each other's
cheeks, they cover their faces and weep, they try to speak good-by to
each other, they watch from the pier and from the deck; the two forms
grow less and less, fainter and fainter in the distance, two white
handkerchiefs flutter once and again, and yet once more, and the last
visible link of the chain which binds them has parted. Dear, dear,
dearest Euthymia, my eyes are running over with tears when I think that
we may never, never meet again.

Don't you want some more items of village news? We are threatened with
an influx of stylish people: "Buttons" to answer the door-bell, in place
of the chamber-maid; "butler," in place of the "hired man;" footman
in top-boots and breeches, cockade on hat, arms folded a la Napoleon;
tandems, "drags," dogcarts, and go-carts of all sorts. It is rather
amusing to look at their ambitious displays, but it takes away the good
old country flavor of the place.

I don't believe you mean to try to astonish us when you come back to
spend your summers here. I suppose you must have a large house, and I
am sure you will have a beautiful one. I suppose you will have some fine
horses, and who would n't be glad to? But I do not believe you will try
to make your old Arrowhead Village friends stare their eyes out of their
heads with a display meant to outshine everybody else that comes here.
You can have a yacht on the lake, if you like, but I hope you will pull
a pair of oars in our old boat once in a while, with me to steer you. I
know you will be just the same dear-Euthymia you always were and always
must be. How happy you must make such a man as Maurice Kirkwood! And how
happy you ought to be with him!--a man who knows what is in books, and
who has seen for himself, what is in men. If he has not seen so much of
women, where could he study all that is best in womanhood as he can in
his own wife? Only one thing that dear Euthymia lacks. She is not quite
pronounced enough in her views as to the rights and the wrongs of
the sex. When I visit you, as you say I shall, I mean to indoctrinate
Maurice with sound views on that subject. I have written an essay for
the Society, which I hope will go a good way towards answering all the
objections to female suffrage. I mean to read it to your husband, if
you will let me, as I know you will, and perhaps you would like to hear
it,--only you know my thoughts on the subject pretty well already.

With all sorts of kind messages to your dear husband,