Sunday 18th Later. The day has nearly past. The Sun is now just sinking behind the western hills. and soon the shades of night will close over us, leaving all nature hushed in melancholy stillness. Oh what a monotonous thing is life as we pass it here. Days succeeds days with nearly the same routine of cares, and duties, labor, eating, drinking, reading, resting, sleeping, day in & day our with now and then a day of pleasure, amusement & rest. years advance in this way, & though friends are dropping off, & society changing around us, yet with us there is little change, except that we grow older by and by old age approaches, & finally death closes the scene, & then another generation takes our places, to go through the same scene' Last year was, this year is-- and are we or the world any better for any thing we have done, or for our living during the year. If not why should we live. Now what I would infer by these remarks is that unless we should spend our days in such a way as first to make ourselves & then others happy it would be better that we did not live. I would not give a straw to live & pass through the world as some do. I mean to enjoy myself as well as I can in the world for this is my duty, & I hope the world may be better for my having lived in it. I had other things to write but will stop for the present. Francis B. Paine