while we staid there: Father has gained in strength a good deal but has not been able to ride out 626 yet. We are in hopes he soon will be, the fine weather agrees with him so well I suppose Rachel has told you about her unexpected stay at home. We had over seventy Scholars at the Sunday School today. Peter seems to be trying to make up your loss as well as he can. The books you left and the remembrances you sent seemed very grateful to them they looked very tickled. You see Wm is not far from Yankeetown, and talks as if he would not care much if he "popped over" as he used to say if he could do better there than where he is. how I do not feel much like seeing them go so far from home and where it is perhaps not so healthy. However I hope they will be directed in the way that they can do the most good for the world and for themselves.
Hollow April 13th 1866
Dear friend John
It is very lonely here but most congenial to my feeling just now. I did not get to see my dear friend Anna; Father seemed not to be able to make up his mind to let me so far from home and now I never shall see her this side our home in heaven. I never could realize how I should feel until she really was gone. She told her sister to tell me she would rather have seen me than any one living, and that there was something that caused her a great deal of trouble that she has been wanting to tell me for a long time but could not bear to put on paper. Susie gave me to understand that one whom Anna "respected and loved proved to be fickle and unworthy, and that she never could get over it"
She had such strong affections and such sensitive nature that I am sure her heart would be broken and that it would be enough to put her into a decline. I shall ever regret that I did not get to see her. She lived until the 26th of [illegible].
She left them in full possession of her mental faculties and triumphing in the hope of eternal life. I feel so sorry for her poor lonely sister and her deeply grieved reconciled father and mother. They are pressing me to go to see them in their loneliness but I feel as if I could not go there now. John the poor old hollow seems just the place for reflections particularly of a sad nature. It is just as peaceful and free from gossip as ever. Charlie, Anna and I came down to pack up but I am not able to do my part so we are going home and coming some time again. I am sorry that I cannot go up the river on the side hill and gather some of the dear little flowers. Nearly all the daisies are winter killed, even Mary Ann shows very little signs of life. No wonder poor things they would only be [stored at?] or torn off by some rough hand and the thyme too appears to feel too lonely to think of venturing to look green, for it is nearly all dead. You shall have a share of what is alive. Hattie has just walked up to stay with us tonight. She knew I felt so lonesome. Poor Hattie has not got over her cough yet. She is going to take Mary Ann with her to see if it can be made to live yet John you don't know how we missed the little star you used to have in the window for us when we would be coming home after night, and the cheerful fire, and not least missed the pleasant welcome you had for us after being here so long alone. (except when [illegible] intended)
Ada Catharine wanted me to tell you she thought you might write to her if you did not to any of the rest of the family. They have not forgotten the promised pictures. E.A. Williams is in Rochester going to school The Sunday School is keeping up very well We miss you very much over on that side of the house and in the morning when we are getting ready for school. Wm and Maggie too are away and Charles will soon be gone. If you only had seen the crowd that gathered around your letter to the boys to hear it read I know you would have laughed.
Home April 22
I am ashamed to be finish[ing?] this dreadful affair of a letter. When you read (that is if you can read) please believe it to be from a friend though the friendship be poorly manifested. I hope you have found some friends before this time, and that you feel more at home. Have you a room where you can have your old clock ticking away to keep you company. Your room looks very awfully deserted, the moss kept green
1866 Apr 13 - 22
Original letter dimensions: 18.5 x 22.5 cm
Trout, Mary, "Letter from Mary Trout to John Muir, 1866 Apr 13 - 22" (1866). John Muir Correspondence (PDFs). 1188.
Reel 01, Image 0802
Copyright status unknown