We paid a visit yesterday to some very nice people, who live four or five miles off, across the mountains; and yet they are our nearest neighbors. The day passed delightfully. It was a true summer outdoor visit. There was a large family of beautiful children; fine, noble-looking boys, and bright-eyed, laughing girls. They grew fond of me, and twined their arms about me tenderly. I taught them German games, into which they entered with spirit, and I quite forgot in their shouts of merry, gleeful laughter, the heavy, tearful cloud that hung over me when I awakened in the morning. We returned by moonlight; my aunt and Adelan in the carriage, uncle and I on horseback. The road for the greater part of the way lay beside the beautiful Undine stream, that gurgles and dashes daily before my eyes, as I look from the balcony. I slackened the reins of my horse, and my uncle kindly loitered with me beside the dancing waters, whose fairy billows glittered with the moon’s silvery rays. The rich silver flood of light that came pouring down from heaven touched every wavelet that went dancing along, as if rejoicing in its snowy crest. I wished I could linger by this flashing streamlet all night, and when a turning of the road bore me from the sparkling, joyous waters, I sighed inwardly a sad, unwilling good-bye, as I would in childhood to a darling playmate—nay, to crowds of playmates—for in the tiny white-crested billows I fancied the shining locks and flashing eyes of the lovely water-nymphs; the rippling dash of the waters I told myself was their sweet spirit-talk. It was a lovely, moonlight, waking dream to me. * * * * * Adelan is quite a pretty girl, I think—little and delicate in form, and merry and bright as a bird. She is a sunbeam to us. She chants and warbles all the day long. Her voice is very melodious, and great care has been taken in its culture—indeed much care has been given to her education. She is a great heiress, I am told, inheriting a large property; and Lizzie, the little maiden who waits upon us, said to me this morning, as I was looking at Adelan on the lawn from my room window, that old Nancy, the nurse, had told her “Miss Adelan would marry Mr. Lewis sometime.” This “Mr. Lewis” is my aunt and uncle’s only son, who I have never seen; as he is away finishing his studies at a university. In the fall he will have completed them, and will then return to his home. A picture of him as a bright-looking, handsome boy hangs in Aunt Mary’s dressing-room. She talks of him constantly, with much affection and pride, and his letters prove that he is affectionate as well as clever in mind. Adelan has never displayed any embarrassment when talking of him. Strange if she loves him and yet preserve it so secretly from me, for she is a warm-hearted, frank creature, and innocent and artless as a young child; but Love—sad, naughty Love—teaches, even the most guileless, art.