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Sunday, April 9th. . . . . After finishing my record in the journal, I sat a long time in grandmother's chair, thinking of many things. . . . My spirits were at a lower ebb than they ever descend to when I am not alone; nevertheless, neither was I absolutely sad. Many times I wound and rewound Mr.
It is but a month now to the end of the session, and I pray that I may be able to hold out until then. April 26. Ten days have elapsed since I have had the heart to make any entry in my journal. Why should I record my own humiliation and degradation? I had vowed never to open it again.
"Your Excellency spoke of it first to the King, in Chinon," I answered; "that was as much as seven weeks ago. You spoke of it again the 20th of April, and also the 22d, two weeks ago, as I see by my record here." These marvels disturbed Catherine profoundly, but I had long ceased to be surprised at them. One can get used to anything in this world.
This great work of the pagan poet, called The Metamorphoses, is not only the most curious and valuable record extant of ancient mythology, but some have thought they discovered, in every story it contains, a moral allegory; while others have attempted to trace in it the whole history of the Old Testament, and types of the miracles and sufferings of our Savior.
We then, by that valuable contrivance of language which enables us to speak of many as if they were one, record all that we have observed, together with all that we infer from our observations, in one concise expression; and have thus only one proposition, instead of an endless number, to remember or to communicate.
This confidence was also her reward. For what justice did the Queen look? Here it is the "abyss that appeals to the abyss." Twice only in the life of Madame Roland is there a lapse into silence, and for the record of these two poor failures of that long, indomitable, reasonable, temperate, explicit utterance which expressed her life and mind we are debtors to her friends.
No works of fiction can excel, or indeed equal, in romantic and heart-stirring interest the volumes, worthy to be written in letters of gold, which record the deeds and the sufferings of these noble toilers in the dim and distant field of discovery afforded by the Australasian continent and its vast islands.
Now why could not something equally wonderful happen to Marian? Linda wrinkled her brows and thought deeply. "It's the worst thing in all this world to work and work with nobody to know about it and nobody to care," thought Linda. "Marian could break a record if she thought John Gilman cared now as he used to. It's almost a necessary element to her success.
"But you were whether you realized it or not. It is all you talk of nowadays dogs! What it will be after they get here and you're up at Surfside living with them I don't know. Whatever else you do, though, you must not fail in your lessons and at the last moment spoil your whole year's record. School is your first duty now and you have no moral right to put anything else in its place."
When travelling west from New York in the fall one is filled with admiration for the wonderful colour of the maple and other trees. Europe has nothing at all comparable. This wonderful display is alone worth crossing the Atlantic to see. I found that the past summer had been a record hot one for Texas. The thermometer went to 115° in the shade.
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