ARTOTYPE, E. BIERSTADT, N. Y.
]
Salem, July 14, 1802.
Dear Mother:
I have just received my trunk with the letter and key. I perceive you
have not received my letter by Mr. Jewett. Fear not, my dear Mother,
tho’ gay and volatile in my disposition, I feel that I shall return home
with the same sentiments with which I left it. True, I was in the midst
of gaiety and splendor such as I never before witnessed, yet a something
within whispers true happiness resides not here,—in this family all is
calm contentment and peaceful pleasure. Mr. Derby is everything his best
friends can wish him, and the whole family consider him as every thing
good and benevolent; he truly is so, and appears one of the finest men I
ever knew. How is Uncle Porter’s family? I cannot even now reconcile
myself to the idea of leaving them so unexpectedly and so immediately,
yet I know not how it could be avoided. I am in the midst of amusements
and pleasure, they drive all melancholy reflection from my mind, but
when alone, my feelings warmly pay a tribute to the merit of _our
departed Moses_; yet I cannot,—do not realize, every thing contributes
to make me think it a delusion, a mere dream; how is it possible I can
realize it? Yet sometimes I feel it is, it must be true. How soon do we
reconcile ourselves to the loss of the dearest friends; what would most
distract us in anticipation we meet with calmness when it approaches;
strange, unaccountable. I surely loved Moses with sincerity. I knew of
no person so distantly connected whom I felt so interested in,—yet he is
dead,—he is gone, and I can speak of it without emotion, and I am
called. Adieu, I will write soon.