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Friend Mary,
Thou wouldst welcome upon
these pages, the momentoes of thy friend’s
momentoes, the perusal of which will bring to
remembrance, in after years, the pleasures of bye
gone days, and how pleasing will be the
thought, that many who have placed there
tokens of respect, upon these pages, were friends
indeed, but first pause, and consider
who are thy friends, and let none be
received as such, until they have truly
proved themselves worthy, and well deserve
the name.
To Miss Mary A. Millis

From her friend
M. A. James

Oswego, Oct 29, 1838

Writings from a collective journal, 1820-1850, recently found and republished here.

The Sun May Rise

And Greet our eyes,

With natures leatis fair!

But dark as night,

IS friendship be not there.

Nor you bright star

That from afar,

Its oosary (ossuary) light pours down

ban ever vie.

With the soft eye,

That never gives a frown!

Friendship’s smile

May cheer the while,

When other joys have sped!

It is A flower,

That guides lifes bower

When youth and beauty is fade.

May Joys divine

Be ever thine

With Friendships wreath entwined,

And some kind friend

Thy steps attend,

To the with love combined.

L. W.

Leatis-Brit a trench or ditch that conveys water to a mill wheel

This is from the journal’s owner, Mary, to all her friends who will write over the next 30 years.


Gladly I’d twine a wreath for thee
From friendships fair unfading tree
And bid it bloom unceasingly

To slain thy hours of loneliness

but where shall this rare plant be found.
does it eve grow, on the earthly ground
or only grace some heavenly mound

amid those lovers of happiness

It sometimes blooms neath suns bright skies
But when misfortune blasts arise
Quickly the sunshine friendship dies
and leaves but dull formality

Some bird of origin divine
I’ll seek to form this wreath of thine
plucked from the withering bond of time
to bloom for thee eternally

nor i alone this wreath will twine
but all thy friends who trace a line

in this nespitle (?) of thine
shall form this wreath for thee

this album then a wreath for thee
and every name a flower shall be
a pure bright gem of constancy
sacred to love and memory

Mary E. Harlow