William Henry wants I should tell you not to be scared when you see
another boy’s handwriting on the back of this letter, and not to think
he’s got cold, or got anything else, like measles, or anything of that
kind, and not to feel worried about his not writing for so long, for he
is all right except the first joint of his forefinger. He crooked that
joint, or else uncrooked it, playing base ball. ’T was a heavy ball and
he took it whole on that joint, and ’t is so stiff he can’t handle a
penholder. He thinks you will all wonder why he doesn’t write, and worry
about his getting sick or something, but he never felt better. Appetite
very good. He has received his cousin Matilda’s letter, and will answer
it when he can. He wants to know what she’d think if she had to write
poetry for composition. Our teacher told us we must each write one verse
about June. I put three of them in for you to see, but don’t put our
names.
“O I love the verdant June,
When the birds are all in tune,
When the rowers go out to row,
When the mowers go out to mow,
O, sweetly smells the fragrant hay,
As we ride on the load and stow it away.”
“In June we can sail
In the gentle gale,
On the waters blue,
And catch cod-fish
That make a good dish,
And mackerel too.”
“In June the summer skies are clear,
And soon green apples do appear.
And though they’re hard and sour, we know
That every day they’ll better grow.
This teaches us that boys, also,
Every day should better grow.”
P. S. He wants I should tell you ’t is tied up in a rag all right and
don’t hinder his studying. Says he wishes his cousin Lucy Maria would
write him one of her kind of letters, that she knows how to write, and
tell what they are all doing and what they talk about, and when his
finger is well he will answer all the letters they will write to him.
Very respectfully,