(Inclosed in the preceding.)

chatham-place.

Dear Charles,

The intelligence of your father's death fills me with unaffected grief. – I feel too severely myself to be capable of applying the healing balm of consolation to your sorrows: – I can only sympathize with you. You mourn a tender and affectionate parent; I, the friend of my earliest days; the friend of my heart; whose numerous virtues endeared him to me thro' life, and will for ever endear to me his memory. You, Charles, are young, and may, of course, form other attachments/ which will heal the wound at present given to your feelings by this afflictive dispensation of providence. – Time will do much for you; – but for me it can do nothing; at least, very little. You and my daughter, I trust, will still continue to divide my paternal regards, as you have hitherto; but the sweet intercourse of social friendship I can no more enjoy. Your father was my first self: our attachment was mutual; it was cemented by congeniality of minds; the closest habits of intimacy; and the most unlimited confidence, from our boyish days. – Judge, then, my beloved youth, how painful to me must be this final separation!

Your cousin Rhoda participates in our distress; she sits weeping beside me; and, while she confesses tears are a just tribute to the memory of one so truly valuable, she laments the difficulty of demonstrating that perfect submission to the will of God, which he has a right to expect from all the creatures of his power. She desires me to present her best remembrances, and wishes you that support under your affliction which religion only can afford./

I must beg leave to decline attending the funeral; my heart is too womanish to brave such an encounter. – I will endeavor to blunt the poignancy of my feelings by the hurry of business, which, at present, claims a large share of my attention.