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Scotch-Irish Christening. My, but the Martin is a darling story! Next,
the head tenor from the Opera sang half a dozen great songs that set the
company wild, yes, mad with delight, that nobly handsome young Damrosch
accompanying on the piano.
Just a little pause--then the Band burst out into an explosion of weird
and tremendous dance music, a Hungarian celebrity and his wife took the
floor--I followed; I couldn't help it; the others drifted in, one by
one, and it was Onteora over again.
By half past 4 I had danced all those people down--and yet was not
tired; merely breathless. I was in bed at 5, and asleep in ten minutes.
Up at 9 and presently at work on this letter to you. I think I wrote
until 2 or half past. Then I walked leisurely out to Mr. Rogers's (it
is called 3 miles but it is short of it) arriving at 3.30, but he was
out--to return at 5.30--(and a person was in, whom I don't particularly
like)--so I didn't stay, but dropped over and chatted with the Howellses
until 6.
First, Howells and I had a chat together. I asked about Mrs. H. He said
she was fine, still steadily improving, and nearly back to her old best
health. I asked (as if I didn't know):
"
What do you attribute this strange miracle to?"
Mind-cure--simply mind-cure."
"
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