When one looks at Miss Everett, one recognises that no
couzin of hers could write a play.
New Year's resolution--to help some one every day. Today
helped Mademoiselle to put on her rubers.
JANUARY 2ND. Today I wrote my French theme, beginning, "Les
hommes songent moins a leur _Ame qu a_ leur _corps_.
Mademoiselle sent for me and objected, saying that it was not a
theme for a young girl, and that I must write a new one, on the
subject of pears. How is one to develope in this atmosphere?
Some of the girls are coming back. They stragle in, and put
the favers they got at Cotillions on the dresser, and their
holaday gifts, and each one relates some amorus experience while
at home. Dear dairy, is there somthing wrong with me, that Love
has passed me by? I have had offers of Devotion but none that
apealed to me, being mostly either to young or not atracting me
by physicle charm. I am not cold, although frequently acused of
it, Beneath my fridgid Exterior beats a warm heart. I intend to
be honest in this dairy, and so I admit it. But, except for
passing Fansies--one being, alas, for a married man--I remain
without the Divine Passion.
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