The locust-trees are, as usual, full of brown pods; one of the handsomest in the village, a fine tree in size and form, might be supposed in withered leaf at a little distance, every branch and twig being loaded with pods. A drawing, taken at this moment, would give the idea of a tree in leaf. What a luxuriant mass of flowers it must have borne last June! A good portion of these pods will remain on the tree all winter, for they fall very reluctantly; and occasionally these old rusty shreds of a past year are found among the fresh summer blossoms. They have certainly no beauty, and yet they are rather pleasing in winter, reminding one of the flowers the tree has borne. The pods of the Acacia, frequently called the Honey-locust, are handsome and very large, though the flower itself is insignificant: they are of a rich glossy brown, with a spiral, curling turn, and twelve or fifteen inches long; there are few on the tree, however, compared with the common locust, and they fall early. The birds do not seem to eat the seed in these pods, which is a pity; they would be a fine winter harvest for them about the villages.
The old brown chestnut-burs tipping the naked twigs here and there, the black shell of the hickory, also the open husk of the small beech-nut dotting the trees, the swinging balls of the sycamore, the scaly tufts on birch and alder, though dull and out of season, are also pleasing from association, and though claiming little beauty in themselves, vary the naked branches agreeably.
A flock of wild ducks flew over the village to the lake, the only birds we have seen for a fortnight.
Thursday, 7th.—Mild rain again, with dark, dull sky.
Friday, 8th.—Very mild, and cloudy, but without rain. Indeed, it is almost warm; people are complaining of lassitude, the
