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First draft of letter, in note-book 59 (68) Martinez, cal., Oct. 22, 1900. My dear Miss Graydon: The ferns are here
in perfect order, and they are lovely, neatly pressed and packed and named, and I thank you very much. Of course you know
you have my sympathy in your loneliness caused by the deposition from earth of your great aunt Catherine Merrill , the pole
star and lodestone of your life, and of how many other lives. What she was to me and what I thought of her I wrote to Mrs.
Moores for a memorial book her many friends are preparing. A rare, beloved soul, a pure blessing sent of God, her work done,
gone to the better Land. And now you must get used to seeing her there and hold on to her as your guide as before. Poor Janet
is not gaining strength, her mother tells me, but is still able to know her friends and to love them. Wanda, as you know,
is going to school in Berkeley and expects to enter the University soon. She is a faithful steady scholar, quiet, womanly,
not in the least odd or brilliant, but strong-willed, earnest, and unstoppable as an avalanche. She comes home every Friday
evening or Saturday morning, returning Monday mornings by the new railway that crosses the vineyards a few hundred yards south
from the house. Muir Station is a little beyond the east boundary of the vineyard on the Brown hill. Helen takes great delight
in watching the trains whirl by, and in meeting Wanda and seeing her off. What kind of education she will choose I don't know.
We are all about as usual. I suppose you know we have my sister Sarah with us, making four Muirs, half of the family. David's
son William is now with his father on the old ranch, a great help to him. May's baby is of course a transcendental wonder
- she actually toddles and talks. Just think of it - if you doubt it, ask May. Write us a long letter and let us know how
you prosper now the plague cloud is gone and the sky of your lovely island clear once more. Many thanks. God bless you,
Ever your friend, J. M. 02890