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esteemed friend: The
Acadia leaves to-morrow, on her return to
Liverpool.
It would be unpardonable in me not to send an epistle to one for whom I entertain the most profound respect and the strongest friendship; and to whom I am indebted, on the score of generosity, personal kindness, and anti-slavery sympathy and co-operation, far more than any return of thanks, however eloquently expressed, can ever repay.
It is impossible for me to tell you what were my feelings, on discovering that the little steamer which brought us alongside of the
Acadia in the
Mersey, had returned to the dock without my knowledge—carrying you and the other dear friends, who had come so far to see us embark, entirely out of sight—perhaps never to behold each other again on earth.
Dear
Rogers felt as deeply as myself at this circumstance.
We were so troubled in seeing to our luggage, and in ascertaining where we were to be located during the voyage, that we did not discover, till it was too late, that you had left us. I felt very unhappy about it, I assure you; and if tears of regret could have availed anything, we should not have wept in vain.
It was our intention to have given you all the last wave of our hats and handkerchiefs, and to have watched you closely till distance should hide you from our sight.
What must you have thought of us!
Our conduct must have seemed inexplicable.
We felt very badly about our warm-hearted friend
Richard D. Webb, in particular, in consequence of his having come all the way from
Dublin to bid us farewell.
But I will not dwell on this painful subject.
Rest assured that the choice circle of friends with whom it was our privilege to become acquainted in
England,
Scotland and
Ireland, will never be forgotten by