s
perhaps the only amateur in New York society whose voice equals
Carlotta Patti's in extent, and the ease with which her flute-like
tones reach G in alt. Her voice has been carefully trained by many of
the great New York masters, and has also had the advantage of Paris
instruction. Therefore we may congratulate ourselves that we possess
in private life, one who would make so admirable a prima donna.

_September 6_.

My journal, about which I am usually so conscientious, has been
neglected for nearly a week, for we have had a succession of visitors,
and my time has been entirely taken up with drives, games of croquet,
and starlight walks.

On Saturday, several friends came up with papa in the morning train;
some merely to pass the day, and others to make a longer stay with us.
Mr. James Parton, the well-known author, had not visited dear Chappaqua
in twenty years, and was desirous of seeing the changes that time had
effected in this lovely spot. Others, too, were visiting us for the
first time, and preferred to see the wild, picturesque beauties of the
place, rather than to drive, ride, or play croquet; consequently the
company soon divided. One party strolled off through the woods, and
followed the course of the brook up to our tiny cascade--now, however,
swollen by the heavy rains we have recently had into quite a noisy and
impetuous waterfall, while others who had earlier in the season spent
long mornings with us under the pines and beneath the oaks on the
side-hill, now enrolled themselves in Gabrielle's regiment, confident
that she would lead them to a glorious victory on the field of croquet.

We did not assemble again until our two o'clock dinner, and as soon as
that meal was over, we started upon the long-contemplated picnic to Rye
Lake. A large six-seated carriage and a pair of stout horses had been
hired, and Ida's own phaeton and ponies were also at the door to convey
our party to that most romantic sheet of water.

Every seat in the two conveyances was occupied, and all the available
corners were filled with tightly packed baskets, containing charcoal
and pine-cones to kindle a fire upon the smooth beach, tea-kettles and
teapots, table linen, dishes and provisions. The drive was one of the
most delightful that we have yet had, and was heightened by the dreamy
haze of autumn, that is now faintly perceptible.

The lake is private property, and picnics are frowned upon; however,
the most attracti