a more disorderly family than was that of Cousin Silas, and yet strange to say he seemed to regard his wild unmanageable children as models of perfection.  His own imagination was very fertile, and he really indulged the illusion that they were all he would have liked them to be.  His wife, her spirits broken down by poverty and care, had long since ceased to make the best of the little left in her hands, and her family government was also extremely nominal in its nature, so that their arrival at Uncle Nathan’s, to say the least of it, was not a desirable affair.  There were five children altogether.  I believe it would have been hard to find a worse boy than their eldest son Ephraim, aged about fourteen.  The next in age was George Washington, but I am certain, had he lived in the days of that illustrious man, he would have looked upon his namesake with any other feeling rather than pride.  Ephraim had one way, and George Washington had another.  The eldest was noisy and boisterous and delighted in malicious fun, and was continually, as the neighbors said, “up to some kind of mischief;” while the other was too indolent even to do mischief; he had one of those disagreeable sulky natures which we sometimes meet with always grumbling and out of humor with himself and every one else.  Then there were three little girls, and all that caused them to be less troublesome than the boys, was, that they were younger; the youngest was little more than a babe and gave the least trouble of either of the five.  They remained at Uncle Nathan’s for two or three days before removing to the home prepared for them; and they certainly were not an agreeable addition to our quiet household.  I could not have believed it possible that my aunt could have borne the annoyance with so much patience.  She went about quietly and made the best of the matter, altogether unlike my Aunt Lucinda of two years ago, and I believe she had a feeling of pity for the weary-looking mother of this disorderly family; she did remark to the Widow Green, on the day of their removal, that “she believed if they had staid much longer, her head would have been turned with their noise and confusion.”  But they were gone at last, and assisted by the Widow Green my aunt went from room to room, and endeavored again to bring order out of the mass of litter and confusion; remarking that the house looked as though it had been turned upside down, and it did really seem pleasant when, after two days’ labor, the rooms were again put to rights, and the dwelling brought back to its usual state of cleanliness and order.  My aunt said, “it seemed a waste of labor to fit up a home for a family who didn’t know how to take care of it; but then,” added she, “if we do our duty, it wont be our fault if they fail to do theirs.”  In a few days she went over to see how they were getting along, and allowed upon her return that she had serious fears the children would pull her in pieces.  In spite of their mother’s feeble attempts at authority,