Lake Umbagog, Maine.
1893
Oct. 13.
  A sunny day the warmest of this phenomenally warm October.
Lake perfectly calm from sunrise to sunset. Sky slightly dimmed
by filmy clouds and mountains obscured by dense plum-colored haze.
  The early morning was even more beautiful than that of
yesterday. I awoke at daybreak and for more than an hour lay
looking out of my tent down the Lake. A dense bank of fog hung
over the lower arm of the Lake extending a little above the
Narrows where it ended in a wall, as abrupt and well defined as
the face of an iceberg. The outline scarce moved or changed its
shape but the rising sun tinged it first with rose, next with
rich salmon.
[margin]Early morning
at Pine Point[/margin]
  There were many bird sounds. Fox Sparrows clucked and chirp-
ed, Juncos twittered, Crows cawed, Jays screamed, a Woodpecker
drummed and Robins called on every side. But the first bird I
heard was a Hermit Thrush which sang gloriously (although in low
tones) directly in front of the tent. Out on the Lake a Loon
laughed again and again. Soon after sunrise a loud hoarse cry
rang out very near. I took it at first for the voice of our
mysterious Owl and rushed out of the tent at once feeling sure
of getting a good view of the bird, but it proved to be a Great
Blue Heron which was perched in the top of the tall pine in
front of the camp.
[margin]Bird voices[/margin]
[margin]Add matter on next page as far as that relating to heron [/margin]