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 of mind when the day comes for his boy to return to boarding-school. I made, as well as I was able, a tracing of it — which was equivalent to having the aforesaid boy’s tintype taken — and trimmed it, where the edges were frayed with much fondling, and pressed out the wrinkles — which corresponded to a haircut and a new suit of clothes. It was too large to kiss, so I contented myself with patting it on the back, and we went round to Arbuthnot’s together. When I left the plan in his hands once more I think I was upon the point of asking him to be particular that it did not change its winter flannels too soon. At all events, I know my attitude was distinctly paternal.

They broke ground for “Sans Souci” on the first of May. The morning newspaper remarked, I remember, that another moving day had come, and, in looking back that evening upon this observation, it impressed me as having been peculiarly appropriate. It was,