To Rev. Henry W. Bellows.
WASHINGTON, Nov. 2, 1846.
MY DEAR BELLOWS,--Suppose I take my pen and write just what comes into
my head. Did you expect things coming from anywhere else, I would like
to know? It's a pretty serious condition, however. Conceive--I am to
write in total forgetfulness that I am a Dr., and without any fear
before my eyes of having it printed in a biography. Bah! if anybody
ever did write letters that never could be printed anywhere, I am that
person. What the reason is precisely, I do not know, but I always
fancied it was because I had no time and no superfluous energies to
throw away upon letters, any pore than upon conundrums. And I have
fancied, too that when the blessed leisure days should come in the
quiet country,--not only the otium cum dignitate, but he silence and
the meditation,--that then I should pour myself out in letters. But the
time has n't come yet. Consider that my leisure as yet extends to only
about (I've pulled out my watch to see) three hours and twenty minutes.
It is now Monday, 11: 20 A.M., and we did not arrive here till Saturday
evening.
Let me hear from you as soon as ten thousand things will let you. You
will easily see that there is no good reason why I have written this
letter but this,--that have left the greater part of my heart in New
York and naturally turn back to find it. Remind your three [187] houses
of the stock they have in it, bad as it is; and, to be most sadly
serious, remember my very affectionate regards to Mrs. Kirkland, and
give my love to the -s and -s, and believe me,
Ever your friend,