Memoirs of William Miller - Sylvester Bliss

vessel some days, so that the letter was not
received as intended. This afflicting letter -- it is
afflicting, full of irony as it is -- reads as follows:
“Camp Plattsburgh, Nov 11th, 1814.
“Dear Lucy: -- Have you departed this life? Are
you gone to the world of spirits? (I almost fancy
that, while I am writing, your unembodied spirit is
hovering around me.) Or, are you so engaged that
you could not devote one hour in a week to your
humble servant?
“The following are the words you wrote me not
long since, to wit, -- ‘If I am alive, I shall write to
you weekly, and put a letter into the post-office
every Monday morning;’ and, ever since
Wednesday noon, I have been dressed in mourning.
Shall I ever see my Lucy again? I have often
exclaimed, Ah! no; she could not tell me a
falsehood. She must be dead! What can I write, if
she is gone? I cannot write anything; she cannot
hear me. I can only write to my children, into
whose hands I hope this letter will fall, -- ‘Dear
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