I am coming to pass the winter in your city. I adopt this scheme merely because it will give me your company. I feel as if you were the only friend I have in the world. Do not think me forward or capricious. I will not deny that you owe your place in my affections _chiefly_ to your relation to the wanderer; but no matter whence my attachment proceeds. I feel that it is strong; merely selfish, perhaps; the child of a distracted fancy; the prop on which a sinking heart relies in its uttermost extremity. Reflection stings me to the quick, but it does not deny me some consolation. The memory of my mother calls forth tears, but they are not tears of bitterness. To her, at least, I have not been deficient in dutiful observance. I have sacrificed my friend and myself, but it was to her peace. The melancholy of her dying scene will ever be cheered in my remembrance by her gratitude and blessing. Her last words were these:-- "Thou hast done much for me, my child. I begin to fear that I have exacted too much. Your sweetness, your patience, have wrung my heart with compunction. "I have wronged thee, Jane. I have wronged the absent; I greatly fear, I have. Forgive me. If you ever meet, entreat _him_ to forgive me, and recompense yourself and him for all your mutual sufferings. "I hope all, though sorrowful, has been for the best. I hope that angelic sweetness which I have witnessed will continue when I am gone. That belief only can make my grave peaceful. "I leave you affluence and honour at least, I leave you the means of repairing _my_ injury. _That_ is my comfort; but forgive me, Jane. Say, my child, you forgive me for what has passed." She stretched her hand to me, which I bathed with my tears.--But this subject afflicts me too much. Give my affectionate compliments to Mr. Montford, and tell me that you wish to see your JANE. Letter LXI _To Mrs. Talbot_ New York, October 22. You tell me, my dear Jane, that you are coming to reside in this city; but you have not gratified my impatience by saying how soon. Tell me when you propose to come. Is there not something in which I can be of service to you?--some preparations to be made? Tell me the day when you expect to arrive among us, that I may wait on you as soon as possible. I shall embrace my sister with a delight which I cannot express. I will not part with the delightful hope of one day calling you truly such. Accept the fraternal regards of Mr. Montford. M.M. Letter LXII _To Mrs. Montford_ Banks of Delaware, September 5. Be not anxious for me, Mary. I hope to experience very speedy relief from the wholesome airs that perpetually fan this spot. Your apprehensions from the influence of these scenes on my fancy are groundless. They breathe nothing over my soul but delicious melancholy. I have done expecting and repining, you know. Four years have passed since I was here,--since I met your brother under these shades.