And Hanny learned that this young man, who was before long to be Emperor of the French, had lived in New York, as well as Louis Philippe. Joe took her down-town to the old Delmonico Restaurant, which was considered quite elegant in its day, and had entertained many famous people. Here, the young fellow who had been the son of a king, and was now an exile, used to dine, and gather about him the flower of the fashionable world, as it was called. And Lorenzo Delmonico, who rarely went into his kitchen now, would go and cook a dinner for this guest, who had the high art of persuasion in an eminent degree, it would seem. Afterward the Prince would entertain the other guests with curious tricks with cards, and conversation. Now his life bid fair to be almost as eventful as his uncle's; and, like him, he was doomed to die an exile on English soil. Joe and Hanny took their dinner in the old place, though now the Delmonicos were fitting up a hotel at the lower end of Broadway which was destined to become quite as famous, and to house many notable people. She was so engrossed with reading and studying that sometimes she hardly found an hour for the babies. She and Daisy, like most very young girls, had a passion for poetry. Mrs. Sigourney they thought rather grave and dry; but Mrs. Hemans, with her soft flowing numbers and beautiful face, was a great favourite. Longfellow was beginning to be appreciated, and several other poets that one saw now and then on Broadway. There were some pathetic poems by a Western writer, Alice Cary, that used to go quite to the little girl's tender heart. She had a wonderful memory for any rhythmic production, and used to say them over to her father. If she didn't sit on his lap,--and her mother had almost laughed her out of it,--she leaned her arms on his knee, or rested her head against his shoulder, while her soft, sweet voice went purling along like,-- "A hidden brook In the leafly month of June." The Dean girls did not care so much for poetry. They wanted stories; and stories and books were beginning to spring up on every hand. Miss Delia Whitney was writing a novel. She had accomplished some successful stories, and had one in "The Ladies' Book," the pretty fashion magazine of the day. Poor deaf Aunt Clem had dropped out of life like a child going to sleep. Aunt Patty kept well and bright. Nora was growing up into a tall girl, and went to Rutger's Institute, though she confessed to Hanny, "She just hated all schools, and wouldn't go a day longer, only it was not quite the thing to grow up an ignoramus." And there was Frederica Bremer, a Swedish novelist, whose "Home or Family Cares and Family Joys" was Hanny's delight. And Irving was ever new and bright. "Salmagundi" always amused her father so much. The recent and delightful stories were the talk of every one.