T. S. D. TO HIS DAUGHTER EMMY.
"My beloved Daughter,—I have not for seventy-two years, eight months, and seven days perpetrated so stupid an action as when I sent your trunk to New Orleans, by express, instead of to Baton Rouge. It never occurred to me that the express could take a package on any other than a straight line; and I never knew better until Ida asked me, on yesterday, how I had directed the trunk. I was near not replying, but did reply, with some impatience, 'To New Orleans, care of office, etc., etc., of course! But she took me from my high horse with a jerk by asking me if your costly clothes would not be ruined by the rotting pears in consequence of the delay of the trunk, which would have been avoided had it gone right along by express. Now, I want to hear from you, and I don't; but, as I must hear, sooner or later, I hope somebody will report on the damage, as soon as it is ascertained. It was a stupid thing to put pears in that trunk; but I thought myself smart in my manner of putting them up. You found that each pear was wrapped up separately in strong brown paper (except two, that could not be gotten in with the wrappings), packed without pressure in a pasteboard box, and the box duly secured at the very bottom of the trunk. All this was done with a proud consciousness that it had been 'done up brown.' Brown? Very brown! your fine silks reeking with rotten pear-juice. But I don't know how the thing stands, as the people at the New Orleans office may have sent the trunk right ahead on Saturday. But I fear they did not, and actually believe the chances against their having done so.
"Now, the fact is, I thought of nothing hardly but that I had not only some fine pears, but also an opportunity to send you some. Had I not sent them I know they would choke me if I attempted to eat them. I always feel choky when eating good things beyond the reach of my children. But I must master this feeling, as it impairs the judgement sometimes,—as in the pres-
