October, 1906. When I came down here I made a vow to put everything behind me; forget what I had left in New England, the memories of those hard-worked years, and start afresh; cut loose from all the old associations. I have succeeded fairly well. This new life of books is a wonderful one. I like my work as desk assistant in the Library, and I get nine dollars a week. This is wealth for me; I am saving. I have so much besides: the river and the ferries for a change; one trip up the Hudson--a thing to live on for years until I get another. Sometime I mean to travel--sometime! Meanwhile, I go on saving in every possible way. Jan. 8, 1907. What luck for me! I don't have to buy a book. The whole Library is mine for the asking. How I have read these last three years! As if I could never read enough; read while I 've been standing and eating; read before getting up and long after I have been in bed. It has been a hunger and thirst for this kind of food--and there has been enough of _this_! Enough! Feb. 1908. I am studying French now daily, and beginning Latin by myself, for I want to take the higher examinations for the cataloguing department. That will mean more pay and the prospect of a vacation sometime. March 16, 1908. How I gloat like a miser over my savings-bank book! Just one hundred and seventy-five dollars to my credit. I have visions of--oh, so much in ten years! May, 1908. I was at the Metropolitan this morning. I feel rich when I realize that all this treasure-house is open to me--is mine for the entering. I am taking the whole museum, room by room. A year's work on Sundays. August, 1908. I have not seen fit to change my method of expenditure since I entered the Library; I have continued to spend as I spent when I had four dollars a week, with the exception that I allow, necessarily, a little more for clothing. For housing:-- Room, $1.50 a week. Fuel and oil in winter, $ 0.75 Oil in summer, .26 Now for my art:--