Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

them.  Their very mournfulness has a charm in it, that stirs indefinable mingled sensations within me, and their calm solemnity of sound pervades all my thoughts, and makes them wander far away in fanciful imaginings.  Now they are stopping, but their singing echo remains, ever growing more indistinct until the air is silent again, but still I can hear them in that ear of the mind, mournfully and solemnly resounding, and I have a desire to sit and listen to that after ringing and imagine strange things.

Thursday March 30, 1911.

     The whole senior class seems to be fermented over the ticket-selling.  Miss Richards has been asking several persons how many they have sold.  The usual answer is none or possibly one or two.  When she asked Bud he ignominiously replied “one.”  She told him he was lazy and asked why he didn’t get out and hustle.  Bud told he where she was at I guess.  He workings morning, noon and night and then has to study in the evening!  Just wait until she asks me!  I’ve been hoping all the time she would but I’ve been disappointed so far.  I haven’t sold any yet and its none of her business if I haven’t, for the committee has given Day the exclusive right to