A Letter to a Friend.

My Dear Mrs. Gowey: How are you, pray? I can guess you are enjoying the breeze from the bay, while we are most uncomfortable. Be glad you are there, in your home in Seattle, where heat need not give you a care. Daughter is all settled now in her home so neat, with her husband and her two children sweet. They left for the country a few days ago, and left me their son to care for, you know. But daughter got lonesome and wanted her boy. So dad took his hopeful to her with great joy. Nothing has happened on this dear little street since the day that you left it, at least nothing great. The same neighbors sit on their porches at night, trying to find a breeze, perhaps a stray one, real light. I’ll close now and hope that these lines will fall into the hands of your dear self and all. We think of you often in your home far away, and hope you’ll be well and happy; and say, here’s a kiss, and goodby, and hope you will find the time to write me; now do be kind.—Very cordially yours, D.