the taste. I don't care much, and always leave proof-readers to quibble if they like.
Thanks for the tickets. I fear I cannot come till Thursday, but will try, and won't forget the office, since I am not that much-tried soul the editor.
Yours truly,
L. M. A.
To Mrs. Williams (Betsey Prig).
Nonquit, August 25.
Dear Betsey,–I am so sorry the darling Doll is ill! Brood over him, and will him well; for mother-love works wonders.
My poppet is a picture of health, vigor, and delightful naughtiness. She runs wild in this fine place with some twenty other children to play with,–nice babies, well-bred, and with pleasant mammas for me to gossip with.
It would be a good place for your little people, as the air is delicious, bathing safe and warm, and cottages to be quiet in if one cares to keep house. Do try it next year. Let me know early. I can get a nice little cot for you (near mine) for $100, or perhaps less, from June to October,–if you care to stay; I do....
We have been here since July, and are all hearty, brown, and gay as larks.
"John Inglesant" was too political for me. I am too lazy here to read much; mean to find a den in Boston and work for a month or two; then fly off to New York, and perhaps run over and see my Betsey. I shall be at home in October, and perhaps we may see you then, if the precious little shadow gets nice and well again, and I pray he may.
Lulu has some trifling ail now and then,–just enough to show me how dear she is to us all, and what a great void the loss of our little girl would make in hearts and home. She is very intelligent and droll. When I told her the other day that the crickets were hopping and singing in the grass with their mammas, she said at once, "No; their Aunt Weedys." Aunty is nearer than mother to the poor baby; and it is very sweet to have it so, since it must be.
Now, my blessed Betsey, keep a brave heart, and I am sure all will be well in the nest. Love and kisses to the little birds, and all good wishes to the turtle-dove and her mate.
Yours ever,
L. M. A.
The older birthdays are 29th of November, Lulu's the 8th; so we celebrate for Grandpa, Auntie, and Lulu all at once, in great style,–eighty-three, fifty, and three years old.
When I get on my pins I'm going (D. V.) to devote myself to settling poor souls who need a gentle boost in hard times.
To Mr. Niles.
June 23, 1883.
Dear Mr. Niles,–Thanks for the Goethe book. I want everything that comes out about him. "Princess Amelia" is charming, and the surprise at the end well done. Did the author of "My Wife's Sister" write it?
I told L. C. M. she might put "A Modern Mephistopheles" in my list of books. Several people had found it out, and there was no use in trying to keep it secret after that.
Mrs. Dodge begged me to consider myself mortgaged to her for tales, etc., and as I see no prospect of any time for writing books, I may be able to send her some short stories from time to time, and so be getting material for a new set of books like "Scrap-bag," but with a new name. You excel in names, and can be evolving one meantime....
Yours truly,
L. M. A.
July 15, 1884.
I wish I might be inspired to do those dreadful boys ["Jo's Boys"]; but rest is more needed than money. Perhaps during August, my month at home, I may take a grind at the old mill.
Journal.
October 24, 1882.–Telegram that Father had had a paralytic stroke. Home at once, and found him stricken down. Anxious days; little hope.
November.–Gave up our rooms, and I went home to help with the new care. My Lulu ran to meet me, rosy and gay, and I felt as if I could bear anything with this little sunbeam to light up the world for me.
Poor Father dumb and helpless; feeble mind slowly coming back. He knows us; but he's asleep most of the time. Get a nurse, and wait to see if he will rally. It is sad to see the change one moment makes, turning the hale, handsome old man into this pathetic wreck. The forty sonnets last winter and the fifty lectures at the School last summer were too much for a man of eighty-three. He was warned by Dr. W., but thought it folly to stop; and now poor Father pays the penalty of breaking the laws of health. I have done the same: may I be spared this end!
January, 1883.–Too busy to keep a diary. Can only jot down a fact now and then.
Father improving. Much trouble with nurses; have no idea of health; won't walk; sit over the fire, and drink tea three times a day; ought to be an intelligent, hearty set of women. Could do better myself; have to fill up all the deficiencies and do double duty.
People come to see Father; but it excites him, and we have to deny him.
February.–To B. for a week of rest, having got Mrs. H. settled with Father, and all comfortable for November.
Began a book called "Genius." Shall never finish it, I dare say, but must keep a vent for my fancies to escape at. This double life is trying, and my head will work as well as my hands.
March.–To give A. rest I took Lulu and maid to the Bellevue for a month. Lulu very happy with her new world. Enjoys her walks, the canary I got her, and the petting she gets from all. Showed her to friends; want them to know May's child. Had her picture taken by Notman; very good.
April 2d.–Town meeting. Seven women vote. I am one of them, and A. another. A poor show for a town that prides itself on its culture and independence.
6th.–Go home to stay; Father needs me. New nurse; many callers; Lulu fretful, Anna tired, Father feeble,–hard times for all.
Wrote a story for "St. Nicholas" at odd moments. Nurses and doctors take a deal of money.
May.–Take care of Lulu, as we can find no good woman to walk and dress and play with her. The ladies are incapable or proud; the girls vulgar or rough; so my poor baby has a bad time with her little temper and active mind and body. Could do it myself if I had the nerves and strength, but am needed elsewhere, and must leave the child to some one. Long to go away with her and do as I like. Shall never lead my own life.
July.–Go to Nonquit with Miss H. and Lulu for the summer. A quiet, healthy place, with pleasant people and fine air. Turn Lulu loose, with H. to run after her, and try to rest.
Lulu takes her first bath in the sea. Very bold; walks off toward Europe up to her neck, and is much afflicted that I won't let her go to the bottom and see the "little trabs;" makes a cupid of herself, and is very pretty and gay.
The boys revel in the simple pleasures of Nonquit,–a fine place for them to be in.
Wrote a tale for "St. Nicholas,"–"Sophie's Secret,"–$100.
August.–Home to C., and let A. come for her holiday. Much company.
P. C. Mozoomdar preached, and had a conversation at Mrs. Emerson's; a most interesting man. Curious to hear a Hindu tell how the life of Christ impressed him.
November 27th.–Decide to lessen care and worry at home; so take rooms in Boylston Street, and with Lulu set forth to make a home of our own. The whole parlor floor gives my lady room to run in doors, and the Public Garden opposite is the out-door play-ground. Miss C. comes as governess, and we settle down. Fred boards with us. Heard Mathew Arnold.
29th.–Birthday,–fifty-one. Home with gifts to poor Father,–eighty-four. Found a table full for myself.
December 25th.–Home with gifts for all; sad day. See H. Martineau's statue; very fine.
January, 1884.–New Year's Day is made memorable by my solemnly spanking my child. Miss C. and others assure me it is the only way to cure her wilfulness. I doubt it; but knowing