oftenest returning, however, to Aunt Mary's life here in the woods with her little children. A lonely, comfortless life many women would have deemed it, so entirely shut in as she was from the outer world; and to any one less self-reliant and self-sustained than Aunt Mary it would have been so. For that there were discomforts in her country life I do not doubt, although they were much lessened by uncle's easy circumstances; and the house itself was finished off with all the city improvements and conveniences practicable to introduce into a building of its size and situation. Still, the house was distant from good markets, and the trees encircled it so closely that the sun's rays did not penetrate the rooms until ten o'clock; but Aunt Mary loved her trees as though they were human, and at that time would not allow one to be cut down, notwithstanding the dampness that they created. An idle woman would have regretted the distance at which the house stood from the public road, as no distraction ensued from looking out of the windows; and a timid or nervous one would have dreaded the long nights in that solitary house when uncle was in the city or absent upon lecturing tours, and no neighbor was within calling distance in case of danger. Occasionally, too, Aunt Mary would be left without servants, for all American ladies know how difficult it is to retain them in the country, especially in so small and lonely a place as Chappaqua was then, and although she frequently had some friend making her long visits of months, still there were days when she would be alone with only the sad memory of her buried darlings, her splendid Pickie, the pride and hope of both parents, and sweet little Mary Inez, and her two living children, too young to be very companionable. Raphael, mamma says, was a beautiful boy, although not perhaps so noticeable as Pickie, for he had not his brilliant color, and his hair, too, was not so dazzling in shade, but very much like his father's. His features, however, were quite as finely cut as those of his much admired brother, and his temperament was gentle and loving. Ida cherishes very tender memories of him, for he was the only brother whom she knew, and her constant playfellow before Gabrielle's birth. There were seven years difference in the ages of the brothers. Pickie died at five, of cholera; and Raffie at seven years old, of croup.