The effect of reading so much religious controversy, which had been very trying to my mind, was extremely prejudicial to my health, and introduced a train of the most painful nervous complaints. I was at length brought so low, that the physician who attended me supposed I was in a decline. But after a tedious interval of extreme suffering, I began gradually to recover; and afterwards found my complaints were increased, by following the injudicious advice of the physician who attended me. To the skill and attention of my friend Dr Mann, formerly of Wrentham, I owe, under Heaven, the preservation of my life at this period. Soon after I began to recover, I received a letter from the printer of my View of Religions, informing me that he had sold the greatest part of the edition, and was about to reprint it; and requesting me to inform him if I wished to make any additions to my work. As I had the precaution to secure the copy-right, agreeably to the law passed in Massachusetts, 1783, I returned a laconic answer, forbidding him to reprint it; and he finally relinquished the design. The information, that the first edition of my View of Religions was sold, gave me the idea of reprinting it for my own benefit. But as I was entirely destitute of pecuniary resources, ignorant of the world, incapable of conducting business, and precluded from almost all intercourse with persons of literature and information, and consequently destitute of friends who were able and willing to assist me, the execution of the plan was extremely difficult. Even the few friends I had gained at that time supposed the disadvantages in my situation too great to encourage my undertaking. Instead of assisting me, they considered my plan as chimerical, and depressed my hopes and discouraged my exertions. While I was struggling with embarrassments and difficulties, I was involved in the deepest affliction by the death of the beloved sister, whom I mentioned in the preceding Chapter. I then experienced the keenest anguish the human heart can feel in losing a friend. Dearer than life, or aught below the skies, The bright ideas and romantic schemes Of perfect love, and friendship, fancy paints, In her I realized. To describe the excess of my grief on this occasion would be altogether impossible. Those, only, who have formed the highest ideas of friendship, and have considered their earthly happiness as dependent upon the life of one beloved object, on whose judgment they relied, and in whom they found comfort and support in every difficulty and affliction, can form an adequate idea of what I felt on this occasion; which led me to exclaim, And is she dead! My life, my all is gone. The world’s a desert. Nothing now on earth Can yield me joy, or comfort.