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March 1. 1872.
My dear Parents;
Since last I wrote to you concerning my health very little of interest has happened, though we have had a holiday — day of prayer for colleges — which we spent mostly in the Chapel.
On Friday evening last in Chapter Alpha I took the part of a Puritan — Imagine me
I have just come from the weekly [Latin?] service to which Kate desired me to accompany her - they are very pleasant and I think the forms and ceremonies rather facinating
ever your loving daughter Lucy.
Fearing that to day I would not have time to write you I determined to write last night in order to make sure of my home letter - but having just read it over I cannot let such a sober horrid thing leave me when now I am in such a different humor. The fact any body must be very much out of sort if this lovely day does not make them feel splendid. I do not remember when I have enjoyed a sunday more. It seems more old fashioned and cosy like those at home. This morning we listened to a Sermon from James Beecher brother of Henry Ward. I don't think this particularly added to the pleasures of the day for