me a little three-cornered note
from his wife, written with much grace and elegance, so far as the
composition was concerned. It was sealed with a dove flying, and
expressed her thanks for my bringing the "sweet remembranser" from her
beloved child, and so on, expecting to see me the next day at the Oaks.

The surprising part of the note was, that the writing was scrawled, and
the words misspelt in a manner that would have disgraced the youngest
member of a town-school in Weston. She had "grate" pleasure, and spoke
of my "truble" in a way that made me feel as if I should see a child.

The next day brought Mr. Remington himself, fresh and handsome as ever,
saying that a carriage was waiting, and his tulips were at their best,
and the ladies expecting to see us,--adding, with an informality which I
had not associated with New York, that the day was all planned out for
us,--tulips and lunch at the Oaks, Hoboken in the afternoon.

That was a white day, and one long to be remembered. First of all, for
Hoboken, which, whatever it may be now, was then a spot full of
picturesque beauty and sweet retirement, relieving and contrasting the
roar and tumult of the city; second, for the tulips, which were the most
glorious things I ever saw, and still remain the pattern of exceeding
beauty, though I have since seen wealth of floral splendor, but none
that came up to the Royal Adelaide,--nothing so queenly and so noble as
the large white cup, fit for Hebe to bear and the gods to drink out of,
and holding at least a pint within the snowy radiance of its ample brim.
I did not wonder Mr. Remington had a passion for tulips. He flitted
about among his brilliant brigade like a happy butterfly, rejoicing in
our delight and exulting in our surprise like a pleased child.

"And is each of these different?"

"Not a duplicate among them. Fifteen hundred varieties."

If he had said fifteen thousand, it would not have added to my
astonishment. To be sure, no king was ever arrayed like one of these.
And fifteen hundred! each gorgeous enough for a king's ransom! It took
my breath away to look at the far-reaching parterre of nodding glories,
moved by the breath of the south-wind.

"I am satisfied. I see you are sufficiently impressed with my tulips,
Mrs. Prince," said Mr. Remington, gleefully, "and I shall send you no
end of bulbs for your Weston garden."

Mr. Remington had taken us directly to the garden on our arrival, and
now led the way,