A snow storm, the air mild.
I was surprised on ariseing to find all things in “bridal array,” not anticipating snow so soon, but G. had fore-told the event two days ago. I was glad to see it, wishing to keep myself quiet at home, and not careing for droppers in, or “news-carriers.” Mr H. can tell a good story of me; but I do not wish to be the trumpeter of my own good deeds, therefore his hand, must tell the tale. His hand alone can do it, the justice it deserves, or give spirit, or warmth to the details. I am doing up odds, and ends this morning, and should feel very happy, and contented, if it were not for “by gone days,” Not that they were happier, than my present hours, if I could blot them out, all would be well.