s? For
his sake, to say nothing of my own feelings, I shall do well if I make
it a custom to use the lock of my journal. Our next occupation is to
join the Scripture class for girls, and to help the teacher. This is a
good discipline for Eunice's temper, and--oh, I don't deny it!--for my
temper, too. I may long to box the ears of the whole class, but it is
my duty to keep a smiling face and to be a model of patience. From the
Scripture class we sometimes go to my father's lecture. At other times,
we may amuse ourselves as well as we can till the tea is ready. After
tea, we read books which instruct us, poetry and novels being forbidden.
When we are tired of the books we talk. When supper is over, we have
prayers again, and we go to bed. There is our day. Oh, dear me! there is
our day.

.......

And how has Eunice succeeded in her second attempt at keeping a diary?
Here is what she has written. It has one merit that nobody can deny--it
is soon read:

"I hope papa will excuse me; I have nothing to write about to-day."

Over and over again I have tried to point out to my sister the absurdity
of calling her father by the infantile nickname of papa. I have reminded
her that she is (in years, at least) no longer a child. "Why don't you
call him father, as I do?" I asked only the other day.

She made an absurd reply: "I used to call him papa when I was a little
girl."

"That," I reminded her, "doesn't justify you in calling him papa now."

And she actually answered: "Yes it does." What a strange state of mind!
And what a charming girl, in spite of her mind!

THIRD DAY.

The morning post has brought with it a promise of some little variety in
our lives--or, to speak more correctly, in the life of my sister.

Our new and nice friends, the Staveleys, have written to invite Eunice
to pay them a visit at their house in London. I don't complain at being
left at home. It would be unfilial, indeed, if we both of us forsook our
father; and last year it was my turn to receive the first invitation,
and to enjoy the change of scene. The Staveleys are excellent
people--strictly pious members of the Methodist Connection--and
exceedingly kind to my sister and me. But it was just as well for my
moral welfare that I ended my visit to our friends when I did. With my
fondness for music, I felt the temptation of the Evil One trying me,
when I saw placards in the street announcing that the Italian Opera was
open. I had no wish to be