Dear Mother,—­I must tell you the honor which has been conferred on me.  I have been admitted into the enchanted circle of the Brain Club.  I am an honorary member.  Mrs. Dahlgren is the president, and I suppose all the set of intellectuals, “Les elus des elus” belong to it.  I have only been twice to the meetings.  I think I am a failure as far as brains go, but the members like my singing, and I am only called upon to take an active part when the members are falling off their chairs, trying with literary efforts to keep awake.

The first meeting was a ghastly affair.  The subject to be discussed was the “Metamorphosis of Negative Matter.”  You may imagine that I was staggered.  I had no more idea what negative matter was than the inhabitants of Mars.  They took us alphabetically.  When they got to “H,” Mrs. Dahlgren (who, as president, sat in a comfortable chair with arms to it, while the others sat on hard dining-room, cane-bottomed chairs) turned to me and said, “Has Mrs. Hegermann anything to say concerning the Metamorphosis of Negative Matter?” I had on my blue velvet gown, and thought of it fast becoming chair-stamped, and I wondered if negative matter would comprise that.  However, I wisely refrained from speech, and shook a sad smile from my closed lips.

“H” to “K” had a great deal to say.  Every one looked wise and wore an appearance of interest.  They slid down to “L.”  Then Mrs. Dahlgren said, “Has Mrs. Lindencrone anything to say on the Metamorphosis of Negative Matter?” I answered that I had not discovered anything since the last time they asked me.  They were not accustomed to one lady having two names, each beginning with a capital letter.

The members had a beautiful time when they got to “R.”  Up rose a gaunt female who knew all about it and seemed positive about the “Negative” part.  We were pulled suddenly up to time, and some one turned upon poor me and asked if I agreed.  I answered hastily, “Certainly I do.”  Dear me!  What had I said?  Half the company rose with a bound.  “Do you, really?” they asked in chorus.  “That is more than we do.  We cannot at all agree with a theory which is utterly false from the base.”  How I wished I knew what the false base had been.  Was it the Negative, or the Metamorphosis, or the Matter?  I murmured humbly, hiding behind a lame neutrality, that I had mistaken the cause for the effect.  They all turned and looked at me with fierce eyes.  I think they were staggered at this colossal utterance, for they gave up discussing, and “S” to “Z” never had a chance to say anything.  Then they adjourned to the supper-room.  After having eaten scalloped oysters and chicken salad, no more questions were discussed.