Diary of Annie Adams Fields

Monday. Jamie went to town. It rained heavily. I stayed at home and wrote all the morning. Walked to the village in the P.M. & called to see the Portuguese woman, Mrs Foity.

Tuesday. Mrs Baker passed the day. Imogen & Nelly came at night.

Wednesday with our friends. Mr. Emerson’s house in Concord burned down.

Thursday Louisa etc. from Nahant—out of doors with them all day.

Friday July 26. Who should drive up to the door but Helen Hunt  just returned from California and hoping to be taken in to board. She told us of the wonderful effect of blue in California—Flowers—especially she meant I think. Also vines “dripping” from every piazza. She lost all idea of...

Saturday—a perfect day—Breezy with swift white clouds flitting over—the wind makes a great noise in the trees. Jamie has taken the “little ones” to the beach. He is writing down stairs.

Sunday. “A golden afternoon” Nelly asked me what a golden afternoon was—she had learned the expression in a little nursery rhyme. She was a picture in the bay where we played all the latter half of the day—except reading a sermon of Stopford Brooke to Imogen wh. I thought would turn her...

Monday. Dear Jamie went to town and again I gave up the livelong day to play with the children. They would be so lost in this great word of the world if somebody did not as Nelly says “comfort” them. Took tea as [sic] Mrs Towne’s with Miss Irwin of Pa. Jamie brought down word that Mr....

Thursday August 1st Little Nelly & her mamma went home yesterday. Today the earth is clothed in perfect loveliness. It cooled out of a mist this morning into an unwonted glory. A letter came from Mrs Emerson which brought the tears to my eyes. We are very happy once more to be alone. The wear of...

Monday August 5. We have had storm and rain and cold and J. has passed one day in town but today is sunny and beautiful, a true summer’s day. We drove together directly after our early breakfast finding clematis and afterward picking up a woman who was carrying a sick child in her arms and...

Jamie passed at Nahant and lunched with Longfellow.

Wednesday. Out together all day. Summer again and from dawn to dusk the weather was perfect.

Thursday morning. Mr. Whittier dropped down this morning with L.L. and Miss Dowdell (a young teacher from Amesbury). The cicada is singing outside—the blowing breeze is delicious. Jamie is down stairs writing & enjoying it. I am reading Warton’s Spenser.

Friday. Saturday. Sunday. So the days fly by filled to the brim with true life and the fullest. Why should I record the breezes of yesterday and the fog bell of today? The glory & the gloom pass equally soon into oblivion but the writing they leave upon the spirit shall remain forever.

August 11 [sic], 1872. In times of weakness man cries out on the Creator and questions why and to what end the oppressive weight of life was laid upon him—in the days of health when all nature rejoices he discovers how few are the longest days; then too he gratefully beholds the glory of...

Tuesday August 13. We are having foggy rainy weather and the fog bell tolls all day and all night. It is very silent about us, yet nature is melodious, the airs are soft and the odors exquisite.

Thursday. Passed last evening at Eagle Head where dear J. read The Children of Lebanon with great pride and feeling. In the night was a terrible tempest but this morning it is again warm and the hot mist covers everything. The fog-bell is still tolling.

Sunday morning, August 18. The days begin to fly away with fearful velocity. Last night the full moon walked through the clouded sky—but the sea still groans. Mr. Whittier’s house has been struck by lightning in these last strangely stormy days.

Monday. Jamie has gone to town. Excessive heat. He delighted me yesterday by his vivid talk about his boyhood and the books he loved to read. Those were indeed reading days. Thaddeus of Warsaw was one of his favorites. The best of Scott were not in his boy’s library. Whatever there was, he...

Friday—nearly a whole week gone without a written word. Miss E.B. Greene came down to stay for a day and night and finish her beautiful portrait of me. The rain has returned with fearful thunder and lightning but this morning is gloriously beautiful.

Tuesday August 25 [sic]. Miss A. Whitney came Saturday & remained until Monday morning. Sunday Eve, we passed at Mrs Townes. Mrs Annis Wistar of Pa. had just arrived, a dramatic creature who tells and tells again at request with as much amiability as talent, her wonderful story of Father Donne...

August 28. A cool morning! Southey says “the mornings are so cool he expects to see the snow lying on the summit of his nose when he gets up”—and we have a fellow feeling today but we find the sun warm enough later and gorgeous color overspreads everything.

Friday. August 30. A fierce blowing east wind and rain. It came on in the night tho’ we saw the clouds gather and felt the change in the afternoon. Two letters came from Mrs Stowe. In one she speaks of a letter from George Eliot which she means to send me.

Saturday August 31. After our great storm, this morning arises cold and golden. The sunrise light upon the rocks was divine—as indeed is all morning light, but this seemed to possess peculiar inspiration from the Spirit for mankind. But summer is gone now—no more warm mists until October...

Monday. Laura Johnson dropped down suddenly Friday night just as the great storm ceased—so I was obliged to leave her alone on Saturday when I went to town. I drove about town incessantly on Saturday—was hardly out of the carriage more than 15 minutes together during the 5 hours between 9 &...