Philadelphia, February 28th, 1823.
WHERE shall I begin, my dear Madam? Where I ought to end,--with myself; for you are impatient to hear what is become of me. I know your friendship, and anticipate its wishes.
I am now in America. My hand-writing ought to convince you that I am alive; but, since a very reverend father has made the dead write letters, it is become necessary to explain whether one is still in the land of the living, and particularly when one writes from another world, and has been many times near the gates of eternity.
For a description of our terrible passage, I must trust entirely to my memory; for, during the whole voyage, I was so ill, that neither my