you direct.

We are all very well. Julia contemplates visiting St. Charles next
Saturday to spend a few days. She has never been ten miles from home,
except to come to the city, since her visit to Covington.

I have nothing in particular to write about. My hard work is now over
for the season with a fair prospect of being remunerated in everything
but the wheat. My wheat, which would have produced from four to five
hundred bushels with a good winter, has yielded only seventy-five. My
oats were good, and the corn, if not injured by frost this fall, will
be the best I ever raised. My potato crop bids fair to yield fifteen
hundred bushels or more. Sweet potatoes, melons and cabbages are the
only other articles I am raising for market. In fact, the oats and
corn I shall not sell.

I see I have written a part of this letter as if I intended to direct
to one, and part as if to the other of you; but you will understand
it, so it makes no difference.

Write to me soon and often. Julia wears black. I had forgotten to
answer that part of your letter.

Your affectionate Brother,

ULYSS.

P.S. Tell father that I have this moment seen Mr. Ford, just from
Sacketts Harbor, who informs me that while there he enquired of Mr.
Bagley about my business with Camp, and learns from him that the