My dear Margaret,—I was very much delighted with your present of the slippers.
They are too pretty to be trodden under foot; yet such is their destiny, and shall be accomplished, as soon as may be. The colors look beautifully upon the drab ground; much more so than on the black.
Don't you think so?
I should have answered your note, and sent you my thanks, by Alexander on Wednesday last; but when I last saw him, I had not received the package.
Therefore you must not imagine from my delay, that I do not sufficiently appreciate the gift. . . .
There is nothing very new in Boston, which after all is a gossiping kind of Little Peddlington, if you know what that is; if you don't, you must read the story.
People take too much cognizance of their neighbors; interest themselves too much in what no way concerns them.
However, it is no great matter.
There are Indians here: savage fellows;— one Black-Hawk and his friends, with naked shoulders and red blankets wrapped about their
Boston and New York, Hougton, Mifflin and company, 1902.
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