this. Shall I write to my sister? But how should she know what is
the matter with me, when I don't know it myself? Besides, Helena
is angry; she wrote unkindly to me when she answered my last
letter.

There is a dreadful loneliness in this great house at night.
I had better say my prayers, and try to sleep. If it doesn't
make me feel happier, it will prevent me spoiling my Journal
by dropping tears on it.

. . . . . . .

What an evening of evenings this has been! Last night it was
crying that kept me awake. To-night I can't sleep for joy.

Philip called on us again to-day. He brought with him tickets
for the performance of an Oratorio. Sacred music is not forbidden
music among our people. Mrs. Staveley and Miss Staveley went to
the concert with us. Philip and I sat next to each other.

My sister is a musician--I am nothing. That sounds bitter; but
I don't mean it so. All I mean is, that I like simple little
songs, which I can sing to myself by remembering the tune. There,
my musical enjoyment ends. When voices and instruments burst out
together by hundreds, I feel bewildered. I also get attacked
by fidgets. This last misfortune is sure to overtake me when
choruses are being performed. The unfortunate people employed
are made to keep singing the same words, over and over and over
again, till I find it a perfect misery to listen to them. The
choruses were unendurable in the performance to-night. This is