ng.

_April 13._--Last night proved that I have some steadfastness.

After eating dinner at Captain Welles's I took a walk over the hills,
thinking to find some Mayflowers. I had found a few, and was scratching
away the dry leaves, when I heard a rustling quite near me. Then the
bushes parted and showed me a lovely face,--the lovely, rosy face of
Elinor, growing lovelier and rosier every minute. She had come to find
Mayflowers too.

She wanted some very pink ones, and so we went wandering about, down in
deep hollows, where the moss was damp, and by little sheep-paths, and
through the woods, until at last I perceived the sun was setting, and we
had scarcely any flowers.

Upon climbing a tree to discover whereabouts we were, I saw, a little
below us, a scraggly, one-sided cedar-tree, which I knew to be a long
way from home. The Beaver Brook road led directly past it.

We gained that road, walking quickly at first, but afterwards, more
slowly. Daylight left us, and the stars came out. We walked on and on
along the lonely road, walked slow, and scarcely spoke. For my
resolution was taken. Elinor should not be bound by any promises or
confessions. Only, just as we were stepping over the door-sill, I heard
a little sigh, and these few words would blunder out, "When I come back
from the West, I shall--want to tell--" But there I left off, and didn't
go into the house, but walked about the place till nigh midnight.

_Ohio, June 6, 18--._--Two years in the wilderness, and nothing gained.
Gloom gathers around me. No little spot of blue sky can I discover. The
hurricane has destroyed everything. I am sick, weak. O the deathly
chills, the burning fever! O the lonesomeness, the heart-loneliness, of
this dreary place! The lake, the sickening, freshwater lake, I can't
endure. If I could but set foot on the hillside at the old place, and
look out upon the great sea, and draw one long breath! If I could but
stand on White Rock, with the spray dashing over me, and the wind, from
across the broad Atlantic, rushing past! All night I dream of blue,
sparkling waters, where little white-sailed boats are gliding so gently,
gently off from the shore, and away into the distance. If I could but
lay me down in one of these, and so float on and on, no matter where!

Why do I never dream of Elinor? Are we so utterly separated that even in
visions I may not behold her face? What have I done, that God refuses me
all joy? I don't know of bei