airy irregularity seems to characterize the whole. At the foot of the garden there was a summer house, and a row of tall poplar trees which hid every thing beyond from the sight, and formed a kind of walk. I arrived there and to my astonishment found thro’ the opening of the trees that there was a beautiful terrace the whole width of the garden; ’twas twenty feet from the street, and gravelled on the top, with a white balustrade round; ’twas almost level, and the poplar trees so close that we could only occasionally catch a glimpse of the house. The moon shone full upon it, and I really think this side is the most beautiful, tho’ ’tis the back one. A large dome swells quite to the chamber-windows and is railed round on top and forms a delightful walk,—the magnificent pillars which support it fill the mind with pleasure. We returned into the house; and on passing the mirrors I involuntarily started back at seeing so much company in the other room. We entered the drawing-room which is superb, furnished with blue and wood color. There was the Grand Piano, the most charming Instrument I ever heard. Mr. and Mrs. Derby, Mr. Hasket D., Frank Coffin and myself were the party, and I was requested to play, and took my seat at the Instrument, and had just begun playing, when a slight noise in the entry made me turn my head. A gentleman entered and was introduced as Mr. Grey; made a most graceful bow, took his seat, and I resumed my playing. We rose to depart, and Mr. G. accompanied us home. I was delighted with his conversation, which was sensible, unassuming, and agreeable. I scarcely saw his face, as there was no light. Thursday at home all day. In the evening walked in the garden. The evening was uncommonly fine. The moon shines brighter in Salem than anywhere else; here too is an elegant garden, full of fruit trees, the walks kept as nice as possible, and shaded on each side by plum trees; very handsome summer house where we sat an hour or two. Rambled in the garden all the evening, which was the finest I ever saw, so very light, that, as Shakespeare says, “’twas but the daylight sick, only a little paler.” There is something in a fine moonlight evening exquisitely soothing to the soul. I have felt as if I could melt away with the exquisite enthusiasm of my sensations. We were called into the house and found Mrs. West, a sister of Mrs. Derby’s; but more of her by-and-bye. Friday Dr. Coffin arrived, and Dr. Lathrop and Hasket Derby dined with us and set out for Boston. The following letter, written by Martha Coffin, Eliza’s most intimate friend, and descriptive of a visit that she paid to Salem, will be found of interest. June 29, 1800. My dear Ellen: