| Title: | Agnes Shakespeare (Nesta), Alberta, to "My Darling May" |
|---|---|
| ID | 2415 |
| Collection | Irish Emigration Database |
| File | Shakespeare, Agnes/2 |
| Year | 1897 |
| Sender | Shakespeare, Agnes |
| Sender Gender | female |
| Sender Occupation | unknown |
| Sender Religion | unknown |
| Origin | Alberta, Canada |
| Destination | Ireland |
| Recipient | May |
| Recipient Gender | female |
| Relationship | sisters |
| Source | D3590/M/4/1: Deposited by Godfrey Higginson Skrine Esq. |
| Archive | The Public Record Office, Northern Ireland |
| Doc. No. | 9909227 |
| Date | 14/01/1897 |
| Partial Date | |
| Doc. Type | EMG |
| Log | Document added by LT, 21:09:99. |
| Word Count | 1786 |
| Genre | |
| Note | |
| Transcript | High River, Alberta, Jan. 14th 1897 My Darling May Needless to say 'many thanks for your last,' as that is a perennial observation & which you may suppose as the beginning of every letter I write. There certainly never was such a correspondent as you are: and how you find time for everything beats me. I have been fancying the arrival of Archie's tiger skins ever since. Just fancy two tiger skins from one of our own boys at Rockport! "The like o' that's tremen'ius [tremendous?]!" - as Alicx [Alex?] used to say. No wonder that Mother pranced round them "with the step of an Empress," the idea of which greatly overcame Walter. Mind you tell about the result of the plum pudding you made! Wasn't it funny, each of us struggling with one at the same time? and funnier still, I was stuck with just the same panic as you, that I had chopped the suet too large. Yet it came out perfectly all right; and [Florence?] says its the artistic instinct in each of us, always struggling after impossible perfections, that raises these panics about suet. Such a mail as we had last time! With the papers & books that had been sent us, it was the full of a tray. Of course [Florence's?] increased the pile. She has been buried deep in the Nansen Chronicle that Mother sent here. Nina wrote me such a nice letter, just like herself, and sent me two photos of her two boys. I think they are the delight of her life. I am afraid she misses her a good deal. You see Connie Sutton & Kittie Hamilton both being married now & very much absorbed - it makes a good deal of difference to Nina, though she unselfishly rejoices about it. I was very sorry to hear that Kittie was somehow laid low, with nerves that had given way. I have not heard of any particular reason for it, so I am very sorry. Connie was very ill indeed for months, but after her little boy was born, she got much better. Little Dick Sutton is devoted to the small half-brother; and it is an awfully good thing for him to have one. An only child is rather a dreary thing. Of course you remember my lovely Lady Cynthia that I told you so much about. Nina told me that she was always asking after us now, and I was much surprised and awfully delighted: It seems lovely to be remembered by that beauty & that voice. I have so often told Walter about her. He knows her husband's younger brother Hugh Graham very well. He used to be out in this country, & long to come back. But he can't. 'Cause why, he married a rich American, and has now an "establishment" of much splendour at [Biuster?] where Walter stays with them sometimes, & hunts. They asked us what would we like for a wedding present, do you remember, and I made Walter say "forks!" So they sent us 3 dozen. And to continue the story, that rich American is a first cousin of the Stiles's, that I liked so much, that stayed with us here, you remember. Aren't people wonderfully mixed up in the world? Julie Stiles sent me a box of South American stories for Xmas. Constance, Kathleen, Mrs. Balfour, & Mr. Wollaston sent me books, & Gerald is going to. Nice people. But I must say, on the whole, I had rather be asked, as the Colonel asks: more power to him! So I send you this drawing of a jam jar, out of the Graphic, as I think that won [one?] to be the least troublesome way - with address. As he asked you, I send it to you, not him. You might say to him that I was very glad indeed to be asked, with a definite price given. Gerald asked me to choose a book: but you know when you have a house, there are a good many things more wanted than new books. He said he had heard from you lately, of which I was very glad; as he appreciates letters from you. Have you heard about the terrible illness of poor Mary Skrine, at Warleigh? She is the niece I am so very fond of, a really beautiful girl, and for some reason best known to herself, she is devoted to me. She was ill, but coming about, and their own doctor said there was nothing the matter with her, till her mother consulted someone else who said that nothing could save her life except a most dangerous operation within three days. This was performed, & for weeks her life was uncertain, but she is not convalescent, thank goodness! only she does not know the real nature of her illness, - it was tubercular peritonitis - and the danger now is consumption. They hope that being so young, she is only twenty two, she may completely recover, but I can't help seeing they are very doubtful. I feel very sad about it. She is a beautiful girl and also a very high-minded and clever one; I don't know that I ever saw one of her age with greater depth of feeling. And I think it is rather a wonder that she should be so unspoilt, for she has been so much admired & made much of. Her Aunt, the Duchess of Buckingham is always taking her about. Hessie saw her at Claverton, & she wrote to me how much she admired Hessie. Well this letter, you will think, is all about other people. It's time I got to our interesting selves. We are having a very quiet, quite a happy time of it, and I think Florence is enjoying herself as much as I ever saw her do. What she enjoys is simply the monotony of things. You know she is like me in that: the more one day is like another the better she likes it. Also she seems to admire the winter colouring of the prairie, and the sunset lights, and the brilliant moonlight nights, which I must say are the brightest I ever have seen. And she takes such an interest in all that goes on. The gifted Henry, the [day-breed?] has finished making the new corral, & gone for the present. We had a regular run of annoyances during the two days last week. I'll tell you. It began by our finding one day, nearly at the end of our rise, a fine yearling dead, & partly eaten. I waited till Walter had done his examination, after which his sole remark was - "Pretty cheek of the wolves!" - I felt awfully sick at this, & so did he; as you know it was just a little earlier than this last year when the wolves descended on us, killing one a night for nearly a week. Well, he took off that afternoon, procured some poison, & poisoned the carcase - which was all he could do. That night there was a very high wind. Next morning the first thing we saw on looking out was one side of the new corral fence blown over and flat on its face. An encouraging sign of the future, certainly. You must observe it was a lean-fence as they call it, that is, one constructed entirely by balance: for you can't dig post holes in winter. Very well, by the time breakfast was over, a cow came along the hill side near the house, slipped on the ice, fell, broke her leg, (presumably) & lay groaning. This was "a beautiful cow, mind ye, in the best bloom of her youth." - and you can't mend a cow with a broken leg. However of all these catastrophies we made the best. The poor cow was killed at once, for beef: and as something had to be killed for beef anyway, before long, it was not so much to be deplored. The gay half-breed discovered that he had built the side of the fence that fell without giving it sufficient slope. He and Morgan rectified that in the course of the morning, the next thing was to ride forth and visit the carcase; which when we did, we discovered four coyotes lying dead round about it, but no sign of Mr. Wolf. And as nearly a week has passed since then, & no harm at all has come to the herd, we coclude that it was not done by wolves at all, and are much relieved in mind. This is the hisory of our troubles, and their ending. You might safely say, it is a peaceful life, if those are its worst troubles. There's no doubt that this is a very peaceful life, if people are made so that they can be content with it. We are content with it, entirely so. But no doubt we have what wont be thought exceptional tastes. We like being let alone, we like monotony, we like riding so many hours a day over the same country, we like reading in the evenings. Florence says she thinks it is very very seldom that married people have minds and tastes so exactly alike as Walter and I have. I have come to think it rather remarkable myself. It makes a most blesed harmony. - And when you consider that Walter is English of the English, & I am Irish of the Irish. Well, I really must stop. I am sending this to Lisloughry, thinking and greatly hoping too that you are there now. Of course give our love to Hessie and Francis. And isn't this queer? Yesterday I learnt that Lord Ardilann had a share in the [O] Ranche. (Do you know that you have to call that [O] bar-you?) He and Lord Castletown, Godfrey Seringe's cousin,had shares in the H.L. Ranche, of which Godfrey was manager once, but afterwards it was incorporated with the [O], of which the inimitable Fred Stimson is now manager. They are our nearest neighbours now. You must tell that to Francis, and let Francis tell Lord Ardilann, and talk to him about ranching & show him what a lot he knows about it; and then work on him somehow to send him (Francis) out to this very place to look after his interests here. Then Francis could stay with us, and of course his travelling expenses wont have to be paid. Wouldn't Francis love to see a ranche again? You bet your life. So tell him this. Your loving sister Nesta. P.S. The shop should be directed to write on the outside of the parcel - "Glass Jam-dish." for the benefit of the Custom house. |
