LETTER LXVII.
To Mrs. Talbot.
New-York, Nov. 23.
You do not write to me, my dear Jane.
Why are you silent? Surely you cannot be indifferent
to my happiness. You must know how
painful, at a moment like this your silence must
prove.
I have waited from day to day in expectation
of a letter, but more than a week has past, and
none has come. Let me hear from you, immediately,
I intreat you.
I am afraid you are ill, or perhaps, you are
displeased with me. Unconsciously I may
have given you offence.
But, indeed, I can easily suspect the cause
of your silence. I trembled with terror when
I sent you tidings of our calamity. I know the
impetuosity of your feelings, and the effects of
your present solitude. Would to heaven you
were any where but where you are. Would to
heaven you were once more with us.
Let me beseech you to return to us immediately.
Mr. M. is anxious to go for you. He wanted
to set out immediately, on his brother's arrival,
and to be the bearer of my letter, but I
prevailed on him to forbear until I heard from
you.
Do not, if you have any regard for me, delay
answering me a moment longer.
