March 10th, 1861.
To Mrs. W.
I have not been able to answer your letter until now. But I have often [scratched your head and] talked to you. How much you have been aware of it, I cannot say. But I now see you and your husband sitting looking as easy as possible. I shall visit you as an angel, not a fallen one, but one of mercy, till you are able to guide your own barque. It is true your husband can travel the briny deep, but he has never entered this ocean of this higher state. [Here our senses are attached to our belief, and] Our belief makes our bodies or barques, the sea is troubled, error is the rocks and quicksand where we are liable to be driven by the cross-currents while the wind of error is whistling in our ears [and when your barque is creaking and twisting from stem to stern, it is liable to go to pieces.] Now keep a good lookout and you will see the breakers ahead. So brace up and see that your compass is right. Keep all snug and fast. Remember what I told you [about this place] not to lose control of yourself, but stand on deck and give your orders, not in a whining way, but bold and earnest. Then your crew will obey your orders. You will steer clear of all danger and land safe in the port of health.¹
[Then enjoy yourself with your husband, talking over your old sea voyage, and I will sit down with you and listen to your story.
So I will leave you and your husband together.]
P. P. Quimby