“After the sun has dried the dew.”

Then we separate, each to our own room, and our different occupations.

[Illustration:  The Spring.]

Ida is very busy now, for she is preparing a volume for publication in the fall—­her dear father’s manuscript lectures and letters.

Gabrielle throws herself upon a sofa, and lies there motionless, absorbed in the fascinating pages of some favorite book; indeed, she is so quiet that in my periodical fits of tidiness I often seize a print or bombazine frock, thrown, as I suppose, carelessly upon the bed or sofa, and only by its weight do I discover that it is animated.  Last year, Gabrielle’s favorite site for reading was in the dear old apple-tree close beside the house; but since she has attained the dignity of sixteen and train dresses, she has abjured the apple-tree.

Marguerite is translating a volume from the German, Musikalische Maerchen, and I divide my time between the piano and occasional newspaper articles.

But it is already one o’clock and dinner hour.  The afternoon passes much like the morning.  We have letters to write, and much reading aloud.  I have two books in progress—­Plato’s “Dialogues,” and Madame de Staeel’s incomparable “Germany:”  the latter I read aloud while in Munich, but it is a work that cannot be too often studied.

At half-past six we dress and go down to the postoffice (about a hundred yards distant) for the evening mail.  Half an hour later we sup, and then follows, as L. E. L. would say, “a struggle and a sacrifice.”  What could be more delicious than a game of croquet, or a drive in the cool twilight?  But Chappaqua, lovely though it is, possesses a malaria that is dangerous after sunset, they say, and much as I love to drive when Nature is bathed in the last ruddy flush of day, and during the soft gray hour that succeeds it, I must heed the prediction of chills to all who indulge.

The evening is always devoted to music.  Both Ida and Gabrielle are very fond of the piano, and Ida is rapidly becoming quite proficient in the divine art.  She commenced the study of music when a little child, under an excellent teacher, and also took lessons while in boarding-school; but one studies the piano under difficulties while in the routine of a pensionnat, for the hour devoted to it must be taken from one’s recreation time, or from some other lessons.  Our friends will remember, too, that dear Ida was taken out of school while yet very young, to become the devoted nurse that she has since shown herself to her mother, and from the time she left the Sacre Coeur until this spring she has never opened the piano.  Now, however, she practises regularly and conscientiously, and brings to her music all the enthusiasm of her loving nature, and the intelligence of her superior mind; consequently, when her fingers are well trained, I shall expect to see her a thoughtful and brilliant pianist.