Letter from Charlotte to Samuel Cowles, 1837 June 26.

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  • Boston June 26th 1837.


    My Dear Father,


    Samuel was here last evening, and shewed me your letter in regard to our- proposed journey. He wishes me to say that although it would be more convenient not to have so much baggage, yet he does not anticipate any trouble from it, as we have not more than many people take from choice. Still, should you think it more judicious for us to come directly home, we hold ourselves ready to give up this project, and there will be plenty of time for a letter or two to come. In case we hear nothing to the contrary, we intend to leave town on Thursday or Friday of next week, as Samuel wishes very much that I should spend the Sabbath in Windsor. We shall, of course, write from that place, giving the exact time at which we hope to be at home.


    I cannot realize at all that I have been here almost a year, and am so soon to go back to Farmington. Now that the time which I have been anticipating is so very near, I cannot believe that this is the last letter I shall probably write. In looking back upon the time I have spent here it seems like a dream. But, changed as my prospects are in regard to home, I am still anxious to be there, and shall consider it much more pleasant to do what I can to relieve its loneliness, than to be here surrounded by amusements of every kind, which leave no time for reflection. I did not expect to


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    feel the full extent of the change which has taken place in the family until I should be quietly at home this summer. But although its sadness will probably be greater than I can imagine, I ought yet to remember that there are many blessings left to me. I feel that I can never be sufficiently grateful to you for having given me so great advantages in the best of cities, of schools, and of families. I do not expect ever to be able to repay even this one act of parental kindness, but hope that this will be my object and aim when it becomes my lot to perform the duties of a daughter at home, and also to take, so far as I can, the place of her [her mother] who is gone. To watch the improvement of Mary will, I think, be one of my highest pleasures.


    I have never been able to form to myself any distinct and definite idea of the manner in which you and my dear sister have been living, because I did not know how many other members of the family there were, except merely that Mrs Hilby had arrived. Whether Charles still remained, and whether Miss Hurlburt or any one else was there to preside at table, I have never been informed, and could only fear that the house must be even more lonely than I had supposed, and that your returns on Saturday evening must be to a home where there was no one but Mary to welcome you with any real interest.


    I know that the trial of my returning here must have been very much greater to you than to me, and I hope you will not find that nothing has been gained by so great a sacrifice. For the last two weeks I have not been studying, as my uncle and cousins thought it would be best for me to devote all my time to drawing, and besides, there were so many things for me to see and do, that it would have been impossible for me to recite regularly. I have been out somewhere almost every day. Last Wednesday, cousin Isaac took me over to Salem. We walked about and saw the town, went to the East India Museum, and came back to Chelsea in time to see the


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    balloon ascension. The whole family seem to wish to make my last days in town as pleasant as possible, that no unpleasant associations might connected with Boston or its vicinity. Cousin Isaac also takes me occasionally to ride before breakfast, to shew me the beautiful villages around us. This morning we went to Brookline and Jamaica Plains, and actually alighted and walked about in a garden and got some flowers. These things do not seem to those who live among them as they do when we have been shut up in a city through the long, warm days of June, with nothing more refreshing to look at than paved streets and brick houses. It really seemed like the most delightful thing in the world to see flowers growing in a garden, with the dew upon them, instead of poor weary looking things set up in shop windows.


    Do not think that, because I describe these things as being so pleasant, I am sorry to leave them. I mention them to shew the politeness of my cousins. At the same time, I remember that there is one country place far more attractive than any near Boston, where I hope soon to be. But changes which we little anticipate may take place in even one fortnight.


    I cannot now realize that I am finishing the last letter I shall write to you from Boston; that the year which I though would be so very long has gone, and has ended—oh, how differently from what I had anticipated, much less that I am so soon to go home, and meet no mother there. But I will not wound you afresh by looking forward to the sorrow that awaits me. It is [for me?] to be grateful that I have so many friends left, and to remember that she, whose presence was so dear to us; is far happier than if she were here.


    Yours most affectionately,


    Charlotte


    I had hoped to write to Mary again, but shall not have time. I do not doubt that she desires my return as much as I can. She will take my love as all I can send


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    her now, but I hope she will have something more substantial soon.


    [perpendicular to above]


    Mr. Horace Cowles,


    Farmington,


    Con.


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