Permit, I Beseech Thee, O
Father Of Nature, That Our Ancient Virtues, And Our Industry, May
Not Be Totally Lost:
And that as a reward for the great toils we
have made on this new land, we may be restored to our ancient
tranquillity, and enabled to fill it with successive generations,
that will constantly thank thee for the ample subsistence thou hast
given them.
The unreserved manner in which I have written must give you a
convincing proof of that friendship and esteem, of which I am sure
you never yet doubted. As members of the same society, as mutually
bound by the ties of affection and old acquaintance, you certainly
cannot avoid feeling for my distresses; you cannot avoid mourning
with me over that load of physical and moral evil with which we are
all oppressed. My own share of it I often overlook when I minutely
contemplate all that hath befallen our native country.
The End
End of Letters from an American Farmer by Hector St. John de Crevecoeur
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