Chapter Five

November 1913 - "You haven't any doubts now have you?"

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alta.,

Nov. 1/13

My dearest,

... Once again it's Saturday night and the beginning of another month. Does the time seem long, dearest? You don't wish any more than I do that we could see each other again before next June though perhaps my reasons aren't quite the same as yours. You want to see me again to make sure that we care for each other as much when together as apart. In reality aren't you a little bit afraid that we are idealizing each other and building up a person of fancied virtues which neither of us in the actual flesh will correspond to? I don't think so, sweetheart.

Perhaps we might be inclined to do so if our only knowledge of each other were based upon the few short days we spent together last summer and upon our subsequent correspondence. But we really have known each other for about ten years - and despite the fact that for several of these years we didn't see each other very often I think we actually understand and got to know each other more truly than most friends.

Do you know I like to have you call me your friend. I wouldn't if I thought you looked upon me as a friend merely, and not as a lover, but I know you don't. Friendship isn't love of the kind that is necessary for marriage - and without love it would be no good at all, but to my way of thinking it's a pretty good foundation for love, and it's better to have the friendship first and the love second, than love first and friendship second. And notwithstanding we used to fight against our natural feelings for each other as you say, we were and are still friends in the truest sense, n'est ce pas?

Of course all lovers must idealize each other. Courtship would be a sorry thing if we had to stick close to hard facts, and for my part I’d like nothing better than to see the idealization continue throughout married life. Sometimes I think the love of true mates is like God’s love in this, that while recognizing frailties and faults in the loved one we don’t dwell upon them but forgive them and think only of the good qualities and by so doing we actually succeed in driving out those bad qualities and make our mate conform to the ideal that has been ours.

And so my darling, I'm not the least bit afraid that we've been making a mistake or that we'll be disappointed in each other if we don't meet again until next June. Of course it would be lovely to be together - just for the sake of being together, but if we can't have the usual pleasures of betrothed people before marriage, there'll be nothing to prevent our enjoying them afterwards - and perhaps our communion then will be all the sweeter for the discipline that has been ours and our love will be all the richer and stronger because not based upon propinquity, but upon an enduring affection that time nor space can weaken.

Then too, I wish I could be with you to cheer your lonely hours and comfort your sad ones. I’d like in some way to show you that I’m not a fair weather lover, but that I’m your helpmeet at times when you feel ill or depressed as you did after the Epworth League Convention. But you’ll have to take my word for it now and I’ll prove my words after we’re married. Sometimes, dearest, I’m afraid to make such promises, not because I’ll not mean to carry them out, but I’m only a man who is very thoughtless - and who understands women no better than most men and I’m afraid I’ll often fail.

... Oh, it would be lovely to be together at Christmas time. I hate to think of it, because it makes me homesick, but I'm afraid, my darling, our joy will have to be in knowing that we love each other and are one in spirit, though our bodies be far apart.

Later.

I stopped at this point to go down to the office where I put in a couple hours work in preparation for some applications in Chambers on Monday. It has been very warm all day, but tonight a soft snow has been falling and the streets are wet and sloppy. My feet felt quite damp so when I came in I took off my boots and sat down before the fire for a few minutes with a couple of "McIntosh Reds" and the Ladies Home Journal. Now I feel warmed outside and refreshed inwardly so I'll finish the evening by finishing this letter. ...

... As per arrangement I awoke this morning at 5 and called Fritz on the phone. I didn’t go down to the station myself because I knew I had a very heavy day ahead and I was feeling very much in need of rest. Perhaps it was selfish, but it did seem senseless to go away out to Fritz’s and then down to the train when Fritz’s were going anyhow.

This evening I learned that instead of going at 6:20 the train was late and didn’t leave until 9:30. All of the intervening time was spent by Clara and Fritz’s waiting at the station - and that too after they had hurried so and got an auto because in the early morning the street car service is infrequent and they were afraid they’d be late.

Elizabeth is pretty tired today. And that reminds me, lassie, you needn’t fear about you not being strong enough to get married, for I guess you can hold your own physically as well as in every other way with Elizabeth. I believe you are every bit as strong and have just as good health as she, - and I don’t think she considers married life a failure.

... This summer it was a choice between keeping you waiting and not being with you - and I though you preferred the former. As for last summer at the Falls - I remember perfectly. - it was when I was fighting against my desire to love you and know now I did things that weren’t courteous to say the least, but it seemed there couldn’t be any half way, - if I didn’t act boorish, I’d be sure to show my real feelings.

But as for the particular act you spoke of. I don’t think the main reason really was I thought I was supernumerary and that you and John wanted to be together and alone. It seemed to me you both indicated it very plainly, and so it never entered my head that I wasn’t really doing you a good turn. However, I’ll watch myself sweetheart, and try not to be guilty of this offence again anyhow regardless of the past.

What next? Kisses I guess.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 1, 1913

My Dear Fred,

I’ll talk to you as long as my pen consents to do business, but as you see, it’s nearly dry. The ink is upstairs. I couldn’t write this afternoon because we went to St Kitts. There isn’t any mail out of here on Sunday, so I’m just going to give you a short spiel. You are upsetting my correspondence sadly, but tonight I wrote to a sick cousin (I told you about a week ago that I was going to) and to Keren (Kerenhappuch) Lukes, whose last communication was received in the spring.

You wonder how many girls I write to? Very few outside my own circle, but Keren gets one or two a year. In my last year I visited her over a Sunday, and it was lovely, so quiet and restful. She is a dear. I was almost getting a cold so she fussed me up with hot lemonade before going to bed. ...

Talk about college girls being stiff. I think when you find them out you’ll discover that they’re very human and delightful. On Saturday afternoon we had tea in front of the grate fire. Keren’s brother’s mother-in-law came in. She was the funniest brightest little old lady - an Englishwoman who has lived in the West Indies and Canada for a few years. She had been in B.C. for some time and she said she liked Canada so much because there was room to breathe here. In England it was like being shut up in a nut shell.

Keren’s father has a lovely big house, with beautiful grounds. The library had a beamed ceiling and the furniture and woodwork were of the same kind of wood. They had a brass screen before the fire and brass tongs and poker. It was such a comfortable room, ...

Keren’s mother isn’t well, so she does the superintending of the house, bosses the maid, and does it well. I was filled with admiration at her housewifely skill. The day I got there they unpacked a grandfather clock they had had sent them from England. It was all chipped and scratched, a dreadfully battered old granddad. ...

... We picked out my dress to-day and bought mother's. Her's is black brocade silk. Mine is pink and white silk. Its picture is in the November Journal. Don't you wish you could see me wear it for the first time? That will be the first of January.

It's very blustery to-night. It snowed Thursday night, and in shady spots the snow is unmelted. Oh, I wish we were together tonight, don't you?...

Goodnight.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alta.,

Nov. 2/13

My own dear little sweetheart,-

... I intended writing immediately upon my return from S.S. afternoon but I hadn’t been in the house five minutes when the phone rang and Mr Clarke asked me to go down to the office to go over some matters preparatory to his leaving tonight for Ottawa to attend the sittings of the Supreme Court. Obviously I don’t work on Sunday but sometimes as in this case it can’t be avoided.

... I had planned doing some reading today, but I got up rather late and after getting dressed and taking a walk down town to mail last night's letter I had only had half an hour to read "The Jam Girl" in the last two numbers of the Ladies Home Journal. Then after lunch I studied my S.S. lesson had a half hour’s nap. Had a splendid time in class this afternoon - 31 present - the most in months they tell me - and there was a very interesting discussion. the attention and interest increases each Sunday and I’m enjoying the work very much. ...

This has been another glorious day. This morning there was a thin covering of snow on the ground but in the warmth of a chinook it soon disappeared and unlike the east, didn't leave mud and slush, but the streets were soon dry - and with the bright sunshine and soft air my morning walk was delightful - only fell short of being perfect for want of the presence of my little Irish colleen. After S.S. this afternoon I wanted to go for another walk and oh, how I wished you were here. Never mind dearest, next year we'll have some glorious Sundays together.

11 p.m.

Have just returned after seeing Mr Clarke on his train. I didn’t enjoy the sermon tonight for I felt “dopey” and a good deal of the time I was half asleep. - Besides the sermon was frightfully long and we didn’t get out until a quarter to nine. I immediately went to the office thinking in half an hour I’d be back home writing to you, but I was doomed to disappointment. However I still have a good hour and the fire is bright and the chair comfortable. ...

... I’ve read your Monday letter four times. I was a dandy I guess when you wrote it, you had recovered you normal health and spirits, hadn’t you? No I haven’t read V.V.’s Eyes, but after your recommendation I’ll try to, though when I’m to work in the time I’m sure I don’t know. I haven’t touched that book of Arnold’s you lent me. ...

From all I can see, there’ll be less time than ever from now until the end of the year. What time I have at night for reading, should properly go to the preparation of my lectures to the law students and in reading cases. Do you see, dearest, is one reason I’m counting so much on you to be my mental stimulus. ...

... I don’t want you to worry or to be really troubled about me, but it shows me a little more that you really care very much for me. Never fear, little girl, no one can steal from me what I haven’t got. My heart’s in your keeping and you needn’t be afraid anybody else can get it unless you give it up. And if you should do that - well I guess then I’d just keep it myself in remembrance of you anyhow.

If we talk much more about who loved the other first or why we fought against each other etc. we'll soon have as interesting a story of self-revelations as any popular novel. ...

When did I first decide I wanted you rather than eugenics? I think I always wanted you but the question for me was - ought I to love you? I think I didn’t make myself quite clear in the letter you referred to. I must have made two apparently contradictory statements.

In the first place, when I went away to college, my only reasons for not speaking to you were just what I have told you. (1) that you were so young I felt it was only fair to you to give you a chance to grow up and see other men, otherwise you might promise to marry me thinking you loved me only to learn later that it was nothing more than a girlish admiration, and not true love and (2) that I was poor and as I thought not in a position then or likely to be for many years, to ask a girl to marry me, and I didn’t believe in long engagements or want to tie you up for so many years.

Perhaps too that was a third reason - that all along I had a sort of subconscious deep seated conviction that you and I were meant to be mates and that no matter what happened to either of us in the intervening years we’d come together when the time was ripe. But at this time there was no thought of eugenics. Later, I’ll confess there was. To show that I really felt.

All the time you were at school at Beamsville I was jealously watching you, and I felt very cross with your father when I saw how your health was being injured, as it seemed to me, through his false pride in wanting to see you head of the class. It wasn't merely friendly interest that made me so concerned, but it was because I loved you. I'll admit it wasn't the same kind of love as I feel for you now it was a selfish love, but still I loved you. Then as time went on and you went to college and your health again seemed to be carelessly sacrificed I began to think more of eugenics all the time I was here in Calgary until sometime last winter I was torn between eugenics and you. I can't say just when love won the day, but it wasn't because the other fellows got married.

I don't think I ever told you how near I came to "chucking" and declaring my love a year ago just before I left Toronto on my return to the west. The last night in Toronto I came pretty near taking the train for Bala then I thought, "if we are really meant for each other and my love is strong enough to overshadow all objections it will not hurt to wait another year. As a matter of fact I think I decided soon after I returned to Calgary, that so far as I was concerned you would be my wife. I was then in doubt, however, whether you didn't love John and I had a notion to write you and have the matter settled one way or another. But I didn't want to propose by letter. I wanted to tell you I loved you. And then too I wanted to see you again. I was sure enough that I loved you.

And then too I wanted to see you again. I was sure enough that I loved you or what I thought you were when absent. I loved your qualities of heart and mind, but I still wasn’t quite sure about yourself and I wanted to wait until I saw you again. I knew that if I could forget your and love your body when I was with you, that there could be no possible doubt. So I decided to wait until I saw you.

I went east this year for no other purpose then either to declare my love or bury it forever. It wasn’t that I was homesick for a house because I saw the other fellows happy in theirs, but I was anxious to find out whether what I thought was love was the real thing or not. My writing that one letter which you say sounded lonesome was not so much to tell my own feelings as to see if there was any response from you. When your letters began to break through the ice of reserve I was so glad, because I began to feel sure that you could care for me if only you could be sure that my love for you were the truest and best possible.

I knew no sham feeling or partial love could deceive you, and that unless I were sure of my own feeling I couldn’t hope to win your love. Besides it would be mockery that I couldn’t indulge in in fairness to myself. But when I saw you this summer I knew there could no longer be any doubt. But, you’ll say, I didn’t know until after I came back that I loved you in every way. Quite true, but while I was east, I had a conviction that everything would be all right. I don’t think I really loved your body then, but I felt as sure as could be that with the love I did feel for you this last would come. And it has my darling.

And so I think really have been waiting for you as my wife. Certainly no other girl ever could oust you from the niche you occupied all through these years. You were the standard I judged others by and they all fell short. I just couldn't seem to fit any other woman to the position of wife. Friends I had in plenty, but you are the only one I could ever satisfyingly think of as my mate. Now are you satisfied my dearest?

The clock has just struck midnight - the time when all good boys are in bed. Perhaps you'll think I haven't been very good today, so I'll try to end the day right anyhow. I know of no better way than by writing to my own little girl.

Fred.

Evelyn to Fred

[Thorold, Ont.,]

Sunday 4:15 [Nov 2, 1913]

My Dearest,

... Your Monday letter arrived last night. I think I am very fortunate to get such dear letters. And it's so nice to know that I'll get just as good a one the next day. I sort of count my time from the arrival of your letters.

I remember that night at Bala very well. I thought you acted very strange, and I wondered why you wanted to go off alone with me to tell me that. I also wondered if you were talking about yourself and who your guiding star was and I wondered why you wanted to tell me about it. That time at the gate when I put my hand in yours, I was frightened because I heard a noise. You put your other hand over mine in a way that meant but one thing.

Often and often since I have felt your hand clasp, and I couldn’t understand you. That time when you think you made me cry. It wasn’t exactly what you said that made me cry. I don’t know why I did. You said in contrite tones, “Oh, I didn’t mean that,” and I answered, “I know what you meant by “that”. I remember have a feeling that I wanted to cry, and so I cried, not for any particular reason. Unconsciously sometimes I find myself acting, just to experiment on effects. So here you’ve been blaming yourself for nothing.

And so you thought I was on the road toward invalidism! Nothing is further from my intention. Before I went to Beamsville, I was a regular tomboy, scarcely had an ache or a pain. But the change was too sudden, and I didn't take enough exercise, or play enough. Mother says she doesn't think I had a fair start. You see, I'm a twin. There was a little boy who was born several months before I was. It has always seemed strange to me since I knew about it, and I have felt that there was some special reason why I was meant to live. ...

Ora and Mother have been teasing me, saying I have been quite worried during the two days Clara was in Calgary. Did you never meet her before? ...I used to be afraid of Clara and thought her so high above the ordinary throng that I felt ill at ease in her presence. She is above the ordinary, but she’s not the one who makes you feel it. I never had a more pleasing visitor, she’s so easy to entertain, and one doesn’t feel it a strain.

Ora and I were just discussing who would have the New Year’s dinner next year, and she said we had to have it. It will still be the “Bunch”, won’t it? I think she’s going to ask Margaret, Ray, John and Wray this year. I don’t know though. ...

Now Ora’s talking about your fat. Does it show much? Because if it does you can just exercise it off. I don’t want you to look as you did a year ago. You were just right this summer. You look older when you’re fat, and I don’t want you to look old. I’m glad you’re well, though that’s the way you ought to be. You said you boys were going to the Y. but I haven’t noticed you say anything about going.

...Yesterday we didn’t get up till about nine o’clock. We had breakfast, did up the work, and went to town, intending to have our dinner when we got back about half past four. We didn’t get back until half-past five and I was nearly sick, I was so hungry. We were going to see (y)our Uncle Freeman, but we didn’t have time. We heard that he was a little better, but that they hadn’t been allowing anyone to see him.

Did I tell you that I was going into business again this winter? Last year I helped Mr. Smith in his jewellery store, and when he was at our church supper he asked me if I were coming again this year, and I said if he wanted me. I heard some things he said about me, and he thinks I'm very bright, in fact, quite a business woman. ... Now I must go to peel oranges. Goodbye, my dearest. Next year we'll be getting our tea, won't we?

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alta.,

Nov. 3/13

My dearest,-

On days when you get two letters do you often think you'll put one aside until later in the day so that the joy of reading them will be spread out over a longer time? I've often promised myself to do it but when the time comes I open both at once and read the one right after the other. But this morning I had to put both in my pocket until later in the day. ...

It was nine o'clock when I reached the office. I had overslept and didn't awaken until 10 minutes to eight. I was very sorry for I knew this would be an especially busy day for many reasons. For one thing Monday is Supreme Court Judge's Chamber day. ... points of law and practice are decided in Chambers as in open court and often cases are tried summarily in Chambers and never get into court. In fact, chamber work frequently test one’s knowledge of procedure and even of law more than the actual trial of an action, which is concerned more with getting adducing evidence.

I do nearly all the chamber work for our office and it means that at least 3 days a week I’m out nearly all forenoon and sometimes longer. ...Chambers opens at 10:30. Before that I had to get off some dictation, see a couple of clients and prepare a couple cases for chambers. I just didn't dare spend a minute to read your letters though they were burning holes in my pocket. On the way to the court house - a fifteen minute walk, - I read part of the first one. Then I finished it on my way home to lunch.

I was very late for lunch - 1:45 - and had only about 10 minutes, for I had to be back at the Court House, but I skimmed through your other letter then and it gave me a warm comfortable glow all over. Besides it put ginger into me and helped me win a very important case in chambers ... , I didn't get back to the office until after four, and then I was busy with clients until half past six, and all my mail is lying untouched, as also the other work I should have been doing today. This is just a sample of many days. It's a rush from morning until night. ... and often things turn up to completely overturn one’s plans. Many a day I’ve had my work planned and then, owing to some new business coming in that needed urgent attention I’ve been unable to do one single thing I intended doing. ... There was also an executive meeting of the Canada Forward Club,⁽¹⁾ and it's now very near midnight.

I would like very much to have seen Margaret Anglin tonight in Twelfth Night but I couldn't spare the time. She is here for 3 days - tomorrow night in As You Like It and the following in The Taming of the Shrew. Margaret Anglin is an actress even you would enjoy seeing my darling, and I hope to be able to see her this week, though I confess it looks doubtful. I do hope dearest you will change your opinion about the theatre ... I do think the legitimate drama and opera have their place in the life of today - as an entertaining, education and uplifting influence. I don't want to force my views upon you, but I would so like to look forward to seeing some really good plays with you. Your knowledge of literature and your study of the Drama would make you enjoy them so much. But whatever you attitude in the future may be, I want it to be based upon your own free will.

Today's letters, particularly the last one made me very happy. You ask several questions that I haven't time to answer tonight and I'll leave them until later. But do you realize, my darling, how delightfully contradictory you are, - and variable? I don't mean variable in reality - for I think you are as true and firm as the eternal hills - but apparently you are changeful. For example in your first letter you say you are sorry we had to get engaged so soon, you would have liked longer to make up your mind and now that I am away you unmake and make it up again. And then the very next day you write that you are perfectly sure and you tell how much you love me. Which am I to believe? ... Perhaps, though I guess a man doesn't look at these things from the same point of view.

Perhaps a young man looks forward to a delightful period of courtship, but I believe most men - at any rate those who have become at all mature - are anxious for the complete joys of wedlock, rather than courtship. But I guess with a woman it's different, and you feel about this a little the same as I have always felt about my boyhood that I was cheated out of it - I never had a real boyhood like most boys. - I was old when I was young in years - I was always refraining from boyhood's pleasures because I had to work or to save the money that they required for their indulgence.

So my darling I have to live my youth and you will have to bring it back to me, and live it with me. I really believe I am younger in spirit today than I was 5 or perhaps 10 years ago. ... I'm sorry, sorry that I have been the means of depriving you of the womanly joy of being consciously sought for a mate, and of using your woman's arts to prolong the chase ...

...I wouldn't like you to flirt with other people - Oh, it's a very womanly trait and it shows me another side of your character which I used to think you didn't possess. There's something of the wild bird about you isn't there? You don't want to think you've been captured by a hunter of the kind that takes a pot shot at birds sitting on the ground too stupid or unaware to fly, but you want to feel you've been free to use your wings and have been taken in fair flight. Isn't that what you mean? I guess so and I love you for it. We'll have to play the game all over again dearest when we're married. How would you like me to flirt a little too? But you'll always flutter back to the nest of your true hunter. Won't you dear?

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 3, 1913

My Dear Rusty-Coat,-

...I got your Tuesday and Thursday morning letters. It’s too inexpressibly delightful to feel sure that there’ll be one tomorrow, one the next and the next, all through the year.

... You are going to get me a set of furs are you? That is very dear of you and it may be for you, but may I offer a suggestion? I have a set that is pretty good as yet, and that can be made to look very nice by expending a little money. So I think I'd rather have a coat. Or isn't one necessary in you tropical climate? I don't want Persian lamb. They look like old maids and widows. Don't tell Elizabeth that, because Clara has one, and she'd give you such a crushing retort that you would be stunned, and never after would you be the same. ...

I washed windows this morning, upstairs, outside and Mother came and helped me to finish. Then we came down to devour a large portion of a small roasted chicken. Dad was in St. Catharines to-day and went to see Uncle Freeman. He is somewhat better. I don't think he was so seriously ill as Fritz thought. ...

...We had the Masons at church last night, and got eighteen dollars collection. You aren’t a member of any of those societies are you? I think they’re rather silly. The Masons in this town are really a decent lot of men though, better than the crowd they had at Beamsville. ...

I must tell you about Mr. Clarke, our choir leader. I’ve told you about their four nice children. Little Harry is a beauty, flaxen curls and brown eyes. His Sunday clothes were spoiled the other Saturday, and Mrs. Clarke said to Ben, “whatever will that child wear tomorrow.” Before she was up Sunday, Mr. Clarke took Harry into the bathroom, washed him and dressed him in a brown corduroy velvet suit he had sent to Eaton’s for and sent Harry in to his mother who was still in bed.

The kiddies are (all) pretty small, but he is such a help. He’s as good as a woman, can start in and do the dishes, undress the youngsters and put them to bed, so that she can get out nights. She’s greatly interested in missions and is our Missionary /vice-President in the League. I ’ll have to take you over and show you off, when you come to me. She’s a lovely woman. He’s a fine man, only he has a nasty temper which he doesn’t control as well as he ought to. He’s a good man though. But then I’m not making comparisons. He’s not in the same class with one man I know, and that man’s mine. So he needn’t offer his heart and hand to a furrin missionary.

Nora.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 4, 1913

My Dear Rusty,-

You won't get much from me tonight, as I have to leave before eight and go over to Mrs. Clarke's to a meeting of our Mock Trial Committee. The League is getting one up in connection with the Missionary work. Thursday and Friday I have to go to the church. Sometimes when I have to go so often, and hear church matters discussed so much at home, I'm just sick of the whole thing. It seems as if there's nothing but work and church, and it is nauseating. I couldn't be contented for long with this life, but I recognize that it is not a normal condition. I have no time to read, except the paper, sometimes, and a magazine story occasionally. I don't mean this to be a grumble, honey, don't think that, but it certainly isn't my ideal of living, by all means. ...

.... I suppose you were at Elizabeth’s Thursday evening, and had a good time, I know. You will have decided that Clara’s really very feminine, even if she is a missionary-to-be. I wonder why we have such queer ideas of missionaries, thinking that the women are sort of the offscourings of the west, when in reality, they are our bravest and most intelligent,and most womanly women. Did Elizabeth tell you of the presents Clara received from the church and its various societies? What struck me most was a pearl necklace from the Missionary Society.

...I was very lonely last night. Monday seems to be my bad night. I do get tired of talking to my pillow; its answers aren't very satisfying. I was glad I wasn't going to marry that man who was here to-day. He was a Yankee, and looked the part of a blatant American I can't express my disgust of the type of democracy the United States has produced. If one thought they had solved the problem of government, one must of necessity clamour for an aristocracy.

There was quite a lot of interest in the paper to-day. Christobel or Sylvia Pankhurst⁽²⁾ to organize an army, Wilson's⁽³⁾ note to Mexico, and New York elections. I'd like to hear Emmeline, to hear what she has to say for herself and her methods. When she was in Toronto some years ago, I wasn't enough interested in woman suffrage to go and hear. In fact, I guess I considered suffragists pretty nearly crazy. I'm not a tremendous democrat, though I feel I ought to be. And in the suffrage question, there are some parts I haven't seen satisfactorily answered. However, I guess I believe in it theoretically. If we have universal manhood suffrage, we ought to have it for the women too, but it seems to me it ought to be restricted. ...

...Ora and mother are discussing my new dress, and naturally I’m interested. Now, my headache is all gone, and I’d like to stay at home tonight instead of going out in the cold world. I was planning on getting so much work done this week. And I haven’t done much more than an hour’s work on it. I want to get all my Christmas presents finished next week. I’m going to make a slip for Ora. Do you know what that is? Well, you needn’t ask Elizabeth. It’s a dress to wear under her outside one, and I’m going to embroider this one a little bit. ...

My time's up, and I must comb my hair and put on my tan boots. Wouldn't it be lovely, dearest, if we could just sit down together and have a nice evening, reading or talking. I'm afraid we're going to be selfish of each other.

Your own Nora.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alta.,

Nov. 5/13

My own dear little girl, -

This is the first night in a long while that I’ve had all to myself - no not to myself but to ourselves, and I’m going to make the most of it. What are you doing now I wonder? - It’s 8:30 here.

After supper we had almost an hour's discussion of household management - the chief point in the talk being whether we are to run our housekeeper, or be run by her. Miss Rogers is an excellent cook and a very capable housekeeper generally, but she has assumed the airs of a proprietress a little too much to suit some of us. She's been with the Hermitage for nearly four years and on account of her efficiency the fellows have given in to her too much. She has a very uncertain temper and she doesn't hesitate to order us around if we don't do things to suit her. And I for one will not stand for it.

What I objected to tonight is Miss Rogers' refusal to give us dinner at night because it makes her more work than at noon. I can quite appreciate her point of view, but from our standpoint dinner in the middle of the day is most undesirable. No man wants to eat a big meal at noon or he feels dopey in the afternoon. It's all right for anyone doing manual labor but not for office work. Besides at noon we are all more or less irregular, oftentimes one or other of us is detained at the office unavoidably, and we are late. Either that or we are compelled to rush back in a hurry. Now it is neither pleasant nor healthy to eat a heavy meal under such circumstances. But at night we all have leisure to gather together an a regular hour and eat sociably and with some time for the meal to digest.

We've repeatedly asked Miss Rogers otherwise known as "Bill" to accede to our request but she has always refused. This time we decided to tell her she had to or quit. We're paying the very top price and giving her all sorts of privileges, and in return we have a right to expect service for our benefit and not merely such as will suit her convenience. As it is she has every afternoon and evening free. She does all her own serving, and has lots of time to go calling in the afternoons and to the theatre or elsewhere at night. We were figuring up today that we pay $60 per month and board for the service we get, figured this way: Miss Rogers $45, a woman twice a week who does the washing and cleaning, $10.75 per month, and then in addition, $5 per month for laundry that is sent out. This of course doesn't include any of our personal laundry. Surely we are paying enough, and giving privileges enough, to entitle us to have dinner at night if we want it. Anyhow we're going to have it. Does this sound as if we're an awful crank? I don't think I'm unappreciative or inconsiderate of the work of the housekeeper, but in this particular case there doesn't seem to be any give and take. It's all give on our part.

Last night I started a letter to you after I came home from the theatre about midnight but I was interrupted and thought I'd finish this morning at the office. I didn't get the chance and so I started all over tonight. I hope dearest, you will not be too greatly disappointed. I'm awfully sorry to have to miss a day - not only for your sake but for my own as well. The day doesn't seem right that I don't write to you, but sometimes it simply can't be helped. Last night it could if I hadn't gone to see Margaret Anglin in As You Like It. I had wanted to go so much but I decided not to, partly because I felt that if I went I should invite Mr and Mrs Oaten, or some other friends who have shown me much hospitality, and I didn't want to spend the money just now - good seats are $2 - and partly because I didn't think I could spare the time. ... I did go to the office for an hour, but then I decided it was not right to miss such an opportunity, for Calgary doesn't see Shakespearean plays every week and so I made one of a stag party of three, taking 75 cent seats....

The theatre was crowded as it had been the night before, which shows that the people will patronize the best things when they get a chance. I enjoyed the whole play very much. The cast was very well balanced and of course Margaret Anglin needs no words of praise. You were actually present to me in the flesh last night in the person of Margaret Anglin as Rosalind. She was just an adorable woman with a woman's sweet caprice, delightful variability and dazzling contradiction and yet withal an intensity and constancy of devotion that always wins a true man's homage. You are just like that and I wouldn't have you any other way my darling.

Sometimes lately when I read your letters lately I was inclined to smile especially over that one where you bewailed the fact that we got engaged so soon - so soon - after all these years! and where you said you wanted to flirt with me. I could just imagine what a Rosalind you would make if you had the chance. Do you know I'm glad you have a touch of coquetry about you. I used to be afraid you didn't - and that you would take lovemaking too seriously.

Of course I wouldn't want you to be a regular coquette, but I'm so sure of your love I'd like you to flirt with me sometimes just to show some of the delightful transitions of women that are so adorable. It's always easy to criticize the other fellow, but do you know I think Orlando was frightfully stupid not to recognize Rosalind, and to see through her woman's wiles? But then I guess all men are dumb where women are concerned.

Do you think it immodest of me because I liked Rosalind in boy's clothes? It isn't because of the clothes, but because so many times the woman's nature showed so plainly that the clothes were no disguise. This has always been one of my strongest arguments against the so called feminist movement. The two sexes are essentially different and no similarity of dress or occupation or environment will eradicate this difference. In times of great emotion the woman shows, no matter what the dress. And so it was with Rosalind, with all her swashbuckler's manner she couldn't forget that she was a woman.

Do you know dearest that I've seen a picture of you in boy's clothes and I think it's perfectly sweet! Elizabeth has a picture of you and some other girl from the Hall whose name I forget. She wanted me to promise not to tell you I'd seen the picture as she said you'd be cross if you knew she had showed it to anyone. But you're not, are you, sweetheart? I couldn't help thinking of you every time I looked at Rosalind. Does it make you jealous when I say I just wanted to rush on the stage and take her - no not her - but you - my Rosalind - in my arms and kiss you?

Last Friday's letter came this morning. So you have been anxious about Mrs. Brownlee. Surely, my dear, you are not worrying about such things on your own account. I can't bear to think that. Haven't we promised each other that we are going to be well and strong, and if one is well there's very little danger of such things happening. But if, my darling, for any reason you feel there's danger to you why we just won't have any children, that's all. I'll not have our married life marred by a dread of childbirth. Much as I want children, haven't I made you understand that I want you more than all else? So please don't worry about these things any more, dearie. It makes me feel as if I were a beast, to be the cause of such fear on your part.

And so you were afraid to caress me when I was east. Wasn't it because you were afraid I was too stiff and reserved? Now you know differently, you'll not hesitate any more will you? I'm not afraid that we'll be stiff to each other when we meet again. Oh how I wish it could be soon!

Do you realize how funny you are? In one letter recently you were bewailing our separation and saying you wanted to talk to me face to face, and in the same letter you said you expressed your thoughts more fully and unreservedly on paper than in conversation. If that is true, I’m getting to know you really better than if I were where I could see you every night, am I not? But just the same I’d rather be with you, and I’d risk your being reserved. I don’t think we really can be that way to each other any more, do you?

Yes, I remember that last night at Bala, and I heard what you said. I didn’t understand the cause but it really made me feel hopeful because I felt sure that unless you really cared for me you wouldn’t be angry with me, and that you didn’t understand the cause of your anger yourself. Of course I had no idea what I had done, or what the immediate cause of your feeling was, - and I just let it pass from my mind. To be perfectly frank however I must say I was a little hurt for I thought it was partly another evidence of the independence you had formerly shown in not wanting to be helped over rough places or over fences etc. I think it’s part of every man’s nature to want to support, and I want to feel that I can help you and that you need me and want to lean on me. I don’t think I could love you if you were so self sufficient and independent that you always wanted to walk alone and to make your own way.

You ask what I would do without Fritz’s place to go to. Of course they are good to me and I run in and out there almost as if it were my own home, but I don’t look for places to visit. The trouble is to find time to go to the places where I’d like to. Of course there are Pattersons, Fords, and Brownlees. Then there are the Oatens, Art Smiths’, Charlie Adams’ and lots of other places which I simply can’t get time to go to except occasionally. There are really lots of nice people in this city and I wouldn’t be a bit lonesome except for a dear little girl that I’d rather have with me than the whole of Calgary put together.

When did I start liking you again? I never started again - I always liked you, yes I think loved you, even when you were so much bent as it seemed to me upon a career.

I'm glad to have you say that at Beamsville you looked upon me as belonging to you. That's the way I felt. Do you remember the time we went for a drive to Jordan Harbor? I often wanted to ask you to go with me but I very seldom asked you to go alone for the reasons I’ve already given several times. But I always felt cross to think anyone else was around. Even though I might talk to other people more I was inwardly wanting you only.

Yes, I remember the time we went to Toronto together. Part of the time you were very nice and intimate but I remember how much I wanted to be with you alone ... to talk only to you and you seemed to take a perverse delight in preventing it. Why? Was it unconscious or intended on your part? ...

...I guess most men are more particular about their wives' clothes than their own. I am anyhow. It doesn't matter so much about a man, but I do like to see a woman becomingly dressed, and that I know you'll always be. Will you think it indelicate of me, dearest, if I say I always like to see women wearing dainty underclothes? No, I don't mean that as it sounds. (I don't want to see them but one likes to know they are there.) I hate to see a woman with nice top clothes, and then discover that they're not nice and dainty in the parts that don't show. Well, I know you're not like that.

How did the bread succeed? I don't want you to have the work of making bread for me. The bakers in Calgary wrap it - but I'm glad you're learning now.

Goodnight sweetheart. How many kisses tonight?

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 5, 1913

My Dearest Sweetheart,-

Of course I don't think you neglectful for not writing last Thursday. I hardly expected that you would have had time if you went to Fritz's. I think his father is getting better. I expect to go to the city tomorrow, and if so, I'll go down to see him. ...

I didn't get up very early this morning, Mother told me last night to sleep. So I did. When she thought it time for me to get up, she came and stuck your picture on my pillow. Shortly after dad came in with your Friday letter. One morning, I didn't want to get up and Ora came in, got your picture, flourished it in my face and called, "come on now Non get up and get my breakfast." You have some very sympathetic friends here, for they think you are rushing blindly to destruction

Ora made the bread today and it was splendid. But dad thought I'd made it. At supper mother said, "Isn't this good bread?" And he said, "Oh, pretty fair." Mother exclaimed "I think you're mean. Why, I think this is the best bread Ora ever made." He looked surprised and explained himself by saying, "Oh, I thought Non made it." So I told Ora he favoured her. ...

Last night as father was coming home from the mission he met two men who asked him for a match. He got talking with them and they proved to be men working on the [Welland] canal. They have a great big boarding house down at the town line, where five hundred men live. When these two men learned who father was they asked him if he wouldn’t go down and preach to them on Sunday. He went down to see about it to-day.

The superintendent was writing to the men in Toronto who runs the boarding house, and he is sure they’ll have permission. The contractors for the canal didn’t build the boarding houses, they have let the contract to a Toronto man for six years. They serve good meals - anyone can get a meal for 25¢.

There are some single bedrooms, reading rooms, and they are well heated. The superintendent told father that by next spring there could be two thousand men there. Of the five hundred there now, two hundred are English speaking. One of the boys was telling me last night that there is talk of a seven-million-dollar paper mill locating here, that the promoters are just waiting to find learn the exact route of the new canal. Father thinks this ought to be a special mission. Certainly there is a great deal of work to be done.

I was thinking last night about what kind of curtains we’d have for our library I just got an idea when I was at Mr. Clarkes. I think they’ll be raw silk, and I’m not sure yet if they’ll be stencilled or embroidered. They’ll hang from brass rings. Do you like brass? I love it in brown or tan or green rooms. Aren’t we going to have a lovely time, darling, furnishing our home? And planning it too.

I wish it were seven months from now, don't you? I used to hate to have the time pass, but now I wish it would get a move on. But after next June I don't want it to hurry, do you? The time has passed very happily since you left, for I have had such pleasant things to think about. Do you know, in my thoughts I have you kiss me so much. I wonder if I do more than you.

Do you remember one time at Beamsville, when I had a white silk dress, I got for Sadie’s wedding? We were home from church and you and Margaret, I suppose, were stopping talking to us. You were out of the buggy, standing beside it, and you looked and looked at me as if you would bore a hole through me. I wondered why you stared at me so hard, and finally decided that you thought the yoke in my dress was too thin. So after that, I fixed it differently.

Don’t you just wish something would happen to the old C.N.R. so that you’d have to come East? You see, I don’t want you to neglect your business but, Oh, I want you so much. I think I want you more, every single day. Is that the way you feel?

So you were tired and sleepy and lonesome Friday night. My poor laddie. You may be tired and sleepy when I come, but you won't be lonesome any more, will you darling? I know a cure for loneliness. Two arms about your neck, two lips against yours. If one application doesn't cure repeat until the patient has fully recovered. Don't you think I deserve a doctor's degree for that?

Goodnight dearest,

Nora.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alta.,

Nov. 6/13

My own dear little girl,-

... If you were here now we could have a lovely time. We'd turn off the lights and you'd sit on my lap in the big chair before the fire and tell me again how much you love me, and we'd plan our house and the evenings we are going to spend together by our own fireside. Oh, how I wish next year were here!

You wondered about my talk with Elizabeth on Thanksgiving Day. It was very much along the line of former conversations only it went farther. Of course it wasn't merely a tête-a-tête between us two. Mrs. Clarke and Fritz also put in a word occasionally but as on most such occasions Elizabeth (Don't you think that's much too big a name for such a little girl, especially for everyday use?) - and I did most of the talking. She was bewailing the lack of mental stimulus and blamed it on the lack of culture and mercenary spirit of the west. She said the people she meets here didn't seem capable or desirous on any conversations except superficial commonplaces. I tried to point out that she had really met very few people.

You know she didn’t have her reception until recently so the only people she has got to know are a few people at the church and the Fords Pattersons and Brownlees. There are lots of really interesting people here, whose thoughts rise above cards and dancing and small talk, but she hasn't met them. It must be hard for a woman coming to a strange city. It's so much easier for a man to become acquainted, but I guess women stand more on ceremony. But then I think Fritz might have done more than he has to make her acquainted with really interesting people. One reason is he doesn't think, but the principal one is, before he didn't make real friends of many people of the kind Elizabeth wants to meet. He cared more for going out riding and having a good time with some of the lighter set.

Of course it would never do to suggest such a thing to Elizabeth for she considers Fritz a paragon of all the virtues but it's the case nevertheless. ... Anyhow the result has been that for the most part the people she has met have been distinctly ordinary, and naturally she has judged the whole city to be the same while I could name a large number of my acquaintances whom it would be a pleasure to have you meet, who could spend a pleasant evening talking about other things than the weather, real estate, oil or the latest motion picture show.

Then too, I pointed out to Elizabeth that she was making unfair comparisons, - that she was comparing Calgary business and professional people with college men and women - not with people of the same classes in the east. She tries to tell me that there was more culture in the average Ontario town. I had said that things were stagnant in most Ontario small places.

It seems to me that the average people in the east spend as much of their time in cards and dancing and pink teas and naive conversation as they do here, and finally when closely questioned she admitted that she didn’t have many more congenial friends or acquaintances in Picton than in Calgary. I’ll admit that in many respects Ontario possesses more culture, but I think unconsciously college bred people are inclined to compare their lot with what they knew at college. No matter where one goes when a man or woman gets out in the world at the serious business of life other interests must to a large extent supplant the purely intellectual joys of studying Browning or Michael Angelo.

And as for Calgary - we're improving. Last year a Symphony Orchestra started and this year it has been put upon a permanent basis. An orchestra of fifty pieces giving a program of 6 concerts during the winter betokens some desire on the part of Calgarians other than a passion for making more money.

I mention only this one organization but there are others which indicate a growth of a higher life that is very encouraging. When you think of it, it’s ridiculous to condemn wholesale the people of this city for lack of culture or refinement when you think that nearly all our professional people are college men and women from the east or from the old land.

The trouble with Elizabeth is she never did anything before marriage, except study or teach school. She never knew even the first rudiments of housekeeping, and I think unconsciously she is comparing the time she had then for reading with what she has now - not realizing that it would be the same whether she lived in Calgary or Timbuctoo. Now don't get the idea she's dissatisfied for she isn't - and she admitted she wouldn't exchange her present work for teaching or anything she did before marriage. She's been learning the meaning of home. As a matter of fact I don't think she ever knew the real meaning of that word before. She and her mother had merely existed for so much of the time - at least it seems so to me.

I was interrupted by the rest of the boys and now my time is gone, and I don't seem to have said anything, at any rate not in the way I meant to. This is only part of the discussion that night, the other related to woman's place in the home. I’ll tell you about it some other time. We both talk a good deal for the sake of hearing the other's view point, and she doesn't mean half she says.

Perhaps you'll retort that "Rusty" doesn't either. He does when he sends his love to you anyhow.

Goodnight now.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov. 7, 1913

My Dear Rusty,-

I went to the city yesterday and stayed all afternoon. On my return, as soon as we had had our tea, Ora and I went to the church, and stayed till ten. I knew better than to propose writing a letter at that hour - you see how abject a condition is mine - although Ora and mother spent nearly an hour upstairs discussing ways and means of enlarging a dress for Ora. It is a lovely white evening dress that she got a few months ago. Now, alas! it is too tight. I’m coming to the painful conclusion that I am getting fat too. Painful? My clothes make it that.

Dr. Langford was telling us that they have brought the old bell up from Cobourg and put it on the new residences. His grandson gets his lunch at the dining Hall and says the meals are satisfactory. I was surprised to learn that the residences aren’t filled with Victoria students but that some of the students are registered in University College. I expressed my surprise and Mr. Beatty said they were glad to get in. “Then, I said, “Maybe they won’t look down on us quite so much.” Did you ever notice that tendency? That they seemed to think that Arts meant those registered in University College, that we were low caste and our men babies? They’ve had to eat some of their unspoken words when our students have beaten them in their work and in sports.

So you will flirt with me! That will be something new for me, for I don't think men ever flirted with me. Probably they thought it not worth while, or I may have been too stupid to understand. So we'll have plenty of flirting tournaments just you vs me. You say I'll flutter back to my hunter's nest. Hardly, I thought it was snares that hunters set for unwary birds, snares all covered with pitch or something sticky. I think you understand the way I feel. But yet, dearest, I feel that in one way you have wooed me ever since you knew me. You have lived right, so that you have made yourself the man I could love. It's only the decorations that have been lacking, but the solid foundation is there. And then too, I have something to which I may look forward. I think it's going to be very interesting to flirt with my husband, though of course, the end is known. However, there are various ways of working out a given plot, aren't there?

I must tell you that I am going to follow your good example, and am going to start teaching a Sunday-school class. I said some time ago I'd like to have this class, and to-day the superintendent asked me to take it. There are five or six boys. They have been without a teacher, and have become rather noisy and rude. Ora asked me what I'd do if they didn't behave, and I said I'd call her in. I hope we can get along well together. ...

Mother had Russell Smith telephone today, to find out about your Uncle Freeman. He was resting easily to-day, and they think he may live until Fritz gets home. What a sad home-coming it will be! And how different from the one they had planned sometime ago! ...

You simply must not get fat. ... If you find yourself getting so, you'll have to roll. Did you read "The Pink Corset" in the Journal some time ago. That was a funny story about a woman who rolled on the floor to reduce her flesh. I want some rings in some room in our house, probably the bathroom on which to take exercises. We might both grow taller if we stretched. At any rate, they're good for my neck. I used them at the Hall.

... Sorry you're so busy but don't let me make you miss your sleep. Just tell me how much you love me and then go sleep.

Nora.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alta.,

Nov. 10/13

My dear Nora, -

Yesterday I was rushed all day from early morning until midnight - in fact I guess I broke the Sabbath for when I left the office last night about ten o'clock so that I'd get home before Elizabeth and Mrs Clarke were in bed. I brought a couple files with me. ... Well, I was poring away over them and didn't notice how time was passing until I suddenly looked at my watch and found it was half past twelve. I decided it was too late then to write to you, so I'm scribbling this short note this morning. ...

I'm in a very unconventional garb. It's just nine o'clock and the other people aren't out of bed yet. I slipped on a dressing gown - and came down stairs to light the gas heater to get hot water for a shower and bath. My slippers are at the Hermitage, so I'm here in the den clad only in dressing gown - with bare feet. ...

Won't it be nice to sleep late on Sundays and then sometimes I'm going to get up and get your breakfasts. What do you like for breakfast, dearie? I guess you know my stand-by - porridge, toast, egg or fruit (or both) and coffee. Until recently I had an egg and fruit both, but the Hermitage eggs have given marked evidences of too prolonged a seclusion from the active affairs of the world and so I've refrained from them of late. As a consequence, I've been making a lighter breakfast and I believe it's better for me. I believe I enjoy breakfast the most of any meal. It seems so much more private and homelike than the other meals.

I've often and often pictured you sitting opposite me beside the coffee urn, wearing some dainty negligée or house gown cut a wee bit low at the throat. Do you remember you told me you were going to have one made just for us too - so that I could kiss your throat? I'm going to call that your kissing gown. And then before I leave the house in the morning for the office, you're going to put your arms around my neck and kiss me, aren't you, dearest? You know I used to think it was pure silliness and softness that made husbands and wives kiss each other whenever they parted.

I remember in particular one beautiful couple I met in England. They were between 50 and 60 years old, - their family all grown up, some of them married and in Canada - the husband in business wasn’t at all the kind of man you’d expect to be affectionate or demonstrative, just a typical burly hardheaded business man, but I never saw anything more beautiful that the real affection of that man and wife. He never left the house even for a very short time without kissing her good bye, - and he was so tender and proud of her. Perhaps he carried the kissing a little too far, at first it seemed to me rather too much of a parade before strangers, but I don’t know. Anyhow it was delightful to think that after more than 30 years of married life they were still lovers. That’s the way we’re going to be aren’t we darling?

Must quit now and have my bath. Will write more this afternoon.

Your own Rusty.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 10, 1913

My Dear Rusty,-

You'd better ask Elizabeth for another look at that picture of me in boy's clothes. For you see, dearie, the boy was another girl, and I am the girl in the nightie, transformed into a dress by means of a big sash. Oh, that is a fine joke on you. And I looked so nice, did I? ...

Another item in your letter that interested me very much. You saw what a bald statement you had made when you said you didn't like to see women wear shabby underwear. You tried to mend your remark, but merely made it worse by saying you didn't like to know they did. Really, I am quite shocked. I took you for an innocent, modest bachelor. And what do I find? Innocence! Modesty! Why, their names even are unknown to you. ...

Dad had just had a man to see about renting his house, and he thinks the man may buy it. I hope he does, but of course he can get a good rent for it, seventeen dollars. That’s pretty high.for a five roomed bungalow with bath, isn’t it?

Father has just come home from seeing a man who just lost his baby. They had been married a long time, and this was their first child, a beautiful one, daddy says. It died at birth. Why did you think I was worrying about Mrs. Brownlee's case, darling? I never thought about myself when I asked you that. I was just hoping that she had got well. I know a great many women do die when their children are born, but I never was afraid of that. So you don't need to make up your mind that you're going to be childless.

Here are some people to be married. I guess I'll have to stop. I may have time to write a little later. Maybe not, because we have to practise after League.

Nora.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alta.,

Nov. 11/13

My darling Nora,-

... I've so much to say and so many questions to answer I hardly know where to begin. But at the outset let me once again thank you dearest for the lovely letters I've received during the past week. They mean so much to me - but dear as they are, they can't take the place of yourself. Rather, the better the letters, the more I long for your presence. Oh, if you were only here tonight my own dear little girlie! I never hear music but I want you to share it with me.

Just now Elizabeth is playing soft dreamy things. I guess she's lonely for Fritz. She fairly worships him, and indeed he has been very good to her, and he loves her dearly. Marriage has made a new man of him. And I've just been wondering, dearie, if, after we're married and if I should have to go away for a few days, whether you'd feel very lonely without me. We don't want to be separated, do we dearest? But sometimes if it is necessary, think of the joys of reunion.

I often picture what it will be to come home after the day’s work in the office to meet a bright welcome on our own threshold and to feel a pair of soft warm arms about my neck and your dear lips pressed to mine. Won’t that be a homecoming worth while? Don’t you sometimes wish you were a man just so you might come home to a dear wee wifie and a sweet welcome like that? If a man couldn’t do his best during the day with such a reward in prospect each night he isn’t worth much.

Elizabeth has been laughing at my change of views on letter writing. Not so many months ago I was very emphatic in my scoffing of lovers who wrote each other every day. Recently Roy told her that I had joined the ranks of those I formerly despised and she very naturally tried to take a fall out of me. Then she made a remark very similar to one I used to make “I should think you’d run out of material.” I haven’t noticed any dearth of material in your letters and I certainly haven’t run short myself. The trouble isn’t how to find things to talk about, but the time in which to tell them. Isn’t it strange how one’s ideas change?

I’m enclosing under separate cover a copy of “The Herald” which has one page devoted to the Symphony concert. Like all true Calgarians I'm very proud of the Orchestra and it is a very telling earnest of what Calgary can and will do along lines of culture. That the "cow-town" of Canada is the only one of all her cities to support a purely professional symphony orchestra is worth proclaiming from the housetops.

Let me also remind you that there isn’t another single city of less than 100,000 population in the whole of the continent of America which can boast a real symphony orchestra. That the business men of the city have so generously and willingly agreed to finance what cannot possibly be a self supporting organization speaks well for their public spirit and their interest in those things which will elevate and educate the people.

Regarding the concert itself I'll say nothing. I'm not a competent musical critic, but I've never heard orchestral music anywhere that to my mind surpassed it. I was simply held in thrall form beginning to end. ... Once you said the supreme test of our love would be to hear music together. I was wishing, oh how I was wishing last night that you were beside me with your hand in mine. Don't you ever tell Mrs Clarke I said this, or she might not think me very gracious or gallant. It was more than kind of her to invite me and I wouldn't have missed the concert now for more than I like to say. I intend going to all the rest if at all possible. I wish you were here for them, dearest. Never mind we'll go to the concerts next year. Won't that be glorious? Even Calgary has its compensations.

This morning Arthur (the office boy) was grumbling to the assembled crowd of students and stenographers “Mr Albright always mixes up all the business and personal mail looking for that one letter with the green seal.” You know he always sorts the mail into 2 piles - personal and business and he evidently thought my anxiety to get a certain letter was responsible for a disarrangement of his plans. Do you know you are very much an object of curiosity and wonder around the office these days? I shouldn’t be a bit surprised your ears often burn?

So you’ve been teased about losing your man to a desperate foreign missionary. It was a terrible pull but I’ve managed to withstand the pressure that was brought to bear on me. You see my motives of resistance were purely mercenary. I have a bet that Clara eventually marries Gordon Jones. You wouldn’t have me ruin my chances of winning by offering myself would you? So this danger is past and I’m still all your very own, - and likely to remain so until you get tired of me.

Did I ever meet Miss German before? Why of course. She’s one of the comparatively few girls I met at college. I always admired her and liked - within limits- to talk to her occasionally, but I can’t honestly say I ever really liked her, - possibly because I didn’t know her well enough. I can’t say I’ve changed my mind, although I’m willing to accept your judgement....

And so you are half a twin. I never knew that before, and I never thought it possible that one could be born so long before the other. Is that what caused your mother's illness for such a long time after you were born? Well no matter whether as your mother claims, you didn't have a fair start, we're going to see that you have a clear field from now on aren't we dearest? And I believe with you that you’ll get perfectly well and strong after you are married. I’m going to try to help you take care of yourself. We’ll be out in the open air as much as we can and get as much exercise as possible

Elizabeth is counting on the time when we'll all go out riding together. It will be glorious to go for long rides together, and you and I will sometimes race Elizabeth and Fritz and we'll beat them too, won't we dearest? And then, I believe the change of climate and change of occupation will be good for you. I think I can appreciate what you mean by the complaint about the rush and pressure of religious meetings and petty interruptions for other people's affairs. And while I don't want that we shall live selfishly to ourselves, I do mean to prevent your being worked to death over church affairs and religious observances.

And lastly, I believe you are one of the kind of women who grows stronger after marriage. I've often heard doctors remark about some women who before marriage were the very picture of health, and afterwards became ailing, while on the other hand women who had seemed particularly strong as girls became perfectly well and strong through marriage. I believe you to be in the latter class.

No, rest easy, my dearest I’m not afraid you are on the road to invalidism. We’re both going to keep well and strong if care and love can make us so, - and we’re going to be happy anyhow, well or ill. ...

So you are worrying about my fat. I’m not getting fat in the way I was a year ago, and I guess that’s what you object to so much isn’t it? My belt waistline isn’t any bigger than it was when I was home this last summer. I don’t want a big “corporation” any more than you do, dearie, and I don’t intend to get it if I can help it. And when I have you with me, you’ll smooth out all the wrinkles and keep me from getting old. If only you were here tonight to caress me and lie in my arms. I’d tell you a thousand times I love you and seal each declaration with a kiss.

How soon do you start your business career? Perhaps it will be a pleasant change for you. Anyhow I'm glad you're going if you like it and feel it will do you good. Only please be careful not to be on your feet too much, and don't let yourself get too tired. ...

your very own sweetheart.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 11, 1913

My Own Dear Rusty,-

...I got stopped last night by some English people, who, foolish creatures, wanted to get married. She arrived here Thursday morning from England. She is the age of twenty-two years, rather too old to be tripping across the Atlantic. She was as bright an English girl as I have seen, I mean, for one of her class. She was pretty, and neat too. Thursday she saw some Pollock [Polish?] women coming from some factory, and thinking them to be full fledged Canadians, she decided that Canadian women were queer looking, in some cases, positively ugly.

We were speaking of the King and Queen, and the groom said, “Oh, nobody at ‘ome thinks anything of them. He boozes too much.” And then he said, “This is the way she goes,” and he minced across the room with his nose in the air. It was very funny. He was in Australia some time ago, but she would not go there ‘it was too fah.”... They were really a very interesting young couple.

... To-day your letter containing part of your talk with Elizabeth came. Her college course "took" pretty hard, didn't it. Our year was essentially not a class of highbrows, and I always felt very humble in her presence. For one thing, I'd like to know where she got her idea of culture prevalent in a small Ontario town. If Calgary is any worse! You know Beamsville. I never thought it overflowing with literary geniuses. Hagersville was worse in that respect, except for a musical coterie. This town is worse still. Hardly half, well doubt if half the people with whom I am thrown in contact here have ever gone one year to the High School.

The majority of the people here do not value an education. There are about fifty in the High School, in a town of nearly three thousand inhabitants. As soon as they are old enough, girls and boys alike, start to make their own money. The girls spend their money pretty largely in clothes. People are too busy working to have much time to read, and the majority are too lazy to think. And talk about backsliding! I scarcely read at all. However, I consider this an exceptional year. But I know that keeping house is different from attending college. One certainly has time to think though, and if I weren't so lazy mentally, I might give my brains some exercise. ...

An Acta has arrived. I wrote them to stop my subscription. Now I'll have to do it again. Ray [Albright] figures in Locals and in a picture too. There's a good picture of the residences. Or are you more loyal than I am, and do you still subscribe?

Father just came in Your Uncle is not any worse. Fritz has arrived. So Elizabeth did not come. This isn't a lovey letter is it? It would take more than two sheets to tell you how much I want to be with you.

Your Nora.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alta.,

Nov. 12/13

My own dear sweetheart,-

This morning's mail brought your Saturday and Sunday letters. ... Why did you say you judged I was "becoming tired of self-revelation and would fain hark back to my former conventional talk." You really don't think that do you? Weren't you only saying it by way of a well-justified criticism of my recent letter darling,? I couldn't bear to have you think that I want to become stiff or formal with you. You know my darling, that it isn't so, but that I love you better every day and want to reveal my real inner self with all my longings, hopes and fears to you who are my better half - nay the whole of me.

Surely the very fact that I have said as much recently about my business would tell you that I don't want to hide anything from you. I hate talking about my business, or telling how busy I am - it seems so much either like boasting of what I'm doing, or apologizing for not writing. However it may sound, I don't mean it in either way. I've only told you because I think it only fair to you that you should know what I am doing and even to give you the privilege of scolding me if you think best. But please, please, dearest, don't think I've changed. Yes I have changed. I love you more than I ever did and I think of you more and long for you more and kiss you more - yes and talk to you more even if I haven't put my thoughts to paper.

Every night no matter how tired I am, and while you are fast asleep in the arms of that old Morpheus - I'm very jealous of him and if I had my way it wouldn't be in his arms you'd rest. I talk to you and fondle and kiss you, and oh how I long for you to be with me! How can I make you understand my darling just how dear you are to me and how much I want you? I just can't find words to tell you and if I can't make you feel it by the strength and persuasive power of my love I don't know how I can make you understand until I am with you. But something tells me your own heart tells you what I cannot put into words. If I didn't really believe that I'd be miserable indeed.

Poor little girlie, I know only too well that you have cause for complaint, not only about my letter of a week ago Sunday, but of most of them since then. You don't need to tell me that they were poor insipid things, I realize it only too well, and that it really isn't fair to you to inflict such poor excuses upon you especially when you have been sending me such dear letters yourself. But please dear, don't judge too harshly.

Don't you yourself feel less like writing when you are tired or rushed for time? It isn't that you think any the less of me but when your mind and body are fagged with the day's rush and bustle and worry you can't put your thoughts into definite shape for others to read. At least I can't. In fact I don't seem to have thoughts at all - just a heart ache for your presence and cheer and love, - an ache none the less real - nay - all the more so -because it can't be expressed in language of the mind. The feeling is deep seated and far-reaching and intense but the usual powers of expression are lacking. And so, dearest, it has been with me very much during the past two weeks.

Don't think I am getting careless and trying to let work crowd out thoughts of you. But remember, dearest, that sometimes - just as at present, the amount of work that crowds upon me is partly beyond my control, - and besides, that what I am doing now is not for myself alone but for us and for our home that is to be. If you take delight in planning the furnishings of our home, don't think I fail to realize that what I do now and what I earn now and the place I make now for myself in my profession all are to the end that we may pay for and enjoy our home together.

Don't think I work for the fun of it. I do enjoy my work and wouldn't be idle for anything. I like the joy of struggle and achievement - but ever since you put your arms around my neck that morning in the hotel in Toronto and said "Don't you think I'm giving my answer?" my great incentive and motive has been the building of a house for you. I'm not saying any of these things by way of excuse for the poor letters I've written, but so that you will be as lenient as you can in your judgement and that you will endeavor to realize, no matter how much I seem to fail you, my heart is in the same place - in the keeping of a dear little girl with a kissable mouth in the Methodist parsonage at Thorold.

Are you afraid that after we're married I'll want to make you take my arm on the street if you don't want to? Personally, I haven't the same objection to that, that I used to have. I don't like people to be "soft," but I think familiarity of husband and wife even in a public place isn't objectionable so long as it isn't assumed, or obnoxious to the other people. However I don't intend to try to overcome any of your deep rooted objections along these lines. You don't expect me to be a sort of drill master do you? Why I want to be your husband not your boss. And right here, let me say that I don't want to make a public exhibition of love either. It's something sweet and precious for us - not for vulgar curiosity, - but at the same time I'm not only in love with but I'm also proud of my sweetheart and when I'm married I don't expect to put on a long face and try to give people the impression that I'm an unwilling victim doing penance for some past sin. ...

You wonder why I am glad Harold Smith didn't choose the Pittsburg girl. Because I think she has deliberately chosen the poorer part . From what Harold told me, I judge she was not only charming but accomplished. But you know what she has been doing don't you? She was physical directress at the same Y.W.C.A., or similar institution in Pittsburg, and I imagine she got to think so much of her body that she didn't want anything to come in the way of her physical pleasures. She didn't want to marry because she didn't want to lose her so-called freedom - and because she didn't want children.

From what Harold said, to judge she has a beautiful figure and perfect health. Quite properly she enjoys life physically, but I am afraid it is to the exclusion of the mental and spiritual things. She has wanted to go on the stage - as a chorus girl, perhaps she has already. Now chorus girls may be alright, but I confess I lose some respect for a girl who deliberately, with her eyes open to want she is doing - when she isn't compelled by necessity - chooses to display her physical charms on a public stage, gloss it over as you will, that's what most of the chorus girls' work consists of.

I admire the human form as much as the next man, but I think a woman must lose some of her finer feelings when she prostitutes her physical beauty to such uses as their display in public. I think a woman's form should be kept to be admired only by the man she loves and marries. That's one reason I hate so many of the dresses that have been worn of late. They seem to have been designed solely for the purpose of revealing woman's physical charms. That's one of the things, dearie, that I've always liked so much in you.

You've always been my ideal of daintiness and womanly modesty. I'd hate to think that I were not the first to really see you - oh I know, most people would say I'm a crank - that good women don't really display themselves to men generally. Well, they don't show their whole selves but so many women who really think themselves nice and modest - seem to take a delight in half-revealing their forms and they do as much harm by suggestive lures and attitudes - perhaps more - as if they stalked about the streets in nature's garb.

Doesn't this sound brutally frank? Well, I feel strongly on this subject, - and I'm so glad my darling that in this regard as in so many others you are my perfect ideal incarnated in the living flesh. I love every bit of you - the parts I have not seen as well as the parts I have seen, but I'm so glad that with your body as with your heart and mind - there are beauties unrevealed to the ordinary person and that they will be seen and admired and loved only by your own, - your very own, man.

Why are you surprised because I thought you cared for John? Certainly he cared for you, and most people thought the feeling was mutual. I will confess I always had a sort of feeling that you didn't really love him, though I thought you were very near the border land of love, and to outward appearances you had crossed beyond the border. However, I know now you didn't, and I also know you are my very, very own little sweetheart, and I am yours.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov. 12, 1913

My Own Dear Rusty,-

... You won't get a very long letter tonight because I'm not in the mood for writing. I have the 'grippe,' but I haven't a cold, only I ache all over. I hate to feel tough, sick people are always so uninteresting. I don't like to tell you when I feel ill because I seem to be whining and complaining all the time, whereas I'm well most of the time, and I'm going to be better when I come to you.

My dear, let us not get in the way of speaking harshly. Some people speak so emphatically that they let their voices get harsh unconsciously. They get rather provoked at me here because I object to loud talking. You said I spoke so low you often could not hear me. I don't want to do that. But to have people shouting is most disagreeable. And oh, I don't want to be fault finding. I suppose we'll each see faults in the other, but when we do, let us tell each other kindly, not scold. I believe scolding is often the result of overstrained nerves. ... Will you help me to keep from finding fault? And also from whining. Marion Pettit accused me of it when I started to college, but she made fun of me so much that I got over it. I hope the cure will prove permanent.

You say you think a man cares more about his wife's dress than his own. If she dresses to please him, doesn't he owe her the same consideration. If there is one thing I like it is to see a man carefully groomed, and especially an elderly man. They so often get careless as they grow old. Our S. S. teacher is so careless at the age of twenty-four or five, that sometimes when he comes to a meeting even his hands look dirty. ...

So you hope I have changed my views on the theatre! I have, gradually, and quite a time ago, I decided that I would go when I left home. This is one more case where I have been bold in thought, but timid in deed. Of course, I think people ought to use a great deal of discrimination. And I'm not sorry I didn't go at college. I don't think I approve of it for the immature. Now you'll smile, won't you? So you'll have to stay at home, and I'll go. How will you like that?

This is a night when you would read to me, and I should lie on the couch where I'd be nice and warm. There are very uninteresting little chills plying around my back bone. But I'm going to have a hot bath and go to bed soon. Was intending to write to Margaret tonight, but she'll have to wait a little longer.

No letter as yet to-day, but dad may bring one. No, I can't kiss you. You might catch my chills. But I'll be better tomorrow and you'll make up for it then.

Nora.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov. 13, 1913

My Dear Rusty,

This forenoon dad came rushing home with a registered parcel and pretended he was going to open it. I knew it was for me so we had a little scuffle, Ora of course joining in. But I refused all entreaties to open it until tomorrow which is the day. It's upstairs under my pillow now so that I can open it the first thing in the morning. To-day brought cards from Hazel and Dell and a letter from Art. I'll thank you better for my gift when I can expatiate on its beauty. But I wish you were here, dearest, so that I could thank you with more than my pen. At any rate, it's my last birthday without you, isn't it darling?

... I wish it would hurry up and be tomorrow so that I can open the box. I know what I think it is. ... This is half of November gone. Do you count the days and months too. But they're all happy, because we have each other.

Goodnight my future pal.

Nora.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alberta,

Nov. 14/13

My own dear little sweetheart,-

I came out here right after dinner this evening, and while Elizabeth and her mother chatted with a neighbor who had called I pored over a file I brought from the office relating to a case that comes on for trial next week. The incompetence of the average United States lawyer is proverbial, but I really didn't expect such a glaring exhibition as was revealed to me tonight.... The evidence has just come back and I was reading it over tonight. Judge of my disgust at finding the fool attorney who represented us forgot to prove the most essential feature of the whole case. ...

But to return to more pleasant topics than overdrafts. How have you spent the day, dearest? You've now reached the time, haven't you, when women cease to have birthdays? But I'm hoping that this is really the first one you've known as a woman. All before have been girlish anniversaries, haven't they? But now you've awakened to the real joys of womanhood this should really be a first birthday rather than an anniversary. Is it not so?

So last Sunday afternoon you were longing specially for me, dearest. It must have been about the time I was on my way to Sunday School, after Heber left. Just at that time I was with you in thought and longing so much for your presence. Don't you believe in telepathy? Yes, I've thought too. That there'll be a great temptation to stay home sometimes from church - but then we'll have our evenings to ourselves. Let's make it a rule not to make Sunday a visiting day. Of course I'd like sometimes to have a few intimate friends like Fritzs' come in but for the most part I'd like to keep Sunday for a day of rest and worship. Does it sound sacrilegious to say, that when I'm not worshipping god, I'll worship you?

You ask me to tell how much I love you. How can I? I don't know myself. There's nothing to measure it by. It doesn't mean much to say that I care for you infinitely more than for anyone else in the world. Words can't tell. As I've told you before, I'll have to let my life tell instead. It is now, though you may not know it, I'm not as selfish as I was. Though I never fully realized it, my first thought used to be of myself. Now, it's of you. Real selfishness can't exist with true love, can it?

Do you know I am so glad to hear you say you don't know why you love me. It seems to me that where a person feels that way, if the love is founded upon respect and esteem and trust, there can be absolutely no doubt about it's being the best kind. If you could logically analyze your love for me - reason it out and talk of it in terms of cause and effect - could point to my various qualities that are responsible for it - I’d be afraid that it wasn’t after all more than a highly developed friendship and esteem.

But when you say there is some great yearning which you can’t explain, that exists without any apparent reason - then I know your love is the holy and everlasting love of a woman for her true mate. I’m so glad my darling that you told me this. It makes me very happy. You haven’t any doubts now have you?

No, I very seldom lie awake nights or waken up in the middle of the night - never - unless I have been over-tired or my nerves over-wrought during the day. It has not happened once since I was home this summer. As a rule I fall asleep almost immediately after my head touches the pillow - unless I intentionally lie awake for a time thinking of you before I say good night to you. And in the morning I don’t awaken gradually as some people do. ...

Much as I like to have you think of me, dearest, I'd rather for your sake you didn't do it in the middle of your sleep. I'm afraid it will tend toward insomnia and nothing is worse for the nerves than irregular or broken sleep. So try, dearest to sleep right through the whole night without waking. ...

Today I had a letter from Bill, [Albright] written at Prairie Lodge on October 29th. They arrived safely on the 26th, after a rather more arduous trip than they had anticipated. The letter was very short and didn't tell anything about the country, except to say that it was much as he had expected only slightly more rolling. I do hope they'll not get homesick. Just imagine, - being practically three weeks journey from a railway! It seems really too much to ask a woman to go into a country like that. Of course Eva will have her own parents near her so it isn't like going into an utterly strange country.

Are you really worrying dearest about my fat? I don't think you have much cause, for though there is a family tendency that way, I think it can be overcome partially by exercise and proper dieting. What you dread most is corpulence isn’t it? Well I’m not any more so than when I was home and I don’t think I’ll become so in the near future. ... as for the future, I'll trust you to keep me thin. Just see how many different schemes you can try on me - beating carpets, rolling on the floor, lacing in pink corsets, turning somersaults, jumping through rings like a performing puppy ...,

... And you are going to try the ring stunts too are you? All right dear we’ll have a regular gymnasium fitted up and we’ll have daily performances. Shall we get a pair of boxing gloves and a punching bag too, or am I to serve as a punching bag, and stand up and let you pound the fat off? It will be as good exercise as kneading bread, won’t it?

Talk about the strenuous life! I see I’m in for it with a vengeance. But seriously, dearest, I think your idea is a good one, especially if those exercises are good for your neck. How is it? Does it pain you still? I don’t like to think that you are suffering in that way. Can’t something be done to cure it completely. When I get the right to look after you, I’m going to have you see a specialist.We’re not going to suffer poor-health, if it cant be prevented, are we dearest?

How I wish you were here for a goodnight hug and kiss, one, did I say? Nay, a thousand, until you dropped off to sleep from sheer happiness.

Goodnight, my own true love.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov. 15, 1913 #1

My Dearest,-

Yesterday your Monday letter came. I was surprised. Of course I noticed that your letters were short and impersonal, but I thought you were busy or tired. I know often I don’t feel like writing much and then I don’t do it. I don’t want it to be a burden to either if us. But, frankly, it made me smile to think of you being jealous. I’d like to give you a good hug and drive away your silly thoughts. Your [sic] a great big baby, but I don’t know that I like you any the less for that. Yet you are funny. I hope you don’t mind if I laugh at you. As for forgiving you, that is my answer. If you didn’t want me to love you, why then I should have cause for complaint, but not because you want me to. Never that.

These last two months have been pretty strenuous for me, but, honestly, I don’t love you any less for that. You didn’t understand that, as yet, I am my father’s daughter, and not your wife. So you see, I have to act the part. ...

Yesterday we went down to the city. I bought some lovely towels which Hazel is going to cross-stitch for me, and some material for a boudoir cap. Do you know what kind of an animal that is? I'm not going to tell you, I'll show you when you come home. There is some of the prettiest pink voile, with pink rosebuds in it, that I think I’ll have. It’s so pretty, I wanted it the minute I saw it. See what an acquisitive disposition I have! ...

This was our "Go to church Sunday," and despite the slush, about 650 people went. It has been a lovely spring day. The boys were on pins and needles to-day, I told them they acted as if they had St. Vitus' dance. One called it St. Viper's dance. It was hard work teaching to-day. Now it is ten o'clock and I'm going to bed. I'm pretty tired.

Good-night my dearest. You're not my jealous one - you're fair now.

Your girl

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 15, 1913 #2

My Dear Rusty,-

You're not the only one to be ashamed, so please stop making excuses when you miss a day. I could have written yesterday afternoon, but I was feeling so tough I lay down all afternoon. ... Yesterday morning when I woke up I found some lumps on my body so I decided I must have chicken-pox. Dad went to the doctor and reported my symptoms. He said, cruel man, that it was my liver. Last night I was covered with these pimples, and they're present to-day, but I think they're getting better. Of course I have some dope now. I was free from it all summer. But maybe when these lumps are gone my blood will be completely purified. I feel well to-day, last night the things itched like everything and I was half awake nearly all the time, and decided that I could never get up in the morning and put my clothes on. I was dreaming about Miss Rogers also. You haven't told me the result of your council-of war.

Yesterday I woke before it was light, but decided I wouldn't open my parcel for a while longer. Then as soon as it was light Ora came in and I opened it. It is very beautiful and I am very proud of it. I was going down town yesterday so that I could have an excuse to carry it, but I didn't go. Had I known before just how nice it would be to have a sure enough beau, I'd have had you long ago. You smile, Villain How much you will bet that I wouldn't? I don't want to thank you, that seems too formal. So I'll give you something that is much more informal.

I meant to write a longer note to-day, but I must hurry to the post ... Say, if that doctor is coming in here, I wanted get this posted. And he is. Oh. confound him.

Well, he says I have chicken pox. Hope you don't catch it. He says they don't quarantine for it so you can't prevent me writing. But it's too late for the mail now, so I'll finish this later. ...

Do you ever feel as if you were a sort of machine that just went and in which you yourself had no interest? I seems this last few days as if nothing interests me particularly. I guess I have a dose of ennui. I haven't been outdoors much this week, so perhaps that accounts for it. Friday afternoon I was half asleep for a couple hours and I was with you all the time. But nights you don't come when I call you. Is it because you have decided you won't talk to me because you fear lest it tire us? Will you be disappointed when I tell you that I don't think I'll ever find housekeeping an absorbing pleasure? But that it is something necessary, that has to be done, and therefore a good deal of satisfaction can be derived from doing it well. But I want some interests outside that.

Here are the Catholics coming home from church, long lines of them. It is cold to-day, yet quite bright. I wish I were at school again. This is the time of year when I care most about being back. My dear, you'll have to find some time to study your S.S. lesson other than Sunday morning. I don't like staying home from church in the morning - I feel so stupid and cross when I don't go. ...

Well, my dear, the dishes are washed once more and the church-goers have once more wended their way thither. I've been reading for about five minutes, but thought I'd talk to you first. I'm starting The French Revolution in real earnest this time. I suppose you are astounded that I never read it before. I bought it several years ago, but when I wanted to read it, didn't have time, when I had time didn't want to read it. I'm getting rather empty of ideas, so I must start to read something worthwhile. It is so easy to read stories that I'm getting mentally lazy.

You said you were going to get a set of Dickens. Somewhere a short time ago, I know, it was in “V.V’s Eyes,” the author was describing a library which was filled with “Sets” of books, so displeasing to the true book-lover. I was thinking to-day that we’ll have to have some order for our reading, and we’ll read French and German as well as English, won’t we dear? That sounds ambitious, doesn’t it? I know it will be slow work at first, for we are both pretty much out of practise, ...

When I go into business, I won't have much time to write to you, because at the end I have to work nights. It's grand when there's a rush. It's very interesting to watch the presents the girls and boys buy for each other. One girl paid a deposit on a fob for her beau and she'd come in a couple times a day to look at it, to make sure she liked it. What do you want me to steal for you? Guess I'll get you a nice big signet ring ... You have to wear a wedding ring after you get married. I'm not going to have you pose as a man free and unattached after once you are properly fastened. ... By the way, did you pick out my bag all by yourself, or did Elizabeth help you. Merely curiosity prompted this question as Art's sister-in law's sister often helps him in that delightful task. It is fun now, isn't it?

Oh my dearest, I'd like to snuggle up close to you to-day. I'm getting so lonesome for you I'm glad we're not going to have such a long time to wait as Ora has had.

Nora.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 16, 1913

My Own Dear Fred,-

The family has just left for church. The doctor said I didn’t need to stay in, but I thought I shouldn’t thank anyone for giving me chicken-pox, so I decided to stay home. I wanted to go too, as it is our E.L. Rally, ...

... You don't need to worry about me having this childish disease. It is rather unpleasant because I'm both sore and itchy. And mother wouldn't let me take a bath last night. There's a big spot on my chin and I'm afraid it will leave a mark. I'm not scratching my face, so maybe it won't be spotted. For one thing I am devoutly thankful that what I have is chicken-pox, and not Cuban itch, which is going around town. It takes two months to get cured of that in the winter. But enough of rashes.

You asked if I had told Dell of our engagement. No. I was going to have a pleasant surprise for her when she came down. Now see what you've done. She'll know probably two weeks before I intended that she should. Nobody here knows it either. I wear my ring nearly all the time, but nobody sees it. After New Year's I'll wear it I guess. I hope it doesn't make any difference to you. I don't see how it can anyway. Yesterday mother was saying that when she was young, people didn't announce their engagement as soon as it happened. I said "yes, but they 'went together' from the time they were in swaddling clothes and they never got engaged. They just took it for granted that they were." ...

Oh! you asked me about Dell and Heber. I think they expect to be married next summer, so probably they'll select June. Where are they going mooning? I know not. What was in your mind? A quartette? Dell's been making things for two or three years now, and her mother had a whole boxful of things stored up over at her son's, in expectation of the great event. She used to buy things and give them to Dell and it made Dell angry. So she just kept on buying, but she hid them. Then when Dell became engaged, she brought out her hoardings. Dell was no longer angry, on the contrary she was pleased. Won’t she think that I’m going to be “shy” of a good many things she has? I was going to say I don’t care, I do. But I’d rather have what I’ll have than all she may have, because I have a man who brings the scales way down in my favour...

Portion of letter missing.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 17 1913

My Dearie,-

You are that, aren't you. If you were here "seeing" me tonight, we'd have a good time, even if the wind does howl most mournfully. ... I am all alone again tonight. All alone? Oh, no, I'm talking to you. If I could only lay my head on your shoulder! Or would you be afraid of getting my chickens? Mother said that I tried to sit near Fritz last night, so that I could send them to you - I did mention those pickled peaches though, that I am determined you shall have.

It seemed rather funny last night for Fritz to be here, and you likely at his place. I was sitting beside him on the lounge and he said he guessed he could do it because you acted like that to his wife. ... but I started out to tell you how lonesome I felt last night. Fritz was a sort of connecting link and because he sort of belongs to you it made me more homesick than ever to see you.

When I was lying in bed last night I played make believe that we were together. We were sitting opposite each other at the library table you studying and I writing letters. ... I never realized so clearly as I did last night, just how you do love me. Your eyes, my darling, can tell me things your lips can not. Sometimes I've seen the shine in Art's eyes after he has been looking at Ora, but yours shone for me. I don't really see why you love me but I'm so glad you do. And though in one way time seems long, yet in another way, it passes quickly for I have a pleasing subject for meditation.

Elizabeth's long-looked for letter has at length arrived. It is a very nice letter, and I'll keep it to show you. She didn't forget the lack of mental stimulus but put it up to me to create it for myself. Aside from that she showed the best side of things, and said she was never so happy in her life. I like their practice of having Saturday afternoons together, don't you? And she recommends riding, with all its aches and pains. Won't we have grand times together? It seems like a fairy story really, and I can hardly believe it's true, that at last you and I have found each other. We have been waiting for each other for so many years.

Do you know when I was a little girl at Beamsville I think it was, I started praying for the man I was going to marry. And you thought I wanted a career. I did, and I do, but I never wanted one that would take me out of my home. ... But I haven't given up all my hopes of literary achievement. Once upon a time I made a visit to Miss Jean Graham and one piece of advice she gave me was this, “Write a little every day.” See now how you are preparing me to enter the field of journalism. My plea has always been that I haven’t had time. Perhaps I didn’t make time. But I haven’t felt quite ripe. I see things more clearly now than I did two or three years ago. One must live in order to write anything worth reading.

...And you thought I was finding fault with your letters because they were short, or told about your business? My dear, I like to hear about your work. I don't think it sounds like boasting or like an apology. The work is to be done, you are there to do it. When I am tired I simply cannot write decently. I don't want to write at all, it's too much of an effort. So why should I expect anything different from you? I think you have written me lovely letters. Don't you think I understand that there are times when letters have to go below par. as well as stocks? And just pause to think too, that you have scarcely had time to have replies to the letters you called "insipid."...

I'm not going to write to you any more tonight, but shall now indite (a beautiful word) a few sentences, words, or phrases, to my friend Mae Finch. There are only five or six more, due some time ago. Will have to take an evening a week to write our letters won't we. Go to Symphony Concerts, will we? Ummm.

Goodnight dearest Rusty.

Nora sends her love.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alberta,

Nov. 18/13

My own dear sweetheart,-

... Do you know, sweetheart, I've felt for a long time that I'm far too serious in my letter writing? My letters would be far more interesting and bright if sometimes written in a lighter vein. I suppose they best reflect my habits of thought. If so I must be getting to be more or less of an old "fogey." It's not a pleasant realization but candor compels me to admit it, and I've been counting on your bright influence to woo me back to some semblance of my former self for I wasn't always this way. I used to be light and even frivolous on occasion - perhaps too much so.

Even now I can "chaff" or "jolly" but that seems such a poor thing. Perhaps after all, the seriousness of my letters to you is mostly due to their earnestness. Certainly there's nothing light in my feeling for you. I care for you so intensely that my whole nature seems to cry out in a fierce endeavor to make you realize that I love you with every atom of my being. Perhaps after I become more accustomed to the conviction that you know this and that you love me, there'll be a change in the tone of my letters. What would you like dearie?

... So you wouldn't open the box until the day. You say you guessed its contents. Tell me, dearest, whether you guessed right will you, and if the joy of realization was as great as that of anticipation? Do you know I never liked to receive thanks before, but oh, how I wish I could be with you to receive yours!

Wednesday morning

At this point I was interrupted last night by some men with whom I had an appointment which kept me until midnight. Haven't time to finish now but will try to write a decent letter tonight.

With love

Fred.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov 18, 1913

My Dear Rusty,-

What a big, delightful letter I got from you to-day! You had got none from me that day, so I think it's good for you, and that you write better letters when you don't get any. ...

When did we become engaged, you ask? Well, I don't know. Certainly I didn't mean it to be that morning in Toronto. When I came down that morning, did I deliberately walk over to you and put my arms around you? I don't believe it. The next thing you'll be trying to convince me that I proposed to you! When I went over to you, you pulled me down towards you and asked me if I weren't going to give you my answer. Then I asked you if you didn't consider that I was doing it. I really asked that to find out what you thought about it. I had been letting you kiss me two nights and here you were asking me if I weren't going to give you my answer. And I wanted to know if you thought I could let you caress me, as I had allowed you to do, if I hadn't really promised you.

Yet at the same time I wasn't a bit sure of myself, and that morning in the chapel I was actually frightened, for it seemed that without any intention on my part, without really meaning it, I had got myself engaged to you. And I was afraid. Do you understand? I don't see how you can, for I can't. I knew I wanted you then, I didn't want to be apart from you at all, but I didn't see how I could be sure that I'd always feel like that. Anyway, you took a base advantage of the question of a troubled soul. You acted as if you thought your answer to the question was the only right and proper one. When a man proposes to a girl, is it the custom for him to kiss her before she gives him the right to do so. You acted as if you didn't need to wait for an answer I wish I'd let you finish your plan of seige. You'll make up for it some day, and don't think you'll always find me such and easy prey as I was this summer.

I didn't like you much when we were out on the water, you were so cold and priggish. But I liked you on the train, and the nearer we got to Toronto the more I liked you, until by the time we got there I didn't want to say good-night to you, and would gladly have travelled all night that I might stay with you. That's very strange, isn't it, but it's true that my feelings did change during that ride. You came out of your shell and you proved very interesting. I used to get tired of hearing you talk sometimes, I wanted you to talk to me, just to me, and it bored me to have you talk to the general public. But that night you devoted yourself to me to such good purpose that I felt that I wanted more of you, all of you there was, is, and ever shall be - except the corporation.

You say you wanted to take me in your arms that last day in Bala. I really expected that you would. I think it is very strange that I knew somewhat of what was passing in your mind, but that it did not interest me very much. I knew from the tone of your voice that you were fighting hard against yourself. I knew you looked at me as long as you could see me, but you had said nothing of love to me. And I was rather proud and stubborn too, so I went on my own way, but I can't add, rejoicing.

Do you remember before we went to Muskoka, we sat on our verandah one morning stemming cherries? And you were talking about love. I said that if either of us knew anything of it we wouldn't tell the other anyway, so why discuss it. And you agreed with me. Do you remember one day you asked me to go for a walk with you in the woods at Beamsville, but instead I made you go down to Tufford's with me. When you asked me to go you said you had two questions to ask me, but when we went you would ask only one - my opinion about titheing when one didn't have much to tithe. And I often wondered what the other question was, but you refused most emphatically to tell me.

Once in my first year, you came for me to go for a walk and we went up over the hill at the head of Bathurst street. I remember that we had a nice walk, but that you seemed constrained. Like Margaret, I can deduce after I know. And I believe that I knew for a long time that you loved me, but that I was determined to act as if I were not aware of that fact, because you had tried so hard to conceal it from me.

You ask me what I want to do my next birthday? Why I hadn't thought of anything, except that I'd be with you. But, oh my dear, I hate to leave my mother. She will be so lonely. This morning I didn't get up early because I was sick last night, and when I came down she said, "well, how does my kiddie feel?" She calls me that when she teases me about you. And she said, "When he comes home at noon and finds you have just got up and there is no lunch ready, do you think he will feel as pleased about it as you mother does?" I had to acknowledge that I didn't think you would, but you're not going to come home on such days, if there are any. You'll have strict orders to stay downtown and if you don't obey you'll be court martialled. I will not have mutiny in my ranks. We'll have three days to celebrate next year, your birthday, mine, and our wedding birthday. We might be rich enough to afford a candle for the last one, but for the others - it would bankrupt us, I'm afraid.

...I was going to speak about our house. I certainly do want to have one of our own as soon as possible. Did you think it would be best to build one or buy one? You see, if we bought one right away we could get furniture that would suit a house we would build. When we got ready to build, we could sell the first one, but we will need some time to plan what kind we want to build. Like marriage, house-building is not to be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly.

Ora and Art are going to get their furniture through Clarence Buck. He said that the store in which he was in Edmonton charged twice east price for their goods. Buck’s and Easterners charge forty per cent above cost. Mr. Buck handles the same kind of furniture as Simpson’s do. Eaton’s is an inferior make. Clarence will order from the various factories, have the furniture shipped to Beamsville, and then pack it in a car for them. He offered Ora furniture at ten percent above cost, but Art says he ought to have more, because that is his business. ...

What are you going to send Margaret [Albright] for her birthday? I thought it was about time for her so I looked it up in my book, so it comes a week from Saturday. It’s hard on you, having us both come in the same month.

I'm going to stop now ... For every kiss you give me, you'll get your reward.

Your own sweetheart.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov. 19, 1913

My Dear Fred,-

Not a very long letter to-day, for I am going "out" to tea, and it's now half-past two. I have to dress and then go to the store before I go to Mrs. Baker's, so I figure that it will be nearly four o'clock before I get there. It will take me some time to get my hands in fit condition to wear a diamond ring. I cooked some apples to make jelly this morning and had to squeeze the jelly bag, with the result that my hand looks the part it plays, that of the right hand of a kitchen scullion.

Thanks for the pictures. Fritz looks so handsome in the one picture, and you and Elizabeth so well suited with each other in the second snap, that I have half a mind to trade men. You tell her that and see what she has to say about it. Fritz said she cried when he gave the pup away. It was a dear in the picture, but I suppose it’s grown up now, and with age has become uninteresting.

... I'm rather tired now, dearie, and correspondingly dopey. ... I think I'll leave you now dearie, and see if some water won't restore my wanted lively spirits. Oh, it's starting to pour. Good-bye my lover.

Nora.

Fred to Evelyn

Calgary, Alberta,

Nov. 21/13

My dear neglected little girl,-

What will you think of me - practically skipping two days in succession? Each day and night this week has been worse than the previous one. But never mind, dearie, next week will not be so bad, nor as far as I can make out now - any succeeding week until New Year's anyhow. Oh I'll be busy enough, but I don't expect that it will be absolutely necessary to work both night and day. I'm going to have a good rest on Sunday. Last night for the first time, I was really too tired to go to sleep as soon as I got in bed. I feel all right today only "yawney."

The case that was tried on Wednesday and for which we had to make such preparation lasted two days - and we lost. However we’re appealing. Mr Clarke thinks we’re almost sure to win an appeal.

I was awfully sorry to hear you had the chicken-pox. I suppose they're gone by this time, or will be by the time you get this letter, so it's no use warning you not to take cold. Even chicken pox is dangerous to a grown person if one has a relapse. Isn't it funny that we should both have our infantile diseases after we're grown up. I had mumps when I was teaching and measles after I came to Calgary. The only diseases I could boast of having emerged victor from when a boy where whooping cough and chicken-pox. When a youngster I felt really slighted because dangers had passed me by. ...

I know dearest you'll not measure my love by the length of this letter. It couldn't be done by any letters as long as from here to Thorold.

Goodnight my own sweetheart.

Evelyn to Fred

Thorold, Ont.,

Nov. 21, 1913 #1

My Dearest Rusty,-

The twenty-first of November, and I'm sitting by an open window. It is beautifully warm, and the sun is shining. ... I didn’t get a letter written yesterday, so I’m writing this to go out on the same mail as yesterday’s letter would go, but I’m afraid it will be short, just as the last one was.