Friday.—­I spent a part of last evening in writing an article about Mrs. C.’s poem for the Sabbath at Home, and have a little fit of indigestion as my reward.  Have been to see my sick woman with jelly and consolation, and from there to Mrs. D., who gave me a beautiful account of Mrs. Coming’s last days and of her readiness and gladness to go.  I was at the meeting at Dr. Rogers’ yesterday afternoon and heard old Dr. Tyng for the first time, and he spoke beautifully....  Well, Chi Alpha [2] is over; we had a very large attendance and the oysters were burnt.  It is dreadfully trying when Maria never once failed before to have them so extra nice.  Dr. Hall came and told me he had been sending copies of Fred and Maria and Me to friends in Ireland.  Martha and Jane, and M. and H. were all standing in a row together when the parsons come out to tea, and one of them marched up to the row, saying to papa, Are these your children? when Martha and Jane made a precipitate retreat into the pantry.  Good-night, darling; lots of love to Mrs. Smith and all of them.  Your affectionate “Marm-er.”

11th.—­Yours came to-day, and papa and I had a brief duel with hair-pins and pen-knives as to which should read it aloud to the other, and I beat.  I should have enjoyed Eigensinn, I am sure; you know I have read it in German....  The children all three are lovely, and what with them and papa and other things my cup is running over tremendously.  I have just heard that a poor woman I have been to see a few times, died this morning.  I always came away from her crestfallen, thinking I was the biggest poke in a sick-room there ever was, but she sent me a dying message that quite comforted me.  She had once lived in plenty, but was fearfully destitute, and I fear she and her family suffered for want of common necessaries.

Thursday.—­I had an early and a long call from one of our church, who wanted to tell me, among other things, that her husband scolded her for bumping her head in the night; she wept and I condoled; she went away at last smiling.  Then I went to the sewing circle and idled about till one; then I had several calls.  Then papa and I went out to make a lot of calls.  Then came a note from a sick lady, whom I shall go to see in spite of my horror of strangers.  Papa got a letter from Prof.  Smith which gave us great pleasure.  Z. was here yesterday; I asked her to stay to lunch, bribing her with a cup of tea, and so she stayed and we had a real nice time; when she went away I told her I was dead in love with her.

Friday Evening.—­The children have all gone to bed; M. and G. have been reading all the evening; M. busy on Miss Alcott’s “Little Women,” and G. shaking his sides over old numbers of the Riverside.  Papa says our house ought to have a sign put out, “Souls cured here”; because so many people come to tell their troubles.  People used to do just so to my mother, and I suppose always do to parsons’ wives if they’ll let ’em.