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A year this day My poor Lydia went in the garden to see a tree
put in the Earth a fir tree it was very damp I call to her to come out for I was fraid that she would take cold she did
in the night her face was in great pain.
I think she never went out after, she was great lover of a garden and
flowers was her delight to cullervate them and work among
them, the vilet and the rose
she was int[u?]slious. She thought all brings. through every gradation
of existence. from the toiling emmet to the flaming angel,
are formed for activity and excertion. her wish was
to good to the sick and the poor, she often mourn
that was not in her power to do more she did all she could