the little sculptress, Vinnie Ream. She is
at Washington, and writes me that she has sold her bust of dear uncle
to the Cornell University. I have not seen the bust since it was put
into marble, but when I saw it in clay at her New York studio two years
ago, I considered it a spirited and excellent likeness. Vinnie is full
of the high courage that never deserts her through all of her trials
from public and private criticism, and she has my best wishes for a
bright and successful future.

_September 28_.

Two arrivals by the morning train: Mrs. Gibbons, a friend of many years
of dear uncle, Aunt Mary, and mamma, and a lady at whose hospitable
residence uncle often found a pleasant home, when his family were
absent, and Lucy White, an intimate friend of Ida and myself.

Miss White has just returned from a three months' visit to Europe, and
she gave us a very lively account of her gay season in London, and her
visit to Paris. I was glad to learn from her that my favorite Italian
and Spanish pictures again occupied their accustomed places in the
_Salon Carre_ at the Louvre, and that the diadem mode of dressing the
hair, so becoming to my tiny figure, was by no means out of style in
Paris, but was, on the contrary, more fashionable than ever.

_September 30_.

A letter this morning from Katie Sinclair. I rejoice to learn that her
health is improving, for, when we visited her some weeks ago, her
cheeks were almost as white as the pillows upon which they rested.

We were disappointed that we could not hear Katie sing that day, for we
had anticipated quite a little musical matinee; but her sister Mary,
who is an enthusiastic pianoforte student, made amends by playing with
much taste and expression, a dreamy "Melody," by Rubenstein.

CHAPTER XXIV.

"All that's Bright must Fade"--Departures--Preparing the House for the
Winter--Page's Portrait of Pickie--Packing up--Studious Habits of the
Domestics--The Cook and her Admirers--Adieu to Chappaqua.

_October 1_.

"All that's bright must fade."

This long, delightful summer is now over, and the time approaches for
us to return to the din and whirl of city life.

Miss Worthington left us this morning to return to her beautiful
Southern home, and Gabrielle, too, has gone back to the quiet of her
convent school, guided by the Protestant Sisters of St. Mary.

Ida is busily counting, and packing away the dainty china and silver,
suggestive of so many pleasa