[Boston—Monday, 30 March 1868]

Monday March 30th We cannot understand the flight of this winter. It has fairly gone now although there are yet wreaths of snow to be found under hedges & fences or on slopes sheltered from the sun. But the mists of Spring (the morning of the year) float over the landscape and the greening of the grass is distinctly visible. Finishing Carlyle’s History, more and more a wonder, finishing French lessons and visits and what else can be “finished” before the Readings which begin April 1st and our subsequent flight to N.Y.

Heard a sermon from Dr. Putnam yesterday about the use of our “talents.” The old old subject, but so strong & fresh as it came from him. Ah! the busy idleness of which we are capable. May God forgive us & help us.

The life of each one of us, even the humblest and perhaps the humblest first of all in the true sense, is a story which written out simply and frankly would be probably as helpful a thing as we could do for others. But as Mr. Beecher has said in “Norwood” the birds who sit in twilight usually sing the sweetest for us and have the most sound truths to tell. When we get out into the eye of the world, tossed up and down on its sea of busy idleness we forget to find time for even the poorest jottings, just then when life is fullest and when if we covered sacredly what we have taken in, instead of weakly spilling it right and left, there might be refreshing drink for somebody by & by.

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