one thing and brother John another. Emma Jane would try to do me
justice, but has no words; and I am glad Aunt Miranda never takes
the pen in hand.

My dictionary is so small it has not many genteel words in it,
and I cannot find how to spell Remerniscences, but I remember
from the cover of Aunt Jane's book that there was an "s" and a
"c" close together in the middle of it, which I thought foolish
and not needful.

All the girls like their dairies very much, but Minnie Smellie
got Alice Robinson's where she had hid it under the school wood
pile and read it all through. She said it was no worse than
reading anybody's composition, but we told her it was just like
peeking through a keyhole, or listening at a window, or opening a
bureau drawer. She said she didn't look at it that way, and I
told her that unless her eyes got unscealed she would never leave
any kind of a sublime footprint on the sands of time. I told her
a diary was very sacred as you generally poured your deepest
feelings into it expecting nobody to look at it but yourself and
your indulgent heavenly Father who seeeth all things.

Of course it would not hurt Persis Watson to show her diary
because she has not a sacred plan and this is the way it goes,
for she reads it out loud to us:

"Arose at six this morning--(you always arise in a diary but you
say get up when you talk about it). Ate breakfast at half past
six. Had soda biscuits, coffee, fish hash and doughnuts. Wiped
the dishes, fed the hens and made my bed before school. Had a