early spring 1870
I think the bluebirds do their work exactly like me. They dart around just so, with little dodging feet, and look so agitated. I really feel for them, they seem to be so tried.
The mud is very deep - up to the wagons' stomachs - arbutus making pink clothes, and everything alive.
Even the hens are touched with the things of Bourbon, and make republicans like me feel strangely out of scene.
Mother went rambling, and came in with a burdock on her shawl, so we know that the snow has perishsed from the earth. Noah would have liked mother.
I am glad you are with Eliza. It is next to shade to know that those we love are cool on a parched day.
Bring my love to ------ and Mr. ------. You will not need a hod. C[lara] writes often, full of joy and liberty. I guess it is a case of peace. . . .
Pussy has a daughter in the shavings barrel.
Father steps like Cromwell when he gets the kindlings.
Mrs. S[weetser] gets bigger, and rolls down the lane to church like a reverend marble. Did you know little Mrs. Holland was in Berlin for her eyes? . . .
Did you know about Mrs. J------? She fledged her antique wings. 'Tis said that "nothing in her life became her like the leaving of it."
Great Streets of Silence led awayEmily.