Fourway Farm,
January 3, 1935.

Dear Ab,

We got your last letter and all I got to say is Ime fair flummixed. I have read your supprising letter four times -- twice slowly to meself and twice out loud to your ma; but it don't make any better sense last than first. Its got us both beat.

You got no right, lad, to let off two bombs like that in the peaceful ole home of your fourbears to close together like.

To hear last week that our second son had took the serious step of getting hisself ingaged to be marrid was a reel important event in our simple bucolick lives, and quite enough sensation to last us for a good bit.

But when you write this week in a light-harted sort of a way to tell us the ingagement is now broke off it sort of leaves us gasping like fish out of water.

Ime afraid this here younger genration moves a bit too quick for me, son. Me and your ma is getting on in years, but even in our yuong days they dident move anythin near so rapid.

Getting ingaged in them days was a pretty serius business I can tell you, not only for the young couple, theirselves, but for the fambly and for the districk.

And when two young peepil got ingaged public like that why they sort of looked on it as dash near as binding as marridge. The idear of a bloke being jilted by a girl or vicey vercy would have all the buggies out all over the roads driving the wimmen to this and that nayber to find out was it true.

And beleeve me onct a feather heded filly tossed her intended them days she had to work her whole box of tricks overtime and pretty indiscrimnit before she cot another, and him genrally a stranger and soft at that.

But these days young peepil seem to pop in and out of ingagements like them there pitcher acters plays with marridge and divorce -- like puss in the corner.

It aint a good sine, Ab.

Why when I think of the hours and hours I spent sitting around on logs and slip-panels and places deciding wether Ide try me luck with your ma or buy a saddle horse I often tremble even now to think ut might have gone the other way.

The saddle horse threw Bill Ryan a month after your ma took a risk on me and broke his neck.

And onct your ma had me roped and thrown I had as much chance of braking loose as I had of flying. Not that I wanted to mine you, eether then or since. But what I wanted to point out like it is only goes to show you.

Marridge was made them days like the tables and chairs and sich furnisher we set up house with -- made to wear and last a life time.

Seems to me pretty near everythin in this world from goverments to ingagements has gone gimcrack since I was a boy.

Be that as it may, I aint going to do more preeching to you -- not on this subjeck anyways.

As I said beginning, this here young generation is a long site too rapid for your old man.

You young colts and fillies tumbles in and out of ingagements and things as eesy as old Bill Prill on a log across the creek trying to git home from a party at the pub.

What does puzzle me a good bit is that you still seem to be sort of tracking round with the young plucked duckling what you have parted with for ever. More modren ways I suppose, but it don't look to me like broken harts or anythin.

In fack your ma aint sure wether its quite moril, but your ma was broght up with the feelings of a lady.

However love from all at home and also congratulations if sich is in order on this occasion. In any case you have mine harty.

Your aff. father.
JAS. JAMES

"Den"
Herald, 5 January 1935, p6