Sunday

Pulled through.  This day is getting to be more and more trying.  It was selected and set apart last November as a day of rest.  I already had six of them per week, before.  This morning found the new creature trying to clod apples out of that forbidden tree.

Monday

The new creature says its name is Eve.  That is all right, I have no objections.  Says it is to call it by when I want it to come.  I said it was superfluous, then.  The word evidently raised me in its respect; and indeed it is a large, good word, and will bear repetition.  It says it is not an It, it is a She.  This is probably doubtful; yet it is all one to me; what she is were nothing to me if she would but go by herself and not talk.

Tuesday

She has littered the whole estate with execrable names and offensive signs: 

This way to the whirlpool.

This way to goat Island.

Cave of the winds this way.

She says this park would make a tidy summer resort, if there was any custom for it.  Summer resort—­another invention of hers—­just words, without any meaning.  What is a summer resort?  But it is best not to ask her, she has such a rage for explaining.

Friday

She has taken to beseeching me to stop going over the Falls.  What harm does it do?  Says it makes her shudder.  I wonder why.  I have always done it—­always liked the plunge, and the excitement, and the coolness.  I supposed it was what the Falls were for.  They have no other use that I can see, and they must have been made for something.  She says they were only made for scenery—­like the rhinoceros and the mastodon.

I went over the Falls in a barrel—­not satisfactory to her.  Went over in a tub—­still not satisfactory.  Swam the Whirlpool and the Rapids in a fig-leaf suit.  It got much damaged.  Hence, tedious complaints about my extravagance.  I am too much hampered here.  What I need is change of scene.

Saturday

I escaped last Tuesday night, and travelled two days, and built me another shelter, in a secluded place, and obliterated my tracks as well as I could, but she hunted me out by means of a beast which she has tamed and calls a wolf, and came making that pitiful noise again, and shedding that water out of the places she looks with.  I was obliged to return with her, but will presently emigrate again, when occasion offers.  She engages herself in many foolish things:  among others, trying to study out why the animals called lions and tigers live on grass and flowers, when, as she says, the sort of teeth they wear would indicate that they were intended to eat each other.  This is foolish, because to do that would be to kill each other, and that would introduce what, as I understand it, is called “death;” and death, as I have been told, has not yet entered the Park.  Which is a pity, on some accounts.