This letter was addressed to Miss Edith King Peck, Norfolk, Connecticut, dated Oct 7, 1893. Stationary of J. S. Swain, Worcester, Mass.

My Edie:

I had a lovely ride on the "Land O:" as I said in postal I arose before 5: and could dimly see through the mist, the grand mountains of West Virginia. Now and then we swept through long tunnels, some hewn in natural rock, some like our Whiting Hill: one was a mile long. When at length the sun gilded the "Blue Ridge," and revealed through the vanishing mist, great valleys, rivers, and the queerest - funniest little cabins, tucked away in the most unlikely places, with new curls of smoke vaguely suggestive of slices of bacon and fragrant hoecakes, I was amply repaid. At our various stations I paraded up and down drinking in pure mountain air almost as vigorous (do I prove a traitor?) as Norfolk. These chilly little towns, some familiar ( as " White Sulphor Springs") seen before daylight's best effort, well needed the thick flannels I have worn ever since leaving Chicago. Little darkey boys and big jolly women with huge trays of smoking hot fried chicken, and fresh fruit were hard to resist with a "Lawd hav' mercy, jes tlk a little of our chickun"! Thoughts of our well served dining car restrained me from impairing the edge of an appetite destined to destroy all profit on a $ 1 breakfast at 8 A.M. We hurried that meal a bit by setting our watches on at Clifton Gorge 1 hour, returning to good old Eastern Time. We passed huge layers of coal up in the hills: and I suppose the people get full as cheap as anywhere on earth: for as the want it, in lumps of any size and if you lived up here I suppose Charlie would be " so-otired" you would emerge in the dawn and with your little satchel carry out the days warmth. Well, we arrived in Richmond O.K. and at once went to the fine new factory. At night we went home with Pres. Wright and Dexter, manager of Boston House. Papa is Vice Pres't. My long felt want of a visit to a real old Southern home was at last realized. It is an old house with a history: a fine one, with veranda and conservatory, old trees, a vast estate: the negro quarters outside. Lots of dogs, fowls, ? a dozen jersey cows, and 20 or 30 blooded horses, Wright's hobby. He himself is an Englishman, large, the handsomest man you can picture, a perfect model of a gentleman and a host. His wife, 20 yrs. younger, is a charming little woman, whose fine education and travel has fortunately never eliminated her Southern brogue. She says "raaund" "shorely" "I reckon" "do!" (for door) and "Mr. Wraight" with a delicious unconcern. We took 2 meals there: and their English roast beef, cabbage and bacon, rolls, corn cake and perfect fried chicken will linger long in my mind; some did so too long - in my crop?.

I saw a good bit of Richmond under the guidance of old "Unc' Henry" and a span of horses: stood in the pew of both St. Johns where Patrick Henry delivered his great speech, etc. But I enjoyed most sitting in the park, with a bag of peanuts. It abounds with great grey squirrels, young and old, who are all tame since no one hunts them, and will run all over your shoulders, lap, pockets etc. for nuts: I had four around me at once. Their eyes are so bright, and they will seize your hand with their paw and then sit upon your knee and crack the nut. Also there were two roosters and two hens, who would gravely eat from your hand: but the roosters got into a dreadful fight and funniest of all the squirrels and hen fought also, and the greys chased each other all about.

We left Norfolk on the steamer and I awoke to see framed in my little state room window a sweet picture "water-color" a grey sky in which hung a pale yellow moon: the red dawn just breaking, and under all the sweep of blue ocean.

We have a perfect day: sunny, yet cool, with just a long easy ground swell. Reach New York at 9 P.M. I had a lovely trip Papa has acceded to all my little plans, and paid every bill, furnishing me with all the money I wished, and buying me every souvenir I wished, and offering me more than I would accept. I have not had to economize, as he placed all the money in my pockets I could use or need. And yet, dear, I am not wholly happy: I seem to worry over you: I dreamed of you, looking so sick and white. I hate to think you would do your ironing when you know how I feel: but I fear you are in some way doing some extra task I should be glad to pay for. And I shall give you your ironing money soon as I see you. I want to see you so much - to talk over a number of things - and would like to come this Sunday? Would you like me to? I wonder is Aunt Sue up in West M. yet? If so I suppose I ought to go there and stay.

Now Edie, Jack has been a good boy and written you lots more than some boys would: and if you are doing any work he has asked you not to - give it up for him before he comes up. I marry you next Summer: I have waited a long time - I am unhappy unless I have you, and I shall insist this time on some way being found. I shan't care whether I have a vacation or not there - and you can ride about with me and we will go all over the route and stop at the old inns etc. together. It will be a great change for you, and I hope a pleasant one. Papa knows it and we shall look for you about June. Please dear write so he can hear soon. With lots of love, Jack.

Letter transcribed by Vergie Barber DeAntonio June 30, 2000

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