today in torrents; there is not a breath of air, but the rain cools everything & everybody. Last night we climbed the hill with Mr. Willey to the Sugar House, just beyond he cut down a tree—it was a hemlock—he fell solemnly at last and then only a short distance. His fellows held him up. Willey dragged him down disgracefully by his hair. The squirrels ran for it.
