Cv
 
 UNIV. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELB9 
 
 MY FIRST COUSIN 
 OR MYSELF 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNIE E. BARNARD 
 
 1909 
 
 Cochrane Publishing Company 
 
 Tribune Building 
 
 New York
 
 Copyright, 1909, 
 
 BY 
 COCHRANE PUBLISHING Co.
 
 FOREWORD. 
 
 THIS will prove a pleasant and acceptable book 
 to those who love to ponder over my interesting 
 and varied experience in Southern California. 
 
 The foremost and noblest character in this 
 little book of letters is that of myself ; therefore, 
 I have not the presumption to attempt to give 
 anything that would bear the appearance of a 
 critical judgment on a work, written by myself 
 to my own First Cousin. 
 
 Wanted, a hand to hold mine own. 
 
 As down life s vale I glide; 
 Wanted, an arm to lean upon, 
 
 Forever by my side. 
 
 Wanted, a firm and steady foot, 
 
 With step secure and free; 
 To keep its straight and onward pace 
 
 Over life s path with me. 
 
 Wanted, a form erect and high, 
 
 A head above mine own 
 So much, that I might walk beneath 
 
 Its shadow o er me thrown.
 
 Foreword 
 
 Wanted, an eye within whose depths 
 
 Mine own might look and see 
 Uprisings from a guileless heart, 
 
 O erflown with love for me. 
 
 Give me a cosy nook, 
 
 And a bubbling brook, 
 
 And a good book, 
 
 And the noise of a distant city, 
 
 To make me enjoy my riches. 
 
 We often fancy that the difference between a 
 born poet and a born fool is quite as slight as 
 the partition that is said to divide genius from 
 madness. However, it was a born poet who pro 
 duced the above poetry, and it is worth preserv 
 ing.
 
 Los ANGELES, January 15, 1907. 
 
 To my most clever and gracious Cousin: 
 
 (back East). 
 
 My dearest Cousin, Mary Ann Josephine 
 Kose Duffy, a most hearty greeting 
 to you this morning: 
 
 In response to your most interesting letter that 
 came to hand some time ago, I will write you a 
 letter on the installment plan, I being your 
 mother s sister s child, I should have "got busy" 
 and answered your letter before this late date, 
 nevertheless, no one has your welfare and success 
 more at heart than your Cousin in Southern 
 California. 
 
 But as we pass through life, jostled by the 
 pains that crowd into our old bodies, we often 
 lose sight of those whom from a long and tried 
 acquaintance become dear to us. We forget 
 them for a while, when the busy cares of life 
 press heavily upon us; but when from weariness 
 or disgust we turn aside to some quiet nook or 
 
 5
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 shady by-path, their pleasant faces and kind 
 deeds will up like fresh fountains in memory s 
 desert. Among such "pleasant memories," I 
 like to number you, my dear Cousin. 
 
 Years ago, when I plotted my daily round in 
 the avocation of milliner your kindness and 
 friendship was like wine that could make glad 
 the most desponding heart. I received your pict 
 ure also, and you look so nice and good. I am 
 very happy to think that you are a cousin of 
 mine. 
 
 Thank you, my sweet cousin, for the good like 
 ness, and the long letter, so full of loving words, 
 news and affection, and so like your own dear 
 self; it made me recall very distinctly other days, 
 of frivolities and pleasure. 
 
 Long I sat beside my window, lost in thought. 
 At first the present occupied my mind ; and then 
 thought went far back to school-days, in the old 
 dog-town school-house, the little red school, 
 where we spent mai^ happy days. One thing we 
 can both vouch for no one ever left it with a 
 classical education. 
 
 Soon memory turned another leaf of her tab 
 let, and your mother was before me and through 
 the mist of time came her low words, giving us 
 
 6
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 such good counsel, telling us that we should al 
 ways walk in the ways of wisdom and of truth ; 
 and then we would be content, and blest, and 
 highly esteemed. 
 
 But you know we were too hilarious to listen 
 to her good advice. Youth, and beauty, and 
 happiness, reigned triumphant. One might 
 have thought that our ages w r ere counted by 
 summers alone, and that our bosoms were undis 
 turbed by even a foreboding of care. 
 
 True it is, the hand of providence, which 
 united us in the ties that connect true cousins, 
 has loosened and we are separated you back 
 there in that frozen country, and me out here 
 in the land where it is summer always, and time 
 takes us rapidly on. They tell me that time goes 
 by very quickly out here because there are no 
 long winters, but between you and me, Mary 
 Ann and this letter, I wish that I could run in 
 to see you this minute. I am sure that I would 
 cry and laugh by turns. I would be so happy, 
 but I am sensible of my unworthiness of so great 
 happiness; my life, henceforward, shall be an 
 effort to deserve it. 
 
 It pained me very much to hear that your 
 health was not good of late, but I, not having 
 
 7
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 the power to sympathize with the feelings of 
 the Invalid, to understand her wants, her pleas 
 ure, and her annoyances, the full power of thus 
 sympathizing is only in rare instances possessed 
 by nature; it has commonly to be acquired by 
 experience; but as there is generally great 
 danger for the sick person, I have a sincere de 
 sire to remind you in this letter that you have 
 a foster sister away out in California, who was 
 very devoted to you. I know that it makes you 
 feel sad when you think of me being so far away, 
 but as this life is a scene of mingled cloud and 
 sunshine, we must smile with our weeping. 
 And, my dear cousin, if it is God s will to take 
 you soon please don t forget me in your "last 
 will and testament," as you know that I was 
 always very thoughtful of you. 
 
 You have always been so pure and holy I am 
 sure you will be happy, when the brief dark 
 struggle of life is ended; only think of what my 
 grief, and agony would be. 
 
 If I could not have your cheerful letters to 
 help me in this world s great field of battle 
 why I can feel my frozen heart melting into 
 tears, while I write about the possible passing 
 away of my idolized cousin.
 
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 January 25. 
 
 You said that you passed a tape-worm thirty- 
 six inches long (but you didn t say how wide). 
 Why, Mary Ann, you must have swallowed your 
 tape-measure, sometime or other, and that was 
 what you passed. 
 
 Or perhaps it was a surplus intestine, surely 
 you could not have a tape- worm all these years, 
 when you have always been as plump as a par 
 tridge. However, one can t pass very many in 
 testines and live, therefore, you ought to have 
 your "will drawn up at once," and if you should 
 leave your fond cousin the bulk of your property, 
 I will carry out any promise that you wish, and 
 I will have the following lines inscribed on your 
 head-stone. 
 
 "My loss is great I have lost my cousin, 
 
 And I must live alone. 
 
 No tongue can tell the pain T feel 
 
 No one can brighten my home. 
 
 Her body has returned to dust, 
 
 Pier limbs mold in the ground. 
 
 T hope the Lord will her reward 
 
 With an Immortal crown. 
 
 Smooth her hair and fix her sweetly, 
 
 Let the window curtain fall, 
 
 For death has taken my beloved cousin, 
 
 And she has answered the call."
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 If you don t think that the above lines are ap 
 propriate, let me know if you live to answer this 
 letter. When you read them please don t get 
 out your handkerchief, and begin to get senti 
 mental ; at least, just wait until you are dead. 
 
 Well now, dear cousin, for fear you might die, 
 I, agreeably to promise, will give you a slight 
 account of my adventures. My journey here was 
 very similar to anybody s journey. I was brow 
 beaten by conductors, snobbed and laughed at 
 by waiters, and humbugged by everybody. The 
 proprietors of what are called by public courtesy 
 eating-houses along the railroads, are schemers, 
 I tell you. A gentleman who sat next to me at 
 one stoppage told me that he was willing to 
 make oath that the turkey at the head of the 
 table was the identical one that had occupied 
 that place when he passed there a month before. 
 
 Indeed, I noticed myself, that the breast of 
 the unfortunate turkey was pierced with a num 
 ber of small holes caused by the proprietor s 
 plunging a carving fork into it with a flourish, as 
 if just about to dissect it, as soon as he heard 
 the first stroke of the bell which drove us all 
 away to our train. The whole journey I paid 
 as much for fasting as for feasting. And when 
 
 10
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 I reached here it would be difficult to say which 
 was in the worse condition my purse or my 
 stomach. For all those long miles across the 
 continent my vis-a-vis was a big fat red-faced 
 woman, with a turned up nose, and no eye-brows 
 at all worth speaking of, who held in her arms 
 one of those wonderful articles, called poodle- 
 dogs. 
 
 Now I don t think I m prejudiced against 
 dogs they are all very well in their place but 
 one giets disgusted to see a big fat woman taking 
 as tender care of a dog as she would of her first 
 born. I have the satisfaction of knowing that 
 I ve never had such a weakness and never in 
 tend to be guilty of such a thing. I solemnly 
 affirm that I never did, nor by any possibility 
 ever could, have fondled or caressed a dog, ?the 
 way that that woman did that pup. And to 
 add to my discomfort, in the section directly 
 across from mine, there was a man, his wife and 
 five children including a parrot. I will not 
 undertake to say the parrot never shut its mouth 
 for half a minute at a time, for twenty-four 
 hours; but I do say that, if it did, it was when 
 I was out of hearing. While the cars were in 
 motion, it kept up a continual opposition 
 
 11
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 clamor, seeming much surprised at finding itself 
 rivaled in its own peculiar game, occasionally 
 varying its performances by a shriek, which I 
 have no doubt was often taken by those in the 
 other cars for the whistle of the locomotive. 
 
 When they stopped it seemed to imagine they 
 were vanquished, and celebrated its victory in 
 a succession of yells, in which it poured forth 
 such a volume of sound as would certainly have 
 carried away its front teeth if it had had any. 
 It seemed at home on all parts of the gamut. 
 From lower G to upper A ( I am not sure that my 
 musical terms are quite correct, but you know 
 what I mean) its voice was equally well sus 
 tained, powerful and discordant. 
 
 To make matters worse, the wife of the man 
 kept hoping the passengers were not disturbed 
 by the parrot s noise, and protested that he was 
 ordinarily the quietest bird in the world. May 
 be he was, but, if so, the saying that "practice is 
 necessary to perfection" won t hold when ap 
 plied to parrots. Polly couldn t possibly have 
 made more noise in the same time if he had been 
 practising all his life for that particular display. 
 However, we happily got rid of the whole family 
 at Guide Rock, Nebraska, when they passed out 
 
 12
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 of the car. I threw myself back in my seat, and 
 just said, "Amen." The woman must have over 
 heard me, for she looked back at me, as if she 
 thought my education had been neglected. 
 
 The rest of the long journey to California was 
 solemn enough on account of washouts and 
 other mishaps. We were on the road seven 
 da3 r s. Our train was stranded for one whole 
 day on the boundless desert, where we saw the 
 sun rise as if rising from the sands. We took 
 a peep into one of the numerous Indian huts. 
 In rudeness and uncivilization we found the 
 inmates bearing a striking resemblance to their 
 little huts. In one corner was a roll of buffalo- 
 skins which doubtless served for beds. The 
 floor was the earth upon which the hut stood. 
 An old woman was seated by the fireside, smok 
 ing a pipe. Several large, swarthy-looking boys 
 were in one corner repairing their bows and ar 
 rows for a hunt. In another corner stood two 
 girls with mortar and pestle, preparing to beat 
 conyhanny; they were dressed in calico skirts, 
 with red jackets fastened with silver brooches; 
 their feet were covered with moccasins; their 
 hair was plaited and hanging down their backs. 
 
 A whoop started the boys. They gathered up 
 13
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 their bows and arrows, and some dried venison 
 and parched cornmeal, and went out where a 
 large company of hunters were waiting for them. 
 Soon the desert seemed to be alive with their 
 whoops, yells and the barking of dogs, when our 
 train started again over the everlasting hot 
 sands. 
 
 I was in a state of feverish excitement to see 
 California. The happy night arrived at last 
 when the big overland train pulled into the 
 depot at Pasadena. The passengers stood still 
 in awe. There were ten coaches of them. The 
 sky was perfectly clear, and the moon was shin 
 ing away, pouring a flood of soft light silently 
 through the quiet air. The moonbeams rested 
 on acres of beautiful orange groves that stretched 
 out far away to the mountains. I have many 
 fond memories of that night. There will always 
 be a sacred place in my heart for it, because of 
 the feeling that came over me. The quiet 
 beauty of the scene that spread before me and 
 the scent of the orange blossoms and flowers 
 made me think I had landed in another world. 
 
 At the depot there was a neighing of horses, 
 and rolling of carriages, and a general hum of 
 
 14
 
 My First Coiisin, or Myself. 
 
 voices, as passenger after passenger passed into 
 the hotel. 
 
 Now if there is anything I dislike more than 
 a screeching parrot it is a hotel. So I asked a 
 man with a doorplate on his hat, who begged 
 the privilege of carrying my baggage and 
 charged me a dollar for obliging him, by the 
 way to conduct me to a nice clean boarding- 
 house. A few rods down from the depot, front 
 ing on Meridian street, stood a large wooden 
 building, with double verandas and low oaken 
 doors. A huge palm swept the roof with its 
 large overhanging leaves, and low down on one 
 of its great leaves swung a weather-beaten sign 
 on which was printed in large letters "George- 
 ana." At this house my escort stopped and 
 rang the bell. A very tall lady answered. She 
 had on an old-fashioned pink dress with four 
 flounces, gradually decreasing from the bottom 
 upward, which gave her the appearance of a 
 half-opened telescope, and impressed me with 
 a great curiosity to put my hand on her head, 
 to see if the upper part of her body wouldn t 
 slide down into her skirts, where there was cer 
 tainly room enough. 
 
 She had a peculiar pinched sort of look, as 
 15
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 though she had formerly lived in a box, where 
 space was an object, and had accordingly 
 squeezed herself to the slenderest possible size. 
 She had a wide-awake appearance, and her mo 
 tions would lead you to imagine that she went 
 by some kind of clockwork, which being out of 
 order, only moved by jerks. 
 
 She straightway assigned me to a room on 
 the second floor. It was a pleasant room, over 
 looking a beautiful garden. One window was 
 completely covered with a rose-vine, still red 
 with blossoms, through which the new moon was 
 stealing in, while a soft wind stirred the flowers, 
 until it seemed as if the light had half-awakened 
 them. I sat crouched in the recess of the oriel 
 window for at least one hour, thinking things. I 
 should have been glad to have sat there an hour 
 longer, dreaming aimlessly, perhaps, but very 
 pleasantly, of the scenes and characters which 
 had taken so strong a hold on my imagination, 
 but I was not allow r ed farther quiet. 
 
 There was a slamming of doors, a sound of 
 voices, for every noise echoed with tenfold force 
 through that old house. I rose unwillingly 
 enough and drew a long breath, passed my hand 
 over my brow, smiled a sad smile, for home and 
 
 16
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 for YOU, Mary Ann, and for poor Edward. Did 
 you notice how his eyes filled with loving ad 
 miration, when he bade me good-bye? I sin 
 cerely hope that you can feel for me and have 
 charity for him while I am away. A hundred 
 times, that evening, I stopped to listen, holding 
 my breath, and turning white with keen expecta 
 tion. Some noise at the door some footfall in 
 the street, had arrested me. But the sound in 
 variably passed away, leaving me like a statue, 
 as cold and almost as lifeless. My watch never 
 ticked so loud before, and I did hate it for its 
 methodical tickling, listening with a double 
 sense; and with the cold tears standing on my 
 cheek, I lingered through that. lonesome even 
 ing, waiting for someone in vain. 
 
 Late into the night I lay recalling the events 
 of the past. The gray dawn broke l>efore I 
 deemed the night had sp.ent. Steps in the hall 
 roused me. I dressed quickly and went out into 
 the grounds. The old house stood on an emi- 
 
 ~ 
 
 nence. A winding drive sloped down the road, 
 and on either side of the dwelling were pleasant, 
 old-fashioned gardens. At the back was a sort 
 of lawn ending in three terraces, and beyond 
 
 17
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 the hill sloped gradually down through a grove 
 of sycamore and palm trees. 
 
 A little below, the Arroyo Seco dashed 
 through, leaving the banks precipitous and 
 broken, with sharp ledges of rock hanging over 
 the stream. Looking up the river, the rocks 
 loomed higher and more broken, extending 
 across the bed of the torrent and forming a 
 cascade, down which the waters leaped in a 
 sheet of spray, paused an instant upon a broad, 
 flat rock, covered with green moss and ferns, 
 then fell into the channel beneath, white and 
 feathery as a rush of snow. 
 
 It was a lonely and picturesque spot. Great 
 sycamores stretched their gnarled trunks over 
 the waters; tall pines grew upon the very edge 
 of the cliffs; below the falls the current was 
 broken by rocks that had been flung down by 
 freshets; and, after the winter rains, the roar 
 of the torrent could be heard at a great dis 
 tance. 
 
 I went dow r n to the run, and clambered up the 
 rocks to the top of the cascade, and seated 
 myself upon the trunk of a fallen sycamore, 
 looking dreamily into the waters below. I 
 caught the flutter of a coat along the footpath 
 
 18
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 that edged the brook, and looking again, saw 
 an old gentleman standing beneath me, watch 
 ing the leap of the cascade. My curiosity was 
 awakened, and, you know, Mary Ann, when my 
 curiosity is active I soon get over the blues. 
 
 I recognized in him the tall, dignified per 
 sonage that I saw standing in the hall the even 
 ing before. I went down to the place where 
 he stood, but the waters drowned every sound, 
 so that he did not notice my approach until I 
 was close beside him. 
 
 He started, gave me such a sly look and a 
 smile so beautiful that, for the; first time, a feel 
 ing of timidity came over me. 
 
 " I thought myself the earliest riser in the 
 house," I said, " but I see that you were in ad 
 vance of me." He was older than I had thought 
 the night before. He was quite aged three 
 score at least. His countenance was wrinkled; 
 his eyes were beginning to get dull with the 
 film of years; his skin no longer ruddy, but 
 faded and time-worn. Yet you could not look 
 into his face and at once withdraw your eyes, 
 for there was something there that held them 
 half entranced. I saw that a light within was 
 shining through the veil of flesh. 
 
 19
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 Dear old man! My heart went out to him 
 at once, his old beauty attracted me even more 
 than would a young man s beauty. 
 
 "Think of angels, and one sees their wings," 
 he answered. " I was just thinking of you. I 
 saw you come in last night, and knew at once, 
 you were a tenderfoot." 
 
 I can not say I was exactly pleased at being 
 called " tenderfoot," and I suppose I looked it, 
 for instantly his face flushed, as he tried to ex 
 plain. He said he had lived in California for 
 thirty years, and was familiar with every part 
 of the state. 
 
 " Come up this way," he directed. " I wish 
 to show you the view from some of those ter 
 races. It is peculiarly fine." 
 
 While we conversed the changes of his coun 
 tenance were a study. I had never seen any 
 thing like it in a person of his advanced years. 
 I had often heard the words "growing old grace 
 fully," but never so fully comprehended their 
 meaning as now. There was one who had be 
 gun to grow old gracefully many, many years 
 before. Ere the first gray hair had laid its al 
 most imperceptible line of silver among his dark 
 
 20
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 brown tresses, he must have begun the work of 
 growing old after this better fashion. 
 
 He helped me up the steep path, and we sat 
 down upon a big flat stone, which was so cov 
 ered with moss that it was like a couch. 
 
 " You must love this place," I said, after a 
 long silence. 
 
 " I never come here without discovering some 
 beauty which never struck me before," he re 
 plied. "Ah, I can understand that, people say 
 that you grow so familiar with beauty as to dis 
 regard it, but it never seemed true to me. One 
 needs to become acquainted with a spot like this 
 to take in all its loveliness." 
 
 There we sat for a long hour, talking as I 
 think, few strangers ever conversed between 
 themselves. I told him that I was left all alone 
 in the world, and came to California to seek my 
 fortune. 
 
 " Well," he replied, "you have come to one of 
 the most beautiful places on earth. You see the 
 country that lies between Pasadena and the 
 steep foot of the green mountains is patched with 
 orange groves and beautiful homes and flower 
 gardens." 
 
 And so we continued talking. 
 21
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 The breakfast bell had rung full a half hour 
 before we started back to the house. As we 
 went along I was a few steps in advance. Being 
 very much pre-occupied with my thoughts I did 
 not observe that I had dropped the " Lady of 
 the Decoration," which I had taken along to 
 cheer me up, until my companion, in a very 
 musical voice said : 
 
 " Miss Gray, allow me to return your prop 
 erty. You dropped this a moment ago." 
 
 I at first looked wonderingly up into the dark 
 eyes looking so eagerly down upon me, but then 
 recognized that, thanks to the fly-leaf, whereon 
 was written the owner s name, and to the find 
 er s presence of mind, that tempted him to 
 glance therein and read it, he had learned my 
 name. 
 
 I thanked him, and reached out my hand for 
 the book, but awkwardly dropped it again. We 
 both stooped to pick it up, but he picked up 
 my hand instead of the book, which deepened 
 the crimson in my cheeks into such a rosy blood 
 (hat it was really painful. 
 
 Of course, he could tender but a very lame 
 apology for such an awkward proceeding, so he 
 laughingly bade me give him the book to carry. 
 
 22
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 At the door I said, " thank you," and received 
 my book and a card, on which was engraved 
 "George W. Shufflebottam." With the rosy 
 glow rushing up again, I nodded another "good- 
 day," and flitted up to my room. I looked in 
 the mirror to see my red face, and felt glad at 
 heart that I had found a friend in a strange 
 land. 
 
 June 16, 1907. 
 
 Five months have passed away, Mary Ann; 
 since I started to write this letter. And I am 
 happy, very happy. More so than I ever de 
 served. I am living in Los Angeles now, have 
 been here two weeks. Am domiciled in a large, 
 pleasant room at 324 W. 17th street. There is 
 something very picturesque about this old 
 apartment house. It stands a little back from 
 the street. In the yard there s the grandest lot 
 of flowers I have ever seen, and on either side 
 of the front door there are beds of massive ferns. 
 And there are two orange-trees that stand all the 
 time just under my window. 
 
 Positively, I half live on the scent of flowers 
 23
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 and orange-blossoms; no perfume so delicious 
 as those same creamy orange-blossoms and the 
 budding roses. Los Angeles is certainly a de 
 lightful place. It appears the whole world is 
 here. Well, now I must go and dress. "Within 
 an inch of my life," as my sweet old suitor calls 
 on me with clocklike regularity. 
 
 He is so nice and straightforward I so like his 
 frankness and warm friendship, which I sin 
 cerely hope will never grow cold. You know, 
 Mary Ann, there is no one quality that so much 
 endears a man to me as cheerfulness. Talents 
 may excite more respect, and virtues more es 
 teem, but the respect is apt to be distant and the 
 esteem cold. 
 
 But it is otherwise with cheerfulness. It en 
 dears a man to my heart. 
 
 Yes, my heart goes out with big bounds to 
 such a man. I will tell you a secret, if you will 
 promise not to tell a living soul. Here it goes. 
 I have fully decided I love Mr. Shufflebottam, 
 and if he pops the question, I will accept with 
 out any delay. Who would have thought that so 
 warm an acquaintance could have been formed 
 in so short a time? Never could two light 
 headed, careless-hearted children trip through 
 
 24
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 their summer holidays more merrily than did 
 Mr. Shufliebottani and I those last few months. 
 We explored the wild woods in the mountains, 
 and tracked the windings of the tiny brooks. 
 
 We have been constant companions, we have 
 spent days at the seashore; we have fished to 
 gether, and gathered pebbles and shells on the 
 sand. We spent the entire day yesterday at 
 Ocean Park. Expect to go to Santa Monica 
 this P. M. Must dress now. Will write more 
 in the morning. 
 
 June 17, 1907. 
 
 Well, Mary Ann, I had a delightful time yester 
 day. Surely there is no other place in the whole 
 world more adapted for lovers than Southern 
 California. With her blue sky, softened with 
 delicate dreamy tints, and the flaming miras 
 bright with golden poppy cups, and orange 
 groves rich in luscious fruits and similar pro 
 ducts of the sun and the soil, are not all these 
 lands of invigorating air and blue skies have to 
 boast of. Men grow stronger, women fairer 
 under these favoring influences than elsewhere. 
 
 25
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 Figs, honey and wine were not the things that 
 made Athens famous. The old poetic moun 
 tains of Greece breathed inspiration from their 
 ever-changing peaks. The myriad smiles of the 
 blue Aegean not only made the fig-trees bear 
 abundantly, but they also compelled Homer to 
 write his solemn spondees and Sappho to sing in 
 her light trochees the passion of the heart. 
 
 The roses still bloom on the walls down south 
 of Naples, but we know more of Italy when Vir 
 gil and Horace sang. When Cicero and Tacitus 
 wrote, the verses of the poets, the fiery oratory 
 of the declaimers, the picturesque phrase of 
 Livy all reflect the golden summer days of 
 Italy. But, Mary Ann, what Greece and Italy 
 were to the ancients and medieval periods of 
 history, California will be to the Twentieth 
 Century and to America. There is no other 
 city that can compare with Los Angeles. No 
 other country with such a capitol and such beau 
 tiful sister cities. No other urban and interur- 
 ban car-lines that handle crowds so r ,vell. No 
 other place with snow-capped mountains and 
 eternal summer seas within an hour of each 
 other, and a Los Angeles between! No sum 
 mer and winter climate half so comfortable. 
 
 26
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 The climate here is truly the greatest asset, and 
 the summer, they tell me, will in years to come 
 attract even more than the winters. 
 
 Comparatively few people are honestly ac 
 quainted with the summer climate. I have been 
 more comfortable here than I have been ever be 
 fore ; there is no murky, sticky, make-you-sick-at- 
 your-stomach heat during an} 7 day or night. 
 The sunshine is warm, but never excessively or 
 distressingly hot. The shade is always cool ; the 
 nights are always delightful. One can sleep 
 every night under coverlid or blanket. There 
 are comfortable theaters always open, and the 
 very finest shopping places for women. Hotels 
 and restaurants are in abundance. I don t know 
 of any summer resort anywhere else in which 
 one can be so genuinely comfortable? My sum 
 mer experiences during these few months in Los 
 Angeles have made me feel younger and happier 
 than I have ever been before. 
 
 No city of the West suggests such picturesque 
 opportunities and sight-seeing possibilities as 
 Los Angeles. Telling of the past, a time of mis 
 sions and siestas and a future of activity and 
 metropolitan advancement. Surely nature has 
 been very kind to southern California in the way 
 
 27
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 of climate, and as a consequence the winters are 
 mild and sunny and the summers pleasant, the 
 ocean breezes cooling the summer climate sun 
 shine to a pleasant temperature. I am sure it 
 is a pleasant place to live in the year round. 
 And if I change my name to Mrs. Shufflebottam, 
 I will be perfectly contented to remain here the 
 rest of my natural life. We are going to see the 
 famous Island resort, Oatalina to-morrow. Will 
 write you all about my trip when I get back. 
 
 August 10, 1907. 
 
 Oh, Mary Ann, I had just a grand good time 
 on the island. The fragrant pepper and eu 
 calyptus trees, the beautiful palms and subtropi 
 cal flowering pleats, the many cozy nooks about 
 the shores all seemed to beckon with a dreamy, 
 inviting restfulness. The bathers had retired 
 
 O 
 
 from the beach, the links were deserted of golf 
 ers, and out in the harbor the boats at anchor 
 were rocking idly with) the gentle undulation of 
 the traverse swells, when Mr. Shufflebottam and 
 I started for Los Angeles. 
 
 Strange as it may appear, not a word was 
 said by either one of us of love. That is so much 
 
 28
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 talked of and yet so little understood. There 
 were none of those fond imaginings of future 
 bliss so common with all lovers, no low, tenderly 
 whispered words, no soft hand-pressures. In 
 short, nothing of that out-gushing affection 
 which makes the hours of courtship the most 
 blissful of existence. 
 
 I thought that he would have said something 
 in such a cozy place, as Catalina Island. But 
 not one word of love. I was ready to accept him 
 and marry him at once. But he is a peculiar 
 old fogy. He seems to think that we under 
 stand each other, and that there is no need of a 
 regular engagement. 
 
 He has asked me to accompany him to Moun 
 tain View next week. Mountain View is in the 
 heart of the Sierra Madre mountains, on the 
 south bank of the picturesque San Gabriel river, 
 twelve miles from the mouth of the river, fifteen 
 miles from a railroad station. The mountain- 
 view resort is a large tract of level land amidst 
 the high peaks, where giant mountains arise to 
 great heights in any direction you may look. 
 On the north side the swiftly rushing San 
 Gabriel river, winding its way through thick 
 timber-pine, sycamore, cottonwood, alder and 
 
 29
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 oak, with which Mountain View was thickly 
 planted by nature hundreds of years ago, mak 
 ing it a perfect forest ; many of these trees have 
 reached a magnificent size, thus giving abun 
 dances of shade. 
 
 Who knows what will happen in the moun 
 tains, where pure air, clear water and natural 
 charms fill every hour with a wholesome enjoy 
 ment; where giant mountains reach into the 
 sky; where streams fight their way over rocks 
 and boulders; where mysterious canyons, tan 
 gled forests, caves and nature s strangest sights 
 are combined with California s mellowest cli 
 mate. Perhaps all this will have a soothing 
 effect on Mr. Shufflebottam, and we will be 
 spliced by some good minister in the mountains. 
 Without any fuss, he said that he has something 
 to tell me when we take our trip to the moun 
 tains, I can almost guess what it is. A little 
 love-tale, of course. Get ready for rejoicing, 
 Mary Ann. I rejoice about everything, but the 
 name, after we are married! I will persuade 
 him to change his name to Mr. Shuffle, it is 
 shorter you know. For our honeymoon trip we 
 will go east, Mary Ann, and see all the loved 
 ones at home. 
 
 30
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 Think of your cousin being married to such a 
 distinguished, lofty, aristocrat. I know you will 
 call me a fortune-hunter, a flirt, or something of 
 that kind. When we return to California you 
 must come back with us and with your talent, 
 taste and beauty, you may catch as nice a sweet 
 heart as I have without either of the accomplish 
 ments. 
 
 I don t know why, but I feel very nervous to 
 night, and may have written things to you that 
 I should not, "you, who are so much like the 
 pious little flower that we see in the spring of 
 the year low and humble on the ground, open 
 ing its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of 
 the sun s glory, rejoicing as it were, in a calm 
 of rapture, diffusing around a sweet fragrance, 
 standing peacefully and lowly in the midst of 
 other flowers." 
 
 There, now, always remember that your 
 Cousin Annie feels much pleasure in rendering 
 any assistance to you in helping you to find a 
 good husband. 
 
 Well, midnight is brooding and I must retire 
 to rest, therefore, I will say Adieu until I get 
 back from the mountains. 
 
 31
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 September 1, 1907. 
 
 Lost, Lost, Lost ! 
 A beautiful heart is Lost! 
 A beautiful heart went down, down 
 
 Down like a ship at sea ! 
 
 Who knows if a heart be Lost? 
 
 Poor, weak human nature; Mary Ann, do you 
 know w T hat the something was, that old sour 
 fool had to tell me when we took the trip in the 
 mountains? Well 3*011 can never guess, so I 
 will out with it. 
 
 He had a wife and family all this time, who 
 were visiting in the east! He expects them to 
 return to Los Angeles next week, and he must 
 go out to the house and get it ready for them; 
 therefore, he can t see me any more. He said 
 that I had been very good company, and if he 
 hadn t met me he would have been very lone 
 some while his family was away. He also 
 thanked me kindly for any company. Now, what 
 do vou think of that? 
 
 32
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 October 3, 1907. 
 
 "Scared at thy frown terrific fly, 
 Self-pleasing folly s idle brood, 
 Wild laughter, noise and thoughtless joy, 
 And leave us leisure to be good : 
 Light they disperse : and with them go 
 The summer friend, the flatt ring foe." 
 
 Gray s Ode to Adversity. 
 
 When he ceased thanking me, the nightmare 
 spell, which had bound me in a thrall of silence, 
 was broken. I chokingly replied, "You are 
 very welcome, Mr. Shufflebottam, but I will take 
 this leson to heart, and I will know if a fogyish 
 old man, has a family anywhere on earth, be 
 fore I go gadding about with him so many 
 months again. 
 
 He tried to stammer out something in reply, 
 but I rudely left him standing in the hall, and 
 went at once to my room, and, having carefully 
 closed the door, threw myself upon the lounge 
 to recover, in a measure, my scattered senses. 
 Had I been in a dream? Could it be that he 
 whom I so loved could be lost forever? Hours 
 passed by unobserved by me. At length I rose, 
 stronger in spirit. T had made up my mind to 
 go to Santa Ana, for a few days and by my re 
 turn he might be gone from 324 West 17th 
 Street, the apartment house, and thus I would 
 
 33
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 escape the pain of meeting him. For painful 
 I felt it would be. Notwithstanding the dis 
 closure of the last day, he was so intimately, so 
 humiliatingly connected with the past few 
 months that I wished in every way, if possible, 
 to avoid him. 
 
 I will forget all happy memories of the past. 
 Regret will soon be over. And yet the feeling 
 is so new, the awful revelation too sudden, for 
 me to be yet accustomed to it, and with an in 
 ward prayer for strength and fortitude I begun 
 to pack a few things and drowned, in the per 
 formance of my duties, my sorrow. 
 
 "Fool !" I kept mutering to myself. I thought 
 I knew men too well to be so mistaken ; and, 
 after all, what could I have gained, even if he 
 had no wife? I would be sacrificing myself to 
 one almost inhuman in his heartlessness. He 
 will die in a few years at the very most anyway. 
 How under the sun could I ever have made up 
 my mind to live with his wrinkles is more than 
 I can understand. 
 
 But what won my love, he retained all the ac 
 complishments of early and middle life. In 
 company, his graceful attention to ladies was in 
 marked contrast with the awkward restraints, 
 
 34
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 cold reserve, or almost offensive indifference so 
 often witnessed in those who are advanced in 
 years. His mind was active and progressive, 
 and though old in years, he was young in thought 
 and feeling. With young ladies he was neither 
 critical nor cynical. The new aspects of fashion 
 never disturbed him ; although he had not changed 
 his own style of dress for more than twenty years. 
 How gayly, and with what fond familiarity, 
 would the sweet maidens and old widows gather 
 around the old man in every company where we 
 appeared. They felt no restraint, no repulsion, 
 but were drawn to him by an attraction of 
 affinity. 
 
 But I am behind the age, Mary Ann, I confess 
 it. I am behind the age far behind, the world 
 goes too fast for me. At the beginning of rny 
 love affair I strove to keep up with it ; but the 
 fast ideas of old men, here in the West, bewilder 
 me, and I am weary and will sit down by the 
 roadside to rest, I shall never recover the ground 
 thus lost. Never! I feel like an old stage-coach 
 distanced by automobiles. I give up the race 
 and sit me down among the antiquities. 
 
 Yet I am not old in years that is, not very 
 old. I am not a broiler, but I am not ashamed 
 
 35
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 of the record in the family Bible. I can behold 
 it without feeling a savage inclination for paste 
 or scissors. 
 
 I can bear allusions to dates without wincing, 
 still climbing the hill with a light foot and a 
 young heart. I have not reached my inheritance 
 of wrinkles and crow s feet, and gray hairs, nor 
 do I eschew crusts and biscuits. 
 
 Albeit, I acknowledge to slight twinges of the 
 rheumatism, I think that I must have been old 
 when I was born. I cling so to old notions and 
 old things, like a misdirected letter. I did not 
 reach my destination in time. I should have 
 been delivered in the days of my grandmother. 
 
 I am sure you will think, I am losing my mind, 
 if I ever had any. But such a conviction has 
 forced itself upon me, since I was foolish 
 enough to fall head, neck and heels in love 
 with such an old codger, who has a family of his 
 own, and who is just toddling along the highway 
 of life with the railroad trains whizzing past him. 
 
 Hereafter I will try to avoid connecting my 
 self with characters whose good and bad sides 
 are unmixed, and have not fermented together. 
 They resemble phials of vinegar and oil, or pal 
 lets set with colors. They are either excellent 
 
 36
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 at home and intolerable abroad, or insufferable 
 within doors and excellent in public. They are 
 unfit for friendship, let alone love, merely be 
 cause their stamina, their ingredients of char 
 acter, are too single, too much apart. Let them 
 be finely ground up with each other, and they 
 will be incompatible. 
 
 I am in such a flutter that I scarcely know 
 what I am writing. I must leave for Santa Ana 
 in about one hour. I will return in a few days. 
 You can address a letter to me. 
 
 "To the city of our Lady, the queen of the 
 Angels," or, "the Eternal city." 
 "The city of the gods." 
 "The city of flowers and sunshine." 
 If you address your letter to either one of the 
 above names, it will reach me all right; but of 
 course the most prominent among the distin 
 guished names identified with the history of this 
 place is that of Los Angeles. 
 
 Farewell my lovely, pure innocent, ingeni 
 ous, unsuspecting, sweet little human flower of a 
 cousin. Write soon. 
 
 I remain, dearest, yours in a perfect fever 
 of excitement, 
 
 ANNIE GRAY. 
 37
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 November 5, 1907. 
 
 WALNUT LAWN, SANTA ANA, 
 
 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 My Dear Beloved Cousin: 
 
 You can be cruel as well as tender, or you 
 would have answered my letter. I have risen 
 earlier than usual, to-day, to number, in the si 
 lence and solitude of my own little dressing- 
 room, some of the happiest and some of the most 
 mournful events of the life partially chronicled 
 in this letter. 
 
 My patience, love and friendship are alike 
 outraged by you and everybody else. I don t 
 know what to do. I am bewildered. Every 
 thing has gone wrong lately. I have passed 
 through a fearful night, and there is no strength 
 left in me. You know there never was any mus 
 cle in me, no reserved power, no elastic property; 
 but I don t think that I will pine to death. 
 
 I have often heard that a good cure for lost 
 love is to love again. I feel a little solitary and 
 sad to-day, and must tell you why I did not re 
 turn to Los Angeles. I have been off into the 
 country, rusticating. Santa Ana is one of the 
 
 38
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 prettiest aiid quietest towns in southern Califor 
 nia, romantically situated a short distance from 
 the blue ocean. Whoever pursues the route 
 leading from Santa Ana to the ocean, must have 
 been struck with the rural landscape. The trees 
 which extend on each side of the road opens at 
 each instant to reveal long vistas, in which the 
 eye loses itself in the horizon, or broad clearings, 
 covered with orchards and ripe grain. Here 
 and there, on gently sloping hills, rise elegant 
 county houses, with gilded railings and half- 
 closed blinds, which seem to float amid this 
 ocean of verdure like flower-boats on the great 
 rivers of China. 
 
 One of these especially, built at the right of 
 the road, in a small country town called Fair- 
 view, was conspicuous for the extent of its out 
 houses and its air of almost baronial grandeur. 
 
 In all truth and poetry it should be called, 
 Notch House. It was less a villa than a mod 
 ern castle, having, instead of moats, a fish-pond; 
 for towers, aviaries; and for a court of arms, 
 an orchard adjoining a meadow of alfalfa. 
 
 There is something very peculiar about a Cali 
 fornia summer. The thermometer never rises 
 as high as it does in the East, and each day, as 
 
 39
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 it comes, seems a very endurable one. But it 
 is in this long continuance that the true secret 
 of its power lies. With terrible patience the sun 
 girds himself, day after day, and week after 
 week, to run the same race. With an eye at 
 once bright and pitiless he looks down on those 
 who have crept too near the throne of his power, 
 and while for the less adventurous ones, he has 
 rays of relenting, when he veils his face with soft 
 clouds, or lets his beams fall on them sparkling 
 through the light rain upon them, the audacious 
 intruders, from April till September, he turns 
 one burning gaze unflinching and unbroken. 
 
 In fact, the California summer is one long 
 month of May May as it used to be in former 
 days, such as old writers describe with loving 
 words and jocund phrases, and of which poets 
 of our own time draw pictures, in verses rich 
 with eloquence and imagery. Of course, Mary 
 Ann, you know that I never could write poetry, 
 but I do think that the California climate has 
 made me a dreamer. Here are a few lines I 
 wrote in my little room, in the country inn where 
 I am boarding. 
 
 40
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 " "Tis eve, and a shadowy stillness 
 
 Steals silently o er my soul, 
 And the murmurs of distant music 
 
 In rippling accents roll 
 O er my spirits light and joyous; 
 
 And dreamy visions glide 
 Adown my soul s clear pathway, 
 
 Like a bark upon the tide." 
 
 Now, do you think that I will ever gain any 
 fame writing poetry. Fame, you know is the 
 best and purest drop in the cup of intellectual 
 ambition. It is enjoyed, thank God, by thou 
 sands, who soon learn to estimate their own 
 capabilities aright, and tranquilly submit to the 
 obscure and transitory condition of their exis 
 tence. It is felt by many who look back on it 
 in after years with, a smiling pity to think they 
 were so deceived, but who nevertheless recog 
 nize in that aspiration the spring of their future 
 energies and usefulness in some other and far 
 different fields of action ; and the few in whom 
 the prophecy is accomplished, who become what 
 they have believed, will often turn away, with 
 uneasy satiety, from present satisfaction to the 
 memory of those happy hopes to the thought 
 of the dear delight they then derived from one 
 single leaf of those laurels that now crowd in at 
 
 41
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 the window, and which the hand is half-inclined 
 to push away to let in the fresh air of heaven. 
 
 November 10, 1907. 
 
 Mary Ann, you know I always flattered my 
 self that I had common sense. Even you used to 
 admit that I knew enough to retire into the 
 house when it rained. But now, don t be dis 
 gusted with me when I tell you that I have spent 
 the last cent of my little fortune. You, young, 
 pretty, talented, and with a large fortune, must 
 have patience with me. I will be frank and tell 
 you exactly what I have done. Somehow or 
 other, a Los Angeles real estate man found out 
 that I was in love with this part of the country, 
 and that I had a little money and no brains. So 
 he kept right on coming down here in a big auto 
 mobile, and taking me out riding all over the 
 country. He was such a charming talker, he 
 never stopped until he got me to buy a little cot 
 tage and ten acres of land, five miles from Santa 
 Ana, in that beautiful little place called Fair 
 View. I know not how it was with me when my 
 eyes went over the place on entering; in alight- 
 
 42
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 ing, and even before entering, when we slowly 
 crossed the bridge, where I first saw the little 
 white cottage reposing amid graceful trees, 
 shrubs and verandas, where I saw how lovely 
 the stream was, how lovely the shady hill on 
 which the domain lay; but it, was as if a loving 
 spirit came out from all the place, meeting 
 my spirit, my seeking, striving, wearied spirit, 
 and said to it, "come and rest." We often did 
 sit and rest on the veranda for hours. 
 
 You see, when a California real estate man 
 finds out that one has a little money, they never 
 stop until they have sold you a foot of land 
 somewhere, but now I have bought the place, the 
 little home is mine, and I told the real estate 
 man that my money was all gone. Still, I de 
 clare he comes and takes me out riding just the 
 same. We are on the go the w r hole time. It is 
 nothing but auto-riding, promenades, operas, and 
 so forth. He is a handsome looking man. His 
 name is George Schneppenhein, and he is just 
 as jolly as he can be. I do enjoy his company 
 so much I am charmed. I think a great deal 
 more of Mr. Schneppenhein than of the opera; 
 his genius and achievements have attracted, in a 
 remarkable degree, the admiration of all the 
 
 43
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 boarders, and of myself in particular. He is 
 one of those rare individuals who, regarding 
 nothing impossible, does himself render the pos 
 sible actual in spheres never before explored by 
 human footsteps; who, to a thorough knowledge 
 of the laws of nature and real estate, unite a 
 force and energy of character which enables him 
 to carry out the most difficult sale. He sells the 
 earth between here and Los Angeles, fie is 
 here at this little inn, two or three days of every 
 week and I feel like crying, every time he goes 
 away. 
 
 December 1, 1907. 
 
 This morning we drove out through liquid 
 sunshine. It was a typical Santa Ana morning. 
 The rain falls through the brilliant sunlight in 
 the most wonderful way, no one thinks of carry 
 ing an umbrella, or even a parasol to protect 
 them from the mist, as the bright sunshine dries 
 it almost while it is falling. The sweet-scented 
 blossoms of the orange trees and the delicate 
 green of the just opened foliage were rippled by 
 the low west wind that was stirring among the 
 
 44
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 tree-tops, burdened by its freight of perfume 
 stolen from the orange-trees, the new-mown hay, 
 and the clustering roses crimson, white, and 
 blush-tinted that clung around every country 
 home, nodded in at the windows, or disputed 
 the outstanding trellises with honeysuckle, cle 
 matis, or hardy grapevines a wealth, a mass 
 of blossoms, and tendrils, and emerald leaves. 
 
 Mary Ann, one can almost live on the scent 
 of the orange blossoms, roses, and love, I believe 
 that. That is what I will have to do if I don t 
 get something to do soon. I am looking around 
 for work. 
 
 You know that poverty is the nurse of manly 
 energy and heaven-climbing thoughts, attended 
 by love, and faith, and hope, around whose steps 
 the mountain breezes blow, and from whose 
 countenance all the virtues gather strength. 
 Look around you upon the distinguished men 
 that in every department of life guide and con 
 trol the times, and inquire what was their origin 
 and what was their early fortune. Were they, 
 as a general rule, rocked and dandled in the 
 lap of wealth? No; such men emerged from the 
 homes of decent competence or struggling pov 
 erty. Necessity sharpens their faculties; and 
 
 45
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 privation and sacrifice brace their moral nature. 
 They learn the great art of renunciation, and 
 enjoy the happiness of having few wants; they 
 know nothing of indifference or satiety. There 
 is not an idle fibre in their frames; they put the 
 vigor of a resolute purpose into every act, the 
 edge of their mind is always kept sharp. In the 
 school of life, men like these meet the softly 
 nurtured darlings of prosperity as iron meets 
 the vessel of porcelain. 
 
 Now I hope that I have made it clear to you 
 that it will be no disgrace for me to work. I 
 have rented my little ranch, it brings me in about 
 thirty dollars a month but that is not enough 
 for me to get along with. I am trying to get to 
 teach a country school. Indeed it takes a whole 
 lot of courage, when one don t know anything 
 about Latin or Greek. 
 
 But I fancy it will be unnecessary to know 
 either of those ancient languages. I will look for 
 fame in something easy, although this foretaste 
 of fame is in my case delusion ( as the fame itself 
 is a greater delusion still). 
 
 46
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 January 27 r 1908. 
 
 Hoping ever, failing never 
 
 Though deceived, believing still 
 Long abiding, all confiding 
 
 To thy heavenly Father s will. 
 Meek and lowly, pure and holy, 
 
 Chief among the blessed three 
 Turning sadness into gladness, 
 
 Heaven-born art thou, Charity!" 
 
 I will begin this morning by telling you how 
 to be happy, I will give you two or three good 
 rules which may help you to become happier 
 than you would be without knowing them; but, 
 as to being completely happy, that can never be 
 till you get to heaven (if you ever get there). 
 
 The first is: Try your best to make others 
 happy. "I never was happy," said a certain king, 
 "till I began to take pleasure in the welfare of 
 my people; but ever since then, in the darkest 
 day, I have had sunshine in my heart. " 
 
 My second rule: Be content with little. 
 There are many good reasons for this rule. We 
 deserve but little, we require but little; and "bet 
 ter is little, with the fear of God, than great 
 treasures and trouble therewith." 
 
 Two men were determined to be rich, but they 
 set about it in different ways. The one strove 
 to raise up his means to his desires, while the 
 
 47
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 other did his best to bring down his desires to 
 his means; the result was that the one who cov 
 eted much was always repining, while he who 
 desired but little was always contented. 
 
 My third rule: Look on the sunny side of 
 things. 
 
 "Look up with hopeful eyes 
 
 Though all things seem forlorn ; 
 
 The sun that sets to-night will rise 
 Again to-morrow morn." 
 
 The skipping lamb, the singing lark, and the 
 leaping fish tell us that happiness is not confined 
 in one place. God, in his goodness, has spread 
 it abroad on the earth, in the air, and in the 
 waters. Two women (cousins, I believe) lived 
 in the same house; one was always fearing a 
 storm, and the other was always looking for 
 sunshine. Hardly need I say which it was wore 
 a forbidding frown, or which it was whose face 
 was lightened up with joy. 
 
 February 1, 1908. 
 
 Well, the question is settled I am doing 
 something for others, trying to make little chil 
 dren happy. I am teaching a small school on 
 
 48
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 an island a few fishermen s families. I have 
 only from ten to fifteen scholars, but I do enjoy 
 it. I wish you could see my little paradise of a 
 school-house. 
 
 The island itself is a perfect little gem; one 
 of the loveliest little harbors on the north side, 
 and a little lagoon in the center. The lagoon is 
 about a mile long and eighty rods wide, and in 
 the lagoon are two small islands. 
 
 Oh, I wish I could write, so that I might de 
 scribe it. But my pen it s of no use. My 
 school-house is a little old shack, but what a 
 delightful situation it is, out of hearing of the 
 inhabitants, about half a mile from the houses, 
 I should think, and on a slight eminence com 
 manding a charming view of the harbor and bay 
 on one side, and the little lagoon with its islands 
 on the other. Vessels and steamboats pass 
 often, and the school-house is completely em 
 bowered in trees; wild roses grow in profusion, 
 and such quantities and varieties of wild flowers 
 as I never saw before. Blueberries, such as we 
 used to cultivate in our gardens in dear old Wis 
 consin, grow here wild in great abundance. 
 And who can say that I am not happy? 
 
 We often have picnic parties in the school- 
 49
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 yard under the trees, and Mr. Schneppenhein is 
 very attentive. I know not what magnetic in 
 fluence he has exerted over me, but his sweet 
 glance when his eye meets mine, haunts me all 
 the time, and the air is always clearer when he 
 is around. 
 
 March 29, 1908. 
 
 I scarcely know how it happened that such a 
 warm, rich gush of happiness never felt be 
 fore even in my younger days has given to all 
 things around me a freshness, and a new joy, and 
 beauty to life. Last evening we found ourselves 
 quite alone, just in the softening twilight shadow. 
 Nothing unusual, it is true, but just then there 
 was a thrilling pleasure in being alone. The 
 shadows crept softly in and played strange frol 
 ics over ceiling and floor; the light boughs of 
 the rose-bush that screened the window stole in 
 and brushed my cheek; the pendant boughs of 
 shrubbery rustled in the slight breeze, and the 
 lemon-blossoms gave out an unnatural oppres 
 sive odor. The night was perfect. We took a 
 ride across the island. It was as beautiful as 
 
 50
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 you can imagine, enough in itself to cure a per 
 son of ordinary ills. The rich California 
 ranches and meadows, like so many gardens, 
 stretching on either side, bordered with trim 
 hedges of cypress, the green lanes through which 
 we drove, lined with graceful eucalyptus arched 
 over our heads; the thatched cottages of the 
 fishermen, mantled with thick covering of ivy, 
 which seems here most luxuriant, all presented 
 a scene of quiet beauty and richness. 
 
 I doubt if anything more beautiful than this 
 country life in California, at the time of the 
 orange blossom, can be found in any country. 
 On this island there are the most romantic little 
 hamlets built in among the cliffs, sheltered by 
 high hills from the north and east winds, and 
 exposed only upon the west. The climate is so 
 mild that shrubs and flowers flourish here in the 
 greatest luxuriance. The banana, the fig-tree, 
 and even the fuchsia grow to great size and har 
 dihood. The houses, which are mostly fancy 
 cottages and villas, are perched here and there 
 in retired nooks, with winding paths that reach 
 them from the neighboring cliffs. Everything 
 seems done with an eye to the picturesque; and 
 the attempt has been most successful. A scene 
 
 51
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 of wilder beauty can hardly be imagined than is 
 to be found along the coast from Newport Bay 
 to Lagoona Beach. 
 
 On our way home I was thinking. My heart 
 was filled with peace and love, when I came out 
 of my thought and was once more aware of reali 
 ties, of the real mortal man at my side. I knew 
 that I liked him heartily then, for the first time, 
 not loved, but liked. Looking at him, I saw 
 that he was just coming out of his thought, was 
 just drawing himself up to say, "what makes 
 you so sly?" 
 
 He laughed, thinking how still I was, just as 
 I laughed thinking how still he was. He seemed 
 to enjoy it, just as I did. Pretty soon, when he 
 was looking my hand over, examining each fin 
 ger-tip and nail, each vein upon the back, each 
 line upon the palm, spanning the wrist with his 
 palm and overlapping fingers, he said : 
 
 "Your hand is a perfect one, Annie; larger 
 than the smallest, and so it ought to be, for one 
 of your height and breadth ; but the shape is per 
 fect, and so will the softness and coloring be, 
 by and by, when I get you away from all this 
 school work. I know beforehand how happy I 
 shall be taking care of yon, doing everything for 
 
 52
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 you, seeing that nothing rude or troublesome 
 comes near you." 
 
 When he kissed my hand in ending, as a token 
 of his tenderness toward me, I kissed his hand, 
 as a token of my tenderness toward him. When 
 he would have drawn me toward him, as if it 
 were to shelter me from the rudenesses and trou 
 bles of which he spoke, I knew that it was not 
 for me to be so drawn and sheltered on his 
 breast. On the contrary, I longed to draw his 
 head to mine and give it rest. I did lay my palm 
 on his forehead. He settled back as if tension 
 were giving way through all his being, and said : 
 
 "That is good! How cool and good it is! My 
 head must have been hot; but I didn t know it. 
 You don t know, you can t think, how good your 
 hand is on my head, Annie." 
 
 There was a strange, trembling, uncertain joy 
 at my heart. What was it? What would it 
 bring forth? I could not tell. I only knew it 
 was there, and I vow I do believe that I was 
 born with two hearts, because I know that I 
 gave one whole heart to Mr. Shufflebottam, and 
 now I have one twice as big for George Schnepp- 
 enhein. George is so devoted, you know, indeed 
 it would not be hard to imagine myself in love 
 
 53
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 with him these beautiful evenings, when we are 
 out riding, gazing out upon the ocean with the 
 moonlight sleeping silently on its bosom, and 
 shining on it, far away, far away, into that dim 
 unknown, mysterious future, like our lives are, 
 and seeing the waves come rolling and leaping 
 towards the shore, then breaking against it with 
 wild, low music. 
 
 April 10, 1908. 
 
 Perfect love, Mary Ann, has this advantage in 
 it, that it leaves the possessor of it nothing fur 
 ther to desire. There is one object, at least, in 
 which the soul finds absolute content, for which 
 it seeks to live, or dares to die. The heart has, as 
 it were, filled up the molds of the imagination; 
 the truth of passion keeps pace with, and outvies 
 the extravagance of mere language. There are 
 no words so fine, no flattery so soft that there 
 is not a sentiment beyond them that is impossi 
 ble to express, at the bottom of the heart, where 
 true love is. What idle sounds the common 
 phrases, adorable creature, divinity, angel, are! 
 What a proud reflection it is to have a feeling 
 answering to all these rooted in the breast, un- 
 
 54
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 alterable, unutterable, to which all other feelings 
 are light and vain ! Perfect love reposes on the 
 object of its choice, like the halcyon on the wave, 
 and the air in heaven is around it! 
 
 I always thought there was nothing in this 
 world like a happy marriage. It is a glorious 
 sight to see two old people, who have weathered 
 the storms and basked in the sunshine of life 
 together, go hand in hand, lovingly and truth 
 fully, down the gentle declivity of time, with no 
 anger, nor jealousies, nor hatreds garnered up 
 against each other, and looking with hope and 
 joy to the everlasting youth of heaven, where 
 they two shall be one forever. That is true mar 
 riage, for it is the marriage of spirit with 
 spirit. Their love is woven into a woof of gold, 
 that neither time nor eternity can sever. I am 
 sure that such a marriage will be George s and 
 mine, Mary Ann. "Whoever lives true life will 
 love true love." 
 
 April 27, 1908. 
 Happy? Hardly, but quiet. 
 I came in from school this afternoon, and, as 
 I removed my hat, and sat down in my chair by 
 
 55
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 the open window, (how very strange it is, people 
 will sit away from a window when they can get 
 near one!), my heart abruptly asked me the 
 question, and answered it as my pen has. 
 George is not here to-day. It is four o clock, 
 Friday afternoon. School closes this day at 
 half-past three; consequently, I have an hour 
 more than usual to myself. I often avail 
 myself of it, to take long walks into the orchard, 
 or down to the seashore; sometimes, I take my 
 scholars with me, but I more frequently go alone, 
 when George is not here. This afternoon, how 
 ever, I could not walk, there has been a clamor 
 in my soul a quick, vehement upleaping of the 
 tides. I am trying to get my wits together. 
 All day I have been trying to instil into the little 
 Mexican minds, the following rules, in the jour 
 ney of life. 
 
 Never ridicule sacred things, or what others 
 may esteem as such, however absurd they may 
 appear to you. Never resent a supposed injury 
 till you know the views and motives of the author 
 of it. On no occasion relate it. Always take 
 the part of an absent person who is censured in 
 company, so far as truth and propriety will 
 allow. Never think worse of another on account 
 
 56
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 of his differing in political and religious sub 
 jects. Never dispute with any one who is more 
 than seventy years of age, nor with any enthu 
 siast. Do not jest so as to wound the feelings 
 of another. Say as little as possible of yourself 
 and of those who are near to you. Never court 
 the favor of the rich, by flattering either their 
 vanities or their vices. Speak with calmness 
 and deliberation, especially in circumstances 
 which tend to irritate. 
 
 Don t you think those are very good rules? I 
 wish I could practice them myself. Would you 
 believe it, my way of governing the black tots, 
 is through kindness? I think the sweetest, the 
 most clinging affection is often shaken by the 
 slightest breath of unkindness, as the delicate 
 tendrils of the vine are agitated by the faintest 
 air that blows in summer. An unkind word 
 from one beloved often draws the blood from 
 many a heart which would defy the battle-axe of 
 hatred, or the keenest edge of vindictive satire. 
 Nay, the shade, the gloom of the face, familiar 
 and dear, awakens grief and pain. These are the 
 little thorns which, though men of rougher form 
 make their way through them without feeling 
 much, extremely incommode persons of a more 
 
 57
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 refined turn in their journey through life, and 
 make their travelling irksome and unpleasant. 
 
 I think I am at least a tolerable teacher, don t 
 you? I am going to close my little school next 
 week. George is going to take me in to Los 
 Angeles, to see the Atlantic fleet. They say, 
 unchain the thunders, every one, and let the skies 
 echo back the welcome! Let Los Angeles and 
 all her back country, away over the deserts and 
 mountains, from the plains and valleys and from 
 the mountain tops, pour out their thousands and 
 their tens of thousands to greet the great peace 
 makers of the age. No throat shall be mute, no 
 eye dull, no heart without its response. 
 
 Americans, the fleet and all its commanders 
 and all its crews will be in Los Angeles on 
 Easter Sunday. The East has had these ships 
 which fly so proudly the flag we love so dearly, 
 they have been welcomed with enthusiasm at 
 many foreign ports. On Easter Sunday they 
 will all be ours. 
 
 May 10, 1908. 
 
 All my life I have wanted to see a fleet. My 
 wish has been fulfilled. The Atlantic navy has 
 just left our shores, the gentlemen of the navy, 
 
 58
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 who have in their hands the defense of our 
 nation on the seas, have been at home with us. 
 We love the men and the ships. They are dear 
 to us because they stand guard to defend us. 
 Every man is our hero, because his body stands 
 between us and danger. Every home in Los 
 Angeles was decorated from top to bottom to 
 greet the brave seamen. The thousands of men 
 on these ships are our countrymen. They are, 
 every man, our fellow citizens. We sit at home 
 and enjoy our ease under our vine and fig-tree. 
 We go from city to city and from place to place 
 and buy and sell and get gain. Those gallant 
 sailor men have no home but their ships, no place 
 of abode but the vast wandering seas, no bed but 
 their narrow hammock. They give up all the 
 opportunities of making a fortune and all the 
 comforts, luxuries and pleasures of life. In case 
 of war they offer their hearts blood for our pro 
 tection. To us they stand as the exponent of 
 American manhood and of American patriotism. 
 The wonderful American battleship fleet has 
 again resumed its long journey around the world. 
 After having passed a week at the ports near 
 Los Angeles, it was a sight that stirred our 
 hearts to such an extent that tears filled our 
 
 59
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 eyes, while our hearts swelled with pride; and 
 our voices, trembling with emotion, found in the 
 wild, joyous cheers of welcome that were carried 
 out by wind and wave from the thousands on 
 shore to the thousands of seamen standing on 
 the decks, waiting expectantly for this welcome. 
 
 When strains of the "Star Spangled Banner" 
 and the national hymn floated from ships deck to 
 shore, the nerves burned with the full realization 
 of what love of country really means. It was a 
 truly memorable event, one that we will ever 
 remember. It was a "dress parade" of the finest 
 body of battleships the world ever saw. And, 
 do believe me, Mary Ann, the officers and all the 
 enlisted men said before they left that Los An 
 geles was the best city they had ever seen. 
 
 I heard one handsome young officer say: 
 "Never has such a welcome been given us as we 
 have received in Los Angeles. Never again, 
 though we sail around the world and back, will 
 we get another like it." 
 
 It made us feel a little proud when those 
 14,338 men frankly told us that they had spent 
 the happiest week of their lives in this city. 
 
 There was one incident at the park one day 
 which was an inspiring lesson to every young 
 
 60
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 man in this country. About one thousand blue 
 jackets started for the barbecue. The rain was 
 coming down as if to make up for lost time, and 
 the big field was blue with a shifting multitude. 
 Suddenly the band broke out with "the Star 
 Spangled Banner." It was like magic in that 
 field. Instantly every man stood to attention in 
 the rain and waited until the last note, then they 
 simultaneously saluted. 
 
 They are all, every last one of them, fair- 
 minded, brave-hearted, unselfish men. Their 
 wonderful journ,ey began December 16, from 
 Hampton Roads, Va. There are sixteen battle 
 ships and six torpedo-boats and a number of 
 cruisers. We hope and pray that they will all 
 remain on the Pacific coast. We need them to 
 protect our great Western States and their des 
 tinies. We ought to be considered just as much 
 as the Atlantic coast. 
 
 Our best wishes will follow the sailor lads 
 around the world. 
 
 NEWPORT BAY, May 2, 1908. 
 The sun darting into my little bedroom awoke 
 me very early this morning, Mary Ann. It was 
 so happy and brilliant as brilliant as I should 
 
 61
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 like to see it on iny wedding-day that I couldn t 
 sleep. I am weary and all tired out. It was 
 nearly midnight when we got back from Los 
 Angeles. I must go and teach the little Mexi 
 cans, and that is my "bugbear!" 
 
 Mar} r Ann, I found out when I was in Los 
 Angeles, everybody who is anybody, don t call 
 themselves by long disagreeable, ugly Christian 
 names, any more. You see, a young lady s name 
 has more to do with her happiness and prosperity 
 than we are apt to imagine. Your name is top- 
 heavy, Mary Ann. I am going to call you Marie, 
 Mamy, May, May me, Mae or Mollie, or Mazie, 
 or Minnie when you write let me know which 
 one of the above names you prefer. In the 
 meantime I w r ill call you Mae it is so short, 
 you know. You should have changed your name 
 long ago and insured yourself, against the peril 
 of ridicule. You can no more exercise your rea 
 son if you live in the constant dread of laughter 
 than you can enjoy your life if you are in the 
 constant terror of death. 
 
 You ought to have your mother prosecuted, for 
 naming you Mary Ann Josephine Hose. You see 
 everything is education and fashion out here in 
 the West. The trains of thought we are indul- 
 
 62
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 ging in this hour; the society in which we will 
 spend the evening; the conversations, walks and 
 incidents of to-morrow. And so ought it to be. 
 We may thank the West for its infinite means of 
 impression and excitement which keep our fac 
 ulties awake and in action, while it is our im 
 portant office to preside over that action, and 
 guide it to some divine result. 
 
 And about the latest style, Mary Ann or Mae, 
 I mean. Many ladies in Los Angeles, are wear 
 ing low dainty little socks. They are so cute I 
 got me a pair. But I find I can t wear them on 
 account of the rheumatism in my knees. There 
 fore, I will send them to you and you can lead 
 the style in the East. You can see that my en 
 deavors are always directed towards doing good 
 to you. (I wish that I could say the same about 
 you). 
 
 To tell you, my dear cousin, that you live in 
 my most grateful remembrance, though many a 
 long and weary mile separates us, would be but 
 to repeat what you already know; for could I 
 be guilty of such baseness as ingratitude after 
 you have done so much for me when I was 
 young? I will try to forget your indifference 
 now. I sometimes feel as though I could fly to 
 
 63
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 breathe once more the pure and bracing air of 
 Wisconsin, and take a glimpse at you all at the 
 old home. But I trust that, whether we shall 
 ever behold each other again on earth or not, I 
 am, by God s grace, preparing to meet you far 
 above the sky in his own good time, when we 
 shall have left this sinful world. We should fix 
 eye and heart upon that heaven which He, the 
 first-born, has preoccupied. We should feel that 
 in Him a portion of ourselves has departed 
 thither, a sinless type of humanity, which keeps 
 its place for the rest; and that our heart, in 
 Christ, being already there, all else should strug 
 gle, with holy impatience, to follow. 
 
 I feel a little melancholy, this morning, I 
 don t know why, and I had a very restless night, 
 perhaps it is because I am so very much in love. 
 But when one is in love the heart should be a 
 fair and fertile garden, glowing with sunshine 
 and warm hues and exhaling sweet odors. I 
 am nervous and must stop, Mr. Schneppenhein 
 will be here in a few moments. Sclmeppenhein, 
 the name will be the bane of my; life, but I will 
 escape the ridicule which is often poured forth 
 on unmarried women of a certain age. 
 
 Mary Ann (or Mae, I should say) you ought 
 64
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 to get married, before you pass the heyday of 
 youth, because they say that old maids can t 
 cherish youthful feelings, and look with a fresh 
 and unsated eye on all that is beautiful in nature 
 and lovely in character. The glory of the earth 
 and sky have less significance for her than when 
 in early life it enchained her attention; poetry, 
 music, painting, literature, the cultivation of the 
 intellect everything that enlarges the soul and 
 thrills the heart have no charms for the old 
 maid. She often feels solitary and sad, and in 
 "days that are dark and dreary" she wishes that 
 her lot had been a different one. She is always 
 worrying and repining. 
 
 Why, do you know that some people actually 
 think that old maids have no souls? For my 
 part, they can think as they please, for I am not 
 going to be one. Mr. Schneppenhein is coming 
 this evening, and I tell you I think that there 
 will be something doing because he measured my 
 finger when we were in Los Angeles, I will hurry 
 to write you all about it. Don t be grieved, dis 
 appointed, and vexed with me, because I hav n t 
 sent you an invitation to be present. There will 
 be no cards. I will just write and tell my little 
 story after it is all over. My school closes in 
 
 65
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 about two weeks, then I will be free to do as I 
 please and go where I will. 
 
 I fancy I will be teaching, loving, honoring, 
 and obeying one scholar next term. When I get 
 married, I mean to tease my husband almost to 
 death. I do like to tease those I love." Ha, ha! 
 
 I know, Mary (or Mae), you shall be one of 
 those dear, quiet, kind, unobtrusive old maids 
 that go about doing good, so quietly, so gently; 
 that sacrifice everything, if it adds to the happi 
 ness of those around them ; yet do all so silently 
 that no one knows their worth until they have 
 passed away forever. Then they leave a vacant 
 place, and their memory is loved and reverenced. 
 Or you will be like those five Miss Dolittles, who 
 every one says are trying to catch husbands, and 
 every one despises, or like that queer sentimental 
 Miss Sykes, or like old Miss Skully, who looks 
 as though she lived on sour grapes and persim 
 mons. 
 
 Oh, Mae, forgive me, you shall belong to none 
 of those classes; but you will be like the old 
 maids whose lives are so good and beautiful that 
 we never think of them as such. No, you shall 
 not be an old maid ; you must marry some noble 
 man like Mr. Schneppenhein. He will be here 
 
 66
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 in a few minutes, and I must run and make up. 
 When I see him coming, my dull blue eyes, are 
 lit up with affection. His look, his tone, thrills 
 me to the soul. I fancy I love him, don t you? 
 George and I have never spoken to each other 
 about getting married. I wonder how he will 
 introduce the subject. I will write you all to 
 morrow. 
 
 June 5, 1908. 
 
 I should have written before, dearest Mary 
 Ann (or Mae, I should say), if I had not been 
 reduced to such fearful pain, I have actually 
 been incapable of doing anything the last two 
 weeks. How shall I explain? I don t kno\v 
 what to say. 
 
 But you mustn t start, Mae, if I tell you 
 that I am to be an old maid, forever. But it is 
 true, and I can assure you I find it anything but 
 agreeable. Mary (or Mae) if I didn t fortu 
 nately possess a very strong constitution, I 
 should not now be writing to you. 
 
 I am satisfied that the ending of this, my last 
 love affair, would have caused any ordinary 
 woman to "collapse." However, though greatly 
 
 67
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 shocked, I survived it. I continue my way 
 alone, I never will allow myself to fall in love 
 with a man again, I have determined to be a 
 man hater, I will soon be snugly settled in my 
 own little home, on my little ranch. I have 
 decided, to live there the rest of my life, and 
 raise poultry. I will take one old colored woman 
 to live with me, I mean to shut myself in, away 
 from the outside world, and try to be happy there 
 alone, with my poultry and books. 
 
 I am sure you will sympathize with me when 
 I inform you of my loss, oh heart-breaking word ! 
 My heart is in such a flutter that I can hardly 
 write even now, I feel as though my pen hesitates 
 while trying to inform you what a fiery furnace 
 of affliction I have been tried in during the last 
 few weeks. 
 
 But the sweet recollection of your sympathiz 
 ing with me in the loss of my parents, when I 
 was young, convinces me that it will be a great 
 relief to pour out all my sorrowful feelings into 
 your kindly ears. Yes, this has been to me a 
 very gloomy month, in which I have drank deeply 
 of the cup of affliction ; for a beloved sweetheart 
 has been snatched away from my fond embrace 
 as if it were a passing dream. 
 
 68
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 I don t want you to mingle your tears with 
 mine, and I don t want you to laugh at me; I just 
 want you to feel for me. 
 
 June 7, 1908. 
 
 GOD made both tears and laughter, and both 
 for kind purposes ; for as laughter enables mirth 
 and surprise to breathe freely, so tears hinder 
 sorrow to vent itself patiently. Tears prevent 
 sorrow from becoming despair and madness, and 
 laughter is one of the very privileges of reason, 
 being confined to the human species. 
 
 But there are some passages of life over which 
 one s memory always pauses with a shudder; 
 and even now my hand trembles and my heart 
 sinks as it reverts to that terrible night when 
 George Schneppenhein, and I were to become 
 engaged, we parted forever. The tears blind me 
 I cannot write; but it may be, Mary Ann (Mae), 
 you can partially comprehend the agony of that 
 dark night. Still I know that you can t, because 
 you never were in love. With love the heart be 
 comes a fair and fertile garden, glowing with 
 sunshine and warm hues, and exhaling sweet 
 odors. But with lost love it becomes a dull, 
 dreary place. Of course, I fancied I could de- 
 
 69
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 tect, now and then, that George Schneppenhein 
 had occasional faults like the rest of men; he 
 was so easily influenced, had so little strength 
 of character. 
 
 Well, the evening we parted he invited me to 
 take a walk "our last walk." We walked on 
 for some time, chatting of those things which oc 
 cupied our thoughts least, as people generally do 
 when anxious to avoid an approach to the sub 
 ject uppermost in their mind. I was thinking 
 how very dull it would be without him, how I 
 should miss his sweet smile and ready offers of 
 assistance to help conquer any difficulties which 
 might occur to me in my teaching. 
 
 At last, I said, "week after next is vacation. 
 I need the rest from my labors, as well as the 
 children, for the weather is very warm, and the 
 hours are very long in the little school-house. I 
 look forward with some trepidation to the visit 
 of the committee, yet the children all seem to feel 
 stimulated to do their best, and I hope the exam 
 ination will pass off creditably to all concerned." 
 
 "What care you what they think, Annie?" 
 said he. "You are not going back to teach that 
 school next term." 
 
 Then he began to recite Longfellow s "goblet 
 70
 
 My First Couxin, or Myself. 
 
 of life" to ine. What a voice he has, and how 
 the clear, deep, rich tones vibrated along those 
 grand stanzas, which are the voice of a prophet 
 and poet anointed of God! 
 
 I could have walked for hours, listening to 
 those deep, low tones that thrilled me like the 
 sound of a trumpet or the swell of an organ. 
 But the evening was growing late, and we had 
 to return to the house. My heart seemed to have 
 taken up some new, sweet tunes of happiness, 
 and I walked to their soft mysterious airs, led by 
 a summer moon through the blue deeps of an 
 unclouded sky. The quiet armies of the stars 
 had almost passed the meridian of their march 
 when we reached the gate. 
 
 Oh, heart of mine, how can I tell you the rest? 
 I am unloved and alone. We stood at the gate 
 for a while. The breeze had freshened; I shiv 
 ered slightly as I hung upon his arm. 
 
 "I am so thoughtless," he said. "Forgive me, 
 Annie. May I call you so, dearest? I was so 
 selfishly happy having you here, all alone 
 by myself," and he wrapped my cloak more 
 closely about me, "I must guard my little flower 
 always from chilling winds," he added. And his 
 voice took a lighter tone. "Annie," he said, in 
 
 71
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 almost a whisper. "When your school closes, 
 will you go with me to Mexico, and be contented 
 there?" 
 
 "Anywhere with you," I replied in a low voice, 
 as I looked into his eyes. My eyes, were full of 
 a woman s full trust, and tender love, nay even 
 of self-devotion. Then we both stood quite still 
 for a moment, I was thinking. He loves me, he 
 does love me ; I knew he did. But I ventured to 
 say. "Why go to Mexico, George? Can t we 
 live here?" He strove to calm himself when he 
 thought of what was now before him of the dis 
 closure he must now make. I could see that a 
 feeling of utter despair crept over him as he an 
 ticipated the consequences of his confession. He 
 must have felt sure that I, guileless soul, would 
 not only approve of but would not comprehend 
 the train or reasoning which had been so power 
 ful upon his mind, while his voice was broken 
 with emotion. He said. "Because you are my 
 affinity." 
 
 "Affinity?" I repeated, and crustily asked, 
 "what is that?" 
 
 He strove in a restless way to explain. "Af 
 finity, darling, is a physical or spiritual attrac 
 tion believed by some sects to exist between per- 
 
 72
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 sons, sometimes applied concretely to the sub 
 jects or objects of the affinity. Spiritualists ac 
 cept the doctrine of special affinities between 
 man and woman ; affinities which imply a spirit 
 ual relation of the sexes higher and holier than 
 marriage. Such natures as on coming near, 
 lay hold of each other and modify each other, 
 we call affinities." "Oh," I said. "I should 
 rather we would get married, and live here, 
 George." 
 
 "But, Annie, I am married, I have a wife and 
 two children living in Pasadena, I am willing to 
 leave them, give up everything, and flee with you 
 to Mexico." 
 
 I felt the cold shivers creeping over me. I 
 shook with nervousness and temper, I tried to 
 speak, but not a sound could I make, I opened 
 my mouth, but my throat was paralyzed from 
 nervous terror. There was a long pause, I gath 
 ered myself together and made one heroic effort, 
 my voice rang out into the great empty garden. 
 
 "George Schneppenhein," I cried springing 
 back, " go away from me, far away, and never 
 come near me again. Go away! never let me see 
 you again, go! Do you hear?" I almost 
 shrieked. "Do you dare to stand there and say 
 
 73
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 that you are a married man, and have not told 
 me of it before?" I exclaimed. 
 
 He muttered something bitterly; then with a 
 look of deep suffering, he said, quietly, but his 
 voice trembled, "Darling, you do not know, you 
 do not know." 
 
 "I do, I do," I said with frantic energy. "I 
 will go and explain all to your poor wife." 
 
 I was completely stunned by my own violence. 
 
 "God help me!" he said, and sat down by my 
 feet, and buried his face in his hands. One great 
 sob came up from the deeps of his soul, and, as 
 if ashamed of betraying this weakness, he rose 
 up hastily. His face was deadly pale, as he 
 turned from me with a listless, weary step, and 
 went away, leaving me leaning against a big 
 palm-tree, looking after him with blinded eyes. 
 I went in the house and rushed upstairs, and 
 threw myself on my bed. "Oh, misery, misery!" 
 I groaned out and all through the night I tossed 
 and moaned ; but towards morning fell into a 
 troubled slumber, from which I was awakened 
 by myself calling out, "George, how could you 
 fool me?" Well it is all over, I thought while 
 I was dressing for school, the quiet love that 
 lingered in my heart has passed away, and the 
 old, desolate weary feeling has come back. 
 
 74
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 In life s struggles, there are moments when 
 the liberty of the inner life, opposed to the tram 
 mels of the outer, becomes too oppressive; mo 
 ments when we wish that^our mental horizon 
 were less extended, thought less free; when we 
 long to put the discursive soul into a narrow 
 path like a railway, and force it to run on in a 
 straight line to some determined goal. 
 
 O, mirth! O, sadness! How oft ye tread, un 
 recognized, but twin-handed, side by side! I 
 promise to tell you the remainder of this sad 
 story in n^ next. Au revoir, Mae. Until vaca 
 tion. 
 
 July 9, 1908. 
 
 "Haunted house, or haunted heart ! 
 Which conceals the deeper smart? 
 Here are chill and joyless rooms, 
 Flitting shadows, hovering glooms, 
 Many a fearful voice and face ; 
 Oh ! thou dread and dreary place, 
 Haunted house. I fly from thee. 
 
 Yet the world could ne er impart 
 Peace to me, whose haunted heart 
 Whispered of a promise spoken, 
 Of a trust which had been broken. 
 No new faith could give me cheer, 
 No new promise could be dear; 
 Haunted house. I cling to thee." 
 
 75
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 Alas, my dear cousin, my adventures are like 
 the recollection of some wild, fevered dream, a 
 hideous nightmare, from which we start with 
 bristling hair, while the cold sweat bursts from 
 every pore! 
 
 Had I not been seized with that fatal yearn 
 ing to visit California, had I resisted firmly my 
 restless love of adventure, I might still have been 
 at home, a careless, light-hearted rattle-brain 
 like yourself. And yet, Mae, there is a strange, 
 unnatural kind of pleasure felt sometimes in the 
 continual attacks of evil fortune. The dogged 
 courage with which we bear up against the ills 
 of fate, swimming strongly as the w r aves grow 
 rougher, has its own meed of consolation. It is 
 only at such a time, perhaps, that the really in 
 dependent spirit of our natures is in the ascen 
 dent, and that we can stand amid the storm, con 
 scious of our firmness, and bid the winds "blow 
 and crack their cheeks." Yet, through how 
 many sorrows must one have waded ere she 
 reaches this point. Through what trials must 
 she have passed ; how must hope have paled, and 
 flickered, and died out, how must all self-love, 
 all ambition, all desire itself have withered with 
 in us, till we become like the rock amid the 
 
 76
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 breakers, against which the waves beat in vain! 
 Good intentions, like the waxen wings of 
 Icarus, melt with the morning sun. 
 
 July 21, 1908. 
 
 Well, Mae, we are snugly settled in my cozy 
 little home, on my ranch. Old Mammy and I 
 live all alone in the quaintest little cottage, with 
 green blinds and gray gables, the honeysuckle 
 toiling up its sides, with the white blossoms flash 
 ing like stars among the green leaves. Then 
 there are two old pine-trees that stood for years 
 before the front door, like tall friars with green 
 stoles folded over their bosoms; and on either 
 side of the gravel-walks, violets and poppies 
 make a ruffling of gold and purple down to the 
 little gate. 
 
 Oh, it is a happy home to me! I sit here and 
 close my eyes, and, looking down into the far 
 land of my memory, ther6, I touch upon a tender 
 subject. I must forget, may God forgive men, 
 for they aa*e very wicked. There is plenty of 
 work here for Hattie, the colored woman, and I 
 to do.
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 July 26, 1908. 
 
 Labor is an ordinance of God; virtue and in 
 dustry go hand in hand together. We were not 
 born into this world to be idlers and loungers. 
 Not enjoyment but duty should be the aim of 
 life; the daily heavings of the strong bosom of 
 humanity tell us this. Every law in nature en 
 dorses the necessity of activity ; our physical and 
 intellectual powers are developed by labor. I 
 will labor and do penance for my sins. 
 
 I w r ish you would come out here and pass a 
 few months in California with me, I know that 
 you would enjoy it for a while down here in 
 Fairview, on the ranch. Fairview is situated a 
 short distance from the ocean shores of silvery 
 spray and thundering breakers, and the moun 
 tains on the north side with their snow-capped 
 peaks. Between the mountains and Fairview 
 are crowded charming villages and handsome 
 cities and long, wide stretches of orange groves, 
 green vineyards, apricots, and peach orchards, and 
 between the ocean and here are winding streams 
 and poppy-flaming plains. Either side of Fair- 
 view is worth crossing the continent to see. 
 
 I don t think you will know me when you see 
 me, because I am bepainted and betwittered till 
 
 78
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 I am as hideous as a hot-house plant. If you 
 make up your mind to come out here, Mae, don t 
 forget to send a letter in advance to the president 
 of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce, to 
 let them know that you are coming, and they 
 will appoint four or five of its members as dele 
 gates to go out as far as Pomona, to meet you, 
 and welcome you. They will take a box of oran 
 ges with them and give you every one in the box. 
 They will also give you the key to Los Angeles, 
 and say to you, there are the mountains on one 
 side and the ocean on the other, and there is the 
 key to the valley. They will make you feel as if 
 you own the State. They go out to meet every 
 one that comes to Los Angeles, if they know when 
 they are coming. Therefore, don t fail to let 
 them know when you will start, and it won t cost 
 you one cent for food from Pomona to Los An 
 geles, I made a big mistake when I didn t let 
 them know that I was coming, you know. Los 
 Angeles is a very generous town. 
 
 Well, now I must run out and feed the chick 
 ens. They are always glad to see me, and I am 
 glad to see them. Three weeks seems to me like 
 an age. I am sure I will atone for all the wicked 
 things I done when I Avas young. It will be so 
 
 79
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 lonely for me out here, but I will turn to my 
 books; they always receive me with the same 
 kindness. 
 
 Books are not absolutely dead things, but do 
 contain a potency of life in them, to be as active 
 as that soul was whose progeny they are. Nay, 
 they do preserve, as in a vial, the purest efficacy 
 and extraction of that living intellect that bred 
 them. I know they are as lively and as vigor 
 ously productive as those fabulous dragon s 
 teeth ; and being sown up and down, may chance 
 to spring up armed men, as good almost to kill 
 a man, as kill a good book; who kills a man, kills 
 a reasonable creature God s image; but he who 
 destroys a good book kills reason itself kills 
 the image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many 
 a man lives a burden to the earth; but a good 
 book as the precious life-blood of a master spirit, 
 embalmed and treasured upon purpose to a life 
 beyond life. 
 
 Well, dear me, I am forgetting my work, the 
 chickens are going to roost. Being, by nature, 
 rather an orderly and systematic person, I al 
 ways try to feed the poultry, before dark. 
 
 80
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 August 7, 1908. 
 
 Well, Mary Ann, oh, why can t I think, Mae, 
 I should say, here goes for another installment, 
 I want to tell you this morning how much has 
 happened since I last drew my pen over these 
 pages. I think I have been delirious most of the 
 time. You know they say that falling in love is 
 a habit. Well, I fear it is, for do you know, Mae, 
 I really believe that I am in love again, and it 
 seems like the first time in my life. It makes 
 me so nervous to write about it that my hand 
 shakes like an old woman s. You see, Mae, our 
 physical wants result almost entirely from cus 
 tom, and the resources of our minds greatly de 
 pend upon its usages. Since custom "is the chief 
 magistrate of our lives, let us by all means en 
 deavor to obtain good customs." I find that 
 being in love is not a bad one. If you only knew 
 how nice it was to be loved for one s self, you 
 would agree with me, Mae. 
 
 This last love affair all came about this way. 
 It was just after sunset, one pleasant evening. I 
 was walking, slowly through the orchard, on my 
 way home, when I was* startled by the report of 
 a gun from a little hedge near me, with a feeling 
 of terror, for the sound was not a common one in 
 
 81
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 this peaceful neighborhood, I quickened my pace, 
 and was hurrying on, when a voice calling me 
 made me pause. In an instant the sportsman 
 stood before me, apologizing for the fright he 
 had caused me, and pleading the unfrequented 
 spot as an excuse for his having chosen it for 
 sporting. He introduced himself as John True- 
 love, from Wisconsin, and I in return told him 
 my name. When we parted at the gate, it was 
 with a determination on his part that it should 
 not be our last meeting, and a strong desire on 
 my part to see him again. 
 
 August 19, 1908. 
 
 Somehow it happened that I grew very fond of 
 taking long strolls about sunset ; and John True- 
 love, by some unaccountable magic, was always 
 going the same way about the same time. John 
 is spending his vacation at Newport Beach, and 
 every day he comes over to take me out for a 
 drive, or a w r alk in the evening. We walk, and 
 look at the stars and sky, and into each other s 
 faces. We are too happy to talk much. "Mae, 
 I do think I love him better than aught else on 
 earth. We seem to be bound together by the 
 closest ties of sympathy and mutual love." 
 
 82
 
 . t. - < 
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 Last Saturday morning- as I was busy in the 
 kitchen, for it was baking day and Hattie was 
 out picking berries, there came a knock at the 
 front door. Supposing it to be some peddler, 
 I just slipped off my apron, rolled down my 
 sleeves, gave my hair a dash down with my hands, 
 and hurried to open it. Judge of my surprise, 
 when there stood John Truelove, with a smile 
 upon his pretty little face, as handsome a speci 
 men of a small man as could be imagined ! I was 
 so taken aback that I could hardly ask him in, 
 and could not forbear a sly glance at a long 
 streak of flour which ornamented the side of my 
 face I am sure he thought it was something 
 else. I saw him looking in the same direction; 
 but he smothered any horror which he may have 
 inwardly felt at this betrayal of my morning oc 
 cupation. 
 
 I suppose you will call me silly, if I confess 
 that my face was redder than a pulpit-cushion 
 for a minute or two ; but his manner was so very 
 impressive and overpowering that I just acted as 
 nice about it as I could, I gave him a cordial 
 welcome, and he staid all day. I had made a 
 nice custard, and set it to cool ; and there was a 
 plump pair of chickens in the oven ; so I gave 
 
 83
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 myself no uneasiness about the table. Ten min 
 utes sufficed me in which to don my dress, curl 
 my hair, and primp up. When I returned to 
 the parlor, John said, he never saw me look so 
 pretty before," and "you have a very pretty place 
 here, Annie," he added. 
 
 "My heart is wedded to it," I replied. "It is 
 my home, and I love it, John." 
 
 "Such beauty with such sense is seldom com 
 bined," he answered, with such a pleasant smile. 
 
 I stepped into the kitchen and told Hattie to 
 put everything that was good in the house on the 
 table that is in the eatable line, because I had 
 often heard that the way to a man s heart was 
 through his stomach. John is a good, honorable 
 man, who would scorn to do an ignoble action. I 
 am indeed happy, very happy. For further in 
 formation you must await the day when the 
 secrets of our hearts shall be revealed. Good 
 night, with many kisses. 
 
 PLATA DEL KEY, 
 
 September 3, 1908. 
 
 Be composed, dear Mae, when I tell you I have 
 gained a new cousin for you. The wedding is 
 over, and we are here on our bridal tour, I was 
 
 84
 
 My First Comin, or Myself. 
 
 married in a little church in Santa. Ana, in nay 
 traveling-dress, and we started off immediately 
 after the ceremony, to spend two weeks at Playa 
 del Rey Beach. It is a charming place, dread 
 fully aristocratic, and as we are on our honey 
 moon, we are termed "exclusives." It is posi 
 tively delightful. There are a great many people 
 here, and I have made many pleasant acquain 
 tances. 
 
 Really and truely, Mae, I am a wife ; and John 
 is noble and good. How strangely happy we 
 are; how free from envy, or care. How swiftly 
 and sweetly the days glide by ; it is like a dream, 
 which I sometimes fear will be broken. But this 
 is not a dream, but real, earnest, true life the 
 life heaven meant we should lead. 
 
 Last evening John and I sat watching the 
 moonlight quiver over the blue ocean, while we 
 talked about our plans. He has a few thousand 
 dollars to put into my little ranch. We will 
 make that money go as far as it will towards 
 making a handsome place. It stands upon a 
 rise of ground which commands a beautiful view 
 for many miles: the calmest, fairest, widest, 
 loveliest, most magnificent view. We will al 
 ways have something beautiful to feed our souls 
 
 85
 
 My First Cousin, or Myself. 
 
 upon. We are to have an extensive park and 
 flower-garden, and reserve a grove of pines, be 
 sides the eucalyptus and palms that are there 
 now I shall have my house furnished with no 
 regard to fashion. 
 
 Mae, you must come and make us a visit, if you 
 are not married by this time. 
 
 " Tis home where the heart is, and mine is 
 here in California." 
 
 I came here as a dreamer, a poet, knowing but 
 little of the nature I so truly loved, and in 
 maiden meditation, fancy free. I am a dreamer 
 and a poet still ; but I have one by my side who 
 is both a dreamer and a worker. I have learned 
 to love the freshness and beauty of the outdoor 
 world. And oh! I have learned a deeper love 
 than that. Neither one of us knows much about 
 working a ranch, but I will ride the horse while 
 John holds the plow." 
 
 P. S. Mae, don t come to visit us while we 
 are away on our honeymoon. 
 
 P. S. (the last). My address is, 
 MRS. JOHN TRUELOVE, 
 Pairview, 
 
 Orange Co., 
 
 California. 
 86

 
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