the
uniformity of my life, these monotonous hours, all passed in the
constant repetition of the same occupations, afford no matter for
interesting details or descriptions.

At this very moment, when I hold the pen in my hand, I am ready to lay
it down, so great is the poverty of my observations.

My parents will soon leave. The princess palatiness has honored me with
a visit; she remarked that my carriage was much improved. My masters are
all satisfied with the closeness of my application. Madame is especially
kind to me, and my companions are polite and friendly.... But is all
this worth the trouble of writing?

I sometimes fancy that I am not really in Warsaw, so ignorant am I with
regard to all political events. I have seen neither the king nor the
royal family. At Maleszow we at least hear the news, and occasionally
see Borne distinguished men.

The Duke of Courland is absent, and will not return for some time.

Sunday, _June 9th_

If I were to live forever in this school, I should give up writing in my
journal, and it really serves one very valuable purpose; for I find I am
in great danger of forgetting Polish. With the exception of the letters
I write to my parents, and the few words I say to my maid, I always
write and speak French.

I progress in all my studies, and if I am sometimes melancholy, at least
my time is not lost.

The princess palatiness has again been to see me. A month had passed
since her last visit; she found me considerably taller, and was kind
enough to praise my manners and bearing.

I am the tallest of all our boarders, and it really pleases me
exceedingly to find that my waist is not quite a half yard round.

Summer has come, the fine weather has returned, but I cannot go out--a
privation which is really quite vexatious. Ah! how I wish I were a
little bird! I would fly away, far away--and then I would return to my
cage.

But my days and my nights must all be spent in this dull house and in
this ugly street; I believe that Cooper street (ulika Bednarska) is the
darkest, dingiest, and dirtiest street in Warsaw. God willing, next year
I shall be no longer here.

Friday, _July 28th_.

Labor has at least the good quality of making the time pass more
rapidly; our days vanish one by one, without distractions or news from
without.

I just now felt a desire to write in my journal, and when I consulted
the almanac to find out the day of the month, I was quite surprised to
find