were on the little table beside her, but they must wait till she had mixed and enjoyed her “social salad.”
At Oak Glen
, too, she had her novel and her whist, bezique or dominoes, as the family was larger or smaller.
She never stooped to solitaire; a game must be an affair of companionship, of the “social tie” in defence of which “Broa Sam
,” in his youth, had professed himself ready to die. Instead of the “Victor
” concert, she now made music herself, playing fourhand pieces with Florence, the “music daughter,” trained in childhood by Otto Dresel
This was another great pleasure.
(Did any one, we wonder, ever enjoy
pleasures as she did?) These duets were for the afternoon; she almost never used her eyes in the evening.
They were perfectly good, strong eyes; in the latter years she rarely used glasses; but the habit dated back to the early fifties, and might not be shaken.
We see her, therefore, in the summer afternoons, sitting at the piano with Florence, playing, “Galatea, dry thy tears!”
's old tie-wig music,” as she called his operas.
Or, if her son were there, she would play accompaniments from the “Messiah” or “Elijah” ; rippling through the difficult music, transposing it, if necessary to suit the singer's voice, with ease and accuracy.
Musicians said that she was the ideal accompanist, never asserting herself, but giving perfect sympathy and support to the singer.
We return to the Journal.
. I had prayed the dear Father to give me this one more poem, a verse for this year's Decoration Day, asked for by Amos Wells
, of Christian