Diary of Annie Adams Fields

Friday morning. Celia sang a little ballad at Breakfast. The words Mr. Whittier picked up among the people of Orr’s Island, the music is one of the Star Island tunes. It is a weird little thing enough & she sings it delightfully. Went to obtain an admission to the Hospital in the P.M., also to...

Saturday. Arose ill and did not leave my room until 12—stayed at home reading & resting the entire day which dear Jamie made most cheerful by his devotion—nothing could surpass his tender ways.

Sunday morning. I had just come into the library when I saw a carriage stop and who should jump out but Mr. Whittier. He seems perfectly well, deeply interested of course about the election: thinks it most unhappy for Grant that he did not withdraw and better perhaps for the country that Greeley...

Monday. Everything was packed for a journey to the White Hills. I have omitted to say that Robert Collyer and his wife came to supper with us Sunday Evening. He had preached three times during the day & was tired but he was interesting as ever. It was the first time I had seen his wife and I...

Wednesday—again pouring. Walpole still.

Thursday, 6th of June—my birthday. Dear Jamie arranged the loveliest little dinner ever seen for me and Lissie came to share it. The bill of fare was a study—it was equally amusing and exquisite. I know no one but dear J. who could get up such a thing especially after a marriage of 18 years....

Friday. Lizzie and I started early on a tour to studios, library, etc. I returned just in time to start for Plymouth where we find ourselves.

Saturday June 8th the rain gently & persistently falling as if it meaned as Horace Walpole says to continue for days and days. The landlord has given me another room adjoining ours & looking out upon the glorious scene of river & hills.

Sunday June 9. The second anniversary of the death of Dickens. The morning was not quite clear in Plymouth, but quite warm. We read & walked together, dined, wrote letters and drove—our drive around Baker River and up to see the Livermore falls was more glorious than can be described. Our...

Monday. Finished Mirëio. Rain, rain—falls in torrents. Letter from Mrs Stowe; an hour in the Bowling Alley. Jamie has began his lecture—3 cheers.

Tuesday. We have turned over a new leaf in the habit of our life—one I believe that all healthy persons turn as soon as possible—instead of going to bed at 11 & rising at 7 which is our winter habit—we go to bed at 9 and rise at five. Even then the sun at this season is already high—the...

Wednesday. The Morning comes up in perfect splendor. We started early for Campton wh. we have not revisited for five years—as we came along with two swift horses who stepped lightly over the damp road freshened by late rain, we could not forget how often one poor horse had dragged us through...

Thursday. June 13. Warm, lovely, but clouded, day. Walked in the morning, and started early in the afternoon for Mt. Prospect. Ah! What a glorious place!

Friday A.M. still hang about although I think the rain is over. The river has not risen again since night before last when the railroad was swept out for two miles. But the earth is at last water soaked once more. The people all speak of last year’s drought here as something terrible. There...

Saturday morning. We arrived in Campton after a lovely drive quite in season to walk to the P.O. and get our letters before dinner. We were hungry enough. After dinner the rain came down again and kept on pretty steadily until sunset when there was another splendid vision upon the mountains & a...

Sunday. June 16. We did not go to S. but a note came from L.L. who is already there, also letters from home, but we wandered the live-long day basking in the green & glory of summer. We read aloud one hour every evening in Spenser’s Faery [sic] Queene.

Monday June 17. Again the day arises in wonderful pomp and beauty. Jamie goes each morning & gathers ferns at the river side—maiden-hair and all the loveliest varieties. I watched the sunset last night as it illuminated the circle of the hills and finally died away to be succeeded by...

Tuesday June 18. Another glorious day. We start for Sandwich.

Wednesday morning. We could not get away very early yesterday morning—the pole of the covered carriage “had gone away” to be mended and nothing was ready as so often happens where as in the country people have all the time there is—but at last by half past nine we were on the road to...

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....

Friday. The finest morning we have had. Water-drops hang on every grass blade. A lovely mist—no! atmosphere, veils the distant hills.

Saturday. Another warm day—although the rain has cooled the air. After breakfast the weather became cooler still and the sky beautiful with high clouds. Went to the Whitney cottage to see the sick girl in the afternoon and began to put up the porch over Willey’s front door.

Sunday. The sun hot—but one of June’s perfect days when clouds are highest up in the air. We strolled about for five or six hours—nothing could exceed the exquisite beauty and delight.

Monday. A half clouded lovely summer day. Took a short drive in the morning. Dear J. is to speak to the people on “Cheerfulness” this evening!!

Tuesday. Very warm and raining all day—this did not keep us at house, but with our morning & afternoon walks—our porch building & books, we were busy enough.