This little sheet of paper has lain for several years in my Shakespeare, and though it is blotted and antiquated is endeared by its resting-place.
I always think of you peculiarly in May, as it is the peculiar anniversary of your loving kindness to me, though you have always been dear cousins, and blessed me all you could.
I cooked th peaches as you told me, and they swelled to beautiful fleshy halves and tasted quite like magic. The beans we fricasseed and they made a savory cream in cooking that "Aunt Emily" liked to sip. She was always fonder of julep food than of more substantial. Your remembrance of her is very sweetly touching.
Maggie is ironing, and a cotton and linen and ruffle heat makes the pussy's cheeks red. It is lonely without the birds to-day, for it rains badly, and the little poets have no umbrellas. . . .
. . . Fly from Emily's window for Loo. Botanical name unknown.