The night before New Year’s day was spent in her apartment with great hilarity. Enlivened by music, singing, dancing and story-telling, the hours glided swiftly away. Miss Lind asked me if I would dance with her. I told her my education had been neglected in that line, and that I had never danced in my life, “That is all the better,” said she; “now dance with me in a cotillion. I am sure you can do it.” She was a beautiful dancer, and I never saw her laugh more heartily than she did at my awkwardness. She said she would give me the credit of being the poorest dancer she ever saw! About a quarter before twelve, Jenny suddenly checked Mr. Burke,--formerly celebrated as the musical prodigy, “Master Burke,”--who was playing on the piano, by saying, “Pray let us have quiet; do you see, in fifteen minutes more, this year will be gone forever!” She immediately took a seat, and rested her head upon her hand in silence. We all sat down, and for a quarter of an hour the most profound quiet reigned in the apartment. The remainder of the scene I transcribe from a description written the next day by Mrs. Lyman, who was present on the occasion: “The clock of a neighboring church struck the knell of the dying year. All were silent--each heart was left to its own communings, and the bowed head and tearful eye told that memory was busy with the Past. It was a brief moment, but thoughts and feelings were crowded into it, which render it one never to be forgotten. A moment more--the last stroke of the clock had fallen upon the ear--the last faint vibration ceased; another period of time had passed forever away--a new one had dawned, in which each felt that they were to live and act. This thought recalled them to a full consciousness of the present, and all arose and quietly, but cordially, presented to each other the kind wishes of the season. As the lovely hostess pressed the hands of her guests, it was evident that she, too, had wept,--she, the gifted, the admired, the almost idolized one. Had she, too, cause for tears? Whence were they?--from the overflowings of a grateful heart, from tender associations, or from sad remembrances? None knew, none could ask, though they awakened deep and peculiar sympathy. And from one heart, at least, arose the prayer, that when the dial of time should mark the last hour of her earthly existence, she should greet its approach with joy and not with grief--that to her soul spirit-voices might whisper, ‘Come, sweet sister! come to the realms of unfading light and love--come, join your seraphic tones with ours, in singing the praises of Him who loved us, and gave himself for us’--while she, with meekly-folded hands and faith-uplifted eye, should answer, ‘Yes, gladly and without fear I come, for I know that my Redeemer liveth.’”