both soul and body; they will admit us to their confidence, and give us
glimpses of that mystery of mysteries, the human heart; and we shall
learn how the ceaseless story of life, with its hopes and fears, its joys
and sorrows, repeats itself in the quiet seclusion of a country home as
truly as in the turmoil of the city. Nor would our visit be complete did
we not witness among the ripened fruits of conjugal affection the bud and
blossom of that immortal flower which first opened in Eden, and which
ever springs unbidden from the heart when the conditions that give it
life and sustenance are present.

The hallway of this central scene of our story is wide, and extends to a
small piazza in the rear. The front half of this family thoroughfare,
partitioned off by sliding-doors, can thus be made into a roomy apartment.
Its breezy coolness causes it to be a favorite resort on sultry days, but
now it is forsaken, except that a great heater, with its ample rotundity
and glowing heart, suggests to the visitor that it stands there as a
representative of the host until he shall appear. Some portraits, a fine
old engraving, a map of the county, and some sprays of evergreen
intermingled with red berries, take away all bareness from the walls,
while in a corner near the door stands a rack, formed in part by the
branching antlers of a stag, on which hang fur caps and collars, warm
wraps and coats, all suggesting abundant means of robbing winter of its
rigor. On hooks above the sliding-doors are suspended a modern rifle and
a double-barrelled shot-gun, and above these is a firelock musket that
did good service in the Revolution.

The doors opening into the rear hall were pushed back, revealing a broad
stairway, leading with an abrupt turn and a landing to the upper chambers.
A cheerful apartment on the left of this hall was the abode of an invalid,
whose life for many years disease had vainly sought to darken. There were