Here I am in my new home. Angel spirit of my mother! are you indeed hovering around your child, as in your last moments you assured me you would? When alone I fancy her near me, and my bitter, heart-aching sobs are soothed. How all my sad forebodings have been dispelled. Though filled with grief for my mother’s loss, I feel I am not without friends. My new father and mother, as they insist upon calling themselves, are indeed kind to me. The husband is still a very handsome man, though past middle age, and “Aunt Mary,” as she permits me to call her—for “mother” I cannot say—is gentle and lovely in both person and mind. She treats me with all the affectionate tenderness of a mother. When we arrived at this beautiful place she introduced me to her niece Adelan, a bright, merry-looking girl, about my own age; and on showing me to my apartment, which is a beautifully furnished room, she threw open a door, which led into a fine large room, handsomely furnished also, with piano, harp and guitar, a large well chosen library, and writing and work-tables, with a number of comfortable chairs and lounges. The windows of this delightful room opened on a balcony that commanded a full view of the high mountains, which rise abruptly on the opposite side of the mountain stream, which dashes darkly, but brightly along at the foot of the lawn that leads from beneath our windows. “This,” said Aunt Mary, “is Adelan’s study and yours. That door opposite yours leads to Adelan’s room, and here you are both free to come, whenever you wish, secure from interruption. These are your own apartments, subject to your own control. Adelan has often wished I had a daughter to cheer her solitary hours—now Providence has kindly bestowed upon me a daughter.” Both aunt and niece tenderly caressed me when my grateful tears began to flow, and tried all in their power to dispel every feeling of restraint. If I am not content here it will be my own fault—were it not for the agonizing recollection that weighs on me like lead, that never again on earth am I to see my mother, I should even be happy. But, Father above, grant unto me a spirit of resignation; let me not grieve these kind friends by my wretchedness; teach me that in another world we shall meet again. * * * * * My mother spent all her childhood and girlhood at this beautiful place. My Uncle Walter’s father lived here, and this was her home for many years. How often have I heard her describe every place about it. Aunt Mary tells me the house is different, and that some changes have been made in the arrangement of the grounds. My aunt brought her husband a handsome fortune, which enabled him to put up a fine, commodious mansion-house on the estate, and throw more of the land into the immediate grounds of the house.