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Dearest Fanny,
                Even this fatal announcement will give you but a faint idea of the affliction we have suffered since I received your affectionate letter.  "Lamentation and mourning - weeping for our children and cannot be comforted because they are not". Our bright and beautiful darlings had seen with us the greater part of the last two years and were the joy and delight of our home: they were to have returned next month! and their winter clothing, their pretty toys.  Charley's slate + pencils, and books marked with his name by his own dear hand - are strewed all over the house --- but if I indulge in this train, I shall never stop - nor see through my tears to write.  My little name-sake, a beautiful, peaceful, merry creature, was attacked apparently by an ordinary cold and treated for that by a country physician.  Oh fatal mistake that embitters this dreadful loss - her mother, with the two youngest children accompanied us (my husband + me) to cape May about the 26th July - and reached home the 11th of August, having left these two precious ones [?] with their father and an Aunt, who had seen to them, from their infancy, devoted as a mother.  No alarm was taken - at the childs illness nor any suspicion of Dyptheria  She was not considered ill + Charley was allowed to breathe the pestiferous air of her room!  imagine the shock, when, without a struggle, she closed her eyes in death on Sunday morning - and the next, without a word of preparation, came to us, in a few pencilled lines the harrowing news-Still we had Charley left- our eldest and longest- loved- and in our fond infatuation though he was still safe- he had been taken into Baltimore on Wednesday in placed at once in the hands of a skilful physician, familiar with the disease.
Our daughters were all together at Sharon, where they had met a most agreeable society and were writing us cheerful entertaining letters. Imagine what a mockery these seemed in the interval. Of course, they lost no time in returning- and you would have supposed from their grief that each had lost a child. You know dear Fanny, we have so few connexions, so few to love. And Merry had in heart, + intention, adopted her little niece + her mind is active and her heart warm, and she found in this little creature something to fill up the measure of her wishes=then she was so proud of her beauty she slept with her, bathed her, made all the fancy things she wore. Truly her grief is pitiable + Martha's scarcely less - for Charley had been since his birth an idol with both. but "dust and ashes" is the end of all in this [?] of tears. And as yet, our rebellious hearts have not found comfort even in the fountain of life. You will remind me of the precious promises on the book of life and the words of comfort and peace there addressed to the mother.  Pray for me, dear old friend that they may be made to speak comfort and consolation to our wounded hearts.  I sent for the poor parents immediately and they with the two babies have been with us ever since.
Your last letter was so gratifying, so full of interest, so cheerful, that it gave me the [?] pleasure.  I was so glad to have the details of your every day life.  But why do you rise so very early as half past four?  you exceed me by two hours - though if I slept alone, and did not disturb any one by moving, six would be my hour.  We breakfast at 1/2 past 8- dine at 3 and take tea at 1/2 past 7 - to bed usually at 11.  I seldom go out in teh morning, but drive frequently at this season in the afternoon, after a short nap, which is indispensable.  How often I wish for you to drive with me?  with how much more pleasure should I look forward to five o'clock.  [Mrs?] [Heyward?] is my frequent companion, she is in very bad health and no better spirits.  Caroline Bayard is settled in her new house, formerly Mrs Gardelle's, about which I wrote you: her school [?] [?] was last year, very flourishing, but her health and spirits bad.  She wished to live the rest of her life in the house in which her mother died, and had kept every thing in her mother's chamber just as she left it.  We know something of these sensibilities - don't you think they are more fruitful of pain than of pleasure in this rough world?
I am going to spare your eyes by adopting this [?] - or are they still as strong as ever? do you sew as much as you used to, + do you knit sometimes? [?] doubt you do both for the sick and wounded.  My husband has just come in and bids me give his love to you and say he hopes we may live to meet again as in the good olden time - God in His merry grant it! My daughters too send you love and many thanks for your kind remembrances - I would send some message of acknowledgement to [Mrs.?] Thompson, but am abashed by her too flattering praise.  How shall I send you "the unprotected females"? they are packed into a small compass + I want you to know them - would they travel safely by mail or could [?] Plumstead put me in the way of a private hand? [?] and Sarah were well, when I last heard of them, and had been somewhere to the sea-side during the hot weather. I have taken no interest in books lately - but early in the summer found great pleasure in Washington Irving's life and letters: the third volume was especialy interesting. The account of the Spanish court and it's [?] queen is, as he says, a sort of romance of his history.
You ask for Miss Black-I thought I had written you of her death eighteen months ago. Sarah [?] is well and exemplary as ever- as devoted to her sick mother. And now, my friend, of fifty years, God forever bless and guard you, praise your affectionate
                                       M L Milligan.