It still keeps mild here--snow nearly gone, but ice in the river to the
elbow. We do not get away yet. Your mother will not stir and Hiram and I
will probably go to Slabsides, as she wants to shut up the house.
Hiram came a week ago and stays and eats here in the study--I am far
less forlorn when he is here. It probably seems strange to you, I know
you have never looked upon him very kindly. But you have never seen
Hiram--not the Hiram I see. This little dull ignorant old man whom you
have seen is only a transparent mask through which I see the Hiram of my
youth, and see the old home, the old days and father and mother and all
the life on the old farm. It is a feeling you cannot understand, but you
may if you live to be old.
I hope you have given up that boat crew business by this time. It is not
the thing for you. You do not go to Harvard for that. As I wrote you,
you have not the athletic temperament, but something finer and better.
Good sharp daily exercise you need, but not severe training. If you had
been half my age probably those cold baths would have killed you. Old
men often die in the cold bath. The blood is driven in and makes too
great a strain on the arteries. Write me when you get this and tell me
about yourself.
Your loving father,