Diary of Annie Adams Fields

Saturday morning. Clouds hanging heavily—last night the rain poured and yesterday at evening the dark weather began, until now we have had perfect summer weather since our arrival—pretty warm however for the season but “everything is so backward” that premature weather seems to be...

Sunday. A perfect June day—the air cool and fresh, sky cloudless, and the hills half veiled in a tender summer mist. We drove up on the Waterville road yesterday aft.; the clouds were tossing wildly about, it was cold and stormy and sublime.

Monday. A day Breezy & cool but absolutely perfect in Spring beauty. We started at ½ past nine and drove down to the covered bridge, crossed, stopped at Sanborn’s Inn, from there to Thornton & thence home at two o’clock. This was one of the drives to be remembered from the impression of...

Tuesday. Still sufficiently cool to be all day in the sun and air; the foliage deepens every hour and we can seem to see Summer walking towards us her feet shod with rich and tender green. The maples leaves delicate and gossamer, ready to be torn by a gale grow more sturdy and ample as they fan...

Wednesday. Still perfect weather—we sit and read and sew and write a few letters, but our chief business and occupation is life out-of-doors in this delicious air. No sounds come to us here, but the “baa” of sheep, the cry of the crow, the occasional “whip” of the whippoorwill and the...

Friday another glorious day but a thought warmer than yesterday and clearer, so clear that we fancied signs of rains. We walked to the brookside on the hill in the morning and in the afternoon drove to the Kenistons intending to ask for their daughter and go up their hill with her as we did last...

Saturday. Very warm, steady South rain setting in at night—read Pendennis & sewed; took two short walks & a drive and so the time flew.

Sunday morning soft rain continues, the world of men is still but the woods are musical with birds and the river talks steadily just below, the voice of the thrush coming from the distant wood makes vocal silence otherwise the very airs rippling usually around us are stilled, only the dropping...

Monday Rose at ½ past four breakfasted at ½ past five. Jamie went to town. The rain of yesterday had ceased and the morning was partly clear. The atmosphere was however warm and damp all day. Wrote & read & walked—alone all day. Saw a child in the afternoon, shy as a calf, I could not even...

Tuesday. The night shut down heavily yesterday. It is still warm this morning and raining heavily. I see small chance of any expeditions today, though when the rain stops I shall try for one and perhaps before. It was quarter before five when I arose but this does not seem early here for the...

Wednesday was one of those days which may be easily counted as number one from the whole 365, so perfect in crisp beauty, cloudless and fresh, resplendent with sun and coolness. We walked all the morning and sat on a damp log by the ford and listened to the thrushes and the stream. In the...

Thursday. A warm & clouded day. We sauntered about and enjoyed a low-toned repose the day contained like the refrain of a song, yesterday being the heart of the melody.

Friday June 21st 1867. Rain fell heavily in the night leaving the morning resplendent for our early journey to Plymouth. We bade farewell to the good Willeys at 7 o’clock. We found Plymouth in the perfect fullness of summer beauty, for the continued rains have made the country more lovely than...

Saturday. Still in Plymouth. J. hates to think of going away and actually declares he intends buying a place here and “staying forever” as Shelley used to say. He astonished me in our walk this morning by going up to an old farmhouse and declaring that was exactly what he wanted and he meant...

Sunday. Morning, fresh yet warm, a heavenly day dedicated to pure thoughts and heavenly aspirations. I was stirring about five and near six went out on the piazza to enjoy the early sunshine. At breakfast a New York or Philadelphia woman who is here, a Mrs Kimball, told us of an old man living...

Monday. A perfect day in the morning. Arose soon after 4 and packed, left early for Burlington by rail. Ah! What a hot dusty ride and what a villainous halting place at Burlington—the town is a marvel of beauty, the hotel a marvel of dirt.

Tuesday morning after reclining on couches for a part of the night we arose soon after 3 to find the heat still excessive; came down lake Champlain under a clouded sky, winds growing fresher and cooler all the time, to Lake George. There were 3 newly married couples on board, and some French...

Wednesday. Horizon—beauty, rest, a perfect day.

Thursday. Horizon. Rain. Soft; warm. Though the clouds hung low drove to Bolton in the aft. Sweet Brier roses in profusion—we captured one exquisite thyrsus a yard & a half high.

Friday. Left in perfect shadow & sunshine in the early morning—and such a day was hardly ever seen before and enjoyed by two travellers. It was ten o’clock when we arrived at Rouse’s Point to take the cars. The sunset had scarcely faded and the stars were standing at their posts. One of...

Saturday. Awoke early in spite of our late arrival last night, for light like molten chrystal came streaming in at our windows, I sprang up with a lively sense of pleasure in this new experience. It was a fête day but not a “fête obligation”—St. Peter & St. Paul were the objects. The...

Sunday went to Mr Cordner’s church to hear Mr Hale—good sermon “the one thing needful” pleasant church—sat with a certain Mr Allen who is “immensely” kind. I felt for him because I wore my large hat & attracted much observation, as he was a gay fashionable sprig I dare say he did...

Monday 1st of July. First celebration of the Canadian Confederation (Gladstone says annexation will follow and even more important than Gladstone, because they are on the ground and can take the gauge of the people’s feeling better, so say the leading men here). We went to the Review—it was...

July 2d Sat until 12 last night, the day died down resplendently as we passed Longueuil Verchères and the rest which are really but one long village the whole length of the river. The molten chrystal of the sky ornamented by dark wreaths of coal smoke from the steamer and every here and there...