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Camden
Oct: 22 Evn'g

Dear Harry

The spirit moves me to scribble off a few lines to you—but I don't know why, for I have no news to tell & nothing particular to write about any how. I returned to-day from a three days visit to my Quaker friends at Germantown—they have tip top horses & carriage, & we had good long drives Saturday afternoon & Sunday towards evening after the rain—After supper, & the things are removed, we all sit around the table we sometimes keep it up an hour & a half & have a good talk & discussions, & accounts of any thing that has occurred during the day, & somebody has questions to put or information to glean,—perhaps some little recitation or singing, a good lot of us—eight or nine altogether—there are two just grown daughters, as nice and jolly and 'cute as young women can be—one son—& always three or four others—making a good time Sunday morning, they have family prayers—I was requested to read a chapter from the testament—(the Sermon on the Mount)—which I did—(I wish you could have all seen & heard me)—I never beheld such a merry, affectionate, hearty healthy family—[nobby?], too—

—With me, this fall, everything just floats idly along, as far as writing and work are concerned—Down there at Ocean Grove and along Barnegat &c. I was moved to write a poem on the ocean¹—I have turned it & turned it & rewritten it over & over again—but cant get it to suit me yet—Harry, how is it with you? & why didnt you come & tell me—before you left the printing offices here?—Write me a line soon as you get this²—Sometimes I think you must be sick—

—I am about as usual—I am writing this after 9 at night up in my room, sitting in the big ratan chair.

God bless you Harry dear—
W W