Diary of Annie Adams Fields

Thursday. Went down to the beach—the stormy north east wind had blown up the waves and a feathery foam was blowing back over the grey breast of ocean. The waves fell with a huge billowy softness upon the sands, heavy as fate and soft as charity. Returning I wrote a little here and saw Miss...

Friday. I find I omitted to speak of the blowing oaks yesterday in the little wood just beyond us on the way to the beach. They were standing with all their leaves blown back by the strong winds, looking as if they had “grown grey in a single night.” I went out again in the afternoon but...

Saturday. Clear morning with west wind. The seas washed gently up the beach. Jamie and I crossed the sands and wandered through the pasture soon after breakfast for the dews were slight—then we dressed unwillingly to go to the Burley Farm, to the house of Mr J.S. Cabot to pass the day. We...

Sunday morning opened cloudy and rather warm. Walked on the beach before breakfast; the ocean was like a dead opal.

Monday. Clouds still hanging around. Jamie in town—a buzz of voices reading together upstairs while I sit down here since my early walk lapped in sweet fancies. How lovely such retirement is—yet Heaven help me that I may not in my weakness allow better things (that may be sometimes) to be...

Tuesday August 21st Cool and cloudless. The sky was like chrystal. I did not go out very early for the previous evening we had walked to the beach in the moonlight. The waves were beating and breaking with a slow calm earnestness; we watched them draw back with dark power, gather up and rise and...

Wednesday 22. Showery all day. Seas running high, fine waves. Ships driven by the winds.

Thursday. Cool, overcast, windless on the beach. Looked cold in the east, but a calm spirit was over all—there were no wild birds nearer than the sea-islands where I heard the curlews calling lustily.

Friday morning. Mr Collyer left us this morning. We miss his large kindliness. Perfect day. Drove to Gloucester with Miss Greene and Lissie. We saw the red maples on the edge of the wood shining with exquisite brilliancy. I was reminded that Mr Collyer saw them yesterday when walking with Mr...

August 25. Jamie went to town early it is his Club-dinner—went to walk directly after he left—read Chaucer’s prologue to C.T. felt indisposed for work but before noon sauntered forth again to drink up the glory of the day—brilliant and cool as October; the trees were waving, the round...

Sunday morning. Clear and translucent loveliness. We lay in the sun on the rocks in a sheltered cove.

Monday. Perfect day at noon. Miss Greene, Lissie, Miss Mary & J.T.F. went to town—the latter dined at Nahant. Uneventful day at home certainly, but full of enjoyment. Letters at night from Mrs Stowe, Gail Hamilton, Laura, Mother and news that Miss Whitney has done an exquisite work at last in...

Tuesday. Clouded morning. Walked on the beach before breakfast watching the light as it fell through cloud rifts on the sea—after breakfast we sat awhile expecting Louisa’s children from Nahant but as they did not come I sat reading and writing until dinner while Jamie took a walk. The...

Wednesday. Dog day weather, cloudy in the morning a quiet day—the yellow gerardias in full beauty.

Thursday morning. Cloudy again; walked on the beach and had a rough play with Mr Sturgis’ large Newfoundland dog who had been playing in the waves with what appeared the highest physical enjoyment. I half envied him and so urged him to caper with me but the result was he proved the stronger.

Friday. Mild soft somewhat clouded with flecks of white on the blue making the sky more beautiful with every hour.

Saturday. Very dog-day-ish. The Pewee is still singing his gentle Pheebee in the woods—the thrust has a plaintive call from the tall trees—and a little bird creaks as if he were swinging a sign—he is the American lark Mr L. says.

Sunday quite warm, walked on the beach before breakfast; sat in doors until our early dinner reading and writing a few notes—sat a short time with Miss Mary who is ill with an excessive lassitude for which sufficient cause appears to be lacking. In the afternoon the clouds rolled together...

Monday warm, the air full of clouds and mist, a day in which I could do nothing but enjoy the sweetness of the world—read Chaucer and a little in Victor Hugo’s new novel, which makes you cry on “how skilfull” all the time, you are never lost in all narrations of character or sentiment so...

Tuesday. Strong north east rain and chilly wind. Grey sky overcast—a grand scene on the beach. Jamie stayed down and we walked there together.

Wednesday. A quiet day—some reading and writing and much dallying out of doors although the weather was not clear. Jamie came down late. He had a very busy day in town. Mrs Hawthorne has brought him 14 closely written volumes of her husband’s journal—all so fine as to be difficult to read...

Thursday morning was exquisitely beautiful. Walked to the village early and went “on a lark” to the little androtype salon with Mrs Darrah & Lissie. We were taken, but so badly with such a distorting instrument that all the things had to be paid for and rubbed out. We consoled ourselves with...

Tuesday Sep. 11. For the last three days the weather has been clear and cold, more like October than the early part of this month. Saturday night Julian Hawthorne came down with Mr Fields. The evening was clear and lovely Venus magnificent. J. brought me a volume of Hawthorne’s diary to read....

Wednesday Seper 12. Left Manchester. The day had been warm & full of rain and at length settled into a blue afternoon with white clouds high up in the air. If we should leave ever, why not now? So we came.

Thursday—out doing errands nearly all day—we took a delightful walk together—in the evening went to see Hackett in Rip Van Winkle—marvellous piece of acting. Hackett is 69—but I think it as good acting as I have ever seen.