to look at the empty walls, and the
empty chairs in the kitchen almost
obscures my sight, if I were used
to tears. But I think of the rustic
seat, and I think of the July Evening
just as the day is done, and I read
of the one come back, worth all the
"ninety and nine" who have not gone
from home, and these things strengthen
me for many a day to come.
I'm so glad you are cheerful
at Cambridge, for cheerful indeed
one must be to write such a comic
affair as your last letter to me.
I believe the message to Bowdoin, w'd
have killed father outright if he
had'nt just fortified nature with two
or three cups of tea. I could hardly
contain myself sufficiently to read a
thing so grotesque, but it did me