Tytler's "Days of Yore," and "The Holy and Profane
State," by Thomas Fuller, from which Kate gets so much entertainment and
profit. We read Mr. Emerson's essays together, out of doors, and some
stories which had been our dear friends at school, like "Leslie
Goldthwaite." There was a very good library in the house, and we both
like old books, so we enjoyed that. And we used to read the Spectator,
and many old-fashioned stories and essays and sermons, with much more
pleasure because they had such quaint old brown leather bindings. You
will not doubt that we had some cherished volumes of poetry, or that we
used to read them aloud to each other when we sat in our favorite corner
of the rocks at the shore, or were in the pine woods of an afternoon.

We used to go out to tea, and do a great deal of social visiting, which
was very pleasant. Dinner-parties were not in fashion, though it was a
great attention to be asked to spend the day, which courtesy we used to
delight in extending to our friends; and we entertained company in that
way often. When we first went out we were somewhat interesting on
account of our clothes, which were of later pattern than had been
adopted generally in Deephaven. We used to take great pleasure in
arraying ourselves on high days and holidays, since when we went
wandering on shore, or out sailing or rowing, we did not always dress as
befitted our position in the town. Fish-scales and blackberry-briers so
soon disfigure one's clothes.

We became in the course of time learned in all manner of 'longshore
lore, and even profitably employed ourselves one morning in going
clam-digging with old Ben Horn, a most fascinating ancient mariner. We
both grew so well and brown and strong, and Kate and I did not get tired
of each other at all, which I think was wonderful, for few friendships
would bear such a test. We were together always, and alone together a
great deal; and we became wonderfully well acquainted. We are such good
friends that we often were silent for a long time, when mere
acquaintances would have felt compelled to talk and try to entertain
each other.

Before we left the leaves had fallen off all the trees except the oaks,
which make in cold weather one of the dreariest sounds one ever hears: a
shivering rustle, which makes one pity the tree and imagine it
shelterless and forlorn. The sea had looked rough and cold for many
days, and the old house itself had grown chilly,--all the world seemed