April 16th 1877
My Dear Friends,
In answer to your last which I received in due time I write a few lines to let you know how we are getting on. Aunt has been wonderful in her health but very bad with rheumatisms in her legs and arms the weather is so cold that there is little wonder that we are not all bad with pains the snow is lying white on the hills around us today we may say that we have never had winter till the spring is nearly past only we hope the weather will soon take a change.
Tam is still working with masons when the weather will allow and has been in pretty good health this some time past now James I will not promise to write you a long letter this time for I have had very sore eyes for a week I was nearly blind and since my eyes turned a little better I have had a bad cold and has been confined to bed but I may be very thankful that I am on the way of getting better if I continue if it is Gods will. the doctor blames me looking so steady at my work for my eyes turning sore. be that as it may I must just submit to whatever God sees fit to lay upon me and be glad it is no worse. I hope this will find you all in good health when it reaches you. Aunt sends her kind love to you and she says she would like very well to see your son but she thinks that will likely never take place. you are to give Aunts kind love to all friends and execpt [sic] the same to you all every one from your affectionate Cousin Marion Brown
I hope you will not be long in writting for I cannot write more at this time M. B.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Tower Cottages, 16 April 1877
As I type in this letter, much of mid-Scotland is under hurricane conditions--so maybe it's appropriate that Marion Brown is writing about the weather--in her case, cold and snow. (The winter-spring of 1877 was "notably wet" in Scotland, according to weather historians.) The cold is affecting Aunt's rheumatism, and Tam's work schedule. Marion Brown, meanwhile, is confined to bed with sore eyes and a cold. She was recently, temporarily blind, and apologizes that she cannot write more. The doctor blames Marion Brown's sewing and knitting for straining her eyes. Aunt is wistful; she expects she will never get a chance to see John Bryden, the new son of James Bryden and Marion Glencross. (And as far as I can tell, she never did see him.)