nor I with it. I've got my hands full to take care of my naughty little
self.

_17th._--Mrs. Persico got home to-night [10] and what a meeting we had!
what rejoicing! How beautiful she looked as she sat in her low chair,
and we stood and knelt in a happy circle about her! A queen--an
angel--could not have received love and homage with a sweeter grace. Sue
Irvine cried an hour for joy and I wished I were one of the crying sort,
for I'm sure I was glad enough to do almost anything. Beautiful woman!
We sang to her the Welcome Home, Miss F. singing as much with her eyes
as with her voice, and Mr. and Mrs. Persico both cried, he like a little
child. Oh, that such evenings as this came oftener in one's life! All
that was beautiful and good in each of our hidden natures came dancing
out to greet her at her coming, and all petty jealousies were so quieted
and--why, what a rhapsody I'm writing! And to-morrow, our good
better natures tucked away, dear knows where, we shall descend with
business-like airs to breakfast, wish each other good morning, pretend
that we haven't any hearts. Oh, is this life! I won't believe it.
Our good genius has come back to us; now all things will again go on
smoothly; once more I can be a little girl and frolic up here instead of
playing Miss Dignity down-stairs.

_May 7th._--This evening I passed unavoidably through Miss ----'s room.
She was reading Byron as usual and looked so wretched and restless, that
I could not help yielding to a loving impulse and putting my hand on
hers and asking why she was so sad. She told me. It was just what I
supposed. She is trying to be happy, and can not find out how; reads
Byron and gets sickly views of life; sits up late dreaming about love
and lovers; then, too tired to pray or think good thoughts, tosses
herself down upon her bed and wishes herself dead. She did not tell me