Little secret plans as to what they were to read about, and think about, and pray about on certain days of the week and at certain hours of the day and the night.

You must not call the father an old pedant, for the fact is, it was the son who was the pedant if there was one in that happy house.

The two intimate friends had a word between them they called _agenda_.

And nobody but themselves knew where they had borrowed that uncouth word, what language it was, or what it meant.

Only in the old man's tattered pocket-book there were things like this found by his minister after his death.
Indeed, in a museum of such relics this is still to be read under a glass case, and in old Mr.Meditation's ramshackle hand: 'Monday, death; Tuesday, judgment; Wednesday, heaven; Thursday, hell; Friday, my past life back to my youth; Saturday, the passion of my Saviour; Lord's day, creation, salvation, and my own .-- M.' And then, on an utterly illegible page, this: 'Jesus, Thy life and Thy words are a perpetual sermon to me.
I meditate on Thee all the day.