here has been no rain, except one moderate shower, for many
weeks; and the earth appears to be wasting away in a slow fever. This
weather, I think, affects the spirits very unfavorably. There is an
irksomeness, a restlessness, a pervading dissatisfaction, together with
an absolute incapacity to bend the mind to any serious effort. With me,
as regards literary production, the summer has been unprofitable; and I
only hope that my forces are recruiting themselves for the autumn and
winter. For the future, I shall endeavor to be so diligent nine months
of the year that I may allow myself a full and free vacation of the
other three.

* * * * *

_Monday, July 31._--We had our first cucumber yesterday. There were
symptoms of rain on Saturday, and the weather has since been as moist as
the thirstiest soul could desire.

* * * * *

_Wednesday, September 13._--There was a frost the night before last,
according to George Prescott; but no effects of it were visible in our
garden. Last night, however, there was another, which has nipped the
leaves of the winter-squashes and cucumbers, but seems to have done no
other damage. This is a beautiful morning, and promises to be one of
those heavenly days that render autumn, after all, the most delightful
season of the year. We mean to make a voyage on the river this
afternoon.

* * * * *

_Sunday, September 23._--I have gathered the two last of our
summer-squashes to-day. They have lasted ever since the 18th of July,
and have numbered fifty-eight edible ones, of excellent quality. Last
Wednesday, I think, I harvested our winter squashes, sixty-three in
number, and mostly of fine size. Our last series of green corn, planted
about the 1st of July, was good for eating two or three days ago. We
still have beans; and our tomatoes, though backward, supply us with a
dish every day or two. My potato-crop promises well; and, on the whole,
my first independent experiment of agriculture is quite a successful
one.

This is a glorious day,--bright, very warm, yet with an unspeakable
gentleness both in its warmth and brightness. On such days it is
impossible not to love Nature, for she evidently loves us. At other
seasons she does not give me this impression, or only at very rare
intervals; but in these happy, autumnal days, when she has perfected the
harvests, and accomplished every necessary thing tha