DEAR TOOD, When I got here last night, I found the hotel man very much excited and running about waving a beautiful letter in the air, and crying aloud, ” A letter from Tood ! A letter from Tood ! ”
He was just going to get out a band of music to march around the town and look for the man to whom the letter belonged, when I stepped up and told him I thought that it was meant for me. He made me show him my name in my hat before he would give it to me, and then a great crowd gathered round and listened while I read it. It was such a beautiful letter that they all gave three cheers, and I thought I must write you an answer at once, although I told A., when I wrote to her the other day, that I should not write to anybody else before my coming home.
Your letter is very largely about Johnny. My dear Tood, you must not let his going away depress you too much. I know you like him, and that he has been very good to you ; but such separations have to come, and you will no doubt see some other young man some day that you will like just as much. You do not think so now, but you will, and he no doubt feels very bad at going, so you must be as cheerful as you can and make it as easy as possible for him. Remember !
I am on my way home now, and next Saturday will see me back again in Clarendon Street. All the dear little Chinese, with their pigtails, and the dreadful great Mormons, with their hundred wives, and the donkeys and the buffaloes and the Red Indians will be far away, and I shall see you all again. I am impatient for that, for the people out West are not as good as you are. I am going to preach to them this morning, to try and make them better, and it is quite time now to go to church.
Your affectionate uncle, P.