After I was fairly awake this morning,
I felt very bright and airy, and was glad that I had been compelled to
snatch two additional hours of existence from annihilation. The sun's
disk was but half above the ocean's verge when I ascended the ship's
side. These early morning hours are very lightsome and quiet. Almost
the whole day I have been in the shade, reclining on a pile of sails, so
that the life and spirit are not entirely worn out of me. . . . . The
wind has been east this afternoon,--perhaps in the forenoon, too,--and I
could not help feeling refreshed, when the gentle chill of its breath
stole over my cheek. I would fain abominate the east-wind, . . . . but
it persists in doing me kindly offices now and then. What a perverse
wind it is! Its refreshment is but another mode of torment.
Salem, Oct. 4th. Union Street [Family Mansion]--. . . . Here I sit in my
old accustomed chamber, where I used to sit in days gone by. . . . . Here
I have written many tales, many that have been burned to ashes, many that
doubtless deserved the same fate.
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