"All this goes on the supposition that the embroidery sent Miss Lucy has the cipher on it, but as Mrs. Cox is out bazaaring,—or shopping,—I must guess at it.
"All I can add is to express my regards for your husband, who is my beau ideal in many ways. Doubtless he is your 'bold idol,' as a young lady said. Tell him when the time comes, to warm that place for me! I will go back to Congress and die in harness. I don't want to die here,—in fact I don't want to die at all as yet, for life has so much blessing and beauty—in spring!
"Mrs. Cox and I go this evening to dine at the palace of Zildez—the pleasure-house of the Sultan. It is not mutual that I must take my Only One to see him and I can't see any one of his ten thousand and altogether lovely.
"Yours faithfully,
"S. S. Cox."
CHAPTER XL
I have always thought that New York's Centennial celebration in 1889 was largely responsible for the patriotic societies of men and women which have swept the country.
Everybody was willing at the time of the celebration to sit for two entire days on rude seats under the April sun while the evidences of the power and achievements of our great country passed in review before us.
We remember the military pomp of the first day, the dignified carriage of the governors of our United States as they bared their heads in gracious acknowledgment of the cheers of the people, the triumphant blare of trumpets, the stirring strains of martial music, the glitter of bayonets, the long, living line, which was only a small part of the nation's bulwark against its possible foes.
Then the schools and colleges, then the gorgeous civic parade and the illustrations and representatives of the trades, occupations, and nationalities that have found a home in our broad land.