early and bought some more enamel paint--black this time--and spent
the evening touching up the fender, picture-frames, and an old pair
of boots, making them look as good as new. Also painted Gowing's
walking-stick, which he left behind, and made it look like ebony.

April 29, Sunday.--Woke up with a fearful headache and strong
symptoms of a cold. Carrie, with a perversity which is just like
her, said it was "painter's colic," and was the result of my having
spent the last few days with my nose over a paint-pot. I told her
firmly that I knew a great deal better what was the matter with me
than she did. I had got a chill, and decided to have a bath as hot
as I could bear it. Bath ready--could scarcely bear it so hot. I
persevered, and got in; very hot, but very acceptable. I lay still
for some time.

On moving my hand above the surface of the water, I experienced the
greatest fright I ever received in the whole course of my life; for
imagine my horror on discovering my hand, as I thought, full of
blood. My first thought was that I had ruptured an artery, and was
bleeding to death, and should be discovered, later on, looking like
a second Marat, as I remember seeing him in Madame Tussaud's. My
second thought was to ring the bell, but remembered there was no
bell to ring. My third was, that there was nothing but the enamel
paint, which had dissolved with boiling water. I stepped out of
the bath, perfectly red all over, resembling the Red Indians I have
seen depicted at an East-End theatre. I determined not to say a
word to Carrie, but to tell Farmerson to come on Monday and paint
the bath white.