August 7th Thursday.

We got up rather later than usual this morning: not till seven o'clock by our time-piece, which, however, is twenty minutes faster than the village clock. A still, warm morning, with the sun already shining fervently, though muffled by here and there a cloud. We went on our customary milky way. The aspect of the hills was varied from what it has been for some time past, by a sunny haze that involved distant objects in a still greater remoteness. It was a lazy morning. I myself felt it particularly so ; and the little man acknowledged the same influence by the absence of somewhat of his ordinary friskiness; but so did not two or three squirrels whom we saw scampering along on the tops of the fences. Julian talked about poison-flowers, with which, according to him, the roadside is bordered, and which are not to be touched with the naked hand.

After breakfast, we gathered some beans ; then I frizzled his wool. It is observable that his hair does not begin to present a respectable appearance until the day after I have been at work on it; so that, every morning, I regularly spoil my own handiwork of the day before. His patience under the operation is most exemplary.

In the course of the forenoon, it became showery, so that we could make no excursions further than the shed and barn. Mr. Waldo, who had one of his little girls with him in the field, brought her hither for a few minutes. She is quite a pretty child, about three years old, with large dark eyes, and a queer little merry face. Julian kept himself in reserve, and offered few or no attentions, except to run and get Bunny,
at my suggestion. He is getting to be a boy, in this respect. She was much tickled with Bunny, whom she took to be a kind of little cat; and I was not without hopes of disposing of this valuable animal to Mr. Waldo, for his daughter's behoof. But he did not offer to take Bunny. I talked with him on Fourierism and kindi-ed subjects, and he seems to be a man of thought and intelligence. He said that Cornelius was going to
the village to-day; and I gave him a letter which I had written to Phoebe, to be put in the Post Office — which I rather regret, as I shall have no certitude of its being mailed. So I must write another before Saturday.

It has continued quite showery through the afternoon. Just now there was a very picturesque scene, if I could but paint it in words. Across our valley, from east to west, there was a heavy canopy of clouds, almost resting on the hills on either side. It did not extend southward so far as Monument Mountain, which lay in sunshine, and with a sunny cloud midway on its bosom; and from the midst of our storm, beneath our black roof of clouds, we looked out upon this bright scene, where the people were enjoying beautiful weather. The clouds hung so low over us, that it was like being in a tent, the entrance of which was drawn up, permitting us to see the sunny landscape. This lasted for several minutes ; but at last the shower stretched southward, and quite snatched away Monument Mountain, and made it invisible ; although now it is mistily reappearing.

Julian has got rid of the afternoon in a miscellaneous way: making a whip, and a bow and arrows, and playing jackstraws with himself for an antagonist. It was less than an hour, I think, after dinner, when he began to tease for something to eat; although he dined abundantly on rice and string beans. I allowed him a slice of bread in the middle of the afternoon, and an hour afterwards he began to bellow at the full stretch of his lungs for more, and beat me terribly because I refused it. He is really as strong as a little giant. He asked me just now: " What are sensible questions?" I suppose with a view to asking me some.

After the most rampageous resistance, the old gentleman was put to bed at seven o'clock. I ought to mention that Mrs. Peters is quite attentive to him, in her grim way. To-day, for instance, we found two ribbons on his old straw hat, which must have been of her sewing on. She encourages no familiarity on his part, nor is he
in the least drawn towards her, nor, on the other hand, does he exactly seem to stand in awe; but he recognizes that there is to be no communication beyond the inevitable — and, with that understanding, she awards him all substantial kindness.

To bed not long after nine.

August 8th Friday.

It was not much later than six when we got up. A pleasant morning, with a warm sun, and clouds lumbering about, especially to the northward and eastward: the relics of yesterday's showeriness, and perhaps foreboding similar weather to-day.

When we went for the milk, Mrs. Butler told me that she could not let us have any more butter at present; so that we must have recourse to Highwood. Before breakfast, the little man heard a cat mewing; and, on investigation, we found that
the noise proceeded from the cistern. I removed a plank, and, sure enough, there seemed to be a cat swimming for her life in it. Mrs. Peters heard her, last night; and probably she had been there ten or twelve hours, paddling in that dismal hole. After many efforts to get her out, I at last let down a bucket, into which she made shift to scramble, and so I drew her out. The poor thing was almost exhausted, and could scarcely crawl; and no wonder, after such a night as she must have spent. We gave her some milk, of which she lapped a little. It was one of the kittens.

Early in the forenoon came Deborah, with Ellen, to see Julian and Bunny. Julian was quite silent. Between eleven and twelve came Herman Melville and the two Duyckincks, in a barouche and pair. Melville had spoken, when he was here, of bringing these two expected guests of his to call on me; and I intended, should it be any wise practicable, to ask them to stay to dinner ; but we had nothing whatever in the house to-day. It passed well enough, however, for they proposed a ride and a picnic, to which I readily consented. In the first place, however, I produced our only remaining bottle of Mr. Mansfield's champagne; after which we set out, taking Julian, of course. It was an admirable day; neither too cold nor too hot— with some
little shadow of clouds, but no appearance of impending rain. We took the road over the mountain toward Hudson, and by and by came to a pleasant grove, where we alighted and arranged matters for our picnic.

After all, I suspect they had considered the possibility, if not probability, of my giving them a dinner; for the repast was neither splendid nor particularly abundant— only some sandwiches and gingerbread. There was nothing whatever for Julian, except the gingerbread ; for the bread which encased the sandwiches was buttered, and moreover had mustard on it. So I had to make the little man acquainted, for the first time in his life, with gingerbread; and he seemed to be greatly pleased until he had eaten a considerable quantity— when he began to discover that it was not quite the thing to make a meal of. However, his hunger was satisfied and no harm done; besides that, there were a few nuts and raisins at the bottom of the basket, whereof he ate and was contented. He enjoyed the ride and the whole thing exceedingly, and behaved like a man experienced in picnics.

After talk about literature and other things, we set forth again, and resolved to go and visit the Shaker establishment at Hancock, which was but two or three miles off. I don't know what Julian expected to see — some strange sort of quadruped or other, I suppose— at any rate, the term Shakers was evidently a subject of great puzzlement with him, and probably he was a little disappointed when I pointed out an old man in a gown and a gray, broad-brimmed hat as a Shaker. This old man was one of the fathers and rulers of the village; and under his guidance we visited the principal dwelling-house in the village. It was a large brick edifice, with admirably convenient arrangements, and floors and walls of polished wood, and plaster as smooth as marble, and everything so neat that it was a pain and constraint to look at it; especially as it did not imply any real delicacy or moral purity in the occupants of the house. There were spit-boxes (bearing no appearance of ever being used, it is true) at equal distances up and down the long and broad entries. The sleeping-apartments of the two sexes had an entry between them, on one side of which hung the hats of the men, on the other the bonnets of the women. In each chamber were two particularly narrow beds, hardly wide enough for one sleeper, but in each of which, the old elder told us, two people slept. There was no bathing or washing conveniency in the chambers; but in the entry there was a sink and wash-bowl, where all their attempts at purification were to be performed. The fact shows that all their miserable pretence at cleanliness and neatness is the thinnest superficiality; and that the Shakers are and must needs be a filthy set. And then their utter and systematic lack of privacy; the close function of man with man, and superiority of one man over another — it is hateful and disgusting to think of; and the sooner the sect is extinct the better — a consummation which, I am happy to hear, is thought to be not
a great many years distant.

In the great house we saw an old woman — a round, fat, cheerful little old sister— and two girls, from nine to twelve years old; these looked at us and at Julian with great curiosity, though slily and with side glances. At the doors of other dwellings, we saw women knitting or otherwise at work; and there seemed to be a kind of comfort among them, but of no higher kind than is enjoyed by their beasts of burden. Also, the women looked pale, and none of the men had a jolly aspect. They are certainly the most singular and bedevilled set of people that ever existed in a civilized land; and one of these days, when their sect and system shall have passed away, a History of the Shakers will be a very curious book. All through this outlandish village went our little man, hopping and dancing in excellent spirits.

I think it was about five o'clock when we left the village. Lenox was probably seven or eight miles distant; but we mistook the road and went up hill and down, through unknown regions, over at least twice as much ground as there was any need. It was by far the most picturesque ride that I ever had in Berkshire. On one height, just before sunset, we had a view for miles and miles around, with the Kaatskills blue and far on the horizon. Then the road ran along the verge of a deep gulf —deep, deep, deep, and filled with foliage of trees that could not reach half way up to us; and on the other side of the chasm up rose a mountainous precipice. This continued for a good distance; and on the other side of the road there were occasional openings through the forest, that showed the low country at the base of the mountain. If I could find the way, I should like to go back to this scene on foot, for I had no idea that there was such a region within a few miles of us.

By and by, we saw Monument Mountain and Rattlesnake Hill, and all the familiar features of our own landscape, except the lake, which (by some witchcraft that I cannot possibly explain to myself) had utterly vanished. It appeared as if we ought to see the lake, and our little red house, and Highwood; but none of these objects were discoverable, although the scene was certainly that of which they make a part. It was now after sunset ; and we found that we were approaching the village of Lenox from the west and must pass through it before reaching home. I got out at the Post Office, and received, among other things, a letter from Phoebe. By the time we
were out of the village, it was beyond twilight; indeed, but for the full moon, it would have been quite dark. The little man behaved himself still like an old traveller; but sometimes he looked round at me from the front seat (where he sat between Herman Melville and Evert Duyckinck), and smiled at me with a peculiar expression, and put back his hand to touch me. It was a method of establishing a sympathy in what doubtless appeared to him the wildest and unprecedentedest series of adventures that had ever befallen mortal travellers. Anon, we drew up at the little gate of the old red house.

Now, with many doubts as to the result, but constrained by the necessity of the case, I had asked the party to take tea and rest the horses, before returning to Pittsfield. I did not know but Mrs. Peters would absolutely refuse to cooperate, at such an hour, and with such poor means as were at hand. However, she bestirred herself at once, like a colored angel as she is; and for my own part, I went over to Highwood, a humble petitioner for some loaf-sugar and for whatever else Mrs. Tappan should be pleased to bestow. She too showed herself angelically disposed, and gave me not only the sugar, but a pot of raspberry jam, and some little bread-cakes — an inestimable gift, inasmuch as our own bread was sour.

Immediately on our arrival, Julian had flung himself on the couch, without so much as taking off his hat, and fallen asleep. When I got back from Highwood, I found that Mrs. Peters had already given him his supper, and that he was munching his final piece of bread. So I undressed him, and asked him, meanwhile, whether he had had a good time. But the naughty little man said, " No! " whereas, until within the last half hour, never had he been happier in his life ; but the bitter weariness had effaced the memory of all that enjoyment. I never saw such self-gratulation and contentment as that wherewith he stretched himself out in bed, and doubtless was asleep before I reached the foot of the stairs.

In a little while more, Mrs. Peters had supper ready — no very splendid supper, but not nearly so meagre as it might have been: tea, bread and butter, dropt eggs, little bread-cakes, raspberry jam; and I truly thanked Heaven, and Mrs. Peters, that it was no worse! After tea, we had some pleasant conversation; and at ten o'clock the guests departed. I looked over one or two newspapers, and went to bed before eleven. It was a most beautiful night, with full, rich, cloudless moonlight, so that I would rather have ridden the six miles to Pittsfield than have gone to bed.

August 9th Saturday.

Julian awoke in bright condition this morning, and we arose at about seven. I felt the better for the expedition of yesterday; and asking Julian whether he had a good time, he answered with great enthusiasm in the affirmative, and that he wanted to go again, and that he loved Mr. Melville as well as me, and as his Mamma, and as Una.
It being so fair and fine weather last night, it followed as a matter of course that it should be showery this morning; and so it was. The rain was pouring when we got up; and though it held up when I went for the milk, the atmosphere was very vaporish and juicy. From all the hill-sides mists were steaming up, and Monument Mountain seemed to be enveloped as if in the smoke of a great battle. I kept Julian within doors till about eleven, when, the sun glimmering out, we went to the barn, and afterwards to the garden. The rest of the time, he had played at jack-straws, and ridden on his horse, and through all and above all has deafened and confounded me
with his interminable babble. I read him, in the course of the morning, a portion of his mother's letter that was addressed to himself; and he chuckled immeasurably.

We could not venture away from the house and its environment, on account of the weather; and so we got rid of the day as well as we could within those precincts. I think I have hardly ever known Julian to talk so incessantly as he has to-day; if I did not attend to him, he talked to himself. He has been in excellent spirits all the time.

Between four and five o'clock came on one of the heaviest showers of the day; and in the midst of it there was a succession of thundering knocks at the front door. Julian and I ran as quickly as possible to see whom it might be, and on opening the door, there was a young man on the doorstep, and a carriage at the gate, and Mr. James thrusting his head out of the carriage window, and beseeching shelter from the storm! So here was an invasion. Mr. and Mrs. James, their oldest son, their daughter, their little son Charles, their maid-servant and their coachman; not that the coachman came in; and as for the maid, she staid in the hall. Dear me, where was Phoebe in this time of need! All taken aback as I was, I made the best of it. Julian helped me somewhat, but not much. Little Charlie is a few months younger than he, and between them they at least furnished subject for remark. Mrs. James, luckily, seemed to be very much afraid of thunder and lightning; and as these were loud and sharp, she might be considered hors de combat. The son, who seemed to be about twenty and the daughter, of seventeen or eighteen, took the part of saying nothing; which I suppose is the English fashion, as regards such striplings. So Mr. James was the only one to whom it was necessary to talk; and we got along tolerably well. He said that this was his birthday, and that he was keeping it by a pleasure-excursion, and that therefore the rain was a matter of course. We talked of periodicals, English and American, and of the Puritans, about whom we agreed pretty well in our opinions ; and Mr. James told how he had been recently thrown out of his wagon, and how the horse ran away with Mrs. James;— and we talked about green lizards and red ones. And Mr. James told Julian how, when he was a child, he had twelve owls at the same time, and, at another time, a raven, who used to steal silver spoons
and money; he also mentioned a squirrel, and various other pets — and Julian laughed most obstreperously.

As to little Charlie, he was much interested with Bunny, and likewise with the rocking-horse, which luckily happened to be in the sitting-room. He examined the horse most critically and asked a thousand questions about him, with a particularly distinct utterance, and not the slightest bashfulness; finally he got upon the horse's back, but did not show himself quite so good a rider as Julian. Our old boy hardly said a word; indeed it could hardly be expected, on the first brunt of such an irruption as we were undergoing. Finally, the shower past over, and the invaders passed away; and I do hope that, on the next occasion of the kind, my wife may be there to see.

Immediately on their departure, Mrs. Peters brought in Julian's supper; being in a hurry to arrange matters and go home. It is now twenty
minutes past six.

I spent a rather forlorn evening, and to bed at nine.

August 10th Sunday.

Uprose we at not much after six. It was a particularly cool and north-west windy morning; and sullen and angry clouds were scattered about, especially to the northward. When we went for the milk, Luther Butler expressed his opinion that Indian corn would not do very well this season. In fact, it hardly seems like a summer at all.

I got breakfast, and the morning passed away without any incident, till about ten, when we set out for the lake. There the little man took an old branch of a tree, and set very earnestly to fishing. Such perseverance certainly does deserve a better reward than it is likely to meet with; although he seems to enjoy it, and always comes away without any apparent disappointment. Afterwards, we threw stones into the lake; and I lay on the bank, under the trees, and watched his little busyness — his never-wearying activity — as cheerful as the sun, and shedding a reflected cheer upon my sombreness. From the lake, we strolled upward, fighting mulleins and
thistles, and I sat down on the edge of the tall pine wood. He finds so much to amuse him in every possible spot we light upon, that he always contends stoutly against a removal. After spending a little time here, we passed through the wood to the field beyond, when he insisted that I should sit down on a great rock, and let him dig in the sand, and so I did. Here the old boy made little holes, and heaped up the sand, and imagined his constructions to be fairy houses; and I believe he would willingly have spent the rest of the day there, had I been as content as he. We came homeward by the cold spring, out of which we drank; and when we reached the
house, it was after one.

For dinner, I gave him bread and water, and a small remnant of cornstarch pudding; and I myself ate a piece of cake and a cucumber. Then we went out and fed the hens; after which I lay down on the slope of the valley with the sun falling upon me out of the clear blue sky, warm and genial, but without too heavy a warmth. Julian,
meanwhile, played about, not so far off as to lose the feeling of companionship, yet so far that he could only speak to me in a shout ; and whenever he shouted, a child's clear voice, in the distance, shouted more faintly the self-same words. It was the echo. And thus we have arrived at half-past two. The old boy is now riding on his rocking-horse, and talking to me as fast as his tongue can go. Mercy on me, was ever man before so be-pelted with a child's talk as I am! It is his desire of sympathy that lies at the bottom of the great heap of his babblement. He wants to enrich all his enjoyments by steeping them in the heart of some friend. I do not think him in danger of living so solitary a life as much of mine has been.

During the afternoon, we gathered some currants, which I crushed, and gave him a few at supper. When that was over (and we got through with it before six) we went out to the barn. "A very fine morning, isn't it, papa?" said he, as we came out of the door. I wish I could record all his apothegms; but they do not seem worth writing down, till I have so far forgotten them that they cannot be recalled in their integrity. To-day, after beating down a great many thistles, he observed, "All the world is a great pricker! " He has an idea that I do not think him very wise; and this afternoon he asked, "Papa, do you think I don't know anything?" "I do," said I. "But I knew how to shut the boudoir door when you didn't," rejoined he. I am very glad he has that one instance of practical sagacity (though, after all, it was merely a chance hit) to console himself with. Nevertheless, I really think he has the stuff in him to make wisdom of, in due season; and Heaven forbid that it should come too soon.

At bedtime, I indulged him in what he likes better than almost anything else— a rampageous sham-battle — before undressing him; and at seven o'clock, he was finally stowed away.

Let me say outright, for once, that he is a sweet and lovely little boy, and worthy of all the love that I am capable of giving him. Thank God! God bless him! God bless Phoebe for giving him to me! God bless her as the best wife and mother in the world! God bless Una, whom I long to see again! God bless little Rosebud! God bless me, for Phoebe's and all their sakes! No other man has so good a wife; nobody has better children. Would I were worthier of her and them!

My evenings are all dreary alone, and without books that I am in the mood to read; and this evening one like the rest. So I went to bed at
about nine, and longed for Phoebe.

August 11th Monday.

The little man spoke to me, sometime in the depth of night, and said very quietly that he did not have very pleasant dreams. Doubtless, the currants, which he ate at supper, had wrought a malevolent influence upon him; and, in fact, I could hear them rumbling in his belly. He himself heard the rumor of them, but did not recognize where the sound came from, and inquired of me what it was. After a while, he fell asleep again, and slept somewhat later than usual, insomuch that I now, at not far from seven, bathed, and finally had to arouse him. Mrs. Peters returned before his bath was over. He munched a slice of bread as we went together for the milk. It was a clear, calm, and pretty cool morning.

After breakfast, I gathered some string beans, and good store of summer squashes; then frizzled the old gentleman's wig, and went upstairs to my own toilet. Before ten, we set out on a walk along the mountain side, by the Hudson road. There could not be more delightful weather; warm, but not too warm, except in the full brunt of the sunbeams — and a gentle stirring breeze, which had the memory of an iceberg in it,
as all the breezes of this summer have. It was a very pleasant walk. The old boy (who well merits to be dubbed a Knight of the Thistle) performed feats of valor against these old enemies; neither did I shrink from the combat. He found many flowers, too, and he was enthusiastic about their beauty; often bestowing his encomiums on very homely ones. But he has a real feeling for everything that grows. In the wood opposite Mr. Flint's, we saw some men cutting down trees; at which he expressed great anger, and said he would rather have no fire, and drink cold milk.

We walked a good way along the road, until we came within sight of a house which
stands at what seems to be the highest point, and deepest in the forest. There we turned back, and rested ourselves on some logs, a little withdrawn from the roadside. The little man said that one of these logs was Giant Despair, and that the old giant was dead; and he dug a shallow hole, which he said should be the giant's grave. I objected that it was not half large enough; but he informed me that Giant Despair grew very small, the moment he was dead.

While we sat here, a man passed in a four-wheeled chaise; and soon afterwards came a handsome barouche and pair, with two ladies and a whiskered gentleman in it, making a very gay spectacle along the forest road; and in the other direction came a wagon, driven by a boy, and containing a woman and a little girl, who, I suppose, were his mother and sister. The woman alighted, and coming towards me, asked if I had seen any stray chickens! It seems, in passing over the road this morning, they had lost some chickens out of the wagon, and now were seeking them; but, in my opinion, they might have called wild birds out of the trees, with about as much hope of success. However, when we came away, they were still seeking their chickens, and the boy was calling, " Chick, chick, chick I " with something lamentable in his tone; and for aught I know, he is calling them yet ; but the chickens have strayed into the wild wood, and will perhaps intermarry with partridges, or establish a race of
wild hens. Julian and I came homeward, more slowly than we went; for the sun had grown pretty fervent, and our walk had been quite a long one. We found high-bush blackberries along the way, but I allowed him to eat only a very few, and therefore gained most of the little handfuls, which he gathered, for my own eating. It was about twelve when we reached the house.

He has had peculiar longings for his mother and Una to-day, and pronounced his love for them with great emphasis. I do not think he has given Rosebud any place in his affections yet; though he answered, " Yes," in a matter-of-course way, when I inquired whether he did not love her too. It is now about half -past two, and he wishes to take a walk to the lake.

We went accordingly ; and then he took a bare pole and set to fishing again— poor, patient little angler that he is! I lay a long while on the green margin of the lake, partly in the shade and partly in the sun. The breeze seemed to come from the southward, and was pretty brisk; so that it sang among the trees and heaved the wavelets against the shore. I almost fell asleep; and whenever I unclosed my eyes, there was the unweariable fisherboy. By and by he proposed to go to "Mamma's Rock," as he has named a certain large rock, beneath some walnut-trees, where the children went
with Phoebe to gather nuts, last autumn. He informed me that, when he was grown up, he should build a house for his mother at this rock, and that I might live there too. "When I am grown up," he said, "everybody must mind me I" We visited "Mamma's Rock," and then he picked up the nuts of last year, and perseveringly cracked them, believing that in every one he should find good meats — nor yet seeming to feel much disappointed when he found them all decayed.

We spent some time here, and then came home through the pasture; and the little man kept jumping over the high weeds and the tufts of everlasting flowers, while I compared his overflowing sprightliness with my own reluctant footsteps, and was content that he should be young instead of I. We got home about five.

I have just put the old fellow to bed, at a quarter of seven. He expressed some fear that he should have the bad dream of last night over again; but I told him that, as he had eaten no currants to-night, he would not probably be troubled. He says the dream was about dogs.

To bed at about nine.