From the tenor of some of our late letters, I believe we should be
thought to belong to the "Mutual Admiration Society." I deny that of us
both, though appearances are rather against us. I will have done, at any
rate, for your last has quite knocked me down, or rather so outrageously
set me up, as I was never before.

With regard to my plans, I myself prefer four months in the pulpit here,
and that was what I proposed; but something had been said by me, about
three months in a different connection, and the congregation, I am
told, thought that in naming three they were conforming precisely to
my wishes. But that will be arranged satisfactorily. I am to go out of
town, of course; I cannot live here upon a quarter or third of a salary.
I have something of my own, this house and a little more,--twelve
thousand dollars, perhaps, in all; so far I have carried out the plan
you speak of. I have had reasons more than most others for attending to
the means, for I am the only surviving male member of my family. I have
had the satisfaction of doing something for them all along, and shall
have that of leaving to my mother [186] and sisters a house to cover
them, and forty acres of land. . . .

Yours as ever, only more than ever,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

To Rev. Henry W. Bellows.

WASHINGTON, Nov. 2, 1846.

MY DEAR BELLOWS,--Suppose I take my pen and write just what comes into
my head. Did you expect things coming from anywhere else, I would like
to know? It's a pretty serious condition, however. Conceive--I am to
write in total forgetfulness that I am a Dr., and without any fear
before my eyes of having it printed in a biography. Bah! if anybody
ever did write letters that never could be printed anywhere, I am
that person. What the reason is precisely, I do not know, but I always
fancied it was because I had no time and no superfluous energies to
throw away upon letters, any pore than upon conundrums. And I have
fancied, too that when the blessed leisure days should come in the
quiet country,--not only the otium cum dignitate, but he silence and the
meditation,--that then I should pour myself out in letters. But the time
has n't come yet. Consider that my leisure as yet extends to only about
(I've pulled out my watch to see) three hours and twenty minutes. It
is now Monday, 11: 20 A.M., and we did not arrive here till Saturday
evening.

Let me hear from you as soon as ten thousand things will let you. You
will easily see that ther