He took his seat in full view, watching, alternately, the officiating clergyman, the bride and groom, and guests, as if to say: "What does all this mean ?" No one behaved with more propriety and no one looked more radiant than he, with a ray of sunlight on his beautiful coat of long hair, his bright brass collar, and his wonderful head.

Bruno did not live to see the old home broken up, but sleeps peacefully there, under the chestnut trees, and fills a large place in many of our pleasant memories.
On November 12, 1880, I was sixty-five years old, and, pursuant to my promise, I then began my diary.

It was a bright, sunny day, but the frost king was at work; all my grand old trees, that stood like sentinels, to mark the boundary of my domain, were stripped of their foliage, and their brilliant colors had faded into a uniform brown; but the evergreens and the tall, prim cedars held their own, and, when covered with snow, their exquisite beauty brought tears to my eyes.

One need never be lonely mid beautiful trees.
My thoughts were with my absent children--Harriot in France, Theodore in Germany, Margaret with her husband and brother Gerrit, halfway across the continent, and Bob still in college.

I spent the day writing letters and walking up and down the piazza, and enjoyed, from my windows, a glorious sunset.