We had a very merry time talking over the incidents of the convention, Boston proprieties, and the general situation.

As I gave them many early reminiscences, they asked if I had kept a diary.

"No," I said, "not a pen scratch of the past have I except what might be gathered from many family letters." They urged me to begin a diary at once; so I promised I would on my coming birthday.
My great grief that day was that we were putting in a new range, and had made no preparations for dinner.

This completely upset the presiding genius of my culinary department, as she could not give us the bounteous feast she knew was expected on such occasions.

I, as usual, when there was any lack in the viands, tried to be as brilliant as possible in conversation; discussing Nirvana, Karma, reincarnation, and thus turning attention from the evanescent things of earth to the joys of a life to come,--not an easy feat to perform with strong-minded women,--but, in parting, they seemed happy and refreshed, and all promised to come again.
But we shall never meet there again, as the old, familiar oaks and the majestic chestnut trees have passed into other hands.