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Brattleboro' Vermont. Sunday, October | Brattleboro' Vermont. Sunday, October 31st, 1847 | ||
Contrary to my usual practice, it is now, I believe, nearly a whole fortnight since I have written home. However, I presume I need makes no excuse therefor, as it is about three weeks since I have received a letter, or heard a word from Down East. Alfred R. Field Esq., my present immediate superior, has gone down to Northfield to day, and I expect will bring me upon his return about a dozen letters, If he does not, I have made up my mind to be considerably vexed with the inhabitants of Maine. Now, if I were at home, I think I could find a good deal to write to @ poor scamp so far off which would interest him; knowing as well as I do that every thing I could write would be interesting to him. | |||
But now, I have quite a mind to give up writing altogether, as others do. I can of course have nothing of importance to write, merely how I myself am getting on. To be sure, it might be a matter of curiosity simply for people at home to hear once in a while what a fellow was about or whether he was about anything; but then it is of no sort of consequence: it can make no difference: he gets along just as well, whether they know it or even think of it. On the whole perhaps it would be better to write only once a year! And none of you ever write to me, I may adopt that course! |
Latest revision as of 19:28, 4 October 2020
Brattleboro' Vermont. Sunday, October 31st, 1847 Contrary to my usual practice, it is now, I believe, nearly a whole fortnight since I have written home. However, I presume I need makes no excuse therefor, as it is about three weeks since I have received a letter, or heard a word from Down East. Alfred R. Field Esq., my present immediate superior, has gone down to Northfield to day, and I expect will bring me upon his return about a dozen letters, If he does not, I have made up my mind to be considerably vexed with the inhabitants of Maine. Now, if I were at home, I think I could find a good deal to write to @ poor scamp so far off which would interest him; knowing as well as I do that every thing I could write would be interesting to him. But now, I have quite a mind to give up writing altogether, as others do. I can of course have nothing of importance to write, merely how I myself am getting on. To be sure, it might be a matter of curiosity simply for people at home to hear once in a while what a fellow was about or whether he was about anything; but then it is of no sort of consequence: it can make no difference: he gets along just as well, whether they know it or even think of it. On the whole perhaps it would be better to write only once a year! And none of you ever write to me, I may adopt that course!