Now, 8.30 A. M., it rains . . .

  P. M.—To Second Division Brook. Near Clamshell Hill, I scare up in succession four pairs of good-sized brown or grayish-brown ducks . . . I see, in J. P. Brown’s field, by Nut Meadow Brook, where a hen has been devoured by a hawk probably . . . Returning by Harrington’s, saw a pigeon woodpecker flash away . . . The robins, too, now toward sunset, perched on the old apple trees in Tarbell’s orchard, twirl forth their evening lays unweariedly.