July 28th, 1851 Monday Lenox.

At seven o'clock AM, wife, E P P, Una, and Rosebud took their departure, leaving Julian and me in possession of the Red Shanty. The first observation which the old gentleman made thereupon was,— "Papa, isn't it nice to have baby gone?" His perfect confidence in my sympathy in this feeling was very queer. "Why is it nice?" I inquired. "Because now I can shout and squeal just as loud as I please!" answered he.

And for the next half hour he exercised his lungs to his heart's content, and almost split the welkin thereby. Then he hammered on an empty box, and appeared to have high enjoyment of the racket which he created. In the course of the forenoon, however, he fell into a deep reverie and looked very pensive. I asked him what he was thinking of, and he said, " Oh, about mamma's going away. I do not like to be away from her;" — and then he romanticized about getting horses and galloping after her. He declared, likewise, that he likes Una, and that she never troubled him.

I hardly know how we got through the forenoon. It is impossible to write, read, think, or even sleep (in the daytime), so constant are his appeals in one way or another; still he is such a genial and good-humored little man that there is certainly an enjoyment intermixed with all the annoyance.

In the afternoon we walked down to the lake, and amused ourselves with flinging in stones, until the gathering clouds warned us homeward. In the wood, midway home, a shower overtook us; and we sat on an old decayed log, while the drops pattered plentifully on the trees overhead. He enjoyed the shower, and favored me with a great many weather-wise remarks. It continued showery all the rest of the day; so that I do not recollect of his going out afterwards.

For an indoor playmate, there was Bunny, who does not turn out to be a very interesting companion, and makes me more trouble than he is worth. There ought to be two rabbits, in order to bring out each other's remarkable qualities — if any there be. Undoubtedly, they have the least feature and characteristic prominence of any creatures that God has made. With no playfulness, as silent as a fish, inactive, Bunny's life passes between a torpid half -slumber and the nibbling of clover tops, lettuce, plantain leaves, pig-weed, and crumbs of bread. Sometimes, indeed, he is seized with a little impulse of friskiness; but it does not appear to be sportive, but nervous. Bunny has a singular countenance — like somebody's I have seen, but whose I forget. It is rather imposing and aristocratic, at a cursory glance; but examining it more closely, it is found to be laughably vague. Julian pays him very little attention now, and leaves me to gather leaves for him, else the poor little beast would be likely to starve. I am strongly tempted of the Evil One to murder him privately, and I wish with all my heart that Mrs. Peters would drown him.

Julian had a great resource, today, in my jack-knife, which, being fortunately as dull as a hoe, I have given him to whittle with. So he made what he called a boat, and has declared his purpose to make a tooth-pick for his mother, himself, Una, and me. He covered the floor of the boudoir with chips, twice over, and finds such inexhaustible amusement that I think it would be cheaply bought with the loss of one or two of his fingers.

At about half-past six I put him to bed, and walked to the Post Office, where I found a letter from Mrs. Mann to Phoebe. I made no stay, and reached home, through a shower, at about eight. Went to bed without any supper — having nothing to eat but half-baked, sour bread.

July 29th Tuesday.

Got up at six ; — a cool breezy morning, with sunshine glimpsing through sullen clouds, which seemed to hang low and rest on the edges of the hills that border the valley. I bathed, and then called Julian, who, by the by, was awake and summoning me, sometime before I was ready to receive him. He went with me for the milk, and frisked and capered along the road in a way that proved him to be in a good physical condition.

After breakfast, he immediately demanded the jack-knife, and proceeded to manufacture the tooth-picks. When the dew was off, we went out to the barn and thence to the garden ; and, in one way or another, half got through the forenoon until half -past ten, which is the present time of day.

Afterwards, he betook himself to playing bat and ball with huge racket and uproar about the room, felicitating himself continually on the license of making what noise he pleased, in the absence of baby. He enjoys this freedom so greatly, that I do not mean to restrain him, whatever noise he makes.

Then we took Bunny out into the open air, and put him down on the grass. Bunny appears to most advantage out of doors. His most interesting trait is the apprehensiveness of his nature ; it is as quick and as continually in movement as an aspen leaf. The least noise startles him, and you may see his emotion in the movement of his ears ; he starts and scrambles into his little house ; but, in a moment, peeps forth again, and begins nibbling the grass and weeds; — again to be startled, and as quickly reassured. Sometimes he sets out on a nimble little run, for no reason, but just as a dry leaf is blown along by a puff of wind. I do not think that these fears are any considerable torment to Bunny; it is his nature to live in the midst of them, and to intermingle them, as a sort of piquant sauce, with every morsel he eats. It is what redeems his life from dullness and stagnation. Bunny appears to be uneasy in broad and open sunshine ; it is his impulse to seek shadow — the shadow of a tuft of bushes, or Julian's shadow, or mine. He seemed to think himself in rather too much peril, so important a personage as he is, in the breadth of the yard, and took various opportunities to creep into Julian's lap.

At last, the northwest breeze being cool today—too cool for me, especially when one of the thousand watery clouds intercepted the sun — we all three came in. This is a horrible, horrible, most hor-ri-ble climate; one knows not, for ten minutes together, whether he is too cool or too warm ; but he is always one or the other, and the constant result is a miserable disturbance of the system. I detest it! I detest it! I detest it! I hate Berkshire with my whole soul, and would joyfully see its mountains laid flat. Luther and old Mr. Barnes speak as if this weather were something unusual. It may be so, but I rather conceive that a variable state of the atmosphere in summer time is incident to a country of hills, and always to be expected. At any rate, be it recorded that here, where I hoped for perfect health, I have for the first time been made sensible that I cannot with impunity encounter Nature in all her moods.

Since we came in, Julian has again betaken himself to that blessed jack-knife, and is now "chipping and tharpening," as he calls it, and hammering, and talking to himself about his plans and performances, with great content.

After dinner (roast lamb for me, and boiled rice for Julian) we walked down to the lake. On our way we waged war with thistles, which represented many -headed dragons and hydras, and on tall mulleins, which passed for giants. One of these latter offered such steady resistance that my stick was broken in the encounter, and so I cut it of a length suitable to Julian; thereupon he expressed an odd entanglement of sorrow for my loss and joy at his own gain. Arriving at the lake, he dug most persistently for worms, in order to catch a fish; but could find none. Then we threw innumerable stones into the water, for the pleasure of seeing them splash ; also, I built a boat, with a scrap of newspaper for a sail, and sent it out on a voyage, and we could see the gleam of its sail long afterwards, far away over the lake. It was a most beautiful afternoon— autumnal in its character — with a bright, warm, genial sunshine, but coolness in the air, so that though it was rather beyond comfort to sit in the sun, I felt compelled to return to it after a brief experience of the shade. The heavy masses of cloud, lumbering about the sky, threw deep black shadows on the sunny hill-sides ; so that the contrast between the heat and coolness of the day was visibly expressed. The atmosphere was particularly transparent, as if all the haze was collected into these dense clouds. Distant objects appeared with great distinctness, and the Taconic range of hills was a dark blue substance, with its protuberances and irregularities apparent — not cloudlike, as it often is. The sun smiled with mellow breadth across the rippling lake — rippling with the north-western breeze.

On our way home, we renewed our warfare with the thistles ; and they suffered terribly in the combat. Julian has a real spirit of battle in him, and puts his soul into his blows. Immediately after our return, he called for the jackknife, and now keeps pestering me to look at the feats which he performs with it. Blessed be the man who invented jackknives.

Next we went out and gathered some currants. He babbles continually, throughout all these various doings, and often says odd things, which I either forget, or cannot possibly grasp them so as to write them down. Among other things, during the current gathering, he speculated about rainbows, and asked why they were not called sun-bows, or sun-rain-bows ; and said that he supposed their bowstrings were made of cobwebs; which was the reason why they could not be seen.

Some of the time, I hear him repeating poetry, with good emphasis and intonation. He is never out of temper or out of spirits, and is certainly as happy as the day is long. He is happy enough by himself, and when I sympathize or partake in his play, it is almost too much, and he nearly explodes with laughter and delight.

Little Marshall Butler has just been in to inquire whether "the bird" has come yet. I am afraid we shall be favored with visits every day till it comes. I do wish the original parrot had been given him, whatever its defects, for I have seldom suffered more from the presence of any individual than from that of this odious little urchin. Julian took no more notice of him than if he had not been present, but went on with his talk and occupations, displaying an equanimity which I could not but envy. He absolutely ignores him; no practised man of the world could do it better, or half so well. After prying about the room and examining the playthings, Marshall took himself off.

At about eight, Mrs. Tappan came in, bringing the newspapers and the first volume of "Pendennis." She seemed in very pleasant mood. I read the papers till ten, and then to bed.

July 3Oth Wednesday.
Got up not much before seven. A chill and lowery morning, with, I think, a southeast wind, threatening rain. Julian lounges about, lies on the floor, and seems in some degree responsive to the weather. I trust we are not going to be visited with a long storm.

The day is so unpropitious that we have taken no forenoon walk; but only idle about the barn and garden. Bunny has grown quite familiar, and comes hopping to meet us, whenever we enter the room, and stands on his hind legs, to see whether we have anything for him. Julian has changed his name (which was Spring) to hind legs. One finds himself getting rather attached to this gentle little beast, especially when he shows confidence, and makes himself at home. It is rather troublesome, however, to find him food, for he seems to want to eat almost constantly, yet does not like his grass or leaves, unless they are entirely fresh. Bread he nibbles a little, but soon quits it. I have just got him some green oats from Mr. Tappan's field. Of all eatables, he seems to like Julian's shoes better than anything, and indulges himself with a taste of them on all possible occasions.

At four o'clock I dressed him up, and we set out for the village ; he frisking and capering like a little goat, and gathering flowers like a child of Paradise. The flowers had not the least beauty in them, except what his eyes made by looking at them; nevertheless, he thought them the loveliest in the world. We met a carriage with three or four young ladies, all whom were evidently smitten by his potent charms. Indeed, he seldom passes [illegible] without carrying away her heart. It is very odd ; for I see no such wonderful magic in the young gentleman.

Arriving at the Post Office, I found— greatly to my disappointment, for indeed I had not conceived the possibility— no letter from Phoebe, nor anything else for myself; nothing but a letter and paper for Mr. Tappan. So I put in a letter for Pike, which I wrote some days ago and had forgotten to send, and a brief letter for Phoebe, which I wrote to-day — and we immediately set out on our return. Ascending the hill on this side of Mr. Birch's, we met a wagon, in which sat Mr. James, his wife, and daughter, who had just left their cards at our house. Here ensued a talk, quite pleasant and friendly. He is certainly an excellent man, and his wife is a plain, good, friendly, kind-hearted woman, and the daughter a nice girl; nevertheless, Julian thought Mr. James rather tedious, and said that he did not like his talk at all. In fact, the poor little urchin was tired to death with standing. Mr. James spoke of the " House of the Seven Gables," and of "Twice-told Tales," and then branched off upon English literature generally. Reaching home, we found Julian's supper ready, and he has eaten it, and appears quite ready for bed— whither I shall now (at half -past six) consign him.

I read "Pendennis" during the evening, and concluded the day with a bowl of eggnog.

July 3Ist Thursday.

At about six o'clock, I looked over the edge of my bed, and saw that Julian was awake, peeping sideways at me out of his eyes, with a subdued laugh in them. So we got up, and first I bathed him, and then myself, and afterwards I proposed to curl his hair. I forgot to say that I attempted the same thing, the morning before last, and succeeded miraculously ill; indeed, it was such a failure that the old boy burst into a laugh at the first hint of repeating the attempt. However, I persisted, and screwed his hair round a stick, till I almost screwed it out of his head ; he all the time squealing and laughing, between pain and merriment. He endeavored to tell me how his mother proceeded; but his instructions were not very clear, and only entangled the business so much the more. But, now that his hair is dry, it does not look so badly as might have been expected.

After thus operating on his wig, we went for the milk. It was another cloudy and lowery morning, with a cloud (which looked as full of moisture as a wet sponge) lying all along the ridge of the western hills, beneath which the wooded hillside looked black, grim and desolate. Monument Mountain, too, had a cloud on its back; but the sunshine gleamed along its sides, and made it quite a cheerful object; and being in the centre of the scene, it cheered up the whole picture like a cheery heart. Even its forests, as contrasted with the woods on the other hills, had a light on them; and the cleared tracts seemed doubly sunny, and a field of rj^e, just at its best, shone out with yellow radiance, and quite illuminated the landscape. As we walked along the little man munched a bread-cake, and talked about the " jeu" (as he pronounces it) on the grass, and said that he supposed fairies had been pouring it on the grass, and flowers, out of their little pitchers. Then he pestered me to tell him on which side of the road I thought the dewy grass looked prettiest. Thus, with all the time a babble at my side as if a brook were running along the way, we reached Luther's house ; and old Atropos took the pail, with a grim smile, and gave it back with two quarts of milk.

The weather being chill, and the sun not constant or powerful enough to dry off the dew, we spent the greater part of the forenoon within doors. The old gentleman, as usual, bothered me with innumerable questions, and continual references as to all his occupations.

After dinner, we took a walk to the lake. As we drew near the bank, we saw a boat a little way off the shore ; and another approached the strand, and its crew landed, just afterwards. They were three men, of a loaferish aspect. They asked me whether there was any good water near at hand; then they strolled inland, to view the country, as is the custom of voyagers on setting foot in foreign parts. Thereupon, Julian went to their boat, which he viewed with great interest, and gave a great exclamation on discovering some fish in it. They were only a few bream and pouts. The little man wanted me to get into the boat and sail off with him; and he could hardly be got away from the spot. I made him a shingle skiff, and launched it, and it went away westward — the wind being east to-day. Then we made our way along the tangled lake-shore, and sitting down, he threw in bits of moss, and called them islands — floating green islands — and said that there were trees, and ferns, and men upon them. By and by, against his remonstrances, I insisted upon going home. He picked up a club, and began war again — the old warfare with the thistles — which we called hydras, chimaeras, dragons, and Gorgons. Thus we fought our way homeward; and so has passed the day, until now at twenty minutes past four.

In the earlier part of the summer, I thought that the landscape would suffer by the change from pure and rich verdure, after the pastures should turn yellow, and the fields be mowed. But I now think the change an improvement. The contrast between the faded green, and, here and there, the almost brown and dusky fields, as compared with the deep green of the woods, is very picturesque, on the hill-side.

Before supper, Mrs. Tappan came in, with two or three volumes of Fourier's works, which I wished to borrow, with a view to my next romance ["Blithedale"].

She proposed that Julian should come over and see Ellen to-morrow; to which I not unwillingly gave my assent, and the old gentleman, too, seemed pleased with the prospect. He has now had his supper, and is forthwith to be put to bed. Mrs. Peters, whose husband is sick or unwell (probably drunk) , is going home to-night, and will return in the morning. And now Julian is in bed, and I have gathered and crushed some currants, and have given Bunny his supper of lettuce, which he seems to like better than anything else; though nothing in the vegetable line comes amiss to him. He ate a leaf of mint to-day, seemingly with great relish. It makes me smile to see how invariably he comes galloping to meet me, whenever I open the door, making sure that there is something in store for him, and smelling eagerly to find out what it is. He eats enormously, and, I think, has grown considerably broader than when he came hither. The mystery that broods about him — the lack of any method of communicating with this voiceless creature — heightens the interest. Then he is naturally so full of little alarms, that it is pleasant to find him free of these, as to Julian and myself.

August 1st Friday.
This was another chill and sulky day, so cool that I put a knit jacket on Julian when we went for the milk. There was a general conclave of clouds overhead, but interspersed with blue, and then partial gleams of watery sunshine. Monument Mountain was in shadow this morning, and the western ridge had the sun on it. The atmosphere was particularly clear ; insomuch, that I do not recollect ever seeing Taconic bulge so prominently forth from its outline as it did now. It looked but a little further off than the Monument. Bruin ran along with us, much to Julian's delight; but on our return, the dog began to caper and frisk somewhat obstreperously.

It was so cheerless out of doors, that we spent the morning within. I was occupied with two letters (excruciatingly short ones) from Phoebe, and with papers, which Mrs. Peters brought from the Post Office.

At about eleven came Deborah and little Ellen to take Julian to Highwood; so his majesty departed, and I saw nothing more of him till after dinner. I packed up and sent off Phoebe's sculpting tools, which JNIrs. Mann wants for some purpose or other. I trust Phoebe will not be persuaded, among aU her other cares and annoyances, to undertake any alterations or modifications of his bust. If this had occurred to me sooner, I certainly should not have sent the tools.

We had, to-day, the first string beans of the season; the earliest product of our garden, indeed, except currants and lettuce. At three o'clock Julian came home. He said that he [had] had tomatoes, beans, and asparagus for dinner, and that he liked them very much, and had had a good time. I dressed him and myself for a walk to the village, and we set out at four. The mail not being in at our arrival, we went to Mr. Farley's office (where we saw him and Mr. Sedgwick), and afterwards to Mr. Farley's house, or rather to his hen-coop, to see his splendid rooster and chickens. I gave Mr. Sedgwick to understand, by the by^ that we should take Mrs. Kemble's house for the autumn. Returning to the Post Office, I got Mr. Tappan's mail and my own, and proceeded homeward, but clambered over the fence and sat down in Love Grove to read the papers.

While thus engaged, a cavalier on horseback came along the road, and saluted me in Spanish, to which I replied by touching my hat, and went on with the newspaper. But the cavalier renewing his salutation, I regarded him more attentively, and saw that it was Herman Melville! Thereupon, Julian and I hastened to the road,
when ensued a greeting, and we all went homeward together, talking as we went. Soon Mr. Melville alighted, and put Julian into the saddle ; and the little man was highly pleased, and sat on the horse with the freedom and fearlessness of an
old equestrian, and had a ride of at least a mile homeward.

I asked Mrs. Peters to make some tea for Herman Melville ; and so she did, and he drank a cup, but was afraid to drink much, because it would keep him awake. After supper, I put Julian to bed, and Melville and I had a talk about time and eternity, things of this world and of the next, and books, and publishers, and all possible and impossible matters, that lasted pretty deep into the night. At last he arose and saddled his horse (which we had put into the barn) and rode off for his own domicile ; and I hastened to make the most of what little sleeping-time remained for
me.