April 16, 1848: Abraham Lincoln writes home to Mary from Washington

Dear Mary:

In this troublesome world, we are never quite satisfied. When you were here, I thought you hindered me some in attending to business; but now, having nothing but business—no variety—it has grown exceedingly tasteless to me. I hate to sit down and direct documents, and I hate to stay in this old room by myself.

lincoln & Mary 2You know I told you in last Sunday’s letter, I was going to make a little speech during the week; but the week has passed away without my getting a chance to do so; and now my interest in the subject has passed away too. Your second and third letters have been received since I wrote before. Dear Eddy thinks father is “gone tapila.”  Has any further discovery been made as to the breaking into your grand-mother’s house?  If I were she, I would not remain there alone. You mention that your uncle John Parker is likely to be at Lexington. Dont forget to present him my very kindest regards.

I went yesterday to hunt the little plaid stockings, as you wished; but found that McKnight has quit business, and Allen had not a single pair of the description you give, and only one plaid pair of any sort that I thought would fit “Eddy’s dear little feet.” I have a notion to make another trial to-morrow morning. If I could get them, I have an excellent chance of sending them. …

…Very soon after you went away, I got what I think a very pretty set of shirt-bosom studs—modest little ones, jet, set in gold, only costing 50 cents a piece, or $1.50 for the whole.

Suppose you do not prefix the “Hon” to the address on your letters to me any more. I like the letters very much, but I would rather they should not have that upon them. It is not necessary, as I suppose you have thought, to have them to come free.

And you are entirely free from head-ache? That is good —  good — considering it is the first spring you have been free from it since we were acquainted. I am afraid you will get so well, and fat, and young, as to be wanting to marry again. Tell Louisa I want her to watch you a little for me. Get weighed, and write me how much you weigh.

I did not get rid of the impression of that foolish dream about dear Bobby till I got your letter written the same day. What did he and Eddy think of the little letters father sent them?

Don’t let the blessed fellows forget father….

Most affectionately

April 15, 1843: Birth of Henry James

Henry James recalled his childhood in “A Small Boy and Others”, written when he turned seventy:

Henry JamesTo look back at all is to meet the apparitional and to find in its ghostly face the silent stare of an appeal. When I fix it, the hovering shade, whether of person or place, it fixes me back and seems the less lost—not to my consciousness, for that is nothing, but to its own—by my stopping however idly for it. The day of the daguerreotype, the August afternoon, what was it if not one of the days when we went to Union Square for luncheon and for more ice-cream and more peaches and even more, even most, enjoyment of ease accompanied by stimulation of wonder? It may have been indeed that a visit to Mrs. Cannon rather on that occasion engaged us—memory selects a little confusedly from such a wealth of experience. For the wonder was the experience, and that was everywhere, even if I didn’t so much find it as take it with me, to be sure of not falling short. Mrs. Cannon lurked near Fourth Street—that I abundantly grasp, not more definitely placing her than in what seemed to me a labyrinth of grave bye-streets westwardly “back of” Broadway, yet at no great distance from it, where she must have occupied a house at a corner, since we reached her not by steps that went up to a front door but by others that went slightly down and formed clearly an independent side access, a feature that affected me as rich and strange. What the steps went down to was a spacious room, light and friendly, so that it couldn’t have been compromised by an “area,” which offered the brave mystification, amid other mystifications, of being at once a parlour and a shop, a shop in particular for the relief of gentlemen in want of pocket handkerchiefs, neckties, collars, umbrellas and straw-covered bottles of the essence known in old New York as “Cullone”—with a very long and big O . . .

The interest of the place was that the uncles were somehow always under discussion—as to where they at the moment might be, or as to when they were expected, or above all as to how (the “how” was the great matter and the fine emphasis) they had last appeared and might be conceived as carrying themselves; and that their consumption of neckties and Eau de Cologne was somehow inordinate: I might have been judging it in my innocence as their only consommation. I refer to those sources, I say, the charm of the scene, the finer part of which must yet have been that it didn’t, as it regularly lapsed, dispose of all mystifications. If I didn’t understand, however, the beauty was that Mrs. Cannon understood (that was what she did most of all, even more than hem pocket handkerchiefs and collars) and my father understood, and each understood that the other did, Miss Maggie and Miss Susie being no whit behind. It was only I who didn’t understand—save in so far as I understood that, which was a kind of pale joy; and meanwhile there would be more to come from uncles so attachingly, so almost portentously, discussable. The vision at any rate was to stick by me . . .

April 14, 1865: Dr Charles Leale reaches President Lincoln just after he is shot

I arrived at Ford’s Theatre about 8¼ P.M. April 14/65 and procured a seat in the dress circle about 40 feet from the President’s Box.  The play was then progressing and in a few minutes I saw the President, Mrs Lincoln, Major Rathbone and Miss Harris enter; while proceeding to the Box they were seen by the audience who cheered which was reciprocated by the President and Mrs Lincoln by a smile and bow…

Lincoln AssassinationThe theatre was well filled  and the play of “Our American Cousin” progressed very pleasantly until about half past ten, when the report of a pistol was distinctly heard and about a minute after a man of low stature with black hair and eyes was seen leaping to the stage beneath, holding in his hand a drawn dagger.

While descending his heel got entangled in the American flag, which was hung in front of the box, causing him to stumble when he struck the stage, but with a single bound he regained the use of his limbs and ran to the opposite side of the stage, flourishing in his hand a drawn dagger and disappearing behind the scene.

I then heard cries that the ‘President had been murdered,’ which were followed by those of ‘Kill the murderer’ ‘Shoot him’ etc. which came from different parts of the audience.

I immediately ran to the Presidents box and as soon as the door was opened was admitted and introduced to Mrs. Lincoln when she exclaimed several times, ‘O Doctor, do what you can for him, do what you can!’ I told her we would do all that we possibly could.

When I entered the box the ladies were very much excited.  Mr. Lincoln was seated in a high backed arm-chair with his head leaning towards his right side supported by Mrs. Lincoln who was weeping bitterly.  Miss Harris was near her left and behind the President.

While approaching the President I sent a gentleman for brandy and another for water.

When I reached the President he was in a state of general paralysis, his eyes were closed and he was in a profoundly comatose condition, while his breathing was intermittent and exceedingly stertorous.

I placed my finger on his right radial pulse but could perceive no movement of the artery.  As two gentlemen now arrived, I requested them to assist me to place him in a recumbent position, and as I held his head and shoulders, while doing this my hand came in contact with a clot of blood near his left shoulder.

Supposing that he had been stabbed there I asked a gentleman to cut his coat and shirt off from that part, to enable me if possible to check the hemorrhage which I supposed took place from the subclavian artery or some of its branches.

Before they had proceeded as far as the elbow I commenced to examine his head (as no wound near the shoulder was found) and soon passed my fingers over a large firm clot of blood situated about one inch below the superior curved line of the occipital bone.

The coagula I easily removed and passed the little finger of my left hand through the perfectly smooth opening made by the ball, and found that it had entered the encephalon.

As soon as I removed my finger a slight oozing of blood followed and his breathing became more regular and less stertorous.  The brandy and water now arrived and a small quantity was placed in his mouth, which passed into his stomach where it was retained.

Dr. C. F. Taft and Dr. A. F. A. King now arrived and after a moments consultation we agreed to have him removed to the nearest house, which we immediately did, the above named with others assisting.

When we arrived at the door of the box, the passage was found to be densely crowded by those who were rushing towards that part of the theatre.  I called out twice ‘Guards clear the passage,’ which was so soon done that we proceeded without a moments delay with the President and were not in the slightest interrupted until he was placed in bed in the house of Mr Peterson, opposite the theatre, in less than 20 minutes from the time he was assassinated.

April 13, 1796: First Elephant Arrives in America

When Nathaniel Hawthorne’s father sailed from Calcutta for New York in December 1795, he didn’t notice anything unusual on the ship America until the ship put in at St. Helena for resupply. His log for the day noted “This day begins with moderate breezes . . . latter part employed in landing 23 sacks of coffee . . . took on board several pumpkins and cabbages, some fresh fish for ship’s use, and greens for the elephant.” Below is written in large letters “ELEPHANT ON BOARD.”

elephantThe America proceeded to the island of Ascension, where the men got several turtles and saw a large sea lion, and then it was six weeks at sea. Fortunately for the exotic cargo, the voyage proved remarkably calm. Except for a few squalls, no storms were recorded.

When the ship arrived in port in mid-April, it stirred up considerable interest. A New York paper announced “The Ship America, Captain Jacob Crowninshield of Salem, Massachusetts, Commander and owner, has brought home an elephant from Bengal in perfect health. It is the first ever seen in America and is a great curiosity. It is a female, two years old.”

Jacob Crowninshield took credit, writing: “We take home a fine young elephant two years old, at $450.00. It is almost as large as a very large ox, and I dare say we shall get it home safe, if so it will bring at least $5000.00. We shall at first be obliged to keep it in the southern states until it becomes hardened to the climate.
“I suppose you will laugh at this scheme, but I do not mind that, will turn elephant driver. We have plenty of water at the Cape and St. Helena. This was my plan. Ben did not come into it, so if it succeeds, I ought to have the whole credit and honor too; of course you know it will be a great thing to carry the first elephant to America.”

The Argus and Green Leaf Advertiser, on April 23, 1796, advertised the elephant on exhibition in New York at the corner of Beaver Street and Broadway. A handbill dated August 18, 1797 advertised the exhibition of the elephant at Boston. On September 5, 1797 the Salem Gazette announced “The elephant will leave town in two days and go to Marblehead for three days” and a week later announced: “The elephant will be exhibited in Beverly.”

The elephant was taken south for the winter, and then brought to Philadelphia in April, 1798. Mr. E. Savage, one of America’s earliest showmen, exhibited the elephant in Boston on June 25, 1804, and on July 3 it was again in Salem and on view at the Sun Tavern.

The elephant was named “Old Bet” and was eventually acquired by Hachaliah Bailey (the Bailey of Barnum and Bailey Circus fame). The Bailey Circus consisted of four wagons, a trained dog, several pigs, a horse, and the elephant. Bailey toured the country for several years with Old Bet as his chief attraction, and when he returned to his home in Somers NY in 1824, he built the hotel that is still known as the Elephant Hotel.

It is unclear what became of Old Bet. Some say she was killed by a crank in Maine who felt that the animal was taking money from the public. Another story relates, “A boy was induced to secrete himself as she passed on the road and to test the story that her hide was bullet proof. He did so, the shot hit her in the eye and instantly killed her.” The Boston Herald in1895 claimed that Old Bet was maliciously killed in Rhode Island in 1816, while a writer to the Herald claimed that Old Bet was killed in North Carolina in 1827.

In any case, Bailey erected a monument to Old Bet, an elephant carved in wood and standing on a shaft of dressed granite, on the green in front of the Elephant Hotel at Somers, New York.

In 1922, about a century after Old Bet’s death, “Old John,” the star of the performing elephants of Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus, took a wreath on his trunk and placed it on the monument of Old Bet at Somers Village, while the village children had a holiday and sang the Star Spangled Banner.

April 10, 1866: Henry Bergh secures a Charter for the ASPCA

“Day after day I am in slaughterhouses, or lying in wait at midnight with a squad of police near some dog pit. Lifting a fallen horse to his feet, penetrating buildings where I inspect collars and saddles for raw flesh, then lecturing in public schools to children, and again to adult societies. Thus my whole life is spent.”

aspcaHenry Bergh had started life as the wealthy heir to a New York fortune, but after serving as President Lincoln’s envoy to Czar Alexander II his life changed. In the streets of St. Petersburg Bergh had witnessed such horrific cruelty to animals that he resigned his diplomatic post, and made his way to England to learn about the new Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

By the time he returned to the United States, Bergh was committed to dedicating his life to Jeremy Bentham’s challenge: “The question is not ‘Can animals reason?’ nor ‘Can they talk?’ but ‘Can they suffer?’”

He began to crusade in New York City, speaking out in behalf of the “average dog on the street.” No one knows for sure how many stray dogs called Manhattan home at the time, but as many as 300 were rounded up daily and thrown into a cage, which was then swung into the East River.

Bergh found that protecting the “mute servants of mankind” was a cause that touched people from all walks of life and all social classes. After every speech he made, Bergh called for signatures on his “Declaration of the Rights of Animals,” and he proposed a society to protect these creatures.

On April 10, 1866, a charter was signed incorporating the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and the following week, a law passed granting ASPCA the power to enforce anti-cruelty laws.

Just after the law was passed, Henry Bergh encountered a cart driver unmercifully beating his exhausted horse on a Manhattan street. “My friend, you can’t do that anymore.”

Astonished, the driver exclaimed, “Can’t beat my own horse?—the devil I can’t,” and resumed.

Bergh added, “You are not aware, probably, that you are breaking the law, but . . . I have the new statute in my pocket, and the horse is yours only to treat kindly.”

The driver couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “Go to hell—you’re mad!”

The ASPCA fought to put an end to dog fighting and cock fights. It challenged butchers who bound calves’ legs and stacked the live animals like cordwood for transport over cobblestone streets, or who plucked and boiled chickens alive; sea captains who punched holes in turtles’ flippers, strung the creatures together with twine, then shipped them upside-down for weeks without food or water; dairymen who permanently chained cows to their stalls.

It prosecuted where it could. 1867, David Heath was sentenced to 10 days in prison for beating a cat to death. Upon hearing the verdict, “he remarked that the arresting officer ought to be disemboweled,” at which point a $25 fine was added to his punishment.

Bergh challenged the medical community’s practice of vivisection, and protested against the spectacle of P.T. Barnum’s snakes being fed live rodents. He designed an alternative (clay pigeons) to shooting live pigeons at sporting events, and the ASPCA operated the first ambulance for injured horses, developed a derrick to pull animals from ditches, and began installing drinking fountains for horses in public areas.

Newspaper articles sometimes referred to him as “The Great Meddler”, but Bergh didn’t care. He knew that “Mercy to animals means mercy to mankind”.

April 9th, 1865: General Lee Surrenders to General Grant

General Horace Porter described the scene:

We entered, and found General Grant sitting at a marble-topped table in the center of the room, and Lee sitting beside a small oval table near the front window, in the corner opposite to the door by which we entered, and facing General Grant. We walked in softly and ranged ourselves quietly about the sides of the room, very much as people enter a sick-chamber when they expect to find the patient dangerously ill.

The contrast between the two commanders was striking, and could not fail to attract marked attention they sat ten feetgrant & lee apart facing each other. General Grant, then nearly forty-three years of age, was five feet eight inches in height, with shoulders slightly stooped. His hair and full beard were a nut-brown, without a trace of gray in them. He had on a single-breasted blouse, made of dark-blue flannel, unbuttoned in front, and showing a waistcoat underneath. He wore an ordinary pair of top-boots, with his trousers inside, and was without spurs. The boots and portions of his clothes were spattered with mud. He had no sword, and a pair of shoulder-straps was all there was about him to designate his rank. In fact, aside from these, his uniform was that of a private soldier.

Lee, on the other hand, was fully six feet in height, and quite erect for one of his age, for he was Grant’s senior by sixteen years. His hair and full beard were silver-gray, and quite thick, except that the hair had become a little thin in the front. He wore a new uniform of Confederate gray, buttoned up to the throat, and at his side he carried a long sword of exceedingly fine workmanship, the hilt studded with jewels. His top-boots were comparatively new, and seemed to have on them some ornamental stitching of red silk. Like his uniform, they were singularly clean, and but little travel-stained. On the boots were handsome spurs, with large rowels. A felt hat, which in color matched pretty closely that of his uniform, and a pair of long buckskin gauntlets lay beside him on the table.

General Grant began the conversation by saying ‘I met you once before, General Lee, while we were serving in Mexico, when you came over from General Scott’s headquarters to visit Garland’s brigade, to which I then belonged. I have always remembered your appearance, and I think I should have recognized you anywhere.’
‘Yes,’ replied General Lee, ‘I know I met you on that occasion, and I have often thought of it and tried to recollect how you looked, but I have never been able to recall a single feature.'”

The two generals talked a bit more and then Lee asked Grant to commit the terms to paper:

“‘Very well,’ replied General Grant, ‘I will write them out.’

Grant handed the document to Lee. After reviewing it, Lee informed Grant that the Cavalry men in the Confederate Army owned their horses and asked that they keep them. Grant agreed and Lee wrote a letter formally accepting the surrender.

“At a little before 4 o’clock General Lee shook hands with General Grant, bowed to the other officers, and with Colonel Marshall left the room. One after another we followed, and passed out to the porch. Lee signaled to his orderly to bring up his horse, and while the animal was being bridled the general stood on the lowest step and gazed sadly in the direction of the valley beyond where his army lay – now an army of prisoners. He smote his hands together a number of times in an absent sort of way; seemed not to see the group of Union officers in the yard who rose respectfully at his approach, and appeared unconscious of everything about him. All appreciated the sadness that overwhelmed him, and he had the personal sympathy of every one who beheld him at this supreme moment of trial. The approach of his horse seemed to recall him from his reverie, and he at once mounted.

General Grant now stepped down from the porch, and, moving toward him, saluted him by raising his hat. He was followed in this act of courtesy by all our officers present; Lee raised his hat respectfully, and rode off to break the sad news to the brave fellows whom he had so long commanded.”

April 8, 1918: Birth of Betty Ford

In 1976, Betty Ford remembered the years when she learned to dance: 

“Hemingway once wrote: “If you were lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you for Paris is a moveable feast.”

I feel about Bennington the way Hemingway felt about Paris. Some of the intensity, joy and excitement of those summers at the Bennington School of the Dance stayed with me.Betty Ford

When I drove up to the campus today—what memories came back! I remember being barefoot most of the time and wearing a leotard from dawn to dusk. Between classes we bounced around the green and tried to pick up as much grass as possible with our toes. That exercise was one of Martha Graham’s orders. After the first few days, our muscles were so sore we went up and down the stairs on our bottoms. We breathed, we ate, we slept  ~ nothing but dance. Oh what a glorious feeling!

The 30’s were such an exciting time for dance. Martha Hill drew people to Bennington, which put it in the middle of this excitement.

She orchestrated the talents and temperaments, and we learned from Martha Graham, Doris Humphrey, Hanya Holm, Charles Weidman and others.

When I came in 1936, I had been studying dance for ten years. I already knew I wanted to be a dancer, but Bennington opened up the doors for the much too brief years I spent in New York with Martha Graham.

I felt I had been born to dance as I think most of the students did. It was our whole life, and Bennington and Martha Hill helped focus our intense commitment.

Bennington educated audiences for contemporary dance during those summers. The summer school and the establishment of a major in dance at Bennington were very important breakthroughs. But for those of us who studied here, Martha Hill, Martha Graham and others gave us something else. They touched our hearts with fire and infused us with spirit.

Isn’t that what the arts are about? Nourishment for the soul.

The arts, especially for me the dance, draw out our emotions and make us more alive. Very often the arts help me to see life in a new way. Dance, music, theater, art and literature are our communication with the future—our spiritual links with the past…

The creative spirit reminds us of the passion and the anguish of life. This helps us leave for those who come after ‘our letter to the world.’ “

April 7, 1915: Birth of Billie Holiday

Born in Baltimore as Eleanora Fagan… Her autobiography “Lady Sings the Blues” begins: “Mom and Pop were just a couple of kids when they got married. He was 18, she was 16 and I was 3″… Dirt-poor, raped at 11, moved with mother, Sadie, to New York, where both worked in a whorehouse… Began early to entertain in Harlem hangouts, influenced by Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith… Taken up by big bands, black and white (Benny Goodman, Count Basie), she toured for years… Lived more or less regularly with Sadie, on whom she doted, until Sadie died in 1945, leaving her bereft and with no further firm attachment… Slept around, misused by lovers, managers and two husbands, most of whom drained her financially and morally, in return for which she was left with drugs and drink… Affairs with Benny Goodman, Tallulah Bankhead, Marlene Dietrich… Didn’t read, attend theater or listen to classical music. . .

Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child that’s got his own
Then that’s got shall get
Them that’s not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child that’s got his own
That’s got his own
Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don’t ever make the grade
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child that’s got his own
That’s got his own …

Billie Holiday – God Bless The Child (1955) – A rendition of her classic in her later years, from the Lady In Autumn compilation.

April 6, 1712: New York’s Slaves Revolt

Robert Hunter was the governor of New York and New Jersey from 1710 to 1719. In a letter to the Lords of Trade in London he described what happened on April 6th:

I must now give your Lordships an account of a bloody conspiracy of some of the slaves of this place, to destroy as many of the inhabitants as they could.Slave-revolt-in-New-York-1741

It was put in execution in this manner, when they had resolved to revenge themselves, for some hard usage they apprehended to have received from their masters (for I can find no other cause) they agreed to meet in the orchard of Mr. Crook in the middle of the town, some provided with fire arms, some with swords and others with knives and hatchets.  This was the sixth day of April, the time of meeting was about twelve or one clock in the night, when about three and twenty of them were got together.

One…slave to one Vantiburgh set fire to a shed of his masters, and they repairing to his place where the rest were, they all sallied out together with their arms and marched to the fire.  By this time, the noise of the fire spreading through the town, the people began to flock to it.  Upon the approach of several, the slaves fired and killed them.  The noise of the guns gave the alarm, and some escaping, their shot soon published the cause of the fire, which was the reason that not above nine Christians were killed, and about five or six wounded.

Upon the first notice, which was very soon after the mischief was begun, I order’d a detachment from the fort under a proper officer to march against them, but the slaves made their retreat into the woods, by the favour of the night. Having ordered sentries the next day in the most proper place on the Island [Manhattan] to prevent their escape, I caused the day following, the militia of this town and of the country of West Chester to drive to the Island, and by this means and strict searches tin the town, we found all that put the design in execution, six of these having first laid violent hands upon themselves [committed suicide], the rest were forthwith brought to their trial before ye Justices of this place, who are authorized by Act of the Assembly to hold a court in such cases.

In that court were twenty seven condemned, whereof twenty one were executed, one being a woman with child, here execution by that means suspended.  Some were burnt, others handed, one broke on the wheel, and one hung alive in chains in the town, so that there has been the most exemplary punishment inflicted that could be possibly thought of.

April 3, 1920 — Zelda and F Scott Fitzgerald get Married

Exactly a week after Fitzgerald’s debut novel, This Side of Paradise, was published — the two exchanged wedding vows at New York’s St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Zelda’s letter to Scott written in late summer of 1930 tells what happened next:

“We moved to 59th Street. We quarrelled and you broke the bathroom door and hurt my eye. We went so much to the theatre that you took it off the income tax. We trailed through Central Park in the snow after a ball at the Plaza, I Zelda & Scottquarrelled with Zoë about Bottecelli at the Brevoort and went with her to buy a coat for David Belasco. We had Bourbon and Deviled Ham and Christmas at the Overmans and ate lots at the Lafayette. There was Tom Smith and his wall-paper and Mencken and our Valentine party and the time I danced all night with Alex and meals at Mollats with John and I skated, and was pregnant and you wrote the “Beautiful and Damned.” We came to Europe and I was sick and complained always. There was London, and Wopping with Shane Leslie and strawberries as big as tomatoes at Lady Randolph Churchills. There was St. Johns Ervines wooden leg and Bob Handley in the gloom of the Cecil — There was Paris and the heat and the ice-cream that did not melt and buying clothes — and Rome and your friends from the British Embassy and your drinking, drinking. We came home. There was “Dog” and lunch at the St. Regis with Townsend and Alex and John: Alabama and the unbearable heat and our almost buying a house. Then we went to St. Paul and hundreds of people came to call. There were the Indian forests and the moon on the sleeping porch and I was heavy and afraid of the storms. Then Scottie was born and we went to all the Christmas parties and a man asked Sandy “who is your fat friend?” Snow covered everything. We had the Flu and went lots to the Kalmans and Scottie grew strong. Joseph Hergesheimer came and Saturdays we went to the university Club. We went to the Yacht Club and we both had minor flirtatons. Joe began to dislike me, and I played so much golf that I had Tetena. Kollie almost died. We both adored him. We came to New York and rented a house when we were tight. There was Val Engelicheff and Ted Paramour and dinner with Bunny in Washington Square and pills and Doctor Lackin And we had a violent quarrell on the train going back, I don’t remember why. Then I brought Scottie to New York. She was round and funny in a pink coat and bonnet and you met us at the station. In Great Neck there was always disorder and quarrels: about the Golf Club, about the Foxes, about Peggy Weber, about Helen Buck, about everything. We went to the Rumseys, and that awful night at the Mackeys when Ring sat in the cloak-room. We saw Esther and Glen Hunter and Gilbert Seldes. We gave lots of parties: the biggest one for Rebecca West. We drank Bass Pale Ale and went always to the Bucks or the Lardners or the Swopes when they weren’t at our house. We saw lots of Sydney Howard and fought the week-end that Bill Motter was with us. We drank always and finally came to France because there were always too many people in the house. On the boat there was almost a scandal about Bunny Burgess. We found Nanny and went to Hyeres — Scottie and I were both sick there in the dusty garden full of Spanish Bayonet and Bourgainvilla. We went to St. Raphael. You wrote, and we went sometimes to Nice or Monte Carlo. We were alone, and gave big parties for the French aviators. Then there was Josen and you were justifiably angry. We went to Rome. We ate at the Castelli dei Cesari.

“The sheets were always damp. There was Christmas in the echoes, and eternal walks. We cried when we saw the Pope. There were the luminous shadows of the Pinco and the officer’s shining boots. We went to Frascati and Tivoli. There was the jail, and Hal Rhodes at the Hotel de Russie and my not wanting to go to the moving-picture ball at the Excelsior and asking Hungary Cox to take me home. Then I was horribly sick, from trying to have a baby and you didn’t care much and when I was well we came back to Paris. We sat together in Marseilles and thought how good France was. We lived in the rue Tilsitt, in red plush and Teddy came for tea and we went to the markets with the Murphies. There were the Wimans and Mary Hay and Eva La Galliene and rides in the Bois at dawn and the night we all played puss-in-the-corner at the Ritz. There was Tunti and nights in Mont Matre. We went to Antibes, and I was sick always and took too much Dial. The Murphy’s were at the Hotel du Cap and we saw them constantly. Back in Paris I began dancing lessons because I had nothing to do. I was sick again at Christmas when the Mac Leishes came and Doctor Gros said there was no use trying to save my ovaries. I was always sick and having picqures and things and you were naturally more and more away. You found Ernest and the Cafe des Lilas and you were unhappy when Dr. Gros sent me to Salies-de Beam. At the Villa Paquita I was always sick. “

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