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49 to janet livingston montgomery Plymouth January 5th 1780 It was with real heartfelt pleasure, I received yours of the sixteenth November . I have thought the interval long since I had the satisfaction of hearing from one whose correspondence I prize, whose taste I admire, and whose person I love, however fanciful it may be deemed by some;—as distance has kept us from the interview that would yield peculiar delight. And though the present mode of existence may bar the intercourse for which the social bosom sighs, yet a friendship may be consolidated that may outlast the proudest monuments of time. Yet I own myself disappointed that you did not repeat the flattering promise of an intended journey no[r]thward;—I have always been apprehensive that the excursion to Philadelphia would interrupt that plan, nor do I wonder at it, the inducements are small, the circle of amusements narrow, your connexions few, and the company in this quarter consonant to your style still fewer. But if in future any thing should lead you this way, you may find in the decayed village of Plymouth (the early asylum of our ancestors) a retired family where competence without profusion reigns, where nothing is aimed at but a decent elegance devoid of show, and a capacity to open the arms of hospitality and bid the stranger welcome;—there you may be assured of finding one prepared to receive you with the warmest emotion of freindship. I rejoice that the late tour has had a tendency to dissipate some part of that cloud that sits heavy on a brow inured to reflect on [??] to those kind of recollections, where every pleasure pains us to the heart. But among the many you have seen who dwelt on the tale of woe and count up the tears of disappointment, how few ever reached those heights of sublime friendship early interrupted by the random shafts from the frozen walls of Quebec? The heart once rived in sunder by the iron hand which blasts the fairest prospect of bliss (often before it is ripened for the harvest) cannot again be thouroughly healed; but the tear is ever ready to flow from the half closed wound, and running through a thousand sluices in pursuit of long lost peace, at last wearied with the fruitless search, the crystal current bursts from the eye and the weeping sufferer [??] not the rapial shower, till with her illumined face to janet montgomery, january 1780  125 “Religion teaches to sustain “What nature bids us feel “And piety relieves the pain “Which time can never heal.”1 And does my dear Mrs. Montgomery think it necessary to apologize to me for permitting to taste her pleasures, to participate her sorrows, and to enter into the various feelings which operate on a mind endeavouring to return the smile of civility, to repay the polite welcome at the board of hospitality and friendship with that air of cheerful gaiety which bespeaks a soul at ease, while at the same time every new object presents the pointed blade that harrowed up its peace? Pard[?] I tell my excellent friend I will gladly accompany her (whenever she calls upon me) either to the sequestered apartments of silence and contemplation, or to the more brilliant roofs of splendour and festivity. In the one we may weep the short date of human felicity, and in the other we may smile while we pity the mistaken group who grasp the airy phantom, nor will be persuaded it is illusion till even the shadow of happiness, disappears . But methinks I hear a conscious whisper “Is it kind thus frequently to look through the darkened glass at the vicissitudes of time, instead of holding the other end of the perspective to the eye of your friends?” I stand corrected and wish rather to lead her to survey a brighter landscape, interspersed with innumerable blessings and variegated with a thousand beauties, which when she has trodden o’er a little longer (though there may sometimes be a thorn in the way) she will reach the goal of ceaseless, perfect, permanent delight. Do you madam expect your friend Mrs Jay2 will correspond with you when she arrives in Europe, and has she the happy talent (shall I say like yourself) of depicturing the crouded scenes that must strike an observing eye in the vast field that will open before her? The pageantry of Courts, the levee of Princes, and the pomp of Royalty...

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