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#2423: Willa Cather to Mary Virginia Boak Cather, November 15 [1928]

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My Dearest Mother:

I have spent two very interesting weeks here, working hard but enjoying it. This city is more like a European city than anything else I have found on this continent. It's not pretty according to American ideas—rather grim, as all the cities in Northern France are. I've been seeing some very jolly and learned old priests. Creighton University, in Omaha, made me a Doctor of Laws a few weeks ago, you know, and the priests here think that both a great joke and a great honor. I've learned a lot of history up here—about more than my head can hold, and I've read and taken notes until my eyes demand a rest. So I'm going back to New York tomorrow.

The day before I left New York the young man at my bank, who married Nell Stackhouse's daughter (you remember I told you and father all about this young man last winter) well, he came to my hotel with some bonds I had bought and told me that Jim Stackhouse died last winter. I'm so sorry I never wrote to him—always meant to. But life drives me so hard that I just can't keep up with it, mother, and that's the truth. I'll never be able to write any more books unless people let me alone. I've been owing the President of Bohemia a letter for two months—I never feel energy enough to thank him for his beautiful letter about The Archbishop. His name is Masaryck he reads English perfectly and writes it fairly well.

I'll write you from New York very soon.

With love to you all Willie