were friends I made him talk of his family;
yourself, Edward, Julia, I seem to know you
all.

When the ruffian, who succeeded our good
captain, had wrecked poor us, and then deserted
us, your husband resumed the command, and
saved Freddy and me once more by his courage,
his wonderful coolness, and his skill. Since then
the mouse has been at work for the lion: I
despair of conveying any pleasure by it to a
character so elevated as Captain Dodd; his
reward must be his own conscience; but we poor
little women like external shows, do we not?
and so I thought a medal of the Humane Society
might give some pleasure to you and Miss Dodd.
Never did medal nor order repose on a nobler
heart. The case was so strong, and so well
supported, that the society did not hesitate: and
you will receive it very soon after this.

You will be surprised, dear madam, at all
this from a stranger to yourself, and will perhaps
set it down to a wish to intrude on your acquaintance.
Well then, dear madam, you will not be
far wrong. I should like much to know one,
whose character I already seem acquainted with;
and to convey personally my gratitude and
admiration of your husband, I could pour it out
more freely to you, you know, than to him.
            l am,
                 Dear Madam,
                         Yours very faithfully,
                                     LOUISA BERESFORD.

And the medal came about an hour before the
fly to take him away. His dear name was on it,
and his brave courageous acts.

Oh, shall I ever be old enough and hard enough
to speak of this without stopping to cry?

We fastened it round his dear neck with a
ribbon. Mamma would put it inside his clothes
for fear the silver should tempt some wretch: I
should never have thought of that: is there a
creature so base? And we told the men how he
had gained it (they were servants of the asylum),
and we showed them how brave and good he
was, and would be again if they would be kind
to him and cure him. And mamma bribed them
with money to use him kindly: I thought they
would be offended and refuse it: but they took
it, and their faces showed she was wiser than I
am. He keeps away from us too. It is nearly
a fortnight now."

"Dec. 7th. Aunt Eve left to-day. Mamma
kept her room and could not speak to her: cannot
forgive her interfering between papa and her.
It does seem strange that any one but mamma
should be able to send papa out of the house, and
to such a place; but it is the law: and Edward,
who is all good sense, says it was necessary; he
says mamma is unjust: grief makes her
unreasonable. I don't know who is in the right: and
I don't much care: but I know I am sorry for
Aunt Eve, and very, very sorry for mamma."

"Dec. 8th. I am an egotist: found myself out
this morning; and it is a good thing to keep a
diary. It* was overpowered at first by grief for
mamma: but now the house is sad and quiet. I
am always thinking of him; and that is egotism.

* Egotism. The abstract quality evolved from
the concrete term egotist by feminine art, without
the aid of grammar.

Why does he stay away so? I almost wish I
could think it was coldness or diminished affection;
for I fear something worse; something to
make him wretched. Those dreadful words papa
spoke before he was afflicted! words I will never
put on paper; but they ring in my ears still;
they appal me: and then found at their very
door! Ah, and I knew I should find him near
that house. And now he keeps away."

"Dec. 9th. All day trying to comfort mamma.
She made a great effort and wrote to Mrs.
Beresford."

POOR MAMMA'S LETTER.

"Dear Madam,—Your kind and valued letter
reached us in deep affliction: and I am little able
to reply to you as you deserve. My poor husband
is very ill; so ill that he no longer remembers
the past, neither the brave acts that have won
him your esteem, nor even the face of his loving
and unhappy wife, who now thanks you with
many tears for your sweet letter. Heartbroken
as my children and I are, we yet derive some
consolation from it. We have tied the medal
round his neck, madam, and thank you far more
than we can find words to express.

In conclusion, I pray Heaven that, in your
bitterest hour, you may find the consolation you
have administered to us: no, no, I pray you may
never, never, stand in such need of comfort.
                I am,
                     Dear Madam,
               Yours gratefully and sincerely,
                                            LUCY DODD."

"Dec. 10th, Sunday. At St. Anne's in the
morning. Tried hard to apply the sermon. He
spoke of griefs, but so coldly; surely he never
felt one: he was not there. Mem.: always pray
against wandering thoughts on entering church."

"Dec. 11th. A diary is a dreadful thing.
Everything must go down now, and, amongst
the rest, that the poor are selfish. I could not
interest one of mine in mamma's sorrows; no,
they must run back to their own little sordid
troubles, about money and things. I was so
provoked with Mrs. Jackson (she owes mamma
so much) that I left her hastily: and that was
Impatience. I had a mind to go back to her;
but would not; and that was Pride. Where is
my Christianity?

A kind letter from Jane Hardie. But no
word of him."

"Dec. 12th. To-day Edward told me plump
I must not go on taking things out of the house
for the poor: mamma gave me the reason. 'We
are poor ourselves, thanks to——' And then she
stopped. Does she suspect? How can she?
She did not hear those two dreadful words of
papa's? They are like two arrows in my heart.