much at our house and went with my mother to the meetings of the Town and Country Club, a literary association of her founding, which under her guidance flourished for some score of years. During the season of 1875 my mother and I passed some gay weeks in Washington. We stayed at Wormley’s, hard by the lodgings of Uncle Sam Ward, who now brought me, instead of sugar plums and playthings, visitors and invitations; he was _persona grata_ wherever good company was at a premium, and very popular in the capital. These were the palmy days of Washington society, before it grew rich and formal. Cosmopolitan as it always had been, it then had the cordial, informal flavor of a Southern city. The ladies of the Cabinet were at home on Wednesday afternoons, when everybody was free to call. Mrs. Hamilton Fish, wife of the Secretary of State, was most punctilious about returning all visits in person. One afternoon her carriage stopped before a humble house whose door was opened by a woman straight from the washtub, her sleeves rolled up, her arms wet with soapsuds. Mrs. Fish recognized in the washerwoman a person who had called on one of her reception days. At sight of the great lady in her carriage, the working woman burst into tears. “If you did not wish me to call upon you, why did you come to see me?” Mrs. Fish asked kindly, and after a brief visit took her departure. Miss Jenny Lowry was among the belles of this season. I had known her brother when he was at Harvard and took a great liking to the beautiful sister, who, with her soft Andalusian eyes, looked like a Murillo Madonna. The house of Senator Frelinghuysen of New Jersey was made attractive by his three daughters, all much liked and admired. There were pleasant Saturday afternoons at Brentwood, the home of Mrs. Carlyle Patterson, and Thursday “At Homes” at Mrs. William Richardson’s; best of all were the historic Sunday evenings at the Loring’s on K Street. The elder Miss Loring was a close student of political history. At the Loring salon one met the leading statesmen and diplomats, many of whom, it was said, consulted Miss Loring with reference to the political events she followed so intelligently. I have grateful memories of a son of the house, Doctor Frank Loring, the oculist, who took my friend Helen Gardner and myself under his wing and introduced us to the young dancing set, in whose company we played happily through several blissful weeks. In reward for all his kindness, we gave him the title of “Mother in Israel” and never spoke of him by any other name.