Dear Mother, | New York. March 20th 1841. |
I was very much pleased to receive a letter from you by Father on his recent visit to this city. I received a letter from Father on business, the answer to which I dispatched last night.
Mary’s letter pleased me very much. I found it difficult to frame an
[128]answer which I thought would please her. I hope I shall see how I succeeded by the next epistle, which I shall expect from her next week. I also wrote a few lines to Bertha to encourage her ambition. I hope to hear from her soon.
I am sorry to hear Ada is suffering so much. Can I send you no rarities for her? If you find it difficult to procure swabs in Hartford I think I could obtain them here. I have succeeded in seducing a pair of doves into a coop in our tower, & they have commenced laying. Could you spare me one of the canaries this summer? I think I could take good care of it. If you have such fine weather as we have had for two days, you must soon find the bluebirds. Indeed, I think that yesterday & today have been two of the finest days I ever knew; though I believe there has not been twenty four hours before, this month, in which there has not been some kind of a storm, generally snow.
Oh, how I long to be where I was a year ago: midst two lofty mountains, pursuing the uneven course of the purling brook, gliding among the fair granite rocks, & lisping over the pebbles; meandering through the lowly valley, under the sweeping willows, & the waving elms, where nought is heard save the indistinct clink of anvils & the distant roaring of water as it passes gracefully over the half natural dam of the beautiful Farmington when the declining Phoebus gilds the snow capt hills & enlightens the venerable tower of Montevideo, then & there to be—“up to knees in mud & sand” chasing mush-squash! (Ahem!—I say; I did that, I did. That was I, & nobody else. It’s mine “par brevet de invention.” Entered according to the act of congress, &c.)
If you had heard all the compliments, thanks, &c, bestowed upon you and yours for those last nut cakes, you would—([I] guess)—“do pretty much as you pleased without any hints perhaps.” I believe it in contemplation among those who had the honour of tasting them through my bounty, to present you with a silver turning fork or dipper, skimmer or what you call it, inscribed with an appropriate inscription. I will endeavour to return the box, if you wish it, soon.
If you have an opportunity please send me a pair of suspenders, ditto gloves. Please send these & sundries as soon as you can make it convenient, for all my old ones are about used up & I am obliged to use “jury’s.”
I am sorry I could not answer yours before, & that I had forgotten that I was in your debt before. But I find that in that letter (last but one) you say that as “you & Father are one you consider all his letters as yours.” “Nuf sed.” “You understand.”
We are about closing & I must hastily adjourn “sine die.”
With love to the children & in hopes of a speedy answer I remain
Frederick L. Olmsted