My mother's only brother, John, was once kicked on the head by a favorite horse, which the blacksmith did not dare to shoe, and which his young master once rashly attempted to handle for the purpose. Uncle John was carried into the hotel unconscious, where he lay all night in that condition. About twelve o'clock that night his sister, Aunt Elizabeth (Mrs. Higgins), at home, about thirty miles distant, both heard and saw him walk across her room, groaning in pain. As he did not answer when she spoke to him, she supposed he had not heard her, and she went into her grandfather's room; who, speaking first before she could do so, said, "What's the matter with John? He has walked past my door several times, holding his hand to his head, and looked into my room; but when I spoke, he went away without answering me." The next morning word came that he was lying, dangerously injured, at the hotel. His father went immediately to him, but found him unconscious and unable to speak. He eventually recovered, and declared that he had been at home with the family during the night of his injury. His grandfather, John C. Smith, my great-grandfather, English by birth, was the one who saved me when lost in the woods. (See the curious story related on a future page.) I think he was the very noblest and grandest man I have ever known. He was of unusual stature and strength, of the sweetest temper and character, as well as of superior intellect. MR. COOK'S DEATH. A party consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Emerson, Mr. Cook--an English gentleman and a partner and intimate friend of Mr. Emerson--mother, her sister Catharine, Ann Emerson and myself (we were little girls at that time), drove to the "Sand Hill burying-ground" to visit the graves of our loved ones. Mr. Cook and my aunt rode in his carriage, while the rest of us rode in the family carriage. They arrived a little before we did, and walked to Mr. E's. plot, where stooping he pulled up a flower and, tossing it at my beautiful Aunt Catharine, said, "I wonder who will lie here next?" After remaining a while we drove home, in Clinton Street, Rochester, where the nurse was standing with the babe Georgie in her arms. (George was an uncommonly lovely boy, named after Mr. Cook.) When taking the child in his arms Mr. Cook said, "O thou angel boy! I must not neglect to will thee thy dower." He remained with us through the evening and bade us good-night. His house was nearly a mile away. I retired with mother and her sister. I slept in a trundle-bed drawn from under their large bed. Our family was then boarding there, father being absent from home much of the time. It was my habit to study my lessons in bed before going to sleep, in which way I was sure to remember them in the morning; and as there was to be a school exhibition next day, it was late before I put out the candle, when mother gave a fearful scream which brought every one to inquire the cause. At first she declined to