live at Columbus, Pennsylvania, where her
father-in-law is a prominent merchant. Her letter was full of
enthusiasm over her happiness, but I was glad to learn that she did not
intend, like so many young brides, to give up her music in the
excitement of her new married life.

Our mail was not large this morning, for our friends are now returning
to the city, and are busy with the demands of upholsterers and
dress-makers in anticipation of the gayeties of the coming season; some
few, however, are still enjoying this delicious September weather by
the seaside or inland.

Our friend, Mrs. Cutler, the pretty Virginia novelist and society star,
is now in Westchester County, and promises us a visit very soon. She
speaks with deep feeling of the pleasure it will afford her to visit
dear uncle's loved home, and in conclusion sends many kind messages to
mamma's "bouquet of girls."

One of my most intimate friends, Marguerite Aymar, after having visited
several watering-places, and contributed sparkling letters to different
New York journals this summer, has now come to Westchester County to
pass away quietly the remainder of the season, and gather up strength
for her literary labors during the coming winter. I learn by a letter
received from her yesterday, that she is boarding within driving
distance of Chappaqua--a very agreeable prospect for me, for Marguerite
and I are much given to long talks together, and are very fond of an
exchange of ideas over our many literary plans.

Miss Aymar is a clever young writer, by no means confining herself to
the graceful poems, stories, and sketches that she dashes off with such
ease, but evincing talent and tact in her more thoughtful magazine
articles. She is now, she tells me, at work upon a novel.

_September 13_.

Our home circle is once more complete, for Mrs. Lamson, who left us
some weeks ago to visit friends in Connecticut, has now returned to
remain with us until we go down to the city.

Mrs. Lamson was one of dear uncle's earliest friends, their
acquaintance dating back indeed to the days of Poultney--and we are all
deeply attached to her.

_September 15_.

Arthur's name, I believe, has not yet been mentioned in my journal
since he left us early in August. He is a very tormenting
correspondent, for he never writes with the promptitude that would be
agreeable, but his letters when they do come are always entertaining,
and one that arrived this morning, detaili