Five more days of April, and then May! For the last half of this
light-and-shadow month, when the clouds, like schools of changeable
lovely creatures, seem to be playing and rushing away through the
waters of the sun, life to me has narrowed more and more to the
red-bird, who gets tamer and tamer with habit, and to Georgiana,
who gets wilder and wilder with happiness. The bird fills the yard
with brilliant singing; she fills her room with her low, clear
songs, hidden behind the window-curtains, which are now so much
oftener and so needlessly closed. I work myself nearly to death in
my garden, but she does not open them. The other day the red-bird
sat in a tree near by, and his notes floated out on the air like
scarlet streamers. Georgiana was singing, so low that I was making
no noise with my rake in order to hear; and when he began, before
I realized what I was doing, I had seized a brickbat and hurled
it, barely missing him, and driving him away. He did not know what
to make of it; neither did I; but as I raised my eyes I saw that
Georgiana had opened the curtains to listen to him, and was closing
them with her eyes on my face, and a look on hers that has haunted
me ever since.


April the 26th. It's of no use. To-morrow night I will go to see
Georgiana, and ask her to marry me.


April 28th. Man that is born of woman is of few days and full
of trouble. I am not the least sick, but I am not feeling at all
well. So have made a will, and left everything to Mrs. Walters.
She has been over five times to-day, and this evening sat by me a