Curiously, the melancholia is rapidly abating, and litheness of spirit, bravado, arrogance, and aristocratic foppishness are taking its place. My spirits were low at mid-day, but I recognized it for what it was and thus simply pressed on.

I was hoping the spell were a few days longer; already, at Evening Prayer my eyes hurry over the words without understanding, my brain abuzz, eager to finish and *do* things. Alas, the inventor bids the poet adieu for now, hoping for a longer future visit.