On the whole it is as easy a way of
making money as I have ever tried, though no way of making money is
perfectly easy,--there must be some disagreeables. The lonesomeness of
being at a hotel in dull weather is one, and in Portland it seems
there is nobody now to invite us to their homes. Our old friends there
are among the past. They have gone on over the river. I send you a bit
of poetry that pleases me. The love of the old for each other has its
poetry. It is something sacred and full of riches. I long to be with
you, and to have some more of our good long talks.
The scenery along this river is very fine. The oaks still keep their
leaves, though the other trees are bare; but oaks and pines make a
pleasant contrast. We shall stop twenty minutes at Brunswick, so I
shall get a glimpse of the old place.
Now we are passing through Hallowell, and the Kennebec changes sides.
What a beautiful river! It is now full of logs and rafts. Well, I must
bring this to a close. Good-by, dear, with unchanging love. Ever your
wife.
From South Framingham, Mass., she writes on November 7th:--
Well, my dear, here I am in E.'s pretty little house. He has a pretty
wife, a pretty sister, a pretty baby, two nice little boys, and a
lovely white cat. The last is a perfect beauty! a Persian, from a
stock brought over by Dr. Parker, as white as snow, with the softest
fur, a perfect bunch of loving-kindness, all purr and felicity.
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