LETTER THIRTEEN.
London,
My Dear Father,
My sister, in a letter which I received last Friday, informed me of your sudden and alarming illness; but I hope you are now much better, and trust that I shall learn from her next letter that you are safely restored to your former state of health. I had the pain of learning from the same letter of the increased illness of my poor mother. This did not surprise me, but I sincerely hope I shall be surprised the next time I hear from you by the assurance of her being more comfortable and happy. He who, in His wisdom and chastening^ love, has so long and so heavily afflicted my beloved mother, and who now has brought you, my dear father, to the very door of death—He, and only He, can support you both in your trials and distresses, and I trust He will. I sincerely hope that the Father of all mercies, in the exercise of his unbounded goodness, will provide for you in your last days, and bless you as you descend into the grave. And when I can no longer, or but seldom, hear how you fare in this world of trouble, you may be far happier than I ever knew you. Trusting that I shall soon hear that both of yon are much better, I remain, my dear father.
Your affectionate son,
Accept, dear parents, the united love of Clarinda and myself.