16 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



do the denizens of the old pasture lull me into 

 peaceful rest, into slumber sweet. 



Monday, August 3. Up at 4 :20. The eastern 

 sky resplendent with, the glow of the coming 

 sun; the morning star, a diamond shining with 

 slowly fading brilliancy before the advancing 

 splendor of the orb of day ; the distant pastoral 

 sounds of crowing cocks, barking dogs, lowing 

 cattle and ba-aing sheep; the clear ringing call 

 of a cardinal; the scolding notes of jay and 

 woodpecker these my morning greetings. 



A thin mist rises from the valley. A cool 

 moist atmosphere with heavy dewfall has fol- 

 lowed the shower of yester-eve. I light my 

 breakfast fire and the smoke, with pleasing 

 aroma, rises heavenward, an incense to greet the 

 coming of the first rays of the sun. The hot 

 air rises with such force that it causes the o'er- 

 hanging boughs of oak to sway up and down 

 as though a stiff breeze were blowing. 



In boiling my potatoes I, by mistake, got a 

 pear in the kettle and did not find it out until 

 I came to test them with the fork to see if they 

 were done. I ate the pear with a little sugar 

 added and found it was delicious. Already this 

 morning then I have discovered a new way of 

 serving pears, viz., boiled with the skins on. 



Heretofore I have both supposed and re- 



