I have now arrived at a period in my life, at which the novelist would pause,--believing the history of woman ceases to interest as soon as an accepted lover and consenting friends appear ready to usher the heroine into the temple of Hymen.

But there is a _life within life_, which is never revealed till it is intertwined with another's.

In the depth of the heart there is a lower deep, which is never sounded save by the hand that wears the _wedding-ring_.

There is a talisman in its golden circle, more powerful than those worn by the genii of the East.
I love to linger among the beautiful shades of Grandison Place, to wander over its velvet lawn, its gravel walks, its winding avenues, to gaze on the lovely valley its height commanded whether in the intense lights and strong shadows of downward day, or the paler splendor and deeper shadows of moonlit night.

I love those girdling mountains,--grand winding stairs of heaven--on which my spirit has so often climbed, then stepping to the clouds, looked through their "golden vistas" into the mysteries of the upper world.
O thou charming home of my youth what associations cluster round thee! Thy noble trees rustle their green leaves in the breezes of memory.