417 West 118th Street,
New York City.
2 October 1921Abby Dear:
This will be a hurried letter, and I plead in advance, that I shall fumble the keys and make all sorts of blunders. I can not get my mind adjusted to being back, and it has been such a swiftly passing day, with a lot of things to do and much chatting along and several persons dropping in to consume time pleasantly.
I arrived just before dinner last evening, and as we came up from the dining room Miss Billings came in, then Thodora Theobold, and later Talbot Hamlin, so it was eleven before I could even open my suit case or look at the pile of mail awaiting me.
I found a roll of Telegraphs telling columns about Ira Harris' death and his greatness and I have been longing to hear about Sarah Eaton's death and other items much more interesting to me. I can see that Ira Harris was a good citizen in the conventional sense, but I should have been content with one paper full of him, and had the other contain news of others[.]
I can not recall what I did write in my last letter, and my mind seems to be in a peculiar state of balnkness [sic] today, wandering back to Farvie and the family and still loitering over the ancient days so vividly put before me by the general digging out of old boxes and treasures.
I did wish you might have been with us at Farview. You would have loved watching Dorothea and Anne, and hearing them sing their college songs and chatting about their experiences. Friday Anne's family drove way down from Shushan in their motor car, to take her home, and she sent them back with her bundles and stayed on until today. I liked her mother and father much and was entertained by Margaret who is witty and she and Anne are truly fascinating in their repartee and fun together.
And did I ask you if the Pauline Goldmark to whom William James writes so affectionately and elightfully [sic] is your Miss Goldmark of the nursing work? I am enjoying the William James letters tremendously and hate to reach the end of them. I need ot [sic] worry as there will be but litte [sic] time to [sic] at present and I have only the second volume at hand anyhow, but I shall try to get the first soon, and I have a queerfeeling [sic] that as soon as I can collect the ten dollars I shall have to recklessly own the volumes anyhow.
No, I do not know anything about the Dublin man, but if I should chance on any infornation [sic] I will try to remember to save it fo[r] you, and pleas[e] I am so hoping you will be coming down again soon to tell me a lot of things including the Dublin Business. I did not even see any news paper reports of the Congress, being where no papers ever come. Her ick [sic] Brown did send some Springfield republicans [sic] to Dorothea with the college opening news in them, but there was not much else in those particular ones, or maybe I did not really read anything in them. There was not much time for reading papers. It was truly such a dear holiday and I did grow fat, and I feel much better in many ways. Ishall [sic] probably wilt some under the getting caught up in the work and I do realize more than ever that I was not made for city living.
There were several things I have held in mind to say or ask, and now with the day near done, and all the confusion, they elude me, so I will end and trust to any important matter's [sic] coming back some day[.] There is always so much I long to talk with you, all the way along, and I do love you a heap.
Eva
Sunday.