This dreary lonely looking Sabbath evening finds me employed in answering one of your kindest and most interesting missives of late date. I acknowledge I did look for a letter from you before it was received, but reckon I had become impatient sooner than I ought to have. But I am always so anxious to hear from you, I can scarcely wait until your letters have time to get here. Death has come in our midst and claimed for its victim one of the most excellent women of our neighborhood. Mrs. James Prim died last night at about ten o'clock.