as pleasant. But their orchestra is far from
being as fine as ours. In the city there have been afternoon and evening
receptions, and several luncheons, the most charming luncheon of all
having been the one given by my friend, Mrs. Schuyler, at the Union
Club. One afternoon each week the club rooms are at the disposal of the
wives of its members, and so popular is this way of entertaining,
the rooms are usually engaged weeks in advance. The service is really
perfect, and the rooms airy and delightfully cool--and cool rooms are
great treasures in this hot place.

The heat has been almost unbearable to us from the mountains, and one
morning I nearly collapsed while having things "fitted" in the stuffy
rooms of a dressmaker. Many of these nouveaux riches dress elegantly,
and their jewels are splendid. All the women here have such white skins,
and by comparison I must look like a Mexican, my face is so brown from
years of exposure to dry, burning winds. Of course there has been much
shopping to do, and for a time it was so confusing--to have to select
things from a counter, with a shop girl staring at me, or perhaps
insisting upon my purchasing articles I did not want. For years we had
shopped from catalogues, and it was a nice quiet way, too. Parasols
have bothered me. I would forget to open them in the street, and would
invariably leave them in the stores when shopping, and then have to go
about looking them up. But this is the first summer I have been East in
nine years, and it is not surprising that parasols and things mix me up
at times.

Faye has a beautiful saddle horse--his gait a natural single foot--and
I sometimes ride him, but most of my outings are on the electric cars. I
might as well be on them, since I have to hear their buzz and clang both
day and night from our rooms here in the hotel. The other morning, as
I was returning from a ride across the river to Council Bluffs, I heard
the shrill notes of a calliope that reminded me that Forepaugh's
circus was to be in town that day, and that I had promised to go to the
afternoon performance with a party of friends. But soon there were other
sounds and other thoughts. Above the noise of the car I heard a brass
band--and there could be no mistake--it was playing strong and full one
of Sousa's marches, "The March Past of the Rifle Regiment"--a march
that was written for Faye while he was adjutant of the regiment, and
"Dedicated to the officers and enlisted men" of