“I cannot write any more. I will go out and take another walk until breakfast. Perhaps I will go over to the East River. Yes, I will go over to the East River and look at the boats. There is something magnificent about boats.”
“Sunday, May 22.
“To-day we went out to Pelham Bay Park. We went early in the morning and stayed all day. We took a boat-ride over to Closson’s Point, and sat under a tree, and I let her read the book—all there was in it. She did not reproach me for the many things that I regret I ever wrote in it. At times she laughed, and at times I am sure that there were tears in her eyes. I could not well understand her at all times, even when she explained to me why it made her feel as she said it did.
“Yesterday paid the first instalment of $200. $1000 more, and that unfortunate episode in my life will be closed forever.
“I do not seem to take as much interest in the book as I once did. For the first time in many years I have let nearly a week go by without a record in it.
“Shall I tell what happened when I left her at her door at midnight less than an hour ago? I have long made it a point to be sincere and frank in these pages, but I cannot always write down the most important things in my life, especially now. I will only write that ineffable joy surrounded me.
‘O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory?’”
