LETTER II. 27 



eloquence could not keep us together any longer. 

 It was a sad scene when, in our private room, he 

 produced from somewhere in his Gladstone-bag a 

 bottle of ' rale old Irish whisky,' and with this 

 and his native blarney tried to keep the men 

 together for another day. But it was no good. 

 Mr. L. will go to the Adirondacks to shoot a 

 stag, which my husband says he will never see 

 except in guide-book pictures ; and my husband 

 is off to the Rockies or the Cascades, or some- 

 where, where people don't wear collars, where 

 people don't need dollars, and, above all, where 

 there are no hotels. 



Thine, etc. 



