t fifty, and ugly and withered as only a
Frenchwoman of that age can be.

Breakfast is followed by a turn upon the piazza, a little stroll to the
spring, near which delicious wild strawberries nestle in a background
of sweet clover, bright buttercups, and field daisies, or a game of
croquet under the grand old oak-trees

"After the sun has dried the dew."

Then we separate, each to our own room, and our different occupations.

[Illustration: The Spring.]

Ida is very busy now, for she is preparing a volume for publication in
the fall--her dear father's manuscript lectures and letters.

Gabrielle throws herself upon a sofa, and lies there motionless,
absorbed in the fascinating pages of some favorite book; indeed, she is
so quiet that in my periodical fits of tidiness I often seize a print
or bombazine frock, thrown, as I suppose, carelessly upon the bed or
sofa, and only by its weight do I discover that it is animated. Last
year, Gabrielle's favorite site for reading was in the dear old
apple-tree close beside the house; but since she has attained the
dignity of sixteen and train dresses, she has abjured the apple-tree.

Marguerite is translating a volume from the German, _Musikalische
Maerchen_, and I divide my time between the piano and occasional
newspaper articles.

But it is already one o'clock and dinner hour. The afternoon passes
much like the morning. We have letters to write, and much reading
aloud. I have two books in progress--Plato's "Dialogues," and Madame
de Staeel's incomparable "Germany:" the latter I read aloud while in
Munich, but it is a work that cannot be too often studied.

At half-past six we dress and go down to the postoffice (about a
hundred yards distant) for the evening mail. Half an hour later we
sup, and then follows, as L. E. L. would say, "a struggle and a
sacrifice." What could be more delicious than a game of croquet, or a
drive in the cool twilight? But Chappaqua, lovely though it is,
possesses a malaria that is dangerous after sunset, they say, and much
as I love to drive when Nature is bathed in the last ruddy flush of
day, and during the soft gray hour that succeeds it, I must heed the
prediction of _chills_ to all who indulge.

The evening is always devoted to music. Both Ida and Gabrielle are
very fond of the piano, and Ida is rapidly becoming quite proficient in
the divine art. She commenced the study of music when a little child,
under an excellent teacher