Yours in truth and sincerity.
MARY LEADBEATER
1758-1826
TO EDMUND BURKE
Reply to his last letter
28 May, 1797.
With a heart melted to overflowing, I cannot restrain the attempt to express my grateful sensations on receiving the greatest, and, alas! I fear, the last proof of that unvarying friendship with which our ever-loved, our ever-honoured friend has favoured us! I may transgress the bounds by intruding at this awful period; but I cannot help it. My affection and my sorrow will be excused, I believe, for thou hast ever looked kindly and partially upon me, and so has thy beloved wife, with whose feelings I sympathize, could that avail. This day's post brought me thy letter of the 23rd instant, dictated and signed by thee. Such attention, at such a time, and in such a situation! It was like Edmund Burke! It was like few others, but it is not bestowed upon hearts who do not feel it.—I look back on that friendship formed in the precious days of innocent childhood, between thee and my lamented parent.—I trace its progress, which is so imprinted on my mind, that I almost seem to myself to have been a witness to it.—I see it continue unabated, notwithstanding the different sphere of life in which you moved, to the period of it;—and may we not hope that there is an union of souls beyond the grave? The composure and fortitude displayed in thy letter, is the greatest consolation we could receive with the tidings it conveyed of thy health. Since thou dost not allow us to hope for its restoration, we will hope better things than is in the power of this world to bestow.—My mother appears to decline, and looks to the end of her race as near. All the other branches of this family, I believe, are well in health. My brother continues the school, which, I believe, was never in higher estimation than at present. My husband regrets very much that he never shared with us the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with thee. We all unite in cordial, unaffected love to thee. I thought I would say how we were, believing thou would be pleased to hear of our welfare, though how long that may be continued, seems doubtful.—The general fermentation throughout this nation, forebodes some sudden and dreadful eruption, and, however obscure or retired our situations may be, there is little prospect of escaping the calamity. This may cause us to admire, nay, adore the mercy, as well as wisdom of Him, who gives and takes life, in removing those so dear to us from the evil to come. My mother desires thou may accept as much love as she is capable of sending thee; her heart is full of it towards thee; and she bids me say, she hopes thou hast lived such a life, that thy end will be crowned with peace! So be it, with my whole heart! Thy affectionate and obliged friend.
Our best wishes, and dear love to thy wife.
Abraham Shackleton has the melancholy satisfaction of perusing dear Edmund Burke's account of his poor state of health. He hopes (trusts) that a quiet resting place is prepared for him. The memory of E. Burke's philanthropic virtues will out-live the period when his shining political talents will cease to act. New fashions of political sentiment will exist; but philanthropy,—immortale manet!