CHAPTER II.

Arrival of the Piano—­Routine of a Day—­Morning Toilettes—­The Dining-room—­Pictures—­Ida and Gabrielle—­How occupied—­The Evening Mail—­Musical Evenings.

June 4.

Yesterday the piano was sent up from Steinway’s, where it has been stored since last fall, and now we have all settled to our different occupations, and are as methodical in the disposition of our time as though we were in school.

None of us are very early risers, for mamma, who should naturally set us a good example, has been too long an invalid to admit of it, and we girls have become habituated to the luxury of breakfasting in bed, from residence abroad and in the tropics.  Not that we breakfast in bed at the “Villa Greeley,” however; we are much too sociable, and our dining-room is too attractive, for that.  But we gratify our taste for reasonable hours by assembling around the table at half-past eight.

“Shocking!” I fancy I hear Katie exclaim.  “I breakfast at least two hours earlier.  How can you bear to lose so much of the beautiful morning?”

Don’t imagine, dear Katie, that I sleep till half-past eight:  you must know the wakeful temperament of our family too well for that.  I find it, however, very poetic and delightful to listen to the matins of the robins, thrushes, and wrens, from my pillows; and by merely lifting my head I have as extended a panorama of swelling hills and emerald meadows, as though promenading the piazza.

I have been in my day as early a riser as any one—­even you, dear Katie, have not surpassed me in this, respect; for you recollect those cold winter days when I arose at “five o’clock in the morning,” not, however, to meet Corydon, but to attack the Gradus ad Parnassum of Clementi by gaslight, in my desire to accomplish eight hours of practice undisturbed by visitors.  At seven, however, I used to meet with an interruption from my German professor.  Poor man!  I now pity his old rheumatic limbs stumbling over the ice and snow to be with me at that unreasonable hour of the morning.  But I then was ruthless, and would not allow him even five minutes grace, for my time was then regulated like clockwork, and a delay of a few moments would cause an unpardonable gap in my day.  Now, however, that my education is nominally finished, I feel that I may without self-reproach indulge in some extra moments of repose, for it is impossible for one to work all the time; and a quiet hour of reflection is often, I think, as useful as continual reading or writing.