
I was reading in your Nov. Boughs
the other night & was for a long time thinking of you intently. I seemed to realize
you very vividly & of all you have been to me, & of all you still are. I
have had no word directly
from you in a long time. I thought I should see you
before this, but here I am in the old ruts.
I must get down your way this winter. I keep pretty well & lead an eventless life: read
a few books, write a little now & then, & work on my place.
I saw by the paper you were not as well as usual which makes me grieve. I hope you
are able to send
me a card: if you are not have Horace do it—I
long to have some word from you
Not much winter here yet. No snow at all. Julian has just
had his first skate.
He grows finely & is getting to be an omnivorous reader. Wife is well
except rheumatism. I go to Roxbury to-morrow on business.
Hoping you will be able to eat your Christmas turkey with relish


