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  My dear L—

I perform the thrice-agreeable office of informing you that my purgatory here is just finishing.—In a few days more I shall be unbound and unloosed.—At present I think it improbable that I shall pay any visit to Jamaica, though I should like to see my friends there.—Write to me on Friday, by the cars, or on Tuesday next, by the baker: after that time I shall not be here to "receive communications."—

—"O. how my spirit springs and grows elastick at the idea of leaving this diabolical, and most particularly cursed locality!—Shades through which I have wandered; orchards that I have plundered; old school-room, dirty-faced urchins, and moth eaten desk, I bid ye all a long farewell.—Pork, cucumbers, and buckwheat bread, we must part, perhaps forever!—Solemn thought: Rye-sweetcake, sour milk, and "scented" fish—ye dear companions of the past summer—alas! the mouth that has known you, will know you no more—"

—Don't forget to write on Friday, if you can.—Brenton will send me a package at that time, and your letter can be slipped in like a knife.—

—State how Abel is; and indite the news generally. May the saints bless you; and may Peace never get out of humour and cut your acquaintance.

W. Whitman   Abrm. P. Leech | Jamaica L.I.