A letter yesterday from our cousin Estelle Greeley, signed, however, by a new name, for she was married last week.  Estelle is Aunt Arminda’s youngest daughter, and although not yet eighteen, was before the death of Theresa’s children a great-aunt.  She sent us her picture, taken with her husband.  She is a very pretty girl, with large, dreamy, blue eyes, and lashes so long and dark as to cast deep shadows—­a languishing effect often produced on city belles by artificial means.  Her hair is of that sunny brown shade peculiar to so many of our cousins, and she has hitherto worn it floating over her shoulders a la belle sauvage; but now I suppose she thinks so negligee and girlish a coiffure incompatible with her new dignity as a married woman, for I observed in her picture that it was wreathed into an imposing diadem braid.

Although Estelle is rather young to have married, the match has received the cordial approbation of tho entire family.  She was married at home, but has now gone to live at Columbus, Pennsylvania, where her father-in-law is a prominent merchant.  Her letter was full of enthusiasm over her happiness, but I was glad to learn that she did not intend, like so many young brides, to give up her music in the excitement of her new married life.

Our mail was not large this morning, for our friends are now returning to the city, and are busy with the demands of upholsterers and dress-makers in anticipation of the gayeties of the coming season; some few, however, are still enjoying this delicious September weather by the seaside or inland.

Our friend, Mrs. Cutler, the pretty Virginia novelist and society star, is now in Westchester County, and promises us a visit very soon.  She speaks with deep feeling of the pleasure it will afford her to visit dear uncle’s loved home, and in conclusion sends many kind messages to mamma’s “bouquet of girls.”

One of my most intimate friends, Marguerite Aymar, after having visited several watering-places, and contributed sparkling letters to different New York journals this summer, has now come to Westchester County to pass away quietly the remainder of the season, and gather up strength for her literary labors during the coming winter.  I learn by a letter received from her yesterday, that she is boarding within driving distance of Chappaqua—­a very agreeable prospect for me, for Marguerite and I are much given to long talks together, and are very fond of an exchange of ideas over our many literary plans.

Miss Aymar is a clever young writer, by no means confining herself to the graceful poems, stories, and sketches that she dashes off with such ease, but evincing talent and tact in her more thoughtful magazine articles.  She is now, she tells me, at work upon a novel.

September 13.

Our home circle is once more complete, for Mrs. Lamson, who left us some weeks ago to visit friends in Connecticut, has now returned to remain with us until we go down to the city.