This letter is damaged with many missing pieces

                                     Lowell, Mass April 1849

Most respected Madam

             I have not forgotten you, although I dreamed
that you, (most justly too) had considered my correspondences, 
amid your numerous engagements, a beneath your notice, and 
memory.  Precisely what I wrote I know not, but this, not 
very flattering sensation has ever clung to me, that it 
was about as near nothing as anything can be.  I was not quite 
well, just then, either in body or mind and when one strand of 
my sensitive soul is jarred it were rain to heat for harmony. 
Most truly I adopt the language of my young friend 
to whom I read a portion of your letter, “I thank God,” said 
she, “that there are such women as Mrs. Martin in the world, 
although I may not be fearless enough to be one of them”, 
You Madam, have a mission upon the earth, may God give 
your strength to follow your head in [----] upon 
the consciousness of duty done.  I know the position you want, 
to be in the main right and I frankly say so to all; but 
like my friend and [writer], I am too shrinking, too fearful, 
of the breath of censure, to dare take the position, that 
you so nobly fill, even if I claim the talent. 
Too long have I reported with the Mimosa, too long
have I inhaled its fragrance, I am sick, heartsick, of 
oppression, monopoly and wrong, and I do so love to leave them 
All behind and linger around the green [----] and all the 
[----] flowers that bloom along the pathway [----]. 
There things from which the world long turns softly away in which 
 
 
he [----] yearns of beauty  in which bears no throbbing [----] 
are the many things from which I gather [----] of 
a [----] life; the