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LETTERS.
13
LETTER LXX.
Sunday Morning.
I have only to lament, that, when the bitterness of death was past, I was inhumanly brought back to life and misery. But a fixed determination is not to be baffled by disappointment; nor will I allow that to be a frantic attempt, which was one of the calmest acts of reason. In this respect, I am only accountable to myself. Did I care for what is termed reputation, it is by other circumstances that I should be dishonoured.
You say, "that you know not how to extricate ourselves out of the wretchedness into which we have been plunged."
You
