HER LOST DIARY.
The Plaguy Thing Had All Her Dearest Secrets Recorded Too.
“Diary!” fairly shrieked the pretty young lady, with flashing eyes, as she walked down the avenue with a companion. “Diary! Don’t you say diary to me, again. What do you know about it, Kate?”
“Nothing, only that you told me that you had commenced keeping a diary, as usual, and 1 supposed you had dropped it at the end of a month, as usual. I didn’t mean to throw you into hysterics.”
“Kate, don’t you ever breathe a word of it, but I’ve lost that diary; dropped it somewhere on the street. And the plaguy thing has all my dearest secrets in it, I wrote just what I thought too. It just sends me crazy. There it is in black and white that Lillian looks like a fright, that Hattie is turning green from jealousy, that Charley is just too sweet to live and that Fred hasn’t sense enough to talk more than three minutes unless he rehearses in advance.”
“Why don’t you advertise and offer a reward?”
“Indeed, I won’t. I never want to see the thing again. If any one returns it, I shall declare that it’s a forgery from beginning to end. I’ll never own up the longest day I live.”
“What did you say about me, Edith?”
“Oh. I don’t just remember, but something nice. You can depend on that, for you’re my very dearest friend.”
“I can help your memory. You wrote that I was the most inquisitive little minx in the city and that I thought it my special business to look after other people’s business. Here’s your diary. You left it at our house, and Tommy spelled out your estimate of me before I knew what he was doing. Good after noon.”
Then they looked at each other, both began to cry, fell into each other’s arms and in five minutes were criticising a mutual friend.—Kansas City Independent
The Bismarck [ND] Tribune 1 May 1902: p. 3
Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: Mrs Daffodil reminds her readers of the old adage: “Two can keep a secret, if one is not a diary.” This sound advice is seconded by solicitors who specialise in divorce cases; they recommend that you put nothing in writing that you would not like read out in a court of law.
Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdote
You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.