to her uncle. Often of an evening, when she came home too feverishly restless for sleep, and yet too indolent for defined occupation, a letter had been a resource; now she took to keeping a journal. Sometimes it was burnt the next day, sometimes kept; but the habit formed itself, and her journal soon grew into a familiar friend. A few extracts will shew its spirit.
EXTRACTS FROM LADY MARCHMONT'S JOURNAL.
What an odd thing it is, the trouble one takes to collect and to amuse people who are rarely amused, and who do not thank us if they are! What do I recollect of the evening? Little, but that I was rather more bored than usual. I should so like to have talked more to Sir George Kingston. I cannot understand how it is that I, who have lived all my life among strangers, should ever feel shy; and yet I very often do. He had singularly encouraging manners, and talked easily. I think of a thousand answers I might have made, now that it is too late. It was positively rude
