1. Sunday. Uprose, after making one sound nap of all the night.
And now for a glance round the room. Imprimis it was snugly carpet-
ted to the feet, and the sides hidden by paper and curtains. The bed
was under an arched space made to recieve it, deeply curtained, portly-
pillowed � a perfect shrine for �Morpheus or Eclympasteire, that was the
God of Sleep his heire.� Five or six Chinese paintings, of river
scenery, fort and harbour, pales driven across streams to repel red-haired
barbarians &c all of merit, perspective respected & well painted.
Books, Dickens words with others in plenty. Table spread with dague-
rrotypes. Haydon & his wife &c. Looking glass decorated atop by some
pretty dependent, willow looking summer creeper. Other prints gaily co-
lored. And a snug rocking chair to repose in & contemplate going to
bed in this exceedingly comfortable chamber of a Genessee farmer.
Up, extensive washing at the rear of the house with bucket & well
water. Breakfast, ambrosial bacon, cakes, preserved fruits, pickles
&c, then out with Homer, his father and another son looking abroad.
In the wheat fields � they had got their crops in. Looking at the various
machines in use, thrashing machines, &c, wheat cutting &c. In barn
and about fields, then walked back with Homer to his house, at
a few hundred rods from his fathers. Just a log-hut outside,
humble enow to look at, snug enough within. What is noticeable