Mary Allen Hulbert Peck to Woodrow Wilson

Do you feel strong enough to bear another letter from me? The last three have been like the cries of a drowning one. Sinking — Coming to the surface — Struggling — Crying out to you for help — Going down again — again sending forth a call for succor — but the — poor soul was saved — and lies on the shore — with — occasional gleams of sunlight morning the tired bruised mind — a promise of cloudless skies calls in the day. Eyes again awakened to the beauty of Earth. Ears no longer dulled to the songs of birds (English sparrows) Nor Oh heart to the voice of hope. All of which effusion is “going some.” In plain words, Allen sailed yesterday— leaving me here in my bed — happier than I have been in years — because of his changed attitude toward life — the hope and courage in which he set forth. He is digging away at “Spanish Self Taught” — so that when he arrives in S. America he can at least ask for bread and cheese. My room looks like a debutantes in the way of flowers Tulip, sweet peas — roses —pansies all from sweet women friends I love. If I can ever get strength enough to pack my poor belongings, I shall leave here — for less expensive quarters — Dr. Baker thinks its just nervous exhaustion. I think it influenza. It may be a bit of both. But I’ve no use for it. What I want to do is to go to Nantucket, finish the sale of furniture, sell the cottage there, then go to NY to be with Katherine a few days — then on to Hot Springs for three or four weeks. Then — quite so my cookbooks is ready for typing — And I hope to find a complaisant publisher. One beautiful thing has come to me out of this trying winter. A strengthened faith in God. I shall do my best — as He gives me light — but all is in His Hands. Isn’t it beautiful — wonderful — to know that God is with us — I am always so ashamed when I have days of doubt. Do you know — Spring is in the air — I feel it even through my opened window that looks out only upon brick walls — and roofs — and a little patch of bright gray sky — A tree, stand s in my line of vision. The trunk and branches all wearing that black and silver that means the Sap is starting. Oh — I do love this beautiful Earth. Did I tell you my flowers were blooming in the borders at Nantucket? Dear little English daisies — How I wish you could be there with me for while — to enjoy the peace and quiet of it all. See the sails on the horizon and the little yachts flittering past the big windows of the living room. The conventions of this world are very annoying I find. It would seem such a simple matter to gather about one — under one roof those whose “fellow ship of kindred minds is like to that above” — and so live to the best that is in one. Its the “tyranny of one’s next door neighbor” that prevents and so, disciplines us. I really should be the most scintillatily little gem that ever flashed — I’ve been so wonderfully cut & polished — It remains to be seen however, whether I’m a stone of the first water or just a pebble. I hope you realize what a comfort your steadfast friendship is to me, and how gratefully — prayerfully and humbly I accept it. I shall be sorry in a way to leave Boston. There is much I could do here. Do you know the Bushnell quotation?

I come from good old Boston
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where the Cabots speak only to Lowells,
And the Lowells speak only to God.
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And its a perfectly good Irish mayor who is having the streets properly flushed for the first time — Isn’t the world full of a number of things.
I really must stop — If you had chosen another time for your administration I could write you without self reproach — How I wish I could help — God bless you — and give you strength.*