TO: Louise Norcross
late April 1859
You did not acknowledge my vegetable; perhaps you are not familiar with it. I was reared in the garden, you know. It was meant to be eaten with mustard! Bush eighty feet high, just under the chamber window - much used at this season when other vegetables are gone. You should snuff the hay if you were here to-day, infantile as yet, homely, as cubs are prone to be, but giving brawny promise of hay-cocks by and by. "Methinks I see you," as school-girls say, perched upon a cock the "latest work," and confused visions of bumblebees tugging at your hat. Not so far off, cousin, as it used to be, that vision and the hat. It makes me feel so hurred, I ru and brush my hair so to be all ready.
I enjoy much with a precious fly, during sister's absence, not one of your blue monsters, but a timid creature, that hops from pane to pane of her white house, so very cheerfully, and hums and thrums, a sort of speck piano. Tell Vinnie I'll kill him the day she comes, for I sha'n't need him any more, and she don't mind flies!
Tell Fanny and papa to come with the sweet-williams.
Tell Vinnie I counted three peony noses, red as Sammie Matthews's, just out of the ground, and get her to make the accompanying face.