note: Most of this journal, written on shipboard, seems to have been destroyed, probably by fire. What remains suggests that Mrs. Chandler journeyed to New Orleans without her husband's permission, thus becoming indirectly the cause of her baby's death. August, 1849 EN ROUTE FROM NEW YORK TO NEW ORLEANS ABOARD THE 'GENERAL WAYNE'
A smudge for the horizon that, on a clear day, shows the hard edge of hills and buildings on the other coast. Anchored boats all head one way: north, where the wind comes from. You can see the storm inflating
There we go in cars, did you guess we wore sandals? Carrying the till, memorizing its numbers, apt at the essential such as rearranging languages. They occur from route to route like savages who wear shells.
“I cannot place him.” Yet I do. He must ascend indefinitely as airs he must regard his image as plastic,
Permit me to open by expressing joy and wonder that we're marching at the head of our companies in different uniforms under a different command but with a single aim—to survive
You say to me—look here we should probably let these boys go home to their Margot to their Kasia war is beautiful only in parades but apart from that as we know—mud and blood and rats
As you speak comes an avalanche of artillery fire it's that bastard Parkinson who is taking so long he caught up with us at last when we took a walk on an irregular route our collars loose at the chin
One of those appointments you postpone until anxiety propels you to the phone, then have to wait too long for, to take an inconvenient time . . . Late in the day, an old man and I watch the minute hand
on the waiting room wall. I’ve papers to grade, but he wants someone to talk to, and his attendant’s rude, so he turns
’Twas on a lofty vase’s side, Where China’s gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow; Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima, reclined, Gazed on the lake below.
Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned, Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring; And laughing Joy, with wild flowers prank'd, and crown'd, A wild and giddy thing, And Health robust, from every care unbound, Come on the zephyr's wing, And cheer the toiling clown.
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