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Nov. 27, 1873.
My dear Carrie,
Thanksgiving morning has at last arrived. Breakfast being at
eight, I have Just time to start this letter before the bell rings. No letter has come from any of you this week, and I have been, hoping that my
Thanksgiving would be made brighter by receiving one. Now, however,
the day is over and none has come. It is a long, long time since I have
written to you, Carrie, and you must think me negligent indeed, while you
that I must read my essay In class the next Monday, and of course I felt
very little in the mood for writing; by the way I have never told you about
reading that essay, have I? It was perfectly terrible! I was the first one
appointed to read; Em Rice read the same day after me. I had to stand
in front of the class and read and then came the criticisms! The latter
were not very hard to bear: the girls said they had none to give, and
Prof. Backus said there was very little chance for any. He liked my
analysis, but, thought I had left out one thought
Well, after reading, I felt very little like letter writing, and so I
have allowed so much time to pass without
Yesterday morning, Thanksgiving, I did not go to church, but Idled
around in library and parlor J dinner was served at four oclock, we remained there for over two hours and then adjourned to the Parlors where there was singing and playing. At eight o'clock we met In the Chapel and the Prex. read; this reading is becoming an institution In the College, and a very pleasant one. He read selections this year. One of Mrs. Stowes "Old Town Fireside stories, some passages from Othello, a lay of Macauley's and the never tiresome "Lend me the ? of a ? ," were the
It is so wintry here, the ground being covered with snow and all the
leaves gone from the trees and It is bitter cold. You, I suppose, are also
shivering over the cold, but Wood-Lawn even In winter does not look very
dreary.
rather lonesome sometimes. Mamma wrote that you had been cleaning your
room, so I presume your blinds are finished. How do you like them? and
how does your room look? Aren't your pincushion, be nearly faded out,
so that I can make you a set? and do you a till prefer pink? Mamma seems
always so anxious about my eyes, which are indeed perfectly well. And
there are many times when it is much pleseanter for me to have a little
fancy work to do. So far, however have
I dreamt, the other night that I was home, and it was, oh, so nire!
It made me almost homesick.
I must now end this stupid letter with very much love to all.
Your loving little sister.