The following is the copy of a letter written by Mrs. Wolcott to the
widow of her deceased husband's brother, Mrs. Abby Roberts, of Eastport,
Maine:
TAUNTON, Sept. 20th, 1878.
MY DEAR SISTER:--I wrote you briefly of the dispatch announcing
the death of my brother James, in a Nevada mine, and that his
embalmed body was being brought home by two miners. Since then
events have crowded upon me so swiftly that I have not had
composure enough to think of writing.
The remains of my brother reached here on the 29th ultimo. Mr.
Hartwell, Mr. Hill and Mr. Burroughs went out as far as Walpole
on the railroad to meet the train on which the body was being
brought.
The miners were taken home by Mr. Hartwell. On examination my
poor brother's face was found to look quite natural, and it
wore an expression so restful that I could not help but feel as
though it was an indictation that after his hard physical toil
and fierce mental troubles, he was at peace at last.
Mabel, you know, has been with me since she graduated in June.
On receiving the dispatch we telegraphed to Mildred at Mt.
Holyoke to come home at once, so both girls were with me when
the remains arrived.
From the two miners who came with the body Mr. Hartwell
received the Nevada papers giving an account of the accident in
which James was killed; also a letter from the superintendent
of the mine, stating that after all expenses were paid my poor
brother left eight hundred and forty dollars to his children.
This we all thought was most wonderful, considering the amount
regularly sent the children. It shows that poor James lived a
most economical life in the West and that the wages paid there
are generous.
The letter of the superintendent stated that the two miners who
were to accompany the remains home had risked their lives in
trying to rescue James, and the published account showed that
one of them had fainted in the dreadful chamber of the mine
while the exhaustion of the other was so extreme that he was
entirely prostrated and seized with chills and vomiting upon
being brought out into the open air.
Of course myself and the girls were anxious to meet and thank
these men, but I confess that at the same time we all dreaded
the interview awfully. Good land! You know what we have been
reading about Western miners for the last twenty-five years,
and we could not help but feel that if they should prove to be
quiet men it would only at best be a case of wild beast with a
collar and chain on. And what to do with them at the funeral
was something which had been troubling us ever since the
receipt of the dispatch. It was to be in church and on Sunday
and it was certain that there would be a church full of people.
How to be polite, and at the same time how to get those men in
and out of a church without their doing something dreadful was
a question which I confess had worried me and I could see that
it was worrying Mabel, too. Mildred did not seem to think much
about it.
Mr. Hartwell called upon us and told us he was going to bring
them over at once and we sat down in fear and trembling to wait
their arrival.
You can never imagine our surprise when Mr. Hartwell showed
them into our parlor and we saw them for the first time. Both
were young men, one not more than thirty, and the other not
more than twenty-four years of age; both were dressed with
perfect taste, in dark business suits of fashionable clothes,
and though slightly confused--I guess startled is a better
word--both, with considerate gentleness, and with a grave
courtesy, in low voices, addressed me first and then the
children.
They expected to find school children, they met young ladies--I
may say beautiful young ladies if I am their aunt--and I think
the surprise for a moment threw them off their guard.
But they certainly were not more astonished than were we. Mabel
well nigh broke down, but Mildred, with her more matter-of-fact
nature, bore the ordeal nobly.
While the girls were talking I stole the opportunity to look
more closely at the men. My surprise increased every moment.
Instead of a pair of bronzed bruisers, they stood there with
faces that were as free from tan as the face of a
closely-housed woman. They were each of about medium height,
but with broad shoulders, tremendous chests and powerful arms.
The younger one had a firm foot and large hand and the frankest
open face you ever looked into. The other had smaller hands,
feet and features, but their heads were both superb, and the
first words they spoke revealed that both were fairly educated.
The younger one was light with auburn hair. He wore a heavy
mustache; the rest of his face was clean shaven. The other was
darker with gray eyes, brown hair, with full beard, but neatly
trimmed, and the hair of both was of fashionable cut. I tell
you, sister, as they stood there they would have borne
inspection even in Boston.
After the first greetings were over and we had all gained a
little composure, the men explained to us that James was
possessed of more property than he himself was aware of, and
one of them handed to Mabel a paper which he called "a bill of
exchange" on a Boston bank for forty two thousand six hundred
dollars. Since then they have explained that the money was made
by a friend of my brother, and that it was accomplished by
buying stocks when they were low and selling them when they
were high, which seems to me to be a most profitable business.
You see it makes the girls rich when they thought they were so
poor, and were counting only on lives of hard work.
The visit of the young men was only a very brief one, not five
minutes in duration it seemed to me, but they were moments of
great excitement to our little household as you may well
believe. When they were gone Mabel said: "Are they not
perfectly splendid?" and I said: "Indeed, they are," but
Mildred merely said: "They seem to be real gentlemen." That
Mildred is the strangest girl.
The funeral was to be the next day, and in anticipation of it
we had bought cheap mourning hats and plain bombazine mourning
habits, such as I thought would be becoming to people in our
circumstances. But when I learned that the girls were no longer
poor, I thought it would be only proper that they should have
more expensive dresses. So as soon as the young men had gone, I
sent a message to Mrs. Buffets, the dressmaker, and Mrs.
Tibbetts, the milliner, asking them to do me the favor to call
upon me at once, if possible. They both called within a few
minutes. Before they came, however, I explained to the girls
what I had done, at which Mabel was very glad, but Mildred
seemed perfectly indifferent. She hardly spoke after the young
men went away for several minutes. I think their coming had
turned her thoughts back more intently upon her father. Mrs.
Tibbetts came first and from her Mabel ordered three expensive
hats. I expostulated against her buying a hat for me but she
would have it so. When we explained what was wanted to Mrs.
Buffets, she declared at first that it was impossible without
working after twelve o'clock on Saturday night which she did
not like to do as she was a member in good standing in the
First Baptist church, but she finally agreed that she would
try, provided we would pay what would be extra for her sewing
girls. This she estimated would amount on three dresses to at
least seven dollars and a half. I have no idea that the girls
got more than half a dollar apiece extra and there were but
seven of them, and that the rest was clear gain to Mrs.
Buffets, but that is the advantage which is always taken of
people when there is a funeral.
We had a hard time with Mildred. She insisted that two dresses
and hats were all that were required, one for Mabel and one for
aunty; that as yet she was a school girl and the cheap raiment
was good enough for her. I think she would have refused to
yield had I not told her that unless she did I would not accept
either hat or habit; then she consented.
Of course, it may seem like vanity to speak of such a thing in
so sad a connection, but the dresses were most lovely. The
girls' were of rich and soft cashmere, mine was of Henrietta
cloth. I must say that in the new clothes the girls did look
beautiful at the funeral, and I was as proud of them as I could
be on so sad an occasion.
That Saturday evening after we talked the matter over, the
girls sent an invitation over to Mr. Hartwell's house to the
miners to attend the funeral with us. The invitation was
answered by the younger miner, Harding. He accepted the
invitation for himself and his friend, stating that Ashley (the
other one) was temporarily absent in the city. The note was
beautifully written and every word was spelled correctly.
Next morning, a few minutes before it was time to proceed to
the church, the young men came in.
They were scrupulously dressed in black and their attire even
to their hats and gloves was in perfect taste.
Mildred betrayed more agitation than on the first meeting. She
is a strange girl and the loss of her father almost crushed
her. Mabel, however, received them with a grace which was
queenly and in her new robes she looked like a queen indeed.
When it came time to go to the church, I supposed, of course,
the young men would offer to escort the girls. Besides Mildred,
Mabel and myself, Aunt Abigail, James' wife's grandmother had
come down to the funeral. You know she is old now--past 73; she
never was very pretty and coming down from the country her
dress and bonnet--good land, she was a sight.
Mabel could not conceal her mortification, and I must say I
should have been glad if she had not come.
As we stood up to go, the younger miner said gently: "Ashley,
will you not see to Mrs. Wolcott?" and then he went up to Aunt
Abigail and with as much kindly politeness as I ever saw
displayed, asked her to lean upon him in the walk to the
church. The other one gave me his arm, at the same time saying:
"The young ladies are the nearer relatives, they should walk in
front." His face was fair, but the arm I took was as hard as
iron.
I said: "No matter, Mildred take the other arm of Mr. Ashley
and Mabel take that of Mr. Harding!" This was done except that
somehow in the confusion Mildred took the arm of Harding and
Mabel sought the disengaged arm of Ashley.
At the church we were seated in the front pew, of course. You
never saw such a crowd at a funeral. I noticed as we worked our
way up the aisle, men there that had not been in a church
before for years.
There were, besides, the Brown, the Smith and the Jones
families who were never before known to attend an ordinary
funeral.
I mention this merely to show how much James was respected.
The services were most impressive. The organ was played as we
entered the church. When we were seated there was a short
prayer, then a chant with organ accompaniment was rendered.
Professor Van Dyke, the music teacher at the seminary, presided
at the organ and Jane Emerson led the sopranos. She sang her
best and people do tell me that they have paid money to hear
women sing in concerts that could not sing as well as Jane
Emerson. If Jane was only a little better looking and knew how
to dress in better style and if her father only belonged to a
better family, there would not be a young woman in Taunton with
brighter prospects than hers.
Mr. Ashman's main prayer was a most touching one and it moved
many in the congregation to tears. He preached from John, the
fourteenth chapter and eighteenth verse.
"I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you."
It was generally conceded that the sermon was one of the
minister's best efforts since be preached in Taunton. Miss Hume
who was present says she never heard a finer discourse in
Boston.
The burden of the sermon was that the promise to send a
comforter to the disciples was a promise made for all time, to
those in sorrow, that if they would but ask, the comforter
would come to them. When the sermon was over and the choir had
sung again; the minister said, as many persons present would
like to know the particulars of James' death he would read the
account from the _Territorial Enterprise_, a paper published in
Virginia City only a few miles from the Nevada mines. He said
further that the report was written by a Mr. De Quille, who he
presumed was a descendant of the distinguished family of France
of that name, that the account showed that he was a very
learned man and graphic writer, and such a man could only be
retained by the receipt of an enormous salary.
He further explained that where the word shaft was used it
meant a hole like a well which men sunk in order to get the
rock out from underground that had silver in it, that drifts
were places in the mines where the rock that had the silver in
it lay in ridges like snow drifts; that stations were where men
kept lunch stands for the miners, that tunnels were holes made
in the shape of a funnel to get air down in the mine, that a
winze was a corruption for windlass, and cages were simply
elevators, like those in use in hotels, but made like cages so
that men could not fall out, that run up and down in the well.
You never at a revival saw a congregation so excited as that
one was during the reading of that account. They tell me that
men were as pale as death all over the house while the sobbing
of women could be heard above the reading.
But our two miners never showed a bit of emotion and never
seemed conscious that every eye in the church was on them. The
only things I noticed were that during the singing the older
one was softly beating time on his hymn book, and both moved a
little uneasily in their seats when the minister was explaining
the mining terms.
After the children had looked for the last time on their
father's face, the young men who had been standing at the foot
of the coffin, walked up to the head, one on each side. After a
long gaze at James' face they turned facing each other and
stretching out their hands, clasped hands a moment over the
coffin. I suppose that is a custom among miners in the west.
Brother's body was buried beside that of his wife.
The young men remained in Taunton two weeks after the funeral.
We all went on a little excursion to Buzzards Bay and to Cape
Cod. I never saw better behaved men, even those that come down
from Boston, than those two miners. They received a great many
attentions, too, here in Taunton and every day were obliged to
decline invitations to dinner.
There is a story going around, but I do not believe it is true,
that one morning early they went to a livery stable and asked
for two wild horses, regular furies, that had thrown their
riders the previous day, that they mounted them and the horses
reared and plunged awfully but they rode rapidly out of town;
that they were gone an hour and a half and when they returned
the horses were covered with foam and seemed perfectly gentle.
Just before going away they came over one day to my house and
telling the girls that they had received so many kindnesses
from so many people that they wanted to make a little picnic
festival in Mr. Hartwell's grounds, asked them to help suggest
names for the invitations. The festival was to be the next
afternoon. What do you think? That morning carpenters came and
fixed benches and tables on the grounds, the three o'clock
train brought the ---- Cornet Band from Boston, and at five
o'clock in the afternoon the waiters in the ---- Hotel
appeared, set the tables and waited on the guests. They had
sent up to Boston for the dinner and I never saw anything like
it in my life.
Mr. Hartwell says the expense must have been at least two
hundred and twenty-five dollars. Those Western men are awfully
extravagant.
Next morning they went away. The older one to Pennsylvania,
where he will live hereafter, and the other one to California,
where he has property. We have been real lonesome ever since
they went away.
Mildred left us yesterday to return to school, and will
graduate next June, she says on the day she is eighteen. Mabel,
you know, was eighteen and a half when she graduated last June,
but Mildred always was a little the most forward scholar of her
age. Since the funeral the girls have purchased some beautiful
clothing, and it would do your heart good to see them. My
letter is pretty long but I could tell you as much more if I
had time.
Your loving sister,
MARTHA WOLCOTT.
P. S.--I want to tell you a secret. I think that Ashley, the
older miner, and Mabel have a liking for each other, though I
don't know, except that I saw Ashley kiss Mabel as he was going
away. All I can say is that if they should make a match, there
would not be a handsomer couple in Massachusetts. It is only a
surmise on my part that they are fond of each other. After the
young men had been gone for several hours I asked Mabel if
there were any serious relations between her and Ashley, and
she answered: "Not the least serious auntie, our relations are
altogether pleasant."
M. W.
The next letter from Mrs. Wolcott to Mrs. Roberts read like this:
TAUNTON, Sept. 13th, 1879.
MY DEAR SISTER:--It is now almost a year since I wrote you the
letter telling you of brother James' funeral and that I half
suspected a fondness had sprung up between one of the men who
came with the remains of James and Mabel. Well, I was correct
in my suspicion for last Thursday they were married and left by
the evening train for their future home in Pennsylvania. He has
an iron mine in the mountains and reduction works at Pittsburg
and is making money very fast. Their home is in Pittsburg.
I thought at first that I was mistaken because no letters came
to Mabel, but it seems Mabel made a confident of her cousin
George who is a conductor on a train which runs between here
and Providence, he hired a box in the postoffice there, Mabel's
letters were sent to that postoffice and George brought them to
her. This was done to thwart the curiosity of the wife of the
postmaster here. The postmaster himself is a good meaning man,
but his wife is a real gossip and had frequent letters come
from one place to Mabel the whole town would have known it in
no time. When it was known that the girls had received a large
amount of money the Browns, the Smiths and the Proctors, who
had never called before, all came and begged Mabel, now that
she had graduated, (look at the hypocrisy) to come out more in
the world. Young Henry Proctor called several times and in less
than a fortnight asked Mabel if he might not sit up with her on
Saturday nights. He is a very proud young man and it is said he
will have twelve thousand dollars when he goes out for himself
next year, but Mabel declined any particular attentions from
him. She did the same thing with half a dozen more young men of
the best families. I was perplexed. Of course I was in no hurry
for Mabel to marry, but good opportunities for girls are none
too plenty, so many young men go West, and when I saw her throw
away chance after chance, and some of them so eligible, I was
afraid she would be sorry sometime, for careless as girls are,
they all expect sometime to be married. It went on so until six
weeks ago when suddenly one evening Mabel said: "Auntie come go
with me to Boston to-morrow." "What are you going to Boston
for?" I asked. "There is a young man coming here to carry me
away in a few weeks, Aunty, and I need a few things," said she.
"And who is the young man, Mabel?" I asked. "Herbert Ashley,"
was the answer, and then she fell on her knees and burying her
face in my lap sobbed for joy. I cried a little, too, it was so
sudden. "But when were you engaged?" I asked after she grew a
little composed. "We have had a perfect understanding since the
week after father's funeral," said she, and then added: "My
heart followed him out of the house on that first day when I
had only looked once in his eyes. Is he not grand, Auntie?"
"But why have you never told me?" I asked. Then she put her
arms around me and said: "Because, dear Aunty, you know you
could not have kept my secret." I was hurt at this, because
every body knows how close mouthed I am. But I went to Boston
and, what do you think? that girl spent over seven hundred
dollars just for clothes. I remonstrated, but she cut me short,
saying, "I am going with my king, and I must not disgrace his
court." Did you ever hear such talk? When I was married I had
just two merino dresses, one brown and one blue, four muslin
dresses and some plain underclothing. But I had a beautiful
feather bed that I had made myself, four comforters, two
quilted bed spreads in small patterns, and a full set of dishes
that cost six dollars and a half in Portland. Things are
greatly changed since I was a girl. Well, Mr. Ashley came; he
is a splendid man. Mabel slipped away with her cousin and went
down to Providence to meet him. He brought Mabel jewelry that
the best judges here think cost as much as a thousand dollars.
It is shameful, the extravagance of those Western men. Why, he
gave the minister that married them fifty dollars, which you
know yourself was a clear waste of forty-five dollars. Five
dollars is certainly enough for five minutes work of a
minister, especially if he and his wife are also given a fine
supper. Mr. Ashley also gave Mildred some beautiful jewelry. It
must have cost two hundred and fifty dollars, and he was most
generous to me, too. On his wedding day he got five dispatches
from the West; one from Illinois, two from Virginia City,
Nevada, and two from California, congratulating him, and they
must have cost the senders as much as fifty dollars. Thank
goodness, they all came marked "paid." The wedding was in the
church in the evening. It had been whispered around and the
church was full. Land sakes, but they were a lovely couple.
Mabel's dress was white satin with princesse train of brocaded
satin. The front of the skirt was trimmed with lace flounces,
headed with garlands of lilies of the valley and orange
blossoms. She wore also a long tulle veil, with orange blossoms
in the hair. Her dress cost one hundred and fifty-three dollars
and thirty-seven cents. I did not think the train was necessary
and there was no need of a veil, leastwise not so long a one,
but it was Mabel's wish to have them, so I did not object. Mrs.
White said she never saw a handsomer bride in Boston nor a more
manly looking groom. I confess I was proud of them both. We had
a quiet little party at my house and a supper, and at ten
o'clock they went away by special train to Providence. Think of
the foolishness of hiring a special train, when the regular
train would have come by next morning. Mr. Ashley wanted to
have what he called a "boss wedding;" wanted to ask half the
town and, as he said, "shake up Taunton for once," but Mabel
coaxed him out of the idea. He wanted me to sell or rent my
place and with Mildred go and make his home mine, but I don't
think that is the best way. Young married folks want to be let
alone mostly, while they are getting acquainted with each
other. Mildred has been home since she graduated in June. I
think she has discouraged more men since she came home than
ever Mabel did. She has improved greatly in her personal
appearance and is a girl of most decided character. When she
first came home we used to tease her about her beaux, but we do
not any more. When the young men were here last year, after we
got pretty well acquainted, one day when they had called
Mildred took a sheet of paper and pen and going to Mr. Harding,
said: "Mr. Harding, please write an inscription to put upon
Father's monument." He took the pen and wrote: "The truest,
best of men." Well, one day about a month ago Mildred had gone
down town for something when Mabel wanting scissors, or thimble
or something which she had mislaid, went to Mildred's work
basket to get hers. There under some soft wools that Mildred
had been working upon Mabel saw the end of a ribbon and picking
it up drew out a locket which was attached to it. She could not
control her curiosity but brought it to me. I gave Mabel
liberty to open it though my sense of perfect justice was a
good deal shocked. To tell the truth I was dying to see what
was in it. Mabel opened it and inside there was nothing but
that bit of paper with the words in Harding's hand-writing:
"The truest, best of men." There were some stains on the paper
but whether they were made by kisses or tears we could not make
out though I put on my gold-rimmed spectacles, which are
powerful magnifiers, and looked my best. Mabel put the locket
back, but to this day there has not been a word said to give me
any idea whether there is anything like an engagement or not.
Mildred is so quiet and self-contained that if her heart was
breaking I do not believe she would say a word. I should be
glad to think they were engaged, for privately, I liked Mr.
Harding a little the best, but if they had been it seems to me
he would have been here to the wedding. I don't know when I
have been so worked up about anything. If I was fifteen years
younger, and I thought the majority of men in the West were
like the two that I have seen, I would sell my place and go
West, too.
Your affectionate sister,
MARTHA WOLCOTT.
P. S.--When Mr. Ashley was here he took the girls out to James'
grave. We had put up a plain stone but Mr. Ashley did not like
it. When he came in he ordered the finest monument in the
marble works. Those that have seen it say it is real Italian
marble, and that it is handsomer than the one that the banker
Sherman erected over his wife and that cost over five hundred
and fifty dollars.
M. W.
This letter explains itself:
LOS ANGELES, Cal., March 20, 1880.
MY DARLING SISTER:--We reached our home here last night. While
I write the perfume of almonds and orange blossoms, of climbing
vines, and roses shedding their incense in lavish fragrance
steals in through the open window. A mocking bird is mimicking
an oriole's warblings, and I fancy I feel at this moment as do
ransomed souls when amid the mansions of the redeemed they open
their eyes and know that for them joy is to be eternal. You
have always called me "Old Matter-of-Fact." Well, then, just
imagine me sitting here half blinded by the tears of happiness
that I can not restrain.
But let me tell you of my journey. You remember that though the
sky was bright overhead--as bright as it can be in
Pittsburg--on the morning that we were married, when we took
the train in the evening it was snowing hard. Before morning
the train was delayed by the snow. We worried along, however,
and the next evening arrived at Peoria, Illinois. Here an old
friend of my husband (is not that word husband lovely?) your
husband and father's, with his wife met us at the depot and we
had to go home with them and stay two days. The man's name is
Carlin and he is "a splendid fellow," as they say out this way.
He was one of the Club to which our husbands belonged. He has a
mill, store and farm a few miles from Peoria and seems to be
the first man in that region. He has, too, a charming wife whom
he calls "Susie Dick," and a six months' old baby which he
calls "Brewster Miller Carlin." They are as hearty people in
their friendship as I ever met. They asked all about your
husband, and yourself, and I had to get out your photograph to
convince them that you were far more beautiful than myself.
When we arrived Mr. Carlin sent out and got in some twenty
couples, and to use his own expression, "we made a night of
it," and "painted the town red," that is until midnight. They
made me sing and play, and one old gentleman present made me
proud, by telling me "you beat ord'nary primer donners." After
the company retired Mr. Carlin asked me how I liked the old
gentleman's pronunciation, and then husband said the old
gentleman knew as much about music as our minister in Taunton
did about mining. Then he told Mr. Carlin what Mr. Ashman said
about tunnels, drifts, stations, etc., and the man laughed
until the tears ran down his cheeks. Well, at length, with
blessings, presents, and packed lunch baskets, we got away. All
through Illinois and Iowa the world was hid by the snow, we
passed Omaha, crossed Nebraska, climbed the Rocky Mountains and
came down on this side, and swept across the desert of Nevada
to Reno. Here we stopped and next day went to Virginia City. I
wanted to visit the place where our father died. In Virginia
City--which is a city on a desert mountain side--you cannot
conceive of such a place--the wind was blowing a hurricane;
blowing as at the old home, it comes in sometimes from the
ocean in a southeaster. Husband took me to the fatal Bullion
shaft. The men were just then changing shift as they call it;
the men who had worked eight hours were coming out of the mine,
those who were to work the next eight hours were going down.
The shaft is half a mile deep and the cage loaded with nine men
shoots up out of the dreadful gloom or drops back into it as
though it were nothing. Many of the miners greeted husband
warmly, and were hearty in their welcomes to me, though they
were not encumbered by any great amount of clothing. I turned
away from the shaft almost in a panic, I could not bear to took
at it. But Virginia City is a wonderful place, I would tell you
more of it, if you had not some one near you who can tell it
much better than I can. We met a great many pleasant people
there, especially a lawyer named Col. Savage, a journalist, a
Mr. Strong and a Professor Stoneman. They met us like brothers
and spoke of your Herbert as another brother. We left that same
evening and returning to Reno started up the Sierras. I confess
that a feeling of something like desolation took possession of
me. The region was so dreary, it seemed to me that only my
husband was between me and chaos. After leaving Reno a couple
of hours, we entered the snow sheds and I went to sleep with a
thought that I was under a mountain of snow. I wakened next
morning in Sacramento and when I looked out the birds were
singing and flowers were blooming around me. Before noon we
reached San Francisco and drove to the Palace. There we were
met by a gentleman named Miller, the one that made for father
our money. He is very rich. He told husband that he had been
"coppering" the market ever since he came to the city and had
"taken every trick." Later I asked husband what "coppering"
meant and he smiled and said: "betting that it will not win." I
do not quite understand it yet, but I know it is right for
husband says so. This Mr. Miller told husband that he was going
to make me a present and that he must not say a word at which
Sammy said "go ahead." Then he handed me a little package but
said I must not open it until I reached home. What do you
think? It is a diamond cluster which the cost of must have been
fifteen hundred dollars. In San Francisco I found the most
delicious flowers I ever saw. Tell aunty, too, that there are
no such hotels, as one or two in San Francisco, "not even in
Boston." There are splendid churches and theatres. The Bay is
beautiful, the park is going to be grand, the ladies dress most
richly. We sailed over to Saucelito and San Rafael, looked out
through the Golden Gate--in short, ran around for a week. Then
we came directly home, reaching this place last night.
A charming supper was in waiting, and, all smiles, the Chinaman
who prepared it was in attendance. His name is Yap Sing, and he
has been with husband ever since his first return from the
East. He was the cook for the Club which you have heard our
husbands talk about, and of course knew father. He fairly ran
over with joy at our coming, and such a cook as he is. I would
like to hear what Aunt Martha would say to one of his dinners.
But husband pays him forty dollars a month. Is not that a
dreadful price for a cook?
We have received good news since coming home. Husband's mine in
Arizona is yielding him for his one-half interest twelve
hundred and fifty dollars per month.
My house is a beautiful cottage, with broad halls and verandas,
and is furnished elegantly all through.
My heart runs over with gratitude. My soul is on its knees in
thankfulness all the time. I believe I am the happiest woman in
the world. "The truest and best of men" sits across the room
writing letter after letter, clearing up a delayed
correspondence. He is handsomer than on that day when I first
looked in his eyes, and knew in an instant that he was my fate,
that I should worship him forever, whether he knew it or not;
that if he did not ask me to be his wife, I should never be a
wife, but by myself should walk through life bearing my burdens
as humbly and bravely as I could, and keeping my heart warm by
the flame in the vestal lamp which his smile had kindled within
it.
Now heaven has opened to me, and so jubilant is my heart that I
can feel it throbbing as I write, and with a thankfulness
unspeakable I worship at my hero's feet.
With warmest love to you, dear sister, and to your husband and
Auntie, in which my other self joins heartily, I am
Your loving sister,
MILDRED BREWSTER HARDING.
P. S.--Sister: This morning as we sat here I asked my lord why
he and your husband clasped hands over our father's coffin.
Waiting a moment, he answered that on the journey East with
father's body, your husband and himself made a covenant
together that henceforth, whatever might happen, they would
watch over us as a sacred trust received from our father, and
that the hand-clasp was but an involuntary pledge of the
sincerity of that compact.
Can we ever be good enough wives to these men who do not half
realize how grand they are?
Love and kisses,
MILDRED.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Comstock Club, by Charles Carroll Goodwin