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                                                                                                                                                    Dunbarton April 25, 1852 

My dear friend,

        Some time ago, as much as two hours, I should think, I sat down with pen, ink and paper in readiness, with the laudable intent to write a letter for you. I was a little wearied, and felt not exactly in a writing mood,- it seemed to be I had not the most forlorn remnant of an idea so I took up a book to read a few moments and the time has flown just as it always does when one is reading something interesting. I have been reading a description of Mammouth Cave, written by Mr. Charles Tenney, once my teacher, at Gilmanton Academy. He spent some months, last Autumn, in journeying South and West. The sense of the beautiful and the sublime is really oppressive when reading a highly wrought description of the marvels of that Subterranean world. I was obliged to sit still for a time after finishing the narrative, till I could feel quite sure that I was "in the body", and surrounded by the plain, wooden walls of my own home, instead of being in the fairy regions of that wondrous cavern

[left-hand side and top] I shall of course be anxious to learn of the decision about your going to the North of the state. Father seems to think that for himself he should like the north of Illinois best = He thinks it would be more healthy and that the society - better - and there he says it would be somewhat nearer to New England. It is time I stopped writing. I was just thinking you might possibly be making preparations for a journey East, about this time, because your last letter said you might be able to get away a month. But I do not make airy calculations for I fear it was was not very likely you can come till Summer. A welcome is ready and waiting for you whenever you can come, be assured. Ever truly yours, Antoinette Much love from father and mother.