The record-union., 1896-08-16

| appointed; he always goes for the
| shooting. / have persuaded him to go
alone. His relatives do not live near US,
l rejoice to say, and they visit us but
seldom. l prefer our Yorkshire country
neighbors, with their awkward manners
and rough ways.
/ Our baby has begun to say real
words. Not the COOS and mans and
gurgles which we fondly interpret TO
mean so many loving things, but real
words, strung together into what she
evidently means for sentences of great
pith and moment. Admiration seems TO
be her strongest feeling so far. Her
most eloquent remarks are addressed to
some scarlet geraniumS which grow in
my window. Red is the color most dear
to savageS, and our little Margaret is
developing her color sense through the
primal instructive love of gaudiness. /
have made a few experiments Red,
orange, and bright yellow throw her into
ecstacies of delight. Blue appeals to her
less strongly, and she is quite Indifferent
to green. This refers to color shown by
reflected lights. Colors shown by trans
nitted light are all alike adorable.
have laid in an extravagant stock OF
gay lamp shades for these dark days"
You may have to wait some time for
your next letter. j have to go to London
to have slight operation performed.
| Nothing serious, nothing to make you
anxious; but they will not let me have
pen and paper for while. John goes
with me, of course. He is very good
and patient. Our little Margaret stays
behind with her faithful nursie. The
garden is the best place for her. She
begins to trot about quite indepenI-
entity. She persists in wearing the BEAU
tiful scarlet cloak you sent, with the
gold embroidery, and as l watch l-er
from my window she looks like a splen-
did scarlet blossom among the other
flowers
Il am back again at last The gray
hills almost feel like home, after that
weary London. l have been SO mis-
taken about London. We spent fort
night there soon after we were married,
and it seemed all light and music and
gayety But it is a terrible place to be
i'll in. There is no clean air anywhere,
no quiet. And the first drives. That
dreary park, with its monotonous end
less round of carriages, or, even worse,
| the streets ana streets Oh houses DGlOTt
one comes in sight of the country!
But you will be greedy for news of
our little girl. OF course she has grown.
l see wonderful changes. And she talks
quite wisely-don't laugh-with an
Irish accent! l am so thin, you know,
at first I was afraid it would shock her.
can remember my own childish feel
ing about iliness-a mere physical ter
ror and shrinking-no pity, no sym
pathy. The feeling of all healthy young
animals l think. But our little maid
has nature tuned to finer harmonies.
With tender fingers she 'sticked' the
hollow cheek next her, and then laid
her own against it, with shut eyes.
Next day, when she was out in the
garden with her nurse, she made many
toilsome excursions in to me to see If
was comfy Once she brought me a
f1ower-not a scarlet one, but a delicate.
frail, white blossom. 1 wonder what
subtle sense of fitness made her do that.
Il have taught her my oldtime name
for you. She sends greetings to her
| dear gleat fliend. In her stumbling
over certain letters she makes words so
unnecessarily difficult to say. Straw
berries are 'tlawbellies' She does not
willingly relinquish a syllable of even
the longest word
To-day she brought me in some wild
flowers from the meadow where nurse
sometimes takes her to walk. Desc is
not ours she told me; 'dey's Gods,
fom Gods garden
Il do not know where she can have
picked up this quaint conceit-not from
ID fv.,fl
olic, and it is not a form of expression
that would come natural to her. AS for
me, l have no religion to give my little
maid-God forgive me!
Sometimes she sings queer little
songs, pitched very high, chiefly in a
minor key, and with odd breaks and
falling cadences. Angels songs she
calls them. What much prettier name
than hymns.
"She always sends you love and
kisses now, when / am writing. Some
times she throws it at me, with bust
ness like air, over her shoulder, as VINO
should say, oh, yes, the usual thing.
Other times the message is very lovingly
and tenderly given, the kisses are shut
tieht into two fat little hands, and then
are carefully transferred to mine. When
| / closed them into my letter the other
day she wept to see her poor kisses so
hattened down. had to pinch the cor
ners of the envelope to give them room.
| did I really tell you nothing about
the operation? / suppose l forgot it.
No. it was all of no use. But l expected
nothing from it, so for me there was no
disappointment. Poor john it is hard
est for him! He so reproaches himself,
though he is quite blameless, of course.
They made a mistake, that was ali:
they so often do that. And they mis-
calculated my strength, too, it seems.
| I did not get well as soon as they eX-
pected But what does all this matter
to US, to great Margaret, and small Mac
| garet. and me? / have whole days OF
quiet and leisure to record the doinSs
of our little maid for you. i have kind
old 'duffer' (you would say) of doctor,
who has given up worrying ME to take
his nauseous drugs; l have my good
and faithful maid, Palm, who has
nursed me through worse times than
this. Between them 1 do much as |
like see no one, unless I am inclined.
I write little every day, and our little
maid Margaret and her nursie come and
go, as we like, all the time
"Our little girl is teaching me charity
and patience and all the virtues To-
Gay neighbor of ours called to bring
me some flowers, and to please Palm
saw her She is an angular Yorkshire
| woman, with shy, reserved manner,
and a frightened way of looking at you
| when Won sneak But to-day she had