was once familiar to me as I played there with the younger Fullers, little dreaming that I should ever be the biographer of the staid elder sister who sat, book in hand, beneath the doorway, or perhaps wrote at the window this passage in her diary, by way of forecast of the immediate future: —
“I have settled the occupations of the coming six months. Some duties come first, — to parents, brothers, and sisters, — but these will not consume above one sixth of the time: the family is so small now, mother will have little need of my sewing: we shall probably see very little company. The visits required of me by civility will be few. When the Farrars return, I hope to see them frequently, and E. Woodward I may possibly know, if she comes. But I shall not, of free-will, look out of doors for a moment’s pleasure. I shall have no one to stay here for any time except E. I love her, and she is never in the way. All hopes of traveling I have dismissed. All youthful hopes, of every kind, I have pushed from my thoughts. I will not, if I can help it, lose an hour in castle-building and repining, — too much of that already. I have now a pursuit of immediate importance: to the German language and literature I will give my undivided attention. I have made rapid progress for one quite unassisted. I have always hitherto been too constantly distracted by childish feelings to acquire anything properly, but have snatched a little here and there to feed my restless fancy therewith. Please God now to keep my mind composed, that I may store it with all that may be hereafter conducive to the best good of others. Oh, keep
