“I’m sorry I can’t let you have any, but the laws of the state forbid the sale of liquor to females,” said the salesman. My mortification may be imagined! On my explaining that the brandy was wanted, not for “reveling,” but for covering preserves, he kindly sold me some alcohol, declaring it to be “just as good” for my purpose. Shortly afterward, my purse disappeared, and by the advice of friends I had the loss proclaimed by the town crier—a quaint old figure with his long beard and prehistoric hat. He alternately rang an immense bell and “cried” the lost article. His fee was a modest one, but I never recovered the purse. Was he recommended to me as a joke? Summers at Lawton’s Valley were always delightful, but we especially enjoyed them when Aunt Louisa Crawford brought her children to stay at a neighboring farm-house. Marion Crawford, the novelist, was about two years old when they first came. With his three elder sisters, Annie, Jennie, and Mimoli, we had many merry times. Wading in the valley brook was a favorite pastime. As the stones were very slippery, we frequently fell down, and then appeared at the valley home a dripping crowd of little girls. As the farm where the Crawfords lived was some little distance away, our mother felt it to be her duty to provide raiment for her nieces as well as for her own children. She found these double drafts upon our wardrobe rather trying. Annie, the eldest daughter, was full of talent. We were inseparable companions and had a studio where we painted dolls and sets of jewelry—all on paper. When she grew older she painted lovely designs in flowers. She also published anonymously at least one volume of stories which possessed merit. She had quite as much talent as her brother Marion, but lacked his power of application. Her Prussian Junker husband, Baron von Rabe, considered any literary activities as _infra dig._ for his wife. My aunt had the unspeakable sorrow of losing her second daughter, Jennie, when the latter was a young and lovely girl of nineteen. Mimoli, the third daughter, became the wife of Hugh Fraser, of the English diplomatic service. She is well known as a writer and is a woman of much personal charm. One of her sons and one of Marion Crawford’s have been killed in the present war. According to family tradition I may claim the honor of inventing “Yellers’ Day.” The observance of the day flourished in full vigor only during our sojourn at Lawton’s Valley. We were accustomed to celebrate it on top of the hill behind the house, whence we had a view of Narragansett Bay. Our elders did not join us, but wisely permitted our activities. Hence “Yellers’ Day,” having no flavor of forbidden fruit, fell gradually into innocuous desuetude. The celebration described in the following letter has a melancholy interest as being in all probability the last of its kind. _August 3, 1860._