dashed around the room, calling to each other:  “Oh, Kate, look here!” “Oh, Madge, look there!” “See little Moses!” “See the angels on Jacob’s ladder!” Our exclamations could not be kept within bounds.  The guests were amused beyond description, while my mother and elder sisters were equally mortified; but Mr. Bayard, who appreciated our childish surprise and delight, smiled and said:  “I’ll take them around and show them the pictures, and then they will be able to dine,” which we finally did.

On our way to Albany we were forced to listen to no end of dissertations on manners, and severe criticisms on our behavior at the hotel, but we were too happy and astonished with all we saw to take a subjective view of ourselves.  Even Peter in his new livery, who had not seen much more than we had, while looking out of the corners of his eyes, maintained a quiet dignity and conjured us “not to act as if we had just come out of the woods and had never seen anything before.”  However, there are conditions in the child soul in which repression is impossible, when the mind takes in nothing but its own enjoyment, and when even the sense of hearing is lost in that of sight.  The whole party awoke to that fact at last.  Children are not actors.  We never had experienced anything like this journey, and how could we help being surprised and delighted?

When we drove into Albany, the first large city we had ever visited, we exclaimed, “Why, it’s general training, here!” We had acquired our ideas of crowds from our country militia reviews.  Fortunately, there was no pictorial wall paper in the old City Hotel.  But the decree had gone forth that, on the remainder of the journey, our meals would be served in a private room, with Peter to wait on us.  This seemed like going back to the nursery days and was very humiliating.  But eating, even there, was difficult, as we could hear the band from the old museum, and, as our windows opened on the street, the continual panorama of people and carriages passing by was quite as enticing as the Bible scenes in Schenectady.  In the evening we walked around to see the city lighted, to look into the shop windows, and to visit the museum.  The next morning we started for Canaan, our enthusiasm still unabated, though strong hopes were expressed that we would be toned down with the fatigues of the first day’s journey.

The large farm with its cattle, sheep, hens, ducks, turkeys, and geese; its creamery, looms, and spinning wheel; its fruits and vegetables; the drives among the grand old hills; the blessed old grandmother, and the many aunts, uncles, and cousins to kiss, all this kept us still in a whirlpool of excitement.  Our joy bubbled over of itself; it was beyond our control.  After spending a delightful week at Canaan, we departed, with an addition to our party, much to Peter’s disgust, of a bright, coal-black boy of fifteen summers.  Peter kept grumbling that he had children enough to look after already, but, as the boy was handsome and