to banish
from my mind--that the day of our departure from dear Chappaqua is at
hand. This fact was brought home to me in a very practical manner by
the arrival of our immense French trunks from the side-hill house,
where they have been stored this summer, and the necessity of packing
them, coupled with an intimation from mamma that it would be as well to
put my books and music in the bottom, and my dresses in the top of my
trunk. I am somewhat of a novice in packing, for during the
preparations for our eight ocean voyages that duty never once fell to
my lot; however I flatter myself that such _very_ elementary
instructions were not necessary.

Quite tenderly I took down from the shelves the books that I had
brought from New York for summer reading, for mingled with every page
was some pleasant association. One chapter in Kohlrausch's "Germany"
seemed still to retain the faint perfume of the pale primroses that I
gathered in the meadow that day to mark my stopping-place, and my
little volume of Voltaire's "Charles Douze" recalled an interesting
argument upon the relative claims to greatness of that hero, and my
hero par excellence, the first Napoleon.

My ponderous volumes of Plato brought before my mind Arthur's reading,
and the life with which he invested the words of these old-time
philosophers that had so keen an interest for him; while Madame de
Stael's "Allemagne," and my little copy of Ehlert's "Letters on Music"
were associated with almost every hour of the day. They had lain upon
my writing-table the entire summer, and it was my habit whenever I laid
down my pen for a moment to take up one book or the other, and glance
at a page of Ehlert's criticisms upon opera, symphony, or song, or
Madame de Stael's profound essays upon art, morals, and politics.

This long summer has been one of great sweetness and content to us all.
A tinge of sadness has, it is true, been mingled with our daily life,
but we have felt the spiritual presence of our loved ones always near
us, urging and encouraging us to persevere and fit ourselves to join
them hereafter. With this feeling we have worked constantly and
closely, and our record of improvement has been somewhat
satisfactory--to ourselves at least. We have gone through the weighty
volumes that we had given ourselves as summer tasks; we have written
and practised; and, although Minna constantly exclaims upon our close
attention to study, a desire for improvement has ext