107

Answer of the Mother.

New York, Oct. 3,18—. Mt Dear Child:

I am sorry that you should urge me to grant you

such an unreasonable request. Of course, nothing could please me better than to have my darling little Ella sitting on my lap at this very moment; but think how seriously the absence from your school, now, would derange all your recitations for this term. You must not think of it; recollect that all your brothers and sisters have been away at school, and always remained until the vacations. It is true that you, being the youngest, have been pctte<l more than the rest, but it would be very unfortunate to have my indulgence interfere with your studies. You know that you are the idol of our hearts; for that very reason you should endeavor to become proficient in those branches of study that will render you an accomplished lady.

Believe me, my dear child, you will find school more pleasant every day, as you get better acquainted with your schoolmates; and, through improvement in your studies, you will steadily grow in favor with your teachers.

I will write Mrs. Mayhew to render your tasks as light as possible at first, and I have no doubt she will do all in her power to aid you.

Only a few weeks, remember, and you will be home for a long vacation, which will be all the more dellghtfnl for the privation you are at present undergoing. Your father, brothers and sisters all unite with me in sending you their love.

I remain, my dear child,

Your Affectionate Mother,

NANCY BENNETT. To Ella Bennett,

Hopevllle Female Seminary.

From an Absent Wife to her Husband.

Argyle, N. Y., March 2,18—. Dearest Love:

I am at last safely under uncle's roof, having arrived here last evening, baby and myself both well, but really very tired. We had no delay, except about two hours at Buffalo. Uncle met me at the depot with his carriage, and, in fifteen minutes from the time of my arrival, I was cosily seated in my room, which was all in readiness for me.

Uncle and aunt seem greatly pleased with my coming, and both arc loud in their praise of the baby. They very much regret that you could not have come with me, and say they intend to prevail on yon to make them a visit when I am ready to go home.

Baby looks into my eyes once In a while and says, solemnly, "Papa,

papa!" I do actually believe he is thinking about home, and want*

to keep up a talk abont you. Everybody thinks he looks like his papa.

By day after to-morrow I will write a long letter. I want you to get

this by the first mail, so I make It short. With dearest love, I am,

Your Wife,

CAROLINE.

Answer to the Foregoing.

Michigan Citt, Ind., March 7. Dear Wife:

I was indeed rejoiced to hear of your safe arrival, having felt no little anxiety for you, which Is relieved by the receipt of your letter.

I miss you very much, the house looks so dreary without your loved presence; but I am, nevertheless, glad that yon are making your visit, as the journey, I trust, will be beneficial to your health.

Kiss baby for me. Only by his absence do I know how much I have enjoyed my play with onr little Charlie.

Don't take any concern about me. Enjoy yonr visit to the utmost extent. In one of my next letterB I will write whether I can go East and return with you. Remember me to uncle and annt.

Your Ever-Faithful Husband,

ARCHIBALD.

From a Servant in the City, to her Parents in the Country.

New York, June 1,18—.

Mr Dear Parents;

I take the first opportunity, since I arrived in the city, to write to you. It was a sore trial, I assure you, to leave home, but since coming here I have been quite contented, and I am getting so well accustomed to my work that I begin to like my place very much.

Mr. and Mrs. Benedict are both very kind to me. The family consists of father, mother and three children, the youngest being a little boy three years old —a beautiful little fellow, that always reminds me of brother James. Eliza, the oldest girl, is thirteen, and Martha is eleven. They arc both very kind to me, and do so much about the house that it helps me very considerably.

Mr. Benedict is a clothing merchant in the city, and, I judge, Is in very good circumstances. The girls are attending school at present. All the family are very regular in their attendance at church.

For the first few days here, everything seemed very strange. I hardly knew what to make of so much noise and so many people on the streets. I have now, however, become accustomed to the multitudes, and would, I presume, consider my native village very dull Indeed, compared with the bustle and activity of the city.

I realize every day, dear parents, the worth of your good advice to me, which I never knew the value of so much before; thanking you for the same, I will always endeavor to follow it.

Give my love to Johnny, Mary, Jimmy and all inquiring friends. I shall anxiously look for a letter from yon. Write me in the care of

Solon Benedict, No. Thirteenth Street.

Your Dutiful and Affectionate Daughter.

BETSEY ANN FAIRBANKS. To Mr. And Mrs. H. K. Fairbanks, Swallow Hill, Pa.

The Mother's Reply.

8wallow Hill, Pa., June 7,18—.

Dear Betsey:

Your letter, which has been received, affords great pleasure and satisfaction to your father and myself. Nothing could give our hearts greater happiness than to know of your enjoyment and firm purpose to do right. Now that you are removed from all parental restraint, it is of the most vital Importance that you implicitly rely upon the religious precepts which have been Instilled into your mind, and that you daily pray to God for guidance and mercy.

We are greatly pleased that you are well situated with Mr. and Mrs. Benedict; In return for their kindness you must be honest, Industrious, kind and obliging, always doing your duty faithfully, which will be a real satisfaction to yourself as well as to your employers.

Several of the neighbors, who have called, have wished to be remembered to you; Mary and Jimmy unite with you father and myself In sending you love.

We shall constantly pray for your continued protection and prosperity. I remain, dear Betsey,

Your Affectionate Mother,

HARRIET FAIRBANKS.

Letter from a Father, Remonstrating with his Son.

Danbury, Conn., July 7,18—. My Dear Son:

I am sorry to learn that you arc not Inclined to be a* strict In your line of duty as you should be. Remember, my son, that a down-hill road Is before yon, unless you rouse yourself and shake off Immediately the habits of dissipation that are fastening themselves upon yon. Be sure, dear boy, that nothing but sorrow and shame can come of bad company, late hours, neglect of duty, and inattention to the obligations of morality. I am willing to think that you have not given this matter sufficient thought heretofore; that your actions are the result of thoughtlessness, rather than a disposition to do wrong.

But be forewarned In time. Ton must change your coarse of action Immediately, or Incur my severe displeasure.

I urge this, my boy, for your sake. Remember that my happiness Is bound In your own, and that nothing could give me greater pleasure than your prosperity. I trust that It will not be necessary for me to use more severe language than this.

Your Anxious Father,

RUDOLF MATHEWS.

The Son's Reply.

Boston, Mass., June 9, IS—. Dear Father:

I realize that I need the good advice contained In your letter. I am aware, as I stop to think of my conduct, that I have given you reason for anxiety, but I intend, by attention to my business hereafter, and a complete reformation of my habits, to give you no occasion for concern about me In the future. Believe me, I love and respect you too much to intentionally wound your feelings, or to bring down your gray hairs with sorrow.

Excuse me, dear father, for having given you this uneasiness, and trust me as,

Your Affectionate and Repentant Son,

CHARLES MATHEWS.

From a Married Man to a Friend About to Marry.

Atlanta, Ga., Aug. 30, 18—.

Friend Batciielder:

Can it be possible? Am I right, or am I dreaming? Has it come to this at last? You, Batchelder Button — you cynic, raller against women, the unalterable, unchangeable bachelor, — Is It possible that you have at last been captured, and have surrendered all your ordnance, heavy guns and small arms to the enemy*

What a defeat! That large, strong heart of yours all crumbling to pieces, and surrendering to Cupid's battery!

Well, now, seriously, my friend, from my point of view, I think you have done a very sensible thing. The man who goes the journey alone through life, lives but half a life. If you have found the woman fitted by temperament and accomplishments to render your pathway through life the joyous one that the married state should be, you are certainly to be congratulated for awakening to a true sense of your condition, though rather late In the day.

Though but slightly acquainted with Miss Howell, I have formed a very favorable Idea of her intelligence and worth, which opinion, I believe, is generally shared by those who know her best. I doubt not, with her your married life will be a continually happy one.

Your Friend,

HERBERT TRACEY.

From a Young Man Who Has Recently Entered College.

Harvard College, Mass., May IB, 18—.

Dear Father:

I am happy to inform you that I passed my examination with credit, If I am to believe the commendation bestowed upon me by Dr. H .

I was very agreeably surprised, soon after my arrival, to meet my former schoolmate, Hartley Montague, who is one of the most respected and Influential in his class, with whom I am, as formerly, on quite Intimate terms. Many things are quite now to me here. The society Is very much mixed, and I cannot tell Just where my level Is; but I trust I shall bo able to follow the good advice of my parents, and always do credit to myself and my relatives, who have labored so assiduously to advance me to this position.

I thank you for the check you so kindly sent me, which was fully adequate to cover all expenses of entrance, and leave me a surplus sufficient for the rest of the term.

Love to dear mother and sisters. Hoping to meet you all at our forthcoming commencement, I am,

Your Affectionate Son,

BARFORD D. CLAY.

Descriptive Letter

From a Young Man at the " Old Home/'to his Parents In the

West.

Cambridge, N. Y., Jnne IS, 187*.

Dear Parents:

Agreeable to your request, I take the first opportunity, after my visit to the "old home" and a hurried call upon our relatives, to write you how I found the people and scenes that yon knew so well in the days lang syne, and that I remember aa a boy.

I arrived at Cambridge after a ninety minutes* ride from Troy. What a great change in traveling! When last I waa here, It was a day's Journey from Troy, by stage-coach. To-day, New York, In time, la nearer to our old home than Troy was then; and Troy, after traveling among the thriving, driving cities of the great West, seems like a wayside village, instead of the great metropolis that It once seemed to be; though It is a beautiful, growing, wealthy manufacturing city to-day, nevertheless. It Is not that the villages and cities that we once knew grow less, but by observation and comparison we class them where they belong.

At Cambridge I secured a livery team for a three days* sojourn among the scenes of my boyhood. Up the Battenkill. Could it be that this was the great river In which my parents were In such constant fear of their boy being drowned? Was this the Mississippi of my childhood? Alas! that I had floated down the Ohio River to the real Mississippi, that I bad been up the Missouri, two thousand miles from its mouth, and that I had navigated the Father of Waters from its fountain-head to its outlet in the Gulf of Mexico.

Had the Battenkill been drying up? Not at all. Though a brook, comparatively, there are the same milldams, the same trout-holes, and the same bending willows by Its side; and the first to meet me among our old neighbors was uncle Nat., the same old jolly fisherman, returning from his dally piscatorial excursion, with a small string of trout. Uncle Nat. complains bitterly of the scarcity of fish at present in the river, caused, he says, by "them city chaps" from Troy, New York and Albany, who are in the habit of sojourning during the summer months In the hotels among the mountains hereabouts.

Stopping first at uncle Ilenry's, I visited the old homestead towards evening on the day of my arrival. Whatever may be said about the village and rivers growing smaller, it must certainly be admitted that the mountains, hills and rocks hold their own. Up there, on the hillside, was " the old house at home," which I had not seen for fifteen years. I went up the walk. There were the maples that I assisted father in plant I mr, twenty years ago — great, spreading trees now. There was the same rosebush that mother and I cared for sixteen years ago. No other evidence of the flowers and shrubbery that mother so much delighted in remained about the premises.

I had learned that the place had passed into the hands of an Irishman named Sweeny, so I rapped at the front door, and was met by Mrs. S., from whom I obtained permission to stroll around the place. "Oh, yes," said the kind-hearted woman, "go all about, and when Mr. Swainy comes, he'll go wid ye."

So I strolled in the quiet evening hour, alone, among the scenes of my childhood, where we boys picked stones and played ball in the summer, and slid down hill and chopped firewood in the winter. The barn was the same old barn. I clambered to its old girt beam, and sat looking down on the haymow where I had jumped, hundreds of times, into the hay below. I climbed to the box, close under the rafters, where we boys used to keep doves. The same box Is there yet. I went down into the stables, where we hunted hens' eggs. Apparently, the same speckled hens are there now. And down around the barn are the same old maples, and willows beside the brook.

I went out to the fields. What Immense tracts of land I thought these ten-acre fields, when I was a Ik>v! The same orchards arc there. The old Jones sweet-apple tree In dead, however, and none of the trees are looking thrifty. I took a drink from the upper spring, in the Barnes lot, which tnstod just as cool as ever, and getting down on my hands and knees to drink seemed like old times. I saw a woodebuck and several squirrels, in my walk, and heard the same old caw, caw, of the crows, which brought back the past the most vividly of anything I had heard.

Returning, add looking through the house, I found almost everything changed. Two American and three Irish families had occupied It since we left, and they, evidently thinking that they would soon leave, did not pretend to make any Improvements for their successors to enjoy. To sum up the description of the house — It has never been painted since we left; the dooryard fence Is gone; the woodhouse has been removed; the outdoor cellar has caved In; the wagonhouse leans so badly It Is liable to fall over at any time; the house Itself, In a few years, will go the way of the fences; and most of the outbuildings are already gone. Nearly every American family that once lived here has gone West; the* population of the vicinity, at the present time, being largely made up of Irish. Another generation, and, it is probable, scarcely an American will be left to tell the tale. Though sorrowing to see the wreck of our old home, I am greatly enjoying the visit. The scenery Is truly beautiful; though, unfortunately, the people here know nothing of Its beauties, and It takes us some years on the level plains of the West to learn to appreciate It.

One thing must be said of the people here, however, especially the Americans that are left —they take their full measure of enjoyment. With continuous snow four months in the year, the winter Is made up of sleigh riding to parties and festal occasions; the sunshine of spring Is the signal for maple-sugar-maklng, and sugaring-off parties; the hard work of summer Is broken up by fishing, berrying, and frequent excursions to various parts of the country; the fall is characterized by apple-parings and corn-hnskings; so that, with their maple sugar, berries, cream, trout, honey and pumpkin pies, they are about the best livers and happiest people I ever met. I never knew, till I returned, that they enjoyed themselves so well.

I will continue the record of my visit In my next.
Tours Affectionately,

ALFRED T. WEEKS.

Descriptive Letter.

From a Young Lady Visiting Chicago, to her Parents in the

East.

Chicago, 111., June 1,1873.

Dear Parents:

Having been the rounds among our relatives here, I seat myself to give you something of an Idea of this wonderful city — in many respects one of the most remarkable on the face of the earth, having a population to-day of over 300,000.

You have heard so much of the city that I must give you a brief sketch of its history.

The first white man ever known to have set foot on the spot where Chicago now stands, was a French Missionary, from Canada, named Pierre Jacques Marquette, who, with two others, having been on a missionary tour In the southern part of Illinois, when homeward bound was detained at this place In the fall of 1673, in consequence of the severe cold, until the following spring. That was two hundred years ago.

The first settler that came here was Polnt-au-Sable, a St. Domingo negro, who, in 1796, commenced a few Improvements —seventy-seven years since. Au-Sable soon afterwards removed to Peoria, 111., his improvements passing Into the hands of one Le Mai, a Frenchman, who traded considerably with the Indians. The first permanent settler here was John Klnzle, who came over from St. Joseph, Michigan, and commenced his improvements In 1804 —sixty-nine years ago. Mr. Klnzle woo, indeed, what Romulus was to Rome, the founder of the city. There was a fort built that year, a blockhouse made of logs, a few rodB southwest of what Is now known as Rush street bridge. Mr. Klnzle hod a house near the south end of the bridge, which bridge, of course, hod no existence in those days. An employe of Mr. Kinzie, named Oaltmetle, a Frenchman, had a cabin a little west of Mr. Kinzic; and a little further west was the Ion coitage of one Bums, a discharged soldier. South of the fort, on the South Side, a Mr. Lee had a farm. In the low swamp lands, where now stands the heart of the business center of the city, and his cabin was a half mile or so down the river.

For a quarter of a century the growth of the village waa remarkably slow, as shown by the fact that in 1830 there were but twelve bouses In the village, with three suburban residences on Madison street, the entire population, whites, half-breeds and negroes, making about one hundred. That was forty years ago.

I should have told yon that Chicago has a river, which is doubtless the cause of the wonderful commercial growth of the place of late years, which, at the time of Its discovery, was two hundred feet wide, and twenty feet deep, with banks so steep that vessels could come up to the water's edge and receive their lading. A half mile or more from the mouth of the river, the stream divides: that portion north of the stream being known as the North Side; that between the forks, the West Side; and that south of the river, the South Side.

At that time, the North Side was covered with a dense forest of black walnnt and other trees, in which were bears, wolves, foxes, wild cats, deer and other game In great abundance; while the South Side, now the business center, was a low, swampy piece of ground, being the resort of wild geese and ducks. Where the court house stands, waa a pond, which was navigable for small boats. On the banks of the river, among the sedgy grass, grew a wild onion, which the Indians called Chikago, and hence the name of the city.

On a summer day, In 1831, the first vessel unloaded goods at the month of the river. In 1832, the first frame house was built, by Geo. W. Dole, and stood on the southeast corner of Dearborn and South Water streets. At an election for township trustees In 1843,—just fortyone years since — there were twenty-eight voters. In 1840, there were less than 5,000 people in the place. Thus you see this city, now the fifth in the order of the population In the United States, has grown from 5,000 to 300,000 In thirty-three years.

It Is needless for me to describe the wonderfully rapid up-building of the city since the fire. Yon have heard all about it. What I want to tell you more especially is concerning our relatives. Uncles John, William and James, you recollect perhaps, all came here In 1836. They worked that summer for different parties, and until the next spring, when, In the summer of 1837, each of the men they had labored for Tailed. Uncle John had due him $150. Fortunately, as he thought, he was able to settle the claim at fifty cents on the dollar, and with $75 he left the place In disgust, and went to work for a farmer In Dupage County, a little distance west of Chicago. Uncle William could not get a cent. He even proposed to take $50 for the $175 that were due him, but cash could not possibly be obtained. He finally settled his claim by taking six acres of swampy land on the South Side, which he vainly tried to sell for several years that he might leave the city; but, unable to do so, he continued to work in Chicago. Uncle James took fifteen acres In the settlement of his claim, which he also found it Impossible to sell, his experience being about the same as that of uncle William. Well, now the luck begins to come in. Uncle William got independent of his land by and by, but at last sold an acre for money enough to put up one of the most elegant residences you ever beheld. He sold afterwards another acre for money with which be bought a farm three miles from the court house, that Is now worth $500,000. With two acres more, he got money enough to put up five business blocks, from which he gets a revenue, each year, sufficient to buy several farms.

Uncle James'experience Is almost exactly similar to uncle William's. He has sold small portions of his land at various times, reinvesting his money in real estate, until he is worth to-day about $2,000,000. Uncle William Is said to be worth about the same amount. Uncle John came in from the country a few years ago, and, in various capacities, Is working for, his brothers around the city, being to-day a poor roan; but will, I presume, be just as rich In eternity as uncles James and William.

All have interesting families of Intelligent children, among whom I have almost terminated one of the most delightful visits T ever made. Such in brief is the history of Chicago, and a sketch of two of Its sample rich men, who were made wealthy In spite of themselves.

In my next I will describe the parks and boulevards about the city. Till then, adieu.

Your Affectionate Daughter,

AMELIA SPAKLAND.