Dec. 22d.—­“As to my Italian and Tasso, I am ashamed to tell you how slow I have been.  Between company and housework and sewing I have my hands about full, and precious little time for reading and study.  Still, I feel that I live a life of too much ease.  I should love to spend the rest of my existence in the actual service of the Lord, without a question as to its ease and comfort.  Reading Brainerd this afternoon made me long for his loose hold on earthly things.  I do not know how to attain to such a spirit.  Is it by prayer alone and the consequent sense of the worth of Divine things that this deadness to the world is to be gained—­or, by giving up, casting away the treasures which withdraw the heart or have a tendency to withdraw it from God?  This is quite an interesting question to me now, and I should really like it settled.  The thought of living apart from God is more dreadful than any affliction I can think of.

Here are some passages from two leaves of her journal which escaped the flames.  They touch upon another side of her life at this period.

December 1, 184l.—­“I went to the sewing-circle this afternoon and had such a stupid time!  Enough gossip and nonsense was talked to make one sick, and I’m sure it wasn’t the fault of my head that my hair didn’t stand on end.  Now my mother is a very sensible mother, but when she urges me into company and exhorts me to be more social, she runs the risk of having me become as silly as the rest of ’em.  She fears I may be harmed by reading, studying and staying with her, but heaven forbid I should find things in books worse than things out of them.  I can’t think the girls are the silly creatures they make themselves appear.  They want an aim in life, some worthy object; give them that, and the good and excellent which, I am sure, lies hidden in their nature, will develop itself at once.  When the young men rushed in and the girls began looking unutterable things, I rushed out and came home.  I can’t and won’t talk nonsense and flirt with those boys!  Oh, what is it I do want?  Somebody who feels as I feel and thinks as I think; but where shall I find the somebody?

7th.—­“Frolicked with G., rushed up stairs with a glass-lamp in my hand, went full tilt against the door, smashed the lamp, got the oil on my dress, on two carpets, besides spattering the wall.  First consequence, a horrible smell of lamp-oil; Second, great quakings, shakings, and wonderings what my ma would say when she came home; Third, ablutions, groanings, ironings; Fourth, a story for the Companion long enough to pay for that ’ere old lamp.  Letting alone that, I’ve been a very good girl to-day; studied, made a call, went to see H. R. with books, cakes, apples, and what’s more, my precious tongue wherewith I discoursed to her.

14th.—­“Busy all day.  Carried a basket full of “wittles” to old Ma’am Burns, heard an original account of the deluge from the poor woman, wished I was as near heaven as she seems to be, studied, sewed, taught T. and E., tried to be a good girl and didn’t have the blues once.