as she was at first. And young Master was impudent enough to ask
me if "I had got religion." To conclude the list of my worries,
I received an angry answer from Helena. "Nobody but a simpleton,"
she wrote, "would have contradicted me as you did. Who but you
could have failed to see that papa's strange objection to let
it be known which of us is the elder makes us ridiculous before
other people? My presence of mind prevented that. You ought to
have been grateful, and held your tongue." Perhaps Helena is
right--but I don't feel it so.

On Sunday we went to chapel twice. We also had a sermon read
at home, and a cold dinner. In the evening, a hot dispute on
religion between Mr. Staveley and his son. I don't blame them.
After being pious all day long on Sunday, I have myself felt
my piety give way toward evening.

There is something pleasant in prospect for to-morrow. All London
is going just now to the exhibition of pictures. We are going
with all London.

. . . . . . .

I don't know what is the matter with me tonight. I have
positively been to bed, without going to sleep! After tossing and
twisting and trying all sorts of positions, I am so angry with
myself that I have got up again. Rather than do nothing, I have
opened my ink-bottle, and I mean to go on with my journal.

Now I think of it, it seems likely that the exhibition of works
of art may have upset me.