Uniforms are always attractive to young women. When worn by handsome young foreigners the charm is doubled. My special partner, being in the engineering department, wore silver instead of gold decorations. He was nicknamed “Cranberry Cheeks” by the family. As neither of us could speak the language of the other, our conversation was carried on entirely in French. Now my education in this language at school had not dwelt especially on the sentimental side, so that the explanation of words was occasionally necessary. However, I always succeeded in grasping the idea. We were very sad when the Russian fleet sailed, taking away all our delightful friends. Among the pleasant entertainments of the ’Sixties were those given by the Brain Club, as it was popularly called. My mother’s position in it might fitly be described as “Queen of the Revels,” for she devised and helped carry out many of the programs. We of the younger generation were allowed to attend some of the meetings. William Hunt, the artist, took part in a most ridiculous burlesque of a tourney, where he and his competitor, Hamilton Wilde, mounted on pasteboard hobbyhorses, engaged in a deadly encounter, prancing meanwhile about the drawing-room. Mrs. Charles Homans, as the Queen of Love and Beauty, wore a wonderful wig made of raveled tow. Mr. Hunt, being overthrown, toppled over, pretending to be mortally wounded, and a leech was summoned to prescribe for him. Mr. Jere Abbott, wearing a long false nose, took this part admirably, making many absurd inquiries of the patient: “Have any of your wife’s family suffered from this disease?” etc. Another burlesque was that of the trio in the opera of “Lucrezia Borgia.” Mr. Otto Dresel played the air on the piano, while my mother enacted the title rôle. Hamilton Wilde represented her son, Gennaro, while the Duke’s part was taken by William Hunt, if I remember aright. All three joined hands in a line, keeping time to the music with exaggerated operatic motions. Mr. Wilde indicated his sufferings from poison, before the arrival of the antidote. It was extremely funny. At our house in Chestnut Street the Brain Club was entertained by two charades written by my mother, “Pandemonium” and “Catastrophe.” For “Cat” a scene was adapted from the classic but terrible story of Atreus and Thyestes. The unfortunate owner of the animal has it served up to her in a pie. After she has eaten it the dreadful nature of the pasty is revealed to her! For “Ass” the second syllable, we acted the scene from “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” where Titania makes love to Bottom. Mr. James C. Davis took the latter part, wearing an ass’s head borrowed from the theater, while I took that of the Fairy Queen. My mother was always proud of our small accomplishments. Her journal says that Flossy looked beautiful. Doubtless I did—to her maternal eyes.