My dear unreliable boy, but much more reliable daughter!

I hardly know where to take up the broken thread. I feel as if you had been to Europe.

I did n’t mind your not writing. Livy’s pleasant letter was the sweetest peace-offering you could have sent me. I know by experience how much there is to hinder our letters, even to those to whom our loving thoughts fly quickest. All that had been reckoned up and no balance brought in against you. I heard of you here and there and everywhere. I knew your weariness and your annoyances. Mother-like I so often wished for you, that you might sleep all day in my house, where no one could find you. That you might have just what you wanted for breakfast—as many cups of coffee as you wanted, with two sugar bowls to one cup. Oh! I was full of tenderness for you, and when Livy wrote that you would make Cleveland for Sunday before Toledo, I was in ecstasy! I fixed your room, and then I un-fixed it! I forced the green-house and I forced the kitchen. I added up and subtracted and divided the time you were to be here, that I might make the most of it, for you and for me and for all of us who were so glad of your coming. Mr. Fairbanks judiciously suggested that I must not be too sanguine! I withered him with rebuke for such distrust! Did I not know you—!? With all your eccentricity, had you ever broken faith with me? I took a new dignity upon myself at thought of my confidence in you, and your certain justification of it. This was the role I filled the week before you went to Toledo. The week following, the play was withdrawn and the house closed. The subject is not commented upon in my presence. My husband does have had a peculiar way of reading aloud any notice he saw of “Mark Twain” in Columbus—“Mark Twain” in Pittsburg,—points from which Cleveland has always been very accessible heretofore. I would n’t notice him. It was enough for me to know way down in my inner heart, that the boy I had so doted upon had outgrown me. It did not make the matter any better to “put myself in his place”—for I know that if I had been on a lecture circuit, I would have disappointed my audience, before I would him have mi passed him—or I would have treated them to “Casabianca” or “Hohenlinden”—It is all passed now—I have resumed my regular duties, but there is a little sore spot in my heart, and it throbs whenever any one says “when is Mr. Clemens coming to see you?” I think I shall do with the next questioner, what you did with your book catechizer—kill him! I have n’t seen the book yet—Frank has it & will send it me when he has read it. I hear pleasant things of it from others.

Mr. Fairbanks is in Chicago an or St. Louis this week— Frank & Mary are nicely fixed at the Weddell. Allie still reigns supreme in the Gaylord house. Charlie is at school in Hudson. That boy is going to make his mark, if he is my son— I do not mean by hard work or close study—but he is so bright. His father is as foolish about him as I am. He says he asked you to write Charlie. I concluded you would feel as you did when Mrs. Crocker asked you to write for her son’s paper— However you have no business to feel so, and a half dozen lines from you would be extremely flattering to Charlie. He is going on to New-York during one of his vacations to make Nast’s acquaintance. He is his ardent admirer. Mollie is circulating around the grounds with the little Sterling’s from town. I think they are skating on one of the ponds. She is as much of a darling to me as ever although fifteen— She stays so natural. She was trying to justify something which she had done to which I objected. She said “Oh Mama you are too strict with me.” I said “why Mollie I really feel that you are too much indulged. You pursuade me against my judgment.” “ Oh! Mama, I’m all right, for I’m just as good principled as I can be.”

G Do you remember the old “grand pa” of our household? He has lived with us over a year. Two Three weeks ago he was stricken with paralysis and two weeks since he died. We have now only three at our table, except when we can bring a friend to us which we are always glad to do. We are more & more delighted with our home, the winter beauties charm us if possible more than the summer.

During holiday week we invited some three hundred of our friends— Everybody was kind enough to say it was one of the most agreeable parties of the season. Dancing in the green-house. It was the evening after the Duke’s reception at Mr. Stone’s and I had a pretentious courtly note from his Secretary Counsellor Machin acknowledging an invitation to the Grand Duke & his suit to lunch, & regretting that his inability to accept private hospitality. Mr. Stone compromised with the Mayor and first invited personal friends and then opened his house at 10 P.M to the Council and friends.

Mr. Duke was very gracious to me and talked very easily & pleasantly of our visit to Yalta. How vividly it recalled all the ridiculous things of that momentous day, when we sweltered in our good clothes up through the Russian parks. Poor Bloodgood Cutter lost a coat that day!

You are coming to Elmira in March—that will be a delight to all concerned. If it concerned me I should rejoice too, for I have wished for a sight of Livy’s face—and I have something of a grand Mother’s love for the white-faced baby who calls his nurse Pa. Alas! like Jeptha I have made a vow. I come from a proud clan, and henceforth you must find me within my castle walls. You propose to take me home with you from Elmira. What do you take me for? Read Acts 16th—last clause of verse 37th. Paul and I are of one mind.

We have been saying all winter we were going to New-York, but we are loth to leave home.

We shall probably go before warm weather, because then we wish to be at home to our friends.

A bushel of love to Livy & Langdon and for yourself all you choose to come for

I shall write soon to Livy. None of these hard words are for her