I am risking the salvation of my soul in writing this.

But I'd rather burn forever than not tell you how happy your letter made me, dear Bart.

It is that Grimshaw trouble that is keeping us apart.

On the third of June, 1844, we shall both be twenty-one--and I suppose that we can do as we please then.

The day is a long way off, but I will agree to meet you that day at eleven in the morning under the old pine on the river where I met you that day and you told me that you loved me.