THE MISSOURI INVASION.
My Dear Mother:—This is the first Sabbath in November, and we are having a pouring, beating, east-wind rain,—quite an unusual quarter from which to "scare-up" a rain, or a wind even, in this region of the world. Our roof does not leak; but the east side of the cabin is its weak side. The shakes are not so closely packed; and the newspapers which we pasted on so carefully are loosening
with the united action of wind and rain. I am already sliding off the papers, scattered in such profusion by Mr. C——'s friends about him, so as to have some to fall back upon when the sun comes out again, and the wind, getting weary, falls asleep. The inmates of the cabin are all dressed to-day. Night-gowns have rolled themselves up meekly and vanished under imaginary pillows. The contents of the dressing-gown, packed into the great rocking-chair, with giddy head and shaking
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