ave everything here but the musquitoes
and the bad cooking, with both of which I cheerfully dispense.

"But to return to our drive. The last mile the road ran through a dark
forest, following the course of a stream called Roaring Brook, which
generally makes good its title to the name, but now, owing to the
recent drouth, was reduced to roaring as gently as Bottom's Lion
promised to do. At last the lake was reached, and turning to the
right, we were soon skimming along at a great pace on the wide
boulevard that skirts the water as far along as Pine's Bridge. There
we put up our ponies at a hotel with an impossible and unpronounceable
Indian name, and accepted the Colonel's kind invitation for a row. We
all regretted there was no moon, with as much self-reproach as if it
had been accidentally left behind, but were glad enough to get into our
little white boat, that looked quite silvery against the dark current.

"The gentlemen, who had been dying to hear Marguerite sing ever since
coming out here, now suggested that her voice was all that was needed
to make the hour perfect; so Marguerite, who is as sweet and unaffected
about her singing as if she hadn't the most exquisite soprano ever
heard off the stage, consented without any tiresome urging, and asked
what it should be. We were evenly divided between 'Robin Adair' and
Mario's 'Good-bye, Sweetheart,' so our pretty songstress kindly gave us
both.

"I cannot recall the delicious effect of her singing as we were
drifting along in the sombre twilight, better than by quoting Buchanan
Read's charming lines, which I dare say you have seen before:

"'I heed not if
My rippling skiff
Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise.

"'Under the walls
Where swells and falls
The bay's deep breast at intervals;
At peace I lie,
Blown softly by
A cloud upon this liquid sky.

"'No more, no more
The worldly shore
Upbraids me with its load uproar:
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise.'

"I. L. G."

_June 24_.

The week commenced with a dash of rain, but this morning it was again
as hot as though no clouds had darkened the sky. Croquet was out of
the question, and not even for the sake of trying my new beaver and
stylish habit, so becoming to a slight figure, could I confront the
dust and the sun's blazing rays upon Nancy's back (for such is