SARAH TO JULIET
Are you terrified, Juliet? Look at the date again. I am
actually in New-York, once more. Can you believe your
senses? How is your health?—your self command? I
have need of your advice—I am desperate—my pride is
in the dust—my religion—my piety—O, heaven!—I have
nothing of either left. It is blasphemy to mention them.
Juliet!—hear me! Bear with me! I am alone, dying
perhaps—broken of heart, and desolate—and I want thy
consolation, more than all other; for I dare not, O, no, I
dare not apply to heaven. Yet—mark me, if thou art
not in a situation to give it to me;—if thou art faint of
heart—or ill—or weary in spirit;—if thou art not prepared
for every thing—stop, where thou art—burn the
letter—and lay thee down, quietly — and let me
die, alone—* * * * * * * *
* * * What have I been saying, dear Juliet?
I am very weak—very—and there is a strange feeling of
distraction at my brain, that alarms me. I want thy
advice, Juliet. But let me tell thee why * * *
nay, nay—not to night. I must try to sleep, and tomorrow,
if I have life enough left, I shall finish the communication—if
not—it must go, as it is.
