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This is a queer place: an island about seven miles long and only about one and a half miles wide, has a population of 1750--210 of whom ar white, the other 1540 are black and colored--the latter are of all shades from a blue-eyed octaroon to a dark mulatto. One African slave who has withered down to about 3 1/2 feet; she is the last of her kind. All the people are interested in making salt. Later years have been bad ones, and we are beset with beggars all the time. Poor Creatures it is a mystery how they get anything to eat: Very little grows on the island aside from Cocoa-nuts--there are a few hundred of these. We live on the western edge of the island, about 150 feet from the water, which leads on the shore night and ay, while the wind soughs through the long Cocoa fronds and needles of the Casurinas in our front yard. Since beginning this letter my wife and I trudged across the island to the eastern side on which there is a hill about 70 feet high--all the rest of the island is from 8 to 15 feet above the sea. At the top of the hill we stood with the wind blowing in our faces directly from Sahara, 2500 miles to the easward. Grand Turk, our island is about 1170 miles south of New York, and 90 miles north of San Domingo. There is a perpetual revolution going on in San Domingo all the time, and we always have more or less men and Generals here as Refugees. The misfortune is that no principle is involved in the struggle--it is simply which party shall handle the money, in either case the people will suffer. I hope you will continue writing. You appeal to the human, and reach the heart. I see that Mr. Alden had a dinner a short time ago. W.D. will be 70 the first of March, so I expect something will be done for him. With Kindest regards in which Mrs H joins me, I am Sincerely J Howells Edith Wyatt Chicago, Ill