octor was very temperate in everything except tea, which he drank
in the green variety, in strong and copious libations. Indeed, he had no
need of wine or other alcoholic stimulants, his temperament being almost
incandescent. Overflowing as he was with geniality, he yet accommodated
himself easily to the requirements of a sick room, and showed himself
tender, vigilant, and most sympathetic. He attended many people who
could not, and some who would not, pay for his visits. One of these
last, having been brought by him through an attack of cholera, was so
much impressed with the kindness and skill of the doctor that he at once
and for the first time sent him a check in recognition of services that
money could not repay.

After many years of residence with us, my uncle and aunt Francis
removed, first to lodgings, and later to a house of their own. Here my
aunt busied herself much with the needs of rich and poor. Ladies often
came to her seeking good servants, her recommendation being considered
an all-sufficient security. Women out of place came to her seeking
employment, which she often found for them. These acts of kindness,
often involving a considerable expenditure of time and trouble, the dear
lady performed with no thought of recompense other than the assurance
that she had been helpful to those who needed her assistance in manifold
ways. In her new abode Auntie lived with careful economy, dispensing her
simple hospitality with a generous hand. She was famous among her
friends for delicious coffee and for excellent tea, which she always
made herself, on the table.

She sometimes invited friends for an evening party, but made it a point
to invite those who were not her favorites for a separate occasion, not
wishing to dilute her enjoyment of the chosen few, and, on the other
hand, desiring not to hurt the feelings of any of her acquaintance by
wholly leaving them out. When Edgar Allan Poe first became known in New
York, Dr. Francis invited him to the house. It was on one of Auntie's
good evenings, and her room was filled with company. The poet arrived
just at a moment when the doctor was obliged to answer the call of a
patient. He accordingly opened the parlor door, and pushed Mr. Poe into
the room, saying, "Eliza, my dear, the Raven!" after which he
immediately withdrew. Auntie had not heard of the poem, and was entirely
at a loss to understand this introduction of the new-comer.

It was always a pleasure to welcom