I am ever affectionately yours,
F. A. B.
Philadelphia, Monday, July 23d, 1838.
It is now high-summer mark, and such a summer as we are now dying under is scarcely remembered by the oldest human creature yet extant in these parts. And where are you, my dear Mrs. Jameson? Sojourning in Bohemian castles; or wandering among the ruins of old Athens? Which of your many plans, or dreams of plans have you put into execution? I am both curious and anxious to know something of your proceedings, and shall dispatch this at a hazard to your brother-in-law's, where I suppose your movements will always be known, and your whereabouts heard of.
Your book is advertised I know, and if you have adhered to your former determination, you have withdrawn yourself from your own blaze, and left England to profit by its light. Of myself I can tell you little that is particularly cheerful....
The friends of good order, in this excellent city of brotherly love, have been burning down a large new building erected for purposes of free discussion, because Abolition meetings were being held in it; and the Southern steamer has been wrecked with dreadful loss of life, owing to the exceeding small esteem in which its officers appear to have held that "quintessence of dust, Man." The vessel was laden with Southerners, coming north for the summer; and I suppose there is scarcely a family from Virginia to Florida, that is not in some way touched by this dreadful and wanton waste of life.
Pray, when you have time, write me some word of your doing, being, and suffering, and
Believe me ever yours truly,
F. A. B.
[The above mention of shipwreck, refers to the disastrous loss of the Pulaski; an event, the horror of which was rendered more memorable to me by an episode of noble courage, of which our neighbor, Mr. James Cooper, of Georgia, was the hero, and of which I have spoken in the journal I kept during my residence on our plantation.]