soon devoured its contents. It came from "cousin Jennie Montgomery,"
a genuine and true hearted girl whom Marguerite loved as a sister.
Mrs. Montgomery was a sister of Mrs. Verne but never was nature
known to indulge in so many freaks as when she bestowed such
relationship.

"Gladswood," the comfortable and happy home of the Montgomerys, was
indeed no misnomer; for in this beautiful and sylvan retreat every
heart was truly made glad and every guest only felt sad when the
summons of duty suggested departure.

Marguerite Verne never had too many society demands upon her to
neglect correspondence with cousin Jennie, and she was more than
delighted on this morning to hear such glowing accounts of
"Gladswood" and its inmates. On the situation of this charming
country seat we might exhaust pages and never weary of the effort.
It stood on a rising knoll surrounded by the picturesque scenery of
Sussex Vale. Here was that enchanting beauty of nature in which the
most aesthetic soul might revel. In the months of summer the verdure
was "a thing of beauty." Luxuriant meadows showered with golden
buttercups, alternating with patches of highly-scented red and white
clover, while the air seemed freighted with the balsamic odor of the
crowning foliage. But the foliage of "Gladswood"! We have no powers
capable of description. The majestic maples, stately willows and
graceful elms were grouped with an effect that baffled the mind of
man. And the interfacings of soft feathery furze, moss and ferns.
Surely this spot must have been in the mystic ages one grand
amphitheatre for the sylvan deities. And the stately manor-house,
for such it much resembles with its quaint wings and irregular
outbuildings. Its old-fashioned windows, tall chimneys, projecting