be altered
and distorted in the process of writing it down.

Our few remaining days of summer have been latterly grievously darkened
with clouds. To-day there has been an hour or two of hot sunshine; but
the sun rose amid cloud and mist, and before he could dry up the
moisture of last night's shower upon the trees and grass, the clouds
have gathered between him and us again. This afternoon the thunder
rumbles in the distance, and I believe a few drops of rain have fallen;
but the weight of the shower has burst elsewhere, leaving us nothing but
its sullen gloom. There is a muggy warmth in the atmosphere, which takes
all the spring and vivacity out of the mind and body.

* * * * *

_Sunday, August 28th._--Still another rainy day,--the heaviest rain, I
believe, that has fallen since we came to Concord (not two months ago).
There never was a more sombre aspect of all external nature. I gaze from
the open window of my study, somewhat disconsolately, and observe the
great willow-tree which shades the house, and which has caught and
retained a whole cataract of rain among its leaves and boughs; and all
the fruit-trees, too, are dripping continually, even in the brief
intervals when the clouds give us a respite. If shaken to bring down the
fruit, they will discharge a shower upon the head of him who stands
beneath. The rain is warm, coming from some southern region; but the
willow attests that it is an autumnal spell of weather, by scattering
down no infrequent multitude of yellow leaves, which rest upon the
sloping roof of the house, and strew the gravel-path and the grass. The
other trees do not yet shed their leaves, though in some of them a
lighter tint of verdure, tending towards yellow, is perceptible. All day
long we hear the water drip, drip, dripping, splash, splash, splashing,
from the eaves, and babbling and foaming into the tubs which have been
set out to receive it. The old unpainted shingles and boards of the
mansion and out-houses are black with the moisture which they have
imbibed. Looking at the river, we perceive that its usually smooth and
mirrored surface is blurred by the infinity of rain-drops; the whole
landscape--grass, trees, and houses--has a completely water-soaked
aspect, as if the earth were wet through. The wooded hill, about a mile
distant, whither we went to gather whortleberries, has a mist upon its
summit, as if the demon of the rain were enthroned there; and if