still my own dear son,--your father's son; dearer to me than all
the world,--except that father.

I am so glad, too, that you will come so soon,--come while your
father is really warm with his book, and while you can encourage
and keep him to it. For why should be not be great and famous?
Why should not all admire him as we do? You know how proud of him
I always was; but I do so long to let the world know why I was so
proud. And yet, after all, it is not only because he is so wise
and learned, but because he is so good, and has such a large, noble
heart. But the heart must appear in the book too, as well as the
learning. For though it is full of things I don't understand,
every now and then there is something I do understand,--that seems
as if that heart spoke out to all the world.

Your uncle has undertaken to get it published, and your father is
going up to town with him about it, as soon as the first volume is
finished.

All are quite well except poor Mrs. Jones, who has the ague very
bad indeed; Primmins has made her wear a charm for it, and Mrs.
Jones actually declares she is already much better. One can't deny
that there may be a great deal in such things, though it seems
quite against the reason. Indeed your father says, "Why not? A
charm must be accompanied by a strong wish on the part of the
charmer that it may succeed,--and what is magnetism but a wish?" I
don't quite comprehend this; but, like all your father says, it has
more than meets the eye, I am quite sure.

Only three weeks to the holidays, and then no more school, Sisty,--