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Updated: June 8, 2025
On the 16th of June of this year, Rebecca, the wife of my only surviving brother, left her body, and was welcomed to the evergreen shores of the summer-land, by her father, mother, our father, mother, my spirit-bride and her father, mother, and my two brothers who had long gone before.
I could go now unopposed and stand by him while he wrote the following: 'I am with you my dear Bro but too xcited to speak for a moment have patience brother and I will do the best I can do to control. Your sister Marie St. Clair. The change in kinship, and its novelty, staggered me somewhat; clearly they manage things differently in the 'Summer-land. However, I mastered my emotion.
Here is evidently 'a spirit of no common rate, of whom we might well desire further acquaintance, albeit at the cost of losing golden-haired, black-eyed Sister Belle. But why should we talk of 'loss? If, as Banquo says, 'there's husbandry in Heaven, why should we not in the 'Summer-land' find one and the same skull, with frugal economy, given to two owners?
Yet what a day it was in which to live and love, and motor over perfect roads through that radiant summer-land which the Ligurians loved, the Romans conquered, and the modern world comes from afar to see. Though it was early in April, with Easter but a few days behind us, the sky, the air, the flowers, belonged to June a rare, rich June to praise in poetry or song.
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