REAL LETTERS 
 
 OF A 
 
 REAL GIRL 
 
Glass __ 
 Book_^ 
 
 A 
 
 
 Copyright U?_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
REAL LETTERS 
 
 OF A 
 
 REAL GIRL 
 
 By BETTY 
 
 2 tu b 
 
 The C. M. Clark Publishing Company 
 
 Boston, Massachusetts 
 1909 
 

 Copyright, I 909 
 
 THE C, M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO, 
 
 BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 
 U. S. A. 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Cooies Received 
 
 L Copyriifnt intry 
 

 
 Lovingly dedicated to Bessie, the unfortunate 
 victim of the following inky spasms 
 
REAL LETTERS OF A 
 REAL GIRL 
 
 United States Transport , 
 
 Bound for the Philippines. 
 
 December 23. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 Where shall I begin ? I can't write 
 fast enough, I have so much to say ! 
 
 First of all, twenty times a day, I hug 
 you mentally for all you did in helping 
 us to pack, — and certainly there was plenty 
 to do for poor Mother, starting on a trip 
 around the world at thirty-six hours' 
 notice. You were a perfect dear, as you 
 always are, and I hope that sometime 
 I may be able to do something for you. 
 Wasn't it fine that at the last minute 
 Mother could go with us ? Our trip 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 would simply have been spoiled if we had 
 had to leave her at home. 
 
 I feel as if I were terribly conceited 
 to start a tale all about me and mine, 
 but you asked for it, so if you don't like 
 it, just take lots of love for Aunt Fanny 
 and the other dear people and a big hug 
 for yourself, and use the rest of this to 
 kindle the fire. 
 
 In the first place, the trip from Boston 
 to New York was great fun and I shall 
 never dread travelling alone in our country 
 again. Everything is comfortable and con- 
 venient, and I was all but tucked into 
 bed. I was so sleepy that I was off as 
 soon as my head touched the pillow and 
 I slept like a top. I went to the Murray 
 Hill Hotel for breakfast and then to the 
 Transport with my trunks, and oh! 
 Bess — I wish you could have been with 
 me! I arrived just in time for guard 
 mount. The band was playing inspiring 
 music, the boat was trimmed with flags, 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and the men in their gorgeous cavalry 
 yellow made a perfect picture. It was 
 simply soul-filling. 
 
 The troops from our Post were not to 
 arrive until noon, and I went up the gang- 
 plank thinking that there would be no 
 one on board whom I knew, but when I 
 reached the deck, I discovered Captain 
 H— — standing a little way off. We saw 
 each other at the same minute and he 
 made a wild rush towards me, caught 
 his foot in a steamer chair, and fell flat 
 on his face. It looked as if he were 
 practicing an Eastern salaam, but what 
 he said didn't sound even remotely like 
 "Oh, Allah!" 
 
 He found my state-room for me and 
 helped me to stow away my baggage. 
 The room was No. 15. (I am going into 
 the minutest details for I intend to see 
 you married to an army officer as soon 
 as I find one good enough, and then you 
 may take this very same trip.) It contained 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 two diminutive bunks and a little bob- 
 tailed couch, intended for Bobby, and 
 there were all manner of arrangements 
 for keeping cool — electric fans, screen- 
 doors, etc., — and a wash-bowl, which 
 most obligingly clung to the side of the 
 wall when not in use, and life-preservers 
 enough to float an army of martyrs. 
 There is but one word that seems to 
 describe the room, and that word is — 
 "cute." 
 
 I hunted up Mother's room and found 
 that it was No. i — a large room with four 
 bunks and a big couch. 
 
 Then I went up town to do my last 
 errands, and as I know nothing about the 
 city, I went to the " Grand," where I 
 knew I could find some ladies from our 
 Squadron, and we did all our shopping 
 together. We had all been given lists 
 of things that are absolutely necessary 
 in the tropics. White canvas shoes seemed 
 to be most important, and all agreed that 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 they must be about a size too large, as 
 one's feet are very apt to swell in that 
 climate. 
 
 Then I went off by myself on a hunt 
 for a book on astronomy. I felt that 
 as Bobby would be losing his regular 
 school, I must make this trip as instructive 
 as possible, and as we should have a fine 
 chance to study the stars, and an oppor- 
 tunity to see the Ship and the Southern 
 Cross, I walked miles trying to find an 
 illustrated book which seemed simple. 
 I went back to the Transport again just 
 in time to see the first and third Squadrons 
 come aboard. It was like a grand recep- 
 tion or reunion, for it is a long time since 
 our whole regiment has been together. 
 It was, "Well, how are you, old man!" 
 "Hello, where's Kittie ?" "Now, doesn't 
 this seem good!" It did seem good to 
 see Frank, and what do you think ? He 
 said it was 30 degrees below zero when 
 they left the Post. Mother, with Bobby in 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 tow, arrived at the Transport soon after, 
 and every one was glad to see her. 
 
 We found that our particular crowd 
 had telegraphed for seats at Weber and 
 Field's in the evening. Mother said she 
 was really too tired to go, and would 
 look after Bobby. About six o'clock Frank 
 and I went up town and had the nicest 
 little dinner together at Muchinheimer's, 
 with champagne and no end of good 
 things. We met the rest of the crowd 
 and drove in a procession of hansoms 
 to the theatre, where we laughed until 
 we were tired. Then Frank and I slipped 
 away and went off on a little supper spree 
 all by ourselves at Rector's. Half-past 
 twelve seems to be the crowded time and it 
 was great fun to watch the people while 
 we discussed blue-points and broiled 
 live lobsters. A hansom took us to the 
 boat, which we reached at three o'clock. 
 We discovered that in our absence some 
 one who ranked us had moved our baggage 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 out of No. 15 and deposited it in No. 13, 
 and when I awoke in the morning I thought 
 bad luck had begun all right. Such a 
 head as I had! I spent the morning 
 signing the pledge and writing an article 
 to be read at the next meeting of the 
 W. C. T. U., but when we sailed at one 
 o'clock — I was feeling fine. 
 
 There were crowds of people on the 
 wharf to see us off, and the band played 
 "Auld Lang Syne" and "The Girl I 
 Left Behind Me," and the enlisted men 
 sang the regimental song with its chorus 
 for all they were worth : 
 
 "For it's trot, trot, trot, is the soldier's lot, 
 When he lists in the Cavalry. 
 And it's hike, hike, hike, which they don't much 
 like, 
 For our friends of the Infantry. 
 Oh! it's shoot, shoot, shoot, when the trumpets toot, 
 
 If you 're in the Artillery, 
 And it's fight, fight, fight for your Country's 
 might 
 In the Cav-al-ry!" 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 The crowd cheered, and when we finally 
 pulled away from the dock it seemed as 
 if every boat in the harbor saluted us. 
 It was simply pandemonium let loose, 
 whistles in every possible key all going 
 together, the troopers cheering themselves 
 hoarse, the band playing, and every one 
 in good spirits. Mother and I fairly 
 danced up and down to think that we 
 were both really aboard. 
 
 The harbor was lovely and we were 
 interested in all the sights. Soon we heard 
 that there would be a chance to send 
 letters or telegrams back by the pilot, 
 so I hastily wrote a line to be wired to you. 
 Shortly after, word came on deck that some 
 one had given the pilot a telegram ad- 
 dressed to "Bessie" and as he was un- 
 fortunate enough not to know "Bessie," 
 he begged for further details. You may 
 imagine how foolish I felt leaning over 
 the side and screaming the rest of your 
 address to him, while his boat bobbed up 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and down and the crowd guyed me un- 
 mercifully. 
 
 Frank received several telegrams and, 
 among them, one wishing him "A pleasant 
 voyage and a speedy return. " By what 
 chance anybody hoped to have his speedy 
 return brought about, when he was starting 
 on a two years' trip, I can't fathom, — 
 whether by desertion, retirement or illness 
 I am at a loss to know. 
 
 We were all sitting on deck when it 
 suddenly became fearfully rough. People 
 began to disappear by ones and twos, 
 then in half-dozen lots, followed by a 
 regular stampede. Frank and I and one 
 other couple sat out on the stern until 
 nearly four o'clock watching the water 
 
 and the gulls. Then Captain H 
 
 said, "How beau " and disappeared 
 
 down the companion-way, which made me 
 think of something in my state-room that 
 I needed at once, and it was simply a 
 foot race between the other lady and 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 myself to see who should get below first; 
 and Frank was left alone. I remained 
 in my state-room until I heard the dinner 
 gong and I found it hard even then to 
 think of leaving it, but when I reached 
 the dining-room and smeiled the roast 
 turkey and all the other good things, my 
 state-room held out no more charms, 
 and I ate everything from oysters to ice- 
 cream. For the first two or three days, 
 there was only one other lady who attended 
 her meals and we felt tremendously proud 
 to think that we alone had not been 
 victims to mal de mer, but when the rest 
 of the ladies began to put in an appearance, 
 we learned to our chagrin that none of 
 them had been sea-sick. Most of them 
 had merely been tired from packing, 
 and some had had headaches, but sea-sick, 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 Bobby was sea-sick, but he wants me 
 not to tell you, for he says he is not sure 
 but that he was just home-sick. He thinks 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 he would not have felt that way at home. 
 
 It has been delightfully warm for the 
 last two days, as we have been in the 
 gulf stream. We are going south two 
 hundred miles out of our course, to avoid 
 cold weather, as we are really in no hurry 
 (except for the first of the month, — pay- 
 day). 
 
 The food is fine, better than we have 
 ever had on ocean-liners, and we have 
 just seen the tremendous list of good 
 things on board. All I remember now 
 is two thousand blue-points, three hundred 
 pigeons, four hundred broilers, and three 
 hundred and fifty pounds of fresh lobster. 
 We have nice fruit and lettuce and toma- 
 toes, and bang-up good cooks. 
 
 Now, I must turn in. I have been waiting 
 for Frank to go on guard, which he does 
 at midnight, and he has been trying to 
 catch a few winks. If you were only 
 here my cup of happiness would surely 
 run over. Don't get married until I 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 can find you an officer, for this is certainly 
 the most glorious life. It seemed as if 
 I couldn't contain myself when the sun 
 and band came out together this morning, 
 for the first time since sailing. 
 Lovingly 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Christmas Eve. 
 Dearest Bess: 
 
 I have decided to bring my letter to you 
 up to date. (I seem to see what a fine 
 blaze these letters will make.) 
 
 It is so beautiful here this morning that 
 I could sing for joy, did I not hate to cause 
 suffering among the passengers. Nearly 
 every one is out on deck, and the band has 
 been playing all the jolliest things, and 
 we have just passed our first ship. It 
 came very near and dipped the Union 
 Jack, which we gracefully acknowledged 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 by dipping the Stars and Stripes and play- 
 ing "God Save the Queen." 
 
 I wish I could make you realize what 
 life on a Transport is like. Two or three 
 persons told Mother they thought she was 
 very brave to be willing to take a trip on 
 a Troop Ship. That sounded English 
 and not too attractive, but I had heard 
 army people refer to their trips to the 
 Philippines with such enthusiasm that I 
 felt no qualms. In so many ways it is 
 far ahead of travelling on a liner, and not 
 the least advantage is the price. When I 
 looked up the cost of this trip on a liner 
 it fairly took my breath away. Why, 
 it would take all Frank's pay for years. 
 Yet here we are, going right to the same 
 adorable places, paying only one dollar 
 a day. How we can live as we do will 
 always remain a mystery. Then, it is 
 nice to know every one. No matter 
 where you find your steamer chair placed, 
 you are sure to be near some one in whom 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 you are interested, for the bond between 
 members of the same regiment is very 
 strong. To be sure there is little room 
 to spare, but what could go further to 
 prove the popularity of Transports ? 
 
 The deck is perfect, and so little time 
 is spent in our state-rooms that what does 
 it matter if one has to go outside even to 
 sneeze ? Another thing strikes me as 
 a great luxury on ship-board. Before, 
 I have had to manage with the few things 
 that can be jammed into a poor little 
 steamer trunk, but here all our trunks 
 except those in our state-room are placed 
 in a trunk-room, and we have access to 
 them whenever we wish. Another com- 
 fort is the Commissary. It has all the 
 earmarks of the country store, — shoe- 
 lacings, pens, pins, stationery, chocolates, 
 soft drinks, pickles, everything in fact, 
 with the exception of the typical sugar 
 barrel to sit on. Last but not least, what 
 luxury on a liner could ever make up for 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 the lack of military life ? From reveille 
 to taps, the bugle is always calling, and 
 on the deck below inspections and drills 
 and guard mounts are going on. In the 
 afternoon there is the concert by the 
 military band and at "Retreat" the dear 
 old "Star Spangled Banner" brings us 
 all to our feet as the flag comes down. 
 Much as I have enjoyed life on ocean- 
 liners, it seems like life on a canal boat, 
 compared to this. Think that it is the day 
 before Christmas, and here we sit out on 
 deck wearing our thinnest things, with no 
 hats or rugs! 
 
 Guard mount is going on. How I love 
 it all! It is good to be alive ! 
 
 I have almost decided on an officer for 
 you. He is a West Pointer and has been 
 all over the world and knows everything, 
 and yet they say he is no more conceited 
 than the average man. His record is 
 the envy of every lieutenant on board, 
 and he is quite good looking, too. The 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 single out about him is his name, which 
 is O'Reilly. My only fear is that some 
 one will snap one of you up before I can 
 bring you together. 
 
 We are going down into the trunk-room 
 this morning to take out our Christmas 
 things and stow them away in No. 13, 
 for this is Christmas Eve. Well, dear 
 girl, I shall think of you to-night and wish 
 you were all coming to dine with us 
 to-morrow. I shall try to write you a 
 few lines every night now, until we reach 
 Gibraltar, and then if I have the price 
 I will send the whole blooming business 
 by freight. 
 
 Lots of love, from 
 
 Beth. 
 
 December 31. 
 Dear Girl: 
 
 I don't know whether to write first 
 my thanks for all the beautiful presents 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 or to tell you how we spent our Christmas. 
 I think I will go back to the " night before." 
 Christmas Eve was very jolly. We sat 
 out on deck and sang songs we all knew, 
 even the men joining in from their deck 
 below. Then some of the officers formed 
 an impromptu band with borrowed in- 
 struments, and gave three or four "Wag- 
 nerian" pieces, delighting the enlisted 
 men who were looking on and cheering 
 everything tremendously. Not to be out- 
 done they produced two men who did a 
 fine clog dance, and our orchestra leader 
 gave us one or two charming selections 
 on his violin. 
 
 The climax was reached when a little 
 before midnight a huge bowl of a certain 
 famous egg-nog and a great fruit cake 
 appeared as if by magic. We drank to the 
 
 Cavalry and to each other 
 
 and to all the good people at home, and 
 before the last toast was over it was time 
 to wish every one "Merry Christmas." 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Such a fine time as we had Christmas 
 Day! After breakfast Mother, Frank, 
 Bobby and I betook ourselves to No. 13, 
 where our many mysterious packages had 
 been stowed away. At first it looked 
 as if "we uns" and the presents could 
 never occupy the state-room at one and 
 the same time, but we finally managed it, — 
 mother and I on the bob-tailed couch, 
 Frank wedged in the corner, Bobby in 
 the obliging wash-bowl which came down 
 for the purpose, and the packages heaped 
 upon the lower bunk. My dear! they 
 were lovely, with the dainty white ribbons 
 and holly, and we had many a good laugh 
 over the jokes. The parasol is a beauty, 
 and you may imagine me sporting it when 
 we are a little nearer the " imaginary 
 line." Such a love of a fan! It is exquis- 
 ite. We have already had days when a 
 fan is most acceptable. Don't I wish you 
 were here to read "The Lightning Con- 
 ductor" with me! I am saving all my 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Christmas books for the last part of our 
 trip, as every one says that by that time 
 the novelty will have worn off, and we 
 shall cordially hate the boat and each 
 other, and books will be worth their 
 weight in gold. 
 
 The men have trimmed the mess hall 
 beautifully with the flags and guidons 
 and holly, and although there was no real 
 mistletoe a piece of holly over the door 
 labeled "Mistletoe" answered every pur- 
 pose. The dinner left nothing to be 
 desired, unless it were extra space, be- 
 ginning with oysters and going through 
 roast goose, roast turkey, sucking pig, 
 hams boiled in champagne, mince pie 
 and English plum pudding. 
 
 There was the killingest Christmas tree 
 in the saloon, manufactured from branches 
 which may once have borne apples, to 
 which were tied sprays of holly, the whole 
 decorated with the usual Christmas favors. 
 They intended to have a "sure enough" 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Christmas tree, but at the last moment 
 it was forgotten. This was the next best 
 thing, and in a way it was better, for no 
 one could look at it without laughing. 
 
 We have had nine days of absolutely 
 perfect weather, as warm as June and as 
 smooth as the proverbial mill-pond. To- 
 day is pleasant, but rough! It is " Muster " 
 and the men have been trying to stand in 
 ranks for roll-call while the waves have 
 washed over the lower deck and the 
 officers have balanced around on one leg 
 in attitudes anything but dignified. It 
 is tremendously exhilarating, but we are 
 beginning to look in vain for familiar 
 faces and if it continues there will be only 
 a few of us left to see Madeira this after- 
 noon. The band is "all to the bad." 
 The music in their souls has given place 
 to misery in their "midsts" and they are 
 a sorry lot. The band leader crawled 
 up on deck this morning, and sat with 
 his head in his hands, evidently longing 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 for Home and Mother. The general 
 told him that he wished he would "get 
 the band out — it would cheer things up — 
 it would do the sea-sick passengers a world 
 of good — it would probably do the musi- 
 cians themselves good." The band- 
 master turned a fishy eye upon him and 
 replied, in a weak and shaky voice, "It 
 might, but it would be an awful thing for 
 the cornets!" 
 
 I can't imagine anything more beautiful 
 than this trip has been thus far, — warm 
 enough to sit out on deck until midnight 
 without wraps. We have two concerts 
 every day, beside "Guard Mount" and 
 " Retreat," and the finest of phonographs, 
 with all the new rag-times and two-steps. 
 
 Bobby is blissful and I think this trip 
 is going to be the greatest thing in the 
 world for him. He is ravenous and it 
 delights his soul to give his own order from 
 the menu. I wish you could hear him 
 call for the French dishes, for he hesitates 
 
 21 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 at nothing and pronounces them exactly 
 as they are spelled. Every night he says, 
 "This is the best day I have ever had 
 in my life." 
 
 January 2. 
 When I had written thus far, some one 
 came for me to do a mile around the deck 
 and then it was dinner time. After that 
 we went out and sang until we were hungry, 
 and came in to find a fine spread to cele- 
 brate New Year's Eve, — fresh lobster, 
 sandwiches of all kinds, cheese and beer. 
 As a great treat I passed around the box 
 of candy Aunt Fanny sent me and every 
 one said it was the best ever. Did she 
 know that I loved caramels best of any- 
 thing ? At midnight, New Year's Eve, the 
 ofEcers raised what they called "merry 
 Cain," if you know what that is. They 
 had the big fog whistle blown three times 
 and a tiger; then they got all the band 
 instruments, and such a noise you never 
 heard. They rigged up some chimes 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 out of beer bottles and played on them 
 for about fifteen minutes. Some of the 
 passengers were scared. They thought 
 the whistle was the fire signal, and when 
 it was followed by the bugle they supposed 
 it was "Assembly," and were sure the 
 end had come. 
 
 It was so rough yesterday that we 
 couldn't go near Madeira, but if the 
 weather clears up a little to-day we shall 
 see the coast of Africa, and to-morrow 
 we shall be at Gibraltar. 
 
 Probably I shall not write again until 
 after we leave Gibraltar as I have Christ- 
 mas letters to write. Hug yourself for 
 me hard. With lots of love from 
 
 Beth. 
 
 P. S. O'Reilly won't do at all! I have 
 seen him when he is sea-sick, and I want 
 nothing like it in the family. He was a 
 study in olive drab, and you couldn't tell 
 where the uniform stopped and he began. 
 
 2 3 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Monday night, January 4. 
 Dearest Girl: 
 
 I am sitting up in my berth, when I 
 ought to be asleep, for I simply can't 
 wait to tell you about this place. We 
 expected to see Africa last Saturday, but 
 it rained and was so foggy that we hadn't 
 even a glimpse of it. When we woke up 
 Sunday morning, it was still foggy, and 
 every one was sick with disappointment 
 that our first view of the Rock should be 
 under such conditions. 
 
 About noon, the fog lifted and we saw 
 the coast of Morocco. A little later Spain 
 appeared very faintly, and it stopped 
 raining. Finally the sun peeped out just 
 long enough to give us the loveliest view 
 of a little Spanish village, and a light- 
 house surrounded by the greenest grass; 
 and another peep showed us an interesting 
 old Moorish village. 
 
 At three o'clock, we had our first glimpse 
 of the Rock, which, to my surprise, was not 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 in the least like the Prudential adver- 
 tisement. Although it had not entirely 
 cleared off, still the patch of blue sky grew 
 larger and larger as we approached, and 
 the Rock grew grander and grander, and, 
 my dear, when we were near enough to 
 distinguish the red coats of the soldiers, 
 out came the sun in all its glory, just as 
 if the whole thing had been planned, 
 and at the same minute "Retreat" sounded 
 and the band struck up the "Star Spangled 
 Banner"! I have no words to describe it. 
 It was like a beautiful dream. I don't 
 know exactly what I had expected but it 
 went far ahead of my anticipations. It 
 was quite easy to see the big "crouching 
 lion," as the Rock is sometimes called, 
 with its head on its paws looking toward 
 Spain. With our glasses we could dis- 
 cover guns peeping out at us from un- 
 expected places. What at first appeared 
 like trees and rock became fortifications, 
 bristling with guns painted to look like 
 
 25 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 an innocent bit of nature. I was thankful 
 that our relations with Great Britain 
 are not strained. The whole village is 
 built on terraces on the steep side of the 
 Rock facing us, so that we had a view of 
 all the buildings in it, and here and there 
 we could see patches of blue and red 
 and olive drab where the Tommies were 
 having their drills. 
 
 Of course every one was on deck, armed 
 either with a Baedeker or a camera, as 
 we slowly pulled in to our moorings. 
 We hoisted our big quarantine flag which 
 looked exactly like a cavalry banner, and 
 the doctor came aboard and said we 
 could go ashore whenever we pleased. 
 Then the governor's representative came 
 in oodles of gold lace, and made us feel 
 quite important. In the meantime, in- 
 numerable little boats were crowding 
 around us with oranges growing right out 
 of stems with shiny green Reaves (not 
 that I supposed they grew out of gas- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 pipes) and also with delicious figs put up 
 in the dearest little baskets. 
 
 We waited only to swallow our dinner, 
 and then Frank and I went ashore. We 
 had to pass through the quaintest old 
 stone gateway adorned with the lion and 
 the unicorn. The date 1385 made us 
 feel quite juvenile. It was guarded by 
 two sentries. Once through, there were 
 soldiers everywhere, some of them most 
 gorgeous in their scarlet and gold and 
 white and their Highland kilts. There 
 were priests in shovel hats, and nuns, 
 and bare-legged Moors, and Spanish girls 
 in lace mantillas, and ladies from the gar- 
 rison. It was like a scene on the stage. 
 
 There is only one street of any import- 
 ance. In Gibraltar it is a blessed thing to 
 be slender (you notice I don't say skinny) 
 for the sidewalks are just two feet wide. 
 Fortunately the street itself is kept im- 
 maculately clean and nearly every one 
 walks there. Every Tommy carries his 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 "swagger," or "dinky" stick. It seems 
 almost as much a part of him as his little 
 pill-box cocked over one ear. We promptly 
 invested in several. The sticks are all 
 ornamented with silver tops, bearing the 
 device of the special regiment Tommy 
 belongs to, and there are many different 
 designs. I was surprised to discover that 
 Gibraltar is not an island, but is joined 
 to Spain by a narrow strip of land called 
 "neutral ground." However, we were 
 told that the gateway between Gibraltar 
 and this narrow way is undermined and 
 at a moment's notice can be exploded 
 so as to transform the great moat into a 
 lake, and convert Gibraltar into an island. 
 I shall tread softly when I pass over that 
 gateway. 
 
 We walked about until we were afraid 
 of being locked inside the walls and had 
 to tear ourselves away. All the Trans- 
 port's passengers were not so foresighted, 
 and several of the officers were locked 
 
 28 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 in and had to spend the night on the Rock, 
 while their respective wives had visions 
 of "battle, murder, and sudden death" 
 in hideous forms. 
 
 I tried to send your letter by freight, 
 but finally had to see a goodly portion 
 of Frank's last pay account converted 
 into two-pence half-penny stamps. 
 
 We reached the Transport just in time 
 to see the full moon rise behind the Rock, — 
 oh, I pinched myself to see if it was real! 
 
 This morning a charming English Major, 
 in all his scarlet and gold lace, took a party 
 of us over the Royal Engineer's Barracks. 
 We were shown everything they wear, 
 everything they eat, where they drink, 
 and where they live; and I was presented 
 with a gilt lion and unicorn which I 
 intend to use as a belt buckle. 
 
 It was funny to see how quickly our 
 troopers and Atkins were on the most 
 intimate footing. We met them repeatedly 
 doing the sights together, arm in arm. 
 
 29 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 As there is no W. C. T. U. there, Tommy 
 has a splendid regimental canteen where 
 he can drink his beer from pewter pint- 
 pots at a shilling a gallon, and the profits, 
 which come up to about two hundred 
 pounds a month, are devoted to improving 
 his mess. Lucky Tommy! 
 
 The married men are particularly well 
 looked after. Their quarters are not as- 
 signed according to rank, but by the size 
 of their families, — so that a private with 
 three children selects his quarters ahead of a 
 sergeant with one child. It is needless to say 
 that no alarm is felt concerning race suicide. 
 
 We were shown through several of 
 the Non Corns' quarters. They have no 
 separate houses, but live in one building 
 several stories high. Each set has its 
 porch where I would gladly have 
 spent a whole day, , as it overlooks the 
 drill ground, which was like a great 
 kaleidoscope, changing every hour, and, 
 beyond, the harbor alive with ships. 
 
 3° 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 The men have collected wonderful things 
 from different places where they have been 
 stationed — exquisite things from India; 
 and beautiful things from South Africa, 
 to say nothing of unique souvenirs from 
 Bermuda, Nova Scotia, and Australia. 
 It made me wish that Uncle Sam had more 
 foreign possessions. 
 
 After a delicious luncheon at the hotel 
 we drove for two hours through the markets 
 and gardens and across the narrow stretch 
 of neutral land, where we saw the English 
 sentries in their red coats on one side, and 
 on the other, the Spanish guards in their 
 long black cloaks and shiny black hats, 
 too picturesque for anything. Judging 
 by them we imagined that Spain itself 
 would take our breaths away, — and it 
 did, but merely because, as firm believers 
 in the germ theory, we did not dare to 
 draw a good breath in such filth. Dirty — 
 oh, my — and such horrid beggars! 
 
 Armed with a Spanish dictionary I 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 visited several shops in a vain endeavor 
 to buy a Spanish flag, as I wish to make 
 a collection of flags from the countries 
 we visit. I wish you could have seen the 
 collection of things that my Spanish 
 brought forth. Everything — I give you 
 my word — from a string of garlic to a 
 necktie, but a flag — never! — By that 
 time I felt that we were covered and 
 surrounded by fifty-seven distinct varieties 
 of germs, and after one last despairing look 
 around, we fled back to British territory. 
 
 We reached the main street just in time 
 to see the Spanish workmen going home. 
 There are twelve hundred men who come 
 over to work on the new gallery for fifteen 
 cents a day, and they have to be out of 
 the city by six o'clock, when a guard 
 escorts them with a fife-and-drum corps, 
 and a most pompous person bears the 
 key to the gate that locks them out. 
 
 We were so tired then that we came 
 home — I mean back to the boat. My 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 eyes are closing now, and yet I haven't 
 told you about the hedges of heliotrope 
 in bloom, and the roses and violets all 
 in blossom — though it is only January — 
 and the merchants driving their herds 
 of turkeys through the streets, and the flocks 
 of goats that were milked from door to 
 door, and those funny bare-legged Moors, 
 in their yellow slippers and voluminous 
 white turbans. I shall go to sleep to dream 
 of them. 
 
 • Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 January 5. 
 Dear Bess: 
 
 Only a word to-night for I feel as if 
 I had been run over by a road-roller, and 
 thereby hangs a tale ! 
 
 Last night we had word that the admiral 
 offered us his private launch — "H. M. S. 
 Crocodile'' — for a trip to Tangiers this 
 morning! About twenty started off at 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 eight o'clock. The day was not very 
 propitious, and it was rough even inside 
 the breakwater, but we hoped things 
 might improve. The trip is supposed 
 to take a little over three hours. After 
 we had been tossed about for about two 
 hours and most of the ladies had ceased 
 to take any interest in Tangiers or in 
 anything except their wretched selves, 
 the captain sent the general word that 
 a coming storm would make it utterly 
 impossible for us to land at Tangiers, 
 so there was nothing to do but to go back. 
 By that time a dreadful squall had come 
 up and it had begun to pour. We were 
 all huddled in the little cabin, tossed 
 around as if it weren't the admiral's 
 own launch at all. It took us forever to 
 get back, with the sea rougher every 
 minute. When at last we reached the 
 Crocodile's moorings and thought our 
 troubles at an end, we had a really frightful 
 time. It was too rough to use the Trans- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 port launch so they sent three life-boats 
 to take us off, and it took six or eight 
 sailors to hold them until we could jump 
 in. It was only a short distance to the 
 Transport, but it is wonderful how much 
 can happen in a short space. The boats 
 were tossed about like so many peanut- 
 shells. Time and again I was thrown 
 into the bottom of the boat. The waves 
 broke over us, and we were wet to the skin 
 and bruised. We didn't know that we had 
 been in any real danger until we were once 
 more on our own deck, when I found that 
 the ship's officers had expected every 
 minute the boats would be swamped. 
 Maybe we weren't a bedraggled-looking 
 lot! I have a hat ribbon bearing the 
 legend "H. M. S. Crocodile" as a souvenir 
 of my trip to Tangiers, and when I count 
 my black and blue spots I feel that it 
 was dearly bought. 
 
 After luncheon it grew calm enough so 
 that those of us who were not too crippled 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and lame could go ashore. We joined 
 the survivors and drove to the entrance 
 of the galleries. Here we annexed a 
 most obliging "Non Com. Tommy," who 
 showed us everything as far as one is 
 allowed to go without a pass. Even 
 with a pass, in order to visit the upper 
 galleries, one must go blind-folded, but 
 this blind-man's-buff performance held 
 out no charms for us. Our "Non Com" 
 told us that on the summit there are great 
 guns that can be fired by electricity from 
 the base of the Rock at ships miles and 
 miles away, as often the top is so sur- 
 rounded by fog and mists that it would be 
 impossible to sight an approaching vessel 
 from there. It was rather hard to believe, 
 but he looked like a perfectly honest man. 
 The galleries are like tunnels running 
 one after another in a perfect network 
 back and forth through the Rock, dark 
 as pitch in some places and quite "juicy," — 
 a little fact I didn't discover until after 
 
 36 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 I had gaily tripped through a horrid 
 puddle nearly over my shoe tops. As a 
 consequence, instead of enjoying the mag- 
 nificent view, that we had from time to 
 time through narrow slits cut in the face 
 of the wall, I was searching my memory 
 in a vain attempt to think where I had 
 packed my bottle of "rhinitis," without 
 which life for me would probably soon 
 resolve itself into one grand snuffle. 
 
 I was surprised to learn that over 
 eight thousand soldiers are garrisoned 
 here and that there is a room in the middle 
 of the Rock large enough, in case of war, 
 to hold all the women and children con- 
 nected with the garrison. 
 
 From one of the openings in the Rock 
 we looked down on the kennels of the 
 Calpe Hounds, one of the most noted 
 packs in the British possessions. It is 
 provisioned to stand a twenty years' 
 siege (the garrison — not the pack), but the 
 people probably couldn't live heartily for 
 
 37 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 that length of time. Baedeker tells an 
 awful story of one of the thirteen times 
 that Gibraltar has been besieged. He 
 says that the garrison of six thousand 
 lived on grass, horses, rats and cats, but 
 as these letters are to be the truth, the 
 whole truth, and nothing but the truth, 
 I shall not dwell on that. 
 
 When we came back to the Transport 
 we were glad to find a big P. and O. boat 
 anchored alongside. We decided to get 
 the ship's launch and go aboard of her 
 after dinner. We had the launch all right, 
 but imagine our disgust just as we pulled 
 away from the gang-plank, to see her 
 quietly slip out of the breakwater, and 
 almost before we knew it she was out of 
 sight. 
 
 Now I must turn in, as we sail at day- 
 break and I want to be up to see if I can 
 discover where the Prudential obtained 
 that view of the Rock. So good-night! 
 
 Beth. 
 
 38 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 January 9. 
 Dear Girl: 
 
 Just a line! We left Gibraltar Wed- 
 nesday morning at daybreak and I was 
 at last able to see the Rock from the 
 Prudential's point of view. In about two 
 hours we struck a storm which has lasted 
 three days and completely incapacitated 
 all but three of the ladies and a goodly 
 proportion of the officers. Mother and 
 I continued to show up with the remnant, 
 although I have seen Mother more hungry. 
 My appetite is still ridiculously good, but 
 such a cold as I took in those galleries 
 at Gibraltar! 
 
 Every one is railing at the blue Medi- 
 terranean. The cerulean hue seems to be 
 entirely confined to the passengers who 
 are slowly perishing from cold. It was 
 a cruel blow when I discovered that the 
 Blue Danube is a muddy brown, but I 
 certainly never expected to find the Medi- 
 terranean a dull leaden color. I had also 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 expected that we should meet boats in 
 bunches, but we have seen only two and 
 they are too far away to be interesting. 
 We passed the ruins of Carthage this 
 morning and I tried to dig up even one 
 small bit from the fund of information 
 that you and I absorbed together on that 
 subject, — but in vain. 
 
 Many of the blue noses are now hidden 
 between Baedeker's scarlet covers, breath- 
 ing in facts about Malta with every 
 breath. 
 
 I have selected another officer for you 
 (I am sick to death of O'Reilly). I 
 am not sure yet whether this one is married 
 or not, but he is tremendously entertaining 
 and has the nicest face. I think he is 
 Scotch or English. He sent me a huge 
 bunch of violets and Jack roses while we 
 were at Gibraltar, and I think he will 
 make a charming cousin-in-law. 
 
 I had some laundry done at Gibraltar 
 and it is as good as a hearty meal. Most 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 of the garments appear to have been 
 boiled in a highly seasoned stew, and the 
 bath towels were evidently dipped in a bat- 
 ter and fried. I think they must be far 
 ahead of the emergency ration in pure 
 nutritive value. I shall send out some 
 more washing at Malta to add variety 
 to the menu. We expect to reach Malta 
 to-night or to-morrow morning. 
 
 Our general met Lord Roberts in London 
 a short time ago, and Lord Roberts has 
 cabled to Malta and all the other ports that 
 have British garrisons, where we are to stop, 
 and ordered them to be ready to turn out 
 and do their best stunts for us. Nice 
 of " Bobs," wasn't it ? 
 
 Lots of love from 
 
 Beth. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Shepheard's Hotel, Cairo, 
 
 January 18. 
 Dear Angel: 
 
 This is the nearest I shall ever come 
 to heaven — so I send you my blessing. 
 Yours in bliss, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 sa 
 
 January 22. 
 Dearest Cuz: 
 
 Oh, that I had studied shorthand and 
 could put a whole sentence into one little 
 crooked mark. It seems as if it were only 
 yesterday that we reached Malta and yet 
 enough has happened to fill four volumes. 
 I ought to write a little every day, but 
 somehow the days are so pitifully short 
 that it is midnight before I know it. 
 
 I must tell you about Malta first. 
 We got in on Sunday morning early, 
 January II. The harbor was full of 
 English warships and we had to wind 
 
 42 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 in and out among them to find our moor- 
 ings, and all the Tommies stood at at- 
 tention as we passed, and on many of the 
 ships they played the Star Spangled 
 Banner. There were over thirty ships, 
 and each carried a Marconi and had a 
 band on board. They gave us our moor- 
 ing beside the flagship and its signals had 
 a perfect fascination for me. All day 
 long men were running up various com- 
 binations of colored flags. Then each 
 ship in the fleet would run up a little red 
 pennant, for all the world like a saucy 
 wiggling red tongue, which signified that 
 the admiral's signal was seen and under- 
 stood. As soon as it was too dark to see 
 the flags, a big bright star appeared over 
 the admiral's ship and flirted in the boldest 
 manner all night long with the stars over 
 the other ships. Every time it winked 
 they coquettishly winked back. 
 
 Soon after we anchored, Church Call 
 was blown on all the ships and we saw 
 
 43 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 all the men marching to their stern decks 
 for service. In a little while hymns were 
 rising on all sides of us, and each service 
 ended with "God Save the King." It 
 was like being in the centre of a great 
 camp meeting. 
 
 My cold was outrageous, but just the 
 same we went ashore after luncheon. 
 The little boats in the harbor all had the 
 funny prows like the Venetian gondolas, 
 but the boatmen were certainly not as 
 picturesque. 
 
 A crowd of us hired the funniest car- 
 riages — "Carrozzins" they call them — 
 that look like four-posted canopied beds 
 on wheels. We were driven up town and 
 had fun sight-seeing. It is a dear place, 
 with steps, steps everywhere — whole streets 
 of steps, one street having over a hundred. 
 From the moment one sets foot in Malta 
 at the long flight of steps at the water- 
 front until one returns, it is a constant 
 going up and down stairs. 
 
 44 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 After the steps, I think the most pic- 
 turesque thing about Malta is the head- 
 dress worn by the women, — a voluminous 
 black hood with a cape coming down over 
 the shoulders. It is unlike anything I have 
 ever seen, so I thought I would buy one 
 to show you, but when I found that it 
 would cost from one to three pounds I 
 decided to let your idea of it remain 
 vague. The women hold the hoods to- 
 gether at the neck. On pretty women 
 they are most fetching, and on the plain 
 women — well, they cover up a multitude 
 of imperfections. They say they were 
 originally worn as an act of penance for the 
 immorality of the women of Malta during 
 the French occupation but, between you 
 and me, had they found them less becoming 
 and coquettish, I think they would long 
 since have forgotten their frail sisters. 
 I have been wondering how it would do 
 for us to start a bonnet brigade at home. 
 The hoods are really becoming and I 
 
 45 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 know people I am ashamed of, for whom 
 (if suited to my style) I should be glad 
 to do penance. Think it over! 
 
 First we did St. John's Church which 
 is one of the richest in the world, with solid 
 silver gates fifteen feet high, in one of the 
 chapels. You needn't believe that if you 
 don't like, but the guide said it and seemed 
 offended when some one suggested that 
 the silver might not be sterling. These 
 gates escaped being added to the rest of 
 the plunder seized by the French during 
 a siege only by the happy thought of some 
 one who painted them green. The chapel 
 of St. John is famous from the fact that 
 the Malta Knights were buried there. 
 There were so many chapels that by the 
 time we reached the last it was dark 
 and we were gnawed by pangs of hunger, 
 so we sought the best hotel, which was 
 near, fortunately, as it was pouring. 
 
 Several persons decided to stay at the 
 hotel while we were in town, and I was so 
 
 4 6 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 fortunate as to be invited to spend the 
 night with one of the ladies. The plan 
 was most attractive, and I wish you could 
 have seen her room. It was about thirty 
 feet high and nearly thirty feet square. 
 The windows looked down on the Main 
 Guard, where we could see Atkins march- 
 ing up and down. 
 
 The officers went out before dinner, 
 returning with gorgeous great bunches of 
 violets for all the ladies. We sat down 
 about ten strong to the jolliest dinner! 
 It was just our own particular set, and we 
 all know each other so well that it would 
 be impossible for us to go anywhere 
 together and not have a lark. An ornate- 
 colored bust of a young female was in 
 the dining-room and one of the officers 
 inquired who the lady was. The waiter 
 could speak only a few words of English, 
 but he managed to say "Queen Victoria — 
 She finished. " When at last we had 
 eaten and laughed our fill, we felt just 
 
 M 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 in condition for more fun. We found 
 Sunday night is the night to go to the 
 opera, so we all went, occupying two 
 boxes. We couldn't understand a word, 
 but we gathered from the programmes 
 that it was the opera "Punchinello" in 
 Italian, and some of it was so funny that 
 we laughed until we cried. The audience 
 was enthusiastic and when the opera was 
 over they simply went mad and shouted 
 something that sounded like "Bal!" "Bal!" 
 It proved to be a call for an exquisite 
 ballet. The dancers came on in couples 
 and gave a short dance — each couple 
 followed by another a little more deficient 
 in regard to clothing, and it is well they 
 worked up to the last gradually as other- 
 wise we might have died of heart failure. 
 The next day was perfect, and we 
 visited the market as soon as breakfast 
 was over. It was unique. One can buy 
 the smallest amounts of everything — the 
 neck of a chicken, or one leg or just a 
 
 4 8 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 pin-feather, if so minded. An ideal place 
 to market for a family of two! 
 
 Then we began systematic shopping 
 for Maltese lace, and when in the cabin 
 at night I saw the quantity purchased 
 I wondered if there were any lace left in 
 Malta. There were dozens of berthas, 
 collars of all shapes and sizes, hand- 
 kerchiefs innumerable, and doylies without 
 end. 
 
 Then there were the silver filigree shops, 
 where every one bought silver Maltese 
 crosses for relatives and friends at home, — 
 "Now, won't this brooch be just the thing 
 for Aunt Fanny ?" and "Here's a stick- 
 pin that will do for Harry " — "Oh, wouldn't 
 Clara just love one of these pendants for 
 her chain," and "Oh, we must get a spoon 
 with a cross on it for our collection," etc. 
 
 When we were too tired to shop any 
 more, we took a guide and drove to some 
 beautiful gardens where there were acres 
 and acres of orange and lemon trees 
 
 49 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 loaded with fruit. Something funny hap- 
 pened. Fascinating baskets of oranges 
 were for sale and when I went out there 
 in the morning, I bought one containing 
 five dozen, thinking that we four ought 
 to be able to eat them all before they 
 should decay. I sent them on board by 
 Frank's striker and thought no more about 
 it. In the afternoon, mother visited the 
 gardens and bought a basket of five dozen, 
 and while we were both on shore an agent 
 went aboard the Transport and sold Frank 
 a basket of ten dozen there. When I 
 returned to the boat the passage to No. 13 
 was entirely barricaded with oranges, and 
 as it was impossible to get more than one 
 orange into our state-room at a time we 
 had a circus trying to dispose of them. 
 We couldn't give them away as every one 
 had laid in enough to last for days, but 
 at last we found an obliging ship's officer 
 who stowed them somewhere for us. 
 
 In the afternoon we had more shopping 
 
 50 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and sight-seeing. I must tell you about 
 the Chapel of Bones. We could not go 
 in, as it was being repaired, but I was 
 content to see what I could from the door- 
 way. The entire walls and ceiling were 
 covered with bones, human bones, in 
 every possible combination and design. 
 Thigh bones were employed to produce 
 a lattice effect across the vaulted arch of the 
 nave, dados of solid skulls beautified the 
 side walls. Arms were cleverly arranged 
 to form dainty herring-bone borders and 
 more intricate designs were made from 
 fingers and toes. Apparently, the designs 
 gave out before the bones, for there were 
 huge bins filled with these still waiting 
 to be arranged. There is certainly an 
 opening there for members of the Arts 
 and Crafts. 
 
 Now I can tell you about what were, 
 to me, the most adorable things in Malta. 
 It wouldn't do to speak of them before 
 mentioning St. John's and the Chapel of 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Bones and other larger objects, but they 
 come to the top every time I think of 
 Malta. These were the little Maltese 
 dogs. The breed is peculiar to Malta 
 (I found 'there were no Maltese cats) and 
 never in my life have I seen anything in the 
 canine line half as dear. They are the 
 softest little balls of fur, some black and 
 some white, and so tiny that the men who 
 were selling them held two in each hand. 
 They looked for all the world like Japanese 
 toys with their little stubby noses and 
 beady eyes, and they cost only one dollar 
 apiece. I thought at first that life simply 
 could not be supported without at least 
 one, but after I had mentally measured 
 the state-room, I realized that, small as 
 he was, it would necessitate turning out 
 the trunk or Frank or Bobby, and I had 
 to close my eyes and let them drag me 
 away. 
 
 Frank had hunted up a little French 
 restaurant where we went for a good 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 dinner. I had to have each course re- 
 peated until the waiters were fairly ap- 
 palled at my appetite, but everything 
 was delicious. 
 
 We were certainly treated royally at 
 Malta. The officers were made guests 
 of the Malta Club, and the ladies were 
 invited to a beautiful tea given at one of 
 the handsomest villas, and to a tea on 
 board one of the warships, and also to 
 a hop given by the navy officers at the 
 Junior Officers' Club. About a dozen 
 officers were also invited to a dinner on 
 board the battleship London, given by the 
 "Queen's own Regiment." 
 
 We sailed at sunrise Wednesday morn- 
 ing. It was a gorgeous sight, and I wished 
 I could call for repeats as I did at the little 
 French restaurant. It seemed lonely to 
 go away by ourselves after having been 
 surrounded by nearly the entire Medi- 
 terranean fleet. The trip from Malta 
 to Port Said was without particular ex- 
 
 53 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 citement. The weather continued cold 
 and rainy on the "beautiful blue Medi- 
 terranean," and I was glad to say good- 
 bye to it. 
 
 Frank stayed on the boat and went 
 through the Canal. I left Bobby in charge 
 of the wife of one of the enlisted men, 
 while mother and I joined a party of about 
 forty who went to Cairo and met the 
 Transport at Suez. I wouldn't have missed 
 that trip if I had had to go all the way on 
 my knees. 
 
 Cook's agent came aboard the boat, and 
 all we had to do was to "follow the man 
 from Cook's" and enjoy ourselves, which 
 we did to the limit. 
 
 Port Said is a dirty place, but foreigny. 
 It has the reputation of being the wickedest 
 place on the map, and reasoning on the 
 theory that "cleanliness is next to godli- 
 ness," I can believe it. All the women 
 had their faces covered, and if they were 
 as homely as the men it is a blessed thing. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 We had a comfortable carnage on the 
 train with a jolly couple, whom we liked, 
 and two young lieutenants, and a swell 
 native, who proved to be It! He was 
 sufficiently important to have a delegation 
 of over fifty people to see him off, and you 
 should have seen them kiss him on both 
 cheeks. He had something about " Canal " 
 on his card, but as it was in his native 
 language we couldn't make it out. I think 
 he must either have owned it, or made it 
 or something. We discovered in course 
 of time that he spoke French and he told 
 us everything about the country we were 
 passing through. We stopped at Ismailia 
 for luncheon (I wish you could hear me 
 pronounce that. After a fifteen-minute 
 lesson from the Canal man, you would 
 think me a native of the place). The 
 waiters were Arabs in all their gorgeous- 
 ness. The first camels fairly threw us 
 into fits — they were so picturesque — but 
 before we left Cairo we were so hardened 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 that we could see a whole cavalcade 
 without screaming over each individual 
 camel. Did you know that their feet 
 are all soft and mushy, and that they 
 flatten out? 
 
 The road from Port Said to Ismailia 
 is the most God-forsaken place that can 
 be imagined, and the poverty of the 
 people is sickening. Not a tree nor a blade 
 of grass can grow, and the huts of the 
 people are hovels of filth. No wonder 
 that nearly all the people are diseased. 
 Only about one person in ten has both 
 eyes, and there are the most revolting 
 cripples. The railroad runs beside the 
 Canal for miles, so we were able to see it 
 without taking the trip through it. All 
 the boats leave Port Said at night, and it 
 takes seventeen hours to make the run, 
 as they cannot go faster than six miles 
 an hour. 
 
 It cost our Government twelve thousand 
 dollars to run our Transport through. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 No — that seems too much. Perhaps it was 
 twelve hundred or maybe only one hundred 
 and twenty. Anyway there was a twelve 
 about it and you may call it anything you 
 please. Figures were never my long suit. 
 
 After leaving Ismailia the country began 
 to grow more green and the climax was 
 reached at Cairo in the most beautiful 
 tropical vegetation. There are palm trees 
 of every variety, and the grass and shrubs 
 look deliciously cool and green after the 
 desert sand. 
 
 We arrived at four o'clock. Cook's agent 
 had telegraphed from Port Said to engage 
 our rooms at Shepheard's Hotel and their 
 carriages were waiting for us. And oh 
 Bess, they were most ornate and all the ser- 
 vants, either Arabs or Bedouins, wore the 
 native costumes, immaculately clean and 
 resplendent with gold braid and buttons. 
 There was no delay about the luggage 
 and before we knew it we found ourselves 
 drawn up in front of Shepheard's. I have 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 wanted you before, but it seemed at that 
 moment as if I must have you. Shep- 
 heard's was the last straw. So many thou- 
 sand people have been there for a good time, 
 that it just seems to be in the air. You 
 know you are going to have the time of your 
 life, and you have it! There are other 
 hotels there, newer and more expensive, but 
 to me Shepheard's is as much a part of 
 Cairo as the Pyramids. Such Oriental 
 luxury! Such a garden with palm trees 
 up to the third story windows, roses 
 everywhere, and all kinds of strange 
 tropical flowers in blossom in January! 
 Beautiful Eastern rugs and hangings, fine 
 music, and, last but not least, a delect- 
 able table! 
 
 The dining-room was a picture with 
 exquisite Moorish lamps, and marble pil- 
 lars, and high-backed chairs upholstered 
 in scarlet leather, the waiters adding a 
 charming bit of color with their scarlet 
 fezzes, jackets worn over the fullest of 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 white flowing trousers, and their feet 
 encased in scarlet slippers. The orchestra 
 of a dozen pieces played without notes, 
 and they knew how! Dinner was per- 
 fectly served. Everything was piping hot 
 and daintily garnished, and we did full jus- 
 tice to all the nine courses. For our espe- 
 cial benefit the orchestra played the " Star 
 Spangled Banner" and "Yankee Doodle," 
 which were received with great enthusiasm. 
 After the dinner, which lasted until about 
 nine o'clock, some of us decided that 
 sleep would be out of the question until 
 we had seen something of the town, so 
 we walked up and down the main street, 
 gazing in all the shop windows until we 
 were tired. Then we hunted up the 
 Opera House, where they were playing 
 Aida. We tried to buy tickets, but found 
 that on Sunday nights the whole house 
 is sold by subscription. It is English 
 night and very exclusive. That made us 
 all the more anxious to go inside. We ex- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 plained to the man in the ticket office how 
 far we had come, and how great our 
 disappointment was, and how we longed 
 to see Aida once more before we began 
 our two years' exile in the Philippines. 
 He said he was sorry he could not sell 
 us any seats, but if we cared to go in 
 and stand up, as his guests, it would give 
 him the keenest joy. So, to please him, 
 we went. Oh, such jewels and flowers! 
 Occasionally we pulled ourselves together 
 and looked at the stage, but I am ashamed 
 to say that for the greater part of the time 
 we looked at the people. All were in 
 evening dress, even up in the third balcony, 
 and there were beautiful women. We 
 dared not stay until the end, for fear our 
 friends at the hotel would think we were 
 lost, but it took a wrench to leave. 
 
 Mother and I planned to rise at six 
 o'clock the next morning to do a little 
 sight-seeing on our own account, before 
 "the man from Cook's" should hustle 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 us all off to the Pyramids. Imagine our 
 horror, when we rang for hot water, to 
 find that it was eight-thirty and the party 
 was to start promptly at eight. That was 
 not the only thing that filled us with horror. 
 Imagine ringing for the chamber-maid 
 and having her appear in the shape of an 
 Arab standing six feet two in his stockings, 
 arrayed in flowing robes and supporting 
 a turban the size of a barrel! We had 
 no time to waste in idle words, for we were 
 both dressing as if the hotel were on fire, 
 but occasionally mother would save breath 
 enough to ejaculate," Scandalous !" "Ridic- 
 ulous!" Fortunately for us there were 
 others who overslept and by swallowing 
 our breakfasts whole we managed to 
 overtake our party at the little station 
 where the electric cars start for the Pyra- 
 mids. Think of going to the Pyramids 
 by electric cars! 
 
 While we waited for our car, we all 
 invested in strawberries, put up alluringly 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 in the shape of pyramids in little baskets 
 made of woven rushes. The berries were 
 the handsomest I have ever seen — also 
 the most hopelessly sour and hard. As I 
 was presented with mine, I had to make 
 a pretense of eating them, but my path 
 from the station to old Cheops might have 
 been traced by strawberries. From the 
 cars there were so many things to see that 
 it was worse than a three-ringed circus. 
 We crossed the Nile and had a chance 
 to see the much talked of dahabeeyahs — 
 and really they are not half as bad as you 
 would think after spelling it. I hoped 
 we might take a little boat ride, not so 
 much for the ride as to be able to say 
 afterwards when I go out in a boat — "This 
 makes me think of the last time I was on 
 the Nile," or "This is so different from 
 the boating on the Nile." Unfortunately 
 there was no chance for it. 
 
 We had our first glimpse of the Pyramids 
 on our way from Ismailia to Cairo. I am 
 
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 not going to describe them, as it is im- 
 possible. They are grand — but think of 
 the sacrilege! Under Cheops' very nose 
 is a golf course where they tee the ball 
 and drive with their brassy putties. I 
 wonder the ghost of Rameses doesn't 
 smite them. 
 
 We had our choice between riding on 
 camels or donkeys, that were lined up wait- 
 ing for us where the cars stop. While try- 
 ing to decide, we saw the last donkey 
 mounted and towed away. It then became 
 a question, which camel. They all emitted 
 the most blood-curdling noises when we 
 approached, and just as we would decide 
 on one, he would let out a vicious snarl 
 that put him completely out of the running. 
 In vain, we ran up and down trying to 
 discover one with a saintly expression 
 and dreamy eyes. One by one they 
 disappeared, bearing our screaming but 
 braver-hearted friends, and we were left 
 alone. Then we grew desperate. We 
 
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 made up our minds that we would mount 
 the next thing that showed up with two 
 humps. Just then a camel driver ap- 
 proached and inquired, "You want 
 camels ?" We assured him that it was our 
 only wish, and he said, "Wait one little 
 time — I go my house — get John Drew and 
 Carrie Nation." Off he flew, followed by 
 half a dozen blue night-gowned donkey 
 boys. I took an immediate dislike to 
 Carrie Nation, even before I saw her, and 
 hastened to choose John Drew. I was 
 glad I did, for when the cavalcade returned, 
 what do you suppose ? Following close at 
 Carrie's heels was the most adorable baby 
 camel only nine days old. It was a darling, 
 just like ecru velvet. Neither John nor 
 Carrie seemed to favor the idea of going 
 to the Pyramids. They filed loud objec- 
 tions to lying down, and still louder and 
 more emphatic protests against getting up, 
 but these were drowned by our own 
 shrieks. I give you my word that we got 
 
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 up in eight different directions at once. 
 Once up it was not half bad. Mother and 
 I fully agree on this point, only she thinks 
 it is wholly bad. 
 
 It behooved us to make all possible 
 speed to catch up with the crowd, but 
 Carriette soon became tired and fell be- 
 hind. Then Madame refused to move, and 
 the camel driver and donkey boys hustled 
 the baby along with the aid of a stick, 
 whereupon she emitted the dearest squeal, 
 always the signal to Mrs. Nation to "right 
 about face" in spite of Mother's fran- 
 tic expostulations. When a camel turns 
 around in a hurry, an earthquake seems 
 like a trifle in comparison. I wouldn't 
 dare to say how many times this per- 
 formance was repeated, but by the time 
 we had done the Pyramids, the Sphinx, 
 and the Temple, I had a pain in my side 
 from laughing and poor Mother was worn 
 to a frazzle. She thought she had been 
 abused, and when they charged her not 
 
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 only for her camel and camel driver and 
 guide, but also demanded four piastres 
 for the baby, she nearly collapsed. We had 
 a fine guide. He told me that he went 
 only with Americans, and after studying 
 me closely he confided to me that he made 
 a specialty of Yankees from Boston. 
 Pretty good guess ! 
 
 Any details you may desire in regard 
 to what we saw — dates, dimensions, or 
 work of construction, — you will find in 
 Baedeker, page 182. I seem to see you 
 making a mad rush for the book — not! 
 
 On the way back the guide showed us 
 the exact spot where Moses was discovered. 
 I was hungry enough to swallow anything, 
 so it went! 
 
 After a delicious luncheon we formed 
 a procession in Shepheard's victorias and 
 took an ideal drive. We went through 
 Old Cairo, visited an old Coptic Church, 
 and saw an old gate that dates back to 
 300 B. C, which made the one at Gibraltar 
 
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 seem very up to date. Then we drove 
 to the Citadel and saw the place where the 
 Marmelukes jumped over the precipice, 
 and from there to the Alabaster Mosque, 
 where the four most beautiful rugs in the 
 world are to be seen and you have to put 
 on funny shoes and go scuffing around. 
 
 Even the pedlars are fascinating. They 
 sell the prettiest dusters, made of reeds 
 and beads, to brush away the flies, strings 
 of beads, and shells, and funny flutes made 
 of pieces of bamboo all bound together. 
 I wanted every one I saw, but I had heard 
 of a shop across the way where could be 
 found the dearest little knives and pencils 
 and paper-cutters, all in the shape of 
 mummy-cases, many of them opening, 
 with tiny little mummies inside; also* little 
 charms in the shape of baskets made of 
 bulrushes, which on opening revealed 
 a little black Moses, so I tried to be 
 satisfied with buying only what I could 
 carry. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Of course we had to visit the market 
 and then went back to Shepheard's, where 
 we had tea and little cakes served out on 
 the terrace and saw more in five minutes 
 than could be seen anywhere else in a 
 month. Every nationality under the sun 
 was represented. There was a beautiful 
 bride from Holland (her husband was with 
 her, but he was only English), a newly 
 married couple from Siam, several Poles 
 and Russians, and an Arab chief and his 
 wives, besides dozens of others. 
 
 While we were sitting there a funeral 
 passed. First came all the little boys 
 walking along, saying "Ya-Ya!" then the 
 men singing a chant, then "the deceased," 
 carried on the shoulders of eight men. 
 Something was built up on the feet of the 
 departed, and on top of that was his fez. 
 It seemed to me that it would have been 
 more sensible to put it on his head, but 
 probably there was some good reason for 
 it. His wives followed, — and they were 
 
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 legion. I asked the guide if they were 
 really all "sure enough wives," and he said, 
 "Not same like wives, but half are real 
 wives." 
 
 After dinner a hop was given for us 
 at the hotel, and we danced until we 
 couldn't hold our eyes open. 
 
 The next morning the guide took us to 
 the famous Bazaar, but everything is so 
 expensive that I didn't buy half I wanted. 
 The Bazaar is divided into innumerable 
 little narrow streets, each devoted to one 
 particular article. Wouldn't I have liked to 
 have a thousand dollars to spend ! I nearly 
 lost my mind over the brasses! Finger 
 bowls, lamps, trays, bowls, everything 
 that one can conceive in brass. In another 
 little street there was nothing but shoes; in 
 another, a maddening display of Oriental 
 scarfs, some embroidered and some with 
 designs wrought in gold and silver. An- 
 other street was devoted to perfumes and 
 sachet powders, reeking with attar of 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 roses. From there we were to go to the 
 Museum for of course we thought we could 
 not leave Cairo without seeing Rameses; 
 but our carnage was caught in a blockade 
 and for half an hour we couldn't move up 
 nor down. In vain our driver used his 
 most effective profanity — sometimes in one 
 language and sometimes in another, in 
 four altogether. At last we moved, but 
 only just in time to make a mad dash 
 for the train. Our cars were engaged 
 and our luggage was in them when we 
 arrived — thanks to Cook — and we were 
 soon flying over the road toward Suez. 
 At noon we repaired to a dining-room car 
 where a refreshing luncheon was served. 
 We stopped at Nifiche a few minutes 
 and had the good luck to find there a large 
 party of pilgrims from Thibet, on their 
 way to Mecca. They wore long quilted 
 robes and immense turbans. While we 
 were looking at them, a few of us sur- 
 reptitiously " pressing the button," without 
 
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 any warning down they all flopped on 
 their knees. They proceeded with their 
 devotions as oblivious of every one else 
 as if we had been so much dirt. They 
 threw sand over themselves and took 
 off their shoes and banged their heads 
 on the ground and did many funny tricks. 
 I took some fine pictures of them both 
 "Before" and "After." 
 
 We arrived at Suez about six o'clock, 
 found the launch, and reached the Trans- 
 port just in time for dinner. They were 
 waiting only for us and the minute the last 
 one was aboard, they weighed anchor 
 and started down the Gulf of Suez. 
 
 I needn't say that we sat up until after 
 midnight talking it all over and striving 
 vainly to describe it to the unfortunates 
 who stayed on board. I was glad I didn't 
 take Bobby for it would have been too 
 strenuous for a child, and he and Frank 
 had had a beautiful time. 
 
 The next morning found us in the Red 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Sea, which has been like glass ever since 
 and deliciously warm, We expect to 
 reach Aden next Sunday. Isn't it funny 
 how we reach each port on Sunday ? 
 
 Well, I am afraid you are on the verge 
 of "nervous prosperation," as old John 
 used to say, if you have read all this, 
 and I have symptoms of writer's cramp; 
 so I will ring off. 
 
 Lots of love and a big hug for yourself. 
 Try to prepare yourself for more trouble 
 at an early date. 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 January 30. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 Here we are in the Indian Ocean, 
 wearing our thinnest things and lying 
 around on deck doing nothing, unless you 
 can call watching the flying fish an oc- 
 cupation. They are the prettiest things, 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and there are such quantities of them, 
 some blue, some green, and some silver. 
 We have had ideal weather since leaving 
 Suez, and the much maligned Indian 
 Ocean, which all the poor sailors have 
 been dreading, has been as smooth as 
 glass. 
 
 We reached Aden last Sunday. It 
 is said that the Garden of Eden was lo- 
 cated there. There is no accounting for 
 taste, or possibly it is greatly changed, 
 but I assure you that at present it would 
 not require the services of an angel with 
 a flaming sword to keep me out! There 
 is nothing gardenesque about it now and 
 even the apple-tree is wanting. We went 
 ashore immediately after luncheon, took 
 carriages, and drove about five miles 
 to the Great Tanks. They were built, 
 as you probably know, by King Solomon 
 and hold twenty million gallons, when 
 full, but they have not been full for eleven 
 years, for it usually rains not oftener than 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 once in three. Now I don't wish to 
 criticize any one with the reputation of 
 Solomon, but it seems to me a great lack 
 of foresight to build a tank holding twenty 
 million gallons in a place where it rains 
 only in leap year, or thereabouts. Of 
 course, he may have intended to have it 
 piped for city water, or something, but 
 when we saw the tanks all were empty 
 but one, and that had about enough 
 water to wash a cat in. 
 
 I can truthfully say that the natives at 
 Aden seem not to feel their loss keenly, 
 and it is probably because they have never 
 seen water. 
 
 I have never been in a country where 
 the natives differed so widely as here. 
 Their complexions vary from inky black 
 to a pale, dyspeptic color, and their hair, 
 which is woolly and strongly resembles 
 the little mat to be found in the bottom 
 of hacks, is dyed and bleached every color 
 of the rainbow. In fact, there is but one 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 feature in which they resemble one another 
 and that is dirt! You can't imagine any- 
 thing funnier than one of the jet-black 
 men with a mop of bright orange hair 
 sticking out from his head about four 
 inches. Most of them look as if they 
 were made up for a minstrel show. 
 
 We were followed the whole five miles 
 to the Tanks by about a dozen dirty little 
 hoodlums in the altogether, who caught 
 hold of the carriage and ran along beside 
 it, crying "I ain't got no Mudder, I ain't 
 got no Fadder, I ain't got nothing to eat, 
 and I feel so bad right here," rolling their 
 eyes horribly and patting their little tum- 
 mies. Bobby thought it must be an 
 orphan asylum out for an airing. Some 
 of them sang, " Daisy Bell, give me your 
 answer, do!" They were certainly funny, 
 but a great nuisance. 
 
 After the Tanks we visited Old Aden, 
 and when I say that it is dirtier than Aden, 
 I hope I have said enough. The people 
 
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 wore every possible costume, and some not 
 even that — and the children of Bobby's 
 age without exception wore only smiles. 
 
 We had been led to believe from the 
 guide-books that in Aden green monkeys 
 were as common as dirt (and that is 
 "going some"), also sheep with tails 
 weighing "from ten pounds up." I be- 
 came nearly cross-eyed trying to do the 
 sights and yet keep one eye always on the 
 alert for these two unusual features, but 
 my most conscientious search failed to 
 discover any monkeys, green or otherwise. 
 I am beginning to regard guide-books 
 with cruel suspicion. 
 
 It is a great place for ostrich feathers. 
 Plumes are cheap and beautiful, but I 
 bought none as I thought it would be hard 
 to keep them in the Philippines. However, 
 at the last minute I went back and bought 
 two ostrich fans mounted on shell, and I 
 had one marked B. B. H. for you. I hope 
 you will like it. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 At Aden, too, is a fascinating variety 
 of baskets, made in the dull reds, yellows 
 and browns, and all with tight-fitting 
 covers. They are in all sizes from one 
 large enough to put a grown person in to 
 tiny little ones the size of your hand. 
 (That was not intended to be a com- 
 pliment, but you may take it as such.) 
 It was hard to find large baskets, as that 
 big P. & O. boat that ran away from 
 us at Malta had just sailed after two days 
 here and had carried away a great many. 
 While I was running around, vainly 
 trying for a big one, most of the little 
 ones were snapped up, but I managed 
 to secure a few. 
 
 Every time I leave my camera on board, 
 the sun blazes away as if it were paid 
 by the hour; and when I take it, it pours. 
 It has reached the point now that the 
 passengers implore me to leave it on the 
 boat so that they needn't take their um- 
 brellas. At least, I caught a great picture 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 of Miss Carrie Nation which I am having 
 copied to send you. 
 
 The table, instead of growing poorer 
 the farther we go from the States, is 
 better every day. Frank bought enough 
 delicious Rioja claret at Malta to have 
 every night as far as Manila, and I have 
 some of my Christmas candy; so we are 
 living like fighting-cocks. 
 
 Darling! The officer I picked out for 
 you is married and has a daughter! Was 
 there ever such luck ? Well, just wait! 
 You'll probably draw an Astorbilt and then 
 you can take this trip on your own yacht. 
 Isn't "The Lightning Conductor" great? 
 There are seven on the waiting-list for it. 
 Speaking of books reminds me that night 
 before last I decided it would be a pro- 
 pitious time to bring out the book on 
 astronomy and begin our study of the 
 southern constellations. When I first 
 broached the subject to Bobby, he was 
 woefully lacking in enthusiasm. In fact, 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 he seemed to hold a decided aversion to 
 the study of astronomy, but when he dis- 
 covered that it was to be studied after 
 bedtime, it put on a very different aspect, 
 and he promptly decided to make it his 
 life work. Armed with the book and 
 followed by Bobby and a few congenial 
 souls who hungered for knowledge, we 
 climbed to the upper deck and stationed 
 ourselves beneath an electric light. The 
 book was profusely illustrated and simple! 
 Oh, my, yes! but not one-thousandth part 
 as simple as I was when I bought it, 
 for oh, my dearest Cousin! the south- 
 ern constellations were conspicuous by 
 their absence! Think of the miles I 
 walked to buy it. I am sure I told the 
 first five clerks that it must be illustrated, 
 simple, and have the Southern Cross and 
 the Ship in it, but towards the end I may 
 have left out the important part. My 
 disgust was beyond all words, the more 
 so as my friends considered it a cause for 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 mirth! To Bobby it was a calamity, and 
 he is at this moment lying awake in his 
 bunk trying to think up or invent some 
 other study which must be attacked after 
 bedtime. 
 
 Good-night, dear girl. Our next stop 
 is Colombo and if it even partially comes 
 up to the descriptions in the guide-books, 
 it must be all right! 
 
 Good-bye until then, 
 Beth. 
 
 Galle Face Hotel, Colombo, 
 
 February 2. 
 Angel! 
 
 Where are you ? Here I am in Seventh 
 Heaven and your place as leading angel 
 is vacant. 
 
 Oh, Bess, I thought Cairo was perfect 
 but this place has everything I ever heard 
 or read of done to a finish ! The hotel is 
 on the bay and with its grove of feathery 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 palms, the magnificent beach, the glorious 
 surf, the native servants as thick as flies 
 in a bake-shop, and the setting sun, it is 
 too beautiful to be real. I wish you could 
 have seen us half an hour ago when we 
 came tearing across the beach and up the 
 driveway in three jinrikshas. Oh, such 
 fun! The rickshaw runners here are the 
 finest in the world, and maybe they can't 
 make tracks! We have been here all 
 day and have enjoyed enough to last 
 ten years. We have seen the snake- 
 charmers and the Hindoo jugglers, and I 
 feel that I have lived. They arranged a 
 fight between a cobra and a mongoose for 
 our benefit, which was no easy matter as 
 it was a toss-up which was more afraid 
 of the other — but it was fearful neverthe- 
 less, and the snake was the winner. I 
 saw them plant a seed that grew in five 
 minutes to be a tree. I positively don't 
 know whether I am afoot or on horseback. 
 How I wish you were here! Beth. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 February 5. 
 Dearest Girl: 
 
 Here we are on the water again, and the 
 whole stop at Colombo seems a perfect 
 dream that defies description. 
 
 We got in early Tuesday morning and 
 before I was dressed we were surrounded 
 by fascinating boats made of trees hol- 
 lowed out, with pieces of bamboo for 
 oars. The boats were unique, but not 
 a circumstance to the boys inside. They 
 looked as if they were made out of Baker's 
 chocolate, and as to their clothes — well 
 they could have hung them all in No. 13. 
 They were the dearest little fellows as they 
 stood up in their wobbly little boats and 
 sang "Ta-ra-ra-Boom-de-ay," keeping time 
 by flapping their arms against their sides. 
 Then they begged us to throw money 
 for them to dive for. A dozen or more 
 would be sitting on their haunches on the 
 extreme edge of their boats calling, "Dive!" 
 "Dive!" Suddenly a little piece of silver 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 would fly through the air and before it 
 could reach the water every boy would be 
 under water and there would be a scram- 
 bling. The boy who found it would chuck 
 it into his cheek (the fear of germs hav- 
 ing evidently not reached this place) and 
 they would begin again — "Dive! Dive!" 
 At the end of half an hour, some of the 
 best divers looked like squirrels, their 
 cheeks were so puffed out. For a six- 
 pence they would climb like monkeys, 
 up the ropes of our boat, and dive from the 
 hurricane-deck. 
 
 By the time I had swallowed my break- 
 fast in two bites and reached the deck, 
 the hindoo jugglers were on board with 
 their cobras and magic trees, and mer- 
 chants of all kinds came, some with 
 jewels, for which Colombo is famous, 
 some with baskets, and all with elephants. 
 Large elephants and small elephants, ivory 
 elephants and ebony elephants, and silver 
 and gold elephants. How we bought! 
 
 8.3 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 We all became elephant crazy and couldn't 
 get enough. Out of consideration to the 
 capacity of No. 13 I confined myself to 
 the little ones. 
 
 The boat was so attractive that it 
 seemed as if Colombo itself couldn't 
 be nicer, but it proved to be only a taste 
 of what we found on landing. 
 
 We walked to the Grand Oriental 
 Hotel, a three minutes' walk from the 
 landing, and in that short distance we saw 
 the dearest rickshaws, funny little bull 
 carts, natives with everything under the 
 heavens to sell, guides in green and blue 
 uniforms, policemen in blue and scarlet, 
 Buddhist priests in yellow robes, Cingalese 
 with big tortoise-shell combs in their 
 hair, Hindoos in flowing white draperies, 
 Afghanistans in the funniest baby blue and 
 pink draped trousers, priests of the Sacred 
 Temple, wearing big hats in the shape of 
 a cow's foot, — why I could use all the ink 
 on the boat and not tell you half that we 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 saw. How I envied the animals in Revela- 
 tion "with eyes before and behind," for 
 two eyes seemed quite inadequate to the 
 occasion. 
 
 We reached the hotel in time for luncheon 
 where we had our introduction to curry, 
 while the band, stationed on a balcony 
 over our heads, regaled us with "Yankee 
 Doodle," "Dixie," "America," and the 
 " Star Spangled Banner." To be sure they 
 played " Yankee Doodle" as a dirge, very 
 andante and impressionato; but they meant 
 well and the tune was there. 
 
 After luncheon we shopped a little, 
 while waiting for our guide and rickshaws. 
 The guide, by the way, said he was from 
 Vermont, but I hate to think it for he 
 bled us unmercifully. All the shops are 
 built under arcades, as it is not safe to be 
 out in the sun, and the proprietors stand 
 outside their respective doors and beg the 
 "dear lady" and "the master" just to 
 look at their things — "Not buy, just 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 look." This is an exquisitely polite race 
 of people. I felt as if I must offer the 
 most profuse apologies whenever I came 
 out empty-handed. Frank bought a khaki 
 helmet for Bobby, as his head was so 
 unprotected that it was not safe for him 
 to be out. I forgot to tell you that after 
 Bobby had seen some of the enlisted men 
 with their heads shaved we had no peace 
 until we let him go to the barber, and such 
 a fighting-clip as the man gave him! 
 I think he looks like an embryonic convict 
 and call him "Trusty No. 908," but Frank 
 thinks it is all right and Bobby is ecstatic. 
 No more partings for him for one time! 
 I have taken a picture of him in his khaki 
 suit and helmet, which I will send you if 
 it is good. 
 
 By that time our rickshaws were waiting 
 and with the Vermonter in the first one 
 off we flew. We went through the Euro- 
 pean part first and saw perfect dreams 
 of bungalows with the dearest little rick- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 shaws waiting under their porticos, and 
 servants in liveries that rival any in the 
 world — the liveries, not the servants — 
 though they look as if it might be true of 
 both. The number of servants at each 
 house was appalling — a child a year old 
 often has six at his disposal, and I doubt 
 if any of them have Thursday afternoon 
 out. We visited the museum, which is 
 full of wonderful things, and I began to 
 regard anything later than the flood as 
 recent. One curious thing there is the 
 living leaf insect. It was on a plant in a 
 case and the only way one could tell the 
 bug from the leaf was that it moved. 
 Leaf and insect were about two inches 
 long, and had the same shape and the 
 same veinings. There were some dear 
 little night monkeys there, about as big 
 as your fist, with eyes like owls and little 
 side whiskers. When we woke them up 
 they blinked and put on the most injured 
 expression. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Next we went through the old native 
 part of the town. We overtook a funeral 
 procession and our guide said we were near 
 the cemetery, and could see the burial 
 if we liked. The people were too poor 
 to have a casket and the body was carried 
 on a sort of litter woven of palm leaves. 
 They were too poor even to have a grave, 
 so they hired one for two months and dug 
 it themselves. That was bad enough, but 
 when they removed the clothing from 
 the corpse rather than bury it, it seemed 
 too sordid. We were told that the woman 
 was a bride and the poor lover had hys- 
 terics and fell down by the grave. They 
 placed food beside the body, and then the 
 mourners filled the grave, and stamped 
 it down, and made a mound over it, and 
 stuck it full of branches of flowering 
 shrubs. All this time the lover was 
 wailing and our hearts were wrung with 
 pity for him in his great grief. They gave 
 him a big jar of water, which he placed on 
 
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 his shoulder and then the only woman 
 present took a small knife and cut two 
 little holes in the jar so that a small stream 
 of water ran out on both sides. With this 
 he walked slowly around the grave while 
 the water ran out, incidentally wetting 
 him to the skin, and then the mourners 
 took the jar away and smashed it at the 
 head of the grave. The procession then 
 started off, the lover in the lead followed 
 by all the mourners, — and the laundry 
 man brought up the rear with the clothes! 
 When we saw them next, about fifteen 
 minutes later, as we had taken in a high- 
 caste funeral in the meantime, they were 
 having a picnic by the roadside, eating 
 and drinking and having a regular jolli- 
 fication. The recently bereaved lover 
 seemed to be making goo-goo eyes at 
 the woman. O, Fickleness! thy name is 
 Man! 
 
 After that we went to a cinnamon grove 
 but I must be honest and say that never 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 once did I breathe any of the spicy breezes. 
 I think they are like the green monkeys 
 of Aden — a blooming lie. We began to 
 search for that spicy smell when we were 
 fifty miles outside of Ceylon, as we had 
 been assured by our guide-books that the 
 atmosphere for miles was heavy with it. 
 In vain we sniffed and sniffed from every 
 possible angle. Nothing more spicy than 
 warm machine oil greeted our olfactory 
 nerves. In the early morning I thought 
 I noticed a new odor. It was very slight 
 and elusive, but I traced it around to the 
 starboard-side and it proved to be break- 
 fast bacon! My dear! When I write a 
 guide-book I shall put in nothing about 
 smells that aren't there, neither will I 
 fill a trusting mind with visions of emerald- 
 hued monkeys on a chance that no one 
 will be foolish enough to discover the fraud. 
 We enjoyed the drive to the Country 
 Club, where they were playing a lively 
 game of polo, in spite of the heat, and we 
 
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 visited the Barracks, passing on the way 
 about fifty members of the Salvation 
 Army. You can't imagine how funny 
 they looked in flowing red and white 
 robes, playing on tambourines. 
 
 We took dinner at the Galle Face 
 Hotel, where I wrote you a note. After 
 dinner we sat out on the terrace, where 
 they had little tables and delightfully 
 comfortable lounging chairs, and had our 
 coffee and cordial while the officers smoked; 
 and we were all glad we came. The waves 
 were rolling in at the foot of the terrace, 
 and when one of the native servants 
 pressed a button and little red, blue, 
 yellow and white stars began to appear 
 all through the grove of beautiful palms 
 and lovely shrubs scattered here and there, 
 even to the very top of the tallest palm, 
 it was like fairy-land. Bobby was wild 
 over it. He is not usually enthusiastic 
 over scenery, but that scene would have 
 appealed to a Cigar Indian, and, besides, 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 he was sitting up after his bedtime, which 
 always makes him blissful. He grew 
 rather sporty as the evening progressed 
 and wanted to smoke a cigarette. You 
 may imagine our horror, but it was as 
 nothing to our consternation when he 
 announced in an F. F. treble, "Why it's 
 nothing new. I smoked two once with 
 Albert Brown." 
 
 At last we had to drag ourselves away, 
 and we hired four lovely rubber-tired 
 white upholstered rickshaws, and away 
 we went to the boat. It was about a mile 
 to the boat-landing over an ideal road of 
 hard red clay, with a glorious full moon 
 overhead and the ocean beside us most 
 of the way. It was adorable! The Bud- 
 dhists believe this is forty miles from 
 Heaven, but I think they overestimate 
 the distance. 
 
 We went to bed about midnight but 
 were up again by seven and on shore by 
 eight, where our guide was waiting for us. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 We devoted the whole morning to shopping. 
 We went all through quaint Slave Island, 
 where they make everything that can 
 be made from rattan. Frank bought a 
 clothes basket large enough to hold all 
 the clothes we ever did or ever shall possess, 
 but I tell Bobby it will do to shut him up 
 in when he is obstreperous. After lunch- 
 eon we drove to the largest Buddhist 
 Temple and saw a reclining Buddha, 
 seventy feet long. It was not a pretty 
 sight and to my untrained eye seemed 
 woefully lacking in expression. The eyes 
 may have been sapphires, but they were 
 not becoming. We were deeply impressed 
 by a row of pictures depicting the various 
 hells that await evil-doers. Every known 
 sin has its particular hell and I think if I 
 were a Buddhist I would walk the straight 
 and narrow. The only one I remember 
 this minute is the hell where one goes who 
 has sassed a mother-in-law. Swarms of 
 the most uncongenial-looking bugs were 
 
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 crawling all over their victims. My, but 
 it looked like an unhealthy spot. Then 
 we went to the Mount Lavinia Hotel, about 
 seven miles from town, where we had 
 tea and lemonade and cakes. If I had not 
 seen the terrace at the Galle Face I should 
 have thought this the most beautiful place 
 in the world, but nothing can ever quite 
 equal that. They gave a dance for us at 
 the Galle Face in the evening and I have 
 never seen a more gorgeous dance hall. 
 The floor was like glass, and two servants 
 went over it with white cloths after each 
 dance. The punkahwallers kept great 
 punkahs, the width of the room, going 
 every minute. I thought I was dead 
 tired, but I danced until twelve-thirty, 
 and had to divide nearly every dance. I 
 met a charming man from Canada, a 
 colonel in the British Army, and in fun 
 I asked him if he knew General W. W. 
 Henry of Canada. If you'll believe it, 
 he was his chum at King's College. I 
 
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 had to acknowledge that personally I did 
 not know General Henry, but that the 
 dearest girl in the world, who happened to 
 be my cousin, had visited at his home in 
 Canada. Wasn't it a coincidence ? 
 
 Yesterday we had two hours on shore 
 before sailing, and I bought a lovely chair 
 carved all over with elephants, and some 
 gorgeous finger-bowls. Nearly every one 
 bought at least one ring and many bought 
 three — rubies, sapphires, and diamonds 
 in English settings — but those that I 
 could buy I didn't want, and vice-versa. 
 
 After sailing, a little native boy about 
 Bobby's age was discovered hidden away 
 in the pantry and we have all been at work 
 to-day fitting him out in good old United 
 States clothes. He is a beauty with great 
 big black eyes and is running away from a 
 circus where he has been abused. He is 
 a contortionist and can tie himself into a 
 true-lover's knot as easy as winking. At 
 present he is polishing silver in the galley 
 
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 and making himself generally useful. An- 
 other stowaway was discovered to-day — 
 an enlisted man from the English Army — 
 but I have no sympathy for him. Imagine 
 deserting when stationed at Colombo! 
 
 Before we sailed, the Hindoo jugglers 
 came out to the boat again and I attempted 
 to take a picture of a cobra for you, but I 
 fear it will not be a success. The Hindoo 
 in his anxiety to have his pet "sit up and 
 look pleasant, please" prodded him from 
 the rear, whereupon, just as I was about 
 to press the button, he made a lunge in 
 my direction. I promptly dropped the 
 camera and tried in frantic haste to scale 
 the ladies* cabin. He had another snake 
 that was even worse than the cobra and 
 he wanted me to take a picture of that, 
 but there was nothing doing! It was about 
 seven feet long, not as large around as a 
 pencil, and very green — so green it made 
 one sick to look at it, and the way it 
 squirmed over the ground and spit! My 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 skin- feels loose now when I think of it. 
 
 We have had not a drop of rain since 
 we left Malta, — just perfect weather and 
 glorious evenings. We dance or sit around 
 on deck until midnight, and it is hard 
 to leave it then. We are seeing the 
 Southern Cross now, and the Dipper is 
 upside down. 
 
 Our string orchestra grows better every 
 day. They give us delightful concerts 
 every evening and have all the newest airs. 
 They played for the dance at the Galle 
 Face the other night, and the English 
 officers went wild over it and made them 
 play some of the pieces over four times. 
 
 I have not answered all my letters yet 
 and I really must write one or two before 
 the ink is all gone. I can't help thinking 
 what a boon these letters would have been 
 to you last winter with coal at fifteen dol- 
 lars a ton. I apologize for this last page. 
 I know you can't read half of it — but 
 a certain amount of mystery may add zest. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Give lots of love "to all inquiring 
 friends" and hug yourself for me. 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Dearest Bess: February 20. 
 
 This boat looks like the first of May. 
 Everybody is rushing around with boxes 
 and bundles; trunks are being hustled 
 up from the trunk-room to be packed 
 and then hustled down again; machines 
 are being crated (for you must know that 
 some of the industrious ones had their 
 sewing machines up on deck); the fortunate 
 possessors of big Aden baskets are having 
 them done up; and those who purchased 
 horns of the ibex and various other kinds 
 of circus animals for sale at Aden, are 
 wishing they hadn't, for they simply 
 refuse to be packed anywhere. I have 
 a picture of them landing at Manila, 
 a suit-case in one hand, a pair of sprawling 
 
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 horns madly clutched in the other! All 
 this excitement because we are nearly 
 at our journey's end, and I for one am 
 heartily sorry, although of course we are 
 all greatly interested in seeing the Philip- 
 pines, where our next two years are to be 
 spent. I have sent the striker for our 
 trunks to pack away all the things that 
 we have been able by means of hooks and 
 nails and hanging-shelves and wall-pockets 
 to stow in No. 13, and as I know that I 
 am up against a problem that will last until 
 we are in the harbor, I am going to have 
 one more letter ready to mail to you at 
 Manila. 
 
 This morning there was the greatest 
 consternation among the ladies when some 
 of the officers came up on deck after 
 inspection and announced that by order 
 all the dogs which had become attached 
 to the various troops during the trip were 
 to be thrown overboard at noon. None 
 were to be allowed to go ashore and all 
 
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 without exception were doomed. Terriers 
 of all descriptions which had mysteriously 
 been annexed at nearly every port, asth- 
 matic old bull-dogs, mascots from the 
 Cuban campaign, dear to the hearts of 
 every enlisted man down to the last raw 
 recruit, and even those adorable little 
 Maltese dogs were to be sacrificed. Do 
 you wonder we forgot our packing and 
 everything else in a gallant rally to their 
 rescue ? The officers described the touch- 
 ing partings that were now taking place — 
 old sergeants of four enlistments shedding 
 scalding tears, — until we were prepared 
 to call upon the general and beg for mercy. 
 When they had us stirred up to that point, 
 one of the officers said, "Just wait! A. 
 twelve o'clock you will see the procession, 
 headed by the ranking sergeant, advance 
 to the ship's rail, each with his loving pet 
 pressed close to his heaving breast and at 
 a signal they will throw them into the 
 bounding billows, and all join in the chorus 
 
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 ' My bark is on the sea !' ' Then we knew 
 the whole thing was a joke and what we 
 did to them was a plenty! 
 
 I must remember something about Singa- 
 pore, but when we reached there my 
 mind was still so full of the beauties of 
 Colombo, that there was only the tiniest 
 corner left to take in anything more. I 
 should hate to be the next place on the 
 map to Colombo! Compared to that, 
 any place would lose out and Singapore 
 was no exception, though had we seen 
 it first it would probably have struck 
 us difFerently. I remember that it is sit- 
 uated almost exactly on the equator and 
 its principal feature was the Chinaman. 
 He was everywhere and as to me he is not 
 particularly picturesque and we can see 
 him in the laundries at home any day, 
 there is no novelty about him. More than 
 three-fourths of the population is Chinese. 
 Sir Stanford Raffles seems to have been 
 the father and fairy-godmother of Singa- 
 
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 pore. He purchased it and did away with 
 piracy on the coast, then he regulated the 
 laws and established a college, with the 
 result that you ride down Raffles Road, 
 are shown Sir Raffles' monument, pass 
 by Raffles Institute, see the monument 
 erected to Lady Raffles, and finally draw 
 up at Raffles Hotel. When we reached the 
 hotel our rickshaw man wanted more than 
 we thought he should ask. Frank argued 
 in English and he argued in Chinese, but 
 all to no purpose. At last the rickshaw 
 man caught sight of a porter from the hotel 
 and called him to come and see that he got 
 his fare. After hearing both sides, the 
 porter gave him just one minute to wipe 
 himself off the scene and wouldn't let 
 Frank pay him anything, because he had 
 overcharged. He went, and at a lively 
 pace, too, but he looked cross enough to 
 chew tacks, and all the time we were in 
 Singapore, I was in deadly terror that he 
 would appear and murder us in cold blood. 
 
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 The hotel is famous for its Sherry 
 Cobbler, justly so we thought after trying 
 it. Singapore is a free port and as there 
 are many good European shops there, 
 many of the officers and ladies took 
 advantage of the wonderfully low prices 
 to have linen uniforms and suits made. 
 Mother ordered a skirt and inside of five 
 hours it came entirely finished and very 
 well made. Mother, Bobby and I took 
 one of the funny carriages with Venetian 
 blinds in place of windows and drove 
 around the town, finally letting the driver 
 leave us at High Street, which is the street 
 for foreign things. I took a picture of 
 Mother and Bobby in the carriage and it 
 looks just like the pictures we used to make 
 in school of a black cat in a dark cellar. 
 Now that it has stopped raining, I suppose 
 my camera will begin to do things. If you 
 or Jennie were here you would probably 
 know just how to manage it, but to me 
 it is the most mysterious thing on earth. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Frank's duties have interfered some- 
 what with going on shore at some of the 
 ports, but the second day at Singapore 
 he was ashore all day and we had a jolly 
 time. We shopped in the morning, buying 
 among other things some great lounging 
 chairs that will be fine for the Philippines! 
 For luncheon we went to a new hotel 
 famous for its curry. Frank is a con- 
 noisseur on the subject and he is never 
 happier than when putting in a spoonful 
 of this, two spoonfuls of that, a shake of 
 something else, "just a suggestion" from 
 half a dozen other mysterious looking 
 dishes, and finishing by powdering over 
 the top some awful dried fish that smells 
 to Heaven. At his earnest solicitation 
 and with minute directions I went through 
 all the preparations and almost tasted it, 
 but at the last minute my courage failed 
 and I ordered a salad. 
 
 After luncheon Frank wanted to visit 
 the garrison, and then we drove to the 
 
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 Botanical Gardens which are very fine. 
 A funny old baboon came near putting 
 an end to Frank's sight-seeing. We were 
 standing near the cage, and whether she 
 disapproved of Frank's general appearance 
 or of an uncomplimentary remark he made 
 in regard to her we shall never know, 
 but quick as a wink, she reached down, 
 seized a rock from the bottom of her cage 
 and hurled it, with an aim worthy of 
 a Champion League pitcher, directly at 
 Frank's left eye. He dodged and it just 
 grazed him, but it was a close call. From 
 a safe distance, I told her what I thought 
 of her while she danced up and down on 
 her toes and said things that I refuse to 
 write. 
 
 After dinner at the Raffles we took a 
 double rickshaw and went through the 
 Chinese quarter. On the way we passed 
 the village of boats, a curious place. You 
 could walk three or four blocks in any 
 direction by stepping from one boat to 
 
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 another. I did not try it as the place was 
 permeated by a smell much less elusive 
 than Ceylon's spicy odors. It was there in 
 bunches! 
 
 We visited a Buddhist Temple where 
 they were setting off fire-crackers and 
 where a table was covered with all sorts 
 of food surrounding a large freshly roasted 
 pig. It seemed to be a toss-up between 
 a Fourth of July celebration and a bar- 
 becue. The Chinese Theatre was in- 
 teresting and the costumes were exquisite, 
 heavy with gorgeous embroidery, but we 
 two were the only Europeans there and 
 the Chinese near us looked ugly, as if they 
 were saying "Pigs" and other things in- 
 side; so we didn't stay long. 
 
 We had a dreadful time finding the 
 Transport as she had moved down to the 
 coal wharves where she had been coaling 
 all day. 
 
 Early next morning we sailed and since 
 then every one has been busy finishing 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 letters to mail at Manila. My next letter 
 will be written from the land of our 
 " brown brothers " and I am hoping to find 
 oodles of mail from you, waiting for 
 me. The trunks are here and I must get 
 busy. 
 
 With a big hug — 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Mariquina Valley, 
 
 February 26. 
 Dearest Bess: 
 
 It seems months ago that the dear old 
 Transport pulled into her moorings in 
 Manila bay after her nine weeks' trip. 
 How I hated to say good-bye to her and 
 the splendid ship's officers, who had made 
 the trip delightful, not to mention the 
 other two squadrons, whom we might not 
 see again for two years as our regiment 
 was to be divided. 
 
 We were all more or less teary, even 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 those who had been sea-sick all the way 
 over, and when eight sacks of mail came 
 on board and were distributed, those who 
 were left out simply gave themselves 
 over to woe. I was among the number. 
 I retired to No. 13, as a fitting place, and 
 howled! Not a letter, not even a notice 
 from the Equitable Life, which at home 
 seems to arrive about twice a month, and 
 not even a bill! and there were people on 
 all sides of us with more mail than they 
 could hold in both hands! 
 
 I couldn't stay down there long, for 
 you can imagine how excited every one 
 was to learn where we were to be sent, 
 as nothing was known definitely until we 
 reached Manila; so back I went. Soon 
 we were surrounded by launches, and 
 the officers and ladies of our regiment who 
 came out via San Francisco came aboard, 
 and it was good to see them again, and 
 there was much to talk over. We found 
 that Frank's troop was to be stationed at 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Mariquina, a place about ten or eleven 
 miles from Manila, to guard the Mari- 
 quina River, which is Manila's water 
 supply. It is a very good station and we 
 are delighted to be near town. 
 
 Soon the big native boats called Banquos 
 came alongside. The men and officers 
 went aboard and started for their respective 
 stations, leaving their poor wives to look 
 after themselves as best they could until 
 arrangements could be made for them. 
 When we were taken ashore we were met 
 by funny little carriages drawn by diminu- 
 tive ponies, the drivers' seats fastened on 
 behind. We were given the address of a 
 hotel in the walled city, said to be good, 
 and started off at a good brisk trot past 
 the Quartermaster's Department out on 
 the famous Malecon Drive, that runs along 
 the waterfront and is bordered on either 
 side by beautiful palm trees. We drove 
 through a quaint old stone gateway, up a 
 number of foreign-looking streets across 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 a moat and through another mediaeval 
 gateway into the walled city, and we soon 
 found ourselves drawn up in the court- 
 yard of the hotel where we were to stay 
 until the officers were ready for us. We 
 ascended a flight of stone steps to the main 
 floor of the house and found it a Spanishy 
 looking place, not prepossessing. From 
 the big living-room one could look across 
 into the kitchen, which did not tend to 
 invite an appetite. There seemed to be 
 an unneccessary number of hens and pigs 
 and flies and unsavory-looking servants, 
 and on the whole I was far from pleased, 
 but it had been recommended and was 
 central, and as it would be for only a few 
 days at most, we decided to stay. 
 
 After dinner, Bobby and I hired a 
 carriage and took a beautiful ride on the 
 Lunetta. All Manila drives there on the 
 bay after dinner, and the native band 
 plays, and the ladies in their pretty summer 
 frocks and the officers in their uniforms 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 make it most attractive. Many of the 
 English residents and army officers have 
 their own victorias and ponies, and with 
 their cocheros and footmen in white liv- 
 eries give the place quite an Eastern air. 
 
 We drove until dark, and then went 
 back to our hotel and early to our beds 
 as we were desperately tired. We were soon 
 up again. I awoke with a start from dream- 
 ing that I was dead and was expiating 
 my sin in having sassed my mother-in-law, 
 but the dream did not approach the 
 reality. Some of our party are willing to 
 swear that they were pulled bodily out of 
 their beds, but we did not wait to have 
 force used. Such a night! It was a horror! 
 I sat up on a hardwood chair — the hardest 
 wood I have ever encountered — all night 
 long sewed up in my mackintosh, listening 
 to the mercury gaily boiling in the ther- 
 mometer and inventing agonizing and long 
 drawn-out deaths for the woman who 
 advised us to stay at this hotel! Poor 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Mother and Bobby were in the same sad 
 plight, and certainly it was the longest 
 night I have ever known. As soon as it 
 was light I was out on the war-path to 
 find another hotel. This time we were 
 more fortunate. We had two big airy 
 rooms looking right out on the open space 
 in front of a big Catholic Church. Every- 
 thing was delightfully clean. An Italian 
 had charge of the cuisine, the table 
 was excellent, and we had the benefit 
 of the good music at the church. Our 
 beds were immense mahogany four-post- 
 ers, quiet and orderly, and in place of 
 a mattress or springs, they were covered 
 with woven cane like our cane-seated 
 chairs at home, very comfortable, and 
 delightfully cool ! We were too sleepy to 
 do much but sleep all day, but we stayed 
 awake in the afternoon long enough to 
 visit the Escolta, which is the business 
 street of the town. The European shops 
 are very good and there are beautiful 
 
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 East Indian Bazaars. The post-office is 
 on this street, and also Clarke's, which 
 seems to be the Huyler's of Manila. 
 
 The Manila horse-car is killing, about 
 half the size of ours, with curtains along 
 the sides to keep the sun out, drawn by a 
 pony about as big as a minute! The con- 
 ductor has a toy horn which he blows with 
 every breath to clear the track, and the 
 whole thing looks like a huge joke. They 
 are laying the tracks now for electric 
 cars which will soon be running, but I am 
 glad to have seen the old horse-cars. 
 
 On the way back we went over the Bridge 
 of Spain, which is considered very beauti- 
 ful. I fear that as usual my mind was more 
 on the people and odd-looking vehicles 
 than on the architectural beauties of the 
 bridge itself. The natives are without 
 exception as "spick and span" as soap 
 and water can make them. Their principal 
 recreation is bathing and even the poorest 
 seem to have clothes enough to be always 
 
 "3 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 neatly dressed. The men wear loose trous- 
 ers and long loose coats, the fronts some- 
 times beautifully embroidered. The women 
 wear low-necked, short-sleeved bodices, 
 coming just to the waist, and kerchiefs 
 starched as stiff as tin. Instead of skirts, 
 they use a long piece of cloth, which they 
 wind tight around the waist and tuck the 
 end under. It appears as if there were 
 nothing but the grace of God to keep them 
 on, but they stay just the same! 
 
 The next day we received word that the 
 officers were ready for us. This proved 
 to be a mistake in Frank's case, and he 
 knew nothing about our coming until it 
 was too late to stop us. Two big ambu- 
 lances, drawn by government mules, were 
 sent down for us and we were loaded in 
 and started off on the last stage of our long 
 trip. Every inch of the road was interest- 
 ing and the native shacks, fighting-cocks, 
 and carabao kept us busy. 
 
 Our entrance into the Mariquina Valley 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 was nothing if not spectacular! As a rule 
 views are said to burst upon the traveller 
 but, as that is hackneyed, we burst upon 
 the view. It happened thus! 
 
 Just before reaching the Mariquina 
 River there is a terribly steep hill road, 
 which descends in many zig-zags and fancy 
 curves, finally twisting itself through a 
 rather narrow gateway between two stone 
 posts, directly into the middle of one of the 
 Posts occupied by part of our Squadron. 
 Not only is the hill precipitous, but the 
 narrow road is flanked on one side by a 
 deep valley and on the other by cliffs. 
 Hardly had we started when the brake 
 broke, sending the ambulance on the heels 
 of the nearest mules, who promptly started 
 to gallop — whereupon the leaders naturally 
 did the same. The other ambulance was 
 ahead of us, also two carabao teams, one 
 coming up, the other going down, and the 
 road, which was narrow at best, seemed 
 to shrink perceptibly. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 I gave an exhibition of vocal power, 
 which will go down in history in that part 
 of the island. I exhorted every one to 
 "Look out!" in English, French, and 
 pigeon Spanish, interspersed with Indian 
 war-whoops. It proved effective and 
 convincing, and as we rushed madly by 
 I caught glimpses of ambulances and 
 carabao teams frantically climbing to get 
 out of our way. At times, we hung over 
 the precipice by a hair; again we attempted 
 to scale the side of the cliff, the ambulance 
 rocking like a ship in a gale. At last the 
 gateway appeared ahead of us. It looked 
 about the size of a rat-hole and the only 
 thing that remained undetermined was 
 which gate-post we should be smashed 
 against, when to our great surprise and 
 relief we shot through it with fully a quarter 
 of an inch leeway on one side. 
 
 The garrison, hearing the terrific din, 
 thought it was an attack from Ladrones, 
 and we were met by the entire strength 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 of the Post! The poor natives in the vicinity, 
 laboring under the same mistaken idea, 
 fled for their lives and some of them didn't 
 get back for two days. The road here 
 was fortunately level, and that, combined 
 with the strength of a dozen husky troopers, 
 finally brought us to a stop, and we were 
 able to take account of stock. To our 
 surprise we found no bones broken but 
 when I tell you that I was speechless, 
 you will realize how serious the affair really 
 was! Mother was as hoarse as if she 
 had led the rooting at an Army and Navy 
 game, and Bobby, until now too busy 
 hanging on to think of anything else, 
 seized the opportunity to howl! 
 
 The men soon had us patched up and 
 we were able to start on our way again. 
 We had to ford the river, which was rather 
 exciting, though comparatively tame after 
 our recent experience, and then our road 
 lay between rows of shacks and rice 
 paddies to our own station. Frank and 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 his lieutenant were waiting for us and 
 gave us a royal welcome, though it must 
 have put them to no end of trouble to have 
 us descend upon them so unexpectedly. 
 
 The house is built of stone with a tin 
 roof, and has a hardwood floor. You'll 
 notice I do not say floors, for it consists of 
 one large room and two little ones, not 
 much larger than closets, which are occu- 
 pied respectively by the Chinese cook, and 
 by our muchacho and the trunks. 
 
 Mother, the lieutenant's mother, Bobby, 
 Frank and I all slept in the room that first 
 night. Did I say slept? I should have 
 said we occupied the room, as there were 
 only two Q. M. bunks, one belonging to 
 the lieutenant which he gave to his mother, 
 and Frank's which he gave to mamma. 
 Fortunately, we had our Singapore chairs, 
 without which we should probably have 
 been hung up on hooks around the room. 
 
 We found that the doctor, who is sta- 
 tioned here to take care of us all, lives in a 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 shack across the street and has a fine 
 Chinese cook, and we are messing with him. 
 For dinner the first night we had delicious 
 bread and rolls, roast beef, salad, ice 
 cream, and the nicest cake; and everything 
 was daintily served — the mashed potato 
 appearing in the shape of a Chinese 
 pagoda. The cook makes the dearest 
 little baking-powder biscuits hardly bigger 
 than a thimble, and we have good butter 
 from Australia and plenty of ice. I know 
 I am saying a great deal about "chow," 
 but we expected such privations that it 
 really seems too good to be true. 
 
 The first of next month I am to begin 
 running the mess and when Sing was first 
 told of the new arrangement, he declared 
 to Frank and the doctor that he would 
 leave at once! "Never worked for petti- 
 coats! Never will!" This was most 
 uncomplimentary and disconcerting for 
 me, as a good cook is a rare and costly 
 jewel out here. I decided to take the bull 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 by the horns and hunted up Sing in his 
 little kitchen in the middle of his pots and 
 pans, and had a real heart-to-heart talk 
 with him. As you know, I have never 
 kissed the blarney stone, but I dug up 
 all the prettiest speeches I could remember 
 or invent. I told him that the dream of 
 my life had been to have a Chinese cook 
 and that I regarded him as a direct answer 
 to prayer, and much more on the same line. 
 I could not tell whether I was making 
 any impression on his stony heart or not, 
 as he merely smiled and smiled, but when 
 I stopped for lack of breath, he remarked 
 with decision, "I stay," and I could have 
 hugged him. 
 
 We are on the main street of the town, 
 surrounded on all sides by native shacks. 
 A telephone keeps us in touch with the 
 rest of our Squadron, and every morning 
 we get all the cable news from Manila, 
 so I anv quite up on current events. 
 
 The Mariquina orchestra, which is 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 hired for all the dances miles around, 
 practices all the new rag-times and waltzes 
 back of our house every evening. You 
 know they are born musicians. 
 
 The cock-pit is only a minute's walk 
 from here and we can always tell when 
 a fight is going on, for it sounds like the 
 Stock Exchange during a panic! Every 
 native in Mariquina — and there are eight 
 thousand — owns at least one fighting- 
 cock, and it is the drollest thing to see 
 them developing their muscles by massage, 
 bathing them, and talking to them. They 
 love them as if they were their own flesh 
 and blood, and a little bit more. If you 
 want to make yourself perfectly solid with 
 a native you have only to admire his bird. 
 
 We are eleven miles from Manila. The 
 nearest Post, the pumping station, is about 
 a mile and a half nearer town and the other 
 about seven miles above us, so we are a 
 sort of halfway house, and every one stops 
 here on the way to or from town — an 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 arrangement we thoroughly enjoy. We 
 have no transportation at present, but 
 have been promised some very soon; 
 also a larger house. The lieutenant and 
 his mother live in the doctor's house 
 now, but although we have divided our 
 room into two parts by hanging up a big 
 American flag, and are quite comfortable, 
 yet we could use a few more rooms if we 
 had them. 
 
 We have joined the American Library 
 in Manila and expect to enjoy it very 
 much. They have all the new fiction and 
 also an unusually fine collection of books 
 on Japan, which is just what we want. 
 
 The view from our house is very pretty, 
 looking off across the rice fields to some 
 low mountains covered with every shade 
 of green. The house is surrounded by 
 banana palms that poke their big leaves 
 into our windows, for all the world as if 
 they wanted to see what Americans are 
 like. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 This place has a great reputation as a 
 health resort and many natives come here 
 to be cured of all sorts of diseases. The 
 people all seem very happy and jolly, 
 and go about singing. They seem pleased 
 if we say "good morning" to them as 
 most of them can say that and take 
 pleasure in rolling it off their tongues. 
 
 They have a town crier that takes me 
 back to our summers in Nantucket! 
 He is hired by the month to come and stand 
 in front of the house and tell all the news 
 of the day. He came to the house next 
 to ours the day we arrived and gave them 
 a long spiel, in Tagalog of course, about 
 the three American ladies and a little boy 
 who had come to town. He described us 
 minutely, all in a funny sing-song, the 
 natives standing around with their mouths 
 wide open and their eyes popping out. 
 I would have given much purple and fine 
 linen to have known just what he said. 
 
 For the first time Bobby is having his 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 suits made to order. They are blue 
 military suits and the tailor is a regular 
 character. He can speak only ten words 
 of English, but his work is fine. He 
 charges seventy-five cents apiece for the 
 suits. 
 
 We visited the school this morning to 
 see the closing exercises, before the ten 
 weeks' vacation which begins to-morrow. 
 You would have gone wild over it! Three 
 hundred children all the way from five 
 to twenty-one or twenty-two years of 
 age sang " America " and "Home Sweet 
 Home" and "Good-night, Ladies" for us, 
 and several recited pieces. One small 
 boy about six recited " Mary Had a Little 
 Lamb " and I give you my word he did the 
 whole three verses in two breaths. I 
 tried not to laugh, but saved an explosion 
 only by clapping until my hands ached. 
 I told the teacher, a young American 
 fellow, that I had a cousin at home who 
 was greatly interested in education, and 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 asked him to give me a sample of the 
 writing of pupils who have been in the 
 school only five months. What do you 
 suppose he is going to do ? They are to 
 write letters telling about our visit to the 
 school and about the village of Mariquina, 
 and I am to have all I want to send you. 
 I will enclose a copy of the rules adopted 
 by the native school committee which 
 are framed and hung up in the main 
 hall. I shall spell the words exactly as they 
 are in the original — so you needn't lay 
 the mistakes to me. 
 
 The American has six women assisting 
 him, and the six members of the school 
 committee each teach an hour or two 
 a day without any pay. Imagine the 
 members of our school committee at home, 
 teaching either with or without pay! 
 / have been invited to teach. Imagine 
 that if you can ! I may take the professor- 
 ship in spelling, but a lack of time will 
 prevent me from teaching the other courses. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 They all use the broadest A's and have 
 great trouble with the th's, and it is the 
 greatest fun to hear them read! We 
 stayed nearly an hour, but I don't know 
 where the time went. 
 
 Yesterday I met the Presidente, the 
 Teddy of Mariquina, and as he could not 
 speak a word of English and I could not 
 speak a word of Tagalog or Spanish, our 
 conversation was slightly curtailed. By 
 means of an interpreter, he told me that 
 it was the greatest honor he had yet 
 had, and I told him that my life had been 
 a blank until I met him; and then we 
 proceeded to smile at each other like 
 Cheshire cats for about ten minutes. 
 
 I am determined to learn Tagalog and 
 brought a primer home from the school 
 to be absorbed at odd moments. 
 
 Sunday the Archbishop of Manila is 
 coming out to spend the day, and we were 
 tendered the honor of entertaining him, — 
 I suppose because Frank is the command- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 ing officer at this Post, — but we were 
 forced to regret owing to lack of room. 
 We are all going to hear him preach, 
 however, and go to the reception which 
 is to be given for him. 
 
 I had a fine ride yesterday afternoon 
 with one of the officers from the Post 
 above us, down to the pumping station 
 and back. Our host made us sit on his 
 gorgeous porch, floored with white tiles 
 and cooled by huge punkahs that go by 
 water-power, while he made us refreshing 
 mint-juleps, with mint raised from a 
 little piece he brought in a tin can all the 
 way from Virginia. Oh, it was good! 
 We came away longing to meet our enemies 
 that we might fall upon their necks and 
 embrace them. 
 
 Now I will let you off until next time. 
 Give love to the dear people at home 
 and remember that we have two mails 
 a week and reckon time by them. Be 
 a good girl, write often and remember 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 that I think you are a dear, and wish 
 I could hug you this minute. 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 March I. 
 Dear Bess: 
 
 The teacher has just brought me the 
 letters and I will enclose the best one. 
 Isn't it too delicious! 
 
 We began Bobby's stamp-book yester- 
 day and also his school. For every study 
 that he gets a credit .in I give him a stamp 
 from those you and Jennie sent him. 
 It is going to be a perfect snap for me, and 
 I am as much interested in rinding where 
 they belong as he is. I had such fun with 
 those dear little flags you sent for me 
 Washington's birthday. I gave two away 
 to some of the little brown brothers and 
 they were tickled almost to death. 
 
 Breakfast waits. 
 
 Lovingly, Beth. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 P. S. The captain referred to in the 
 letter is Frank. 
 
 RULES 
 
 The committee of this school agreed 
 to the following: viz. — 
 
 ist. Classes will begin at 8 o'clock to 
 10 o'clock a.m. and from 2 o'clock to 
 3 o'clock p.m. 
 
 2nd. It is impolice to laugh at the 
 mistakes of a scholar in trying to read 
 English. 
 
 3rd. Do not make unneccessary in or 
 around noise the school. 
 
 4th. The pupils must respect and obey 
 their teachers. 
 
 5th. The boys must not make love to the 
 ladies in class; and the girls must not 
 flirt with the boys. 
 
 6th. Any one who has a personal griev- 
 ance can present it to the committee of 
 the school. 
 
 129 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Mrs. Arnold, Friday, February 26. 
 
 Mariquina Rizal, P. I. 
 
 We had this morning a great holiday 
 for the Mrs. Arnold came to visit our 
 school. So that we were very glad. 
 
 I will tell you about the Mrs. Arnold 
 she is a good man and kind. When we 
 were standed he said, we may sit down 
 on the bench. 
 
 I will tell you about the great the Public 
 school of Mariquina. Mariquina is a town 
 near of Manila. Mariquina River, and 
 Pasig river had came from the Montalvan 
 mountains. Mariquina is south east of 
 Manila, north east of San Mateo, south 
 west of Pasig. Mariquina 12 miles far 
 in Manila. San Mateo 6 miles far from 
 Mariquina, and Pasig is 7 miles from 
 Mariquina. 
 
 Mariquina has a church and priest 
 Mr. Vicente Estacio. The trade of the 
 in Mariquina, shoe maker, and baker, 
 tailor, barber, carpenter, and work of 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 the land. This country has a cuentel, 
 and Pharmacy, limonedemaker, and the- 
 atre, near of the church. 
 
 This town has a school, 425 pupils 
 are in the school studying English. Our 
 teacher is name Mr. Potenciano Diguanco. 
 
 I will tell you about the feast. Last 
 monday we had a great holiday in honor 
 of George Washington at 22th February, 
 19 — . We had singing and reading. My 
 teacher invited the orchestra and captain 
 of this country, and there were many 
 people in the school. They had some 
 dresses in the school, there were many 
 pictures the hanging on the wooden side. 
 The photographer took us a photograph 
 in the school. 
 
 This country has a president whose 
 name was Domingo Salvador. 
 
 Santigo Victorino. 
 Barrio San Ysidro. Your truly, 
 Mariquina Rizal P. I. February 26th. 
 
 I.3I 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Mariquina, Rizal. 
 
 March 20. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 I can't tell you what a treat your letter 
 was! Our first home mail came just a 
 week after we arrived, and we all sat around 
 goggle-eyed to drink in every word. 
 
 I am simply in love with the Philippines. 
 The heat suits me and everything is very 
 foreign. Twenty times a day I say, "Oh, 
 wouldn't Bess enjoy this!" The children 
 are fascinating and the costumes gorgeous. 
 Such combinations in colors and such 
 variety in veils and hats! 
 
 The natives seem friendly and bring 
 us presents of flowers, fresh eggs and fruit. 
 I fully believe in them, but the officers, 
 especially those who were out here in '98, 
 are inclined to take everything with a 
 grain of salt. We have been to call on 
 several and find them hospitality itself! 
 They always offer us enormous cigars 
 and cannot understand why we refuse. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 If I thought I had a chance of recovering 
 after it I would take one at the next place 
 we visit, just for the fun of seeing Mother's 
 face. A Samoan lady, across the street 
 from us, the wife of one of the health 
 inspectors, has kept me supplied with 
 beautiful flowers, — gorgeously tropical and 
 sweet; Grace with her passion for botany 
 would be crazy over them. The village 
 is full of Ylang-Ylang trees, and hundreds 
 of pounds of the blossoms are sent to 
 Manila every year to be made into perfume. 
 They are sweeter than orange blossoms. 
 Several pretty birds have been presented 
 to Bobby. You might think this a charm- 
 ing feature of the place, but it is not, as the 
 poor things are always given in pairs, 
 tied on either end of a string about five 
 feet long. Either the birds are deficient 
 in grey matter or else they have not prac- 
 ticed flying in the same direction at the 
 same time, as is necessary for success 
 in three-legged races, for the result is 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 a fearful flutteration, with tie-ups on hooks 
 and nails and hanging-lamps. I have to 
 hustle to the rescue and untangle them 
 only to see the poor foolish things select a 
 more inaccessible place and proceed, evi- 
 dently with suicidal intent, to hang them- 
 selves all over again. 
 
 The first pair came from the woman 
 next door, who has been very kind to us. 
 I hated to seem ungrateful so I put up 
 with this nerve-racking state of affairs 
 for nearly twelve hours, but at the end of 
 that time they unfortunately (?) and inex- 
 plicably (?) became untied and flew out of 
 the window! 
 
 A day or two later Mary Devil delivered 
 his offering in the shape of two dear little 
 yellow birds on the ends of the inevitable 
 string. This time I had Hillario, our 
 muchacho, build a big cage and we tried to 
 make them comfortable, but they soon 
 died. Shortly after Mary Devil appeared 
 with two more birds. This time I made 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 no bones of the matter. I told him that 
 it made Americans sick to see birds tied 
 on strings but that I was glad he had 
 brought them and I would pay him a cent 
 for every bird he could find tied up, if he 
 would bring it to me and let me set it 
 free. His face radiated joy and he de- 
 parted at a gallop. Inside of an hour 
 he was back with all the birds he could 
 handle, followed by about a dozen other 
 small boys all similarly loaded. I paid 
 them, set the birds free and away they went. 
 About an hour later I was again called 
 away from my book by another delegation 
 with still more birds. All the morning 
 this went on, and when shortly after 
 luncheon a still larger procession was seen 
 approaching, each small chocolate kid 
 bearing two poor struggling birds, the 
 affair grew serious. I could see Frank's 
 entire pay account flying up to Heaven 
 in the shape of small fluttering songsters, 
 and though it might be a poetical idea 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 it wouldn't go far towards paying our 
 mess bill at the end of the month, and I 
 was obliged to call a halt. 
 
 This, as you may imagine, was a bitter 
 disappointment to the boys who thought 
 they had discovered a veritable gold mine. 
 Mary Devil, who had appointed himself 
 president of the Bird Trust and was 
 evidently making a little on the side, was 
 distinctly put out. 
 
 Frank declares that I bought the same 
 birds three times over, as they caught 
 them in the meantime and brought them 
 back, but how was I to tell ? We had no 
 Bertillon system for identification. 
 
 Before I let the last bunch of boys 
 depart I delivered a lecture worthy of a 
 charter member of the Audubon Society, 
 and whether they grasped all the fine 
 points or not, I have certainly seen no 
 more dangling birds. 
 
 Something is going on here all the time, — 
 funerals, weddings, christenings, cock- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 fights, — and last week about a thousand 
 children were confirmed by the Arch- 
 bishop. He comes from St. Louis and is 
 one of the most charming men I have ever 
 met. He does not speak Tagalog, so he 
 had to bring monks with him to hear 
 confessions, and to preach. They were 
 exactly like the monks of mediaeval times 
 one reads about, or sees on the stage, 
 tonsured and clad in brown habits, with 
 girdles made of knotted rope and sandals 
 on their bare feet. 
 
 Yesterday was St. Joseph's Day and there 
 were tremendous doings at the church. 
 The choir was assisted by the entire 
 orchestra and there was a procession, but 
 they say Easter is the grand occasion here. 
 
 Bobby does pretty well with his lessons, 
 but he finds the days long with no child 
 to play with. Yesterday he came to me 
 to know what he could do. I suggested 
 that he should take the Spanish dictionary 
 and look up the words that we should be 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 most apt to use in talking with the natives. 
 By and by I looked to see what progress 
 he was making and found that the only 
 word he had looked up and noted down 
 was the Spanish for "damn/' This may 
 supply the anti-imperialists with fresh fuel, 
 but it is too good to keep. 
 
 We have just received the greatest piece 
 of good news. Frank applied some time 
 ago for the house that used to belong to 
 the presidente and word has just come 
 that we may take it. It is a perfect palace! 
 I will at once take a picture of it for you. 
 It is the only house in the town that boasts 
 a front yard and real glass windows, 
 and the rooms are all fine and large. 
 The living-room is large enough for fifty 
 couples to dance, the bedrooms are all 
 over twenty feet square and the dining- 
 room much larger. It will be a change 
 after living all in one room. Do come 
 and visit us! I thought it would not be 
 proper to ask you before, but now there will 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 be room for you all, and I will give a 
 "baile" for you as soon as you arrive. 
 If you only could! 
 
 I am trying to think what each one of 
 you would like best about this place. 
 Uncle Sam would be able to speak Tagalog 
 like a native inside of a week. You would 
 be entirely monopolized by the children 
 and if Aunt Fanny needed anything more 
 than the climate to cure her entirely, I 
 would have Damas Santas come in and 
 say "Mary's Little Lamb." I hear him 
 say it at least once a day, and every time 
 it is funnier. Frank insists on calling him 
 "Mary Devil," and he certainly looks 
 the part for it would be hard to find a 
 more impish bit of humanity. Sometimes 
 I reward him by saying "Twinkle, Twinkle 
 Little Star," in Tagalog and he writhes 
 with mirth. We are enjoying everything, 
 and your letter describing the fearful cold 
 at home made us feel more luxurious than 
 ever, lying around in our kimonas in 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 lounging chairs. You know what cold 
 bodies we are, too. It is cool enough here 
 in the morning to go to market or ride 
 until about nine o'clock. Then it is pretty 
 hot in the sun until five, but very com- 
 fortable in the house with nothing to do — 
 the muchachos do all but breathe and eat 
 for us, — and the evenings are glorious. 
 
 Bobby has a good time with our mucha- 
 cho, Hillario, who is just a bunch of fun 
 and mischief. This morning, while we 
 were dressing, the door was opened very 
 cautiously and a brown fist thrust into the 
 room. 
 
 I happened to be watching the per- 
 formance, and imagine my terror when 
 the fist opened and out dropped an enor- 
 mous brown spider on the floor. If it had 
 been a lighted bomb it could not have 
 caused more of a panic. We climbed on 
 everything available. I selected a set of 
 bamboo shelves, never intended to hold 
 anything but light clothing, and just as 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 I nearly reached the top, in spite of 
 awful creakings and crackings, the spider 
 decided that he wanted to see something 
 on the top shelf and I almost broke my 
 neck getting down. All this time Mother 
 and Bobby, perched on two chairs, were 
 screaming. At this point Frank came to 
 the rescue. He opened the door and gave 
 Hillario just two minutes to find that 
 spider and carry it out. In vain Hillario 
 protested that it was perfectly harmless 
 and that he just put it in for Bobby to see. 
 It was no easy job to locate Mr. Spider. 
 Poor Hillario had to remove every piece 
 of clothing from the shelves and at last 
 it was discovered resting comfortably in 
 one of my shirt waists. After the lecture 
 Frank gave him, Hillario will try no more 
 jokes of that kind. 
 
 Now I must follow the rest of my family 
 to bed as we are going in the morning to 
 San Mateo, the Post above us, and shall 
 have to make an early start. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Give my love to all and don't get cold 
 in that freezing old New England. 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Mariquina Rizal, 
 
 April 8. 
 Dearest Bess: 
 
 I was not disappointed in the last mail, 
 for it brought me the long-hoped-for 
 letters from you, and those dear pictures 
 of the old home. They couldn't be better, 
 and I can't tell you how glad we are to 
 have them! I am amazed to find how 
 little has happened since I wrote you last, 
 and yet the time has simply flown. 
 
 I ought to keep the most important thing 
 for the last as a climax, but I can't wait 
 to tell you that I am the proud possessor 
 of the most bewitching, adorable, wholly 
 fascinating monkey you ever saw in your 
 life. I have named her Sarah as a compli- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 ment to Mother, who seems, however, to 
 be a little dubious as to the compliment. 
 She is a most affectionate little thing. 
 I begrudge the time away from her at 
 meals and I keep her up at night until 
 she can't hold her eyes open. Her skin 
 is blue, not green, and her hair is a lovely 
 soft brown. Whenever she sees me she 
 hugs herself, makes the funniest kissing 
 noise, and rolls her eyes in the most 
 languishing way. She is quite irresistible, 
 and it makes me grieve to think that I 
 can't carry her home with me. She has 
 taken a great dislike to Sing and Hillario, 
 and screams when they come near her, 
 but she is friendly with any white person 
 and on the most intimate terms with 
 Bobby. 
 
 The Samoan lady has been away for a 
 few days and when she returned she 
 brought one of these little monkeys with 
 her. Mother and I wanted to buy one at 
 once but it is very hard to find the little 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 ones. However, I went into Manila 
 day before yesterday, determined to stay 
 there until I could come back with a 
 monkey. Some one suggested trying 
 the Zoological Gardens, as the American 
 gentleman in charge could probably tell 
 me where to go for one. I found him most 
 courteous. He asked if I cared for any 
 of his monkeys and without a moment's 
 hesitation I selected Sarah from the whole 
 seventy-five, and he said it would give 
 him great pleasure if I would accept her 
 as a present. Did I ? I rather think so! 
 He tied her into the caromata and away 
 we went. I was scared and so was she. 
 Every time she showed her teeth or squealed 
 I prepared to jump out. She climbed up 
 the cochero's back and sat there gibbering 
 all. the way down the main street, until 
 the poor boy nearly died of mortification. 
 While we were in town we visited the 
 ice plant, and it was a queer sensation 
 to go from the street where the thermome- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 ter must have registered over ninety degrees 
 into a place where the frost stood inches 
 thick on the pipes and we had to flap our 
 arms up and down to keep from being in the 
 same condition. They make fifty tons a 
 day. I wonder how people ever lived 
 here before the plant was built. To 
 have an unlimited supply of ice means 
 much in the tropics. 
 
 Our presidente is extremely partial 
 to ice, but he never keeps it on hand. 
 Shortly after ours has been delivered, his 
 muchacho appears, " Presidente's compli- 
 ments! He very bad toothache! Can 
 Senora let him have little bit ice to put on 
 it ?" Such a state as his teeth must be 
 in, with such frequent toothaches, all the 
 harder to bear as many if not all of them 
 were earned by the sweat of his brow. 
 Nevertheless, of course Senora can and 
 does, and she inwardly wonders if he will 
 drink to her very good health. 
 
 We had great doings here last week. 
 
 H5 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 It began on Palm Sunday and I wish you 
 and Jennie had been here to take snap- 
 shots. The sight was unique. Every 
 man, woman, and child carried a palm, 
 varying in height all the way from six to 
 ten feet and decorated in every possible 
 way. No two were alike. Some had 
 dozens of little flags tied on, some were 
 decorated with artificial flowers, and from 
 some dangled all kinds of animals made 
 of bits of palm leaves woven together. 
 They had an impressive service in the 
 churchyard and afterwards marched around 
 the church with the orchestra. The bright- 
 colored costumes and waving palms made 
 a gorgeous picture, and like an imbecile 
 I forgot my camera. 
 
 The next big fiesta was on Thursday, 
 and that night they had a tremendous 
 procession through the town, that took 
 nearly half an hour to pass. A life-sized 
 figure of Christ, bloody and frightful, 
 was carried at the head. Then came 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 priests and acolytes, followed by figures 
 of about a dozen saints, gorgeous in much- 
 embroidered robes and borne on floats 
 on the shoulders of men in queer monkish- 
 looking habits. On either side of the street 
 marched the natives carrying long candles. 
 These images belong to the natives. They 
 take great pride in them and spend every 
 cent that they can rake and scrape to- 
 gether to buy them. The woman who 
 sells us eggs lives in a little one-roomed 
 shack with only two chairs and a table, 
 and her expenses are probably not over 
 two dollars a month. Yet one-half of her 
 one room is devoted to a sort of shrine and 
 an immense figure of the Blessed Virgin. 
 She is very devout, and day and night 
 she keeps candles and flowers in front of it. 
 Some of these are heirlooms that have 
 been handed down from generation to 
 generation. Next to their love for their 
 game-cocks, comes this adoration for their 
 images, and a man who has two is men- 
 
 147 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 tioned with the same awe with which we 
 speak of Rockefeller — but we must hustle 
 and catch the procession. There must have 
 been over a hundred little floats besides 
 the big ones and they set forth every- 
 thing that was even remotely connected 
 with the Crucifixion. A big white rooster 
 was on a float by himself, and on another 
 was a ladder, followed by a shirt, a wash- 
 bowl and pitcher, and a pair of gas-tongs, 
 which were too much for me to under- 
 stand. The orchestra played something 
 in minor over and over, — I suppose it was 
 a dirge. It was a weird, gruesome proces- 
 sion. 
 
 Friday night an even larger procession 
 had all the same features except that the 
 figure of Christ was changed for one much 
 larger, laid out on a regular bier with 
 candles around it, exactly as they arrange 
 their dead here, not even forgetting the 
 cloth bound around the head to keep the 
 mouth shut. They marched around the 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 town, and then went to the church. With 
 great pomp and ceremony, the bier was 
 carried in and placed in front of the altar, 
 with all the saints placed around it on 
 their respective floats. Did I say all ? 
 No, there was one exception. St. John 
 the Baptist was not allowed to stay. 
 He came as far as the church door, and 
 waited there until every other saint had 
 gone inside. Then his guardians rushed 
 him off up a back street, his halo flopping 
 and his peroxide locks floating out on the 
 breeze! The service lasted about all 
 night and the church was packed to the 
 doors. 
 
 On Sunday morning was the grand 
 climax. The procession started at day- 
 break and every one in Mariquina who 
 could walk was in it, carrying a candle 
 over two feet long. The figure of Christ 
 had shrunk to about half its original 
 size and was standing in the middle of 
 a bed of tropical flowers. The natives 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 wore their very gladdest silks and brocades 
 and thin veils gorgeously embroidered 
 and painted. The high mass was a lively 
 function, bringing in two-steps and waltzes 
 and schottisches. 
 
 Monday was the opening night at the 
 Mariquina Opera House. Frank and I 
 went and found it really very good. We 
 were invited to sit in the presidente's 
 private box, but we thought we could 
 have more fun by ourselves, and declined. 
 The singing was fine and the acting 
 seemed pretty good, though we couldn't 
 understand a word, as it was all in Tagalog. 
 That reminds me that I am not making 
 the strides in the language I could wish. 
 To be sure I can say "Twinkle, Twinkle 
 Little Star," "Mary Had a Little Lamb," 
 "It is a cat," and "It is a cow," but I 
 am pained to find them of no earthly 
 use to me in marketing. I do not crave 
 the twinkling star and there is not a cat 
 in town, nor any lamb or cow nearer than 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Manila. When I write a primer for the 
 Philippines, instead of filling it full of 
 sentences about cats and cows and other 
 things about as common as the ibex and 
 the dodo-bird, I shall say, "I see an 
 egg !" " Is it a fresh egg ?" " I see a hen, " 
 "Is it a young and tender chicken?" and 
 my name will be blessed by the would- 
 be marketers. 
 
 The funerals here are weird. The priest 
 comes first with his acolytes and thurifers 
 and crucifers, then the orchestra follows, 
 playing blood-curdling music, then the 
 corpse, carried on the shoulders of eight 
 men, in an ornate casket, generally covered 
 with bright pink or blue cloth, with chande- 
 liers on the sides and loads of artificial 
 flowers. Attached to it are long streamers 
 of ribbon that are held by the chief mourn- 
 ers, and the friends bring up the rear, 
 dressed in black and wearing black veils. 
 They appear utterly indifferent while they 
 are marching through the street on their 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 way to the church, and from there to the 
 cemetery, but once inside the cemetery 
 the racket they make is bedlam let loose. 
 They keep up the noise, more like barking 
 than crying, all the time they are there. 
 The cemetery is very small and very old, 
 and as there are ten thousand people in 
 Mariquina, it is crowded. No one pays 
 for a grave for more than a year and 
 many pay for not as long a time. They 
 dig the grave after the funeral procession 
 arrives and every shovelful of dirt brings 
 up a skull, or a leg bone, or a hand. 
 Before they put the casket into the ground, 
 they lift up the corpse, wrap it in a straw 
 mat and then put it back, nail on the lid, 
 shovel back the skulls and bones and dirt, 
 and stamp it down. It made my flesh 
 fairly creep. You may think I haven't 
 flesh enough to creep, but I have. I must 
 tell you about the funeral that passed 
 the house last week. A tall Philippine 
 woman dressed in black, with a long black 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 veil, carried on her head a little pink 
 coffin, trimmed with ribbons and flowers. 
 She had her hands on her hips, smoked 
 a long black cigar and moved along at 
 a good swinging stride, followed by about 
 a dozen children, adorned with little 
 black veils on their diminutive heads. 
 That was all. She was too poor to have 
 priest or music, or even to hire any one 
 to carry the casket; and probably she had 
 to dig the grave herself. I wanted to 
 take a snapshot but it seemed too heartless. 
 
 We are going to have a "baile" as soon 
 as we are settled. We expect to move into 
 the big house next week and it will seem 
 good to hear a piano again. We shall 
 hire the orchestra to play their Easter 
 music. 
 
 I have been invited to go to San Fer- 
 nando to visit the headquarters of our 
 regiment. It is a beautiful place on the 
 west coast of Luzon, and the bathing is 
 fine. Some of my best friends are stationed 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 there. I would rather wait and go later 
 when the novelty of this place has worn 
 off. 
 
 We are invited to a big military wedding 
 in Manila next week. The bride belongs 
 to our regiment and is most popular. 
 People are coming from all the different 
 Posts and it will be a regular reunion. 
 
 Isn't it a shame that we have to pay 
 duty on things sent to the States ? I have 
 some little souvenirs for you, but I don't 
 like to send them, fearing that they will 
 charge you an absurd duty on them. 
 
 I judge from the tone of your last letter 
 that you refer to Bobby's school in a 
 sarcastic way. You wouldn't dare if 
 there were anything smaller than the 
 Pacific between us. I want you to know 
 that we have school daily, from nine to 
 eleven and from two to three, and although 
 he hasn't finished all the books yet, he is 
 getting a smattering of every one. 
 
 Every day I am grateful to Mrs. P- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 for selecting so many good books for me. 
 We read a little in "Little Journeys to 
 Hawaii and the Philippines" every day 
 and it is most enjoyable. The "Talks 
 on Common Things" is interesting, and 
 we are studying whatever grows near us, 
 like rice, cotton, cocoa and coffee. My 
 own head is fairly bursting with knowledge, 
 to say nothing of his. 
 
 Give Jennie a hug and thank her for 
 the pictures. Lots of love to Aunt Fanny 
 and the other good people under your 
 roof, and write, write, write ! 
 
 Mother sends love and says she will 
 write soon. She wants you to come here 
 in time to go back with her for next 
 Christmas. 
 
 Now, good-bye, dear girl. A mail is in 
 to-day, Frank has gone to Manila, and I 
 am counting the hours until I shall have 
 a letter from you. 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 155 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Friday Evening, 
 May 6. 
 Dearest Girl: 
 
 A mail goes to-morrow and I must send 
 a letter to you by it, even if only a scribble. 
 
 Your letter written March 13 came 
 April 26. It began, " Don't I wish I could 
 look in on you to-night," and I certainly 
 never wished that more in my life, for we 
 were having our first "baile" in the new 
 house. It was the greatest fun and how 
 you would have enjoyed it! We had the 
 native orchestra of fifteen pieces, which 
 plays entirely by ear. The men are chuck 
 full of music. 
 
 It was all very impromptu, given to 
 celebrate the birthday of one of the officers 
 from the Post above. We supposed the 
 orchestra would not know our music, 
 so imagine my joy when I told them to open 
 the ball with a two-step, to have them 
 start off with "The Mosquito Parade," 
 and bow they played it! It would have 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 made a dead man dance ! Eight officers and 
 two or three ladies danced and about 
 as many more came to look on; and we 
 invited in about a dozen natives so that 
 we could see the "Rigadon" danced and 
 I haven't recovered my breath yet! The 
 surprise was a grand success. Mr. Turner 
 didn't know that we knew it was his 
 birthday. He thought nothing of it when 
 we asked him with other officers and ladies 
 to come down and spend the evening, 
 as he is usually here two or three times a 
 week. When he arrived we were all out 
 in the yard to meet him. The minute 
 he stepped out of his carriage, he was 
 caught by three officers and held while 
 we all showered congratulations upon him. 
 The house was decorated with flags 
 and lights, and we had invited Captain 
 Overton and the superintendent and his 
 wife from the Post below. We left the 
 inviting of the natives to the doctor of 
 Mariquina, as he seems to be the Harry 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Lehr of the place, and he promised to 
 come about eight-thirty with a carefully 
 selected delegation of Mariquina's 400 
 to do the "Rigadon." We took Mr. 
 Turner upstairs and while he was admir- 
 ing the decorations and receiving all 
 manner of good wishes, without any warn- 
 ing, the orchestra, which had been smug- 
 gled into the hall below, started up a 
 simply rollicking tune — the one they play 
 on the way home from funerals. We seized 
 Mr. Turner and whisked him down stairs, 
 and there was the orchestra lined up on 
 either side of the big hall. When we 
 appeared, as if at a signal, the natives 
 (I didn't even know they had arrived) 
 marched down the centre and gave us 
 the "glad hand"! They were dressed 
 regardless of cost. Some of the girls were 
 very pretty and they danced beautifully. 
 Mr. Turner's mother, who was in the 
 surprise with us, sent down a dandy big 
 birthday cake and pineapple sherbet, and 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Sing made chocolate ice cream and candy 
 and salted peanuts, and we had twenty- 
 eight big candles on the table. We had 
 our spread after the natives had gone, 
 but Frank laid in a supply of ginger beer 
 and bottled lemonade, of which they are 
 very fond, for their refreshment during 
 the evening, and what do you think! 
 He went out in the dining-room, where the 
 muchachos were waiting on the thirsty 
 ones, and arrived just in time to see Hillario 
 emptying the last of a bottle of Scotch 
 whiskey into a glass for a sweet young thing 
 of about sixteen summers and she took 
 it straight, though it brought the tears 
 to her eyes. There were tears in Hillario's 
 eyes when Frank finished with him after 
 discovering that he had already served 
 three bottles of his best "Black and White" 
 to the happy natives. I only wonder we 
 didn't have a rough-house. 
 
 I never had more fun in my life. It 
 was such a success that we are going to 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 celebrate mother's birthday in the same 
 way. I wish you could have seen me 
 dancing the "Rigadon" with the doctor, 
 not the native but our own dignified 
 member of the United States Medical 
 Corps. Neither of us knew anything 
 about it, but the natives needed one more 
 couple to make out the set and they prom- 
 ised to see us through it, so we made 
 the eighth couple. The result was all 
 you could have expected. I found my- 
 self balancing with three men at once and 
 going through grand right and left all by 
 myself and all sorts of stunts. The rest 
 of our crowd were nearly prostrated 
 watching us. 
 
 I must tell you about the three old 
 "goo-goo ladies" that came — sans invi- 
 tation — like the bad fairy in Sleeping 
 Beauty. I think they may have come as 
 chaperons, not considering me sufficient. 
 Anyway they were gray-headed and bare- 
 footed and how they did smoke, all same 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 three factory chimneys! Frank declares 
 that between them they smoked an entire 
 box of his best cigars. They sat first on 
 one foot, then on the other, like three old 
 cranes, and one of them had the coyest 
 way of playing with her toes. The young 
 people were decorous, and were greatly 
 shocked at the way the officers would 
 rush out and seize us in the middle of a 
 dance and rush off with us, but so few 
 ladies danced that we had to divide our 
 dances up in small bits. 
 
 I began to run the mess this month, 
 and I love it. Sing is adorable. He tries 
 hard to please and gives us all sorts of 
 good things. By the way, he is engaged 
 to the young woman from whom I have 
 been buying chickens. It struck me that 
 chicken appeared on the menu at frequent 
 intervals and that every time she came she 
 and Sing had a long palaver in the kitchen, 
 — also that Sing would stand up for those 
 same hens as if he had been engaged as 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 their counsel, in spite of the fact that many 
 of them were old enough to have known 
 better. I believe I must have been very 
 dense, for a woman, when added to these 
 facts I was commissioned by Sing to pur- 
 chase one bottle of "all same nice smell 
 like Senora's" and a purple necktie. 
 Yet I was quite surprised when he told 
 me in the most shamefaced way, " I engaged 
 to 'hen woman,' pretty pronto get mallied!" 
 and, if you please, I have been buying his 
 trousseau for him in Manila! Yes indeedy, 
 and it is gorgeous in the extreme! He is a 
 good-looking Chink and as neat as wax, 
 and I consider that the "hen woman" has 
 drawn a prize. We are paying him a 
 dollar a day, which he turns over to her, 
 keeping out only enough to purchase his 
 wedding outfit. 
 
 The first time he asked me to order 
 "five pounds lice/' I experienced some- 
 thing of a shock, and I had another 
 when, hearing frightful squawkings em- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 anating from his domain, I discovered 
 the three chickens, intended for our dinner, 
 hanging by their feet to a piece of clothes- 
 line. I called him to come and take the 
 wretched, flapping, cackling things down 
 at once, which he did very sulkily. Then 
 I inquired, "Why on the clothes-line ?" 
 He was distinctly put out and replied 
 ungraciously, "Make good taste! Always 
 hang for two, three hours! No hang, no 
 good!" 
 
 I don't know what the idea is, though 
 I find it is customary among the Chinese 
 cooks. I doubt if I should have dared 
 to be so emphatic in my orders that he 
 was never to do such a thing again, had I 
 realized what a temper he has. 
 
 The very next day, Hillario came run- 
 ning to me all out of breath and as white 
 as a sheet, exclaiming, "Sing got a mad 
 on Estaben! He put him to sleep!" 
 I ran out to the kitchen and was horrified 
 to see the doctor's muchacho lying un- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 conscious on the floor, with a horrid cut 
 in his head. 
 
 I sent Hillario for the doctor, who soon 
 arrived. Before long Estaben was able 
 to sit up while he put four stitches in his 
 poor head, and after a little, though 
 pretty wobbly on his legs, he was able 
 with the doctor's help to crawl down to his 
 room. 
 
 I tried to impress upon Sing what a 
 dreadful thing he had done and wound up 
 by saying, "Why, you might have killed 
 him!" His only regret seemed to be 
 that he hadn't. 
 
 We were not surprised the next day 
 when Estaben, by some mysterious means, 
 had word from his father that he was 
 needed at home, and we have never seen 
 him since. 
 
 Maybe the muchachos are not walking 
 the chalk-line! Sing has but to express 
 a wish and they fall over themselves to do 
 his bidding, lest he "get a mad" on them 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and they share Estaben's fate. They are 
 as a whole very willing servants, but they 
 entertain a perfect horror of infringing on 
 each other's work. 
 
 When I first took the helm, I called 
 all three boys to me, and told them that 
 every morning before breakfast, they were 
 to polish the floor in the living-room, 
 and dust all the tables and chairs. I 
 found myself in hot water immediately! 
 The work wasn't half done and each boy 
 declared that he did more than his share. 
 When I called Jose's attention to a dusty 
 chair, he would look grieved and declare 
 that he did all the other chairs, but he 
 thought the boys might do a little work! 
 And when I showed Lucillio a part of the 
 floor, perfectly destitute of polish, he turned 
 his great reproachful eyes on me and 
 said, "Senora! All the rest of the floor 
 did I polish! That bit alone did I leave 
 for Hillario!" Whereupon, Hillario would 
 go up in the air, and they would hold 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 converse together in their native tongue, 
 with sufficient exercise of the arms, if 
 properly applied, to have polished every 
 floor in the house. Finally, I hit upon the 
 plan of counting the exact number of 
 boards in the floor, and portioning it out, 
 the same number to each one, and each 
 boy was to dust the chairs and tables 
 that were found on his particular third! 
 It worked like a charm! Each one vied 
 with the others to have his part the shiniest 
 and his chairs the cleanest. 
 
 To be sure, I arose one morning at an 
 early hour, disturbed by a slight noise 
 in the living-room, and fearing that 
 Sally was untied, I opened the door very 
 quietly and discovered Lucillio, carefully 
 moving the chairs about. 
 
 At first, I couldn't make out what he 
 was doing, until it suddenly dawned on 
 me that he was moving the chairs from 
 his section to those of the other two boys, 
 so as to avoid dusting them. I said not a 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 word, but waited until I heard him go 
 down stairs and his door close behind 
 him, when I cautiously stole out and put 
 them all back, even giving him one or two 
 chairs extra. 
 
 I determined to stay awake until it 
 was time for the muchachos to come 
 up and do their work, just to have the fun 
 of seeing LucilhVs face, but to my disgust 
 I fell asleep and never knew anything 
 until they had quite finished, but all day 
 long, I caught him secretly regarding each 
 of the other boys with cruel suspicion. 
 
 We had a fright to-night. Frank gave 
 Bobby a little sabre and belt for Christmas, 
 just like those he wears himself, and you 
 may imagine that Bobby was a proud kid. 
 Having no one to play with here, he 
 appointed himself our sentinel, and every 
 night after "Retreat," when our sentry 
 comes over and closes the big iron gates, 
 Bobby has stationed himself on the inside 
 and marched up and down, his sabre 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 very much in evidence, glaring at any 
 small brown brother who has dared 
 even to look through. He presented a very 
 war-like appearance in his little uniform 
 and helmet and was regarded with awe 
 by the small boy of Mariquina. To- 
 night a boy came along, evidently a stranger, 
 who, not understanding the import of all 
 this military effect, calmly proceeded to 
 push open the gate and walk in. Quick 
 as a flash, Bobby was after him, yelling 
 like a cowboy about to shoot up a town, 
 and the small brown brother stood not 
 upon the order of his going, but fled. Out 
 they tore through the gate, Bobby brand- 
 ishing his sabre wildly, dire vengeance 
 in every step. To our horror, he was not 
 content with chasing him away from the 
 house, but followed him down a long lane 
 to his own shack and inside and he would 
 undoubtedly have proceeded to "puncture 
 his tire," had not the poor young one's 
 father been there and hurried to his pro- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 tection. That Bobby was not instantly 
 boloed, we shall always regard as little 
 less than a miracle, but the next we saw 
 of him he was being led home, the irate 
 parent holding him firmly by the hand, 
 his poor little sabre dragging disconsolately 
 in the dust, and utter dejection in every 
 line. The hombre handed him over to 
 Frank, who promptly administered a sound 
 spanking which acted as balm on the man's 
 harassed feelings. After many protesta- 
 tions of mutual regard he departed, smok- 
 ing one of Frank's best Manilas, but poor 
 Bobby is shut up in the Colombo clothes 
 basket (that was one wise purchase we 
 made, for there are no closets in these 
 houses) to think in solitude upon the 
 enormity of his crime. I have to go and 
 look in at him every five minutes to see 
 if he is really all in one piece! Frank 
 says we may be devoutly thankful that 
 it was not the man's fighting-cock he was 
 chasing, for then it would have been all 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 up with Bobby, but as it was only his 
 first-born, his life was spared. 
 
 They have all been having a great laugh 
 at me. I have been trying to train the 
 muchachos to announce dinner instead 
 of whistling for us, as has been their 
 custom, and I told them that they were to 
 come to the door of the big living-room 
 where we all assemble and say, "Dinner 
 is served." They didn't take kindly to 
 the idea, but I was firm. Sunday night 
 we were all sitting there waiting and I 
 was thinking what a surprise it would be 
 to every one to hear dinner formally 
 announced, when I saw Jose come to the 
 door, screw his face up into all manner of 
 knots, and mutter something utterly in- 
 audible. I went out and asked him if 
 he said what I told him and he assured 
 me that he did. He looked worn to a 
 frazzle by his effort and I could not get 
 his courage up to the point of trying it 
 again. Neither of the other boys could be 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 persuaded, so we went to dinner without 
 the announcement. 
 
 Monday night the dinner was announced 
 by loud beating on a tin pan with an iron 
 spoon. Perfectly disgusted, I went out 
 and inquired, "Why?" 
 
 Sing said, "Boys no can say what 
 senora say — no can member." 
 
 "I will not have dinner announced in 
 that way," I said. "It is to be announced 
 at the drawing-room, reception-room, 
 music-room door." 
 
 Tuesday night, we all sat there, more 
 or less breathlessly awaiting the announce- 
 ment. We could occasionally catch frag- 
 ments of the talk of the muchachos, 
 trying to urge each other on, and of Sing, 
 alternately encouraging and threatening 
 all three by turns. It began to grow 
 dark, and still no summons. Suddenly 
 from the dusk of the doorway it smote 
 upon our ears in Sing's stentorian tones, 
 "Chow now!" You should have heard 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 the others laugh! I shall never hear the 
 end of it! 
 
 I took some pictures of the house to-day 
 which I am sending you together with 
 pictures of Manila. They are very good 
 and give a splendid idea of the place. 
 Mother is feeling much better and we 
 enjoy her music above everything. She 
 plays every night after dinner, and we 
 sit around and sing. All the muchachos 
 are whistling the airs from "The Cap of 
 Fortune" and "The Sultan of Sulu." 
 
 The weeks simply fly. Then we have 
 the Inter-island trip ahead of us and the 
 lovely trip home. 
 
 Well, this won't do for me. We have to 
 start for market at seven in the morning, 
 which means breakfast at 6.30, and I 
 must put in forty winks. Do write when- 
 ever you can. I know you are busy, and 
 you have been fine about writing, but 
 please let the good work go on. My love to 
 all and a big hug for you. Beth. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 P. S. I thought you would like to know 
 how pleased I am with myself for laying 
 in such a supply of large white shoes. 
 Talk about coals to Newcastle! Why, 
 my dear, they make and send out nearly 
 two thousand pairs of shoes every week 
 from this little burg. I can get all I want 
 made to order for seventy-five cents a 
 pair, and they will copy any shoe you have 
 exactly. The story that one's feet swell 
 in the Philippines is a myth. My feet 
 continue to demand the same size of shoes 
 that I have worn for the past few years, 
 and the scows I bought in New York are 
 so large that I don't know whether I'm 
 coming or going. 
 
 Mariquina Rizal, 
 
 May 15. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 I find that I can go to Manila to-morrow 
 and catch the next mail, and I want to 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 send you some of the pictures that the 
 doctor took of the house. It doesn't 
 give you much of an idea of the size, but 
 it is large, especially when compared with 
 the little shacks around it. It is over 
 sixty feet across the front and over eighty 
 feet on the sides. I may try to draw a 
 plan of it for you. 
 
 We had company nearly every day last 
 week, sometimes two or three persons at a 
 time, and you know how I love company. 
 
 You will be sorry to learn that the little 
 romance in our kitchen has come to an 
 untimely end. It looked for a time as 
 if we should all follow the romance. 
 Sing came home the other night looking 
 absolutely crazed. He could hardly talk, 
 he was in such a nervous state, and he told 
 us that his girl, the "hen lady," had eloped 
 with an ex-soldier who had been stationed 
 in Mariquina a year ago. They had gone 
 to Manila. Sing said, "Give me horse, 
 give me gon, I go to Manila. I kill 
 
 *74 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 him!" It was nearly midnight, so Frank 
 persuaded him to wait until morning 
 and he would let him take a horse, but not 
 a gun. He tried to reason with him that 
 it was useless to follow them, but follow 
 Sing would. He walked the floor all 
 night long, crying and moaning, and by 
 daybreak he was up and away. Then 
 trouble began to brew in the Presidentia. 
 None of the boys knew how to cook and 
 for a time starvation stared us in the face, 
 for I haven't mastered the mysteries of 
 cooking with condensed milk and canned 
 butter. We lived on canned stuff until the 
 very thought of it was too much. The 
 boys returned from the Commissary every 
 morning loaded with cans enough to fill 
 a Harlem goat and when I realized what 
 was before us, it seemed unbearable. 
 
 It looked as if we should be reduced to 
 the emergency ration, but just as we were 
 beginning to think of a square meal as a 
 matter of history, Sing came back jaded 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and worn but still able to cook. He had 
 found no trace of the elopers and probably, 
 thanks to the $140 which he had given 
 the girl, they had left for parts unknown. 
 The day after he returned I was stretched 
 out on a long chair reading when through 
 the window came a queer smell, not elu- 
 sive like the Ceylon odors. At last my 
 curiosity prevailed and I looked out of the 
 window. Sing and the three muchachos 
 were out in the garden, deeply interested 
 in a small bonfire which smelled to heaven. 
 
 "What are you doing?" I exclaimed, 
 to which Hillario promptly replied, 
 
 "Sing, he burn his pig-tail, he say no 
 Filipino girl like him with tail." Sure 
 enough, poor Sing's cue was chopped off 
 close to his head, and the fire was slowly 
 lapping up the last squirming black bit. 
 
 I was vexed enough to shake him, for 
 his queue, neatly braided with silk, and 
 the end tucked into his vest pocket, 
 was certainly soul satisfying. 
 
 176 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 I hope you will like Sarah's picture. 
 It shows the roof of our henhouse and the 
 stone wall that surrounds our garden, 
 to say nothing of Sarah's expression, which 
 I assure you is perfect. It was taken on 
 the window-sill in Mother's room, and 
 while I sat there she insisted on taking a 
 picture of us both. The one on the right 
 is the monkey. 
 
 The picture marked number four is 
 the opera house! Don't howl, for it 
 has an imposing inside, with large, com- 
 modious boxes, quite decent scenery, a 
 balcony and seats for hundreds of people. 
 This picture also shows the lovely arch that 
 was put over the church gate, when 
 Bishop Hardy came for confirmation. 
 
 Number five was taken from the same 
 window, but the camera was toward the 
 church, and isn't it dear ? We are proud 
 of it. Hardly a week passes without 
 something going on over there, and that 
 reminds me! — This morning there was a 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 large and very imposing funeral, as one 
 of Mariquina's most famous citizens was 
 buried. If you don't think that the fact 
 of being the owner of the champion 
 fighting-cock of this town makes for 
 fame, you should have seen the size of 
 that funeral. Every one in Mariquina 
 turned out to do honor to the once proud 
 possessor of the bird, and he received 
 more homage than John L. or Fitzsimmons 
 can ever expect. 
 
 We were all stationed at the windows 
 watching the proceedings and when the 
 procession had nearly passed I noticed 
 some of the natives pointing to the very 
 tail end, and there was Bobby bringing 
 up the rear with Sarah hitched to a string! 
 They were entirely oblivious of every- 
 thing in their attempt to keep up with 
 the men in front, and of course I couldn't 
 scream to them; but I rushed for Hillario 
 and told him to hurry and catch them 
 before they were inside the church. He 
 
 178 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 just did it and that was all. As they 
 reached the church steps I heard Sarah 
 give one of her terrific screeches, saw 
 Hillario dart through the crowd and seize 
 them, and dodge back again. Pretty 
 soon they reappeared near the church 
 gate, Sarah perched on Bobby's shoulder, 
 showing her teeth and saying things to 
 Hillario that, as I have tried to explain 
 to her, are never said in polite society. 
 
 The big tree that looked dead is just 
 blossoming now, and it is perfectly beauti- 
 ful. The blossoms come first, — great clus- 
 ters of scarlet flowers like huge bouquets, — 
 and nothing could be lovelier against the 
 grey of the old church and the blue sky. 
 The little square building on the side is 
 the place where the church bells are hung, 
 and we often have reason to wish that the 
 boys who ring them were hung there as 
 well. I must try to give you a little 
 rough plan of the house, and then turn in. 
 ******* My, dear! I can't make 
 179 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 head nor tail of this plan myself, so I know 
 you can't. The lower hall is all tiled, 
 and you have to go up three stairs to each 
 of the rooms. The two stairways, that 
 go up to the second floor, meet on a big 
 landing half-way up and there is a sort 
 of balcony overlooking a covered drive- 
 way, where teams can pass right through 
 the house from one side to the other. 
 The upstairs is not quite so confusing 
 to draw, although the stairs are still a 
 thorn in the flesh. Don't mind! Take 
 my word for it that we get up there some- 
 how, and without an elevator, too. The 
 window-sills are all broad enough for 
 seats, and most of the windows are ten 
 feet wide. You can see the Ylang-Ylang 
 tree looking into our front window. The 
 fence in the picture looks as if it were 
 glued to the house, but such is not the 
 case. It is really twenty odd feet away 
 and there is a pretty garden with flower- 
 beds all outlined with beer bottles. These, 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 I would have you know, were laid out be- 
 fore we arrived. 
 
 I wonder if I have given you the slightest 
 idea of it. Perhaps you would know more 
 if I didn't send the plans. 
 
 Ever since we moved in here, the emp- 
 tiness of the palatial henhouse in our 
 yard has been on Frank's nerves, and two 
 weeks ago he purchased twenty hens to give 
 it an occupied look, and also to supply 
 us from time to time with dinners. I 
 was thankful, for my first errand every 
 Saturday morning has been to the most 
 evil-smelling quarter of a particularly vile- 
 smelling market, where I have bought 
 six live hens and had to bring them home 
 in the wagon with me, their twelve yellow 
 legs all tied together in a miserable bunch, 
 all same beets. Most of my trip home from 
 town has been spent with my head under 
 the seat, vainly endeavoring to make the 
 poor things a little less uncomfortable. 
 
 We all rejoiced greatly in our new 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 possessions which, with the five carabao, 
 gave our yard quite a rural aspect — we 
 rejoiced until I ordered three cooked for 
 dinner, and then our rejoicings turned 
 to songs of woe. Tough! Why, my dear, 
 we couldn't make a scratch on them! 
 We think that the hombre who negotiated 
 for them, had an idea that Frank was a 
 sport and wanted fighting-stock. In the 
 arena, they would undoubtedly have proved 
 a great success, but they were never in- 
 tended to come under the head of edi- 
 bles! In vain did Sing try them broiled, 
 fried, roasted and boiled! In each style 
 they seemed tougher than in the last! 
 
 For a day or two after they came they 
 waited for us to continue the artificial 
 exercise and massage to which they were 
 accustomed, but when they realized that 
 they were not to receive anything of the 
 sort at our hands, they conscientiously 
 took it upon themselves. I wish you 
 could have seen them walk, for all the 
 
 182 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 world exactly like the athletic girl one al- 
 ways meets aboard ship. Up and down 
 the yard they pranced, ignoring the fat, 
 juicy worms and luscious grasshoppers 
 in their all-absorbing attempts to harden 
 their muscles. Like Norval, they "had 
 heard of battles, and longed to follow to 
 
 the" cock-pit! They seemed to 
 
 feel sure that the future held something 
 in store for them more glorious than a 
 modest participation in one of Sing's 
 11 a la Viennes." 
 
 As fighters, they were a promising lot, — 
 at least, so the muchachos assured us, — 
 and they came from the very best blue- 
 ribboned stock in the islands. Two of 
 them walked to San Tolan (a distance 
 of six miles) and forgot to return. This 
 happens to be Lucillio's native burg, but 
 I have tried to believe that he did not 
 bring his influence to bear to keep them 
 away from home. 
 
 When there were only three left, Sing 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 said it was no use to cook them if they were 
 allowed to keep in training, so he shut them 
 up in the henhouse with everything that 
 could possibly tempt the appetite of a 
 hen, determined, if possible, to fatten 
 them. 
 
 For forty-eight hours they remained with 
 their heads stuck out between the slats, 
 gazing with longing eyes at the well-worn 
 path where they were wont to exercise 
 and refusing to be tempted even by rice- 
 pudding! At the end of that time, the 
 smallest, a white one, discovered a place 
 that she could squeeze through, and, my 
 dear girl, what do you suppose she did! 
 With a clear eye and a steady step she 
 walked deliberately to the well, which is 
 protected only by a narrow stone coping, 
 three inches high, and threw herself in! 
 There was no chance for u temporary 
 insanity" or "sleep walking"! It was a 
 plain case of deliberate and premeditated 
 suicide! She probably discovered that 
 
 184 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 her biceps were becoming flabby, and life 
 held out no further charm. 
 
 The entire Arnold family arose as one 
 man and rallie.d to her assistance. For 
 one-half hour in the broiling sun, we lay 
 on the ground and tried with not entirely 
 unselfish motives to rescue her from our 
 drinking water. At last, Frank had the 
 felicity of catching her in the bucket and 
 pulling her safely to the top. 
 
 I had despatched the muchachos in 
 various directions for brandy and bath 
 towels, and after a brisk rubbing, she 
 languidly opened one eye. I administered 
 brandy by means of an eye dropper, 
 although it took some time and she seemed 
 quite averse to it, and then, having done 
 all that I could remember as coming 
 under first aid to the drowned, we placed 
 her on the grass in a shady spot, while 
 we betook ourselves, utterly exhausted, 
 to the house for fans and cooling drinks. 
 
 We left Madam Hen surrounded by a 
 
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 circle of curious natives, who had been 
 deeply interested in the whole proceeding, 
 all sitting around on their haunches and 
 watching as if the fate of the nation hung 
 in the balance! 
 
 I was just dozing ofF when I heard 
 Hillario call, "Oh, Senora! Come quick!" 
 I rushed to the window and there in the 
 middle of the circle was the would-be 
 suicide, pirouetting around on the back 
 of her neck, like a pin- wheel gone wrong! 
 Around and around she went, while the 
 natives regarded her in speechless amaze- 
 ment! Finally, with a last tremendous 
 flop and a kick, she straightened herself 
 out, closed her eyes, and relinquished all 
 interest in the cock-pit! 
 
 The doctor who had arrived in the 
 meantime pronounced her death due to 
 delirium tremens, but I refuse to believe it. 
 
 When Sing went out to get the other 
 two hens, preparatory to dressing them for 
 dinner, he was intending to add the white 
 
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 hen to the lot, but I drew the line at suicides, 
 and told him to have the boys bury her. 
 However, when the fricassee appeared 
 at dinner, a few hours later, it was flanked 
 by six drumsticks! I couldn't eat it, but 
 Frank and the doctor said it was great 
 and strongly flavored of brandy! 
 
 I expect a letter from you this week. 
 Heaps of love. 
 
 Beth. 
 
 3t 
 
 Mariquina, 
 
 June I. 
 My clearest Cousin: 
 
 I have an inspiration! It all happened 
 because Bobby had his thumb shut in the 
 door (I feel that we may yet live to bless 
 that thumb) and began to howl at the top 
 of his lungs. The doctor, fortunately 
 for us, was in the house at the time, and 
 rushed up to see what was the matter. 
 While he was busy with liniment and 
 
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 antiseptic gauze, I held Bobby and tried 
 to keep him quiet by diverting his mind 
 to the poor little bats in the roof, that he 
 was probably scaring into fits, and the poor 
 old carabaos out in our yard, that he was 
 waking up in the middle of their afternoon 
 naps, and other trifles of a like absorbing 
 nature. Then the inspiration suddenly 
 came to me! How heavenly to have a 
 doctor in the family! Some one to do up 
 Bobby's sore toes and extract his slivers, 
 besides, Frank hasn't been a bit well, 
 and it would be such a comfort to have 
 some one who would take not merely a 
 professional but a cousinly interest in his 
 case! Why didn't I think of the Medical 
 Corps for you before ? 
 
 He is very good looking and dignified, 
 but shy! He wouldn't dare even to look 
 at a girl, but I am willing to do the love- 
 making for you both, as there is much at 
 stake. He seems to be alone in the world 
 except for an old lady to whom he writes 
 
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 every week. Her name is Miss Annabel 
 Doane Standish and she lives on Beacon 
 Hill. I know because I mail a letter to 
 her every Saturday when I go to market, 
 and I hardly ever sort out the mail here, 
 without finding one at least, in her old- 
 fashioned, lady-like hand for him. 
 
 I think she is his aunt, probably on his 
 mother's side, and I can see her dear old 
 home, up near the State House, with the 
 violet glass in the windows and three or 
 four steps leading up to the door with 
 its quaint brass knocker, and inside the 
 loveliest old furniture! Highboys, Chip- 
 pendale tables, and corner cupboards, full 
 of beautiful old china, and — oh, Bess! — 
 she will adore you and when we are all 
 at home on visits, she will invite us to come 
 and spend the night with her after the 
 theatre! Won't it be great! 
 
 He seems fond of her and watches 
 eagerly for her letters. At first, I was 
 afraid that he had a sordid motive because 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 she is rich, but now that I know him better 
 I can see it is probably because she is his 
 only living relative! 
 
 Don't go and interest yourself in any 
 one else, for I have set my heart on seeing 
 you Mrs. Harold Rogers of the United 
 States Medical Corps. He is going East 
 as soon as his time is out here and I shall 
 have him call on you. You can't fail to 
 like him. Bobby worships the ground 
 he walks on and I suspect that he purposely 
 bumps himself and acquires slivers, simply 
 to make an excuse to be in his society! 
 
 How glad I am that O'Reilly was sea- 
 sick and that the other officer proved not 
 to be unattached. How wonderful are the 
 rulings of Providence ! 
 
 I must fly! I am supposed to be over- 
 looking the filtering of our drinking water, 
 and even at this very moment, a fuzzy, 
 goggle-eyed germ may be evading Sing's 
 watchful eye, with deadly designs upon the 
 Presidentia, but I needed to write at once. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 With love and best wishes from your 
 Germicidal Cousin Beth. 
 
 Mariquina Rizal, 
 
 June 25. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 My only excuse for not having written 
 more during the past month is that my 
 time has been taken up with Frank, and 
 as Mother has been writing to Aunt Fanny 
 every week, I knew she had stolen all 
 my thunder. 
 
 First, I think Mother has told you that 
 Frank has been ordered to the First 
 Reserve Hospital in Manila after fighting 
 it off for about two months. He has not 
 been really well since we reached here, 
 and instead of giving up to it and getting 
 some medicine from the doctor and taking 
 care of himself, he has gone ahead, not 
 saving himself and gradually growing 
 worse and worse until suddenly the col- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 lapse came. He was in no state to take 
 the nine-mile drive into Manila, but it 
 had to be done. We made him as com- 
 fortable as we could by putting a big 
 rocking-chair into the spring wagon, and 
 the doctor filled him full of the strongest 
 medicine he dared to give him just before 
 we started. It was a terrible trip. It 
 usually takes us an hour, but that day we 
 started at four o'clock and never reached 
 the hospital until nearly eight, as we could 
 only crawl. 
 
 He has been simply a bundle of nerves 
 for several weeks and his heart has been 
 acting badly, having attacks of palpita- 
 tion at the least excitement. I was thank- 
 ful when at last I saw him safely tucked 
 into his little white cot and I felt that 
 some one who knew what to do was 
 responsible for his comfort for I had felt 
 for days that here he was not getting the 
 care he should have. Our doctor is fine, 
 but there are many things a trained nurse 
 
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 would think of to relieve him which are 
 quite beyond my poor amateur attempts. 
 I had kept him very quiet here for three 
 days before he went into Manila, letting 
 him see no one but the doctor, so you may 
 imagine my horror when I found that he 
 was to be put into a ward with sixteen other 
 officers. However, no private room was 
 unoccupied, so it had to be. He hated 
 it and declared that he should leave in the 
 morning if he had strength to crawl, but 
 before morning came he was suffering 
 such agony in his left knee that he could 
 think of nothing else. 
 
 I don't know what they call his trouble 
 or whether they consider it serious or not, 
 as they are very close-mouthed, but the 
 doctor says that he will be sent to the 
 States, as soon as he is strong enough to 
 take the trip, as he cannot stand this 
 climate. I don't know whether it will 
 mean retirement, a detail in the States 
 or a leave, and perhaps the doctor doesn't 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 know himself. In any case, Frank's 
 friends who sent him the wire wishing him 
 a "speedy return" will certainly have 
 their wish. That is all I know, but I 
 want you to know as much as I do and I 
 will keep you posted. 
 
 The hospital is fine, the nurses lovely, 
 and he has everything that money and 
 thought can provide. It is one of the 
 finest military hospitals in the world, 
 has a beautiful location, perfect equipment, 
 a most appetizing mess, and a splendid 
 medical corps. In fact, he couldn't be 
 in a better hospital, but it is horrid to have 
 him away just the same. 
 
 I can't tell you how perfectly lovely 
 every one has been. The afternoon that 
 I took Frank in, we met Mr. Turner 
 coming out from Manila to spend the 
 night with the officers and have a regular 
 jollification, for he had been away on a 
 detail for a few days, and they were going 
 to celebrate his return. We stopped only 
 
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 long enough to say, " Hello, " as Frank was 
 too weak for more and when we reached 
 Manila and were just driving up to the 
 hospital I heard a great clatteration behind 
 us and the next minute Mr. Turner rode 
 beside us. He had rushed ahead to the 
 Post, after meeting us, changed horses, 
 and rushed back so as to be with me at 
 the hospital. His horse was covered with 
 foam and looked as if he had been through 
 a river, but I was so thankful to see 
 him. 
 
 After we saw Frank made comfortable for 
 the night, he took me out to dinner and 
 then would have turned around and driven 
 back to Mariquina with me, only that I 
 positively refused to let him go, as Frank 
 had made me bring his striker, beside the 
 driver, to protect my precious self from 
 bolomen "and sich" on the way home. 
 We were not attacked, but both our lamps 
 went out, so we had to come home nearly 
 as slowly as we went to town. 
 
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 When we reached the pumping station, 
 we found Captain Overton and Mr. 
 Lawrence sitting up, with a delicious 
 little luncheon ready for me, and the 
 captain had his own calesine harnessed 
 to take me the rest of the way. I wouldn't 
 let him go as it was after midnight, and I 
 felt as if I were keeping enough poor souls 
 out of their beds as it was. 
 
 Mr. Turner's mother had been staying 
 in town and was to remain through the big 
 military tournament, which this week 
 brings together hundreds of visitors from 
 all over the island. She invited me to stay 
 with her, so that I could be near enough 
 to see Frank every day and also meet the 
 people who were coming to the tournament 
 from San Fernando, our headquarters, 
 among whom were some friends I was wild 
 to see. Finally I promised to go in on 
 Thursday and stay until Saturday. 
 
 I spent all the mornings at the hospital 
 and every afternoon until three, when I 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 went to the tournament, and Frank took 
 his nap. After the games, I went over 
 and told him about the different events, 
 who were there, what they said, etc., and 
 it brightened him up wonderfully. 
 
 A crowd of us sat together and cheered 
 
 for the dear old Cavalry, when 
 
 there was occasion, but, my dear, we did 
 not lose our voices, for between you and 
 me and the gas-lamp, we drew for the 
 booby prize and lost it by only about two 
 points, but "tell it not in Gath." 
 
 We had most wretched luck, as six 
 of our men, who were sure winners, came 
 down with dingue fever at the last minute 
 and were sent to the hospital, but we 
 cheered whenever there was a ghost of a 
 chance. 
 
 Mrs. Turner was kindness itself and as 
 she has a carriage, we drove everywhere, 
 which means much in Manila. Thursday 
 night I went to drive on the Lunetta with 
 one of the officers from San Mateo, and 
 
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 Friday night a charming dinner was given 
 by some old friends of Frank's and after- 
 wards we went to a perfectly heavenly 
 dance at Pasay. That was the day Frank 
 was feeling much better. 
 
 The dance pavilion is built out on a neck 
 of land that runs into the bay, and the 
 breeze was glorious. I was invited to stay 
 over to the Saturday dance at the Army 
 and Navy Club, but I knew they were 
 expecting me back here. 
 
 Sunday evening, Lieutenant and Mrs. 
 Holland from San Fernando stayed all 
 night here. Mrs. Holland and I shared 
 the same room and talked all night long. 
 The next morning we all drove into 
 Manila together. There had been a very 
 heavy rain and the river was high, but 
 we managed to get through, though the 
 water came nearly up to the floor of the 
 spring wagon. I spent the day with Frank 
 and started for home just in time to be 
 caught in a drenching shower. When 
 
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 we reached the river, it was so high that 
 the overseer at the pumping station ad- 
 vised us not to attempt to ford it but to 
 use the ferry, which we did. 
 
 I went in again on Thursday and by 
 that time the river was so swollen that there 
 was some doubt if the ferry were strong 
 enough to take us over. After crossing, 
 the driver advised us to return by way of 
 Pasig, three miles out of our way, rather 
 than risk it again. It is well we did, 
 for it poured all day and even the big 
 government ferry at Pasig seemed not too 
 strong. 
 
 It rained all Thursday night, and all 
 day to-day, but I have made my plans 
 to go in to-morrow morning, rain or shine, 
 as I promised Frank I would. He was 
 suffering so when I was in yesterday that 
 I have been beside myself with anxiety. 
 
 Now we hear that the Pasig ferry is 
 out of commission and you can imagine 
 the state I am in. That is the reason 
 
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 I am writing to you for you know I always 
 tell you everything first, because I am 
 perfectly sure you will understand. I 
 want to walk the floor and scream! — 
 But I suppose it would not mend matters 
 materially. 
 
 Well, it is late and I must get up early 
 to-morrow. I will write again soon and 
 answer your letter. 
 
 Lots of love and a hug for your dear self. 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Mariquina, Rizal, 
 
 July 3- 
 
 Dearest Cuz: 
 
 Just a line for the mail to-morrow! 
 The last time I wrote you I intended to go 
 in town the next day, rain or shine. Well, 
 it poured all that night and poured the next 
 day, but I was determined to go, neverthe- 
 less. I could get no transportation from 
 here, but Captain Overton offered to let 
 
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 me have his spring wagon if I could find 
 any way of reaching the pumping station. 
 As I was about ready to start Lieutenant 
 Lawrence drove up, having been brought 
 on a raft across the river between here 
 and San Mateo, and he wanted me to go 
 to Manila with him. I jumped into his 
 buckboard and we started off for the 
 pumping station. The roads were simply 
 fierce! Mud up to the hubs and such mud! 
 — but by having the mules unharnessed 
 and sending them over first, then the wagon 
 and lastly ourselves, we managed to cross 
 by the ferry. Captain Overton had his 
 ponies harnessed to his beautiful victoria 
 and his cochero in white livery ready for 
 me, not knowing that I was coming with 
 Lieutenant Lawrence, but I kept on in 
 the spring wagon. 
 
 I found Frank suffering terribly. He 
 had been so lonely that I stayed with him 
 all day, except while Lieutenant Lawrence 
 and I went to luncheon, which he would 
 
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 insist on taking at the finest hotel in Manila. 
 It was late when we started for home, 
 and we decided to be on the safe side and 
 go back by way of Pasig. We arrived 
 there about six o'clock when it was already 
 growing dark, and we realized that it 
 would be black before we reached Mari- 
 quina, but imagine our feelings when we 
 found that the ferry wasn't running! 
 The mules had travelled over twenty 
 miles and we knew they wouldn't last to 
 go back seven miles to Manila and then 
 out to San Mateo, and there is no place 
 at Pasig where one can spend the night, 
 which, of course, was out of the question 
 in any case. 
 
 About this time a band of angels 
 appeared, disguised as the guard at Pasig, 
 all troopers from our own regiment, and 
 they said they would try to get us across. 
 It seemed utterly impossible but while we 
 stood there dumbfounded at the thought 
 of such an undertaking, they hailed two 
 
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 little boats made of trees hollowed out. 
 I was sent over in one, with our vegetables 
 and eggs and other marketings, while they 
 unharnessed the mules, tied ropes around 
 their necks and brought them over one at 
 a time, making them swim for it, as the 
 water was more than ten feet over their 
 heads. Then they took the buckboard, 
 a monstrous big one, and putting two 
 wheels in each of those little boats rowed 
 it over. I never saw anything more 
 cleverly done. I wanted to give each of 
 the men a thousand dollars on the spot, 
 but I didn't. We lost the road several times 
 and it was late before we were at home, 
 but we were thankful to be there at all. 
 
 When I went in town last Thursday — 
 I had Captain Overton's team — I found 
 Frank even worse than the time before. 
 The rheumatism, or whatever it is, had 
 gone into the other foot and into his neck, 
 and he was almost crazy with the pain. 
 The doctor said he would send him on the 
 
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 Sheridan, July 15, if he could be carried 
 to the boat without causing him too much 
 suffering, as this rainy season is bad for his 
 trouble. There are no glass windows 
 in the officers' ward, or in fact anywhere 
 in the hospital, I believe. When it rains 
 they close the wooden shutters, which 
 makes it as dark as a pocket and they 
 can't turn on the electric lights until 
 night. It is too forlorn for words, and 
 poor Frank is discouraged. 
 
 Mr. Turner took me in town yesterday, 
 and although Frank's rheumatism has 
 now gone into his other knee so that he 
 is entirely helpless from his waist down, 
 he did not look quite as ill and the nurse 
 thought perhaps he was a shade better. 
 
 I am packing up, — a fearful job, — but 
 we shall get all ready on the chance that 
 at the last minute the doctors may think 
 it safe to put him on board. If he doesn't 
 go on this boat, he cannot go for another 
 month and I cannot bear the thought of 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 his lying there and suffering for thirty 
 more long days. 
 
 I am sorry to leave the Philippines 
 without having the southern trip or going 
 to China, but my one thought now is to 
 take Frank out of this place. I have loved 
 it and could enjoy two years here more 
 than at any Post in the whole United 
 States, but it certainly does not agree 
 with Frank. I have asked for transporta- 
 tion on the Sheridan, but we shall probably 
 not know until the last minute whether 
 we can have it or not. 
 
 I am going to spend the day with him 
 to-morrow. There were to have been 
 "doings" in Manila to celebrate the 
 Fourth, but it has rained hard for twelve 
 hours with no present prospect of its 
 stopping, so the celebration may have 
 to be given up. 
 
 I am rather glad on Mother's account 
 that we are going back, for although she 
 is much better than she was, yet it doesn't 
 
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 agree with her here particularly well. 
 
 I have no idea what our plans will be 
 after reaching San Francisco, as every- 
 thing depends on what the doctors at 
 the Presidio Hospital say to Frank. 
 
 Mrs. Turner is going with us as far as 
 Nagasaki, which is fine for us, as she has 
 been there several times and knows all 
 the shops, hotels, etc. 
 
 I will write when I know anything 
 further. Lovingly yours, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 P. S. This is simply the last straw! 
 As if I hadn't trouble enough! Dr. 
 Rogers came in just now while I was 
 packing and asked me if I would mind 
 taking a little package for him and mailing 
 it when we reached San Francisco. Of 
 course I told him I should be delighted. 
 I was taken up with the trunk I was pack- 
 ing and didn't notice that he kept hovering 
 around in an unsettled way. Finally, 
 
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 he said, "I wouldn't trouble you if I could 
 pay the duty at this end, but I hate to 
 have her pay the duty, as — as it's a pres- 
 ent!" I assured him that it would be no 
 trouble whatever and made a few forceful 
 remarks on the subject of tariff in general. 
 Still, like Mary's little lamb, he lingered 
 near! At last, he broke out with, "Oh! 
 I say, Mrs. Arnold! I want to tell you, 
 that is an engagement present! It is 
 for Miss Standish! and" — blushing to the 
 roots of his hair, with his words falling all 
 over each other in his embarrassment, — 
 "we're goingtobemarried — assoonas I go — 
 tothe — States!" 
 
 I sat right down in front of the trunk 
 I was packing and groaned aloud, but 
 he was so red and uncomfortable I think 
 he didn't notice. How long I sat there, 
 with Chippendale tables, and dear old 
 ladies, and corner cupboards falling all 
 about my ears, I don't know, but I came 
 to myself in time to hear him say, "Her 
 
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 home is in Chicago, but she and her 
 father have been boarding in Boston this 
 winter, as he is connected with a large 
 pork concern there!" 
 
 I tried to come up to the scratch and 
 make my congratulations sound joyful 
 and hearty, but oh, my dear, such a 
 blow! I am about discouraged, and ready 
 to say that you may take one of those 
 men from civil life, but no! With a 
 chance of Frank's retirement, it is more 
 than ever necessary to find an officer for 
 you, that I may at least visit in the army! 
 No dear old home on Beacon Hill! No 
 place to visit after the theatre! Oh, dear! 
 and I prided myself that I was an adept 
 in chirography! 
 
 j* 
 
 The Glorious Fourth. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 I was preparing to retire when I found 
 the letter that I sat up to write you last 
 
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 night and took in town with me this 
 morning in order that it might go out on 
 to-day's boat. Was there ever such a 
 goose! Now I will add a short P. S. 
 
 I went in town with Mr. Saunders and 
 the doctor to-day. We started at an 
 unearthly hour that we might take in the 
 procession. It was due to start at eight 
 and as I could not see Frank until nine, 
 I thought I would see the beginning of it 
 anyway. We simply tore all the way in, 
 although the roads were in frightful con- 
 dition, and found a good place near the 
 grandstand. As we drove up, we heard 
 the bands playing and saw some men 
 marching out of sight. Then, to our 
 great surprise, people began to scramble 
 down from the grandstand and disperse 
 in all directions. We consulted the time. 
 It was only 8.15! What could it mean? 
 Finally we spied an officer whom we knew 
 and asked him to please 'make explana- 
 tions." He said it was quite simple. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 The processioners being of the early- 
 bird variety, having all assembled at seven 
 o'clock, decided not to wait but to have the 
 procession at once! Can you see one of 
 our Fourth of July processions at home 
 starting an hour ahead of time ? 
 
 He said they are apt to do this sort of 
 thing, and that the grandstand was rilled 
 even before they started. I am glad some 
 one was up in time to see it for we heard 
 that it was very fine, particularly the 
 Chinese display. 
 
 From there I intended to go to the 
 post-office to mail your letter, but Mr. 
 Saunders suggested that we should hunt 
 up some fireworks for the evening, and the 
 letter entirely slipped my mind. Nothing 
 short of my patriotism could have made 
 me forget you, dear Cousin! We had a 
 dreadful time finding fireworks, to begin 
 with, and when discovered, the prices were 
 outrageous. We expected they would 
 be all but given away, as we are near 
 
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 China, but we had to pay over twice as 
 much as we do at home. We managed 
 to purchase a few Roman candles and some 
 red fire and then put all the rest of our 
 money into one elegant piece. A flower- 
 pot! It was a huge affair and the Chink 
 assured us that it would yield a joy nothing 
 could efface. In a measure he spoke the 
 truth. 
 
 I spent the day with Frank, who is 
 feeling about the same and very anxious 
 to go on the Sheridan. 
 
 After dinner to-night we all drew our 
 chairs up to the front windows, while 
 Lieutenant Saunders and the doctor de- 
 scended to the front yard to show the 
 natives what patriotic citizens we really 
 are. The B. Bs. were out in force and 
 every available space on our high iron 
 fence was occupied. The yard was ter- 
 ribly squashy after the heavy rains, but 
 the officers managed very well by standing 
 on boards. The Roman candles excited 
 
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 the wildest enthusiasm, as did the red 
 fire; and we were quite proud. The town 
 crier was there, well to the front, and 
 seemed to be taking mental notes to 
 regale his patrons to-morrow. 
 
 We saved the flower-pot for the grand 
 finale, and of course we were most anxious 
 that it should be the crowning success of 
 the evening. In order to achieve the best 
 result it was necessary to put it up on 
 something fairly high. Nothing in the 
 yard would answer, but Hillario said he 
 knew the right thing and soon he and 
 Lucillio appeared, dragging between them 
 a huge ladder which had been used for 
 lighting the lamps on our fifteen-foot iron 
 gate-posts. A clumsy thing was formed 
 by balancing two ladders together, all 
 same card house, but there was no doubt 
 about its giving the flower-pot the desired 
 elevation. Armed with matches and the 
 grand climax of the evening, Lieutenant 
 Saunders and the doctor mounted slowly 
 
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 step by step, on opposite sides of the 
 ladder, while Hillario, Jose, and Lucillio, 
 braced at the bottom. At last they reached 
 the top, or near enough to place their 
 precious burden in position. There 
 seemed to be a little difficulty about light- 
 ing it. Lieutenant Saunders carefully ap- 
 plied a match. It gave a few vicious 
 spits and then died out. Then the doctor 
 cautiously applied a match, and a spark 
 flew up, but just as the crowd was prepar- 
 ing to cheer, out it went again. Then 
 Lieutenant Saunders approached it gin- 
 gerly from his side, match in hand. We 
 held our several breaths until we were 
 black in the face, in an agony of excitement, 
 when suddenly, Bang! Up into the air 
 shot a shower of stars and down into the 
 mud shot that ladder, and incidentally 
 flower-pot, doctor, Lieutenant Saunders, 
 and the three muchachos. Then there 
 was given such an exhibition of pyrotech- 
 nics as has rarely been rivalled. Blue 
 
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 balls and red balls and multi-colored 
 stars were interspersed with legs and arms 
 and mud and, I regret to add, profanity! 
 
 Nothing that Burbank has yet achieved 
 could hold a candle to that fantastic bloom. 
 We had our money's worth. Never have I 
 seen so many "golden snows," "silver 
 showers," " shooting stars," and " rainbow 
 effects," all emerging from one flower-pot. 
 
 The natives simply went mad over it, 
 and judging from the noise so did the 
 officers and muchachos. When at last 
 they were able to untangle themselves 
 and crawl out from under that heap of 
 ladder and exhausted flower-pot, I wish 
 you could have seen them. Why they 
 weren't shot full of holes I don't know, 
 but I believe the doctor thinks the flower- 
 pot landed on his back after he had landed 
 on top of Lieutenant Saunders, and went 
 off" from that position. This probably 
 saved their lives, but they failed to regard 
 it with proper thankfulness! 
 
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 When they were at last able to take 
 an upright position Bobby added insult 
 to injury by inquiring in perfect serious- 
 ness, "Is that all?" I never came so near 
 hysterics in my life! My sides ache 
 now as if I had been run over by a train, 
 but my condition is nothing compared 
 to that of the officers. They are a mass 
 of bruises and as to their uniforms — 
 fortunately they wore old ones — they are 
 masterpieces of pyrography ! 
 
 Now I must try to get some sleep. 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 P. S. No. 2 — I should like to hear the 
 town crier's description of our grand finale! 
 
 Mariquina Rizal, 
 
 July 12. 
 Dearest Bess: 
 
 I was never so excited in all my life! 
 
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 I can't sleep if I go to bed and I may as 
 well tell you about it! 
 
 To begin with, last week, the ferry 
 which we have been using to cross to the 
 pumping station went to the bottom in 
 midstream with eight of our men on 
 board. Four of them were drowned as the 
 river is so swift that no one could reach 
 them before they were dashed over the 
 falls. One body was found a mile below, 
 one three miles down the river, and two 
 at Manila. The bodies were not re- 
 covered for two or three days. It has been 
 terribly depressing, and cast a gloom over 
 the whole place. I had to go in to see 
 Frank the day after the accident. The 
 ferry had not been properly repaired, and 
 when we were about in midstream, the 
 native ponies became restive, the front 
 guard-rail broke and came down with a 
 crash, and they began to stampede, and 
 we thought everything was all over. I 
 was the only "white man" on board and 
 
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 I was scared blue! We barely managed 
 to reach the other side. I arrived in 
 Manila without further accident and of 
 course never told Frank a word about 
 the drowning or the ferry. 
 
 The doctor said he was gaining slowly 
 but he thought it more than doubtful if 
 we could sail on the Sheridan as Frank 
 is absolutely helpless and the trip to the 
 boat would be very painful; yet, on the 
 other hand, they are anxious to get him 
 out of this dampness. I was disappointed 
 because if we are going, the sooner the 
 better for him. While I was out at 
 luncheon some idiot brought Frank the 
 Manila paper, with news of the accident. 
 He was terribly upset and made me 
 promise not to use the ferry again. Con- 
 sequently when I went in on Saturday 
 I had to go by Pasig, and as it rained 
 cats and dogs I was soaking wet. 
 
 The doctor in charge of Frank's case 
 had asked for a board to decide about his 
 
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 going on the Sheridan. I hoped they would 
 decide before I had to start for home, but 
 all I could find out was that the typhoon 
 signal was up and that if it were rough 
 they couldn't possibly get him to the 
 Transport, which anchors two miles out. 
 
 Sunday noon Captain Overton tele- 
 phoned me that the board had decided 
 Frank should be sent on the Sheridan. 
 
 Maybe we didn't have to hustle. Cap- 
 tain Palmer was spending the day here 
 and he, with some men from the troop, 
 invoiced, marked, weighed, and numbered 
 fifty-one pieces of freight which had to go 
 early next morning. I was never half so 
 tired since I was born, and how I missed 
 you when I was writing all the tags. 
 You remember you wrote them before. 
 
 We planned to go Wednesday morning 
 to a hotel, attend to some last errands 
 and dressmaking, and go aboard Thurs- 
 day, as our trunks must be put on before 
 Friday morning. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 The typhoon broke just after I reached 
 home Monday night. It came down in 
 sheets all night, and, my dear, this morning 
 the river which usually is three hundred 
 feet back of us, was in our yard! Of the 
 orchard of banana trees behind our house 
 only the topmost leaves could be seen. 
 
 By nine o'clock the Mariquina ferry was 
 entirely washed away and Lieutenant 
 Saunders telephoned to San Mateo to see 
 if we could go in by way of Pasig, as 
 the lines were down between here and that 
 place. The Pasig ferry was out of com- 
 mission and would be unavailable for 
 several days at least! Then our command- 
 ing officer telegraphed to Manila and 
 asked them to send a boat up the Pasig 
 to take us and our trunks to Manila. 
 That was at ten o'clock this morning and 
 it has poured so hard ever since, that we 
 have to scream to make ourselves heard 
 above the rain. This forenoon Lieutenant 
 Saunders tried to call San Mateo to see 
 
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 if the commanding officer had been able 
 to get the boat for us, only to find that all 
 telephone and telegraph lines are down 
 between here and San Mateo and the 
 pumping station, so we are absolutely 
 cut off from everything! 
 
 The river between here and San Mateo, 
 usually only about eight inches high, is 
 now a dozen feet over a horse's head and 
 so swift that horses cannot swim in it. 
 The river has already come over three 
 hundred feet out of its course with a rise 
 of over twenty feet, and is rising every 
 minute. Our wash-woman, who came 
 to-night, said she stepped out of her house 
 into water nearly up to her waist. What 
 are we going to do ? We are as much cut 
 off from the rest of the world as if we were 
 on a desert island, and think of poor 
 Frank! It drives me wild when I think 
 how he is probably worrying, although 
 he can have no idea of the helplessness 
 of our position. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 As it looks now, nothing short of a mir- 
 acle can get us to Manila in time to take 
 the Transport and it will be horrid for him 
 to have to go without us. We have 
 packed everything but our tooth-brushes, 
 and sit around waiting to see what will 
 happen next! It continues to pour as if 
 Jupiter Pluvius had turned on the flood- 
 gates and forgotten the combination to 
 shut them off. Like the manna of the 
 Israelites on the sixth day, enough has 
 fallen to last for two days, but in our case, 
 enough rain has fallen to last two months. 
 I say quietly but firmly, that we have had 
 all the weather we can stand for the present. 
 Lieutenant Saunders says he knows that 
 the road between here and Pasig is all 
 under water and that no boat can come 
 up the river against the current. 
 
 I could not begin to tell you how kind 
 every one has been to us. That is one 
 thing about the army, all do just as much 
 for one another as if their mothers and 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 grandmothers had played together, and 
 they do it in the loveliest way! I adore 
 the army more every day I am in it, and 
 I fairly shudder when I think that Frank 
 may have to give it up! However, the 
 doctor believes he will be all right in the 
 United States. 
 
 I must write some more tags for our 
 trunks. I was disappointed to have no let- 
 ter from you in the mail yesterday. I felt 
 that out of five hundred sacks there must be 
 one letter for me from my dearest cousin. 
 Yours de profundis, 
 Beth. 
 
 Transport "Sheridan" 
 Pacific Ocean, 
 
 July 31. 
 Dearest Bess: 
 
 It seems years since I have written to you, 
 and I am appalled when I think of all I 
 wish to say. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 The last day or two at Mariquina seem 
 like a dream, or no! — more like an awful 
 nightmare! There we were, nearly sur- 
 rounded by water (all same island), 
 telegraph and telephone wires down, the 
 river over the tops of a dozen posts be- 
 tween us and the pumping station, both 
 ferries washed away, and four bridges 
 down between us and Manila. We knew 
 Frank would have to sail on the Sheridan, 
 and we realized what it would mean to 
 him in his extremely nervous state if we 
 were prevented from going on the boat 
 with him. We had to get our transporta- 
 tion papers the day before sailing and on 
 July 13, although we were all packed, 
 we seemed to be no nearer Manila than you 
 are. At noon, the telephone line between 
 San Mateo and Mariquina was patched 
 up and we had a message from the com- 
 manding officer. The men had made 
 three separate attempts to take a govern- 
 ment boat to Pasig to carry us and our 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 trunks to Manila, only to be driven back 
 before they had gone half a mile; and they 
 had been forced to give it up for the day. 
 They would wait until the fourteenth and 
 make another trial, if the river had gone 
 down in the meantime. The commanding 
 officer ordered Lieutenant Saunders to 
 take a detachment of the troop and see 
 if we could get through to Pasig, in case 
 the boat was able to make it the next 
 day. I had already sent my own beauti- 
 ful muchacho Lucillio to the pumping 
 station with a note to Captain Overton, 
 telling him of our position and begging 
 him to think of some plan to get us out. 
 How Lucillio was to reach the pumping 
 station I didn't know, but he declared 
 that he would do it, dead or alive, and 
 return before dark. 
 
 While Lieutenant Saunders was gone 
 I telephoned to Lieutenant Turner at San 
 Mateo. I knew he was holding "Non 
 Corn's School," but I felt that unless 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 he could help us, our case was hopeless. 
 
 He dropped everything and came almost 
 at the risk of his life. In crossing the river, 
 the natives were frightened by the current 
 and lost control of the raft, and he had 
 pulled off his coat and riding-boots, pre- 
 paring to swim for it, when by a miracle 
 they made a landing! He reached Mari- 
 quina late in the afternoon and as you may 
 imagine, was more welcome than an angel 
 from heaven! He immediately "took the 
 helm," and he said he would see us on 
 board the Sheridan before it sailed, or 
 burst! Lieutenant Saunders returned, wet 
 and tired and late for his dinner, with 
 the cheering news that there were two 
 bridges down between us and Pasig — 
 so that was out of the question! 
 
 After dinner, Mr. Turner by the aid 
 of a dozen troopers with lanterns examined 
 the road between Mariquina and the pump- 
 ing station. He took a trumpeter with 
 him, thinking the bugle, sounding officer's 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 call, might attract the attention of Captain 
 Overton on his side of the river. I sug- 
 gested that water call would be more 
 appropriate. However, when the men 
 reached the river, they could hardly make 
 themselves heard above its roar. 
 
 Mr. Turner hunted up a native who said 
 he would try to carry us and our trunks 
 across in the morning. The boat was 
 the regular native dug-out, less than a 
 foot and a half wide and about twelve 
 feet long. Two men propel these boats 
 with spoon-shaped paddles, and it is 
 wonderful to see what they can do with 
 them in a swift current. After Mr. Turner 
 had looked the ground over he told the 
 man we would be there about 7.30 o'clock 
 the next morning. 
 
 He found two culverts in the road, about 
 ten feet wide and five feet deep, that would 
 have to be bridged with heavy timbers 
 before we could cross, but that was to be 
 done in the morning. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 They returned about midnight and we 
 talked it all over. He said it was a big 
 risk and that if we all crossed with nothing 
 worse than a wetting, we should be lucky! 
 I couldn't see how they were going to 
 manage my big Saratoga trunks on those 
 boats and Mr. Turner himself was dubious. 
 
 In spite of all this excitement my birth- 
 day was not forgotten and we had the 
 nicest dinner possible, having even ice- 
 cream, although it took the last piece of 
 ice available for a week or ten days. 
 Sing outdid himself and made a great 
 birthday cake and delicious candy. 
 
 We were all up at five o'clock the next 
 morning, the trunks strapped, the bedding 
 roll made, and all the last things done 
 when Lucillio appeared with a long note 
 from Captain Overton. He had been 
 in town the night before and returned 
 too late for Lucillio to cross the river. 
 He said the one chance for us to make the 
 boat was to cross the river to him. He 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 would be waiting for us early in the 
 morning with plenty of men from his 
 troop to carry our trunks, and he would 
 send Mother, Bobby, and Lieutenant 
 Turner into Manila in the spring wagon, 
 take me in his victoria and let the trunks 
 follow in an escort wagon. He told us 
 to be provided with an entire change of 
 clothing as we could not make the crossing 
 without spoiling everything we had on. 
 He did not consider it safe, but it was the 
 only solution to the situation. 
 
 It would make me tired even now to write 
 of the delays we had in starting. We 
 finally left Mariquina about nine-thirty 
 o'clock and when it came to the point, 
 I found it hard to keep the tears back. 
 I had loved it all, and we had had good 
 times there, and it seemed forlorn to go 
 away alone. Half the town turned out 
 to see us start and poor dear little Sally 
 sat up on my window-sill, hugging herself 
 and making kisses until we were out of 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 sight. I forgot to mention that while 
 we were at breakfast, she chewed all the 
 tags off the trunks — the last tags we had 
 in the house — and such a time as I had 
 finding pieces of cardboard or any old 
 thing to fill their places! I forgave her, 
 she is such a little dear! 
 
 Lieutenant Turner was always jolly 
 and ready to turn every mishap into a 
 joke! When we came to the first culvert 
 we discovered that through some oversight 
 it had not been bridged. I thought it was 
 all off and we should have to go back, but 
 Lieutenant Turner galloped off and soon 
 returned with a road inspector and a 
 gang of fifty natives. After a delay of 
 three-quarters of an hour, they had it 
 bridged so that we could cross, and after 
 a short delay at the next culvert, we reached 
 the river. Captain Overton had been 
 waiting for us three hours. When I saw 
 the river, I would have gladly hiked back 
 to Mariquina! It looked like boiling 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 cocoa, and we could locate the roads 
 that led to the ferry only by the tops of 
 the tallest trees, peeping just above the 
 surface. 
 
 We left the wagon about a quarter 
 of a mile from the usual place. Captain 
 Overton and Mr. Turner made a chair 
 with their hands and carried us over one 
 at a time to the little boat, the horrid, 
 sticky mud up to their knees. 
 
 The men who carried the big trunks were 
 up to their waists in mud and water, and 
 the Lord only knows how they did it! 
 I can't tell you much about the crossing! 
 The officers who went over in the boat 
 with us had the precaution to take off 
 their coats and boots in case of any trouble, 
 and Bobby was warned that if he so much 
 as sneezed we should all promptly go to 
 the bottom. If the natives hadn't been 
 wonders we never should have seen the 
 other side, but they really are more at 
 home on the water than on land. It 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 seemed as if it took us an hour to cross 
 as we had to go far up the river before we 
 tried to cross the swiftest part of the 
 current. Then the minute the current 
 caught us we were whirled around and 
 rushed down the stream at a furious rate. 
 When I saw the shore rushing by us I 
 thought we should go straight over the 
 falls and down to Manila without a stop, 
 but gradually the desperate paddling began 
 to tell. Little by little the shore came 
 nearer and nearer, and as soon as it was 
 possible a lot of natives, who were waiting 
 for us, threw out a rope and we were drawn 
 in. How good it seemed to have the boat 
 slide into the mud on the other side! 
 Mother never waited for the "chair," 
 but jumped out and galloped up the bank 
 through the mud, shedding her rubbers 
 on the way. Bobby followed, fortunately 
 barefooted, with his trousers well turned 
 up, and Captain Overton was so relieved 
 to have us safely across that, wholly 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 oblivious of my one hundred and ten 
 pounds, he picked me up like a baby and 
 ran up the hill as if the devil were after us. 
 He took us to his quarters, where every- 
 thing was arranged for our comfort. He 
 turned his room and shower-bath over to us 
 and as soon as we were dressed and had 
 packed our mud-soaked clothes, he an- 
 nounced that luncheon was ready. We 
 had expected to have something to eat 
 in town, but he thought it would save 
 time and be easier for us to lunch with him. 
 Everything tasted good and the table was 
 pretty with flowers and cut glass and silver! 
 Just like a real party! 
 
 We started for Manila about noon, and 
 the trip took twice as long as usual on 
 account of the water, which in many 
 places was nearly up to the body of the 
 carriage. Bad as the storm was at Mari- 
 quina, I had no idea of the damage done 
 by it, until we reached Manila and read 
 the papers. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 One whole town was entirely washed 
 off the map by a cloudburst, and it is 
 believed that fully two hundred persons 
 were drowned. When we left, the river 
 was subsiding and they were finding 
 bodies everywhere. The morgue was 
 crowded. All railroad traffic was stopped 
 for three days and Manila looked like 
 a second Venice. When we were there 
 many of the streets were still under water. 
 The governor and the other city officials 
 were obliged to go to their several posts of 
 duty in boats, and as the electric light 
 plant was under water, the city was in 
 total darkness for several nights. 
 
 The day we sailed, the famous Bridge 
 of Spain was threatened, and guards were 
 placed at either end to prevent people 
 from crossing. It was damaged by a 
 barge which broke from her mooring and 
 came crashing down the river. About 
 a dozen natives were on board and as 
 she came whirling down at a terrific rate 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 they could be seen running about in an 
 agony of fear, like rats trying to leave 
 a sinking ship. A crowd was watching 
 from the bridge, waiting for the inevitable 
 crash! At last it came, the barge striking 
 it broadsides. The whole bridge shivered 
 from the shock and the sides of the barge 
 crunched in like a peanut shell. The poor 
 creatures screamed for help, which was 
 fortunately at hand, and what do you 
 suppose was the first thing to be tenderly 
 handed up from the doomed barge ? 
 One of the children? Oh, no! A plump 
 and glossy fighting-cock! 
 
 You remember that I have spoken of 
 Clarke's, the confectionery store of Manila, 
 where I always went for luncheon ? Well, 
 a snake was washed up on the front steps, 
 fourteen feet long! And not dead either! 
 I am glad I was not lunching there at that 
 time! 
 
 The First Reserve Hospital where Frank 
 stayed was threatened, but the water did 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 not cover the floors although the grounds 
 were under water for several hours and 
 every preparation was made to remove 
 the patients if it became necessary. 
 
 One of the disagreeable effects of the 
 storm was the stench arising from millions 
 of dead earthworms which lay rotting 
 on all sides and produced an effect on the 
 atmosphere calculated to turn the stomach 
 of a stone image. 
 
 It was romantic and picturesque when 
 one of the high officials Jiad to be carried 
 to the city hall, "pig-a-back," by a 
 faithful menial, and goodness only knows 
 how many more rode in like state. An- 
 other Mighty Person on his homeward 
 way had to divest himself of his robes of 
 state, and swim, in company with his 
 horse and cochero, toward the light that 
 indicated the location of his home. He 
 does not dwell in a marsh either, but on 
 one of the city's most travelled thorough- 
 fares! 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Strange to say, the natives succumbed 
 most easily to the dangers of the storm. 
 They offered no evidence in support of 
 the theory that "the Filipino can take care 
 of himself in his own country/' They 
 huddled in their shacks, knowing perfectly 
 well that they would soon be swept away, 
 but waiting for the paternal government 
 to come and save them. It certainly did 
 its best. 
 
 Captain Overton took me to the hospital 
 first, to let Frank know that we had 
 arrived, and then to see about transporta- 
 tion, freight, etc., while Mr. Turner took 
 Mother and Bobby to the hotel. Captain 
 Overton not only turned his victoria over 
 to me for the afternoon, but went with me, 
 which was worth much in seeing the 
 different military officials, who hate to do 
 business with petticoats. 
 
 The last thing we did, after six o'clock, 
 was to go to the quartermaster's to see 
 if the trunks had come safely, and to have 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 them checked. There were ten trunks, 
 a steamer chair, the Colombo hamper, 
 and my bedding roll. 
 
 The first question of the health inspector 
 was, "Are there any pillows in your 
 bedding-roll ?" I was too fatigued to lie, 
 and said there were four, whereupon he 
 said I would have to leave them, as mat- 
 tresses and pillows could not be carried 
 in a bedding-roll unless they had been 
 through the government disinfecting plant. 
 I did not feel like giving him my four 
 live goose feather pillows and asked if 
 there were no other way. He drew me 
 to one side and said, "If you can jam them 
 into one of your trunks, I will have the roll 
 and the trunk taken into a back room 
 where you can open them. ,, I knew there 
 was room in one of my dress trunks as I 
 had been expecting some new gowns from 
 the Chinese dressmaker in Manila and 
 left two trays for them, so I hailed the 
 suggestion joyfully! 
 
 237 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 I had not looked carefully at the trunks 
 before as my only thought had been to see 
 that they were all present or accounted 
 for. It was rather dark when my trunk 
 was brought into the back room, but I 
 discovered that it was covered an inch 
 thick with Mariquina mud. (This is 
 where you may get out your hanky and 
 prepare to shed scalding tears!) It took 
 us forever to open it, as the lock was 
 jammed full of mud, but at last the key 
 turned and the cover came up with a bang! 
 Oh, my dear! I hardly have the heart 
 to write it. Everything that I prized 
 most was in that top tray. There they 
 were, my pretty new gown with beautiful 
 embroidery, the white lawn with yards 
 and yards of ruffles and lace, the blue 
 and white jusi with blue ribbons, that I 
 had never had on, all my pretty girdles, 
 six new hand-embroidered shirtwaists, ten 
 yards of blue embroidered muslin, and 
 ten yards of white muslin with little blue 
 
 2 3 8 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 butterflies over it, besides lots of other 
 things that I can't think of now. All 
 soaking in mud! We took out that tray 
 only to find the next in the same condition. 
 This held my wash dresses that I expected 
 to wear on the boat, pinks, blues, and 
 whites, all mixed with mud and ooze! 
 The next tray containing two woolen 
 suits looked even worse ! And so on to the 
 bottom! I wish you could have beheld 
 those ostrich fans from Aden, attractively 
 fastened in separate boxes by ribbons. 
 They would certainly have made you 
 laugh — or cry! They looked like a couple 
 of drowned hens. Then two beautiful 
 tea-cloths from Malta, — well, it is enough 
 to say that everything in one of my largest 
 trunks is ruined. 
 
 If Captain Overton hadn't been there, 
 I should have sat down on my baggage, 
 like a sure enough immigrant, and howled! 
 We suppose it fell off the boat in bringing 
 it across the river and having seen the boat 
 
 239 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 I only wonder why they didn't all fall 
 off! There was nothing to do but to jam 
 my pillows into the trays I had left for my 
 new gowns, and have it locked up again. 
 
 That evening Lieutenant Palmer and 
 Captain Overton made the last arrange- 
 ments for getting us on board the next 
 morning. My dear girl, you will never 
 know until you are in the army yourself 
 how perfectly adorable army officers are. 
 Every one knows that they are simply 
 fascinating to young girls, in their becoming 
 uniforms and brass buttons, but the place 
 to see their real worth is with a poor old 
 married girl, with a sick husband, and no 
 end of worries. From now on I look at 
 a shoulder strap as merely a modified form 
 of halo. 
 
 At eight o'clock the next morning 
 Captain Overton arrived at the hotel and 
 from that time until the last launch left 
 at eleven-thirty, he went shopping with 
 me. When we arrived at the wharf there 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 was hardly breathing room left in the 
 victoria and we had to be pried out one at 
 a time from the packages. 
 
 As Frank had been dreading his trip 
 to the boat to such an extent that even with 
 opiates he hadn't slept for three nights, 
 we expected he would be utterly prostrated 
 and it was a great relief to find him fairly 
 comfortable, that is, for a man who has 
 lain flat on his back for thirteen days. 
 
 All our friends came to see us off, who 
 could get there in spite of the flood and the 
 pouring rain, and Captain Overton, Lieu- 
 tenant Palmer, and Lieutenant Turner 
 gave us a good send-off. It was lovely 
 for us to have Mrs. Turner with us for 
 she is good company and we are very 
 fond of her. Mother and Bobby and I 
 had a good-sized state-room, and Frank 
 had a lovely, sunny room all to himself 
 in the hospital, with three windows in it. 
 Not until the pilot left us and we were 
 really off did I realize how tired I was. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 I felt as if I would like to crawl into my 
 bunk and stay there forever! 
 
 The trip to Nagasaki was not entirely 
 pleasant. To begin with, I was dead 
 tired, and it rained every day. It was like 
 pulling teeth to crawl out the first morning 
 and Mother tried to persuade me to stay 
 in my bunk until I felt rested, but I was 
 anxious to know how Frank had stood 
 the night so I struggled into my clothes. 
 
 It was not very rough but bad enough 
 to lay out Frank's nurse, and I found 
 Frank in a pitiful state. The effect of the 
 medicine they had given him to get him on 
 board had worn off and he was suffering 
 horribly. I did what I could to make him 
 comfortable. He couldn't be moved with- 
 out excruciating agony and every groan 
 went through me like a knife. It took 
 me over three hours to make him even 
 passably comfortable, and when it was 
 over I crawled back to my bunk more dead 
 than alive, whereupon Mother and Mrs. 
 
 242 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Turner and the doctor stood over me and 
 read the riot act. It was most humiliating, 
 hut I had to stay there twenty-four hours! 
 I was as sore as if I had been in an ex- 
 plosion, and so tired! It looked as if I 
 wouldn't be able to go ashore at Nagasaki, 
 but I stayed quiet and took my medicine, 
 and when we reached there I felt more 
 like myself. 
 
 From the first glimpse of Japan to the 
 last, everything about it was perfect! 
 No fairyland ever boasted anything as 
 bewitching as the little Jap babies. How 
 I wanted to bring you one! We stayed 
 from Wednesday until Saturday, and on 
 Friday we took a trip to Mogi, which 
 seems like a dream. No Pooh Bah, 
 Yum Yum, or Pitti Sing ever approached 
 the fascination of the real thing! Such 
 politeness, such daintiness, I felt as big 
 as a carabao among them! Mrs. Turner 
 took us everywhere and made our stay 
 there delightful! It was hard to say 
 
 243 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 good-bye to her and the dear little island! 
 She is going to travel all over it and I 
 envy them both! 
 
 The weather up to this time was all 
 against Frank, damp and gloomy, and 
 affected not only his spirits but his rheu- 
 matism till he was in the depths of de- 
 spair. 
 
 After we left Japan we hoped to strike 
 nice sunny weather, but it rained for two 
 days and then we ran into a typhoon. 
 Now that it is over, I am glad to have 
 seen one, but while we were in it — well, 
 the ocean looked extremely deep and 
 wet! 
 
 The waves were twenty-five feet high, 
 according to the captain, but I know they 
 were as high as Bunker Hill Monument. 
 We were heavily loaded and the poor old 
 boat would poke her nose into a mountain 
 of water, then shudder and draw back, 
 and seem to catch her breath before 
 making another plunge. The life-boats 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 were ready to be launched, in case any one 
 should be swept overboard, as every wave 
 washed the decks. 
 
 The captain looked over the records 
 of tvphoons encountered in exactly the same 
 locality and found that out of fifty-eight 
 cases, fifty-six had moved in a southerly 
 direction; so he steered his course ac- 
 cordingly, only to find that this particular 
 typhoon followed the course of the two 
 exceptions. We went further and further 
 into it and the wind increased to such an 
 extent that we were making only a mile 
 and a half an hour with full steam on. 
 Then we stopped and drifted for seven 
 hours until the sea grew a little less rough. 
 It will make us about two days late at 
 San Francisco. 
 
 After that, with good weather, Frank 
 began to improve, and day before yester- 
 day, he was able to put his right foot to the 
 floor for a few minutes, for the first time 
 in seven weeks. He is much encouraged 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and although his left side is still helpless 
 and full of pain, the doctor says he will 
 have him carried out on deck at Honolulu, 
 if he continues to improve. 
 
 A hop is to be given for us at Honolulu 
 and I have been invited but my limited 
 wardrobe will prevent an acceptance. 
 My bath-wrap and kimona are about all 
 that is left to me! I needed you when 
 at last they let me down into the trunk- 
 room and I got at my poor old wreck. 
 Everything was green and blue and black 
 with mildew and mould. Such a smell! 
 and such a sight! Some of the things 
 had regular fuzzy whiskers all over them! 
 I shut the trunk up again, and at Frisco 
 I shall ask some one kindly to take it out 
 of my sight. The others may be just as 
 bad. I have had courage to open only 
 two beside the wreck and they — thank 
 heaven! — were all right. 
 
 Bobby is wild with joy at the thought 
 of going back to the States, and it was 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 certainly lonely for him at Mariquina 
 without a child to play with. 
 
 Travelling on a Transport with a lot 
 of "Casuals" is very different from having 
 your own regiment and band on board, 
 with all the necessary military formations. 
 This is simply pokey! 
 
 There is a good young man on board, 
 a member of the Y. M. C. A., who has a 
 phonograph, which he turns loose on us 
 every evening with "The Old Oaken 
 Bucket," "Nearer, My God, to Thee," 
 and "The Holy City." The men may 
 let him live until we reach Honolulu, but 
 we all hope for the best. 
 
 I will stop now, and you will doubtless 
 be glad to know I have so many symptoms 
 of writer's cramp that I expect never to be 
 able to hold anything again, except my 
 breath, so if you don't hear, you will know 
 why. Do write AT ONCE. 
 
 Lots of love, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 247 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 U. S. A. T. Sheridan. 
 
 August 13. 
 Dearest Girl: 
 
 Here we are, nearly home! We expect 
 to see land about five o'clock this after- 
 noon and to dock about ten, but we cannot 
 land before to-morrow. If it were not 
 that Frank, who continues to improve, will 
 be much more comfortable on land than 
 on the boat, I wouldn't mind if there were 
 another month of it, for the last part of 
 the trip has been really delightful. We are 
 nearly frozen to-day! Every one is shiver- 
 ing, even with sweaters and coats on, and 
 my nose looks like a bit of tropical sky. 
 
 Honolulu was simply beautiful! The 
 most perfect climate and oceans of flowers! 
 The natives seem to love flowers too, and 
 even teamsters and car conductors wore 
 wreaths around their necks and hats. 
 I have never seen such masses of flowers 
 and such brilliant coloring, as I saw at 
 the flower market. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 It was funny to meet our boat people 
 with their hats wreathed with roses and 
 pinks and big boas to match around their 
 necks. They call these boas "leis." For 
 fifteen cents Bobby and I invested in two 
 beauties made of pink and white carnations 
 that hung down below my waist, and on 
 him nearly dragged on the ground, and 
 for a quarter we bought all the lilies we 
 could carry. After we sailed, Frank's 
 room was quite a bower, and some of the 
 people who took the boat at Honolulu and 
 had friends to see them off were entirely 
 covered with leis of roses and lilies, car- 
 nations, and pansies. 
 
 Mother and Bobby and I took a carriage 
 and drove up to the Pali, a hill about six 
 miles above the city, where there is a 
 stupendous view. I believe it is the home 
 of the Father of all the Winds, for it nearly 
 blew our ears off! Every minute I ex- 
 pected to see Bobby caught up and whirled 
 over the precipice, and I was thankful 
 
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 when our united weight was holding the 
 carriage down and we had started down hill. 
 
 I am a firm believer in giving the devil 
 his due and I feel that it will be on my 
 conscience if I don't tell you about the 
 Aquarium. 
 
 The guide books told us of the most 
 gorgeous fish to be found there — some 
 peacock blue and orange, some scarlet 
 and gold, and others combining all the 
 colors of the rainbow. I promptly rel- 
 egated them to the place of green monkeys, 
 fat-tailed sheep, and spicy breezes. But it 
 was the truth! For once the guide-book 
 story could be taken without imagination, 
 and the most highly colored post-cards that 
 I can find, fail to approach the gorgeous- 
 ness of the live fish. 
 
 Well, I must finish my packing. The 
 only bad thing about trips is that they 
 have to come to an end. It is not at all 
 as if we were going home as soon as we 
 land! That would be grand and I'll 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 guarantee I'd be the first one down the 
 gangplank, but it may be months before 
 we set foot on our native heath, and I 
 am willing to own that I am not anticipat- 
 ing the prospect of boarding in a strange 
 city while poor Frank is patched up. 
 
 I am sending you post-cards of Japan 
 and a few from Honolulu. I wish I could 
 have found a better picture of the hotel 
 where we took dinner in Honolulu. It 
 is beautiful and the good old United 
 States "chow" tasted good! You would 
 have smiled to see us drinking great glasses 
 of milk with each course, the first we have 
 had since we left New York. The dining- 
 room is built out over the bay, where they 
 have the famous surf-riding. 
 
 Now I must fly. Lots of love to all. 
 Do write early and often. I am scared 
 stiff about the United States Customs 
 at "Frisco." Every one says they are 
 something terrible. Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Hotel, San Francisco. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 I arose at an indecent hour yesterday 
 morning that I might write to you before 
 breakfast, as that seemed the only time 
 I could count on. My family, however, 
 promptly hustled out of their oeds, and by 
 the time I was ready to write, they were 
 stamping around, declaring that they were 
 dying from hunger. I was dragged off 
 to breakfast, and my plan fell flat. 
 
 At first much of our time here was given 
 over to the Custom House. I divided 
 my hours between Frank and the deputy 
 inspector, almost to the exclusion of my 
 meals. After a little cajoling and un- 
 limited — shall we say, prevarication — I 
 managed to get all my things through, but 
 there was a dreadful time about some big 
 chairs that I bought at Bilibid Prison in 
 Manila, which either should have been 
 declared as baggage or not declared as 
 freight, or something. I would gladly 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 have kept quiet concerning them, but as 
 they were in crates large enough to ac- 
 commodate a grand piano and I had 
 heard dreadful tales about confiscation 
 of things that were not declared, I came 
 out boldly with the truth, whereupon I 
 was promptly assessed for ten dollars. I 
 was disgusted ! I told the inspector that it 
 was the first time in my life I had ever 
 spoken the truth in a custom house and 
 that it would surely be the last as it ap- 
 peared to be a luxury not suited to the 
 wife of a first lieutenant! 
 
 I told him that if his conscience allowed 
 him he might take my ten dollars and send 
 me forth on a life devoted to deceit and 
 falsehood. After having duly considered 
 the matter he decided that his conscience 
 wouldn't stand for it and handed me back 
 the money, suggesting, however, that next 
 time Td better say nothing, even if the 
 articles should be as big as a house! 
 
 After the inspection of my ten trunks, 
 
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 two steamer chairs, bedding roll, one 
 hamper, five valises, and fifty-two pieces 
 of freight, the next thing on the program 
 was to find something in my wrecked 
 trunk fit to wear. Everything was covered 
 with either mildew or mould, or both, 
 and I distributed the clothes around among 
 various French laundries and dye-houses. 
 They are just beginning to come home now, 
 with very indifferent results, and the money 
 that I would like to spend in Chinatown 
 is disappearing in gasolene and soap. 
 
 I spend half of every day with Frank, 
 who is gaining finely. He can stand for 
 two or three minutes at a time, but he can- 
 not take a step to save his life. His appetite 
 is better now that he can go out of his 
 room in his wheel-chair and sit in the 
 sun-corridors nearly all day. 
 
 About a dozen other officers are at the 
 hospital and none of them are too sick 
 to enjoy jolly times together. There is 
 some talk about sending Frank to Hot 
 
 254 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Springs, but probably not for some time. 
 
 We have been having a hot wave here 
 for nearly a week and how we have en- 
 joyed it! The thermometer has been 
 at 102° several days, and in some places 
 as high as 112 . We are feeling fairly 
 thawed out. 
 
 The Knights Templar have been doing 
 great stunts here this past week. They 
 came from Maine, Massachusetts, Florida, 
 Texas, Wyoming, Kentucky, and many 
 more States, nearly if not all the States 
 being represented. 
 
 Tuesday there was a fine parade by over 
 seven thousand knights with gorgeous 
 regalias. We were invited to see it from 
 one of the best places on the route, where 
 all the thirty and more bands began to play 
 and the drum-majors did their fancy 
 business and the knights marched in their 
 best manner, for we were in the Army 
 Headquarters Building, and they knew 
 the eyes of the regulars were on them. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 They certainly did themselves proud, 
 and none looked finer than those from 
 Boston ! The enthusiasm was about evenly 
 divided between them and the com- 
 mandery from Kentucky. Mother and 
 I clapped as if we were intimately ac- 
 quainted with every knight in the outfit. 
 When the band came along with " Bunker 
 Hill" in big letters on the bass-drum, the 
 crowd simply went wild. It takes these 
 Westerners to be patriotic! The decora- 
 tions and electric display were magnificent! 
 
 We have been invited to go on the navy 
 boat to-morrow to see the launching of 
 one of the big warships. 
 
 Bobby sends his love and says he wants 
 to see you. He is attending the public 
 school here and likes it very much. They 
 do not supply books and none of those he 
 had would do. The first day, after in- 
 vesting over two dollars in books, pens, 
 pencils, etc., he had his new twelve-dollar 
 overcoat stolen, and I am wondering, had 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 he attended a private school, "would he 
 have gained or lost, and how much ?" 
 Lots of love, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Hotel, San Francisco, 
 
 July 26. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 Last week I received a letter from you, 
 remailed from the Philippines. The snap- 
 shots in it were fine of the whole family 
 down to dear little Tatters. I have pasted 
 them all in my photograph book and we 
 enjoy looking at them. 
 
 Frank is doing just splendidly. When 
 Mother and I came home yesterday noon 
 from a bi-weekly trip to Chinatown whom 
 did we find waiting to have luncheon with 
 us but Frank! He came in on the cable 
 cars, changing cars too — and he looked 
 well — better than he has looked since we 
 left the States. 
 
 257 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 It began to rain in the afternoon, so 
 we persuaded him to stay and take dinner 
 with us, and I went back with him to the 
 hospital. He is in good spirits and I 
 am beginning to hope that he may some- 
 time be able to go on duty. He is ab- 
 solutely dependent on his crutches and 
 such a pair of knees I never saw! It 
 is a blessed thing that he belongs to the 
 United States Cavalry instead of to a 
 Highland regiment. 
 
 We were unusually gay last week. We 
 went to the Cliff House on Monday, the 
 circus on Wednesday, took in "The 
 Toreador " Thursday night, and "Fan 
 Tan" Saturday afternoon. It was enough 
 to make us wish to go all the time, but 
 unfortunately there are not many good 
 entertainments here. 
 
 I send you by mail one or two little 
 things that I picked up for you at different 
 places on our trip. I am sorry that I 
 bought nothing at Gibraltar, but I saw 
 
 258 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 nothing there that seemed typical of the 
 place, and as my means were limited, 
 I made up my mind not to buy what I 
 really didn't want. Now I wish I had 
 invested in some souvenir if it were only 
 a glass eye or a wooden leg. 
 
 The Tommy who took us through the 
 galleries gave me a piece of his insignia, 
 a little lion and unicorn, and I expressed 
 such enthusiasm that he promptly ripped 
 off the other piece and gave it to me, 
 which was exactly what I wanted. I send 
 it to you not for its intrinsic worth, which 
 I think is about four pence, but simply 
 because it came from the island that is 
 crowded with rampant lions and unicorns. 
 
 In Malta, I bought for you one of the 
 little Maltese crosses. You remember that 
 the Mediterranean fleet was there and 
 the streets were full of "Jackies" and 
 navy officers. Most gorgeous of them 
 all were the Queen's Own Highlanders, 
 and their finishing touch was the little 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 gold crown on their collars. I asked the 
 major, who took us through the barracks, 
 to get me two or three of them, and you 
 will find yours the dearest thing to fasten 
 a four-in-hand tie, and something a little 
 out of the common. 
 
 I will send you some more little things 
 in a few days. Please give my love to 
 everybody, and remember that I don't 
 prize your letters less because I happen to 
 be on the opposite edge of the same 
 continent. 
 
 With a big hug, lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Hotel, San Francisco, 
 
 October 18. 
 Dearest Coz: 
 
 You may remember that I said I would 
 send you some more little things in a few 
 days. Believe me, my intentions were of 
 the best! 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 After getting the porter (beside whom 
 the proprietor appears no larger than a 
 thimble) into a good humor by petting his 
 ugly old bull-dog, I had at last the felicity 
 to see my trunk dug out from under 
 fourteen others. Then I hoped that some- 
 thing would call him away, as all I wanted 
 was a little basket that I bought for you 
 at Aden. The baskets were the only 
 things from there that survived the soak- 
 ing in the Manila flood. The ostrich 
 fans I am saving with real New England 
 thrift to dust the kitchen stove with. 
 The porter seemed to have no interest 
 in the world beyond my trunk. I knew 
 it was not in the top tray, but I went 
 through carefully to gain time while he 
 watched me. Nothing doing! I tried 
 the second with no better luck, then the 
 third. By this time he was beginning 
 to regard me with cruel suspicion. I had 
 confided to him that I wanted something 
 of the utmost importance, which it was 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 imperative I should have at once, never 
 supposing that he would be present at 
 the opening. 
 
 There was only one more tray and 
 no sign of any basket! Only the bottom 
 was left, and I stood on my head and dug, 
 while he stood over me. I dared not come 
 up empty handed and when I had assured 
 myself beyond a doubt that the basket 
 was not there, I seized a bunch of things, 
 tumbled the trays back, and fled! The 
 things are spread over the room and when 
 Frank came down last night his first words 
 were, "Well! this room looks like a rum- 
 mage sale," and it does. Heaven only 
 knows when I shall have the courage 
 to ask for my trunk to put them back. 
 The basket, I find by consulting my 
 itemized list, is in a chest at the quar- 
 termaster's storehouse, at the Presidio. 
 Some day you shall have it, so keep up 
 good spirits! I will send the other little 
 things without it. 
 
 262 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 At the pyramids I bought from the guide 
 a little chain of bits taken from the tombs. 
 He held up both hands and solemnly swore 
 that he personally abstracted every piece 
 from the tomb of Rameses! I feel sure 
 that he spoke the truth because he was 
 partial to "Yankees from Boston." 
 
 At Colombo, I bought you a cigarette- 
 case — not that I imagine you have taken 
 to smoking— as we thought they were 
 unique and could be used as card-cases. 
 Inside you will find two little elephants 
 that are the proper thing in Colombo. 
 Elephants everywhere! Stuffed elephants 
 — wooden elephants — elephants' legs con- 
 verted into umbrella stands — elephants' 
 tusks fashioned into chairs and hat racks — 
 elephants in every size from fifteen feet 
 to a third of an inch. 
 
 In Singapore, I bought a hat pin made 
 of the famous moonstones, but never 
 make the mistake of trying to puncture 
 a hat with it! I bought one myself and 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 know whereof I speak! Mine doubled 
 up in a hard knot and I am wearing it 
 for a bracelet. As butter picks they would 
 be great, if the butter weren't too cold ! 
 
 At Manila, I found absolutely nothing 
 except the little shoes that I mailed you 
 from there. 
 
 At Nagasaki, on the other hand, I 
 wanted everything I saw. Finally I de- 
 cided to send you two distinctly Japanese 
 things — the dragon, which is found on 
 two-thirds of the things, and the three 
 little sacred monkeys, which are on the 
 other third. After our first day there 
 anything that did not show up somewhere 
 a dragon or a monkey was promptly 
 black-balled! 
 
 At Honolulu, the typical thing seemed 
 to be the "leis." The natives do not 
 consider themselves dressed without a 
 lei of some sort, — flowers, shells, leaves, 
 or coral, anything that can be strung. 
 So I send you a Honolulu lei with "Aloha," 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 which being interpreted means, "My love 
 to you," "How do you do," "Good-bye," 
 "God bless our home," "Keep off the 
 grass," or in fact anything that seems 
 to meet the need. And that brings us 
 back to the States again! How I wish 
 you could go right over the whole trip 
 with me! 
 
 Mother says it is time to turn in, so 
 good-night, dear, and all the love that two 
 elephants can carry. 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Hotel, San Francisco, 
 
 November 6. 
 Dearest Girl: 
 
 Your letter came yesterday. I am glad 
 you liked the little things and I only wish 
 they might have been the gorgeous objects 
 that I longed to buy for you! 
 
 Frank's orders came yesterday by tele- 
 graph to "proceed to Hot Springs, Arkan- 
 
 265 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 sas." We shall let him go on ahead 
 and hunt up a place for us to stay while 
 he is at the hospital, and if he doesn't 
 find a satisfactory place, we may go 
 straight home from here. 
 
 The weather here now is delightful, 
 sunny and warm enough to go without 
 wraps. We have come from such a hot 
 place that we feel the least bit of cold. 
 The rain begins the last of December and 
 then we shall be glad to leave! Frank 
 continues to improve and although he 
 generally carries a cane, he is not dependent 
 on it. 
 
 We have jamboree every Saturday night. 
 Last night we went to a fine minstrel show 
 and then to an interesting Bohemian place 
 for crackers and cheese and beer, where 
 we stayed until after midnight. There 
 seem to be more such places in this town 
 than in the entire East and we try a different 
 one every week. I think Uncle Sam 
 would enjoy some of them. The music 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 is generally very good. The people are 
 more interesting than a box of monkeys, — 
 miners, who have struck it rich and come 
 in to blow off the entire year's savings in 
 one week; tourists on their way to the 
 East (I mean the Orient) who verily seem 
 to smell of Baedeker; native " Friscoans," 
 who are often made up and overdressed, 
 and who keep the demi monde "guessing" 
 to get themselves up more conspicuously; 
 long-haired Rubes in from the ranch; 
 Germans in droves, from the grandmother 
 down to Hans and Fritz! It is as good as 
 a play, and the beer is good, and they 
 tempt you with all manner of thirst 
 producers, and the people sit and eat 
 pretzels, radishes, Saratoga chips, young 
 onions, and saltines ad libitum, and drink 
 until you marvel that they don't burst! 
 
 We have been very busy for a day or 
 two having our things packed to go East 
 by freight. As the tariff on excess bag- 
 gage is simple robbery, we are sending 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 everything we shall not need in the next 
 three or four months. Won't it be fun 
 unpacking ? 
 
 When you talk about "going home for 
 Thanksgiving/' it makes me crazy to 
 start. Frank says it would do him more 
 good to taste one of Aunt Fanny's far- 
 famed turkeys than all the* water at Hot 
 Springs. What grand times we have had 
 on Thanksgiving! I don't believe any 
 other family ever has such good times 
 or such a good dinner, and your dinner 
 cards have always been the crowning 
 touch! I wouldn't part with mine for 
 one hundred dollars, and I am dead 
 broke, too! I don't dare think about 
 home! Once I turn my face to the East, 
 the Limited can't carry me half fast 
 enough. 
 
 Isn't it hard that I never received the 
 letters you sent from Squirrel Island ? 
 I would about as soon lose a limb as one of 
 your letters. 
 
 268 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Hug yourself for me and give lots of 
 love to all "you uns." 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Southern Pacific Railroad, 
 Monday evening, November 14. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 Here we are off for Hot Springs! We 
 have intended to let Frank go on ahead 
 and make the arrangements, but when his 
 final orders came he dreaded going alone. 
 
 We packed in a grand scrabble, took 
 a last farewell of Chinatown and made 
 our last trip through the dear little Jap- 
 anese shops, in consequence of which, 
 my suit case is so full that whenever I 
 open it, it coughs up a fine assortment 
 of tooth-brushes, nail files, hair pins, etc., 
 over the aisle. Then Frank, manlike, 
 got us down to the railway station fifty 
 minutes ahead of time. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 The service at the hotel was perfect, 
 yet we were never conscious of the vast 
 army of slaves that waited on us until 
 we were leaving and saw them draw up 
 in columns of four on either side of the 
 hall to wish us bon voyage. The scene 
 was affecting for many of them must have 
 left their several occupations at no small 
 inconvenience to pay us this last touching 
 tribute. The "touch" cost me the few 
 cents that I had heroically kept, in spite 
 of Chinks and Japs, to provide myself 
 with literature on the train, but I see 
 now that my reading will, be confined to 
 the Southern Pacific folder. 
 
 We were more than lucky about our 
 baggage. Ordinarily one is allowed only 
 one hundred and fifty pounds and as each 
 of my three trunks weighed over two hun- 
 dred pounds, I could foresee trouble. But 
 they have a charming rule. People who 
 make the grand tour are allowed three 
 hundred fifty apiece and Frank secured 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 three hundred fifty on Bobby's half ticket, 
 so we had fourteen hundred pounds 
 allowance; and our seven trunks, Frank's 
 bedding-roll and my Singapore chair, all 
 came in just under it. 
 
 I believe that this road has been cruelly 
 maligned. To be sure the Tunis, our 
 sleeper, is not one of the newest Pullmans. 
 On the contrary, Frank says it must be on 
 its way to the St. Louis Fair as a model 
 of the first car that Pullman made out 
 in his barn, but really it is not bad! 
 
 As the train is made up at San Francisco, 
 we were supposed to start promptly at 
 5.45, but we did not start until six, giving 
 us an extra fifteen minutes to wait. Now 
 that we are really off, we are running as 
 smoothly as if we were on a boulevard, 
 though Frank says it is due to the fact that 
 we aren't making an inch over three miles 
 an hour. Frank is prejudiced! 
 
 It is time to turn in. I must climb into 
 the top berth, as Mother and Bobby have 
 
 271 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 one lower berth and Frank the other, and 
 as I have seen the step-ladder, I am filled 
 with misgivings. It is weak in the hind 
 legs, and collapsed in a dismal heap with 
 the porter while he was dallying with the 
 Pinsch lights. He mended it with a 
 piece of tender pink string, but I notice 
 he didn't trust his precious self to it again. 
 If I write no more, you may know that I 
 am laid up with a broken neck, or leg, or 
 something ! 
 
 Frank has returned from the smoking 
 car to say that we are an hour late at 
 Gilroy. Never mind ! We have from now 
 until five o'clock Wednesday to make it up. 
 At that time we connect with the Texas 
 Pacific at El Paso. 
 
 Good-night! It is good to know that 
 every minute brings me nearer you. 
 
 The "Tunis," Tuesday evening. 
 Dear Bess: 
 
 I wish I had had sense enough to bring 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 my camera. We are now in the desert, 
 and as far as one can see, there is nothing 
 but sand and cacti, — perfectly straight 
 cacties, as tall as a house, like a crop of 
 fuzzy telegraph poles! 
 
 The country is desolate, and it is as like 
 the country between Port Said and Cairo 
 as two peas, only there we saw an oc- 
 casional camel, and here there is nothing 
 more enlivening than a dead cow, now 
 and then, to break the monotony! 
 
 Instead of making up an hour during 
 the night we were two hours late this 
 morning. We went into the dining-car 
 for breakfast, which was very nice, but 
 costly! Oranges twenty cents apiece, eggs 
 twenty cents, and steak, one dollar fifty, 
 and of course we were hungry. I could 
 have eaten two oranges, six eggs, and two 
 orders of steak with relish, if I had not 
 foreseen that I might have to subsist on 
 cold cream for the rest of the trip. 
 
 We were due at Los Angeles at noon and 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 we decided to have luncheon there and save 
 all kinds of money, but at eleven o'clock 
 we ran up to a wreck on the track, and as 
 there is but one track on the Southern 
 Pacific Railroad it made things awkward. 
 We were forced to wait while the engine 
 of the wrecked train went on ahead to Los 
 Angeles for a wrecking train, which came 
 back, picked the cars up bit by bit, and 
 removed them from the track. We waited 
 in a half-famished condition until half- 
 past two o'clock rather than submit to 
 highway robbery in the dining-car. Then 
 Frank and I (Mother and Bobby had gone 
 to watch the wrecking train) made a 
 break for it, determined to eat even if 
 we had to pawn our watches. We found 
 that there was nothing doing in the "Eat 
 Car," as they were dependent on Los 
 Angeles for provisions. Finally, however, 
 rather than have us die on his hands, the 
 haughty head-waiter agreed on receipt 
 of Frank's December pay-voucher to give 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 us two ham sandwiches and two bottles 
 of beer, which we gobbled, all same Esau, 
 with hearts full of thankfulness. 
 
 In the meantime Mother and Bobby 
 bargained with a cattle puncher, who 
 arrived on the scene from the nearest 
 ranch, for some stale bread and two hard 
 boiled eggs at fifty cents each, not ostrich 
 eggs either! 
 
 Here fortune smiled on us again, for the 
 beer upset Frank's stomach so that he 
 wanted no dinner, but I had no such luck 
 and could have eaten hash. 
 
 We are five hours late to-night and I 
 am beginning to wonder if we can make 
 it up before we reach El Paso. The con- 
 ductor encourages us to hope that the 
 Texas and Pacific will wait for us unless 
 we are too late. It seems to be a question 
 now of what they consider "too late." 
 
 Well, I must go to roost! May heaven 
 preserve me and the hind legs of that 
 ladder. 
 
 275 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Wednesday night. 
 Dear Girl: 
 
 Here we are at El Paso, but the Texas 
 and Pacific didn't wait! Can you imagine 
 such lack of consideration in the South 
 where one is mis-led to expect much, and 
 after we had been making up time for the 
 last twenty-four hours and were only four 
 hours and thirty-five minutes late any- 
 way ? When do you suppose the next train 
 leaves for Benton where we change for 
 Hot Springs ? To-morrow night at seven 
 o'clock ! At first we were nearly prostrated, 
 not as much because it would mean a 
 whole day in El Paso and another night 
 on the train, but because it gave our 
 faith in southern chivalry a dreadful 
 jolt. 
 
 Frank and I went ashore and looked 
 over El Paso. It is a fine place if one is 
 staying merely long enough to coal up 
 but for any longer stay, Frank has pro- 
 nounced it a devilish Hole! A big con- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 vention has now brought men there from 
 all over the country, interested in irrigation. 
 The streets are decorated with flags and 
 bunting and electric lights, and all the 
 bar-rooms, which constitute more than 
 half the town, bear the legend, "Come 
 in and Irrigate. " Judging from the dele- 
 gates we have met, I think they are doing 
 their best for irrigation. Much is planned 
 for their entertainment. To-morrow after- 
 noon there is to be a grand bull-fight at 
 Juarez, Mexico, a place distant a ten- 
 minutes' ride on the electric cars, which 
 boasts the largest bull-ring in Mexico. 
 Then at Washington Park there is to be 
 an exhibition of steer-roping and bronco- 
 busting, to say nothing of a foot-ball game. 
 Some fascinating shop windows were 
 filled with Mexican curios, but as soon as 
 I discovered them, Frank was seized with a 
 pain in his leg and insisted on returning 
 to the car instantly. Nevertheless if I 
 am spared until morning I shall go straight 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 back to them. Now for my aerie perch. 
 
 The dining-car has gone gaily on to 
 New Orleans leaving us to the tender 
 mercies of El Paso. We shall have to 
 tumble out early to get a bite before the 
 Irrigators have gobbled everything, and 
 then me for the shops ! 
 
 The porter has invited me to occupy 
 a lower berth to-night as there are only 
 eight passengers. I judge that the step- 
 ladder is out of commission. 
 
 Good-night. 
 
 The Tunis, El Paso. 
 
 Thursday evening. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 Did I say we should leave here at seven 
 o'clock ? That was a foolish mistake. 
 We were only scheduled to leave at seven, 
 we really left about nine! For the last 
 two hours, we have switched up and down 
 the track, in sight of the very shops where 
 I fain would do a last errand and yet 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 afraid to leave the car for fear it might 
 take a notion to start. At last we are off 
 and soon El Paso will be only an irrigated 
 memory. 
 
 To go back to this morning! We 
 hustled out about eight o'clock and made 
 our shivering way through the cold gray 
 dawn to the nearest hotel. We met Mexi- 
 cans in their broad-brimmed, high-peaked 
 hats, their long black capes wrapped 
 around them up to the ears. There 
 are only two hotels of any importance 
 and we chose the first, merely to go in 
 where it was warm. Unfortunately, in 
 my effort to blot out the whole awful meal, 
 I have forgotten its name, but if ever you 
 have the misfortune to find yourself in 
 El Paso, avoid it. Our waiter was colored 
 and so was his apron, but not originally. 
 It looked like a brief record of the meals 
 served during the past year. After my 
 orange, he brought me a large finger-bowl 
 containing a fluid that resembled fish- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 chowder, owing perhaps to the fact that 
 six cattle punchers and four "irrigators" 
 had taken their morning dip in it before it 
 reached me. The thickness of the china 
 did its best to make amends for the cream, 
 and the coffee was worse than Postum — 
 nothing more can be said. 
 
 Mother, Bobby and I sought relief in 
 shopping, while poor Frank returned to 
 the Tunis to wrestle with indigestion. 
 
 We found many attractive things, but 
 all fearfully expensive, so we decided to 
 take a look at the shops in Mexico. By 
 this time the sun was out and we were 
 roasting in our coats. The sun at El Paso 
 works only from ten to five, but it puts a 
 good day's work into those seven hours. 
 
 In Jaurez we hunted up the jail first, 
 not because we had friends there but 
 because we had been told that the inmates 
 made very pretty baskets. We were es- 
 corted by about a dozen guards and 
 policemen to the chief officer, a Mighty 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Being encrusted with gold lace, who as- 
 sured us that they did not and never had, 
 and never would make baskets in his jail. 
 Probably we had in mind the prison in 
 some distant Mexican town, which we had 
 never even heard of. 
 
 The next thing to "do" was the old 
 Mexican church built in something B. C, 
 but up to date enough as to the floor, which 
 had just received a coat of shellac and 
 came near holding our attention the rest 
 of the day! 
 
 The shops were great and I don't 
 know where we should have stopped 
 had we not been previously warned that 
 we might have to pay duty on anything 
 purchased in Mexico. Mother bought a 
 little Mexican blanket woven like the 
 Mexican flag. She hesitated to take it 
 until the shop man explained that there 
 is no duty on anything costing a dollar 
 or less, and then, as this was just a dollar, 
 she yielded. 
 
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 I found a big Mexican basket the size 
 of a coal hod that I felt would make life 
 one long sweet dream, even if I had to 
 carry it in my arms all the way to Hot 
 Springs. As I couldn't make the shop 
 woman understand that she must let me 
 have it for a dollar in order to avoid 
 duty — she was most obtuse! — I had to 
 ante up one dollar and fifty cents. I 
 bought also several pieces of Mexican lace, 
 which, as I am slender (don't read that 
 skinny), I was able to secrete about my 
 person and only increase my natural 
 charm. 
 
 We suddenly discovered that we had 
 only ten minutes to go to the hotel where 
 we were to meet Frank and have luncheon, 
 so we hurried to the corner where the 
 cars pass and proceeded to wait. Several 
 passed us, all going in the wrong direction. 
 I began to think that Frank might not wait. 
 More cars passed, all coming from El 
 Paso, but none returning. Finally I in- 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 quired at a shop how often the cars went 
 to El Paso. "Every ten minutes," replied 
 the shopkeeper. "But we have waited 
 at least twenty and not one has gone in 
 the right direction," I exclaimed. "Oh," 
 he replied, "this is a belt line. All the 
 cars go the same way, but any one will 
 take you to El Paso in ten minutes!" 
 We took the next car all right! 
 
 When we reached the bridge that con- 
 nects Mexico with El Paso, the custom 
 inspector came aboard the car, which was 
 quite crowded, to look for dutiable goods. 
 Mother and I were thankful that we 
 had nothing to fear. In fact, I was quite 
 puffed up with pride — and Mexican lace — 
 in my innocence! 
 
 When he came to us, he pointed to 
 my basket and asked what it was. I 
 said, "That! Oh, that's a little basket I 
 bought for a dollar." (I had my fingers 
 crossed and said, "and fifty cents," to 
 myself.) "Oh, that's all right," he said. 
 
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 Then he turned to Mother's parcel, "What 
 is that ?" Mother, not to be outdone in 
 prevarication, said, "Oh, that's a little 
 flag I bought for a dollar !" Mother 
 never could tell lies gracefully, and he 
 immediately pounced upon the parcel 
 and undid it. Then he regarded her with 
 sad, reproachful eyes and said, "Madam! 
 this is not a flag, it is a blanket. I will 
 trouble you to leave the car and come to 
 my office." In vain Mother protested 
 that a thing two and a half feet long by 
 one and a half wide could not constitute 
 a blanket. In vain she called his attention 
 to the design and to the price! Nothing 
 doing! And there before the whole car- 
 load we had to get out and go to the 
 office. 
 
 I was still "chesty," but not with pride. 
 I never saw Mother so vexed. She wanted 
 to go back to tell the shopkeeper what 
 she thought of him, but I pointed out to her 
 that in the few hours before the train was 
 
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 to leave, she couldn't do the subject 
 justice. She offered to send it back but 
 the deputy wouldn't hear of it. He 
 weighed it, and measured it, and wrote 
 pages about it in different books, and 
 finally said it would be fifty cents. It 
 was like pulling teeth for Mother to separate 
 herself from that half-dollar, but the car 
 was coming and it had to be done. I 
 laughed until I was too weak to sit up, 
 and every time Mother's eyes lighted on 
 my beauty basket she launched forth 
 afresh on what she thought of the shop 
 keeper, the custom house and the deputy! 
 She still contends that it is a flag and not 
 a blanket. 
 
 Of course, by the time we finally landed 
 at the hotel, Frank was not there, and 
 it took me over an hour to find him. 
 
 After luncheon, which we partook of 
 at the other hotel — roast beef in a hollow 
 square of birds' bath tubs — we went to 
 see the "roping, breaking," etc., at 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Washington Park, as the bull fight was 
 not until four-thirty. The way they 
 roped the steers was simply thrilling. 
 They let one steer out of the corral at a 
 time, and a cowboy would go after it on 
 a little bronco and lasso it. Maybe 
 those steers can't travel! Mother insisted 
 on shouting, to the intense gratification 
 of the whole grandstand, "Look at that 
 cow! Can't she run though!" 
 
 The bucking was like the pictures of it, 
 only more so. I supposed they bucked 
 occasionally just to catch the rider off his 
 guard, but they buck so fast you couldn't 
 begin to count it. That the cowboys 
 stick on and are not injured for life after 
 the first three seconds is purely a miracle! 
 During the whole exhibition, only one was 
 thrown, and he picked himself up and 
 walked off as if it were a mere nothing! 
 It was over about four o'clock and I 
 thought we would arrive at the bull fight 
 just in time, but there was such a stampede 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 for the waiting cars that we decided to 
 wait for the next one. We waited and 
 waited! At four-thirty we began to ask 
 questions and were assured that the cars 
 ran every half hour. At five o'clock, the 
 sun finished and went home, leaving it cold 
 enough to f rapper us! Walking was out 
 of the question as we were five miles from 
 town. At five-fifteen the car arrived and 
 we simply fell over ourselves getting on, 
 but as the motorman evidently had a 
 date to play a game of billards with the 
 "gent" who owns the saloon in the waiting 
 station, we sat and listened to our chat- 
 tering teeth and watched the stars come 
 out and wondered if we could make the 
 Tunis by seven o'clock, or have to spend 
 another day in dear El Paso! 
 
 At five-thirty we started, but we had not 
 gone far when we met another car. As 
 we were on a single track, it necessitated 
 a long-winded debate on the part of both 
 motormen, at the end of which our man, 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 not as blessed with rhetoric as the other, 
 backed us up the road to a turn-out 
 where we waited and let the other car pass. 
 I shall never forget that trip, if I ever 
 live to get over the cold I have taken. 
 It was as dark as the inside of a cow and 
 as cold as a tomb. The passengers con- 
 sisted mainly of cowboys, who are, I 
 discovered, vastly more interesting and 
 enjoyable at a distance, breaking steers, 
 than at short range, chewing tobacco. 
 Think of missing that bull fight! While 
 I was hunting for Frank this noon, the 
 matadors in all their gorgeousness marched 
 through the streets with a brass band. 
 Worst of all, I went into a shop and in- 
 vested in a number of lurid postcards, 
 depicting all the various blood-curdling 
 stages of the bull fight, to add to my 
 collection of "things I have seen on the 
 trip" and now they have all soured on 
 my hands. 
 
 We had no time to hunt up a third 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 hotel, when at last, frozen and weary, 
 we reached El Paso, and as the other 
 two were not to be thought of, we stum- 
 bled into a little Chinese restaurant, most 
 unprepossessing, but standing between us 
 and starvation, where they advertised 
 "Dinner 50 cents." And such a dinner! 
 Everything was well served and delicious! 
 I have never in my life eaten such fried 
 chicken! We had to swallow it whole 
 and sprint for the train, and then we had 
 the felicity of sitting here, almost within 
 sight and smell of that fried chicken, 
 for two mortal hours! 
 
 I am beginning to feel more resigned 
 that we did not go to the bull fight, for 
 two gentlemen on the train, who went, 
 say it was disgusting! The bulls killed 
 seven half-dead horses before they in turn 
 were dispatched by the matadors. None 
 of that for me ! 
 
 We are really on the way to Benton 
 and if it were not for my basket and my 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 snuffles I could believe that I dreamed 
 about El Paso. 
 
 The "Tunis/' T. & P. 
 
 Friday. 
 Dear Bess: 
 
 Well, here we are still pounding away 
 through Texas and I am learning more 
 geography to the square inch than I ever 
 knew before. 
 
 Texas is not attractive as viewed from 
 the car-window. There are no more tall 
 cacti, but quantities of the prickly, flat, 
 mitten-shaped kind, that Kipling says 
 the elephant child's mother used to spank 
 him with. If my hands were not already 
 full with my Mexican basket and suit- 
 case, I should lay in a supply for future 
 use. I wanted Bobby to carry a bunch, 
 but he seemed uninterested. 
 
 There are cotton-fields and grazing 
 land and more cotton-fields, and the 
 railway station with its satellite saloons, 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 the store, more cotton-fields, and so on, 
 ad libitum. Not a bird, not a flower, 
 and not a tree worthy the name! 
 
 The conductor has just been through 
 the car to say that we stop twenty minutes 
 
 at B for dinner, or we can lunch 
 
 from the buffet-car. Having tried the 
 buffet-car for breakfast, we begged him 
 to enroll our names upon the list of diners 
 atB . 
 
 Saturday. 
 
 We are surely seeing the world! We 
 missed the bull fight at Juarez, but we 
 have just been the victims of a fearful 
 Texas "hold up." 
 
 When the train pulled in at B 
 
 (two hours late), we little knew what 
 awaited us, or nothing could have dragged 
 us, alive, from the "Tunis." Not blessed 
 with second-sight, we walked, yes, galloped, 
 blindly to our fate! Before we knew it, 
 we found ourselves in an awful place 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 bearing the suggestive motto "Eating 
 House" over the door. 
 
 The long tables were covered with 
 dishes containing hash, here and there 
 interspersed with slabs of pie and mounds 
 of anaemic beans! Talk about fifteen 
 kinds of pie in New England! It is 
 certainly more to be desired than fifteen 
 varieties of hash in Texas! There was 
 bilious hash, light brown hash, dark 
 brown hash, cinnamon brown hash, seal 
 brown hash, pink hash, yellow hash, and 
 HASH! 
 
 No one said, "Please pass me the corned 
 beef hash," or "Kindly hustle the fish 
 hash." They took no chances. It was 
 "Give me the red hash," or "the yellow 
 hash," as the case might be. 
 
 The pumpkin pie looked so much like 
 triangular chunks of Mariquina mud 
 that I was ready to weep with home- 
 sickness. The butter was a gorgeous 
 shade of burnt orange, and our neighbors 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 helped themselves to it with their own 
 knives in a way that made us feel as if 
 we were at a picnic. The gentleman 
 who sat opposite me did the most remark- 
 able work with his knife that I have ever 
 witnessed, and when he arose from the 
 table, alive and well, I felt that he had the 
 sword-swallower done to a finish! 
 
 I secured a small green apple which 
 proved to be occupied by a fat white 
 worm. Then I departed while I could 
 leave with dignity, and poor Frank was 
 held up at the door for four dollars. 
 Doesn't it seem awful to think that such 
 things are going on in a civilized country! 
 I am going to try to interest the Women's 
 Auxiliary in sending a missionary to 
 
 B . There is a grand field for one, 
 
 as also for doctors and undertakers. 
 
 We shall take our supper on the train 
 if it is only a cake of soap, but I feel now 
 as if I should never touch food again, espe- 
 cially HASH! 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 The " Tunis," T. & P. 
 Friday night. 
 My Dear: 
 
 We have just left Fort Worth, happy in 
 the possession of six doughnuts and two 
 bottles of beer. We took no chances 
 on another hold up, and procured our 
 supper from the buffet. It was not what 
 you might call sumptuous, as they were 
 "just out" of bread and cocoa and eggs 
 and a few other trifles. Then, when we 
 reached Fort Worth, we found the most 
 appetizing lunch counter loaded with all 
 manner of good things. Was there ever 
 such luck ! 
 
 While Frank went down a back street 
 hunting for beer — in Texas every one drinks 
 whiskey — I led Mother and Bobby through 
 various rooms in the station to an out- 
 of-the-way place filled with "cullered 
 pussuns!" I had no wish to be there, 
 but I was making frantic and ineffectual 
 efforts to go back to the "Tunis" with my 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 doughnuts. It was evidently a waiting- 
 room and I began to wonder if Fort 
 Worth were exclusively a colored set- 
 tlement. Some of the dark clouds even 
 went as far as to laugh at us. At last 
 by a miracle I found a door that let us 
 out into the main station, and looking 
 back I discovered a sign over the door 
 in letters a foot high, "Waiting-Room 
 Colored!" 
 
 To-morrow we may reach Hot Springs 
 but it is as well not to expect too much of 
 the T. & P. We are two hours and a 
 quarter late! 
 
 Hot Springs, Arkansas. 
 Saturday, November 19. 
 Dear Girl: 
 
 Here we are at last! We were supposed 
 to connect with the St. Louis Iron Moun- 
 tain and Southern Railway at Benton, 
 early this morning, but owing to some 
 trifling hitch, we were two hours and a half 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 late, and the train did not wait. We were 
 already disillusionized in regard to Southern 
 chivalry, but still it hurt; and when we 
 asked the conductor about the next train 
 for Hot Springs, we found that it would 
 not leave before evening. 
 
 I decided to start for Hot Springs 
 even if we had to walk. Benton was the 
 limit, the very extreme end of the exten- 
 sion! I know now why every one who 
 hails from Arkansas always says, when 
 asked where his home is, "Arkansas! 
 Now laugh ! Damn you !" 
 
 But for once fortune smiled and we 
 had waited only about half an hour when 
 a train pulled in. Nobody seemed to 
 know where it came from or when it 
 was due but they were certain it was 
 going to Hot Springs, and we lost no 
 time in climbing aboard. After a time 
 we discovered that we were in the second- 
 class car, but even that was Heaven, 
 compared to Benton! 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 On arriving at Hot Springs we hunted 
 up a small boarding-house, where many 
 army people stay, and we were fortunate 
 enough to find rooms. Mother has a 
 big, sunny room and I have a nice room 
 with a little one opening out of it for 
 Bobby. 
 
 Charming people are staying here, and 
 Frank can take his meals with us. He 
 is delighted with his room at the hospital 
 and I think we shall all do very well. 
 
 I am afraid I cannot send this by mail 
 if I write another word and yet I am long- 
 ing to tell you what a queer place it is. 
 Walking down the main street you would 
 certainly think that the place had been re- 
 cently visited by a devastating earthquake 
 or cyclone, for of all the banged-up lot of 
 people I have ever seen, these are the 
 worst ! 
 
 Mother and I seem to be almost the 
 only ones blessed with two good legs. 
 Two-thirds of the people walk with canes 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and the rest go on crutches or in wheel- 
 chairs. 
 
 The form of greeting is not "How 
 do you do ?" but "How is your leg?" 
 or "How is your knee?" They all carry 
 those horrid little collapsible cups and 
 stop at every spring or fountain to guzzle 
 down a cup of water at one hundred and 
 forty degrees. They ask you if you have 
 had your bath with no more hesitation 
 than we should feel in inquiring, "Have 
 you been to tea ?" 
 
 I will have mercy now and stop. Do 
 write often. 
 
 Love to all, 
 
 From Beth. 
 
 P. S. Frank has just discovered that 
 a Captain Goodrich, whom he knew in 
 the Philippines in '98, is staying at the 
 hospital. He is very nice and it will 
 make it pleasant for Frank ! 
 
 298 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Hot Springs, Arkansas. 
 
 November 23. 
 Dearest Cousin: 
 
 If you would rescue me from drowning, 
 send me a letter at once! Every one has 
 insisted that I should drink the water 
 while staying here for there is absolutely 
 nothing else to do! I have begun with 
 half-gallon bottles, but expect soon to 
 increase the amount unless I have some- 
 thing to divert my mind. Early every 
 morning, a red-headed youth deposits 
 the water at my door and until I am out- 
 side of the last drop my conscience gives 
 me no peace. 
 
 At some of the hotels they have a 
 system of bells that are rung to let the 
 victims know when to begin to guzzle 
 and when to stop, but we have no bell 
 ringers and if not diverted we drink with- 
 out a pause, except to cough or call for 
 more water. 
 
 When I began I did it merely to fill 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 up time — and space — but now that the 
 habit is formed, my first thought on 
 waking is Water, two glasses before break- 
 fast, and my last thought at night is 
 water, two glasses before retiring, to say 
 nothing of the numerous glasses to be 
 consumed before and after each meal 
 during the day. 
 
 I am perfectly confident that the hotel 
 proprietors are all in cahoots with the 
 spring-water men, for you can readily 
 see that after a person has drunk water 
 until it is on a level with his back teeth, 
 he is in no condition to put in a hearty 
 meal! Yet here we sit and drink and 
 drink, knowing that at dinner we can only 
 shake our heads sorrowfully at the roast 
 pork and beaten biscuit. Some people 
 even arise during the night watches and 
 drain half a dozen glasses, but I shall not 
 be in their class before next week! At 
 the present writing there is more water in 
 my system than in the Tanks at Aden, 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 and yet I fain would have another glass! 
 I shall have water on the brain and I beg 
 of you to save me before I have to be 
 rolled on a barrel. 
 
 I have just heard the man deliver another 
 half-gallon at my door, and I go where 
 duty calls. 
 
 Your much diluted cousin, 
 Beth. 
 
 Sunday, February 12. 
 Dearest Girl: 
 
 Just a line to let you know that I am 
 partly alive! Your letter found me in 
 bed with the grip, and I feel sick enough 
 to be there now, only it makes too much 
 work. Bobby has had two attacks of it 
 since Christmas and Mother has had a 
 bad cough, managing to keep up only by 
 a conscientious use of "Brown Mixture." 
 
 Every one is ill here! Frank has a 
 terrific cold on his lungs, and his general 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 health is not nearly as good as in San 
 Francisco. It thoroughly disagrees with 
 us all in this abominable place and you 
 must forgive me if I let out a yowl from the 
 tomb, for you are my unfortunate safety 
 valve! If I couldn't sit down and write 
 to you when I have reached this point, 
 I should certainly explode! which might 
 be all kinds of luck for you. 
 
 Did I tell you that we had to take 
 Bobby out of school before Christmas ? 
 The doctor advised it as there were sev- 
 eral cases of diphtheria, eighteen cases of 
 scarlet fever, also thirty cases of small-pox 
 and some measles. Over half the children 
 in Bobby's room were at home sick. There 
 has been a regular epidemic of grip here 
 and what wonder! We have had only 
 four pleasant days! The rest of the time 
 it has snowed, rained, hailed, and sleeted, 
 and tried combinations of all four, until 
 we are on the verge of insanity! Frank 
 became so desperate that he wrote the 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 War Department and asked for duty, 
 anything to get away from here! 
 
 We have nearly died with the cold! 
 This house might do very well in the 
 tropics, but it is all to the bad in a tem- 
 perature of under seventy degrees. By 
 burning night and day a horrid little kero- 
 sene stove, which goes all the smells at Aden 
 one better, and by wearing a sweater, thick 
 leggings and earlaps, I have thus far es- 
 caped frost-bite, but it has been a close 
 
 call. 
 
 I am losing all the fatness that I acquired 
 
 at Hotel C , and which I prized 
 
 beyond jewels and fine gold. I lost 
 seven pounds before I had the grip and 
 only Heaven knows how much since! 
 At present there is nothing left to lose 
 but my skin, and then!— a puff of air, and 
 — Nothing! 
 
 I am literally starving to death! This 
 hog and hominy will not down! I am 
 so tired of having it twenty-one times a 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 week, that my stomach fairly turns somer- 
 sets at the picture of a pig! 
 
 The trouble must be with me for many 
 people who come here rave about the table 
 and think these Southern dishes are fine! 
 I have a distinctly Northern stomach! 
 The far-famed beaten biscuit is to me a 
 poor imitation of a common cracker and 
 nothing more! 
 
 I am sitting on the register from whose 
 luke-warm breath I can foretell that 
 to-night we are to be regaled on a dish 
 appetizingly known as hog belly — Ugh! 
 At my side is the kerosene stove pouring 
 forth one part heat to ten parts smell 
 and in spite of my red woollen mittens 
 I think two of my fingers are touched. 
 
 Adieu — while I thaw out! Your half- 
 starved and wholly frozen 
 
 Beth. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Hot Springs, Arkansas, February 26. 
 Dearest: 
 
 You may possibly have gathered from 
 the newspaper I sent you, that it has been 
 decidedly warmer here — in spots! 
 
 About daybreak yesterday morning, I 
 awoke from a sweet dream of peace, to 
 the horrible conviction that my bed was 
 on fire, and the way I jumped out of it 
 was a caution! After prying my eyes 
 open and making a closer examination, 
 the fire proved to be two or three blocks 
 away, but everything was so lurid from 
 the reflection that it seemed much nearer. 
 Bobby and I hustled into our togs and lost 
 no time in sprinting to the scene of action! 
 
 It was an appalling sight! The fire 
 spread so rapidly that it was worse than 
 useless for the fire department to try 
 to save anything, and before we had 
 been there ten minutes, we saw ten or a 
 dozen houses burned to the ground. 
 
 The proprietor of the large hotel just 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 below us notified his guests (there were 
 over a thousand) that they had better 
 be prepared to leave at short notice and 
 it was as good as a circus to see them. 
 One portly dame was sitting on her trunk 
 in her robe-de-nuit, wearing a large white 
 picture hat bedecked with ostrich feathers. 
 Some of the guests had donned their 
 gladdest rags and looked as if they were 
 on the wing to a swell reception! Others, 
 and I think the larger number, appeared 
 clutching their bathwraps about them with 
 one hand, the other holding a grinning 
 set of grinders, evidently afraid to put them 
 where they belonged lest in their haste they 
 should swallow them! Such a variety 
 of bathwraps I never supposed existed — 
 every color and every shade, in plain 
 colors, plaids, checks, and stripes, polka- 
 dotted and gaily bordered, with hoods 
 and without, of flannel, turkish towelling 
 and blankets. There was a duplicate 
 for every bathwrap in the world. 
 
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 The fire department made more than 
 a dozen vain attempts to blow up houses 
 in the path of the fire, by throwing stick 
 dynamite into them. Several lines of 
 hose were manned by natives, and their 
 system of fire-fighting was unique! Some 
 one up the street shouted, "Here, you 
 fellows, Joe says to bring that hose over 
 to his house/' and with cheerful alacrity 
 they hustled over to Joe's. Before they 
 had had time fully to drench anything 
 but the piano on the porch and Joe, 
 who appeared inopportunely at his front 
 door, a yell was raised, "Say! Bill says 
 he wants that hose over to his house 
 quick!" and over it went, incidentally 
 knocking down old ladies, bearing Rogers' 
 groups and crayon portraits of Pa and Ma 
 to a place of safety, all with a charming 
 disregard for the particular location or 
 direction of the fire. 
 
 I was deeply interested in seeing what 
 different people saved, as most precious 
 
 3°7 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 among their Lares and Penates. Even 
 the fortunate had hardly time to save 
 more than one armful, and they had to 
 choose quickly. The pet dog won first 
 place every time, although he probably 
 would have found his way to safety had he 
 been allowed free use of his legs. Much 
 beruffled sofa pillows had a hard race with 
 ornate parlor lamps for second place. 
 One woman, seeing that her house was 
 doomed, made a mad rush inside and 
 returned triumphant with two cans of corn 
 and a package of Force! The owners 
 of Force should know this. Imagine 
 the advertising to be derived from this 
 single fact. It would beat Sunny Jim 
 to death! One poor woman who had time 
 for only one flying trip reappeared, carry- 
 ing a book. I was wild to see what piece 
 of literature she had considered valuable 
 beyond all her worldly goods to be a 
 comfort to her in her adversity. I bet 
 on the family Bible, as winner, with Mrs. 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Eddy's Science and Health, for place, 
 and the cook-book for show, but you will 
 never guess what it was — The Johnstown 
 Disaster! Misery surely likes company! 
 
 Frank was in his element! Though I 
 fear that remark sounds a little devilish! 
 He rushed in and saved a valuable horse 
 that was tied in a burning stable, and 
 he attempted to save a baby, whose 
 mother, in trying to save time, had brought 
 out the parlor clock instead of the infant. 
 After she had worked every one into a 
 frenzy, it developed that some other inmate 
 of the house had rescued the baby and a 
 tin slop-pail, and had them both at a 
 safe distance from the flames. 
 
 The owners of the race-track promptly 
 demonstrated that there is good in all 
 things by throwing open their immense 
 grandstand to hundreds of homeless people, 
 who otherwise could not possibly have 
 found shelter. As it is enclosed, the front 
 being of glass, and heated, and as the people 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 were supplied by the management with 
 unlimited hot coffee and sandwiches, it 
 made a very good temporary home. 
 
 You will doubtless be proud to hear 
 that on Washington's Birthday, I forced 
 a wedge into the Social Four Hundred of 
 Hot Springs, by attending the annual 
 Colonial Ball with Frank and Captain 
 Goodrich. It was a beautiful sight and 
 many notable persons were present. There 
 was the "ten thousand dollar beauty," 
 who travelled with Barnum for years, 
 also a lady who has ridden elephants 
 before all the Crowned Heads of Europe. 
 Then there was a buxom maiden, who, 
 before she met a certain book-maker 
 who "hit it rich," acted as "hash slinger" 
 in a Cincinnati restaurant (course dinner 
 25 cents). Her general appearance was 
 not exactly patrician, and yet there was 
 something very winning in the unconscious 
 way she bore her dance-order on her 
 upturned palm! 
 
 3JO 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 They chewed gum to the music with a 
 certain rhythm that seemed the very poetry 
 of motion! I was not able to secure an 
 introduction to any one of note, but then, 
 I cannot expect to break in with an axe! 
 
 On the way home, Frank and two 
 other officers took me into one of the 
 gambling clubs, as I was simply crazy 
 to see what it was like. "Ladies" do 
 not play until late in the evening, and 
 we found most of the tables filled. The 
 rooms were gorgeous with gilding and 
 sparkled with innumerable lights, and the 
 ladies were beautifully gowned. To my 
 surprise it was as quiet and orderly as a 
 Friday evening meeting, and no one 
 seemed in the least excited. They would 
 put up two or three gold pieces and watch 
 the result with considerably less interest 
 than I should had I ventured a cent with 
 a hole in it. 
 
 I noticed particularly two ladies who 
 were playing roulette. They were having 
 
 3 11 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 the cosiest chat together, scarcely turning 
 their heads to watch the wheel, except 
 when the croupier raked in their money 
 and motioned to them that it was time 
 to ante up again. This they did without 
 a moment's hesitation, doling it out as 
 if it were so much chicken-feed, and 
 instantly returning to their conversation. 
 They watched it with not one thousandth 
 part of the anxiety that I was feeling. 
 It seemed as if I must touch one of them 
 on the shoulder and say, "Pardon me, 
 Madam, but do you realize that you 
 have already lost twenty-five dollars on the 
 number fifteen !" 
 
 As we stood near them, I couldn't 
 help overhearing part of their conversation. 
 One, who was in deepest mourning, said, 
 "I am expecting to stay here but two 
 weeks longer, as it doesn't agree with 
 Reginald." The other lady expressed deep 
 concern, and she continued, "You see, 
 for a year before Henry died, he had to 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 use a crutch and he often struck poor 
 Reggie. Now the little dear is so nervous 
 when he sees any one with a crutch that 
 it is simply pathetic! You can imagine 
 how a place like this would get on his 
 nerves !" The other lady sympathetical- 
 ly murmured something about, "Cruel 
 shame !" "Yes," added Henry's wife, "I 
 have Marie take him to walk up on the 
 mountain every morning as he doesn't 
 stand so much chance of meeting horrid 
 cripples there." At this point the croupier 
 pushed a bunch of money in her direction 
 that fairly took my breath away! And 
 Frank, thinking that the sight might be 
 too much for my moral stamina, immedi- 
 ately discovered a pain in his leg, and 
 nothing would do but we must go home at 
 once ! I couldn't sleep, pitying poor abused 
 Reggie and wondering how much there 
 was in the pile his mother won, and if she 
 stayed and lost it all after we came home. 
 This morning Bobby and I betook 
 
 3*3 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 ourselves to the mountain to take some 
 pictures and I think we got some beauties, 
 which I will send you. We saw a spot 
 a little further up the hill that looked 
 ideal for a snapshot and were making our 
 way toward it, Bobby carrying the camera 
 and I dragging the tripod, when suddenly, 
 there was the most blood-curdling growl 
 right at my heels. I halted with such 
 suddenness that I nearly lost my balance. 
 You know how afraid I am of a dog, 
 and I dared not move an eyelash! I 
 could hear the breathing of the ferocious 
 beast, and the growls grew more savage 
 every minute. Fortunately, Bobby was 
 ahead and I had presence of mind enough 
 to scream to him to jump up on a bench 
 that was near. The growling ceased for 
 a minute. Cautiously I lifted one foot 
 and was about to try a step forward, when 
 the dog snapped. I continued to stand 
 on one leg not daring even to put my foot 
 to the ground. 
 
 3*4 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 There was no one in front to call to 
 for assistance and I decided, summoning 
 all my courage, to turn my head and 
 see if any one was coming. I turned, 
 very slowly, you may be sure, and I was 
 relieved to see a white-capped maid climb- 
 ing breathlessly up the path in my direction, 
 while growling savagely and regarding 
 my innocent tripod with blazing eyes, 
 was the most evil-looking wapper-jawed 
 bull dog you can possibly conceive of, 
 showing all his teeth, with every hair 
 on his back standing at "Attention!" 
 I wanted to say, "Good old Towser," 
 or something equally inane and con- 
 ciliatory, but like iEneas, "My tongue 
 clove to the roof of my mouth/' and I 
 couldn't let out the tiniest squeak! At 
 last the maid arrived, puffing and dis- 
 hevelled; stooping down she folded the 
 horrid brute in her arms and gasped — 
 "There! There! Did he think it was 
 another nasty crutch! Well, it's all right, 
 
 3*5 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 my Pettie. Nobody shall hurt dear little 
 Reggie!" 
 
 And that was Reginald! 
 
 The odor of pork and grits is gently 
 wafted in through my transom, so it 
 behooves me to prepare myself for the 
 eightieth consecutive appearance of "hog 
 and hominy." 
 
 Yours lovingly, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 Hot Springs, Arkansas. 
 
 March 25. 
 Dearest: 
 
 Hurray! We're coming home! Mother 
 and Frank are arranging the final details, 
 and probably it will be the last of this 
 week or the first of next. 
 
 That is not all! Captain Goodrich 
 is coming with us. At least, he has asked 
 for a leave and if it comes in time, he will 
 go North when we go. Such a small 
 
 316 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 thing has brought it all to pass, — yes, 
 very small indeed, dear Cousin, — in fact, 
 no larger than your dimple! 
 
 Frank said something to him once 
 about spending part of his leave with us, 
 but he thought his family would not be 
 willing to give him up, as he has only a 
 month. Yesterday, we were all sitting 
 on the piazza at the hospital when the 
 captain asked me if he might take a book 
 I had been reading. Frank said, "Oh, 
 you'll find that on the table in my room, ,, 
 so he went to get it. 
 
 He was gone so long that I finally put 
 down my work and went to his assistance, 
 and there he stood with the book under 
 his arm, gazing at your picture! The new 
 one you sent Frank with that love of a 
 dimple in it! When he saw me, he ex- 
 claimed, "I say, Mrs. Arnold! Who's 
 the girl ?" Well, what I told him seemed 
 not to lessen his interest, especially when 
 I added that we were expecting to have 
 
 3*7 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 you with us for several weeks when we 
 were at home. 
 
 As soon as he joined Frank, he ex- 
 claimed, apropos of nothing, "Jove, I 
 wish I could go North and have a week 
 or two with you!" and my dear! in ten 
 minutes the whole thing was settled, and 
 he is coming! 
 
 He is very nice! He is a good sailor 
 (so he says) and he is not married, neither 
 is he engaged, and the only fault that I 
 have been able to discover in him is that 
 he ranks Frank by about fifty files! 
 
 This may not appear to you as anything 
 against him, but to me, it is an almost 
 insurmountable barrier! I could have 
 found dozens of charming and suitable 
 cousins-in-law, had I been willing to select 
 from Frank's ranking officers, but it was 
 quite difficult to select the right one from 
 those below him! 
 
 Well, never mind! He is a dear and 
 I shall make you promise before I give 
 
 318 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 my consent, never to rank me out of my 
 quarters! 
 
 We shall stay over one day in New 
 York, but D. V. we shall be back at 
 Five Birches two weeks from to-day! 
 
 Frank's four months' sick-leave came 
 last night, and now my fingers fairly ache 
 to begin to pack ! 
 
 You will be amazed to know that for 
 the past three weeks, I have been having 
 a good time! Two new boarders came 
 about a month ago, a typical Southern 
 girl and her mother, who are both charm- 
 ing. I have fallen in love with the young 
 lady. She has the fascination often found 
 in girls from the South, and every one from 
 the cranky rheumaticky colonel down to 
 Bobby is at her feet. The racing season 
 has opened now in good earnest and as 
 her most devoted admirer has passes to 
 the grandstand, we go nearly every after- 
 noon. Usually half a dozen of us form 
 a party, and we put our money together, 
 
 3*9 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 sometimes amounting to as much as a 
 dollar, and bet! But tell it not in Gath! 
 
 If I had put a ring in my nose and ap- 
 peared in an abbreviated grass skirt, 
 Mother could not consider me more of a 
 heathen! But everybody goes to the races, 
 even the saintly minister, who boards here, 
 and who appeared to enjoy it as much 
 as the naughtiest book-maker. 
 
 We have had one or two dead sure 
 tips and have played them too. Judging 
 from the way the horses came in, they 
 were dead all right! 
 
 Before a race we generally visit the 
 paddock, as we have passes, and con- 
 scientiously examine the horses. Our sys- 
 tem is to play the horse that seems to be 
 having the most fuss made over him. 
 
 Yesterday, for instance, we picked a 
 horse called "Goliedown." I don't know 
 what he looked like, for he was all covered 
 up with blankets and bath towels, wrung 
 out of ice-water, with an ice-pack on his 
 
 320 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 head and red flannel puttees on each leg. 
 He had been given the dope, whatever 
 that is, and was shaking all over as if 
 he had palsy. Now, according to our 
 system, he was a sure winner, although 
 I must own we felt a trifle dubious when 
 we learned his name, and do you know, 
 I doubt if he has reached the finish line 
 yet! He was the slowest thing and in- 
 sisted on starting around the track in the 
 wrong direction three separate times. This 
 was probably the effect of the dope, but 
 it made the starters angry and we heard 
 aftenvards that the best time he ever 
 made was on the freight train that brought 
 him here. 
 
 After placing our heavy bets, we adjourn 
 to the vicinity of the telegraph booth to 
 await results. A man stands on a high 
 stool and with field glasses watches the 
 race and tells the operators the exact 
 position of the horses. 
 
 Perhaps you think it isn't exciting! 
 
 321 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 My dear, we nearly lose our minds, as 
 well as our money, when they come in 
 on the home stretch. I find it easier to 
 talk the lingo than to pick the winner, 
 but if we become very successful, I don't 
 mind putting up something for you. 
 
 Frank has just come in to say that we 
 leave next Saturday! How am I ever 
 going to put in my time between now 
 and then ? 
 
 You will have a spasm when you see 
 my general get-up, for I am a human rag- 
 bag! We bought no new clothes in San 
 Francisco because we wanted to wait for 
 spring things, and here you can buy 
 nothing but bath-wraps, bath-shoes, bath- 
 mitts, bath-towels, and baths! and I am 
 reduced to a muslin dress with low neck 
 and short sleeves, and a lawn wrapper. 
 I see only one way to do and that is to 
 take to my bed as soon as I reach home 
 and remain there until I can replenish 
 my wardrobe. If they have a rummage 
 
 322 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 sale within the next two weeks perhaps 
 you can find something for me. 
 
 Frank is much better and says that if 
 he gains as much in the next four months 
 as he has in the last, he will be able to 
 return to duty. I know he will be well 
 
 in a week after Dr. P has a chance 
 
 at him. 
 
 We have been hoping that Captain 
 Goodrich could go with us but his leave 
 has been "turned down!" Isn't it a 
 shame! I can't wait for you to meet him. 
 It is practically all over with him now, 
 and it only remains for you to say the word ! 
 His regiment is due for the Philippines 
 in about six months, and I will let you take 
 my book on astronomy, all my white 
 shoes, and the six jars of cold cream, 
 which, by the way, are still unopened! 
 I am sure you can't refuse all that and the 
 captain thrown in! 
 
 The races close in a week and then all 
 the naughty sporty people will go their 
 
 323 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 several ways, some with pockets full and 
 others fortunate in the possession of return 
 tickets, and Hot Springs will again be 
 left to the lame, the halt, and the blind! 
 
 It is beautiful here now, the hills are 
 blue with violets and the peach trees are 
 in blossom. 
 
 My dear, this will be my last letter 
 unless I send you a line from New York. 
 How our tongues will fly, and won't 
 we have fun unpacking! Hug yourself 
 for your most joyful cousin 
 
 Beth. 
 
 The Limited, 
 April 3. 
 Dearest: 
 
 We shall be in dear old New York in an 
 
 hour, and I must send you one last scrawl. 
 
 We have had a dandy trip! We started 
 
 on April 1, and all our crowd came down 
 
 to the station to see us off, even Captain 
 
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Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 Goodrich, who was nice and jolly, in 
 spite of the fact that he couldn't go with 
 us. Several persons came aboard to see 
 us made comfortable. He was the last 
 to leave the car, in fact, he waited until 
 the train was moving before he finally 
 tore himself away and made a rush to the 
 rear door. Then, what do you think ? 
 Before we were out of the station, the door 
 opened and he walked in again! He was 
 going all the time and did it for a joke on 
 me! I rushed to the door, and back at 
 the station the whole crowd were jumping 
 up and down, calling "April Fool!" at 
 the top of their lungs ! 
 
 Mother's one word of advice, delivered 
 on an average of three times a day, has 
 been, " Be sure and take plenty of warm 
 wraps." This we obediently did, and 
 imagine our unholy joy, when, not fifty 
 miles from Hot Springs, she exclaimed, 
 "I have left my coat hanging in the closet!" 
 There was nothing to be done but telegraph 
 
 325 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 back from the next station and she will 
 probably get it in the course of a week or 
 two. In the meantime she is planning to 
 wear Frank's extra coat, which drags about 
 a foot on all sides of her. 
 
 We had hardly recovered from that 
 excitement, when I discovered her hastily 
 going through her bag and suit-case, 
 turning everything upside down and evi- 
 dently laboring under suppressed excite- 
 ment. 
 
 At last she exploded, "I have lost my 
 money!" and when we discovered that it 
 was several hundred dollars, we promptly 
 shared in her excitement. We immediately 
 accused the chambermaid, the hired man, 
 the cook, and every one we had seen since 
 starting! In vain I made a systematic 
 search through everything, and tried to 
 make her remember when she had it last. 
 No use! It was gone! 
 
 The only place where she could get 
 a check cashed was Cincinnati, and we 
 
 326 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 arrived there on Sunday, but Captain 
 Goodrich said that his father, who kindly 
 met us at the station and showed us all 
 over the city while we waited for our train, 
 would cash one for her. 
 
 This he did and after profuse thanks 
 from Mother, we were returning to the 
 train, when I suggested that she had better 
 let me take charge of the money for her. 
 
 Mother said, "No! I will put this in 
 a safe — " and then she uttered a joyful 
 whoop — it was nothing less — and ex- 
 claimed, "I know now where my money 
 is!" If you please, it was pinned on her 
 "pussun" all the time while we had been 
 wearing ourselves out, wondering where 
 she had dropped it and who had stolen 
 it! She then returned the money to Mr. 
 Goodrich and we went on our way re- 
 joicing! I think her head is a little turned 
 in the joy of returning! 
 
 We are simply flying over the ground! 
 Nothing but the Limited would do for 
 
 327 
 
Real Letters of a Real Girl 
 
 me and every little jolt is bringing me nearer 
 to my dearest cousin! 
 
 We are all wearing the smile that won't 
 wear off and Bobby is singing "Onward 
 Christian Soldiers" in three keys, which 
 always signifies that he is on the topmost 
 pinnacle of bliss! 
 
 Good-bye again. No more hugs on 
 paper! 
 
 From your ecstatic cousin, 
 
 Beth. 
 
 P. S. Your captain has stopped over 
 at Cincinnati for three or four days with 
 his parents, to give us time to get the 
 house open, but we expect him at Five 
 Birches inside of a week. 
 
 I can hardly wait to say, "Bless you, 
 my children!" 
 
 328 
 
THE GARDEN 
 SERIES 
 
 By Carro Frances Warren 
 
 WHEN completed will comprise SIX of the most 
 fascinating, and at the same time uplifting and 
 instructive stories for children ever written. 
 The titles are : 
 
 (1) Little Betty Marigold and Her Friends. 
 
 (2) Little Polly Primrose and Her Friends. 
 
 (3) Little Goldie Goldenrod and Her Friends. 
 
 (4) Little Topsy Thistle and Her Friends. 
 
 (5) Little Peter Pansy. 
 
 (6) Little Danny Dandelion. 
 
 Of these the first two have already been issued, and 
 numbers 3 and 4 will be published in 1909. 
 
 Each volume will contain a page showing all the 
 flowers mentioned in the story, in all the beauty of 
 their natural colors. These Nature studies will be of 
 great interest and value to every child reader. 
 
 The many colored illustrations and handsome bind- 
 ing will make any or all of these volumes most attrac- 
 tive gift books for children. They will be sold at a 
 uniform price of 75 cents each. 
 
 At all Booksellers, or sent postpaid by 
 
 THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 2ii Tremont Street, Boston, Massachusetts 
 
JUN 26 1909