“Dec. 10, 1810.

“My dear son,

“We received yours of the third, per Mr. Underhill, which was very gratifying to your mother and myself, as also Will’s of the same date.  We cannot help wishing we could hear a little oftener, as these are the first we have had for several weeks.  But we remember your occupations, and I assure you make due allowances; yet we cannot help thinking a little more time might be given to pa and ma.  This is a burdensome world, and every one must bear their own burdens; yet I think it must be conceded it is right for every individual to do what may be in his power towards making the lot of others pleasanter.  This I am sure you believe, for you act upon it; and you know that nothing so lightens our load as to know that Will and Governor are doing well.  It is a world of uncertainties; and we cannot know this unless you will tell us.

“My dear sons, I do not mean to chide you, and I have said more on this subject than I had any intention to do.  But it is very natural, when a subject lies so near the heart, that I should exceed the allotted bounds.

“Winthrop, your mother is afraid, from something in Will’s letter, that you are in want of an overcoat.  Tell us if you are, and we will do our best to endeavour to supply the deficiency.  I thought you had one; but I suppose it must be pretty old by this time.  My dear son, we have all one interest; if you want anything, let us know, and if it can be had you know enough of us to know you shall not want it.  We have not much to spare certainly, but necessaries we will try to procure; and so long as we need not groan about the present it is not my way to grumble about the future.  We shall get along, somehow, I trust.

“I shall send this by post, as I do not know of any opportunity, and do not think it best to wait for one.”

“Your loving father,

“W.  Landholm.

“Winthrop and Will.”

“My dear boys,

“It is very late to-night, and I shall not have any time in the morning, so must scratch a word as well as I can tonight —­ you know my fingers are not very well accustomed to handling the pen.  It gives me the greatest pleasure I can have in this world when I hear that you are getting along so well —­ except I could hear one other thing of you, —­ and that would be a pleasure beyond anything in this world.  Let us know everything you want —­ and we will try to send it to you, and if we can’t we will all want it together. —­ We are all well —­ Winifred mourns for you all the while, in spite of trying not to do it.  What the rest of us do is no matter.  I shall send a box, if I can, before New Year, with some cakes and apples —­ write us before that, in time, all you want.

Your mother.”