scented cones of blossoms, yearning toward the sky, only emphasized the sad loneliness of the spot. From over on the other side of the hill, came the hopping of toads (a sound that seems belated with the trees as far out as they are.) With such a mood as an old cemetery inspires [go] memories of my boyhood; such as the name of a woman who belonged to the church I attended, Pansy Adams (the very name brings up a vision of old gravestones, tilted in lush grass, myrtle flowers like cold blue-violet stars gleaming.) Or, a song we infants sang in the primary Sunday school, “Praise him, praise him, all ye little children; God is love, God is love.” Old iron fences sinking into deep green grass; star-flowers, ladies dressed in black silk.
     May 20- For our wedding anniversary, B and I to Gowanda. Park by the pine covered hill, which we walk over following my usual route. A constant delight to Bertha, who had not been out for so long. Down the steep hill, to the valley. Attempt to skirt rapids but one short space of 5 or 6 feet prevents. We build a fire on the little beach and roast bacon & wieners. The fire & the heat of the sun make us lazy. Up the hill then, a hard struggle, so much of an effort for Bertha that at the last, she cries a little from the exhaustion and I am provoked with myself that I put her to the effort. In a short time we both recover, and proceed onwards. While Bertha rests, I descend hillside to look for mushrooms. Find quite a nice lot, and we head for the car, completely worn out. It was pleasant to feel the Vicarious strength of the car as I drove home.
     May 21- Shopping in Buffalo.
     May 22- Evening to Ebenezer to old cemetery, after