Among the clever and agreeable women who came to No. 13 Chestnut Street were two daughters of the Rev. Mr. Greenwood—Mrs. James Lodge and Mrs. William Howe. A third was Mrs. Charles Homans, daughter of our opposite neighbor, Rev. Samuel K. Lothrop. A handsome woman to the end of her days, she was then young, albeit her hair was turning gray. In the ’Sixties Boston observed New Year’s Day as a fitting time to take account of stock. A few people followed the custom, then prevalent in New York, of receiving callers. Our mother, remembering the customs of her youth, was one of the first to do this, inviting a number of gentlemen to call. Mrs. Homans helped us receive one New Year’s Day, adding to the pleasure of the occasion by her presence and conversation. Although she and my mother took opposite views of the suffrage question, they always maintained a cordial friendship. Mrs. Homans was active in public work of a charitable nature, interesting herself especially in prisoners. Sister Julia and I enjoyed the intellectual society of our elders, yet we also had friends of our own age. Among these were two young men of promise, William Washburn and William James, well known later as the psychologist. The latter was a most genial and delightful person. When the question came up, possibly apropos of the Mormons, of the propriety of polygamy, he was inclined to think it might be a good thing to have more than one wife. I suggested that from the woman’s side of the question it would _not_ be desirable. When he returned from Brazil he told us that the inhabitants beckoned with the whole hand, instead of with extended forefinger, as was then the custom in America. Finding it difficult to make out prices, he confidingly extended a handful of silver, allowing the Brazilians to pick out the proper amount. William Washburn, who was a friend of William James, wrote a book of stories about Harvard, but did not make literature his profession. Henry James the younger, as he then was, came to see us occasionally, but we never knew him well. The coldness of his temperament was in strong contrast to the warmth and geniality of his brother’s. He was then pale, and looked, as I thought, like the great Napoleon. I believe that he was not in good health at that time, and possibly he was shy. Great was our surprise when he declared that some one was a hog. Who this selfish person was I cannot remember, but Henry James was ordinarily so calm that this forcible denunciation was startling. At a later period my mother grew to know him better and had real affection for him. We knew also the two younger brothers, Wilkie and Robertson, who were pleasant fellows. Both fought in the Civil War, Wilkie being badly wounded.