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LETTERS OF LIFE.

their broad plumage with a peacock's vanity. Hens, of the same tint, protruded their heads from the gratings of their sharp roofed summer-houses, calling back their brooding little ones from among the compeers with whom they wandered upon the allotted area. Their similarity of color arose from the preference of my husband, who, in his drives among our suburban farmers, if he saw a fair, white member of the poultry tribe, purchased it; their eggs, being used in incubation, produced flocks of the same garniture, or if, by chance, a youngling of different hue made its appearance, its date was short. Among our other retainers was a favorite horse, of large proportions, who, from the contrasted color of his legs half way to the knees on an even line, was known by the sobriquet of "White Stockings." When led out to water, he might be seen lifting his feet high and carefully, lest he should tread upon some kittens, whose mother had chosen her abode in a corner of his manger, or inserting his long, honest face, through the open window of an adjacent pantry, to receive a slice of bread, perhaps, with a sprinkling of salt. Two fair cows, with coats brushed to a satin sleekness, ruminated at will, and filled large pails with creamy nectar.

A long line of buildings stretched in the rear of the mansion, unmarked by ornament, yet of pleasing architectural proportion, the classic taste of my husband being obvious in the slightest details, every part of this establishment, from the basement to the capitals of the