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feeling. My mind takes hold of anything which is new & novel: quite readily; so I write therein, one original verse. Here it is: Life is not all sunshine, Life is not all shade. But the unclear in its brightness, Is often long delayed.

" " " " Monday. Nov. 22-76:

This is Thanksgiving week. Now I am not going to attempt an essay on the festive day, in question, which is so dear to every American heart. I do not feel qualified to write upon this subject, - no, not in the least. It is an interesting theme; for it reach is afar back & takes its origin in the days of our Forefathers. It will be treated, no doubt, by pens more gifted than mine, & by lips, not set with the seal of imperfect speech. For my part, I am only going to note down what I expect to do, to see &