Peabody, Mass. July 18, 1902
To Whom it may Concern:

I have great pleasure in writing for the benefit of those people of the year 2002 who shall read this, a brief account of the life and doings of my family for the week beginning with the Fourth of July.

Young America, according to custom and tradition, did its best to usher in the National holiday with all of its wanted(?) noise and celebration, the streets of Peabody and Salem being thronged with men, women and children, all dragging cowbells along the sidewalks, firing guns, cannon crackers, bombs, etc. The police are supposed to suppress all such exuberance of spirits until the hour of midnight; it is largely a case of supposition, however, as "Young America" refuses to be suppressed.

The night of the third was sufficiently showery as to prevent the burning of one of the two huge bonfires always fired at the hour of twelve, on Gallows Hill and Broad Street, Salem, the Broad Street fire being postponed until the night of the Fourth.

At the striking of the town clocks, my husband, Joseph E. Osborn, four visitors, and myself went out of doors and unfurled Old Glory to the breezes of the night, after which, we all retired.

There are only my husband and myself, aged respectively 35 and 30 years, in our family; but it was largely increased by several visitors who were spending the Fourth with us. And as it is the custom of our family on that day to keep open house, our guests were too numerous to mention in this limited space. All day they came and went, or came and stayed, mostly the latter, satisfying the inner man with abundant services of cold ham, peas, olives, crackers, cheese and last, but by no means least, the famous old Fourth of July punch. And the day ended most happily by six of us taking a landau and driving down to see the bonfire at Broad Street.

After breakfast of melons, coffee and rolls, bacon and eggs, served at nine o'clock on the next morning, Mr. Osborne went to his leather factory for a while, while Mary, the maid, and I made haste to put the house to rights. After luncheon, he and his particular friend Prentice H. Thomas went to Marblehead Neck to the Corinthian Yacht Club, in our automobile, while I went to the Salem Golf Club, over in South Salem off of Lafayette Street.

Sunday, we spent quietly at home, not even going out in the automobile. Mary, my maid of all work, was busy washing and ironing Monday, so I dusted, picked up, and cleaned the porch or piazza. This piazza is 8-1/2 feet wide by 27 feet long, going the entire length of the house, and being accessible only from the library which opened onto it. It is covered by two huge awnings, and surrounded by a railing which is covered with my plants in pots, window boxes, and hanging baskets. The piazza floor is carpeted with five rugs, and is furnished like a room, with five rocking chairs of various shapes and sizes, two tables and a tea table, three deep wicker chairs, and a deep couch occupying one end, and heaped with sofa pillows, thirteen in all, covered with turkey red and green. All together it is the most delightful, and certainly the most popular part of our house.

In the afternoon several of my girl friends dropped in, as we twentieth century people say, for afternoon tea; only as the day was warm, we had a most delicious drink called by the exceedingly inelegant name of "horses' neck," which is a tall thin glass, a great deal of thin shaved ice, the peel of lemon cut round and round, the fruit in a curl, maybe a little of the juice, and upon all this is to be poured a bottle of ginger ale. Try it, my dear people, you'll find it worthwhile.

Tuesday, I lazed among my books and my embroidery.

Wednesday, I gave a luncheon to eight of my girl friends, at one o'clock. The table was laid with silver for eight courses, on Renaissance lace centerpiece, table and tumble doilies, the flowers filling the center of the table were nasturtiums, set in their own green leaves. Mrs. Chas. P. Vaughn sat opposite me, at the foot of the table; Miss Lila McGowan of Philadelphia, the guest of honor, was at my right, with Miss Bessie W. Bancroft and Mrs. George Felt beside her, and Mrs. Fred Munroe, Mrs. George Underwood, and Mrs. Samuel Crane Lord on the other side.

The first course was iced raspberries and currant juice, served in punch glasses; second course: clear soup; third course: casserole of fish with potato chips and sliced cucumbers; fourth course: veal cutlets breaded with tomato sauce, banana fritters, and green peas; fifth course: a lemon sherbet, heaped up over pineapple, oranges, and bananas cut into dice and sweetened, served in tall glasses, and garnished with maraschino cherries and sprigs of mint, called Coup St. Jacques; sixth course: tomato and cucumber salad served in cucumber boats; seventh course: bar-le-duc preserve with cream cheese and crackers; eighth course: finger bowls and coffee, the latter being served on the piazza. There were olives, radishes, bonbons, salted pecans and salted almonds on the table during luncheon, of course. The girls went home from five to five-thirty o'clock.

Thursday morning, I went down to Daniel Low's jewelry store, and bought me an almond set consisting of one large and eight individual almond dishes, of silver; also got my signet ring which had been left to be repaired. In the afternoon, my cousin, Mrs. T. Edward Tuttle and her little girl Constance came down from Dorchester to visit me. Mr. Osborn had spent the week, with the exception of Wednesday which is his Boston day, at his office and factory on Aborn Place. Wednesday he went into Boston in the automobile, which vehicle, by the way, is still in its infancy with us, as they have not become very common as yet, and cost all the way from six or seven hundred dollars up to as much as one likes to pay, being out of the reach of the poorer people. Mr. Osborn's is a steam automobile, and behaves or misbehaves, as it happens. This closes a most uneventful week in the lives of the Osborn family. Hoping that it may be of interest to you who read, and with all best wishes for my successors, I am ? me,

Most cordially yours,

Alice Gates Osborn