[Some paragraph breaks added for easier reading.]South Hadley. Dec. 31. 1843.
My dear kind Parents.
I cannot express my gratitude to you, for the conclusion at which you have at length arrived, respecting my spending the winter vacation at home. Thanks, many thanks, to you for it. Your last letter, how kind, how encouraging it was. Oh! you cannot imagine with what pleasure it was again, and again read. I guess you will laugh when I tell you of the reception, which it met. I had just returned from General Exercises in the Seminary Hall, and as I opened the door, I saw something white perched upon the bed post. I took a long, long step, from the door to the bed, and with a single effort broke open the seal, as though my life depended upon the attempt. I read it with corresponding energy, shaking all the while with uncontrollable laughter. Then I went whirling down three or four flights of stairs, in in quest of Charlotte. But alas! She was nowhere to be found. After several inquiries, I learned that she was in a grammar recitation. So up I came again; went into Em Steele's room, and communicated the joyful news to her. No sooner did Charlotte return, then the letter took another thorough reading. we laughed out of our eyes, and mouths, and I don't know when I have [...] so heartily as I did on that evening.
The sleighing is very fine here at present. I hope it will continue so, at least until vacation. I would like very much to have Pa come to South Hadley, if it will be as convenient for him. Miss Whitman says we can start for home on Thursday, after the exercises of the day are finished; so if you would recommend to Pa, to be on hand, as we can gain some time, by going to Springfield, that night, or starting very early the next morning.
And now I have another request to make, but not for myself. You say you will probably come in a two horse sleigh. Fanny Child is very anxious to visit her sister, and if you would not consider it a tax, I would like very much to have her accompany us. I have not said a word to her about it, but thought I would give her an agreeable surprise provided your feelings coincided with mine.
Coming home, I can hardly realize it can you? Oh! how happy we shall all be to meet again. I have written one composition on home, since I have been here. I can assure you it was a very elaborate production. I painted in glowing colors the pleasures, and enjoyments of home, and descanted widely upon the joy of meeting friends, from whom we have been long separated.
By the way, this is compositon day. We have sectional exercise at four o'clock on Saturday, when the compositions are read. I have heard several very good ones to day. The subject of one, was "The Daughter of Jairus." We also have family meetings on Saturday. The objects of these meetings, are to arrange the family affairs, improve our manners, &c. This latter object, is effected by means of notes of criticism, as we call them. Notes of Criticism, do you not wonder what they are? Well! if we see any thing improper, in the two hundred girls, that are constantly flying about here, we just commit our thoughts to paper, it may be in the form of a question, and pass them to Miss Lyon; who reads them on this occasion. We do not sign our names, so you see this is a very pleasant, as well as effectual manner, of curing each others faults. I would like very much to give you a bit of particulars, as Mary Brinsmade headed one of her letters, but think I will reserve them until I am home, and then tell you all about them. There is one more meeting which I would like to mention; and that is our Missionary meeting. It comes once in two weeks. At this meeting the letters of Miss Fisk, a young lady who was educated here are read. She is now a missionary in Persia. I think they are very interesting. But I must write no longer to you or I shall trespass on that part of the sheet, which I have designed for Cornelia. Answer this as soon as you can, and believe me your ever affectionate daughter.
Thursday Eve
Dear Sister
I have so many things to tell you, that I do not know which to say first. Well, I declare I have forgotten them all. Did you never think of a great many things one moment, and the next wonder what you had been thinking about? Well, so it is with me. I must confess I am rather absent this evening. I might offer as an apology, a slight head ache, but I think it would be about as well, to call it indolence, and let it go at that. Oh! in the first place, I was going to ask you, if you spent a happy New Year's, and a merry Christmas. Perhaps my wandering thoughts will return after a while.
I have a thousand questions to ask you, which are of but little importance except to you and me. How do you get along this cold winter weather without any one to sleep with you? and what proficiency do you make in the domestic department? For my part, I get along so finely, that I am complimented almost every day, by Miss Bridge, or some of the rest of our quality. Have you commenced going to school yet? and do you have singing schools in Salisbury this winter? Is Mrs. Everest at our house now? If she is, give my love to her, and tell her that I have found my towels, even more useful since I left home than before, as my crying spells have been quite as heavy, and more frequent. But my head does in reality ache quite hard, so I will bid you Good night, - and finish my inquiries, &c tomorrow if I have time.
Friday Morn.
I feel as brisk as ever again this morning, so I think I will resume my pen, and talk awhile with you. What are you busying yourself about this morn? I imagine that I can see you, sitting in Ma's room, it may be in the rocking chair, Sylvia in your lap, and knitting work in your hand, humming some old tune, to keep time with your fingers. By the way, I wonder if [you] get as much praise as usual, this winter, for your ambitions in the knitting line. Oh! how I do wish I was with you. I would sing alto and we would have jolly nice times wouldn't we? But I shall be there soon, in two weeks. Only think of it. I can hardly realize that the time is so near.
I believe you wished me to tell you in one of your letters, how the homesick girl got along. She is very well, now, I believe; and is almost entirely cured of the dreadful malady, with which she was then afflicted. She only has occasional chills as we term them.
There are three missionary's daughters here at present, and will soon be four, as Eleanor Boudinit, Mary Brinsmade cousin, is coming next term. Do you not wonder who Mary B- is, to whom I allude so often in my letters? Well, I will tell you, after I get through with the missionary girls. Their names are Miss Thurston, and Miss Whitney, from the Sandwich Isles, and Miss Butler from Arkansas. Perhaps you have read the memoir of Miss Thurston's sister, I presume it is in the Sabbath school. And Miss Butler, I heard Ma speak of her, before I left home. I have become quite well acquainted with them all, and like them very much indeed.
And now for Mary Brinsmade's history, or the little that I know if it. She is one of my best friends, rooms No. 8 very near me. She is a lively, witty thing, and has one of the best hearts in the world. I find some resemblance between many of the girls here, and my old friends in Salisbury. I often fancy that I see you in Emeline Steele, Mary's roommate. I think the homesick girl, as you call her, looks and appears very much like Lucy Norton, and Ellen Lewis, another friend like Mary Whittery. I don't know who Mary Comstock does resemble, except her own dear self. I have mentioned these names, because they are my closest friends, and I wish to have you become acquainted with them, so we can talk about them when I come home. There is a Miss Miles here from Goshen, whom I like very much indeed. She is cousin to the Miles, that married Mary Hawley, I presume Pa is acquainted with her father.
Since I commenced my letter, Fanny Child has been taken quite sick. I intend to call on her today. Perhaps you do not know that we cannot call on the sick without permission. I think Miss Sands, the young lady who accompanied her, a very pretty girl. Miss Grant from Colebrook, is also quite sick; has not [...] up any of consequence for four or five weeks. Her mother is here at present, taking care of her. I have not heard from Phebe, or Rachel yet. I wonder why they do not write. I sent a letter to Lucy Norton last week; think I shall write to Julian Lee soon.
But I can write no longer to you, although I have much more to say to you. Give my love to all the girls, Fanny, Victoria, and kiss Ellen for me. Respects to Captain Lee. Have you heard from Louisa since she left? I dare say you miss her kind offices occasionally. I shall expect an answer to this immediately. Don't let domestic cares interfere. My best love to George, and tell him I wish he would put in a word to his sister. I shall write him as soon as I find time. I send enclosed in this letter, a bushel of love to you, and home soon to bring some myself. From your affectionate sister H. L.