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My diary towards the close of my stay notes: "I wouldn't be a native under British rule at any price. They may 'do a lot of good to you, but, dear God! they do let you know their contempt for you, and drive your inferiority into you.
And while the case was going forward, a poor-looking woman came in, and I heard her, in an undertone, telling an attendant of a death that had just occurred. The attendant received the communication in a very quiet and matter-of-course way, said that it should be attended to, and the woman retired. THE DIARY OF A CORONER would be a work likely to meet with large popular acceptance.
Judging from the entries in a small diary of this date, I was neither an introspective youth nor one given to precocious literary subtleties. On March 27th, 1877, I made this entry; "Today we move back upon the farm." This is all of it! No more, no less.
Samson says in his diary: "His tender play with the little lad gave me another look at the man Lincoln." "Some one proposed once that we should call that stream the Minnehaha," said Abe as he walked along. "After this Joe and I are going to call it the Minneboohoo." The women of the little village had met at a quilting party at ten o'clock with Mrs. Martin Waddell.
Rarey brought the horse that was subjected to his management. I have often wished I had the descriptive power of the man who wrote "The Diary of a Physician." My experiences in another profession have not been wanting in incident, often of a curious and romantic kind, and sometimes almost startling.
If I told you, you would not believe or understand. . . . I must own I don't understand it myself. . . . There are phrases used in the police reports and newspapers such as: 'unrequited love, and 'hopeless poverty, but the reasons are not known. . . . They are not known to me, nor to you, nor to your newspaper offices, where they have the impudence to write 'The diary of a suicide. God alone understands the state of a man's soul when he takes his own life; but men know nothing about it."
Their mother had had a horror of slush. There had been none anywhere about her; but it is in the air in Germany, in people's blood, everywhere; and though the twins, owing to the English part of them, had a horror of it too, there it was in them, and they knew it, genuine German slush. They felt uncomfortably sure that if they were in prison they would write a diary very much on these lines.
Oliver's poem on the Tadpoles, with its marvellous rhymes, fell comparatively flat after this; and Bullinger's first chapter of the History of Saint Dominic's failed to rivet the attention of the audience, which, however, became suddenly and painfully absorbed in the "Diary of the Sixth Form Mouse," from the pen of Wraysford.
"The evidence is conclusive, don't you think? the grave, Farquharson's personal effects, those pages of the poor devil's diary." I nodded assent.
Nor, as we see from the Diary, were the author's recent misfortunes, and his sojourn in a moral counterpart of the Deserted Garden of his friend Campbell, the only disposing causes of this. He had in several ways revived the memory of his early love, Lady Forbes, long since dead.
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