November 25. The first snow! Light and thick as swan’s-down, it wraps the shivering bosom of mother earth. Last night I went to sleep with an uncurtained window before me, and the still, bright stars looking in; I awoke to find the air dim and heavy with snow, and all the treetops bending in graceful gratitude; and to think aloud the lines,-- “Oh! if our souls were but half as white As the beautiful snow that fell last night!” I do not like this vague kind of unrest, and this dissatisfaction with myself which returns so often. I am willing to be dissatisfied, but I want to know exactly with what, that I may mend. I believe the trouble partly is that I do not, cannot, love very much the people that I see oftenest. Their thoughts and ways are so different from mine I cannot comfortably walk with them. It seems to me as if we were like travelers on the same journey, but in paths wide apart; and we can only make one another hear by effort and shouting. Whether this is wrong, or simply one of the things that cannot be helped, I cannot clearly see; but I am afraid that I am too willing to excuse myself for so doing. November 26. The last day of school; my classes all examined, and to-morrow we scatter, to gather ourselves together again in two weeks. I am not sure whether I like or dislike these frequent changes; on the whole I think I like them; for they break up the monotony, and then one does get so totally glued to the manner of school life: there is no better name for the cohesive power that makes us one household for the time. I do not believe it possible (for me, at least, and I doubt whether it is for any woman) to have quite a home feeling, among the many living together, in a place like this. There is not expansive power enough in me to take in all. Beverly, December. The two weeks of vacation are nearly over, and I have done nothing but sew. I had planned to read, and paint, and walk, and rest; but things are as they are, and one cannot go in tatters. I like to be somewhat troubled and absorbed in the necessities of life, _once in a while_; it is rather pleasant than otherwise to feel that something urgently requires my attention; and then this is the way to realize how three fourths of the inhabitants of this world live to eat, drink, and wear clothes. December 13. Vacation is over; and here I am at Norton again, not so fully awake and in earnest about school work as I wish I was.