I have received your letter, dearest father, to-day.
It was very unexpected, but I have not been altogether overcome.
Cogswell will tell you so. I do not think anybody has willingly deceived me, certainly the last persons in the world to have done it would have been either you, my dear, my only parent, or dear Eliza, or
Savage.
You were all deceived by your hopes, and if this prevented you from preparing me for the great calamity with which God is now afflicting us all, it is certainly not for me to complain that the blow has fallen so heavily. . . . .
Cogswell will tell you I have been very calm, considering how small my fears were. . . .
I pray God to reconcile me altogether to his will.
I have endeavored to do what seemed to me right and best,. . . . and even if I had embarked at
Lisbon, where I received the first news that made me think her constitution had received a considerable shock, I should have arrived too late. . . . I see, dearest father, with what Christian resignation and firmness you meet the dreadful shock, and I pray continually that I may be enabled to follow your example. . . .
I cannot now make any plan, or think of my situation and circumstances coolly enough to be sure of myself, but of this you may be certain, that I will do nothing unadvisedly, and nothing that any of us will regret hereafter.
Think of me, then, as trusting in Heaven, . . . . as supported by
Cogswell's unwearied kindness, and as willing to make any sacrifice to attain the objects that are still attainable.
If I could but see you one hour, the half of this bitterness would be removed; but it cannot be, and I submit.
