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moment. We do hear strange stories of these holiday escapades—races on the sands barefoot, which Mrs. Austin always wins, games of Aunt Sally, and if there is anything worse than Aunt Sally you may be sure it is provided. Clare piously thanks Providence that it is too cold for bathing parties, yet awhile. However, at dinner there was Lizzie sitting opposite to me, and looking radiant, while A. C. discoursed to her quite happily, and I listened sympathetically to the well-informed prosing of her husband. After dinner we had the whole adult society of Green Street, and every man who could pass the census, young or old, was brought into Clare’s conscription from highways and byways, besides several imported direct from town. The little party seemed to go off as well as could be expected on the whole, and we had music and conversation, and strawberries and cream, and some of Mrs. Mead’s most ethereal coffee—the sort of coffee they used to have in the ‘Arabian Nights;’ and altogether it was rather a successful little party.

“At one end of the little hall there is a three-cornered den which is used generally for the children’s books, and spades, etc. Mead (who understands these things) had judiciously arranged this corner with a shaded lamp, a screen,