not say "a _woman's_ work"? But that is a different
sort of thing, I should be told: a woman should stay at home and take
care of her house and children. Why so, say I, if she has no house,
and does not wish for husband and children, feeling that they would
impede her in her work? All women are not born to be wives and
mothers: some have other work to do. But I need not argue with my
journal: it is of my way of thinking; my ideas meet no opposition
here. "But this is not at all womanly," my critic would say, had
I one, which I have not: "you have not said a word of the really
important event of the week." Dare I say that I had half forgotten it?
A man has asked me to marry him! The great event of a woman's life has
been within my reach, and I refused it. Mr. Whitaker is a very nice
fellow, but too adoring by half. I want an equal, not a slave--a
friend, a companion, not a man drawn to me by his imagination and
desiring to put me on a pedestal before marriage, that he may reverse
our position afterward. And then, too, marriage would hamper and
restrict me. I must not give up to mankind what is meant for a party.
But here I have a reflection to make, the result of my three years'
experience since I became a "strong-minded woman." It is always
maintained that a woman who chooses the life and holds the views that
I do destroys her attraction and charm for the other sex, and that no
man, however clever and successful she may be, will want to marry
a woman who puts her intellect into trousers instead of petticoats.
There was never a greater mistake. I have had four offers of marriage
since I "unsexed" myself (that's the proper expression, I believe),
and all from most respectable, well-to-do, worthy men; and I really
think they all cared for me. I cannot help having a certain sense of
gratified vanity about this, for, in spite of my critics, I am a woman
still. I have earned a rest to-night, so I'll stop writing and go to
bed.

_Nov_. 16. I feel lonely to-night. I am not often lonely: perhaps my
little book will comfort me. Sometimes I have said to myself that my
motto was that of a star: "Einsam bin ich, nicht allein." To-night it
is not so. That Mr. Lawrence who was introduced to me to-night had a
striking face, but there was a sort of masculine manner about him that
I don't fancy. Manliness I like, but he seemed to be so sure that
I was not his equal; and yet he treated me with perfect respect and
courtesy. Some one whis