ack doors; eggshells, broken dishes,
tin cans, and old shoes scattered round their premises; servants ragged
and dirty, with their hair in papers, and with the kitchen and dining
room full of flies. I have known even artists to be indifferent to their
personal appearance and their surroundings. Surely a mother and child,
tastefully dressed, and a pretty home for a framework, is, as a picture,
even more attractive than a domestic scene hung on the wall. The love of
the beautiful can be illustrated as well in life as on canvas. There is
such a struggle among women to become artists that I really wish some of
their gifts could be illustrated in clean, orderly, beautiful homes.

Our house was pleasantly situated on the Chelsea Hills, commanding a
fine view of Boston, the harbor, and surrounding country. There, on the
upper piazza, I spent some of the happiest days of my life, enjoying, in
turn, the beautiful outlook, my children, and my books. Here, under the
very shadow of Bunker Hill Monument, my third son was born. Shortly
after this Gerrit Smith and his wife came to spend a few days with us,
so this boy, much against my will, was named after my cousin. I did not
believe in old family names unless they were peculiarly euphonious. I
had a list of beautiful names for sons and daughters, from which to
designate each newcomer; but, as yet, not one on my list had been used.
However, I put my foot down, at No. 4, and named him Theodore, and, thus
far, he has proved himself a veritable "gift of God," doing his
uttermost, in every way possible, to fight the battle of freedom for
woman.

During the visit of my cousin I thought I would venture on a small,
select dinner party, consisting of the Rev. John Pierpont and his wife,
Charles Sumner, John G. Whittier, and Joshua Leavitt. I had a new cook,
Rose, whose viands, thus far, had proved delicious, so I had no anxiety
on that score. But, unfortunately, on this occasion I had given her a
bottle of wine for the pudding sauce and whipped cream, of which she
imbibed too freely, and hence there were some glaring blunders in the
_menu_ that were exceedingly mortifying. As Mr. Smith and my husband
were both good talkers, I told them they must cover all defects with
their brilliant conversation, which they promised to do.

Rose had all the points of a good servant, phrenologically and
physiologically. She had a large head, with great bumps of caution and
order, her eyes were large and so