I have to acknowledge a feast of letters from you since I wrote last;
their dates from August 19th to September 1st. It is a very great
satisfaction to me to know from day to day the movement of Howe and his
banditti. We live in hourly expectation of important intelligence from
both armies. Heaven grant us victory and peace; two blessings, I fear,
we are very undeserving of.
Inclosed you will find a letter to Mr. Lovell, who was so obliging as to
send me a plan of that part of the country which is like to be the
present seat of war. He accompanied it with a very polite letter, and I
esteem myself much obliged to him; but there is no reward this side the
grave that would be a temptation to me to undergo the agitation and
distress I was thrown into by receiving a letter in his handwriting,
franked by him. It seems almost impossible that the human mind could
take in, in so small a space of time, so many ideas as rushed upon mine
in the space of a moment. I cannot describe to you what I felt.
The sickness or death of the dearest of friends, with ten thousand
horrors, seized my imagination. I took up the letter, then laid it down,
then gave it out of my hand unable to open it, then collected resolution
enough to unseal it but dared not read it; began at the bottom,--read a
line,--then attempted to begin it, but could not. A paper was inclosed;
I ventured upon that, and finding it a plan, recovered enough to read
the letter; but I pray Heaven I may never realize such another moment of
distress.
I designed to have written you a long letter, for really I owe you one,
but have been prevented by our worthy Plymouth friends, who are here
upon a visit, in their way home; and it is now so late at night, just
struck twelve, that I will defer anything further till the next post.
Good night, friend of my heart, companion of my youth, husband, and
lover. Angels watch thy repose!