Page 2

here, the most poorly spell she has experienced
for sesveral months past, with something of a chill,
and then fever, and other unfavorable indications
brought on, the Doctor thought, by exhaustion from overfatigue
in riding; but she is now pretty much
recovered from the attack, and about up again
to the condition in which you saw her
While writing, a little poem of Moore's has occurred
to me, which I will copy on the next leaf,
as one that has always pleased me since I first saw it,
now many years ago. If you have already seen it,
I have no doubt you will think it worth reading
again. If you have not, you will enjoy it still more.
With much love to you both, I remain
Your Sincere Friend,
Benjn Hallowell

Samuel P. and Eliz. Thomas
Cherry Grove

"As, down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean,
Sweet flowers are springing, not mortals can see;
So, deep in my soul the sweet pray'r of Devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises, silent, to Thee,
My God! Silent, to Thee!
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee!

"As, still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
The Needle points faithfully, o'er the dim Sea;
To, dark as I roam in this wintry world shrouded,
The Hope of my Spirit turns, trembling, to Thee,
My God! trembling, to Thee!
True, fond, trembling, to Thee"

Moore's works, Appletons's Edition, page 301.