P. M. - To White Pond via Dugan’s.
The air is somewhat cooler and beautifully clear at last after all these rains. Instead of the late bluish mistiness, I see a distinct, dark shade under the edge of the woods, the effect of the luxuriant foliage seen through the clear air. The vision goes bounding buoyantly far over the plains. It is a pleasure to look at the washed woods far away. You see every feature of the white pine grove with distinctness, - the stems of the trees, then the dark shade, then their fresh sunlit outsides. The mists are washed and cleared away, and behind them is seen the offspring of the rank vegetation which they nourished, an inky darkness as of night under the edge of the woods and the hedges, now at noonday heralding the evening of the year. The fields are remarkably green with a short, firm sward, and the crickets chirp with a still more autumnal sound.