Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend—
Seeking a higher object. Love was given,
Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end:
For this the passion to excess was driven,
That self might be annulled:—her bondage prove
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love.
WORDSWORTH.—Laodamia.
DEAREST MARMADUKE,
I must write to you. I have been on the point of doing so often, very often, and now I learn from Rose that you have written to ask her if she could send you news of my health from time to time. Thank you, Marmaduke, thank you for the delicacy which has dictated your respect for my resolution—thank you for not having attempted to discover my retreat. You see I disclose it to you now—I am with my kind old uncle—I let you know it, confiding in your not abusing the knowledge, and attempting to see me. We cannot meet. I could not endure it. But we can write. Your letters will be a solace to me; to write to you will be an exquisite pleasure. Yes, Marmaduke, I long to pour out my soul to you; I long to tell you all I think, all I do; and you will tell me what you think, and what you do, will you not? There is no issue from our fate; we must bear it, but we shall bear it with less murmuring if we can speak to each other without reserve.
"My health, you will be glad to learn, is good. Exercise keeps up my strength, in spite of what I have suffered. I am almost all day on horseback with my uncle, and that keeps me strong. Shot is of course my inseparable companion; the dear beast sympathizes with me, I am sure; and sometimes when I sit still, my soul carried away in some sad reverie, I see his intelligent eyes fixed inquiringly on my face, and then I say, 'where is Marmaduke?' and he pricks his ears, wags his tail, and runs to the door to listen if indeed you are coming; disappointed, he returns to his place to look sadly at me, as if he knew that your presence alone would bring the smile again upon my face.
"I am much calmer than I was. Renewed health has doubtless a great deal to do with it, for misery is but malady; the healthy are not long unhappy. I now resign myself to the inevitable, and no longer beat my distracted wings against my cage. Happy I am not, and cannot hope to be; but I am calm, and in my calmness it seems to me that the privilege of writing to you, and of knowing that you think of me, is a privilege which the happiest might envy.
"I read much. Tell me what books you are reading that I may read them too, and so be with you in spirit, even in your studies. Mind you obey me in this particular, and tell me all the books you read. Do not be afraid of frightening me by the dryness of the subject. I have been a miscellaneous and unwomanly reader. Papa's and uncle's libraries have always been at my disposal, and although I have studied no one subject, and am consequently very, very ignorant, yet in my unrestrained liberty I have read all sorts of books, from treatises of philosophy to novels. You know papa made us all learn a little Latin, that he might explain Horace to us; so that I have got a tincture of learning, just enough to make men's books intelligible, and not enough to make me a blue.
"Therefore, let me read what you read; I shall, perhaps, understand a serious book all the better from knowing that you have understood it; for I want my mind to be as little below your level as culture can make it.
"Describe to me your daily habits and avocations. Rose tells me that you are seen nowhere; that you have ceased to visit all your old friends. What replaces them?
"I do not ask you if you think of me. I know you do. My own heart tells me so. I know your character; with all its manly strength, it has womanly tenderness in it, like the honey Samson found in the lion's mouth; and that tenderness is my guarantee that I am not forgotten; that, although separated by an insuperable barrier, we are not less united in heart. You will not cease to love me because I cannot be yours; you will not love me less because I am forced to deny you. No, Marmaduke, love such as yours is not selfish: it is something higher than self, and I will not pay you the ill compliment of doubting it. Could I do so, I should be selfish enough to appeal to your feelings, to entreat you to love me ever, and not to think of another. I should be jealous could I doubt you—but I cannot doubt.
"God bless you, Marmaduke, may you be happy! Write to me soon; and write only of yourself.