“My dearest Mamma,” he wrote me in one of the splendid epistolary efforts of his earliest years, “I am sorry that I have not had time to write to you before. I have been so occupied with the presidential election. The boys in my school knock me down and jump on me because they want me to go Democrat. But I am still a strong Republican. I send you a great many hugs and kisses. “Your obedient and humble son and servant, “VIVIAN.” He was given to inventing picturesque terminations to his letters, and he seemed particularly pleased with the idea of being my humble or obedient son and servant. The picture the letter brought to my mind of a flushed and tumbled but stanch little Republican engaged in a sort of kindergarten political tussle with equally flushed and tumbled little Democrats wore an extremely American aspect. Figuratively speaking, he plunged into the thick of the electioneering fray. He engaged in political argument upon all available occasions. Fortunately for his peace of mind, Carrie and Dan favored the Republican party. Dan took him to see Republican torchlight processions, and held him upon his shoulders while he waved his small hat, his hair flying about his glowing face while he shouted himself hoarse. No unworthy party cry of “’Rah for Hancock!” went unanswered by the clarion response. At the sound of such a cry in the street the nursery windows flew open with a bang, and two ecstatic Republicans (himself and brother) almost precipitated themselves into space, shouting “’Rah for Garfield!” Without such precautions he felt his party would be lost. I think he was six when he discovered that he was a supporter of the movement in favor of female suffrage. It was rather a surprise to us when this revealed itself, but his reasons were of such a serious and definite nature that they were arguments not to be refuted. [Illustration: “ARE YOU IN SOCIETY, MRS. WILKINS?”] When he gave them he was leaning against a window-ledge in a room in a seaside home, his hands in his red sash, his countenance charming with animation. “I believe they ought to be allowed to vote if they like it,” he said, “’cause what should we do if there were no ladies? Nobody would have any mothers or any wives.” “That is true,” his maternal audience encouraged him by saying. “The situation would be serious.” “And nobody could grow up,” he proceeded. “When any one’s a baby, you know, he hasn’t any teeth, and he can’t eat bread and things. And if there were no ladies to take care of him when he was very first born he’d die. I think people ought to let them vote if they want to.” This really seemed so to go to the root of things that the question appeared disposed of. One laughed and laughed at him. All his prettiness was quaint, and so innocent that its unconsciousness made one smile. Only sometimes—quite often—while one was smiling one was queerly touched and stirred.