T2020.102.341

Sunday eve Nov. 8th, 1896

5337 KNOX STREET, GERMANTOWN, PA.

My dear "daughter, Edith:"

I cannot tell you all the many, many thoughts which have been going out to you constantly in these weeks when I have been too busy and hurried to find time to send them to you on paper. For a week or so, I seemed to be thinking of you nearly every hour, in between the many things I was doing, until I began to think there must be some special reason for it, and I turned the thoughts into, [???[, that whatever was the trouble with my child, the dear Lord would help & comfort her, and carry her safely through. I think, from what your letter tells me, that it was just at the time your dear

[Mosher/Mother?], was so ill, poor dear. I am so sorry for you to read of all the sorrow and sadness, and anxiety which has come to you since the day you bid me goodbye, so lovely, [or 'lonely'?], and I, so longingly, looked after you, & so wanted to keep you near me. One thing after another has come & change is indeed written all over your plans. I have waited day- by-day, for the letter from my brother. It only came last evening and I send it right on, hoping it may indeed be a help to you, and that you will be able to remain in, [squiggle?], and be near your dear ones, especially since your Pittsburg home is broken. I feel so sorry for your poor cousin. It is indeed not an easy thing, when a man grows older, to get again into business when obliged to surrender. After having held out so far during these terrible years of depression, it

seemed hard, he should have to "go under," just when things seemed to be on the verge of brightening, as now looks probable. Everywhere there seems to be hopeful hearts, men at work, once more, mills & factories opening and more courage and hope in the faces of man. I do not wonder, dear, that your "pocket book is flat." I should think it would be and am only glad you are not so your own self. It has been a long, hard strain for you and I wish you were beside me tonight, to tell me all about it and let me look into your face, and "cuddle" you a little bit, poor child. Miss, [illegible[, and I are here alone. Mrs. Bacon has gone for a week or more to my sister, Mrs. Parke's, [sp?], & Miss Lily & my nephew to spend Sunday with friends. It seems funny to have so small a family, [???], two

will return tomorrow. All of us are pretty well. I am very much better, in fact, pretty well when I am careful, but I cannot bear much strain yet. A too busy day gives me a too wakeful night. But now that I fel like myself, it is very hard not to work like my old self, especially, when everywhere in this world of ours, there always seems so much to be done. I have not seen any of your friends, nor heard of them since you left, except the item in the paper I sent you and a call from Mrs. Cameron who came to see if I could help her with her rent. She does not seem to have gone to England but, is keeping a little lunch room in the city. She & her daughter & son & his wife & baby are living together in the same house. Tiny out here where she was boarding next to my Aunt's, Main & Walnut Lane. Has had but little to do. Also the

or her nurse daughter. I have heard nothing whatever of Mrs. Magaffin, but have wondered how & where she was & what condition her sad affairs are in now. We have had a sad time over at the hospital. The head nurse there, you know who I mean & I will not write names, has gone away sick, never I fear, to be any better. But before she left, she was trying to brace herself up by the use of chloral & overdosed and things were in a terrible state for awhile. And before any of us knew of it, it has been pitiful if you were here. I would tell you more, but I will not write it. You would hardly have recognized her, in the noisy, excited, wild state she was in & I feel so sorry for her, sick & going home to her mother whose support she has been. It was too bad and it has been very bad for the hospital too, for patients have been neglected & nurses frightened &