44 LIFE OF BENJAMIN SILLIMAN. 



upon a number of trifles, which have however whirled off 

 the time. About the middle of the forenoon, (who will be- 

 lieve it?) Quixote-like, I assumed the character of a knight- 

 errant, viz., I literally went to the succor of a distressed 

 damsel, as all true knight-errarits should do. The damsel 

 had lost her horse, and I forthwith mounted Rosinante, 

 and with all speed went upon the pursuit, ay ! and with 

 success too, for I soon brought him back. My brothers 

 William and Joseph took tea at our house this evening, 

 and we conversed upon the lawfulness of divorce ; and this 

 subject was succeeded by one which more immediately con- 

 cerned myself: it was that of choosing a profession. Broth- 

 er William and my mother would have us preach ; but 



I feel very little confidence in the idea that I shall 



obtain a living by either of the learned professions. I 

 won't be a doctor. I am not good enough for a priest ; 

 and lawyers are so plenty that they can hardly get a case 

 apiece. What, then, shall I be ? Time only can answer 

 this question, to me so interesting. In the evening I did 

 very little, my eyes being so weak that I could not read. 

 I fluted some, talked some, laughed some, and finally did 

 nothing at all. So time goes. If I were at college, and 

 spent my time as I now do, I think I should make these 

 pages look pretty black with self-reproach. But it is vaca- 

 tion ! and vacations were never made to study in. 



Jan. 17. While I am reading the letters of 



my deceased father, I cannot realize that he lives no more. 

 It seems as if he must still be alive. A thousand little 

 circumstances, incidents, and modes of expression peculiar 

 to himself, set him afresh before my eyes, and make me 

 deeply sensible of the irreparable loss which I have sus- 

 tained. Why could he not have been spared a little longer ? 

 But let me not complain : the hand of God has done it. 



