I go to Mass every morning. Tell this to Mamma. Give my love to the following friends:
Professor Rinaldi, Mrs. Carpenter and family, especially Mr. Charlie and Sam; Hetty and Pat, all the seven boys who were my chums—Elmer Mullen, and the Priests at St. Thomas' College, Colonel O'Brian, Darling Mamma, Aunt Lucy, Uncles Dick and Carroll, and all the friends I have left in dear old Midville.
Excuse writing; I have spent two hours on this letter and I'm dead tired of it.
Your loving son,
Bolax Allen.
Answer to Bolax's first letter:
September.
My Dear Son: Your letter is most interesting, those of our friends who do not know that composition is your forte, were inclined to believe it was the production of your teachers. Mr. Thornton published it in his journal, of which I send you a copy. He predicts you will be an editor some day. I tell you this to encourage you; praise is due to him who honestly deserves it.
But, dear, we know composition requires no effort on your part. Now try to excel in what does require effort, your chirography and arithmetic, for instance. There is an old Latin proverb which says, "Patient industry is worth more than lazy talent," meaning that your talent and ability will amount to nothing if you do not work.
Mamma and Aunt Lucy are sending such long letters, so you won't mind if mine is short. God bless you, my dear son.