“Everything that I could wish for, and, oh! how much more than I deserve, have I had granted to me in this place of probation! God grant I may not set my heart too much upon their value! Dearest lady, I have men-servants and maid-servants, horses and cattle, flocks and herds in abundance. I have clothing and furniture above what you can imagine, and a house wide enough to entertain in it all your numerous family. But, more than all this, I have an excellent husband, one whose constancy from his youth has been beyond the praise which I could find language to express.
“You may remember what I once told you of a young man whom I had rejected for a less worthy one. He has proved his love for me in such a manner as I am sure could never have been seen in any but the most noble of his nature. He told me in England that he would never marry any other, and through years of industry and prosperity (and as I have every reason to believe he would have done to the last day of this life) has kept himself single on my account. Did you ever chance to hear of such a case as this? When I reflect upon it, as I often do, I find it more and more wonderful.
“You must remember my telling you of Mr. John Barry’s attachment to me. He left me when I lived at Nacton, and came out here among the earliest free settlers in the country, and has prospered beyond his utmost anticipations. He found me out here by accidental inquiries of my dear Mrs. Palmer, and obtained for me my free pardon. My wishes to return again to my native land became absorbed in the sense of duty and obligation to my benefactor, who, when he had obtained that pardon, gave me the option of sharing my life and freedom with him, or of being independent here or elsewhere. Noble generosity! Does it not win your heart? It won mine. I am his faithful wife: happy, happy, as the days are long. He is good, virtuous, amiable, and truly religious; constant in his love to God and man. I could fill many letters in speaking of his virtues; but I forget that you never saw him, though he lived upon the shores of the same river that you do.
“He is very good to me, so that I want nothing more from England. How proud shall I be to send you now anything which this country produces!
“Herewith I send you a sketch of my present beautiful abode, done by Mrs. Palmer. It will give you a slight idea of my situation. I send you also a present of various seeds, skins of animals (one of the ursine opossum), and dried plants, which I think will be valuable to you; and also some curious weapons and instruments of the natives, for my dear friend, Dr. Stebbing.
“What a wonderful life has mine been! You only, my dear lady, know its reality. There may be others equally eventful; but how few are there who find such a place of unmerited repose as I have? My dear sister’s words often recur to my mind when she told me whom I should not marry: I wonder if she ever thought of the one I have married. There are many very excellent people in this flourishing country. The governor and his family have received us, and have been very kind to me. My dear friend, Mrs. Palmer, is now staying in my house. She is my benefactress here, as you were in England. Oh! if I could but bring you both together, and could sit quietly listening to your conversation, it would be such an intellectual treat as few could more enjoy! She is, like yourself, very clever. I believe I should die happier if I could see your dear, loved face in this land; but if that never may be, nor I see old England again, then may Heaven bless you; and God bestow His brightest gifts of grace upon you and your children!
“I am this moment engaged, and lay down my pen to give directions concerning the work in that most interesting of all female employments, preparing for the coming of a family of my own. Mrs. Palmer, who sees me writing these words, says, ‘How astonished you will be!’ You will rejoice in my happiness. I know you will. Forgive, dear lady, all my errors, both of the weakness of my head and heart. Give my love to all my dear friends. Any person coming to this country, with a recommendation from you to me, will find the warmest reception. In justice to my husband, I would forget what I have been, and I speak seldom of my past errors, though, before God, I never cease to lament and repent of them; and did I not know who ‘died for the ungodly,’ my grief for the past would be without consolation. Blessed faith, that teaches the contrite how to be comforted! Who can value Thee as he ought in this struggling state!
“I can add but a few more words, and I do so with tears and trembling. It is not from pride of heart. Dear lady, you must judge of its propriety. I am likely to increase my family; and I would conceal from them, in future years, their mother’s early history, at least those parts which are so unworthy to be mentioned. But I feel that my maiden name cannot be forgotten in your neighbourhood. Hundreds will speak of it when you and I shall be no more. Oh that it could be represented to the world in its proper light, as a warning to that portion of my countrywomen to which I belonged, that they never give way to their headstrong passions, lest they fall as I did! But ‘the tender mercies of God are over all His works,’ and I can never magnify that mercy too much, as it has been shown to me.
“If, dear lady, as years increase, our correspondence should not be so frequent, because of my altered situation in this country, do not think me proud. Your feelings as a mother will point to the nature of my own. You would not have your children know your faults. Pardon this, perhaps, my greatest weakness.
“Should you ever think fit, as you once hinted in your letter to me, to write my history, or should leave it to others to publish, you have my free permission at my decease, whenever that shall take place, so to do. But let my husband’s name be concealed. Change it, change it to any other; not for his sake, for it is worthy to be written in golden characters, but for mine and my children’s sake! And now, dear lady, farewell. God’s peace be with you! and ever think of me as