to me that the Contemporary Club might like to have one of the lectures, and you are on the committee.  That would be the making of Miss Ramsay, if only she could be heard in that huge Clover Room.  I understand she has a pleasant cultivated voice, but is not accustomed to public speaking.  There must be plenty of smaller clubs at Bryn Mawr, or Haverford, or Chestnut Hill, for which she would be just the thing.  Her grandfather wrote a history of England, and I have a vague impression that I studied it at school.  I should write to the Drexel Institute, but don’t know anybody connected with it.  Do you?  It would be a real kindness to give Miss Ramsay a start, and I know you do not begrudge trouble in a good cause.  You did such wonders for Fraulein Breitenbach last winter.

Love to your mother,
Affectionately yours,
HANNAH GALE HAMILTON.

Miss Violet Wray to Mrs. J. Lockwood Smith

DEAR ANN,—­

I have been requested by Hannah Hamilton—­may Heaven forgive her!—­to find lecture engagements for a Miss Ramsay, Miss Alexandrina Ramsay, who wants to tell the American public what she knows about Dante.  Why a Scotchwoman should be turned loose in the Inferno, I cannot say; but it seems her father or her grandfather wrote school-books, and she is carrying on the educational traditions of the family.  Hannah made the unholy suggestion that she should speak at the Contemporary Club, and offered as an inducement the fact that she couldn’t be heard in so large a room.  But we are supposed to discuss topics of the day, and Dante happened some little while ago.  He has no bearing upon aviation, or National Insurance Bills (that is our subject next Monday night); but he is brimming over with ethics, and it is the duty of your precious Ethical Society to grapple with him exhaustively.  I always wondered what took you to that strange substitute for church; but now I see in it the hand of Providence pointing the way to Miss Ramsay’s lecture field.  Please persuade your fellow Ethicals that four lectures—­or even one lecture—­on Dante will be what Alice Hunt calls an “uplift.”  I feel that I must try and find an opening for Hannah’s protegee, because she helped me with Fraulein Breitenbach’s concert last winter,—­a circumstance she does not lightly permit me to forget.  Did I say, “May Heaven forgive her” for saddling me with this Scotch schoolmaster’s daughter?  Well, I take back that devout supplication.  May jackals sit on her grandmother’s grave!  Meantime here is Miss Ramsay to be provided for.  If your Ethicals (disregarding their duty) will have none of her, please think up somebody with a taste for serious study, and point out that Dante, elucidated by a Scotchwoman, will probably be as serious as anything that has visited Philadelphia since the yellow fever.

If you want one of Grisette’s kittens, there are still two left.  The handsomest of all has gone to live in regal splendour at the Bruntons, and I have promised another to our waitress who was married last month.  Such are the vicissitudes of life.