"This funny little man says he will take letters to you; -- so as it is a pity not to cultivate any good disposition, Governor and I have determined to favour him. But really there is not much to write about. Our prospects are as bare as your garden in November -- nothing but roots above ground or under -- some thrown together, and some, alas! to be dug for; only ours are not parsnips and carrots but a particularly tasteless kind called _Greek_ roots; with a variety denominated _algebraic_, of which there are quantities. At these roots, or at some branches from the same, Governor and I are tugging as for dear life, so it is no wonder if our very hands smell of them. I am sure I eat them every day with my dinner, and _ruminate_ upon them afterwards. In the midst of all this we are as well as usual. Governor is getting along splendidly; and I am not much amiss; at least so they say. The weather is pretty stinging these few days, and I find father's old cloak very useful. I think Winthrop wants something of the sort, though he is as stiff as a pine tree, bodily and mentally, and won't own that he wants any thing. He won't want any thing long, that he can get. He is working _confoundedly_ hard. I beg mamma's pardon -- I wouldn't have said that if I had thought of her -- and I would write over my letter now, if I were not short of time, and to tell truth, of paper. This is my last sheet, and a villainous bad one it is; but I can't get any better at the little storekeeper's here, and that at a horridly high price. "As Governor is writing to you, he will give you all the sense, so it is less matter that there is absolutely nothing in this epistle. Only believe me, my dear father and mother and Winnie and Asahel, ever your most dutiful, grateful, and affectionate son and brother, "Will. Rufus Landholm. "My dear mother, the box was most acceptable." After being once read in private, the letters were given aloud to the children; and then studied over and again by the father and mother to themselves. Winifred was satisfied with the mention of her name; notwithstanding which, she sat with a very wistful face the rest of the afternoon. She was longing for her brother's hand and kiss. "Have your brothers' letters made you feel sober, Winnie?" said her mother. "I want to see him, mamma! --" "Who?" "Governor. --" It was the utmost word Winifred's lips could speak. "But dear Winnie," said her mother sorrowfully, "it is for their good and their pleasure they are away." "I know it, mamma, -- I know I am very selfish --" "I don't think you are," said her mother. "Winnie, remember that they are getting knowledge and fitting themselves to be better and stronger men than they could be if they lived here and learnt nothing." "Mamma," said Winifred looking up as if defining her position, "I don't think it is right, but I can't always help it." "We have one friend never far off." "Oh mamma, I remember that all the while." "Then can't you look happy?"