Page:Letters of Life.djvu/146

134 of those sympathies and virtues which shed happiness around the sphere of the husband and father.

Very pleasant were our familiar forms of social intercourse in the loved land of my birth. In winter, various individuals from our more intimate circle spent an hour or two of the evening unceremoniously at each other's houses. Apples and nuts, the product of our own groves, were the accustomed and adequate entertainment. So many subjects had we in common, that conversation never flagged. Games, however, we had, if desired, and sometimes two of the more contemplative might be seen seated at the checker or draught board. Now and then some stenographic genius found a secret place, and took notes of all that was said, and then, emerging from concealment, read it aloud for the diversion of the dramatis personæ. This, however, was not frequent, and never revealed to the circle until about to part; for, had it been known that there was "a chiel amang us, takin' notes," it might have invaded colloquial freedom, or possibly quickened some scintillation of that spirit with which Johnson said, when told of the designs of Boswell: "If I really supposed, sir, that he contemplated writing my life, I would take his."

In summer we enjoyed a walk after tea, or a short sail on the quiet Yantic, the oars keeping time to the favorite melody of "Row, vassals, row!" or the Canadian Boat-Song. Once or twice in the season we