Can you imagine a man's stretching out his hand to pluck a peach and just before he touched the peach, finding only the bough of the tree? Then, as from disappointment he was about to break off the offensive bough, seeing again the dangling peach? Can you imagine this situation to be of long continuance, during which he could neither take hold of the peach nor let go of the tree--nor go away? If you can, you will understand what I mean when I say that my bride persists in remaining unwed and I persist in wooing. I do not know why; she protests that she does not know; but we do know that life is short, love shorter, that time flies, and we are not husband and wife. If she remains undecided when Summer returns, I hope Mrs. Blackthorne and you will let me come alone. Thus I can thank you with certainty for one with the hope that I may yet thank you for two. I am, Sincerely yours, BEVERLEY SANDS. P.S.--Can you pardon the informality of a postscript? As far as I can see clearly into a cloudy situation, marriage is denied me on account of the whole unhappy history of woman--which is pretty hard. But a good many American ladies--the one I woo among them--are indignant just now that they are being crowded out of their destinies by husbands--or even possibly by bachelors. These ladies deliver lectures to one another with discontented eloquence and rouse their auditresses to feministic frenzy by reminding them that for ages woman has walked in the shadow of man and that the time has come for the worm [the woman] to turn on the shadow or to crawl out of it. My dear Mr. Blackthorne, I need hardly say that the only two shadows I could ever think of casting on the woman I married would be that of my umbrella whenever it rained, and that of her parasol whenever the sun shone. But I do maintain that if there is not enough sunshine for the men and women in the world, if there has to be some casting of shadows in the competition and the crowding, I do maintain that the casting of the shadow would better be left to the man. He has had long training, terrific experience, in this mortal business of casting the shadow, has learned how to moderate it and to hold it steady! The woman at least knows where it is to be found, should she wish to avail herself of it. But what would be the state of a man in his need of his spouse's penumbra? He would be out of breath with running to keep up with the penumbra or to find where it was for the time being! I have seen some of these husbands who live--or have gradually died out--in the shadow of their wives; they are nature's subdued farewell to men and gentlemen. DIARY OF BEVERLEY SANDS _June 16._ A remarkable thing has lately happened to me.