Nov. 10, 1924    
     It has been a long warm mellow fall.  Even on the season-less city, autumn has invaded, and left its traces in heavy blue Indian summer haze and smoking bonfires.
     On my walks to and from work I often think of the oldSalemdays, with something of regret for the lost bottom-lands of the Little Beaver.  I miss the rattling swamp at sunset time when the birds are calling cozily twittering as if in lazy conversations.  But I have daily reminders of these things.  My little babies sound like little birds and often make me think of the swamp noises – Mary Alice with little songs and jabberings and Martha with her cooings and rasping calls for attention.
     Yesterday toPersiawith Frank Lankes and thence by Cattaraugus Creek and the east road to Gowanda.  A clear cool day. Enter a small branch of the Cattaraugus  about a mile fromPersia.