With flowers of peace and love,
Till death shall call their spirits
To Eden realms above."

When "Summer Home" rose complete in its beautiful architectural design,
with its wealth of foliage and flowers all in wildest, richest
profusion, a young bride walked under the trailing vines which overhung
the marble-supported terrace, and a manly form at her side opened the
hall door and ushered her into the magnificent drawing-rooms. It was
Florence Lindenwood.

Then a carriage came rolling up the long avenue of cedars, conveying
Major Howard, his sister, Edith, and Sylva, with the lap-dog and pet
canaries in her care, to the newly-completed mansion. What a regal home
they entered, and how proud and happy were their beaming faces!

The day was passed with a social group of friends, among whom Ned
Williams, his sister Ellen, and young Willie Danforth, were the most
lively and mirthful. At night-fall the hermit appeared, and was warmly
received. He sat down by aunt Mary, and conversed calmly, as was his
wont.

Florence glanced about the apartment in search of her husband, wondering
that he did not come forward to welcome his uncle, but he had
disappeared. She flew up stairs to their apartment, and beheld him
sitting before a table, apparently absorbed in the contents of some
volume. Stepping softly forward, she leaned over his shoulder. He was
reading her journal.

"Thief!" she exclaimed, covering the page with her little white hands,
"where did you find this?"

"It attracted my notice this morning when I was packing your books for
removal," returned he. "I did not know I was so well loved before,
Florence," he added, with a provoking smile.

"Look out that I do not cease to love you altogether," said she, shaking
her tiny finger playfully in his face, "if you steal into my private
affairs in this way. But come below now," she continued, taking his
hand; "uncle Ralph has arrived and waits to see you."

They descended to the parlor, and after the pleasant evening was passed
and the guests severally departed, the hermit presented to his nephew
the fortune left him by his long-deceased father. It was much larger
than Edgar had ever supposed. He amply remunerated the care and
protection of his kind guardian, and besought him to forsake the
forest-hut and dwell beneath his grateful roof. But the recluse waived
the entreaties of the young, happy couple.

He "could not desert