‘_Aug. 11, 1877._--I missed a grand opportunity the other day of killing a centipede. It lay so quiet, as if to invite me to make myself illustrious. But I hate crunching creatures, so called out for some one to kill my centipede.... It is not fear of being bitten, but dislike of killing. The ladies think that it would not do for me to keep house, for that I should spoil the servants. I _did_ give C. a decided rebuke the other day for beating his wife. He promised me to be kind in future.’