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363 sister Almira was one of the most beautiful of housekeepers; one of those persons who bring about wonderful results without the least fuss or noise, who was always ready for any occasion, whose recipes always came out well, and who, to use my mother's expression, "knew every rope in the ship." So that the sight of a kettle of sister A.'s soup roused her enthusiasm to the highest pitch on this occasion, when she felt her own delinquencies severely. "Don't tell me," said she, as she ladled up the thick and steaming liquid, with the golden. balls floating in it, into a large tureen, "don't tell me that the Chief Justice ever ate any such soup as this in Boston. Because I know better. There's nobody but your sister Almira that can make it!" In the same manner, she was one day relieved of another dilemma. There were, certainly, the kindest people in Northampton, then, that ever lived. It had been one of the hottest of summer days, and a tea-party of distinguished strangers were expected in the evening, but there was such a succession of transient calls of various importance on every member of the family, that the evening drew on, and our preparations for the supper were most incomplete. The dear woman encouraged us all, that we should see that everything would come out right, if we had only faith as a grain of mustard seed; and she had hardly said the word, when, looking from the window, one friend after another walked in. "Didn't I tell you, girls," called out my mother triumphantly. "Now, see here; here is Mrs. Whitmarsh has sent me an elegant basket of fruit and flowers; and Mrs.

Dikeman such rusk as nobody can make but she; and, as true as you live, if there isn't Mrs. Hunt bringing over a great basket of Seckel pears! Now, don't tell me that they ever have any better things at the Boston parties!" She frequently informed us that she did not think the Chief Justice or Judge Wilde ever tasted any such dinners or had such suppers at Mr. David Sears's house, or Harrison Gray Otis's; and we were not to tell her they had. This we considered a pleasing fiction,- only another way of expressing her pleasure at our efforts, and the kindness of neighbors. It was a part of that healthy delight she took in every thing. On the occasion in question, she called out jovially, "And now, girls, let us all go to Bed-fordshire [that meant we were all to lie down and rest], for we shall sail before the wind." And, suiting the action to the word, she disappeared within the library door with the motion of a ship with all sails set.

One day, a friend came in, who had just come from a visit to Mrs. who was one of the "exquisite housekeepers." She began to tell my mother about the perfect condition of that house from garret to cellar, and rang the changes on the brightness of the brasses, the admirable shine of the glass and silver, the entire absence of dust on every carpet. My mother stood it just as long as she could, though fidgeting uneasily in her chair. Then she exclaimed, "I think Mrs. — is the dirtiest person I ever saw in my life!" "Oh, Mrs. Lyman, what can you mean?" said the friend. "What I say is true," said my mother, bringing down her

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hand with much force on the table. "From the rising of the sun to the going down of the same, that woman's mind is on dirt. She thinks dirt, sccs dirt, is fighting dirt, the livelong day. Now I would much rather see more of it on her carpet, and less of it on her mind."

I recall as one of the special social enjoyments of my father and mother, the coming of Baron Ronné (the Prussian Minister of Foreign Affairs) to Northampton, who passed the greater part of two years there, from 1838 to 1840. He was a person of most genial temper and charming conversational powers, and was warmly attached to my father. In a letter of his that lies beside me, written three years later to my father, he says: “My dear Judge, there will be no more war." His hope must have given him that certainty, and added to my father's hopes.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Mrs Lyman to Miss C. Robbins, Northampton, July 20, 1840.

Y DEAR Catherine,

MY

.. Only think how dreadful it is? We attended the funeral of Mrs. James Fowler last Saturday; a more touching grief I never witnessed than her husband and chil dren manifested. She had had two attacks before the last, and seemed to be expecting that a third would take her off. Her husband had just got for her a beautiful easy carriage and fine pair of horses; and the day before the attack rode forty miles with her; and she said she felt so well that day, that she was encouraged to believe she would recover. She was holding a most animated discussion with Samuel in the evening, just after tea, on a meta. physical subject, which had interested his mind. deeply; and her part in it he is able to write down, together with many excellent opinions she entertained on various subjects which he was in the habit of conversing with her upon. She was speechless from the time of the attack; but when asked if she heard them, and realized what was going on, she moved her head in assent, to signify that she did; and lived in that state five days. The two young children are beautiful specimens of a fine education. They are unlike S. in being graceful

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and handsome. A poor little dwarf of Dr. Atwater's, whom she had taken great interest in always, and supported entirely, she had taken home the last year of her life; and, whenever she was more unwell than common, she commended him to the watchful care and tenderness of the different members of the family, though at those times she never mentioned her own children. She had never seemed to reflect that he was no decoration to their beautiful establishment, but was always saying how good he was, and how useful his example was to her children. There certainly is something in this character which transcends all written accounts of human nature. An entire subjugation of self, and of all pride and ambition, to the interests of the unfortunate. What a triumph over the world, its allurements and temptations, was here exhibited! Hers was a piety acted out, and talked but little about. Her husband seemed to consider her as his privy counsellor, whose judgment he could not live without, as well as the best object of his affections. There certainly is none other on earth to fill her place to him. Mr. Lyman says I said the same about Mrs. Hall. My life consists of contrasts, you know. Yesterday morning, Mr. Lyman informed me that he had invited Judge Betts and wife and daughters to pass the evening, together with Judge Dewey and Family and the necessary appendages, and the Henry Rice family, and the Redwood Fisher family; they made a party of over fifty, that were entertained here last evening. All but me ap peared to have a very entertaining and agreeable