life. On the fly leaf of many of the earlier books is written, "To my beloved Victoria from her Mamma," and upon one, of which I could not see the name, is written, "To my beloved Victoria on the day of her Confirmation," with the date, which was not a very early one, about 1835, a short time before she was crowned. These souvenirs were all interesting to me, as is everything connected with the very natural and sweet domestic life of the Queen and her family. Our Scotchman is not quite as much attached to Queen Victoria as I am, and Angela says: "She never could have been handsome, no matter how many times she was Queen of England, Empress of India, and all that," which latter title Dr. McIvor scoffs at, calling it one of "Dizzy's manufacture."

In speaking to some English ladies, of our afternoon at Kensington Palace, they expressed great interest in what we had seen and regaled us with a rather amusing story about the Princess Royal, who, according to all accounts, must have been a very high-strung and independent child. One day when little Victoria was working in her garden, her royal mamma remonstrated with her on account of her extravagance in wearing gloves that she thought quite too good for the purpose, adding, "When I was a

little girl, my dear, I never wore such good gloves to work in my garden." Upon which Victoria junior replied, "Oh, I dare say; but then you were not born Princess Royal of England!" Delicious, was n't it? I can almost hear the Queen laughing over the cleverness of her eldest born, as she had, I believe, some sense of humor although she did not show it when she administered chastisement to one of the young princes with the proverbial slipper, in the presence of some dignitaries of the Court. There, I must really stop gossiping with you about the royal family and begin to pack, as our trunks go to Oxford, early to-morrow morning, by the carrier. Does that not have a Dickensian sound?

IX

STORIED WINDOWS RICHLY DIGHT

THE GRILLING,

OXFORD, August 19th.

WHEN our Scotchman left us last night we thought to see him no more, but he appeared this morning, bright and smiling, saying that he had had a letter from home, the night before, which made it possible for him to spend a day with us in Oxford. Walter and I are glad to have him, and the children adore him and are never tired of his tales of fairies, bogies, and all the quaint lore in which the Scotch delight.

And Angela? I hear you ask; and quite unreasonably, you must admit, as you know well that you and I could never quite understand Angela when there was any question of suitors. At times she is so charming to Dr. McIvor that I tremble for his peace of mind, and again, without rhyme or reason, she is so short and crusty that I have to be so very nice to him to make amends, that Angela actually

accuses me of flirting with him, which I tell her is disrespectful to my gray hairs, and most ungrateful, when I was only trying to smooth over her asperities. He seems to have quite recovered his spirits since our Richmond experience, and bears Angela's variations of temperature with great equanimity. I really have no right to speak of Dr. McIvor as a suitor, so please look upon that as a figure of speech. He is apparently equally devoted to us all, except that he may be a little more attentive to Christine, of whose improved appearance he is very proud. He talks to Walter and to me much more than to Angela; but one naturally wonders why he accompanies us so persistently. He and Walter are congenial companions, to be sure, but is it for the love of Walter, or Christine, or for the sake of my beaux yeux that he seems ready to leave everything and follow us? Now he is talking of joining us in Devonshire and spending his summer vacation there. I fancy that like many another young doctor, there is more holiday than work in his life at present.

Our journey to-day was enchanting, as we came from Wallingford to Oxford by the water ways that I love. At Wallingford, where we lunched upon every known variety of cold

meat, and it sometimes seems as if there were more cold meats to be had in England than anywhere else,-we had time before the boat started to walk about and see the old church where Blackstone, the great jurist, is buried, which was, of course, interesting to Walter. A few miles above Wallingford the trial "Eights" of Oxford are rowed. The river

trip is most interesting, through a number of locks, and by picturesque villages and countryseats. All that was needed to make the afternoon a perfect success was sunshine, which has deserted us to-day, but even so the river was full of boating parties, the men in light summer costume, and the women in the delicate pinks and blues in which they delight. Surely there are no people who enjoy out-of-door life and make the best of their somewhat uncomfortable climate as do the English-except the Scotch, perhaps. When we expressed surprise at seeing so many boats on the river this dull chilly afternoon, the Doctor said, "Why, what would you have? It does n't rain, and I do not believe we shall have more than a sprinkle before we get to Oxford." We had a quite lively sprinkle in the course of the afternoon, which did not, however, disturb the serenity of the water parties.