February 18 Sunday – At 21 Fifth Ave., N.Y. Sam wrote verse to an unidentified person. A draft survives:

For your love has the power of the fabled purse
That wrought charms in the old romaunt
Who had it might live in a shack or worse
And feed on dreams & air dew & verse
Yet never could he know want [MTP].

Sam also wrote to daughter Clara in Atlantic City, N.J. referring to the President’s daughter, Clara’s illness and other matters.  

Well, dear Ashcast, she’s married, ain’t you glad? I know it, because the President has sent a card which says so. I was going to telegraph him that we already knew about it, but Miss Lyon who is provincial & Farmingtonius & not well up in society things thought it quite unnecessary, & even said so. So there it stands. It is no fault of mine. I wash my hands of it.

Your ring still lies on my bed-table. It is a bait—for Catherine—& Philip—& Miss Lyon. I am watching them. They do not suspect. Keep it to yourself—we’ll see what will happen, when it happens.

I am afraid you are in bed yet, as I hear nothing to the contrary. If you had remained here you would have had this attack anyway, & become bedridden, so it is fortunate that you are there in that wholesomer air. Don’t hurry back—don’t. And don’t try to send Katy—I won’t allow it.

Teresa is getting along a little, at the hospital. To-morrow they will put her in a room to herself. I am glad of that [MTP]. Note: Teresa Cherubini was the maid.