"There is only one wire working from the South, and the rebels control that." "Are you tired, Curt ?" asked his wife, looking around and up at him.
He seated himself and readjusted his eye-glasses.
"No, dear--only of this nightmare we are living in"-- he stopped abruptly.

Politics had been avoided between them.

There was a short silence; he felt his wife's hand touch his in the darkness--sign of a tender respect for his perplexity, but not for his political views.
"Forgive me, dear, for using the word 'rebel,'" he said, smiling and straightening his shoulders.

"Where have you and Ailsa been to-day?
Did you go to New York ?" "Yes.

We saw the Academy, and, oh, Curt! there are some very striking landscapes--two by Gifford; and the cutest portrait of a girl by Wiyam Hunt.