June 15, 1852. Yesterday we smelt the sea strongly. The sea breeze alone made the day tolerable. This morning, a shower. The robin only sings, the louder for it. He is inclined to sing in foul weather.
To Clematis Brook. 1.30 p. m.
Very warm. This melting weather makes a stage in the year. The crickets creak louder and more steadily. The bull-frogs croak in ear nest. The dry z-ing of the locust is heard. The drouth begins. Bathing cannot be omitted. The conversation of all boys in the streets is whether they will or will not, or who will, go in a-swimming. . . . You lie with open windows and hear the sounds in the streets. The seringo sings now at noon on a post, has a light streak over eye. The autumnal dandelion. Leontodon or Apargia. Erigeron integrifolium or strigosum, i. e., narrow-leaved daisy fleabane of Gray, very common, like a white aster.
Men are inclined to be amphibious, to sympathize with fishes now. I desire to get wet, saturated with water. The North River, Assabet, by the old stone bridge, affords the best bathing-place I think of,—a pure, sandy, uneven bottom, with a swift current, a grassy bank, and over hanging maples, transparent water, deep enough, where you can see every fish in it. Though you stand still, you feel the rippling current about you.
