TO: Louise Norcross
FROM: ED

1865?

All that my eyes will let me shall be said for Loo, dear little solid gold girl. I am glad to the foot of my hear that you will go to Middletown. It will make you warm. Touches "from home," tell Gungl, are better than "sounds."

You persuade me to speak of my eyes, which I shunned doing, because I wanted you to rest. I could not bear a single sigh should tarnish your vacation, but, lest through me one bird delay a change of latitude, I will tell you, dear.

The eyes are as with you, sometimes easy, sometimes sad. I think they are not worse, nor do I think them better than when I came home.

The snow-light offends them, and the house is bright; notwithstanding, they hope some. For the first few weeks I did nothing but comfort my plants, till now their small green cheeks are covered will smiles. I chope the chicken centres when we have roast fowl, frequent now, for the hens contend and the Cain is slain. . . . Then I make the yellow to the pies, and bang the spice for cake, and knit the soles to the stockings I knit the bodies to last June. They say I am a "help." Partly because it is true, I suppose, and the rest applause. Mother and Margaret are so kind, father as gentle as he knows how, and Vinnie good to me, but "cannot see why I don't get well." This makes me think I am long sick, and this takes the ache to my eyes. I shall try to stay with them a few weeks more before going to Boston, though what it would be to see you and have the doctor's care - that cannot be told. You will not wait for me. Go to Middletown now. I wish I were there, myself, to start your little feet "lest they seem to come short of it." I have so much to tell I can tell nothing, except a sand of love. When I dare I shall ask if I may go, but that will not be now.

Give my love to my lamp and spoon, and the small Latana. Kindest remembrance for all the house, and write next from Middletown. Go, little girl, to Middletown. Life is so fast it will run away, notwithstanding our sweetest whoa.

Already they love you. Be but the maid you are to me, and they will love you more.

Carry your heart and your curls, and nothing more but your fingers. Mr. D[udley] will ask for these every candle-light. How I miss ten robins that never flew from the rosewood nest!