—27 March 1798—
My own dear Sad—
Friend William has just left me, and with him has carried Hopes which has for many days been cherished with more than usual delight, for the certainty of seeing you in the spring has for some time past so forceably pressed on my mind, that you have been concerned in every plan of comfort, and a sharer of every certainty of pain (which I know must come) in the approaching season. But now he tells me that he will not be surprised if the next letter from London declares your intention of remaining in Europe—He is perfectly sick at the idea, nor do I ponder, for a state of Uncertainty is terrible indeed—
The last time I wrote you (almost two weeks ago1) I meant to have had a letter ready for whatever opportunity presented, but Fate orders all things, and since that time has ordered the Husband of my poor little Julia Scott2, to the regions of Peace—I have not left her night or day during the excess of her Sorrows and such scenes of terror I have gone thro’ as you nor no one can concieve—’tis past—little Julia goes to Philadelphia next week, where she is to fix her residence, as her Family connections are all there. and I am once more Home ten thousand times more delighted with it than before, from witnessing the Horrors of a Seperation and derangement in that of my friend.
My precious children3 stick to me like little Burrs, they are so fearful of losing me again, the moment I shake one off one side another clings in the opposite, nor can I write one word without some sweet interruption—the Charlotte sails to-morrow, and I was determined to tell you myself that we are well, and that dear Aunt Sad is lisped by both my Angels on every occasion which conveys an idea of future pleasure, and that the thought of seeing her is one of the dearest Hopes of