10 May 1852

Dear Austin.

I have made the fires, and got breakfast, and the folks wont get up, and I dont care for it because I can write you. I did not write yesterday, because mother was sick, and I thought it would trouble you. She was attacked Friday, with difficulty in her face, similar to the one which you have, and with which you suffer so much once or twice a year. She had her face lanced yesterday, and was much more comfortable last evening, so I think she'll get well right away.

Vinnie and I have had to work pretty hard on account of her sickness, so I'm afraid we shant write you anything very refreshing this time. Vinnie will tell you all the news, so I will take a little place to describe a thunder shower which occurred yesterday afternoon - the very first of the season. Father and Vinnie were at meeting, mother asleep in her room, and I at work by my window on the "Lyceum Lecture." The air was really scorching, the sun red and hot, and you know just how the birds sing before a thunder storm, a sort of hurried, and agitated song - pretty soon it began to thunder, and the great "cream colored heads" peeped out of their windows - then came the wind and rain and I hurried around the house to shut all the doors and windows. I wish you had seen it come, so cool and so refreshing - and everything glistening from it as with a golden dew - I tho't of you all the time, and I thought too, of Susie; I did wish you both here through all the blessed shower.

This morning is fair and delightful - you will awake in dust, and amidst the ceaseless din of the untiring city, would'nt you change your dwelling for my palace in the dew? I hear them coming, Austin. Goodbye for now. I shall see you soon.

E.