January 1st. I have today recieved this dairy from home, having come

back a few days early to make up a French Condition.

Weather, clear and cold.

New Year's dinner. Roast chicken (Turkey being very expencive), mashed

Turnips, sweet Potatos and minse Pie.

It is my intention to record in this book the details of my Daily Life,

my thoughts which are to sacred for utterence, and my ambitions. Because

who is there to whom I can speak them? I am surounded by those who

exist for the mere Pleasures of the day, or whose lives are bound up in

Resitations.

For instance, at dinner today, being mostly faculty and a few girls

who live in the Far West, the conversation was entirely on buying a

Phonograph for dancing because the music teacher has the meazles and

is quarentined in the infirmery. And on Miss Everett's couzin, who has

written a play.

When one looks at Miss Everett, one recognises that no couzin of hers

could write a play.

New Year's resolution--to help some one every day. Today helped

Mademoiselle to put on her rubers.

JANUARY 2ND. Today I wrote my French theme, beginning, "Les hommes

songent moins a leur AME QU A leur CORPS." Mademoiselle sent for me and

objected, saying that it was not a theme for a young girl, and that I

must write a new one, on the subject of pears. How is one to develope in

this atmosphere?

Some of the girls are coming back. They stragle in, and put the favers

they got at Cotillions on the dresser, and their holaday gifts, and each

one relates some amorus experience while at home. Dear dairy, is there

somthing wrong with me, that Love has passed me by? I have had offers

of Devotion but none that apealed to me, being mostly either to young or

not atracting me by physicle charm. I am not cold, although frequently

acused of it, Beneath my fridgid Exterior beats a warm heart. I intend

to be honest in this dairy, and so I admit it. But, except for passing

Fansies--one being, alas, for a married man--I remain without the Divine

Passion.

What must it be to thrill at the aproach of the loved Form? To harken

to each ring of the telephone bell, in the hope that, if it is not

the Idolised Voice, it is at least a message from it? To waken in the

morning and, looking around the familiar room, to muze: "Today I may see

him--on the way to the Post Office, or rushing past in his racing car."

And to know that at the same moment HE to is muzing: "Today I may see

her, as she exercises herself at basket ball, or mounts her horse for a

daily canter!"



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