about December 1858
Since I have no sweet flower to send you, I enclose my heart; a little one, sunburnt, half broken sometimes, yet close as the spaniel, to it's friends. Your flowers came from Heaven, to which if I should ever go, I will pluck you palms.
My words are far away when I attempt to thank you, so take the silver tear instead, from my full eye. You have often remembered me.
I have little dominion - Are there not wiser than I, who with curious treasure, could requite your gift. Angels fill the hand that loaded