And those of us who live herein
Are most as dead as seraphim
Though not as good.
My guardian angel is asleep
At least he doth no vigil keep
But far doth roam.
Then give me back my lonely farm
Where none alive did wish me harm,
Dear childhood home!
DEAR MOTHER,--I am thrilling with unhappyness this morning. I got
that out of a book called Cora The Doctor's Wife. Cora's
husband's mother was very cross and unfeeling to her like Aunt M.
to me. I wish Hannah had come instead of me for it was Hannah
that Aunt M. wanted and she is better than I am and does not
answer back so quick. Are there any peaces of my buff calico.
Aunt J. wants enough to make a new waste, button behind, so I
wont look so outlandish. The stiles are quite pretty in Riverboro
and those at Meeting quite ellergant, more so than in Temperance.
This town is stilish, gay and fair,
And full of wellthy riches rare,
But I would pillow on my arm
The thought of my sweet Brookside Farm.
School is pretty good. The Teacher can answer more questions than
the Temperance one but not so many as I can ask. I am smarter
than all the girls but one but not so smart as two boys. Emma
Jane can add and subtract in her head like a streek of lightning
and knows the speling book right through but has no thoughts of
any kind.
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