the northwest corner, as far as possible from the
rest of the household, and sat in a splendid breeze for hours. It was
better than fighting insatiable mosquitoes; so there we sat talking
through the greater part of a night which seemed to have borrowed a few
additional hours for our benefit. We'll have no Leap Year in '64; the
twenty-four extra hours were crowded in on that occasion, I think.

We discussed our favorite books, characters, authors, repeated scraps
here and there of the mock sentimental, talked of how we would one day
like to travel, and where we would go; discussed love and marriage, and
came to the conclusion neither was the jest it was thought to be. (O
wise young women!) Poor Nettie retired in despair, and we two watched
alone for hours longer. The sun must have been arrested by some Joshua
on the road; couldn't make me believe it was doing its duty as usual.
We wandered around the balconies, through the grounds in the dim
starlight (for it was cloudy), and finally, beholding a faint promise
of morning, sat still and waited for the coming of the lazy sun. What
was still more aggravating was that every time we looked in at the
others showed them sleeping peacefully. Miriam lay her full length with
outstretched arms, the picture of repose, looking _so_ comfortable!
When the sun finally made his appearance (he was out on a spree, I
found, for his eyes were not half opened, and he looked dull and heavy
as he peeped from behind his bed curtains), others began to stir, and
in an hour more, we were ready to leave. Those who had slept, came out
with swelled eyes and drowsy looks; while we three, who had been up all
night, were perfectly calm, though _rather_ pale; but I am seldom
otherwise.

Were we not thankful to see home still standing! I did not feel tired
_much_, but somehow, when it struck half-past six, and I found myself
alone here (Miriam having stopped at Mrs. Day's), I suddenly found
myself divested of my flounces, and most other articles, and
involuntarily going towards the bed. I could not sleep, wasn't thinking
of such a thing; meant to--there was an end of my soliloquy! Where I
went, I don't know. As the clock struck eight, I got up as unaccountably,
and discovered I had lost all idea of time in sleep. If it had not been
for the clock, I should have said I had slept a day and a night, and it
was now Thursday morning. A giant refreshed, I rose from my slumbers,
took a hasty cup of coffee, and