My crown of glory. This morning I waked to clouds
and rain, but for myself I did not care, as you were not here to be
depressed by it. There was a clear and golden sunset, making the
loveliest shadows and lights on the meadows and across my straight
path [over the field to the willows, between firs], and now the stars
shine.--The way in which Concordians observe Fast is by loafing about
the streets, driving up and down, and dawdling generally. No
one seems to mourn over his own or his country's sins. Such behavior
must disturb our Puritan fathers even on the other side of the
Jordan.--In the evening Julian brought me a letter. "It is from New
York," said he, "but not from papa." But my heart knew better, though
I did not know the handwriting. I clashed it open, and saw "N. H.,"
and then, "I am entirely well," not scratched out. Thank God! . . .
The sun has not shone to-day, and there is now a stormy wind that
howls like a beast of prey over its dead. It is the most ominous,
boding sound I ever heard.
March 15, 1862. The news of your appetite sends new life into me, and
immediately increases my own.
July. I am afraid you have been in frightful despair at this rainy
day. It has flooded here in sheets, with heavy thunder. But I have
snatched intervals to weed. I could see and hear everything growing
around me in the warm rain. The army corn has hopped up as if it were
parched. The yellow lilies are reeling up to the skies. Pig-weed has
become camelopard weed.
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