[
199]
Oh! I've got a day to myself, and I've got some chillen, and I'm going to write to 'em, you bet.
You see, Laura E., of the plural name of
Dick, there warn't no summer, only one of those patent, boileddown contrivances, all shrivelled up, which if you puts them in water, they swells out, but there warn't no water (Encycl.
Brit., Article “Drought” ); and so the dried — up thing did n't swell, and there warn't no summer, and that is why you have n't heard from me. ... I'm sorry, anyhow, that I can't allow you the luxury of one moment's grievance against me, but I can't; I may,
now and then, forget to write ( “! I!!”
says L. E. R.), but I 'dores you all the same.
I carry the sweet cheer of your household through all my life.
Am drefful glad that you have been to camp this season; wish I could go myself.
Only think of
Celia Thaxter's death!
I can hardly believe it, she always seemed so full of life ....
. Here begins for me a new period.
I have fulfilled as well as I could the tasks of the summer, and must now have a little rest, a day or so, and then begin in good earnest to prepare for the
work, in which A. A.W. comes first, and endless correspondence.”
To Maud
241 Beacon Street, December 19, 1894.
Last Sunday evening I spoke in Trinity Church, having been invited to do so by the rector,
Dr. Donald.
Wonders will never cease.
The meeting was in behalf