"What a woman you are! Why don't you write to me? You know how anxious your friends are to hear from you, and you promised to write often and to send _papers_ frequently. Only _one_ paper have I received from you. Everybody whom you care a fig for here in Rochester asks me about Buffalo and _you, and you_. But I am not _posted up_ and cannot tell them of your triumphs or escapes from the hands of the many-headed hydra whom you have slain so often. Not having a line from you a week ago, in answer to my last letter, I thought you intended to return last Saturday, but no train of cars, which I have heard of, brought you as a part of its living freight, and _we_ (that is I) are 'a-wearied' because you answer not our call to 'come.' Now I _command_ you, in the name of all the gods of the heathen mythology, to come to us, either _spiritwise_ (on a sheet of paper of ample dimensions), or _bodily_ (as would most effectually comport with our comfort and desire), by an early departing train from our sister city, whose queenly dignity, in thus aspiring to rob us of our Spiritual flame--the guide of our uncertain steps--we are getting jealous of. I received a good letter from your witch sister, my darling little Katie, this morning. She writes with much cheerfulness. Says she has commenced another quarter at her school (in New York). She says also she is 'crazy' to see me! You know just about what is intended to be understood when she thus addresses me (her friend and adviser); but Cathie is fast learning to be a woman, and my prayer is that she may escape the bitter trials through which you and your mother have been called to pass. She adds: 'We had a telegraphic despatch from Maggie, saying she would be here last week Saturday; but she don't come, and we have given up looking for her.' She says: 'Give my love to Leah and Margaretta, and tell them I want to see them.'