Northampton was at that period one of the most beautiful of New England villages. My father's house stood in the very centre,-a large, old-fashioned square house, with a wing on each side back from the main building. Each wing had a little covered porch looking out into the main street. A small yard on one side separated the house from a brick store, whose upper floor was occupied by a printing office The other side-yard was much larger and more rural. There was almost a grove of beautiful acacias there, and in the little front enclosure was a tulip-tree and many flowering shrubs; a row of five horse-chestnuts and a large elm shaded and protected the house somewhat from the glare and dust of a main street. Had it not been for the kind thoughtfulness and perseverance of our sister, Mrs. Joseph Lyman, we should never have had the picture of that happy home at the opening of this chapter. The outlooks from the house were all charming. On the opposite side of the street, and separated from it by one of the loveliest front yards, stood our neighbor's, Mr. Eben Hunt's. That place was always kept in perfect order, and an exquisite taste presided over all the hedges and flowering plants and lovely vines. Near to it came, a few years later, our little church,— a small Grecian temple, with its avenue of trees leading to it, and with Mrs. Hunt's garden on one side of it, and my father's garden on the other; the very spot now occupied by the public library. From every window in our house there was something pleasant for the eye to rest upon, and little

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vistas of exquisite beauty, even though in the heart of the village. As soon as the autumn leaves had fallen, the west end of Mount Tom appeared to us through the interval between Mr. Hunt's house and the little church,- a grand and noble peak, that well repaid us for the loss of foliage and summer beauty; and from our front door, winter and summer, we could always sce Mount Holyoke in varying lights and shadows,-sometimes cloud-capped and dark, sometimes resplendent with the sun-tipped mists that were rolling away from it. My mother delighted in natural beauty, and no one ever enjoyed more than she did the sights and sounds that surrounded her.

Few young persons ever came to a happier home, or were surrounded with an atmosphere giving freer scope to their peculiar faculties. In the husband of her choice she found not only warm and constant love and appreciation, but a patience with the faults of her impulsive temperament, rarely equalled and never failing. In his eldest daughter, who united personal beauty to loveliness of character, earnestness of purpose, and much helpfulness in household matters, she realized for three years a pleasant companionship, and the greatest assistance in the care of the younger children, and of her own first child,to whom this beloved sister was devoted through the whole of his beautiful infancy. Doubtless my mother made many a mistake with regard to these children; she made mistakes about her own. But, so far as I know, they never doubted the real friendliness of her designs and purposes with regard to

them, or her unselfish pursuit of their good,— so far as her different temperament enabled her to understand theirs. If it was otherwise, I can only say that my elder brothers and sisters had too much good taste and good feeling, too much love for their father and for us, and too much of his own patient and warm-hearted view of things, ever to make us aware that they had any but kindly feelings towards one whose heart was so large it could never have stopped at her own hearth-stone.

I do not think that my mother or her sisters had ever dreamed of a life of ease, or of freedom from care, as any thing to be desired. On the contrary, they gloried in responsibility, believed in activity and earnest work, with all the intensity of simple and healthy natures.

During my father's widowhood, his cousin, called in the family "Aunt Dwight," had kept house for him; and she remained for a time after his second marriage, until the young wife became wonted to her new position. I have heard my mother speak of her as one of the kindest and best of women, and also as having a sunny temper, and much of that strong common sense and ready wit so characteristic of New England countrywomen of that day. My father's house had always been noted for hospitality; and what with the throng of visitors brought there by his various offices of trust, which had made him the friend of the whole county, and the large circle of family friends of whom he was the centre, and the townspeople who had always considered the house as their place of meeting, the care of pro