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I went out to Church this forenoon, and in spite of the storm, there were quite a number present, and I had, at the last, as many as three invitations to go home with different persons to dinner, Thanksgiving dinner too! but, (would you believe it?) I refused them all. I hardly know whether from an odd habit I have got into of refusing all invitations; or because I felt like getting to the place that feels most like home. I closed my school here last Friday, Nov. 28th, a week ago tomorrow, and was then expecting to leave here, Sat. last, or the next Monday, but, as I had a pretty good home, and very kind invitations to stop here, I finally concluded to stay here a spell, rather than go to Brunswick - where I could be doing nothing, and must be at considerable expense, or than to go over to Monmouth, or Hallowell with Friends Welch or Peavey, who kindly invited me so to do, and make a home with them for the week, as I was almost entirely unacquainted with their families, and should feel as if I were putting them to trouble, rather than going home, though perhaps I might have been vexed with them, had the case been 'transposed', and they refused to go home with me; so I availed myself of my priveliged capacity of saying 'guess I better not', and took the easiest course for a lazy person, that of maintaining my 'status quo', and so here I am, at Royal Whitman's, Turner. I guess there is not much sense in what I have written so you need not be puzzled if you can not find it. It is hardly worth the while to write such silly letters as I do, but I never seem to feel like taking pains when I set down to write a letter. [Written up the left side:] I suppose that by the time you write again, after receiving this letter, you must direct to Richmond, Corner

[Written up the right side:] I have been expecting a letter from you for a week past, perhaps.