.......
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 a witness of the shameful and sinful dancing which goes on (I am told) at the opera; but I did feel my principles shaken when I thought of the wonderful singers and the entrancing music. And this, when I knew what an atmosphere of wickedness people breathe who enter a theater! I reflect with horror on what might have happened if I had remained a little longer in London.