I was looking miserable in February, and really could scarcely tumble across the room, and now I am up on my perch again--nay, even out of my cage door.

The weather is divine.

One feels in one's self why the trees are green.

I go out, walk out, have recovered flesh and fire--my very hair curls differently.

'_Is I, I ?_' I say with the metaphysicians.