SARAH TO JOHN.
Waterville, Kennebeck River.
Really, cousin John, your silence is unaccountable.
Not a line, not a single line, from either of my two new
brothers, except one, that was almost illegible, from
Frank, written in pencil, upon a dirty bit of paper, which
I had half a mind to smoke, (or fumigate, I must say
now, I suppose, being at chymistry,)---the amount of
which scrawl was, that he was on the deck of the vessel
—the pilot just ready to depart—no time to say good
bye to anybody—still less to write;—that you were
“worse off,” than ever, with Molton---a phrase which I
take to mean, that you were on a footing of greater intimacy,
than ever, with him;---and that he hoped all
would go well with you, yet. Just in this state of suspense,
came a letter that is utterly indistinct, and inexplicable,
from Juliet. Her name is to it, but the hand-writing
is not hers; or, if it be, she must have been
strangely disordered at the time. All that I can decypher,
amounts to this:---
“Dear Sarah---Do not believe a word that you hear.
Trust to me---to me, alone. Believe nothing, that does
not come to you, in black and white, signed with my
name. I shall write to you, the first moment; but, at
present, I have no time. I am sick---sick at heart, Sarah;
but I put my trust in heaven. Farewell. Whatever
you hear, remember, I charge you, to disbelieve it;
no matter from whom it may come---no matter how
plausible it may appear---until you hear from me.
