University of Virginia Library

JULIET TO SARAH.

Fall down upon thy knees, to our blessed Father in
heaven! He hath had compassion upon me; my complaint
is not that of death. The crisis hath passed; several
consultations have been held—an operation performed,
and I have come out, again, from the chamber of
darkness; from the very tomb, I might say, like one rejoicing

from the sepulchre---among the flowers, and wind,
and sunshine of another world. O, Sarah, in this calm
evening, with the dear blue sky, floating dimly up there,
where I might have been at this monent, in His mercy,
had he not forborne a little while; and the cold air just
stirring the myrtle leaves, there at the window—O, what a
horrible sense I have of the past---the loneliness and
desolation that I was hastening to.---Stay---one word
more.—I am forbidden to write, even to thee; and they
are shutting the windows, at this moment, as if the breath
of God, were not the breath of life to me. Where is our
friend John? I have not seen him for two weeks. Nobody
knows where he is. And I would have told you,
Sarah, with my own hand, earlier than this, what the
prospect was, of my recovery, but I waited to have the
hope confirmed. I was willing to die.—Was I?—O, I
know not. I could not die now. How strange it is. I
look back at that willingness, with wonder and amazement.
I ask myself, if it be possible that I—I, a poor,
weak, trembling creature, was so well prepared, as it
seemed, to go before the judgment-seat. Sarah, I can
scarcely breathe, when I think of what I have escaped.
Was I nerved by desperation? Criminals, they say,
are so, sometimes; and stand firm to the last; when, at
the slightest whisper, or murmur of compassion, or hope,
they are agitated to convulsion. Nay, have I not heard
my father say, that, in the battles of the Revolution, he
did his duty, like a man—(no, like a brute;—)
without one thought of fear---one prayer to his Maker,
when the balls poured in upon them, like a storm of hail
from the sky; and afterward, when alone in the dim wood,
journeying with no other companion, than Him, whom he
had forgotten in his greatest need, that he has fallen flat
upon his face, at the recollection of his tremendous insensibility?

I would not add another word, for it is unaccouutable
to me, how I have had the strength, to write so much, in
the flutter of my heart, at breathing the fresh air, once
more, with none of that warm, sickening earthiness, that
fills the death chamber and which, in my old horrour of
being buried alive, has made me fancy, more than once,

that I was buried, and breathing in a charnel house.
But I must desire that you never mention a certain name
to me, again; nor remind me, henceforth, in any way, of
it, or of him, or of aught that hath ever passed. His
time has gone by. He is lost. Your opinion of him, is
nearer the truth than mine was. And above all, never
disquiet yourself more, about him and me.