Details
March 19, 1882.
My dear Mamma,
You did not write to me last week. I guess you are so busy with your painting that you did not have time to write to me.
Prof. Dwight’s little baby died Thursday. The president preached this morning about dying and being sick. Poor Prof. Dwight was there and of course felt very badly. The president hasn’t any tact whatever.
Yesterday Gertrude Nichols was up from [...a...town?]
There is the last bell. I guess I shall want some money. I want to get me two linen dresses or gingham when I am in New York and get a hat and some shoes. Vacation begin[s] a week from next Wednesday.
Love to all. Write soon
Your daughter
Marth[y?] Boyd
Ma[..y?] B[..]y
To mothe
Mar 19 1882