Jan 3
As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are prancing up and down all over what used to be the garden, before the geese and the swans and the cows got at it. And several of them, I have just noticed, are taking inexcusable liberties with the milk"maids".

Your headache is far to small a penalty for your night of carousing and debau-cheriee. The "terpsichorean rosebuds" ye gathered are not Robert Herrick's -- they are what Gore Vidal and I know well was the "rosebud" in Citizen Kane. If such rosebuds have any Muse at all, it is Erato.

Musick (dear soul!) has taken pity on my plight, and is here to help me deal with this noah's ark you have created. At last I have the solace of knowing that I can rely upon his deep concern and thoughtful counsel.

I shall need all the strength he can give me, for the neighbors are trying to have us evicted. I shall never speak to you again.

Emily