I can remember the circumstances very well, and I am inclined to think that she had some reason to be jealous of MARY BINDLER.  MARY was not at all a nice girl.

“September 8.—­Joy, joy, joy!”

I think I can explain this entry.  MARY BINDLER had been called away hurriedly.  Somebody was dead, or something of that sort.  My friend’s expression of relief seems to me very pretty and natural.

“September 9.—­Ah!”

“September 10.—­Oh!”

In that little word “Ah!” there is the whole history of a pic-nic and a carriage accident.  It was there that she first guessed his feelings towards her.  I am sorry to say that I have not been able to obtain any adequate explanation of the “Oh!” But I know they went out after dinner to see if it was possible to play tennis by moonlight.  I conclude that it was not, for the next entry, which consists simply of a note of exclamation, is really a record of her engagement.

Of course I need not point out the impropriety of mixing in the pages of your Diary the record of the most sacred emotions, and notes of things more commonplace.  I knew a girl who invariably did this.  She always commenced with an account of any money that she might have spent during the day.  I have managed, with considerable difficulty, to make a copy of one of these entries, and I give it as a warning:—­

“Chocolate, one-and-six.  ALGERNON has written to me, asking me to see him again for the last time.  I have written back that my decision is unalterable.  It breaks my heart to have to be so cruel—­but fate wills it, and it’s no good fighting against Mamma.  Sent my grey to be cleaned—­but it won’t look anything when it’s done.”

In another entry I found the following:—­

“A dear long letter from EGBERT.  How perfect his sympathy is!  Not feeling very well to-day—­will always refuse vol-au-vent in future.”

I need hardly say that a girl who would chronicle the state of her digestion and the sympathy of her lover in one paragraph could not possibly have any soul.

The perfect Diary is something of a paradox.  It should be composed chiefly of what is unpublishable—­of one’s secrets and sentiments—­but it should always be written as if with a view to publication.  In your Diary you can say things about yourself which it would be conceited to say openly, and you can say things about your friends which it would be unkind to say openly; you can make your own pose seem more real to yourself.  So, my dear young girls, take my advice, and commence Diaries.  And remember I shall be very glad to answer any questions on the subject.

* * * * *

JOKIM’S LATEST LITTLE JOKE.

(BY A MANY TIMES DISAPPOINTED INCOME-TAX PAYER.)