DIARY.

_April 13, 18--._--Captain Welles was here this morning, advising daddy

to buy a horse-cart. Frederic favors it; but daddy doesn't approve of

newfangled contrivances. He says we can do as we always have done, viz.,

carry the grain to mill on horseback, or, when there's a heavy load,

take the oxen.

Captain Welles's kindness to me is wonderful, considering that I can in

no way favor him, being poor, and without knowledge, and wellnigh

friendless. He talked with me to-day, while I was working on the fences,

about my mind and my soul, and also about getting along in the world. He

counselled me to keep a diary, mentioning many advantages arising

therefrom. As what I write is only for my own eye, I will put down that

he warned me against being vain of a comely face.

He was a sailor in the ship that brought over Mr. Murray, the preacher

of that belief which daddy says is a sin to speak of. But Captain Welles

has told me of many things he said on board the vessel, which sound

heavenly; also of sermons he preached to the crew, that seem in no way

blasphemous, as Aunt Bethiah says the new doctrines are.

They were shipwrecked on the Jersey coast, and experienced great

suffering. Shortly after they gained the shore, a man came along, who

cried out, as soon as he saw the preacher: "Why, you are the very man

I've waited for so long! I have built a meeting-house on purpose for

you!" This is very wonderful, when we think that Mr. Murray was never in

our country before, and that the man was never out of it.

* * * * *

_May 1._--Twenty years old to-day! Just ten years since daddy took me

out of the poor-house! How kind they've all been to me! Frederic and

Elinor and mammy, and, for the most part, Aunt Bethiah, though she is

very precise. If I could only forget where I came from. Captain Welles

says it is false pride; but that doesn't hinder its plaguing me. When a

thorn pricks, it pricks, whether of a rose-bush or a bramble.

As long as I went to school the boys called me "Poor'us," "Poor'us,"

only when Frederic was by they didn't dare, for fear of his thrashing

them, he was so stout and tall; and he has been growing ever since. Aunt

Bethiah says it is reaching and tiptoeing up to the high shelves after

company-cake, that makes him so tall. I heard her telling mammy that she

fairly laid awake nights, contriving places where to hide things.

"Poor Freddy," says mammy, "he don't have no great of an appetite to

eat."

"News to me," says Aunt Bethiah.

She's always on the look-out for him; but, with the whole house on her

shoulders, she can't be everywhere. Last fall, while the shoemaker was

here making up our winter shoes, Frederic got him to put squeaking

leather into one of hers, and not into the mate of it. Then he could

tell her step, for she would go "squeak," "----," "squeak," "----."

Mammy knew, for her arm-chair wasn't a great ways off from the

shoe-bench; but then Frederic's her idol, and all he does is right.

Many's the nice bit she has tucked away for him, when Aunt Bethiah's

back was turned; and does yet, for all he's a man grown.

He laughs at his grandmother about her plasters and medicines; but he is

as full of feeling as he is of fun. Gets up the coldest nights in

winter, when she's taken worse, to run for the neighbors, crying, when

he thinks nobody sees. Who would think, to see him in his capers, he

could ever shed a tear? Nights, when the chores are done, he sits down

close to mammy, till the candles are lit. When he was little, 't would

be on a cricket, with his head in her lap, and saying his verses; and

she would tell him of his pious mother, who had a lovely countenance,

and who died young, being willing to go; or of his father, who mourned

himself into the grave, for the loss of his dear young wife.

But now he has grown up, he relates to her whatever has happened through

the day, if it is only the finding of a hen's nest. This serves to take

up her mind, and gives her something to look forward to. After that he

reads, or does odd jobs of mending; and, two nights a week, brushes up

and goes a-courting. And he's only a year older than I am! I shall never

go a-courting. "Poor'us," "Poor'us." Who would want a "poor'us?"

In a few weeks, Elinor will come home for good. Her father's relations

have done well by her, and would be glad to keep her always. People say

she has bad great advantages, and Hope she will not be spoiled; but that

can't be. She was always good, and always will be.

* * * * *

_May 5._--'T was just about such a day as this, ten years ago, that Aunt

Bethiah came out into the porch, and found me leaning up against the

meal-chest. Daddy had just brought me home. He wasn't blind then, though

he wore a green shade. How scared I was at Aunt Bethiah!--she looked so

tall, and dark, and--hard, like Greatheart's wife, if he ever had one.

It doesn't seem possible that she can be mammy's own sister.

Daddy said, "Mammy, suppose we keep him?" And she made answer, that

mebby I might save poor Freddy some steps. Then Aunt Bethiah said, "More

men folks, more work," and that Frederic knew how to save his own steps.

But I stayed, for daddy's mind was made up beforehand, and daddy always

has his will, though it is in a gentle way.

Elinor was a little girl then. She sat down with me in the window-seat,

and showed me her new primer, and whispered softly that Aunt Bethiah

would like me, if I wiped my feet.

Poor mammy! How long she has been sick! She sits in the same chair and

in the same corner that she did the night I was brought. Some women

wouldn't think of anybody but themselves; but she has a care over the

whole neighborhood. She's always steeping up herbs or spreading plasters

for somebody. Should like to know how many weight of Burgundy pitch and

Dr. Oliver's salve I've run to the doctor's for. I remember how I

coughed that first night.

"What a dreadful cough that poor child's got!" said she. "Elinor, reach

me the bellows, and hold the blade o' the knife to the fire, and warm it

warm. He must have a plaster between his shoulders."

So she laid the bellows across her lap, and spread a plaster, and told

me not to tear it off as soon as it began to tickle me, but to rub my

back against the door. And there were doors enough, I thought, set round

that big kitchen. Nine poor boys, with dreadful coughs, could have found

room.

I remember how we used to climb up to the easterly room door, which had

squares of glass set in the top, and look through at the best things

that were kept shut up there. And how every Sunday night we used to go

into the westerly room, and watch for the sun to go down, before we

could step out of doors.

* * * * *

_May 8._--Helped Frederic to-day to weed out mammy's herb-garden. He

keeps it neat as a pin, but has his fun out of it all the same. It is

right under the window, where she can see growing her saffron and sage,

peppermint, cumfrey, and all the rest. I don't know the names of half.

Frederic calls them "health-root," "lullaby-root," "doctor's defiances,"

"step-quickeners," or whatever comes into his head.

Besides these, which he calls the regular practics, there are all the

wild herbs to be gathered in. Mullein, motherwort, thoroughwort,

golden-rod, everlasting, burdock-leaves, may-weed, must all be dried and

hung up in the garret. Aunt Bethiah groans, but grabs them up with her

long fingers, and has them out of the way in less than no time. Daddy

calls it mammy's harvest.

Poor old man! How pitiful it is to see him groping about so, with his

white face and silvery hair! Yet, to look at his countenance, nobody

would say he was blind; for, though his eyes are closed, he seems to see

with his whole face. I don't know how to write it down; but I mean, that

the look which most people have only in their eyes seems to be spread

over his whole countenance, and lights it up and makes it beautiful.

Sometimes I turn my eyes away, for it seems as if I were looking at his

soul,--and the soul is so mysterious!

* * * * *

_May 12._--Frederic's great-uncle Frederic has died, and left him a

little bag of silver dollars. He sat down on the floor, and made me sit

down on the other side, and we rolled them to each other, just like

little boys. He has given us one apiece, and put one in the drawer for

Elinor. Elinor and I always used to keep our money together. When it is

full, the box is to be broken open, and we shall buy the best books

there are. Daddy has been asking when she will come back. By the 1st of

June certainly. We've heard of several poor people finding a silver

dollar under their plates. Frederic never can keep anything to himself.

* * * * *

_May 20._--Frederic has been to Boston, and bought cloth for a

tail-coat, and had it cut out by a Boston tailor. It is blue, and cost

ten dollars a yard. Mary Swift has been here all the week, making it up.

The buttons are gilt, and cost six dollars a dozen. A good many of the

neighbors have been in to see it. Those who live farther off will have a

chance to-morrow, when he goes to meeting.

* * * * *

_May 22._--Yesterday was the Sabbath, and Frederic wore his coat to

meeting. Aunt Bethiah took extra pains with his ruffles, so as to have

everything correspond. He had on his new boots, with tassels on the

tops, and they shone like glass bottles. He frizzed his front hair

himself. But I had to braid his cue, and tie on the bow. Blue becomes

him, on account of his fairness and his fresh color. I was never struck

before with the resemblance of brother and sister; only she is more

delicate looking.

She will be very proud of him. We all are, but try not to let it be

seen. Mammy is, for all she counselled him to fix his attention on the

discourse, and think only such thoughts as he would like to remember at

the day of judgment. As we walked out of the yard, I caught sight of her

twinkling black eyes over the window-curtain. Such a piece of work too

as she makes getting up out of her chair! How handsome and noble he

looked, fit for an emperor! Dreadful red, though, by the time we got sot

down in meeting; for our pew is a good way up, and his boots squeaked,

and we'd heard that all the singers were going early, to see him come

into meeting, and Lucy sits in the seats.

After sundown took a pleasant walk through the woods, over to the

schoolmaster's boarding-place, to carry back the two last books he lent

me,--the poems of Burns and of Henry Kirke White.

Aunt Bethiah found one of them amongst the hay, when she was hunting for

her setting-hen. She declares that reading is a dreadful waste of time,

and poetry-books are worse than all, and nothing but sing-song.

* * * * *

_May 26._--I wish I knew whether there was any merit in me or not. Most

people can tell, by the manners of others towards them. But I had such a

mean start! No matter how well people treat me, it all, in my

estimation, settles down to one thing,--"Poor'us."

It is either, "I will treat you well _because_ you came out of the

poor-house," or, "I will treat you well _notwithstanding_ you came from

the poor-house." Captain Welles tells me I can make myself just what I

want to be; but Aunt Bethiah says that is dreadful wicked doctrine, and

daddy rather agrees with her; but it seems to me there can't be any harm

in doing my best.

I am very ignorant, and not only so, but I hardly even know what there

is to learn. From the schoolmaster's books I get but scraps of

knowledge. Supposing I never saw a flower, and somebody should bring me

a leaf of a violet, or a clover-head. What should I know of tulips and

pinks, or the smell of roses, or of all the flowers that grow in the

fields and gardens? The books speak of music, of pictures, of great

authors, of the wonders of the sea, of rocks, of stars. Shall I ever

learn about all these?

* * * * *

_May 30._--In a week Elinor comes. Mammy thinks she will be all run

down, and is steeping up white-oak bark and cherry-tree twigs. Elinor

will make up faces, I know; but mammy will make her take it. She didn't

see Frederic when he dropped in the red pepper. I wouldn't have him know

for anything that I skimmed it out.

Captain Welles has bought a chaise. There are now two in the place. His

is green-bottomed. It has a most agreeable leathery smell, and a gentle

creak which is very pleasant. The minister's is dark blue. They are set

high, and the tops tip forward, serving to keep out both sun and rain.

Poor Mrs. Scott was buried to-day.

* * * * *

_June_ 7.--Elinor came yesterday, late in the afternoon. Frederic

brought her from the tavern. The horse shied at an old coat thrown over

a fence and came nigh throwing them both.

I expected to be very glad when Elinor got home, but I'm feeling many

things besides gladness.

The people she's been staying with are fashionable and polite, and she

has caught their ways, and I can't say but they hang prettily about her.

Her aunt is a minister's wife, and akin to a judge, so she has seen the

very best of company, and heard the talk of educated people.

But she was glad enough to get home, and said pretty things to us all.

Aunt Bethiah says she looks very genteel. She has had her gowns altered

to the new fashion, and had on her neck a handsome handkerchief which

she worked at the boarding-school. She has also worked a long white

veil, very rich, and has made a cape of silk-weed. Besides this, she has

painted a light-stand. It is made of bird's-eye maple, and has a green

silk bag hanging from underneath. They don't speak of these in daddy's

hearing.

After supper, he took her up on his knee and stroked her hair, and said,

"Now let us sing rock-a-by as we used to." So, with her head on his

shoulder, he rocked and sang rock-a-by, while she laughed. At last she

jumped up and ran off to see the bossy.

When she was gone, daddy heaved a deep sigh; but mammy cheered him up,

telling how thankful they ought to be for the safe return of their

child. 'T was touching to hear them talk, each telling the other how

good she was, and how from a child she had followed their wishes.

And to see how tender mammy was of his feelings! Never praising her

pretty face, or saying that she looked like her mother, but only

speaking of what he could take comfort in too.

Nobody but we three were in the room. At times they would keep silence.

Then something long forgotten would come to mind,--some good thing she

did, or said, or prayed, when a child,--and they would begin with, "And

don't you remember," and so go on with the whole story. Truly pleasant

were these memories of the past. Pleasant and sweet as the fragrance

which was brought to us by the evening wind from far-off flowery fields.

A time of greater satisfaction I never experienced. Suddenly came in

Aunt Bethiah and began to rattle the chairs, and to gather up whatever

was lying about. Mammy asked me to shut down the window, for the wind

seemed to have changed to the eastward. Frederic's girl came in the

evening with some others,--good-looking girls enough. All flowers can't

be roses.

In the night, I lay thinking, and thinking, and wishing for I knew not

what, and sighing for I knew not what, and looking forwards and

backwards till I was all in a whirl.

Is this, I said to myself, the little girl that used to hear me say my

catechism? And then I remembered how we used to sit opposite each other

on two crickets, while she put out the questions; and how her little

toes peeped out, for it was the spring of the year, and she was wearing

off her stockings ready to go barefooted. Her shoes were gone long

before.

And I remembered, too, how, ever since we were little children, we had

gone of summer mornings after wild roses for Old Becky to still; for

mammy never could do without rose-water. She used to start us early,

before the dew was off, for they were stronger then.

* * * * *

_June 8._--I thought last night that we should never go after roses any

more; but this morning, just as I was about to set off with the cows, I

heard the house-door shut, and then a light step on the grass. I kept

myself hid, and peeped through a knot-hole. She had a basket on her arm,

and looked about, and took a few steps softly, this way and that, as if

looking for somebody. At last I came out, innocent as a lamb. "Good

morning, Elinor," says I. "Have you forgot the roses, Walter?" says she,

a little bashful. As if I could forget the roses! The hills were all

scattered over with children and young people; for it was a fine

morning, and the roses were in their prime.

The sun shone, the children shouted, the birds sang, and the air was

cool and fresh. It is good to be with the day at its beginning. Elinor

laughed, and chatted, and danced up hill and down hill, and snapped her

scissors, and snapped off the roses, and stuck the prettiest in her hair

and in her apron-string, till at last I told her she looked like a

rose-bush all in bloom.

* * * * *

_June 11._--To-day Elinor and Frederic walked to meeting together. He

had on his new things, and she had on a white chip hat with blue inside

and outside, and blue ribbons tied under her chin, and a white gown, and

a white mantle. Everybody in the meeting-house was looking at them, and

several times the minister's eyes appeared to be directed that way. I

could hardly tell preaching from praying, and once I let the pew-seat

slam down in prayer-time. 'T would be better if they couldn't turn up at

all, and then there wouldn't be such a rattling and clattering the

minute the minister says, "Amen."

'T was a young preacher. I hope our minister won't exchange with him

very often. He is too young to give satisfaction,--under thirty, I

should judge.

* * * * *

_August 10._--The summer is passing. It has brought me plenty of work

and but little pleasure. Elinor has had much out-of-town

company,--frolicking girls and sometimes their brothers. They often come

out to rake hay or ride in the cart.

My diary has been neglected. I don't believe anybody writes down their

unhappiest feelings, especially when they don't know justly what they

are unhappy about.

Something about Elinor. And what is it about Elinor? Do I want to become

to her what Frederic is to Lucy? Do I want to make her "Mrs. Poor'us"?

Do I want to drag her down and keep her plodding all her days, clad in a

homespun gown, and she fit to be a lady in her silks and satins? What is

it I would be at?

* * * * *

_September 3._--Our summer company is gone, and Aunt Bethiah is glad. We

are having longer evenings. When the candles are lit Frederic bids mammy

good night and goes off. Sometimes she sits up and puts on her

spectacles, and reads Watts's hymns loud to daddy. Aunt Bethiah pares

apples and slices them, and Elinor strings them up with a

darning-needle. I am tired and sit in the chimney-corner to rest.

Yesterday Mr. Colman preached again, and to-day he took supper at our

house,--rainy, and out of his way too! He was unmannerly enough to

address most of his remarks to a young person when her elders were

present. So seldom, too, as daddy has a chance to talk with an

out-of-town minister! He is not at all good-looking. His hair is

yellowish and stands up stiff on his forehead, and his eyes are no

color. I don't see how he can be agreeable to any young girl. But being

a minister goes a good ways.

I knew mammy would ask him to stay to tea. As soon as anybody comes, no

matter if it is only in the middle of the afternoon, she always says,

"Now take your things right off. Come, Bethiah, clap on the tea-kettle,

and we'll have tea airly." They say she was always just so about liking

to have company.

* * * * *

_October 18._--Mr. Scott has begun to come here evenings. He owns a

house and farm and wood-lot. His wife left him no children, and he lives

in a lonely house all alone; and poor enough company he must find

himself.

He comes here and sits all the evening, talking with daddy and looking

at Elinor. Poor hand at talking, though,--so dull and heavy both in

looks and words. I wonder what countryman he is. Very dark and

thick-set. That doesn't seem like any country in particular. Captain

Welles would know; for his father picked him up among the wharves in

London, a little ragged boy, running about.

But then who cares what he is? He needn't trouble himself about

remembering the heads of the sermon to tell mammy. I always have done

it, and can yet. If he's a mind to scratch his hands getting

sarsaparilla and snapwood for her off his wood-lot, he may. Have no

objection, either, to his bringing Elinor boxberry plums. I never read

yet of any maiden losing her heart on boxberry plums; though, to be

sure, he might bewitch them. He looks like that.

* * * * *

_November 21._--So Winter is coming in earnest. Well, we are all ready

for him. Garret and cellar, both barns and the crib, are full. Candy

frolic this evening at Lucy's. Had part of the candy stolen coming home.

Elinor said she had a good tell for me. What could it be? Made believe I

didn't care; but do wish I knew. She said 't wasn't the first one she'd

heard, either. Ever since we were children we've come and gone together;

but when I was old enough to offer my arm, I didn't dare. If she hadn't

been away so much, out of town to school, why I might have been more

forward.

* * * * *

_November 28._--Frederic seems rather dull of late. Mammy has tried to

discover his ailments, so as to know what to steep up. But daddy, by

questioning and guessing, has found out that both he and his girl are

ready to be married, but have nowhere to live. Daddy brags now that he

can find out more without eyes than we all can with, and asked mammy

which of her herbs would suit his case. Mr. Scott is getting very bold

in his attention, and goes about with the young people. Last night he

walked home on the other side of Elinor.

* * * * *

_December 2._--It is all settled. Daddy knows how to manage Aunt

Bethiah. Frederic and Lucy are to be published next Sabbath. They are

going to housekeeping in our easterly front-room, and have a bedroom and

one chamber. Another pair of andirons will be put in the kitchen

fireplace, and another crane. Aunt Bethiah is in a great flurry about

her dye-pot, and can't tell where to put it. I remember, the night I was

brought, how mammy made me sit down on it and heat my feet hot.

Lucy has a few things. Frederic's got a little money laid by, and his

folks will see that they have what is comfortable. Daddy is going to

send me to buy half a dozen spoked chairs, painted blue, with flowers on

the backs. Mammy has ordered me to get also a warming-pan.

Aunt Bethiah called me one side this afternoon and asked me, in a

whisper, to buy for them a skillet and a pair of green belluses, with a

sprig of flowers painted on them, and a brass nose. Who'd thought of a

wedding setting her topsy-turvy!

Frederic is happy as a lord. Ever since he had his new clothes he has

stood up at all the weddings, because no other fellow, for miles around,

had a tail-coat. Now he will have a chance to stand up at his own.

* * * * *

_December 13._--The schoolmaster called again this evening. He and

Elinor converse well together. He brought me Thomson's "Seasons." He is

a kind, thoughtful man, very entertaining. Told many stories of the

different places where he had kept school. Very accommodating, too; for,

our district being short for money, he has agreed to take his pay in

spinning-wheels.

'T is a pleasure to listen while a man of knowledge talks, but a pain,

afterwards, to feel the difference between us.

Aunt Bethiah was the first one that made me think about learning. "What!

don't know his catechise?" said she. That was the first night I was

brought here.

"Elinor can learn him that," said daddy. And Elinor was much younger

than I. I hope the schoolmaster won't think anything of my telling him

that I wouldn't put him to the trouble of bringing books to me, when I

could just as well go after them.

* * * * *

_December 14._--This afternoon, Frederic came running into the barn, and

threw himself down upon the hay, laughing, and rolling over.

"What's the matter," says I.

"O dear," says he, "I've been overhearing Aunt Bethiah exalt Mr. Scott.

She and Elinor were in the unfinished room, and the partition's thin.

"Says she: 'Elinor, I wonder at your being so offish with Mr. Scott.

Now, he's a nice man, and well off, and why don't you like him?'

"'O, he don't bring me nigh boxberries enough,' says Elinor, laughing.

"'Laugh now, and cry by and by,' says Aunt B. 'You'll pick over a

peck-measure and get a bitter apple at last. You are old enough to have

more consideration. There he has got a house all finished off and

furnished, English carpet in the spare room, and yellow chairs up

chamber, brass andirons and fire-tongs, great wheel and little wheel,

rugs braided, quilts quilted, kiverlids wove and counterpanes worked,

sheets and piller-cases all made to your hand. Nothing to do, but step

right into Mrs. Scott's shoes. Cow in the barn and pig in the sty,

cellar all banked up, and knocker on the front door.'

"Elinor laughed so she couldn't speak. I stuffed my mittens into my

mouth, and waited.

"'Besides,' she went on, 'he wouldn't be forever under foot, like most

men, running in and out all day tracking the floor, and wanting to be

waited upon. He eats his breakfast early, goes off with his men to the

woods, and you won't see him from morning to night. Nothing to do but

snug up, and sit down and take comfort.'

"At this, I gave a great shout and run. But," said Frederic, growing

quite serious, "Scott will get her, for all she laughs at him, because

he's in earnest; and I never yet knew a man to be dead set upon having a

girl, that he didn't get her."

And then he capered off, and left me to consider of his doctrine, as

follows:--

"Because he is in earnest." Well, suppose two are in earnest about the

same one. What then? It must depend on the kind, or degree. Captain

Welles says Scott is set as the east wind. Let him be the very east wind

itself, and welcome; and I'll be the sunshine, or a gentle breeze of

May, or the sweet breath of summer. The old fable may come true again.

No doubt, a man should be honest, even to his own diary. So I must put

down here that these pretty words came out of one of the books the

schoolmaster lent me. But the application I made myself.

Afterwards Elinor came out into the barn to find a knitting-core. I mean

to make her one, like a beauty I saw Lucy have. 'T was made of light

wood, painted white, with a wreath of flowers running round it, and

varnished. I shall give it to her on New-Year's Day. What a mean

present! I wish I could give her something grand, something gold.

* * * * *

_Sunday, December 17._--Mr. Colman preached to-day. I can't deny that

his sermon was good. He showed himself very glad to meet Elinor.

To-morrow he will be over here. He never comes into the place but what

he comes a-visiting at our house.

* * * * *

_December 22._--Frederic was married this evening. I was about as happy

as he, for Elinor and I stood up. Lucy would have her for bridesmaid;

and Frederic made her choose who should be bridesman. 'T was three days

ago he told me of it. I was sitting down on the cellar-door, in the

sunshine. He came up and clapped me on the shoulder, and said he:--

"Come, Walter, brush up your best clothes, for Elinor has chosen you to

stand up, and fuss enough she made about it, too. First, she wouldn't

choose anyway. Decided. Then she'd a good deal rather not; then she

begged me to pick one out myself; and at last she hung down her head and

looked sheepish, and jammed the tongs into the ashes, and said, in a

little faint voice, 'I guess I'll have Walter.' Now, you know you're a

handsome chap, and I expect you'll look your best."

'T was a great wedding. Everybody was there. Lucy is a little, pale,

gentle creature. "The lily and the damask rose," I heard the Squire's

wife say to the Squire. Our minister being called away to an ordination,

Mr. Colman stayed and performed the ceremony. He hung about long after

't was time for the minister to leave, and let the young folks enjoy

themselves.

* * * * *

_January 1, 18--._--To-day is New-Year's Day, and I gave Elinor the

knitting-core, which I was afterwards sorry I did. She said 't was a

beauty, and tucked it in her apron-string.

Mr. Scott sent her a white merino shawl, with a border of red flowers

and green leaves. Aunt Bethiah thinks 't wasn't bought new, but was one

Mrs. Scott kept laid away, and never wore.

Towards night, the stage-driver brought a small box, very heavy, marked

with Elinor's name. It contained beautiful books, with beautiful

pictures. She read the note which came with them, then looked at me and

blushed.

The box was from Mr. Colman, That present of mine was mean enough.

* * * * *

_February 2._--I have been reading in the schoolmaster's books tales

setting forth the sentiment of love and its manifestations, by which it

appeareth that the modest maiden aimeth to conceal her love, appearing

oftentimes cold and unmoved, when the contrary is the case. These are

truly most delightful books, and I do esteem the reading of them a

great privilege.

As I read, I say, Perhaps so doth Elinor. Just so good, and so sweet,

and so fair is Elinor. And at the end I say, And with the same love, I

hope will Elinor love me.

But shall I say, My dear love, take me and poverty? When she asks for

bread, shall I give her a kiss? or for raiment, looks of tenderness? No.

When I speak, it shall be to say, I have everything to make life

comfortable; come, let us enjoy it together.

_April 4._--Captain Welles talks of going to Ohio, with a few others, to

take up land, and wants I should go. This seems a good way to get the

money I want so much; though I should, of course, have to wait a few

years for it. Daddy is anxious to have me do what is for my advantage.

He will have to hire another man to work on the farm; for Frederic can't

leave his trade now.

_April 10._--It is decided that I shall go to Ohio.

They are all sorry to part with me. Elinor says nothing; but there is a

heaviness in her countenance delightful to my soul. This morning she got

a scolding from Aunt Bethiah for putting more sand on the floor, when it

was on new yesterday, and only wanted to be herring-boned.