Dorcas Valpy (1806-1819)
I have been working on a new genealogy project: collecting letters and diaries written by Abbott women with the plan to put them together in perhaps a small book. I have gathered some pretty interesting diaries from the early- to mid-1800’s. Most of these have been from manuscript archive collections at historical societies, some university libraries etc. It is curious how excited archive librarians get when someone asks them for copies from their archives. . . and they do it for practically free. At any rate, I did come across this letter written by a 13-year old Dorcas Valpy. This is not form one of the manuscript archives, and I believe it has been previously published, although I could not find where.
Dorcas was our third cousin, several times removed. She was the daughter of Elizabeth Abbott (1766-1833) and Abraham Valpy (1766-1848). Dorcas died from what was called “dropsy” which might have been one of several medical conditions including heart or kidney disease. She was aware of her illness and impending death, and about a month before she died wrote the following letter over a two-day period to her friend Martha.
Dear Friend,
I take my pen to write you one more letter, which I suppose will be the last one that I shall ever write. My journey here is short; I have soon got to sail through the gates of death, where you must follow me. O Martha! Have you the fear of death, should it come? or has god taken it away? If not, you must pray to him that he may.
This world is a vapour- you might be suddenly taken sick;-on your death bed, perhaps death would look like a terror to you. The Lord has taken the fear of death from me. I feel willing to go when the Lord shall see fit. About a week since, I thought I could hardly feel willing to live through the month of March; but now I feel willing to live or die, as the Lord shall see fit. My soul says, O Lord, thy kingdom come, thy will be done in me, as thou seeist fit. I feel willing to leave father and mother, brother and sisters, uncles and aunts, to go hence. O Martha, do not have so much of the vanities of this world; what will they all look to you like, when on a death bed: dressing up these bodies, which are made of dust, and must return to dust again. You must give my love to all my friends; - you must excuse me for the liberty I have taken in writing; but it is a great chance if ever I see you again. I shall soon be gone to be seen by man no more on earth.
March 16. No longer than two years since, I had no thought of being called to leave the world so soon. But the great Jehovah has called upon me. O Martha, I feel a new love to all the christian friends which I never felt before, and a new love to my blessed Lord and Master. I wish I loved to see him more and more. My health fails me very fast, and I am willing it should. A young girl called to see me a few days since, who enjoyed her liberty in the wide world. After she was gone, I thought that I was placed in a happier place than she; and I suppose she thought that her station was better than mine. Just if death should come to her, she would have that awful fear. O Martha, I have my best seasons in meditating alone. But once I should have thought it could not have been so.
This morning before I was up, I thought I could say I had a good time alone. I don’t know as you would have called it a good season, unless you felt the same. I wept, but it was sweet to my soul. Once I should have thought it could not have been. I was thinking how much Christ suffered to save a worm like me--thinking what my sufferings were to his; - they are nothing; no. nothing, compared with his -- he was nailed to the cross, and willing to bear it all for us. O Martha, do try to feel willing to die. We have spent a great many unprofitable hours together, for the which I hope the Lord will forgive us. You will think of me when I am gone hence, to be seen no more; - when my voice is closed, to be heard no more. As you are now, so once was I; as I shall be then, soon you must be. Prepare for death and follow me. I should like to have you write to me your mind concerning death. I must bid you farewell-- perhaps forever.
DORCAS VALPEY.