083_Page 81Thursday. 8th, December. 1842.

Dark sky, rain, snow, and very gloomy for a “Thanksgiving day.”

We all kept at home the weather and our bad colds prevented us form going to the house of God. My prayers were uttered in the solitude of my own chamber. but they were weak and sinfull and I felt my soul bowed to the earth, under the weight of my transgressions. Mr H. went to the store; he complained of the dull day most bitterly. Julie, was quite unwell, her bowels disordered. Spent my evening mending some usefull garments. Mr H. read me the “Message,” in my opinion most excellent. Gave Julie, some Rhubarb to night. I made pumpkin pies this morning.

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