_To Henry Colden_

Philadelphia, October 28.

O my friend! Where are you at this trying moment? Why did you desert
me? Now, if ever, does my feeble heart stand in need of your counsel and
courage.

Did I ever lean these throbbing brows against your arm and pour my
tears into your bosom, that I was not comforted? Never did that adored
voice fail to whisper sweet peace to my soul. In every storm, thy calmer
and more strenuous spirit has provided me the means of safety. But now I
look around for my stay, my monitor, my encourager, in vain.

You will make haste to despatch the business that detains you. You will
return, and fly, on the wings of love, to thy Jane. Alas! she will not be
found. She will have fled far away, and in her stead will she leave this
sullen messenger to tell thee that thy Jane has parted from thee
forever!

Do not upbraid me, Hal. Do not call me ungrateful or rash. Indeed, I
shall not be able to bear thy reproaches. I know they will kill me
quite.

And don't expostulate with me. Confirm me rather in my new resolution.
Even if you think it cruel or absurd, aver that it is just. Persuade me
that I have done my duty to my mother, and assure me of your cheerful
acquiescence.