“Dear and much respected Mr. Roscoe,—For these two years, my mind has had no peace; and when you consider the severity, number, and rapid succession of the calamities, which have befallen me in domestic life, you will not wonder at the poignancy of my anguish. From change of scene, and the society of friends, I have derived some consolation: but my feelings are wounded; my kindest intentions have been frustrated; and, through the remainder of my existence, I have only to look for precarious and temporary mitigations of sorrow. You, dear sir, can understand the wretchedness of my situation; and from you I confidently expect sincere and soothing sympathy. I often think of you—often talk of you; and had it been possible, I should have proceeded onward from Shrewsbury to Liverpool. But my spirits were much disturbed about two grand-children, whose happiness is most dear to me; and I was under the necessity of returning, in order to make some arrangements for their welfare. I am anxious to discharge those sacred duties to them, which are imposed upon me by my own deep and unfeigned sense of right, and by the dying request of a most tender mother and a most dutiful daughter.
