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differently at home but that only makes me enjoy the more the refinement and good taste that I find here. I think it is pride on the part of the poor as often as pride on the part of those more favored that separates them. It is a sort of selfishness that prevents us enjoying the beautiful things of this world because we don't own them. Tuesday Morning Spring is just at the door by the Calender but certainly not by the thermometer. The ground is all sugared over with snow and thinks look so cold, but people are wide awake hurrying to and fro as if life depended on their speed. When I am at the Dr it seems like an anthill. It would seem as if there was not room enough in this world for its inhabitants that people must crowd and elbow each other so. Every one is in a hurry but me. I have nothing better to do a good deal of the time than to watch others. I am really afraid I shall get bad habits and turn out a disagreeable old maid and not the good one I mean to be. I believe my head is weak