A pity our "flights were crossed" on the 9th, and that we missed the full moon in New Orleans. In fact I barely got beyond the rafters that night, and certainly not out of New England. I should have liked to have traveled, but Granny was completely dotty again. I was taking the air on the widow's walk when I spotted her a mile out into the harbor, standing bolt upright in the dory and shouting preposterous things about her own family. Well, true things, but preposterously shouted. She seems to think this is edifying in some way. Embarrassing is what it is, and to the whole town, not just the family. It's not as if everyone doesn't know all that crap anyway. Someone spirited her away and it was all written off to the "vapors."

Withal, I must tell you we have a problem in New York. Our Maiden Lane digs are, it seems, now occupied by flesh and blood. I was setting the table in fact when the lights thumped on all over the floor, giving me a terrific scare and near blinding me. I scurried outside onto the rampart and concealed myself near the iron gargoyle. And there they were, a mouthwatering lot of piquant lads and maidens all chirping about doing this and that here and there, and in the most affected manner. They were sufficiently unnerved by my table setting. But for all their cultured airs, they had no eye for Paul Revere silver and old China trade. So nothing was stolen. I really think they thought it was some vagabond's bric-a-brac. Granted it's a bit tarnished and chipped. In any case, it seems the delicious things will be back, with more like them, in festive demeanor, and that we will either have to vacate, or blend in somehow. Please apprise, eternal beloved.

Casper Freake

Casper Freake, Salem, Mass. 13 January 2001