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 Rh the sawdust-covered road, and both horse and rider thrown out in bold relief by a background of dancing blue water. The dress has a suspicion of the military about it, while the 'speech' as plainly 'bewrayeth' the Virginian. As a child, I was rather awed by the decided manner and tones, and the eyes flashing so brightly under the bushy brows. He seemed a man full of chivalry and action, to whom one, especially a woman, might turn for protection always, and for help in a real trouble, sooner than for sympathy in a small one. I wonder if the tenderness of earlier-years was latent there then, or if it only came with the need for it! Surely it was deep enough.

"The old house on the lake-shore seems to come back before my eyes again as it was, and I stand once more among the people who filled it thirty-five years ago. Many have fallen asleep, and those whose forms are still with us are as utterly changed to our eyes as if the grave had closed over those we then knew. There were but vague impressions of character made then; they are mostly recollections of form and color, and prominent among these is the dear old red silk handkerchief.

"Later on come recollections of Burleigh, and much better defined impressions of its master. How well I remember the day I saw it for the first time!

"After dinner we walked (or stood) in that little garden of pinks you had in the front yard, near the 'big gate.' There your father joined us, and standing outside, leaning on the low fence, he told us of an article he had read on the 'Genius of Shakespeare.' The author regarded the 'Tempest' as Shakespeare's greatest work, and Caliban as his most perfect creation of fancy.

'I cannot agree with him about the "Tempest,"' he said, but he may be right about Caliban.' As we returned to the house, we all stopped under the mimosa-tree, where a table was placed, and our father presided over an immense waiter of cantaloupes. I remember how he put back his cuffs and flourished his knife. I so often recall the Burleigh of those days,—the ready and apparently boundless hospitality, the abundant supply of all the necessaries of life (and much of what we call