The squirrels evidently enjoy country life very much.  Early this morning Minna took them out of doors, and removed the bottom of the cage that they might play upon the grass, which so much exhilarated them that I am convinced they fancied they were entirely free.  Then I removed the hot cotton from their little nest, and filled it with fresh clover-leaves, which I am sure they much prefer.  They run no risk of being devoured here, for Aunt Mary always disliked cats, so that there is not one upon the place, and Gabrielle’s pet dog, a native of Bordeaux, has viewed them from afar, and snuffed at the cage, but is evidently too well-bred a Frenchman to desire even to tease them.

June 14.

A letter to-day from one of my Paris friends, Jennie Ford.  She says: 

“How divine it must be at Chappaqua!  I am glad you are enjoying yourself, and are well.  But you do not say a word of your Western trip.  I hope you have not given it up.”

Then follows a cordial invitation for me to visit her in her beautiful home upon Lake Erie, now looking its prettiest in the leafy month of June.  All sorts of pleasant inducements are held out:  a croquet-lawn of velvet softness, long drives, and charming rides in which to display my stylish new beaver and habit, moonlight excursions upon Lake Erie, and no lack of handsome cavaliers, including naval officers.  However, despite all these attractions, I do not think I shall care to leave Chappaqua this summer.

Jennie enclosed a photograph of the lady who reigned as belle of the American colony in Paris, some four or five years ago—­Mrs. Horace Jenness, then Miss Carrie Deming.  Three years of married life have changed the beautiful Carrie somewhat, if this picture is a truthful one.  The perfect outline of her face is unaltered, but the haughty expression that “La Princesse” wore in former days has vanished, and the fond young mother, grouped with her two little children is prettier than ever.

June 15.

I feel singularly indolent, and indisposed to journalize this evening.  Perhaps it is the result of two hours spent in croquet, a game in which I am very unproficient and therefore find decidedly wearisome; but Gabrielle, who is the best croquet player in Chappaqua, is in the city to-day, and my feeble assistance was necessary to make up the quartette.

Two entire hours spent in this game seem quite an unwarrantable loss of time, but we have had a guest from New York to-day, and therefore both Plato and Kohlrausch have remained under lock and key in the library.

I think no one enjoys the country more thoroughly than a physician when he can escape from his patients for a holiday, and Dr. Howe, our visitor of to-day, was not an exception.  This gentleman is, I fancy, quite young in his profession, for his figure is of almost boyish slenderness; his face, too, which reminds one somewhat of Shelley in its delicacy and brightness, and its dark eyes and luxuriant curls, is quite youthful for a fully fledged M.D.