Yours as ever, only more than ever,
ORVILLE DEWEY.
To Rev. Henry W. Bellows.
WASHINGTON, Nov. 2, 1846.
MY DEAR BELLOWS,—Suppose I take my pen and write just what comes into my head. Did you expect things coming from anywhere else, I would like to know? It's a pretty serious condition, however. Conceive—I am to write in total forgetfulness that I am a Dr., and without any fear before my eyes of having it printed in a biography. Bah! if anybody ever did write letters that never could be printed anywhere, I am that person. What the reason is precisely, I do not know, but I always fancied it was because I had no time and no superfluous energies to throw away upon letters, any pore than upon conundrums. And I have fancied, too that when the blessed leisure days should come in the quiet country,—not only the otium cum dignitate, but he silence and the meditation,—that then I should pour myself out in letters. But the time has n't come yet. Consider that my leisure as yet extends to only about (I've pulled out my watch to see) three hours and twenty minutes. It is now Monday, 11: 20 A.M., and we did not arrive here till Saturday evening.
Let me hear from you as soon as ten thousand things will let you. You will easily see that there is no good reason why I have written this letter but this,—that have left the greater part of my heart in New York and naturally turn back to find it. Remind your three [187] houses of the stock they have in it, bad as it is; and, to be most sadly serious, remember my very affectionate regards to Mrs. Kirkland, and give my love to the -s and -s, and believe me,
Ever your friend,
ORVILLE DEWEY.
To the Same.
WASHINGTON, Dec. 10, 1846.