One day, I remember, a very wise and learned man came to Green Peace to see our mother,--a man of high reputation, and withal a valued friend. He was fond of children, and took Maud on his knee, meaning to have a pleasant chat with her. But Maud fixed her great gray eyes on him, and surveyed him with an air of keen and hostile criticism. “What makes all those little red lines in your nose?” she asked, after an ominous silence. Mr. H----, somewhat taken aback, explained as well as he could the nature of the veins, and our mother was about to send the child on some suddenly-bethought-of errand, when her clear, melodious voice broke out again, relentless, insistent: “Do you know, I think you are the ugliest man I ever saw in my life!” “That will do, Maud!” said Mr. H----, putting her down from his knee. “You are charming, but you may go now, my dear.” Then he and our mother both tried to become very much interested in metaphysics; and next day he went and asked a mutual friend if he were really the ugliest man that ever was seen, telling her what Maud had said. Again, there was a certain acquaintance--long since dead--who was in the habit of making interminable calls at Green Peace, and who would talk by the hour together without pausing. Our parents were often wearied by this gentleman’s conversational powers, and one of them (let this be a warning to young and old) chanced one day to speak of him in Maud’s hearing as “a great bore.” This was enough! The next time the unlucky talker appeared, the child ran up to him, and greeted him cordially with, “How do you do, bore? Oh, you great bore!” A quick-witted friend who was in the room instantly asked Mr. S---- if he had seen the copy of Snyder’s “Boar Hunt” which our father had lately bought, thinking it better that he should fancy himself addressed as a beast of the forest than as _Borus humanus_; but he kept his own counsel, and we never knew what he really thought of Maud’s greeting. But of all visitors at either house, there was one whom we loved more than all others put together. Marked with a white stone was the happy day which brought the wonderful uncle, the fairy godfather, the realization of all that is delightful in man, to Green Peace or the Valley. Uncle Sam Ward!--uncle by adoption to half the young people he knew, but our very own uncle, our mother’s beloved brother. We might have said to him, with Shelley,-- “Rarely, rarely comest thou, Spirit of delight!”