_Dec. 2_ There was a Miss Shephard from Newtown at the Election ball last May—she was the counterpart of some fine looking Indian girl—tall as one of the trees of her native forest, but still not disproportionate by any means. She was just as round as she should be—her head as high as it could be & surmounted with a single white ostrich feather[62]—She danced with some grace, stept high as she looked & commanded much notice. I was pleased with the exhibition & so were some others ladies & gents who went with me from one end of the room to the other to have a view of the architecture of her frame & headdress. I thought the girl looked as if she had some notions of her own. Some others who pretended to more than they deserved made flying shot her. Gentlemen always mark down such slights to the score of envy whether dictated by that spirit or not. _Dec. 4_ John has laughed all day till he has at last split his jacket. his company has raised my spirits till they have become absolutely volatile. He is teasing me off to bed—that disgraceful spot for a man: Nothing is more demeaning than to be every day obliged to crawl into a nest and vilely snore away one third of that time which is already so short. Nothing but a Sancho Panza would ever consider the practise as otherwise than an unhappy fashion & a shameful employment. It would naturally seem fit for so frail a creature as woman to spend most of her time in this effeminate operation, but for a hearty, hard & healthy piece of stuff like the other rough sex, who is not above it? _Dec. 9_ Harry Storrs(?)—grandfather purchased one of the present senators in Congress (Matthew Lyon) for a yoke of oxen from the master of the ship in which he came from England to be sold for his passage. _Dec. 10._ (Anent the trial of the Queen) a curse fit for England—“Thy skies over thy head shall be brass & the earth that is under thy feet shall be iron.” Why? Because they deserve all they can pick up. It is impossible to invent enough for them. Sodom contained more good in proportion to its population. The heart sickens at the national corruption of that proud people. Their missionary and Bible Societies are but the beautiful outside of the apple of Sodom which is filled with loathsome ashes. _Dec. 12._ It was very cold going to Litchfield—but I reached it—went to Geo. Jacob’s room—Mr. Glover (son of John J.) there—told a story of Mr. Jeffersons how a large turkey was put before a fire within a screen which was high enough to confine him, for he was alive—how a plate of stuffing or dressing was put in each corner—how the Turkey had been kept from food for a few days previous—how he went from one dish to another till he was completely roasted & ready dressed.