Another relative, who wanted him to speak at her house, for a reduced price, did not secure him. She wished, after the fashion of women, to give her guests a real treat—ice-cream and flowers as well as an address from Crawford—cutting down his fee to pay for the rest of the entertainment. I regret to say that her point of view is quite common among clubwomen. The secretary will naïvely ask you to come for a low price because the ladies wish to give ice-cream to their guests. It does not seem to occur to them that in this case it is the lecturer who pays for the refreshments! It is—or was, for we will hope the bad custom is dying away—common for clubs to exact, whenever they can, cut prices from their women speakers, on the plea of their small means—and then end up the year with some very expensive man whose fee is _not_ subject to curtailment. After my mother reached the age of seventy her birthday was always celebrated by family and friends as a joyous occasion. The house was transformed into a veritable bower of flowers, the fitting expression of the beautiful affection by which she was surrounded. A lady from the West was invited, with her son, to one of these receptions. She endeavored to impress upon him, beforehand, the importance of the occasion when “we shall see all the _élite_ of Boston.” The day was rainy, and in the confusion of many umbrellas, that of the Western couple was mislaid. “Ah, mother, the _élite_ got the better of us that time!” said her son. In 1893 we all greatly enjoyed the Chicago World’s Fair, in spite of the fact that I had my pocket picked and that my oldest son had a very serious time with his eyes, which were half-blinded by the glare. My mother was so deeply interested in it, and especially in the parliaments connected with it, that she forgot about her lame knee. When she returned home this took its revenge, depressing her usually buoyant spirits. Sister Maud, remembering our mother’s perennial interest in women’s clubs, invented the “Papeterie” as a restorative. Its object, as the name implies, was an exchange of paper-covered novels. The members took these home to read, giving a report at the following meeting. We occasionally had musical, artistic, and dramatic programs. Our most serious undertaking was the writing of a novel, to which each member contributed a chapter. It was full of dash and adventure, but remains buried in the archives of the club. Our great modesty forbade the seeking of a publisher. We had a great deal of delightful fun and nonsense at our meetings. Our mother, with her wit and gaiety, was the moving spirit of the little club. She seldom missed a meeting, but when she did we were like salt that has lost its savor. The merriment which came so easily in her presence, faded and died away!