I hasten, my dear madam, to reply to your
letter. The part you have assigned me, I will
most cheerfully perform to the utmost of my
power; but very much regret that I have not
more agreeable tidings to communicate.

Having said that all the transactions between
you and my brother are known to me, I need
not apologise for alluding to events, which I
could not excuse myself for doing without being
encouraged by the frankness and solicitude
which your own pen has expressed.

Immediately after the determination of his
fate, in regard to you, he came to this city. He

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favoured us with the perusal of your letters.
We entirely agreed with him in applauding the
motives which influenced your conduct. We
had no right to accuse you of precipitation or
inconsistency. That heart must, indeed, be
selfish and cold which could not comprehend
the horror which must have seized you, on
hearing of his father's treatment. You acted
in the first tumults of your feelings, as every
woman would have acted. That you did not
immediately perceive the little prospect there
was that a breach of this nature would be
repaired; or that Colden would make use of
your undesired and unsaught for renunciation,
as a means of reconcilement with his father,
was no subject of surprise or of blame. These
reflections could not occur to you but in consequence
of some intimations from others.

Henry Colden was no indolent or mercenary
creature. No one more cordially detested the
life of dependance than he. He always thought
that his father had discharged all the duties of
that relation, in nourishing his childhood and
giving him a good education. Whatever has
been since bestowed, he considered as voluntary
and unrequited bounty; has received it with
irksomeness and compunction, and whatever
you may think of the horrors of indigence, it
was impossible to have placed him in a more
painful situation than under his father's roof.

We could not but deeply regret the particular
circumstances under which he left his father's
house, but the mere leaving it, and the necestsity
which thence arose of finding employment

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and subsistence for himself, was not at all to be
regretted.

The consequences of your mother's letter to
the father produced no resentment in the son.
He had refused what he had a right to refuse,
and what had been pressed upon the giver,
rather than saught by him. The mere separation
was agreeable to Colden, and the rage
that accompanied it, was excited by the young
man's steadiness in his fidelity to you.

You were not aware that this cause of anger
could not be removed by any thing done by
you. Colden was not sensible of any fault.
There was nothing, therefore for which he could
crave pardon. Blows and revilings had been
patiently endured, but he was actuated by no
tame or servile spirit. He never would expose
himself to new insults. Though always ready
to accept apology and grant an oblivion of the
past, he never would avow compunction which
he did not feel, or confess that he had deserved
the treatment which he had received.

All this it was easy to suggest to your reflections,
and I endeavoured to persuade him to write
a second letter; but he would not. No, said he,
she has made her election. If no advantage is
taken of her tenderness and pity she will be
happy in her new scheme. Shall I subject her
to new trials: new mortifications? can I flatter
myself with being able to reward her by my
love for the loss of every other comfort? no.
Whatever she feels for me, I am not her supreme
passion. Her mother is preferred to
me. That her present resolution puts out of
all doubt. All upbraiding and repining from

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me would be absurd. What can I say in favor
of my attachment to her, which she may not,
with equal reason, urge in favor of her attachment
to her mother? the happiness of one or
other must be forfeited. Shall I not rather
offer, than demand the sacrifice? and what are
my boasts of magnanimity if I do not strive to
lessen the difficulties of her choice, and persuade
her that in gratifying her mother she inflicts
no exquisite or lasting misery on me?

I am not so blind but that I can foresee the
effects on my tranquillity of time and variety
of objects. If I go this voyage, I may hope to
acquire resignation much sooner than by staying
at home. To leave these shores, is, in every
view, best for me. I can do nothing while
here, for my own profit, and every eye I meet
humbles and distresses me. At present, I do
not wish ever to return, but, I suppose the absence
and adventures of a couple of years, may
change my feelings in that respect. My condition
too, by some chance, may be bettered. I
may come back, and offer myself to her, without
offering poverty and contempt at the same time.
Time, or some good fortune, may remove the
mother's prejudices. All this is possible, but,
if it never takes place, if my condition never
improves, I will never return home.

When we urged to him the propriety of apprizing
you of his views, not only for your sake,
but for his own—“what need is there? has she
not prohibited all intercourse between us? have
I not written the last letter she will consent to
receive? on my own account, I have nothing to
hope. I have stated my return as a mere

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possibility. I do not believe I shall ever return. If
I did expect it, I know Jane too well to have
any fears of her fidelity. While I am living, or
as long as my death is uncertain, her heart will
be mine, and she will reserve herself for me.”

I know you will excuse me, madam, for being
thus particular. I thought it best to state the
views of our friend in his own words. From
these your judgment will enable you to form
the truest conclusions.

The event that has since happened has probably
removed the only obstacle to your mutual
happiness: Nor am I without the hope of seeing
him one day return to be made happy by your
favor. As several passages were expected to be
made between China and Nootka, that desirable
event cannot be expected to be very near.

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