SUMMER. 



through the maples. Leaving our pony in willing hands, we enter the 

 gate, and are soon upon the wide porch. 



It is eight o'clock, and the Snuggery is hushed in the quiet of the 

 study hour, and as we look through the windows we see the little groups 

 of studious lads bending over their books. 

 Turning a corner on the piazza, we are 

 confronted with a tall hexagonal struct- 



ure at its farther end. This is 

 the Tower, the lower room of which 

 is consecrated to the cosy retirement 

 of Mr. and Mrs. Snug. The door lead- 

 ing to the porch is open, and, as if 

 awakening from a nap in which the 

 past fifteen years have been a dream, 

 I listen to the same dear voice. I ap- 

 proach nearer. Under the glow of a student's lamp I look upon the 

 beloved face, the flowing hair and beard now silvered with the lapse of 

 years — a face of unusual firmness, but whose every line marks the ex- 

 pression of a tender, loving nature, and of a large and noble heart. Near 



PURSUERS AND PURSUED. 



