Tuesday Morning,
June 24, 1845.
(So my friend did not in the spirit see me write that first letter, on Friday, which was too good and true to send, and met, five minutes after, its natural fate accordingly. Then on Saturday I thought to take health by storm, and walked myself half dead all the morning – – about town too: last post-hour from this Thule of a suburb – – 4 P.M. on Saturdays, next expedition of letters, 8 A.M. on Mondays; – – and then my real letter set out with the others – – and, it should seem, set at rest a ‘wonder whether thy friend’s questions deserved answering’ – – de-served – – answer-ing – – !) Continue reading “#48”