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 for the anguish of the soul. That God may give you patience under this terrible calamity, is the most fervent prayer of—Your disconsolate friend.

I know of nothing in this world but a letter from my dear Billy, that could have so soon awakened me from the deep and melancholy gloom with which I was overwhelmed. Your letter forced from my eyes a flood of tears, and since that my heart is much easier. Am I not wicked in thus repining at my hard fate, when it is undoubtedly the work, the pleasure of that great God, to whose will, my dear Father has often told me, we ought at all times to submit? Others, perhaps better children than myself, have experienced the like loss, and more must hereafter submit to the same dreadful misfortune. How contentedly should I have died in his stead! But then I should have prevented him going so soon to Heaven. My poor mamma is almost distracted, and my grief adds to hers. I will therefore endeavour to conceal it. Let me see you to-day, or to-morrow at farthest, which is all I can say at present, but—what a father have I lost!

You seem, my dear Billy, to make good the old proverb, ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ It is now two months since I received a letter from you. You must not pretend to tell me, that, however fond you may be of your books, you could not find leisure to write to me in all this time. They tell me that you spend a great part of your leisure time with a little miss of about eight years of age, with whom you are very fond of reading and conversing. Take care, if I find that to be true, that I do not