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NEW YORK, Jan. 1, 1895.

DEAREST MIRIAM,—That was a sweet letter you wrote me Christmas—just the kind of letter I hope you will always write.

And so you have decided that I’m to stay here and work hard and make a fortune and you will wait for me and you won’t be cold to me again. That’s the way I thought you would decide; and I guess it’s the decision that’s best for both of us.

What sets me up, too, is your saying you may be able to come down here for a little visit. Come as soon as you can. If the friend you’re going to stay with is really living up at One Hundredth Street, she’s a long way off, but that won’t prevent my getting up to see you as often as I can.

I shall like to show you the town and take you to see the interesting places. It will amuse me to watch the way you take things here. You’ll find out that Auburnvale is a pretty small place, after you’ve seen New York.

Of course, you’ll come to Dr. Thurston’s on Sunday with me. I wonder if you wouldn’t like to help in the Sunday-school library while you are in town? Mr. Stanwood’s going down to Florida to see about his railroad there, and he’s to take his daughter with him, so there’s nobody to give out books on Sunday.

But no matter about that, so long as you come soon. You know who will be waiting for you on the platform, trying to get a sight of you again after all these months.

JACK.