At times the conversation would turn upon ancient history, and I remember on one occasion he asked Edward and me if we could give him the names of the first Roman triumvirate. At this period of our existence the name "Caesar" was associated exclusively with an old colored man whom we often visited and who lived upon a lonely road which is still called "Caesar's Lane." We were vastly astonished, therefore, to learn that the name had ever been borne by any more illustrious personage than our dusky friend. But we listened, entranced, while the doctor told of the rivalries and conflicts of those two great generals, Caesar and Pompey, for the empire of the world. He could not remember the name of the third triumvir, and it troubled him greatly. That night, about two o'clock, I was startled by a loud knock at my bedroom door, and Dr. Cox called out, "Mary, are you awake?" I replied that I was--as, indeed, was every one else in the house by that time. "It's Crassus," he said, then returned to his room greatly relieved that he had finally recalled the name. Edward and I never forgot our first lesson in Roman History. This learned clergyman was often very absent-minded. During one of his visits to us he had been for a drive with his wife and our mother. On their return he stopped at the horse-block, near where Edward and I were playing, threw down the reins, and, engrossed in some train of thought, walked into the house, utterly forgetful of the ladies on the back seat. They, very much amused, continued their conversation and waited to see if he would remember them. Finally, however, as he did not reappear, Edward was called to assist them from the carriage and unharness the horse. Some time afterward the doctor rushed out of the front door and around the house, having just remembered where he left the companions of his drive. The first school Edward and I attended was a private one for boys and girls kept by our eldest brother Alfred, in the village of Canterbury, two miles distant from our home. We trudged over the hills together on pleasant days and drove over when the weather was stormy. I well remember the abnormal interest we felt in the health of an aunt of ours who lived near the school and who had some fine fruit trees on her place. After our inquiries in regard to her welfare had been answered she was sure to invite us to examine the ground beneath those trees, while the merry twinkle in her eyes showed appreciation of the fact that our devotion to her was not altogether disinterested. Of my brother's later school and college days, the Rev. A. Moss Merwin, now of Pasadena, California, writes:--