Publisher's Synopsis
Among the many beautiful villages near Boston, there is one quite as beautiful as any, situated but a few miles from that busy metropolis, called-but I must not mention its name; that is of very little consequence. A few rods from the Common, the pride of the Bostonians, is the depot of the railroad which passes through this place; and one has only to jump into the cars, and in less than fifteen minutes he is there. Uncle Frank has some dear friends in this village, and choice spirits they are, in his estimation. How much this fact has to do with his opinion of the beauty of the place, he does not pretend to say. He has scarcely settled it in his own mind. Nor is it much matter, as the story about to be related will neither lose nor gain much in its interest, by the good or ill opinion which the reader may happen to have of the village itself; though I may be pardoned for adding that I should put rather a low value upon the taste of that man, or woman, or child, who could visit this part of the country, when Nature has her best dress on, and not pronounce it one of the most delightful spots, in his or her opinion, that the sun or moon ever shone upon.
