You are so kind to me, my dearest friend, that I should feel wanting in due respect for friendship so tender if I suffered you to hear from common report that my lovely blossom is now in her little coffin, where I have just kissed her beautiful marble brow; for she was and is beautiful, though I restrained myself from talking of her personal perfections. What is more important, she was heavenly-minded as far as four years and three months would admit. I am well in health, and I hope I am resigned; but you know how the loss of an only daughter, who to the weakness of mortal eyes appeared faultless, and who had all the attractions which endear a child to strangers as well as friends—you know how it must darken the remaining years of a mother, past the age of hoping for any new blessings, but clinging too eagerly to those she already possessed. God bless you, and preserve you from such affliction.
Nov. 10, 1816.
She smiled and sparkled in my sight
Four happy months, four placid years;
No fairer babe to fond delight
E’er changed a mother’s secret tears.
Sweet miniature of womanhood—
Such as in Paradise might rove,
E’er Eve desired a fancied good,