This is the last day of a year of which I am not sorry to see the end: it can count as two years in my life by reason of its length; however, it has not been entirely unfortunate; the months spent at Rochecotte were quiet and the time while I was in Germany was not without interest and satisfaction.
This is also the second anniversary of the death of Mgr. de Quélen. It could not pass unnoticed by me, for he was a great loss to me, and his regular and protecting kindness left one of those gaps which can never be filled, for nothing can take the place of that which has been consecrated by time.