HOMERTON, 14th February 1839.

There is hardly anything to record--no event, that is to say--and
yet I have been swept on at a pace which frightens me. The least
word or act urges me more than a blow. Yesterday I made up my
accounts and was ten shillings short. I went over them again and
again and could not get them right. I was going to put into the
cash-box ten shillings of my own money, but I thought there might be
some mistake and that Charles, who always examines my books, would
find it out, and that it would be worse for me if he had discovered
what I had done than if I had let them tell their own tale. After
dinner he asked for them, counted my balance, and at once found out
there was ten shillings too little. I said I knew it and supposed I
had forgotten to put down something I had spent. 'Forgotten again?'
he replied; 'it is unsatisfactory: there is evident want of
method.' He locked the box and book in the desk and read the
newspaper while I sat and worked. Next day I remembered the servant
had half-a-sovereign to pay the greengrocer, and I had not seen her
since I gave it to her. When Charles returned from the bank my
first words were, 'O Charles, I know all about the half-sovereign:
I am so glad.' Would not you have acknowledged you were glad too?
He looked at me just as he did the night before. I believe he would
rather I had lost the money. 'Your explanation,' was his response,
'makes no difference: in fact it confirms my charge of lack of
system. I have brought you some tablets which I wish you to keep in
your pocket, and you must note in them every outgoing at the time it
is made. These items are then to be regularly adjusted, and
transferred afterwards.' I could not restrain myself.