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[4]
Phila Octr: 23rd 1878
My dear Jervy –
Don’t bother about writing to me – unless it would relieve you to do so, in which case write fully all you feel like giving vent to; it will find a sacredly [secret?] receptacle in my breast. I have nothing to write about – my wits are barren, but by way of a ‘hand-shake,’ & “God bless you, Jervy” – I send this to you.
Mary wrote a few lines to Mr. Vaux the other day, & sent them to [Rondout?] – not knowing where else to address the letter.
Every day I
feel like writing a few words to you, & then I ask – “what possible good can my words do? I can but repeat the same lame efforts at consolation – and say no more than Jervy's own good sense and manly heart tells him."
I long to see you, and yet-what could I do? A grasp of the hand, a deep look into each others’ eyes tell all that can be spoken.
My hope is, Jervy, that you will get to work as soon as possible. It seems heartless – but really
it is not so; a giving way to one's grief without thought to the anxious fears of those who love us, & who may be perhaps dependent on us in many more respects than we wot of – is selfish. Remember that and go to your work at once. There’s not a selfish fibre in your entire composition, and you must not let even a semblance of that quality alloy your pure metal. I’ll write occassionally – if my letters disturb you don’t read them – sometimes what is meant in kindness
gives most offence. I shall be here this & next week – then I return to New York to begin my engt at the Fifth Ave: - a letter from some of you folks to let us know how you are would be of comfort to us both.
God bless you!
Ever yours
Edwin