[Boston—Tuesday, 8 May 1866]
Tuesday morning. May 8th 1866. Spring is finally here in full loveliness—the twilights are late, the sun early, the robins in perfect whistle, the dandelions in full disc, life at high tide, and man a vagrant.
But I feel like a spirit being drowned in too dense ether. However this is but for a moment. I shall struggle hard and will not be drowned. I will go to Dante instead and live again, as for writing, I cannot, yet what is there to prevent—only a day of visiting yesterday which is bringing ennuis today. I am a solitary bird and reap a harvest of unrest after gayety and wandering.
Last evening, Prof. Rogers & wife & brother & sister, Mr & Mrs Hillard, Mrs Andrew & Mr & Mrs Darrah were here.
Driving with mother and shopping all day but rested by a call from Forceythe Willson in the afternoon. However I was utterly wearied after he left and slept forever.
