To her sister Annie
August 17, 1846.
My dear darling Annie,
... After seeing the frugal manner in which country people live, and after deriving great benefit from hydropathic diet, Chev and I thought we could get along with one servant less, and so we have no cook.
Lizzie1 cooks, I make the pudding, we have no tea, and live principally upon vegetables from our own garden, hasty pudding, etc. I make the beds and do the rooms, as well as I can. We get along quite comfortably, and I like it very much — the fewer servants one has, the more comfort, I think. ... I have plenty of occupation for my fingers.
My heart will be much taken up with my babies; as for my soul, that part of me which thinks and believes and imagines, I shall leave it alone till the next world, for I see it has little to do in this ... Good-bye.
Your own, own
My dear darling Annie,
Dudie.
To her sister Louisa
Boston, December 1, 1846.
Dearest old absurdity that you are, am I to write to you again?
Is not my life full enough of business, of flannel petticoats, aprons, and the wiping of dirty little noses?
Must I sew and trot babies and sing songs, and tell Mother Goose stories, and still be expected to know how to write?
My fingers are becoming less and less familiar with the pen, my thoughts grow daily more insignificant and commonplace.
What earthly good