Yesterday I forgot, my dear papa, to remind you that you were so good as to promise to lend me a volume of your works, which will teach me what water spouts are. Captain Cook turns to the famous Doctor Franklin in order to instruct himself on the same subject. In general, I like serious and instructive reading material. It seems to me that what I learn from your works will engrave itself in my head and in my heart more deeply than anything else. The lady who wrote the letter to the Petit Journal de Paris wanted to know why something should be so, constructed long sentences begging someone to explain her sensations to her. For my part, my papa, I am content to have deep feelings, without being anxious for someone to give me a definition of what it is that I feel. For example, I am happy with myself when I feel that I love you, and when I reflect a little, I congratulate myself on loving you, because the surest proof of virtue is to attach oneself to those beings who are the most virtuous. But often I do not reflect, and I continue to love. When I go to paradise, if St. Peter asks me of what religion I am, I shall answer him: “Of the religion whereby people believe that the Eternal Being is perfectly good and indulgent, of the religion whereby people love all those who resemble Him. I have loved and idolized Doctor Franklin.” I am sure that St. Peter will say: “Come in and go promptly to take place next to Mr. Franklin. You shall find him seated next to the Eternal Being.” I will go there and enjoy everlasting happiness. Farewell, my kind papa; love me always. Write to me sometimes in your spare moments, in English or in French, as you please. I save all the letters I receive from you.