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Pg. 4 To write of one’s self, would seem all egotism. I have no particular fondness for abstractions, and hence it would not be interesting to me, to write of others. And if I alluded to myself, to acquire a notoriety, or to gain one point for myself with you, this letter would never be finished. For one I have no occasion for addi= tions. I feel a completeness, if not a man, or woman on Earth. n/ever smiled on me. Not that I could treat lightly their smiles; but that they could neither add to my importance, or my happi ness. The completeness of myself as a creation, is a sufficient guaranty for both. And I could not so earnestly repeat this, un= less I had put it to the test un= der the most severe trials. This world must know these things. They are too precious to be overlooked. Too essential to be neglected, and too full of sweets to be lost. Only the earnest, industrious, and unflagging soul, can stand per= pendicular in such a world as this. And yet when we say so, in our inmost being, we find it easy enough. It is but to live in sim= ple harmony with what we are. Not to better ourselves, but purely to repeat the facts of our noblest natures. Any tame and common life, would even tempt a devil to tempt us. I have no sympathy with theories- have none of my own- for life is not a theory, it is living. Bless you all give my regards to all your household not omitting Julia, Mary, or Betty I am too dearly happy to write more good night

                                       Edward

Left margin Give my regards to Mrs. Barker when you see her Life is full of poetry, all we have to do is to pick it up Poetry is but the musical measure of existence + ___ out in feelings