yet possible ones.  Little girl!  Do you suppose such a soul would find anything in yours to satisfy it?  No—­no—­no—­I do not.  I know I am a poor little goose which ought to be content with some equally poor little gander, but I won’t. I’ll never give up one inch of these the demands of my reason and of my heart for all the truths you tell me about myself—­never!  But descend from your elevation, oh speculating child of mortality, and go down to school.  Oh, no, no school for a week, and I guess I’ll spend the week in fancies and follies.  It won’t hurt me.  I’ve done it before and got back to the world as satisfied as ever, indeed I have.

Jan. 1, 184l.—­We’ve been busy all the week getting our presents ready for the servants, and a nice time I’ve had this morning, seeing them show their ivory thereat.  James made a little speech, the amount of which was, he hoped I wouldn’t get married till I’d “done been” here two or three years, because my face was so pleasant it was good to look at it!  I was as proud as Lucifer at this compliment, and shall certainly look pleasant all day to-day, if I never did before.  Monsieur and the rest wished me, I won’t say how many, good wishes, rushing at me as I went in to breakfast—­and Milly privately informed Lucy that she liked Miss Payson “a heap” better than she did any body else, and then came and begged me to buy her!  I buy her!  Heaven bless the poor little girl.  I had some presents and affectionate notes from different members of the family and from my scholars—­also letters from sister and Ned, which delighted me infinitely more than I’m going to tell you, old journal.  Took tea at Mr. P.’s and Mrs. P. laughed at her husband because he had once an idea of going to New England to get my little ladyship to wife (for the sake of my father, of course).  Mr. P. blushed like a boy and fidgeted terribly, but I didn’t care a snap—­I am not old enough to be wife to anybody, and I’m not going to mind if people do joke with me about it.  I’ve had better things to think of on this New Year’s day—­good, heavenward thoughts and prayers and hopes, and if I do not become more and more transformed into the Divine, then are prayers and hopes things of nought.  Oh, how dissatisfied I am with myself.  How I long to be like unto Him into whose image I shall one day be changed when I see Him as He is!

I believe nobody understands me on religious points, for I can not, and, it seems to me, need not parade my private feelings before the world.  Cousin G., God bless him! knows enough, and yet my letters to him do not tell the hundredth part of that which these four walls might tell, if they would.  I do not know that I am not wrong, but I do dislike the present style of talking on religious subjects.  Let people pray—­earnestly, fervently, not simply morning and night, but the whole day long, making their lives one continued prayer; but, oh, don’t let them tell others of, or let others know half