Lordsday, Aug. 4, {1822?}

Today, my dear, I have attended public worship.  The weather has been cool during the day and I now feel much less fatigued than I expected to have done.  While I sat listening to the Word of life as it fell from the lips of our beloved Elder I suppose you, if your life and health are spared, were preaching the gospel in the Chap. of the College.  It would be sweet to sit down with you this evening and recount the memories of the day and the week that is past.  But I will not indulge in contemplations which will only encrease a thirst, which may never perhaps in time, be assuaged.  Rather let me endeavor to conform my wayward wishes to the providences of God.  Let me endure privations without repining, (O how should I blush at a murmuring thought when I think of the sufferings of Jesus!) and manifest my love to him by a cheerful resignation to every trial and acknowledging with gratitude and humility the visit of every favor.  If death part us before we meet, may we each feel to bless the hand of God in the event; and may the survivor be enabled to say in refference to the affliction The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away and blessed be the name of the Lord.  But if it can be his will I earnestly desire that we may once more enjoy the dear privilege of an earthly meeting  It is now so dark I cannot distinguish one letter from an other and must reluctantly leave you.  May the Lord grant you his spiritual presence this evening, and his guardian protection through the night.

Aug. 5 sunset  I sat down, my dear, with the intention of conversing with you a few moments this evening; but the recollection of an injunction of yours, not to write when I laboured under any depression of spirits makes me pause.  I believe on the whole I will defer it untill a more happy season: for if my scriblings should bear the complexion of my feelings I am sure they would distress you.  May you enjoy that tranquility of mind, my dear Samuel, to which your affectionate your devoted Sally is this evening a stranger.  

Friday morning Aug. 9  

You will find me in better spirits this morning than when I last conversed with you.  Mr. D. Pomeroy has arrived in town.  But I have not yet seen him or heard any thing from him respecting the hats we <s>left with</s> sent to him for sale.  Yesterday morning I went to the village in order to see him, but did not, for he was at <u>Sudbury</u>.  A day or two previous, my father called at his fathers, but failed of seeing him because he was at Sudbury.  Cousin J. Conant said he had scarcely seen him since his arrival, as he spent the