To Mrs. S. B. Shaw.
Wayland, 1869.
The music-box arrived safely, and I thank you from my inmost heart for thinking of your old friend, and wishing to give her pleasure.
The old music-box is very dear to me. Its powers are limited, but what it does say it says very sweetly; and the memories it sings to me are the dearest of all ....
We had quite a glorification here over Grant's election.
We had a really handsome procession of five hundred men bearing flags and gay-colored lanterns, and attended by a band of music from Boston.
I had no idea they would come up so far as our house; but as we had subscribed, as they thought, liberally, they concluded to pay us that compliment.
When
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we heard the sounds coming nearer and nearer, and saw the first torches pass our nearest neighbor's, I tore open the curtains, and scrambled to place fourteen lights in the front windows; being all I could get up on such short notice.
Then I went to the front door and waved a great white cloth, and joined in the hurrahs of the procession like a “strong-minded” woman as I am. The fact is, I forget half the time whether I belong to the stronger or weaker sex.
While I was demonstrating at one door, David was exercising his lungs at another.
A crowd of foreigners were following the procession in a discomfited state of mind, and seeing us so jubilant they called out, “Three cheers for the nigger President!”
a curious title to bestow on Grant, who has never manifested the slightest interest in the colored people.
But I don't want him to be a “nigger President.”
I simply want him to see that equal justice is administered to all classes of people, and I have great hopes he will do that.
So unpretending a man must be substantially good and honest, I think.
However, I did not shout from such enthusiasm for him so much as I did from a feeling of relief that we were rid of Seymour. 