his willow to be cut down,
with its golden crown over the roof in winter, and its heap of summer
verdure. The present Mr. Ripley planted it, fifty years ago, or
thereabouts.

* * * * *

_Friday, June 2._--Last night there came a frost, which has done great
damage to my garden. The beans have suffered very much, although,
luckily, not more than half that I planted have come up. The squashes,
both summer and winter, appear to be almost killed. As to the other
vegetables, there is little mischief done,--the potatoes not being yet
above ground, except two or three; and the peas and corn are of a
hardier nature. It is sad that Nature will so sport with us poor
mortals, inviting us with sunny smiles to confide in her; and then, when
we are entirely in her power, striking us to the heart. Our summer
commences at the latter end of June, and terminates somewhere about the
first of August. There are certainly not more than six weeks of the
whole year when a frost may be deemed anything remarkable.

* * * * *

_Friday, June 23._--Summer has come at last,--the longest days, with
blazing sunshine, and fervid heat. Yesterday glowed like molten brass.
Last night was the most uncomfortably and unsleepably sultry that we
have experienced since our residence in Concord; and to-day it scorches
again. I have a sort of enjoyment in these seven times heated furnaces
of midsummer, even though they make me droop like a thirsty plant. The
sunshine can scarcely be too burning for my taste; but I am no enemy to
summer-showers. Could I only have the freedom to be perfectly idle
now,--no duty to fulfil, no mental or physical labor to perform,--I
should be as happy as a squash, and much in the same mode; but the
necessity of keeping my brain at work eats into my comfort, as the
squash-bugs do into the heart of the vines. I keep myself uneasy and
produce little, and almost nothing that is worth producing.

The garden looks well now: the potatoes flourish; the early corn waves
in the wind; the squashes, both for summer and winter use, are more
forward, I suspect, than those of any of my neighbors. I am forced,
however, to carry on a continual warfare with the squash-bugs, who,
were I to let them alone for a day, would perhaps quite destroy the
prospects of the whole summer. It is impossible not to feel angry with
these unconscionable insects, who scruple not to do such excessive
misch