she never yet has observed me. This absent-mindedness of hers

serves me ill now, but it may prove a blessing later on.
SHE

OXFORD, June 12
The Mitre.

It was here in Oxford that a grain of common sense entered the brain
of the flower of chivalry. You might call it the dawn of reason.

We had spent part of the morning in High Street, "the noblest old
street in England," as our dear Hawthorne calls it. As Wordsworth

had written a sonnet about it, aunt Celia was armed for the fray,--a
volume of Wordsworth in one hand, and one of Hawthorne in the other.

(I wish Baedeker didn't give such full information about what one
ought to read before one can approach these places in a proper

spirit.) When we had done High Street, we went to Magdalen College,
and sat down on a bench in Addison's Walk, where aunt Celia

proceeded to store my mind with the principal facts of Addison's
career, and his influence on the literature of the something or

other century. The cramming process over, we wandered along, and
came upon "him" sketching a shady corner of the walk.

Aunt Celia went up behind him, and, Van Tyck though she is, she
could not restrain her admiration of his work. I was surprised

myself: I didn't suppose so good looking a youth could do such good
work. I retired to a safe distance, and they chatted together. He

offered her the sketch; she refused to take advantage of his
kindness. He said he would "dash off" another that evening, and

bring it to our hotel,--"so glad to do anything for a fellow-
countryman," etc. I peeped from behind a tree and saw him give her

his card. It was an awful moment; I trembled, but she read it with
unmistakable approval, and gave him her own with an expression that

meant, "Yours is good, but beat that if you can!"
She called to me, and I appeared. Mr. John Quincy Copley,

Cambridge, was presented to her niece, Miss Katharine Schuyler, New
York. It was over, and a very small thing to take so long about,

too.
He is an architect, and of course has a smooth path into aunt

Celia's affections. Theological students, ministers, missionaries,
heroes, and martyrs she may distrust, but architects never!

"He is an architect, my dear Katharine, and he is a Copley," she
told me afterwards. "I never knew a Copley who was not respectable,

and many of them have been more."
After the introduction was over, aunt Celia asked him guilelessly if

he had visited any other of the English cathedrals. Any others,
indeed! This to a youth who had been all but in her lap for a

fortnight! It was a blow, but he rallied bravely, and, with an
amused look in my direction, replied discreetly that he had visited

most of them at one time or another. I refused to let him see that
I had ever noticed him before; that is, particularly.

Memoranda: "The very stones and mortar of this historic town seem
impregnated with the spirit of restful antiquity." (Extract from

one of aunt Celia's letters.) Among the great men who have studied
here are the Prince of Wales, Duke of Wellington, Gladstone, Sir

Robert Peel, Sir Philip Sidney, William Penn, John Locke, the two
Wesleys, Ruskin, Ben Jonson, and Thomas Otway. (Look Otway up.)

HE
OXFORD, June 13

The Angel.
I have done it, and if I hadn't been a fool and a coward I might

have done it a week ago, and spared myself a good deal of delicious
torment. I have just given two hours to a sketch of Addison's Walk

and carried it to aunt Celia at the Mitre. Object, to find out
whether they make a long stay in London (our next point), and if so

where. It seems they go directly through. I said in the course of
conversation, "So Miss Schuyler is willing to forego a London

season? Marvelous self-denial!"
"My niece did not come to Europe for a London season," replied Miss

Van Tyck. "We go through London this time merely as a cathedral
town, simply because it chances to be where it is geographically.

We shall visit St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey, and then go
directly on, that our chain of impressions may have absolute

continuity and be free from any disturbing elements."
Oh, but she is lovely, is aunt Celia!

LINCOLN, June 20
The Black Boy Inn.

I am stopping at a beastly little hole, which has the one merit of
being opposite Miss Schuyler's lodgings. My sketch-book has

deteriorated in artistic value during the last two weeks. Many of
its pages, while interesting to me as reminiscences, will hardly do

for family or studioexhibition. If I should label them, the result
would be something like this:-

1. Sketch of a footstool and desk where I first saw Miss Schuyler
kneeling.

2. Sketch of a carved-oak chair, Miss Schuyler sitting in it.
3. "Angel Choir." Heads of Miss Schuyler introduced into the

carving.
4. Altar screen. Full length figure of Miss Schuyler holding

lilies.
5. Tomb of a bishop, where I tied Miss Schuyler's shoe.

6. Tomb of another bishop, where I had to tie it again because I
did it so badly the first time.

7. Sketch of the shoe; the shoe-lace worn out with much tying.
8. Sketch of the blessed verger who called her "madam," when we

were walking together.
9. Sketch of her blush when he did it the prettiest thing in the

world.
10. Sketch of J. Q. Copley contemplating the ruins of his heart.

"How are the mighty fallen!"
SHE

LINCOLN, June 22
At Miss Brown's, Castle Garden.

Mr. Copley HAS done something in the world; I was sure that he had.
He has a little income of his own, but he is too proud and ambitious

to be an idler. He looked so manly when he talked about it,
standing up straight and strong in his knickerbockers. I like men

in knickerbockers. Aunt Celia doesn't. She says she doesn't see
how a well-brought-up Copley can go about with his legs in that

condition. I would give worlds to know how aunt Celia ever unbent
sufficiently to get engaged. But, as I was saying, Mr. Copley has

accomplished something, young as he is. He has built three
picturesque suburban churches suitable for weddings, and a state

lunatic asylum.
Aunt Celia says we shall have no worthyarchitecture until every

building is made an exquisitelysincererepresentation of its
deepest purpose,--a symbol, as it were, of its indwelling meaning.

I should think it would be very difficult to design a lunatic asylum
on that basis, but I didn't dare say so, as Mr. Copley seemed to

think it all right. Their conversation is absolutely sublimated
when they get to talking of architecture. I have just copied two

quotations from Emerson, and am studying them every night for
fifteen minutes before I go to sleep. I'm going to quote them some

time offhand, just after morning service, when we are wandering
about the cathedral grounds. The first is this: "The Gothic

cathedral is a blossoming in stone, subdued by the insatiable demand
of harmony in man. The mountain of granite blooms into an eternal

flower, with the lightness and delicate finish as well as the aerial
proportion and perspective of vegetable beauty." Then when he has

recovered from the shock of this, here is my second: "Nor can any
lover of nature enter the old piles of Oxford and English cathedrals