Dated February 13, 1842

This letter was written just two weeks before Jerusha’s death.

Sarah (Trowbridge) Chaplin (1809-1886) was the daughter of Ezekiel Howe Jr. (1756-1847), Jerusha’s uncle, and Sally Read (b. 1760). She married Dr. Charles F. Chaplin on November 11, 1835, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. They lived at 152 Austin Street in Cambridge. Charles died in 1850 from a “brain disease.”

Sarah died on December 30, 1886, from heart disease. In her obituary in The Cambridge Press, she was remembered as “a lady of rare attainments and was of marked benevolence of character. She held the respect of a large circle of friends who deeply regret her demise.” (Source: https://bit.ly/34OYTPc)

The Abigail mentioned in the letter most likely refers to Abigail Eaton, the stepdaughter of Jerusha's uncle, Ezekiel How, Jr. (1756-1847).

To listen to a recorded reading of the letter by Netta Dar, please click HERE.

TRANSCRIPTION:

Cambridge February 13th 1842

Be not surprised dear Jerusha, at receiving a line from me, for however strange it may seem to you, it is no new purpose of mine – for I have had it in contemplation many weeks, to with on the score of friendship and kindness of feeling which I ever cherished for you, and your family, as one friend after another is taken from us by death, is it not natural for us to appreciate more highly those that remain? Me thinks it is since my dear father and mother were laid away in the unwindowed tomb, I have found the ties which bind me to relatives more strong, than ever before. Still Death hath taught me a lesson – not to set my affections too strongly on any thing here below. I have often thought of our visit to the burial ground in Sudbury, when I was up in September – there lay some of my ancestors, all unconscious of the footsteps of a descendent about their quiet resting place and on whom frailty is stamped in as certain characters as on them. I love to wander over these places of the dead, and so do you if I am not mistaken. When in New Haven a month since, I arose very early one morning and I sauntered out to find the burial-ground I had heard so much of - of a truth it was a city of “whited sepulchres” – for a light fall of snow in the night had covered the ground, and presented but a slight contrast with the pure marble which told the history of gone generations. You may wonder at my being there at this season of the year. I will tell you how it happened. Brother Charles was going to New York on business and invited me to go with him – thinking it would be a good opportunity for me – I visited [Mrs Street?] and we went as far south as Washington and westward by the way of Connecticut. Altho it was not so favorable a season to travel on many accounts, we yet enjoyed the journey very much.

Abigail is with me – I wish you were also. I would try and cheer you up, although my poor self needs cheering up very often, especially when I am alone, and get to thinking of the friends I have lost. You and I dear Jerusha can sympathize with each other on this subject. We both loved our fathers – and they loved us. We shall go to them, but they can no more return to us. For myself, I feel that the separation will be short – Ever and anon there is a knocking at my house of clay – gently reminding me, that it is built of frail materials, and that it will ere long crumble into ruins. But what doth it matter now soon the summons comes, provided I am ready –

“I would not live alway; I ask not to stay

Where storm after storm rises dark o’er the way. [The Lutheran Hymnal #588]

The few burial monuments that dawn on us here,

are enough for life was, full enough for its cheer.” [Were the last two lines her own?]

If it will only please my Heavenly Father to make me useful while I live, and at last to give me some humble place in his kingdom, freed from sin, and sickness & suffering is all I ask. True, the world hath many charms, and the tensures which bind me to earth are neither few nor small. But there are [this? His?] drawing me heaven-ward also – send o the rapture which fills my soul when thinking and trusting that we all shall meet beyond the confines of [thine?] meet, to part no more. Pardon me dear Jerusha, for dwelling on this theme so long – but it is one on which I have to linger – I frequently have [illegible] to regret that I can not a singer – I am extravagantly fond of music but cannot sing – this is quite a cross to me but I often console myself with the thought that when I take up the songs of eternity my tongue will be unbound & I shall be able to join in the symphonies of the spirits of the just. Then a damper comes over my feelings, and I think that one so wicked as I, will never be permitted to enter that holy place and walk into golden streets – then I mourn & weep.

I am sorry to hear dear Jerusha, that you are so unwell – and hope that as you have many times been ill, and again, made comfortable, that you will when the spring opens find yourself improving – Abby send her love – which together with mine will make quite a [illegible] to yourself and mother. Please make our regards to your brothers and believe me to be ever yours.

Sarah T. Chaplin

P.S. When you feel able, I wish you would write me a line and tell me how you are - - I send you a few little [nothins?] with this, thinking you may relish them. The guava jelly is an impartial article and I think it may help your cough – The soda biscuit are bright and nourishing although they have not much taste.