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Stanford, Sept. 25, '98.

My dear Mamma:

Yesterday was a cold, dismal, disagreeable day, forboding all sorts of bad weather. Last night we enjoyed the first rain in a six month's drought. The water just soaked into the earth, leaving puddles and pools to show where it had landed. This morning the sun and the son rose early and each smiled confidentially to one another. These fellows are great friends now for they see much of each other before the rest of the world is on its feet. It was six-thirty when I pulled myself out of bed and looked up into the bright face of old Sol. The old fellow never looked so fine. And even as I wre these lines the old busy body is peering over my shoulder and is making things warm for me.