Astoria, Monday, Sept. 2nd.
Dear Georgy: Your interesting letter was highly appreciated by little May, as well as by her parents, who thought it very kind of you to elaborate so nice a little story out of the materials. May’s artistic efforts were revived by it and all her inspirations lately breathe of camp life and army movements. I enclose the last one, “Recollections of what I saw on Riker’s Island when passing in the boat,” which is really not bad for a fancy sketch. You would have been amused to hear her reading the newspapers aloud to little Bertha the other day. I was writing at the time and took down verbatim one sentence. “We are sorry to state that General Brigade, a contraband of war, was taken prisoner last night at Fort Schuyler: he was on his way to visit the navy-yard at Bulls Run and was brought home dead and very severely wounded.”
The children and nurses have just driven off with a carriage full of little pails and spades to spend the afternoon digging in the sand at Bowery Bay. You know the bliss, especially if the tide admits of rolling up their pantalettes and wading in. We are having lovely weather, which I wish you were sharing. Indeed, I am greatly disappointed that you will not come on while things are comparatively quiet and stay awhile with us. Robert and I have had some delicious sails in the boat, for which I have taken a great liking, and we are having a quiet but delightful summer. To-day the Astoria flags are out in great numbers for our naval capture; a little victory which is refreshing after so many defeats. Abby and Cousin William are very blue up in Lenox and write desponding notes in the Toots style. The Micawber mood will probably follow, in which Abby will be “inscribing her name with a rusty nail” on the walls of some southern dungeon. Indeed I begin to think she must be in the confidence of the rebel leaders, from the entire assurance with which she looks for an attack by sea upon some northern port, while the land army meantime marches triumphantly to Washington.
We are looking for Sarah Woolsey this week to make a little visit, and were in hopes that Rose Terry, who was with her, would come too.
I sent your two letters to Mother, who will enjoy them as much as May did. When you write again tell us more about Joe,—how he is looking after the summer’s campaign, how he really is, etc. It seems strange to think that autumn is already here and the dreaded hot weather for the troops nearly over, I suppose. If we can get anything for you in New York while the girls are away, or do any of the things for which you have depended upon them, be sure to let me know. . . . I wonder if a season will ever come when for once we can all spend it together without the need of ink and paper. Some large, generally satisfactory Utopian farmhouse, where, as in Pomfret days, one vehicle and one horse (alas, poor beast!) and Mother to drive, would be ample accommodation and style for all. Give our love and a God-speed to Joe when you see him next, and insist upon his taking good care of himself when out of your sight.
Affectionately yours,
Mary.
