"Dec. 18th. Edward is coming out. This boy,
that one has taught all the French, all the dancing,
and nearly all the Latin he knows, turns out to
be one's superior, infinitely; I mean in practical
good sense. Mamma had taken her pearls to
the jeweller and borrowed two hundred pounds.
He found this out and objected. She told him a
part of it was required to keep him at Oxford.
'Oh indeed,' said he: and we thought of course
there was an end: but next morning he was off
before breakfast, and the day after he returned
from Oxford with his caution money, forty
pounds, and gave it mamma; she had forgotten
all about it. And he had taken his name off the
college books and left the university for ever.
The poor, gentle, tears of mortification ran down
his mother's cheeks, and I hung round her neck,
and scolded him like a vixen; as I am. We
might have spared tears and fury both, for he is
neither to be melted nor irritated by poor little
us. He kissed us and coaxed us like a superior
being, and set to work in his quiet, sober,
ponderous way, and proved us a couple of fools to
our entire satisfaction, and that without an
unkind word: for he is as gentle as a lamb, and as
strong as ten thousand elephants. He took the
money back and brought the pearls home again,
and he has written "SOYEZ DE VOTRE SIÈCLE"
in great large letters, and has pasted it on all
our three bedroom doors, inside. And he has
been all these years quietly cutting up the
Morning Advertiser, and arranging the slips with
wonderful skill and method. He calls it "digesting
the 'Tiser!" and you can't ask for any
modern information, great or small, but he'll
find you something about it in this digest. Such
a folio! It takes a man to open and shut it.
And he means to be a sort of little papa in this
house, and mamma means to let him. And indeed
it is so sweet to be commanded; besides, it saves
thinking for oneself; and that is such a worry."

"Dec. 19th. Yes, they have settled it: we are
to leave here, and live in lodgings to save
servants. How we are to exist even so, mamma
cannot see; but Edward can; he says we two
have got popular talents, and he knows the markets
(what does that mean, I wonder), and the world
in general. I asked him wherever he picked it
up, his knowledge: he said, 'In the 'Tiser.' I
asked him would he leave the place where she
lives. He looked sad, but said, 'Yes: for the
good of us all.' So he is better than I am; but
who is not? I wasted an imploring look on him;
but not on mamma; she looked back to me, and
then said sadly, 'Wait a few days, Edward, for—
my sake.' That meant for poor credulous Julia's,
who still believes in him. My sweet mother!"

"Dec. 21st. Told mamma to-day I would go for
a governess, to help her, since we are all ruined.
She kissed me and trembled; but she did not say
'No:' so it will come to that. He will be sorry.
When I do go, I think I shall find courage to
send him a line: just to say I am sure he is not
to blame for withdrawing. Indeed, how could I
ever marry a man whose father I have heard my
father call——" (the pen was drawn through the
rest).

"Dec. 22nd. A miserable day: low spirited and
hysterical. We are really going away. Edward
has begun to make packing cases: I stood over
him and sighed, and asked him questions: he
said he was going to take unfurnished rooms in
London, send up what furniture is absolutely
necessary, and sell the rest by auction, with the
lease of our dear, dear house, where we were all
so happy once. So, what with 'his knowledge
of the markets, and the world,' and his sense,
and his strong will, we have only to submit. And
then he is so kind, too; 'don't cry, little girl,'
he said. 'Not but what I could turn on the waters
myself if there was anything to be gained by it.
Shall I cry, Ju,' said he, 'or shall I whistle? I
think I'll whistle.' And he whistled a tune
right through while he worked with a heart as
sick as my own, perhaps. Poor Edward!"

"Dec. 23rd. My Christian friend has her griefs
too. But then she puts them to profit: she says
to-day, 'We are both tasting the same flesh-
crucifying but soul-profiting experience.' Her
every word is a rebuke to me: torn at this
solemn season of the year with earthly passions.
Went down after reading her letter, and played
and sang the Gloria in excelsis of Pergolesi, with
all my soul. And, on repeating it, burst out
crying in the middle. Oh shame! shame!"

"Dec. 24th. Edward started for London at
five in the morning to take a place for us. The
servants were next told, and received warning;
the one we had the poorest opinion of, she is
such a flirt, cried, and begged mamma to let her
share our fallen fortunes, and said she could cook
a little and would do her best. I kissed her
violently, and quite forgot I was a young lady
till she herself reminded me; and she looked
frightened at mamma. But mamma only smiled
through her tears, and said, 'Think of it quietly,
Sarah, before you commit yourself.'"

"I am now sitting in my own room, cold as a
stone: for I have packed up some things: so
the first step is actually taken. Oh, if I but
knew that he was happy! Then I could endure
anything. But how can I think so? Well, I
will go, and never tell a soul what I suspect.
And he cannot tell, even if he knows: for it is
his father. Jane, too, avoids all mention of her
own father and brother more than is natural. Oh,
if I could only be a child again!

Regrets are vain; I will cease even to record
them; these diaries feed one's selfishness, and
the unfortunate passion, that will make me a bad
daughter and an ungrateful soldier of Him who
was born as to-morrow: to your knees, false
Christian! to your knees!

I am calmer now; and feel resigned to the
will of Heaven; or benumbed; or something. I
will pack this box and then go down and comfort
my mother; and visit my poor people, perhaps
for the last time: ah me!