August 22. Returned last night after a very pleasant visit of three days. It rained on the way, but it was only the cooler and more comfortable traveling for that; and when the sun came out in the west just as we reached the top of a ridge from which the whole long mountain chain was visible on the horizon, I felt that that one view was enough compensation for going, and that first glimpse I shall never forget. The round summit of Blue, and the bolder ridges of Saddle-back and Abraham, lifted themselves above the lower elevations that would be mountains anywhere but among mountains, far off and solemn with the deepening purple of sunset, and over them the sky hung, fiery gold, intermingled with shadow. The first glimpse was finer than anything afterward, though I rode up the lovely valley of the Sandy River, which is _like_ a paradise, if not one, recalling ever the old words of the hymn:-- “Sweet fields arrayed in living green, And rivers of delight.” What can be more beautiful than green meadow-lands, bordered by forest-covered slopes, that ever rise and rise, till they fade into dim blue mountain-distances? I climbed one mountain half-way,--the bluest of the blue,--and so called, by emphasis, Mount Blue. It was a grand view,--the great distant mountain wall, and the valleys slumbering safe in its shadow. Yet the distant view is always more impressive, more full of suggestions for me; and coming back to the first point of observation, I hoped for a repetition of the first delight. But the far-off ridges were closely veiled with mist and rain, and a thunder-shower swept toward us from them, across the wide valley. Yet as we turned to leave, Mount Blue just lifted off his mist-cap for a few minutes, as if to say good-by! Altogether, it is a most charming and comforting picture for future remembrance: flowery mountain-slopes, little garden patches of golden-rod, white everlasting and purple willow-herb, under the shade of maples, and firs, and graceful hemlocks; and glimpses of cottagers’ homes on hillsides and by running streams. My eyes are rested, and my heart is glad. August 24. Beverly. The sail down the Kennebec River was delightful, and I took a wicked sort of pleasure in shutting myself up from the crowd and enjoying it! August 26. Sabbath day memories and regrets--how unlike everything else they are! One thing to be grateful for, in a Puritan training, is that it makes one day in the week a thoughtful one, at least. The old customs we may not keep up,--may even regard them as foolish,--still, there is a questioning as to right and wrong on this day, which we must be hardened to get wholly rid of. If I have lived unworthily for a week, the Sabbath quietly shows me myself in her mirror.