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For the Literary Magazine.

a student's journal.

Sunday evening, nine o'clock.—
I have too long delayed to set my-
self seriously to my studies. I am
determined to begin to-morrow,
betimes: So I'll go to bed earlier
this evening than usual. I am re-
solved—but I'll stop here and go
to bed immediately, and that I may
rise betimes, will leave my snutters
open.

Monday, nine o'clock. Just open-
ed my eyes. I opened a shutter, but
forgetting to fasten it, it blew to:
so did not know it was day, till the
sun was two hours high.

Tuesday, nine o'clock. Just rose;
went to bed so late that I could not
wake sooner. At breakfast, We-
therby bolted in, equipped for shoot-
ing. Persuaded me to go along.
Want a little exercise, and the wea-
ther so fine, I believe I will go this
once.

Wednesday, nine o'clock. Out a
shooting all day yesterday. Brought
home a few plover. Dick stayed
to sup with me upon them. Too
tired even to write. Mem. Shall
avoid Dick for the future.

Four o'clock. At the office. Went
over the case I last read in Burrow.
Scarcely through it, when Harry
Settle came in. Brought Colman's
last play. Staid prating till dinner
time. After dinner, ran over the
play. Just finished it. Too late to
go to the office this afternoon. Mu-
sed a good deal upon miss T—
Whether to meet her at Hill's this
evening, to visit Sally, or stay at
home and read Bacon—that's the
question.

Twelve o'clock. At Hill's. A
brilliant company. Miss T— a

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most charming creature. Rallied
her on her engagement. She denied
it. She returns home shortly. An
eastern tour must be very agreeable.
Her engagement, I doubt, is all
fudge. Found, at home, a note from
Sally. Too sleepy to read it to-
night.

Thursday, nine o'clock. Rose half
an hour ago. Breakfasted. Put
Sally's note in my pocket, intending
to read it at the office.

Three o'clock. Leaving home,
met Mrs. Wilson on a visit to Kitty.
She knows something of miss T—.
Returned with her into the house.
Told my sister that miss T—
would be married in August; all
fixed.

Ten o'clock. Just breakfasted.
Toby knocked over the coffee-pot.
Was obliged to wait till fresh was
made.

Half after’ eleven. Called at
John's to be shaved. Met Dick We-
therby there. Dick proposed a
shooting match to-morrow. Refus-
ed, for I am resolved to be more
studious. Took up the Sporting Ma-
gazine. Head-ache hangs about me.
Took a short walk with Dick to
shake it off.

One o'clock. At the office a little
before twelve. Opened Burrows.
Just beginning a case when Sally
Phillips walked by. Looked over
as if she expected me to join her.
Did so. Left her as soon as pos-
sible at Mrs. Craig's door. Hasten-
ed back, finished the case, and made
a note of it in common-place book.

Three o'clock. Home at one.
Papa going to Baltimore, appointed
dinner early, but did not come home
till two. Prevented by business
from going this week. Just dined.
An invitation to tea at Mrs. Craig's.
Pressed to come early. Miss T—
of Boston to be there. Had resolved
to spend my evenings in study, but
wanted to see miss T—.
Will go for this once.

Five o'clock. At the office by
half after three. Applied to Bur-
rows, but surprised by a nap in the
second paragraph. Obliged to walk
to shake off my drowsy fit.

Twelve o'clock. From five till
now dressing, and at Mrs. Craig's.
Sally there. Did not look as well as
usual. Miss T—a very fine girl.
Sally piqued with my attentions to
her. Rode home with her, but she
refused her hand and was mute all
the way. Wonder if ‘tis true that
Miss T—is engaged. She's en-
gaged at Hill's on Wednesday even-
ing. Went to my room to read Sal-
ly's note. A scolding one, demand-
ing an explanatory visit. Went to
her. Pretty hard to prevail on her
to make up. Sally is a sweet, tender
creature for all. Could not leave
her till past two.

Three o'clock. Going to the of-
fice. Met Beau Williams. He was
going to see, and walk with Sally.
In pity to her, but much against his
inclination, went along with him.
Williams, to spite me, staid tea,
and would not budge till ten o'clock.
Was determined to out-stay him.
It was two o'clock before my girl
and I could part. I wonder I could
forget her for a moment; yet I wish
she could talk a little like miss
T—. Sally has no taste but for
dress and gossipping: but she'll im-
prove. She promises to be all I
wish. Am to leave Colman's play
with her this morning. Plaguy
wakeful, though so late. I wish I
had staid with her till morning. I
wish people could marry when they
liked. Mamma says we are too
young, and must make myself a law-
yer first. Nature says, “Now's the
time,” and I should study, I'm sure,
much better afterwards. Coke, and
Bacon, and Burrows are confounded
dull work at present. Can't leep
for a moment. I'll write a few lines
to Sally, and put it in the book.

Friday, two o'clock. At the of-
fice betimes this morning. Left the
play with Sally on my way hither.
Opened Bacon at Jeo fail. Unlucki-
ly found a piece of white paper
at the place, and instead of taking
notes, scribbled a stanza or two to
Sally. Spent till dinner time in
chusing between Cynthia, Linda-
mira, and Eudora. I'll defer head-
ing it, till I hear her opinion. I've

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heard her say she would like to have
been called Clara, but Clara won't
do for verse.

Six o'clock. At the office. Wea-
therby wanted me to try his new
gig, but I was resolved to attend
to my studies. Not sufficiently
grounded, I find, to read Bacon.
Will begin Blackstone's third vo-
lume to-morrow. Transcribed and
corrected my verses. Lindamira
best upon the whole. Looked into
Ainsworth for its etymology. On
reflection, Mira is very pretty also:
but I'll submit it to Sally.

Twelve o'clock. Plaguily morti-
fied to night. Sally had not opened
the play; of course had not seen
my billet, when I called upon her.
Had a head-ache, it seems, which
reading always increases; and de-
ferred it till we could read it toge-
ther. I proposed reading it, but the
bewitching girl said she had rather
be kissed, than read to, by somebo-
dy. Sally does not love books, but
she loves me, and that makes up for
every thing. With her in my arms,
time will never hang heavy. Plagued
all the evening by visitants. A little
more sense in Sally would not be
amiss. But she's very young; has
had few advantages. I'll make
something of her yet. She has some
judgment too, for she declares warm-
ly for Lindamira. Was obliged to
leave her at eleven. Met Bob and
Sam Walters. Teazed me to go to
Sales; but virtue and Sally forbad.
Mem. To ask mamma for some
money. Quite out this morning.

Eleven o'clock. At the office, this
morning, at ten. Hardly worth
while to begin Blackstone at the end
of a week. Start fair and fresh on
Monday morning, and stick to it
faithfully. I'm resolved on this.

Rummaging a neglected pigeon-
hole for a precedent (by direction)
lighted on a narr. in Latin Sapphics.
An excellent joke! Tried my hand
at a ballad; each stanza ending in
certiorari and mandamus. Finished
three stanzas by dinner time. Com-
pany to dinner. A short walk, and
tea with Sally. A charming moon-
light walk. Got to Schuylkill be-

fore we were aware. Returned
home at eleven, and sat at the door
till twelve. After all, there is no-
thing worth living for but love—
and Sally. This law is plaguy
harsh, crabbed reading: but then
Sally is behind this thorny fence.
I must leap it to get at her: and so
leap it I will!—