early March 1874
Thank you, own little girls, for the sweet remembrance - sweet specifically. Be sure it was pondered with loving thoughts not unmixed with palates.
But love, like literature, is "its exceeding great reward." . . . I am glad you heard "Little Em'ly." I would go far to hear her, except I have lost the run of the roads. . . . Infinite March is here, and I "hered" a bluebird. Of course I am standing on my head!
Go slow, my soul, to feed thyselfTabby is singing One Hundred, which, by the way, is her maiden name. Would they address and mail the note to their friend J------ W------?
Tidings of a book.