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NEW YORK, March 19, 1895.

DEAREST MIRIAM,—You don’t know how happy your letter has made me. I felt sure you would get over your tantrums sooner or later. Now you are my own little girl again, and soon you’ll be my own little wife!

But why must we put it off till June? The store closes on Decoration Day, you know, and I guess I can get the firm to let me have a day or two. So make it May 30th, won’t you?—and perhaps we can take that trip to Niagara as you said you’d like to.

JACK.