1892
Sept.7
Concord, Massachusetts.
Mass
Concord. Cloudless with light wind. Early morning cool
(there was almost a frost during the night) with heavy dew;
midday was warm the sun's rays burning like fire. Full moon rose about 8 p.m.
[margin]Night in Canoe at Ball's Hill.[/margin]

  I spent last night in my canoe on the shore near [margin]Night sounds[/margin]
the landing. For an hour or more after going to bed (at 10 p.m.)
I lay awake listening for [delete]the[/delete] night sounds but I heard
only the rustling of mice in the leaves, the intermittent
rasping of wood borers in the wood pit near me,
the ceaseless monotone of the tree crickets in the Birches
overhead, and every few minutes the lisping notes of
migrating warblers. The last did not seem to be passing in
greater numbers than has been the case during most of
the clear nights during the past two weeks, but very 
possibly there were many flying at so great a height
that their feeble notes did not reach my ears for, as
I shall presently relate, the country was flooded with
migrants the next morning.
[margin]Night sounds[/margin]
  After sleeping soundly through the night I awoke 
just as day was breaking. There was no fog save a
very little lying close to the surface of the water. The
east was all aglow with rosy light while the
moon low down in the west still sent its pale rays
through the openings in the foliage and silvered the
sleeping meadows.
[margin] Daybreak[/margin]
  The first sound that I heard was the whistling of Duck's wings.
Then suddenly, from directly overhead & with startling closeness,
came the weird humming of a Snipe, and after an
interval of a few seconds, during which I had an
opportunity to convince myself that I was really awake,
[margin]Swipe drums[/margin]