FANNY.

PHILADELPHIA, September 1st, 1843.
MY DEAR T----,

I know not how long your letter had been in Philadelphia, because I have
been out of town, and in a place so difficult of access that letters are
seldom forwarded thither without being lost or delayed long enough to be
only fit for losing.

I told you of our sudden removal from the Yellow Springs. In the
succeeding fortnight, which we spent in town, the children began again
to droop and languish and grow pale, and it was determined to send them
into the country again: rooms have been accordingly hired for us three
miles beyond West Chester, which is seven miles from the nearest
railroad station on the Columbia railroad, altogether about forty miles
from town, but for want of regular traffic and proper means of
conveyance an exceedingly tedious and unpleasant drive thence to the
said farm. Here there is indeed pure air for the children, and a blessed
reprieve from the confinement of the city; but so uncivilized a life for
any one who has ever been accustomed to the usual decencies of
civilization, that it keeps me in a constant state of amazement.

We eat at the hours and table of these worthy people, and I am a little
starved, as I find it difficult to get up a dinner appetite before one
o'clock in the day; and after that nothing is known in the shape of food
but tea at six o'clock. We eat with _two-pronged iron forks_; _i.e._ we
who are "sopisticate" do. The more sensible Arcadians, of course, eat
exclusively with their knives. The farming men and boys come in to the
table from their work, without their coats and with their shirt-sleeves
rolled up above their elbows; and my own nursemaid, and the
servant-of-all-work of the house, and any visitors who may look in upon
our hostess, sit down with us promiscuously to feed; all which, I
confess, makes me a little melancholy. It is nonsense talking about
positive equality; these people are sorry associates for me, and so, I
am sure, am I for them.

To-day I came to town to endeavor to procure some of the common
necessaries that we require: table implements that we can eat with, and
lights by which we may be able to pursue our occupations after dark.

I read your speech with great pleasure; it was good in every way. I am
glad you do not withdraw yourself from the field of action where your
like are so much wanted. I cannot give up my hope and confidence in the
insti