Transcription:
1127 N. Meridian Street, Indianapolis, February 1, 1900. My dear Mr. Muir: I feel impelled to write a few lines to you
this morning. I wish to tell you that the white grandmother -the Lily grandmother, as you, tenderly and poetically, have designated
her in your letters, has gone away. At six o'clock January 29-two days ago-she passed into the Silent Land after eight months
of illness. Her death at the very last-after much weariness, and at times acute suffering, was peaceful and painless-like
a sunset. I need not tell you that through the long sickness, she was patient, cheerful, heroic. Her two daughters-Mrs. Victor
Hendricks and Miss Anna did most of the nursing which was faithful-untiring. They, with my brother-all of them good friends
of yours-wish me to convey to you kindest regards. And now, my dear friend, what of yourself? Are you still busy, welding
thought to thought in book shape, or are you resting after work? Some time, when you are not harrassed with literary work,
or any other engrossing occupation, can you not send a few lines to me. Many a year is in its grave since we happened upon
each other in the foothills of the Sierra, and in the same party visited what you have termed, the grand reception hall of
the Sierra-the majestic Yosemite. Very sincerely your friend, Eliza S. Hendricks WHen The Indianapolis Journal asked
for a brief memorial of our departed friend, it fell to my lot to write it. Her pastor wrote one for another of our city dailies-both
of which I enclose. E.S.H. 02657