By this time you must have received all
those which I have written to you since your departure--not a single
one. This is the first time that I have put pen to paper at you; but I
have been too busy, selling. All is sold, and well sold; not all,
however. The house, outhouses, and some three or four acres remain.
Enough to keep up the appearance, and all the pleasant recollections
of your infantine days, and some of your matronly days also, are
reserved with interest. This weighty business, however, is completed,
and a huge weight it has taken from the head and shoulders, and every
other part, animal and intellectual, of A. B.
Mr. M'Kinnon wrote me, last June, a letter, which I received a few
days ago, and with it came two shawls or cloaks (a kind of worked
muslin, all the rage in Paris and London at that date), some visiting
cards, and ornamented message paper. Half his letter is to you and of
you. He begs you to accept one of the shawls, and to give Frances the
other. I executed his instructions by giving F. one. Surely it is not
worth while to send the other to the Oaks for the admiration of your
Africans. It is, in my opinion, beautiful; though, at first sight, I
thought so little of it that I was going to give it to Peggy or Nancy.
Of the cards I enclose a sample.
If little _gamp_ could read, I should write to him volumes. I find my
thoughts straying to him every hour in the day, and think more of him
twenty fold than of you two together.
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