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if I had not been well inured to calamity in all its forms, & well practised in all its ways of attack yr letter of this day was well calculated to drive that mind which is for ever shut from hope, to exclude by one rash act all possibility of suffering from any arrow whatever of further [[underline]] misfortune.-- [[/underline]] All is hurried away before that desolating wind of persecution [[addition]] which [[/addition]] now sweeps from life all that my fancy or my fondness had ever stored up as valuable, in the recesses [[underline]] of an [[/underline]] affectionately devoted [[underline]] soul. [[/underline]] I am reconciled to my lot, a lot of eternal & hopeless misery -- all sorrow that comes seems only to light on its own soil, & take possession of its own domain.--
