TO MY LITTLE FRIENDS.
I want to say a few words to the little children who write me such nice letters.
Some of you live in and about New York, some at a great distance from it. I should be very glad, had I time, to write each of you a long letter—indeed, many long letters; but how is this possible, if I “make some more books for you,” as you all request me to do? One cannot write a book as fast as one can read it through; perhaps you do not think of that. Besides, I write every week for the New York Ledger. Then I have a great many other calls upon my time, of which you know nothing. Like your own mamma, I have children. They sometimes say, “Oh, do throw away that tiresome pen, and talk to us.” And then I say, “Yes, presently.” But still I have to keep on writing. Then, you know, if I only used my head, and never my feet, my head would not last long. I must exercise a great deal every day, else I should fly up the chimney, or through the roof, like a witch. But for all that I don’t forget one little girl or boy who ever wrote to me; and although I cannot answer, it always pleases me to hear from you. I want you all to believe this, and write me whenever you feel like it.