# Sketch of Connecticut, Forty Years Since/Chapter XVIII

CHAPTER XVIII.
The clergyman, after his return from performing the last pious offices for Oriana, read the following letter, which had been presented to him at her grave.
"You have expressed a wish, my dear and reverend benefactor, to possess a more particular acquaintance with my history, than my weakness has yet permitted me to impart. I will, as God may give me strength, recount some of its circumstances, to meet your eye when mine is closed in dust. It will then be time enough to lift the veil of mystery, when I shall no longer be pained at the curiosity of strangers, or affected by their opinion. You, Sir, have without suspicion reposed confidence in the imperfect narrative, which has been entrusted to you. You have not, as the cold-hearted multitude might have done, wounded with the cruelty of distrust a heart long sinking beneath the visitation of God. You will not now believe that a spirit, nurtured in the love of truth, could use guile, ​when on the threshold of His presence, who "hateth every false way."
"I was born in Blackburn, in the county of Lancashire, in England, and descended of obscure, but virtuous ancestors. My father, whose name was Selden, was devoted to the pursuits of agriculture. He married rather late in life, and died while I was yet a child. With the profits of his industry, my mother purchased a neat cottage in a retired spot, where she devoted herself to my welfare. Her education had been superiour to what is usually found among those of her rank; and the few books which she possessed, aided by the force of her example, excited in me an early taste for reading. I can scarcely imagine a lot more congenial with happiness than ours. Our income was adequate to our wants; and that industry, which preserved our health, gave us the power of administering to the necessities of others. When my daily share of labour was completed, my recreations were to tend my flowers, to read, to converse with my mother while we were both employed with our needles, or to join my voice to that of the birds who surrounded our habitation. I was under the pastoral charge of the Rev. Mr. Owen, of the Established Church, a man of the most ardent piety, and indefatigable zeal in the instruction of his flock. By him I was baptized in infancy, and weekly catechized in my knowledge of those doctrines, which he explained with simplicity, and illustrated by example. I have often reflected with gratitude that by him I was prepared for the ​vows of confirmation, and by his hand led to that holy sacrament which our Saviour has instituted for the penitent believer. It was impossible to attend to his injunctions without cultivating that close acquaintance with the heart, that scrutiny into its springs of action, which induce deep humility, and a renunciation of merit, save through the mediation of Him, "who offered himself without spot to God." To the blessing of the Holy Spirit on the instructions of this beloved guide do I impute, that the foundation of my faith was laid even in childhood so strong, that it does not fail me now, in my hour of trial. Mingled also with the pursuits of piety, was a thirst for knowlege. But to this my lot afforded only a limited gratification. Edward Merton, the son of a family of distinction in the vicinity, became interested to teach me what wealth afforded him the means of acquiring. His noble mind, enlarged by the circle of the sciences, took pleasure in imparting to others its own riches. Most of his evenings were passed at our cottage, in reading to us the works of authors, which we had no other means of obtaining. That joy seemed to animate him, with which the benevolent mind gives food to the hungry, or opens a fountain to the thirsty soul. To my simple mind, he seemed as a pure spirit bowing from the skies to elevate an inferiour race. At length it became evident that he loved the mind which he had himself adorned; like him who, imparting fire from heaven to an inert mass, became its adorer. Authorized in cherishing a virtuous attach​it increased every day, and every night I thanked my Creator with exuberant gratitude, for the fullness of my joy. Yet my heart too much exulted, too exclusively trusted to the earth, and at the moment when I thought my sky the brightest, it was involved in a cloud of woe. Edward's only surviving parent was a father, a proud, and mercenary man. Two sons were his sole offspring, and the idea that one should marry a cottager was insupportable. With the threat of disinheritance, he commanded him to relinquish the design; and I, educated with high ideas of filial obedience, entreated him to submit, though my heart felt that it must break at his desertion. Nothing, however, was able to destroy the inviolable affection of that exalted being. To me, a novice in the school of sorrow, this trial appeared too much for endurance, until it was appointed to be swallowed up in a greater affliction. My mother, whose health had been delicate from her youth, and who had long been subject to symptoms of disease, which she laboured to conceal from me, now rapidly declined. I watched in agony, day and night, the struggles of a gentle spirit, disengaging itself from clay. Her resignation to the divine will was scarcely shaded by maternal anxiety; for she trusted to leave her orphan to the protection of one, who loved the orphan's God. Sometimes she would join our hands, as we kneeled together by her couch, saying with a smile, "My children, you will be happy, though I am gone. Yet forget not to seek greater happiness; for ah! if you come not to me, ​at last, there will be mourning in Heaven." I had forborne to communicate to her the opposition of Edward's father to our union, lest it might embitter her parting moments. But as her sickness approached its fatal termination, he was himself summoned to his last account. He had been for some time absent, superintending an estate in Ireland, and encountering a storm in the Channel, was drowned on his homeward passage. He gave by will all his possessions to his eldest son, to whom he was partial, and who resembled him in character. Edward came to us depressed at the depth of his poverty. But my heart with deep gratitude thanked the Eternal Sire, that I might now return his affection without the imputation of mercenary motives, and relieved from the dread of a father's malediction. He departed for a few days to seek some prospect of maintenance, and returned only in time to support me to my mother's grave. The fatal disease, which has set its seal upon me, triumphed over both my parents. The bitterness of my orphanage was consoled by the voice of love as pure, as ardent, as holy, as ever dwelt in the breast of man. So firmly was it returned, that I heard, without repining, that the only resource which remained was to join the army, then about to embark for America, under Earl Cornwallis.
"We were married, and my little patrimony, which in consequence of my mother's sicknsss had become somewhat encumbered with debt, was sold. Hand in hand, we parted from that sweet cottage, to encounter the perils ​of ocean, and war in a foreign land. Methought that little retreat never looked so beautifully as when we were leaving it. Its roses, and woodbines breathed fragrantly, and the smooth-shorn grass before it was like the richest velvet. With the warmth of seventeen, I was attached to every spot which had ministered to the joy of a childhood whose traces were yet recent in my memory. I gazed on the white roof of the home, hallowed by the last breath of my mother, until the trees hid it from my view. Yet all the attractions of my native country vanished, as shadows, before my vow'd affection to him, for whose sake I was willing to become a wanderer. He was my all, and the idolatry of my soul was perfect. Therefore its altar of earth was removed, and the image to which it offered incense was broken.
"I will not detain you, Reverend Sir, with the dangers of our voyage, or the hardships of a life in camps. Like the servitude of Jacob, they seemed to me as nothing "for the love I bare him." But in time of battle, my wretchedness was extreme. It was then that, imploring protection for my husband, I first learned what was meant by "the agony of prayer." Of a daring, and invincible spirit, he was ambitious to stand foremost in the ranks of danger. His intrepidity gained the attention of his officers, and led to his promotion. This stimulated his military enthusiasm, and when I entreated him to be careful of his life for my sake, he would answer firmly, but with tenderness, "In the scenes to which my duty calls me ​there can be no protector but the God of battles. Is he not also a God of the widow?"
But from the details of war I have ever shrunk, and now my trembling hand, and fluttering heart admonish me to be brief. Seldom has one, who possessed such native aversion from all the varieties of strife, such an instinctive horrour at the sight of blood-shed, been appointed to share the fortunes of a soldier. During the investment of Yorktown, in the autumn of 1781, he was almost constantly divided from me, either on some post of fatigue, or exposure. The minute scenes of that eventful period are engraved on my memory, as with the point of a diamond. Often have I retraced the circumstances of the last night which I passed in that fatal spot. The atmosphere was faintly lighted by stars, shedding that dim, doubtful beam, which disposes the mind to melancholy contemplation. I was alone, and the heaviness of my solitude in a strange land oppressed my heart like a physical weight. The works of the allied French and Americans were every day brought more nearly to us. In the form of a crescent they spread themselves before us, cutting off our communication with the neighbouring country. The ships of France, anchored at the mouth of York River, prevented our receiving supplies from thence, or aid from Sir Henry Clinton, who in New-York awaited our fate with anxiety. A fixed gloom might be seen on the countenance of Cornwallis; and Tarleton, who had hitherto poured his bold soul into the enterprise, was suffering pain, and dejection ​from a wound. The prospects of our army were dark in the extreme, and I was continually agitated with fears for my sole earthly stay. To dissipate the melancholy impressions which thronged my soul, I ascended to the top of the house to take a view of that glorious firmament, which had so often led my thoughts from the woes of earth to the tranquillity of heaven. But the thunder of a terrible cannonade drew my attention to the surrounding scene. The whole peninsula seemed to tremble beneath the engines of war. Bombs, from the batteries of both parties, were continually crossing each others path. Like blazing meteors their luminous trains traversed each other, with awful sublimity. Sometimes I heard that hissing sound, when in their fall they excavate the earth, and rend in atoms whatever opposes them. Once I saw the severed, mangled limbs of several British soldiers thrown into the air, by their explosion. I fancied that I heard a groan of agony in the voice that I loved, and listened till sensation almost forsook me. Suddenly, a flame sprang forth from the bosom of the river. It was a column of ineffable brightness. The waters seemed to feed it, and every moment it rose higher, and extended wider, as if uncertain whether first to enfold the earth, or the heavens. Then two smaller furnaces burst forth near it, breathing intense fires in spiral forms, beautiful and dreadful. I gazed, till the waters glowed in one dazzling expanse, and I knew not but the Almighty in anger at the crimes of man, was kindling around him an ocean of flame; as He once pour​ed over him a deluge of waters. But nothing could hush the incessant roar of these engines of death; and I thought that man would continue to pursue his brother with hatred, even to the conflagration of the day of doom. When the influence of an excited imagination had subsided, I found that this splendid and fearful pageant was the burning of the Charon, one of our ships of war, with two smaller vessels at anchor in the river, which had been set on fire by a heated shell from the French battery. Chilled with the damps of evening, I descended, and threw myself upon my sleepless couch. My health had for some time suffered for want of exercise in the open air, from which I was precluded by the impossibility of enjoying the company, and protection of my husband. On the afternoon of the following day, he entered his apartment. It was Sunday, October 14th, for misery stamped the date indelibly on my soul. He told me that he was to remain with me, until evening should call him forth to his watch upon the ramparts. He requested me to read the service for the day from the Prayer-book; for we had endeavoured, as far as possible amid the privations of our existence, to hallow the day of God by private devotion. As I closed the volume, the sun forsook the horizon, leaving a beautifully serene sky. He proposed a walk, to which I gladly assented: and as the means of prolonging it, without attracting particular attention in streets filled with soldiers, desired me to wear a suit of his military apparel. Yielding to his reasoning, I consented thus to array myself; and we strolled ​onward, admiring the scenary which, at that season in the American climate, is so peculiarly brilliant. We indulged in a conversation, which selected from the past the most soothing recollections, and gilded the future with the pencil of hope. We followed the course of the fortifications until we had passed, almost unconsciously, the last redoubt. The shadows of evening were beginning to conceal the landscape, when we heard the trampling of many feet. The white uniform of the French, and presently that of the Americans were seen, through the trees which skirted our path. My husband had scarcely time to draw his sword, when a volley of shot was poured upon us. A bullet pierced his breast, and he fell without life. I fell with him, senseless as himself. I recovered from my swoon to mourn that I lived, and to feel more than the bitterness of death. Sometimes I fancied that he clasped my hand; but it was only the trickling of his blood through my own. I imagined that he sighed; but it was the breathing of the hollow wind through the reeds where his head lay. I heard the horrible uproar of war in the neighbouring redoubts, the roar of cannon, the clashing of swords, and the cry of men. I knew that the enemy was in the town, but I made no attempt to escape. Whither should I have flown? Among my own people I was a stranger, and were it possible that I should reach England, who would succour me there? An hour passed in the madness of grief, while I was clasping the lifeless form, and supplicating to be made like unto it. A small party ​passed, speaking with uncouth voices. I saw that they were American Indians, and wished to escape. I forgot, in my inconsistency, that I had a moment before exclaimed with the prophet, who mourned his smitten gourd, "take now away my life, I pray thee; it is better for me to die, than to live." My movements betrayed me, and they took me prisoner. They were leaving the town, and I expected to have been conveyed to the American camp. But they continued to journey throughout the night, and from their conversation I learned that two redoubts had been taken by the Americans and French, with desperate valour. This was the daring action, in which La Fayette led on the Americans, and De Viomenil the French, which preceded but four days the surrender of Earl Cornwallis. The party which had slain my husband, was the advance-guard, under the command of Colonel Hamilton; and those, who had taken me captive, were a small number of natives led by a Delaware Chief. They were connected with some embassy which had been sent, as far as I could understand their broken explanations, to discover the state of affairs at Yorktown; and being there at the time of this encounter, had joined the Americans, partly as actors, and partly as spies. Thus was I in the power of beings, whom I had ever contemplated as the most savage of mankind. I followed them, as we rove in a terrible dream unable either to resist, or to awake. Stupified with grief, I was for many days unequal to the sense of my misery. Yet the captors, so far from testifying the cruelty I had anticipa​ted, were attentive to my wants. Of their food, which was principally game shot as they travelled, and roasted before fires kindled in the forest, they always presented me an ample share, even when they were themselves but scantily supplied. When I was weary, they would construct a kind of litter, and carry me for a time upon their shoulders. I exerted myself to endure hardship as courageously as possible, fearing they might suspect my disguise; but they appeared to consider my effeminacy as the result of that civilization which they constantly decried. "A British soldier," said they, "is never so good on a march, as an Indian squaw."
But as I began to arouse from the stupor, which the overwhelming rapidity of my affections had occasioned, a horrible idea took possession of my mind. I imagined they were protecting my life with such care, in order to sacrifice it in that savage manner, of which I had frequently heard descriptions. This terrour obtained predominance over grief. When I lay down to sleep in the forest, wrapped closely in my blanket, and surrounded by the dark-brow'd warriours, no slumber visited me; for before my diseased imagination swam continually images of the prisoner at the stake, the flame, the death-song, and all the features of savage vengeance, and exultation. Plans of escape occupied every night, and every day revealed their impracticability. During this season of excitement, I felt no fatigue. My strength was more than equal to the labour imposed: so much is the mind capable of mod​ifying its terrestrial companion. I hoped that, as our route led through a more populous country, we should occasionally lodge in towns; where I fancied greater facility of escape might be offered. But they avoided suffering me to pass through the more populous settlements, and uniformly preferred the shelter of forests, to the abodes of white men, whom I found they still considered as intruders, and doubtful friends. On our arrival at a large town in Pennsylvania, they made me, as usual, travel through the outskirts with a guard of four men. Those, who entered, perceived demonstrations of extravagant joy, and were informed that the surrender of Cornwallis had taken place on the 18th of October, and that peace was confidently expected. They made no stay in this place, except to purchase a large quantity of whiskey; and pressing on with great rapidity, prepared to pass the night within the borders of an extensive, and lofty forest. Here they made a fire, and proceeded to strip the bark from some young saplings. Their words were in their own language, but their gestures were mysterious; and their eyes were often directed towards me, with an expression of fierceness. The black shade of the forest, whose top seemed to reach the skies, the glare of the wide, red flame, falling upon the giant forms of those warriours, with their uncouth habits, wild locks, and savage countenances, formed a picture, which I cannot even now retrace without shuddering. Loud words arose, as if a contest was about to begin. The party contained a few Mohe​gans; but the principal number were Delawares, or Lenni-Lenape, as they styled themselves. I believed that my hour was come, and that the strife was between the two nations, respecting different modes of torture. An old warriour of the former tribe sat solitary, taking no part in the conflict, but observing its progress with great attention. He avoided the spirituous liquors, with which all were becoming inflamed, and seemed to reserve himself for action in some important juncture. I thought that I had previously seen him regarding me with eyes of pity, and said mentally, is it possible that Heaven will raise up in my extremity, a friend in this aged man? I remembered that he was called Arrowhamet, and was treated with respect for his courage and wisdom. When the strife grew violent, he arose, and approached the Delaware Chief. They conversed long together, during which both parties preserved silence. Then they parted, and the Lenni-Lenape murmured aloud. Their Chief calmed them, with the simple expressions, "Arrowhamet is old. He has fought bravely. His temples are white as the snows of the Alleghany. Young men must submit to the warriour, who wears the crown of time." They then commenced their war-dance, and in the violence of that amusement, and the fumes of intoxication, merged their anger at disappointment. It was long past midnight, ere they all lay down to sleep. Arrowhamet approached me, and throwing over me his blanket, said, "The night is chill. All now will be quiet. Compose your mind, that ​your body may be able to bear fatigue." He stretched himself at some distance, between me, and the slumbering group. It was impossible for me to find repose, and I saw that my aged guardian also slept not. His eyes were raised upward, as if he contemplated the Maker of that majestic blue arch, where a few stars faintly twinkled. I said silently, can it be that an Indian thinks of God? Ah! I knew not then, of what deep devotion their souls were susceptible. Judge, into what fearful surprize I was startled from my reverie, when a low voice uttered, "Oriana! Is thy mind wakeful? Fear not to sleep. Thou art redeemed from torture. No flame shall touch you. Believe what the old warriour has spoken, and rest in peace."
"Why do you call me Oriana?" I inquired, trembling with astonishment.
"Didst thou then think the eye of Arrowhamet was so dim that it could not read thy brow? that his heart was so cold as to forget the hand that gave him bread?"
"Am I known then to your comrades?" I asked.
"No thought but mine has comprehended thee. Arrowhamet shall be as the bars of the grave to thy secret. To all but me, thou appearest as if thy disguise were truth."
"How have you acquired knowledge, above all your companions, and what have you spoken about my giving you food?"
​"I knew that face," he answered tenderly, "when the torches first glared upon it, and the cry of war was around. It was deadly pale, but I knew it was the face of her who had given me bread. Thou sayest, when have I fed thee? So will the righteous ask at the last day. Thou writest the traces of thy charity in the sand, but the famished prisoner graves them in the rock forever. I was with the men of Colonel Buford, on the waters of the Santee River, where out of four hundred, only fifty-three escaped the sword of Tarleton. I saw an hundred hands of brave men raised to implore mercy. They were stricken off by the sabres of the horsemen, who soon trampled upon their bodies. But why tell I thee tales of blood? whose heart is tender as that of an infant. I have said that a few were saved. With them I went into captivity. Some pined away, and died in their sorrows. Seventeen moons have since beamed upon their graves.
"Remember thou an old Indian, who leaned against a tree, near thy tent? He leaned upon it, because he was weak, and his blood wasted by famine? He asked not for food, yet thou gavest it to him. Thou rememberest him not? Well! Thou wilt never forget the youth, who was near, in the door of thy tent. His voice was like the flute of his own country, when he said, Oriana. But how did I see him next? His beautiful forehead was cold, and his noble breast red with its own blood. I saw thee also. Thou wert as one dead. But how could I be mistaken in the hand that had given me bread? I determined to take ​thee from my people, that I might feed thee when thou didst hunger, and be thy staff when thou wert weary. To this end have I laboured. The purpose is accomplished, and thou art safe."
"Was I then right in supposing myself destined to the torture?"
"The chief had said that this night his people should avenge on thee, their young men who had been slain in battle. So fixed were the Lenni-Lenape upon thy death, that I obtained power to rescue thee with difficulty. Indians will generally submit their will to the hoary head. But they continually replied, 'Our mighty men have fallen before the warriours of his country. Two sons of our Sachem were cut in pieces by their swords. The blood of the brave cries for vengeance. If we give it not ere the rising of the dawn, let their souls frown on us forever.'"
"But how were you able to accomplish your compassionate design?" He hesitated for a moment, ere he replied—"The natives of this country, have a custom of which thou art ignorant. He, who is deprived of a near relative by death, is permitted to fill the void in his heart from among the captives, whom the fortune of war gives into the hands of his nation. This is called the rite of adoption. It has snatched the prisoner from the stake, when the fire was scorching his vitals. Without the force of this claim I could not have saved thee from the raging passions of my countrymen; for the footstep of death was nearer to thee than mine." Pausing, he added, in a ​tone of great tenderness, "I had once a daughter. An only one, as the apple of my eye. But she faded. She went down to the grave, ere she bloomed in womanhood."
"There was silence; and afterwards I expressed with warmth, my gratitude to my deliverer. The solemn hour of midnight had long passed; yet the forest seemed to assume a still darker hue, and the decaying fires, scarcely cast a feeble ray upon the scattered forms of the slumbering warriours.
"Daughter!" said the aged man, "rest in peace. I watch over thee. I have prayed the Great Spirit that I may lead thee in safety to my home, and put thy hand into the hand of my wife. Knowest thou why she will love thee? Why the tears will cover her face, when she looketh upon thine? Because thou wilt remind her heart of the blossom whose growth she nursed, whose blasting she bemoaned. Be not angry at what I say. She had a dark brow, and her garb was like the children of red men. Yet, as she went down into the dust, there was upon her lips a smile, and in her eye a tender melancholy, like thine." He ceased, oppressed with emotion. Pressing his hands upon his forehead, he laid it on the earth. Presently raising his head, I saw that his eyes was dazzling, but tearless.
"Wilt thou accept my adoption?" he inquired. "Wilt thou bow thyself, for a time, to be called the daughter of old Arrowhamet? I have said that it need be but for a time. My home is near the shores of the great waters. ​They shall bear thee to thy people, when thy heart sickens at the rude ways of Indians." I assured him of my acceptance, in such terms as an outcast ought to address to his sole earthly benefactor. Apparently gratified, he raised his lofty form erect, and laying one hand upon my head, while he lifted the other towards heaven, ratified with great solemnity his rite of adoption.
"Thou! whose way is upon the winds—through the deep waters—within the dark cloud—Spirit of Truth! before whom the shades of our fathers walk in fields of everlasting light, hear—confirm—bless."
"He added a few words in his native language, and stretching himself upon the ground in an attitude of repose, said, "It is enough. Sleep now, my daughter. I will pray thy God to protect thee. Thy God, is my God. I am called among warriours, Arrowhamet; but the name of Zachary was given me, when I bowed to the baptism of Christians. Thou wilt no longer fear me, when thou art convinced that our God is the same."
"Lost in wonder, in gratitude, in praise, to the Almighty Preserver, I made my orison with many tears, and sank into such a refreshing sleep, as had not visited me since my captivity. I awoke not, till the Sun, like a globe of gold, was burnishing the crowns of the kings of the forest.
"Nothing worthy of narration occurred, on the remainder of our journey. The supernatural strength, which had hitherto sustained me, gradually vanished; and du​ring a great part of the distance, I was borne on the shoulders of the natives. In a short time, the Mohegans separated from the Lenni-Lenape, to return to their habitations, having completed the period of their engagement. In passing through a considerable town, I sold a valuable watch and necklace, gifts of my Edward in his happiest days. The sum which they produced, is not yet expended. It will probably suffice for the purposes of my interment.
"My reception from old Martha was soothing to my weary heart. From that moment to this, her maternal kindness has never slumbered. With the most watchful care, she has suited my aliment to my situation; and by her knowledge of the virtues of plants, has mitigated my pain. Kindness, from whatever hand, is dear to the isolated and suffering heart. At my first admission into this humble abode, I cherished a hope of returning to England. Yet to what should I have returned? Only to the graves of my parents. With the disconsolate and eloquent Logan, I might say, "there runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. Who is there to mourn for me? Not one."
"Throughout the whole range of my native country, was there a cottage to afford me shelter, or friends to minister to me, day and night, like these aged beings? But with whatever attractions the land, where I first drew breath, would sometimes gleam upon my exiled eye, all hope of again sharing them has been long since extinguish​ed. The disease, to which my early youth evinced a predisposition, and which I probably inherit from both parents, soon revealed itself. Its progress was at first slow; but every month, I became conscious of its latent ravages. My retreat, which to most beholders would have seemed as comfortless as it is obscure, so accorded with my subdued feelings, that, like the disciple who desired a tabernacle upon the mountain of mystery, I have often exclaimed "Master! it is good to be here." Here, I have learned to estimate a race, to which I had ever done injustice. Those, whom I had previously stigmatized as the slaves of barbarity, ignorance, and obduracy, were appointed to exhibit to my view continually traces of philanthropy, intellect, and devotion, inviolable attachment, and deathless gratitude for trivial kindness; which, however the civilized world may affect to scorn in the cabin of the red man, she does not often find in the palaces of kings. Here I have felt, how vain is that importance which we attach to shades of complexion, and gradations of rank; how less than nothing the pageantry of pomp, and the tinsel of wealth appear, when "God taketh away the soul." The Almighty has here appointed me to realize the nature of those phantoms which had often held me in bondage, that renouncing all other dominion, my affections might own supreme allegiance to him. It was necessary that the pride of my heart should be subdued by affliction: and affliction having had her perfect work, has terminated in peace. Yet I quit not this ​existence, like the ascetic for whom it has no allurements. Its opening was gilded by what the world calls happiness, and its close with a joy to which that world is a stranger. For your instructions, your prayers, my Father, receive the blessings of one who will soon have neither name, nor memorial among men. Your last benevolent office, will be to lay her wasted frame where saints slumber. May she meet you at their resurrection in light. Her last request is that you would sometimes grant a visit, and a prayer to those, who were parents to her without the bonds of affinity; philanthropists, without hope of the world's applause; Christians, though proscribed as the heritors of a savage nature; and who will also, she trusts, be heirs of heaven, through faith in Him who hath promised that the merciful shall obtain mercy."