This morning, after breakfast, I sallied out with six children to take a most charming walk, scramble, climb, etc.  We put on our worst old duds, tuck up our skirts June 27, knee-high, and have a regular good time of it.  If you were awake so early as eight o’clock—­I don’t believe you were! you might have seen us with a good spy-glass, and it would have made your righteous soul leap for joy to see how we capered and laughed, and what strawberries we picked, and how much of a child A. turned into.  They all six “played run” till they had counted twelve and then they tumbled down and rolled in the grass, till I wondered what their bones were made of.  I do not see that we could have found a better place for the children.  What with the seven calves, the cows, the sheep, the two pet lambs, the dogs, hens, chickens, horses, etc., they are perfectly happy.  Just now they have been to see the butter made and to get a drink of buttermilk.  We have lots of strawberries and cream, pot-cheese, Johnny-cakes, and there are always eggs and milk at our service.  From diplomatic motives I advise you not to say too much about Hunter to people asking questions.  It would entirely spoil its only great charm if a rush of silly city folks should scent it out.  It is really a primitive place and that you can say.  Mr. Coe preached an excellent sermon on Sunday morning.

To Mrs. Smith, Hunter, July 4, 1864.

I have just been off, all alone, foraging, and have come home bringing my sheaves with me:  ground pine and red berries, with which I have made a beautiful wreath.  I have also adorned the picture of Gen. Grant with festoons of evergreens, conjuring him the while not to disappoint our hopes, but to take Richmond.  Alas! you may know, by this time, that he can’t; but in lack of news since a week ago, I can but hope for the best.  I’ve taken a pew and we contrive to squeeze into it in this wise:  first a child, then a mother, then a child, then an Annie, then a child, the little ones being stowed in the cracks left between us big ones.  Mr. R., the parson, looking fit to go straight into his grave, was up here to get a wagon as he was going for a load of chips.  His wife was at home sick, without any servant, had churned three hours and the butter wouldn’t come, and has a pew full of little ones.  Oh, my poor sisters in the ministry! my heart aches for them.  Mr. R. gave us a superior sermon last Sunday....  I know next to nothing about what is going on in the world.  But George writes that he feels decidedly pleased with the look of things.  He has been carrying on like all possessed since I left, having company to breakfast, lunch, dinner, and finally went and had Chi Alpha all himself.

July 25th.—­We went one day last week on a most delightful excursion, twenty-one of us in all.  Our drive was splendid and the scenery sublime; even we distinguished Swiss travellers thought so!  We came to one spot where ice always is found, cut out big pieces, ate it, drank it, threw it at each other and carried on with it generally.  We had our dinner on the grass in the woods.  We brought home a small cartload of natural brackets; some of them beautiful.