1822. _Jan. 1st_.--I spent this day a New-Yearing. Albany is a dear
place for the first of January; not only the _houses_ of every one, but
the _hearts_ of every one seem open on this day. It is no slight praise
to say that one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five is
consecrated to general hospitality and warm-hearted cordiality. If St.
Nicholas was the author of this custom, he was a social saint; and the
custom seems to be as completely kept up on the banks of the Hudson as
it ever could have been on the banks of the Rhine.
_Jan. 5th_.--My experience is that he who would rise, in science or
knowledge, must toil incessantly; it is the price at which success sells
her favors. During the last four years, I have passed not less than ten
thousand miles, and in all this time I have scarcely lain down one night
without a feeling that the next day's success must depend upon a fresh
appeal to continued effort. My pathway has certainly not lain over beds
of gold, nor my pillow been composed of down.
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