LETTER LXVIII.
To Mrs. Montford.
Banks of Delaware, Nov. 26.
I beseech you, dear Mrs. Montford, take some measures
for drawing our dear Jane from this place. There is
no remedy but absence from this spot, cheerful company
and amusing engagements, for the sullen grief which has
seized her. Ever since the arrival of your letter, giving us
the fatal tidings of your brother's misfortune, she has been
—in a strange way—I am almost afraid to tell you; I know
how much you love her; but indeed, indeed, unless somebody
with more spirit and skill than I possess, will undertake
to console and divert her, I am fearful we shall lose
her forever.
I can do nothing for her relief. You know what a poor
creature I am. Instead of summoning up courage to assist
another in distress, the sight of it confuses and frightens
me. Never, I believe, was there such another helpless
good for nothing creature in existence. Poor Jane's affecting
ways only make me miserable, and instead of my being
of any use to her, her presence deprives me of all power
to attend to my family and friends. I endeavor to avoid
her, though, indeed, that requires but little pains to effect,
since she will not be seen but when she cannot choose, for
whenever she looks at me steadily, there is such expression
in her features, something so woful, so wild, that I am
struck with terror. It never fails to make me cry heartily.
Come hither yourself, or send somebody immediately.
If you do not, I dread the consequence.
