LETTER VI
Friday Morning.
I am glad to find that other people can be unreaſonable, as well as myſelf—for be it known to thee, that I anſwered thy firſt letter, the very night it reached me (Sunday), though thou couldſt not receive it before Wedneſday, becauſe it was not ſent off till the next day.—There is a full, true, and particular account.—
Yet I am not angry with thee, my love, for I think that it is a proof of ſtupidity, and likewiſe of a milk-and-water affection, which comes to the ſame thing, when the temper is governed by a ſquare and compaſs.—There is nothing pictureſque in this ſtraight-lined equality, and the paſſions always give grace to the actions.
Recollection now makes my heart bound to thee; but, it is not to thy money-getting face, though I cannot be ſeriouſly diſpleaſed with the exertion which increaſes my eſteem, or rather is what I ſhould have expected from thy character.—No; I have thy honeſt countenance before me—Pop—relaxed by tenderneſs; a little—little wounded by my whims; and thy eyes gliſtening with ſympathy.—Thy lips then feel ſofter than ſoft—and I reſt my cheek on thine, forgetting all the world.—I have not left the hue of love out of the picture—the roſy glow; and fancy has ſpread it over my own cheeks, I believe, for I feel them burning, whilſt a delicious tear trembles in my eye, that would be all your own, if a grateful emotion directed to the Father of nature, who has made me thus alive to happineſs, did not give more warmth to the ſentiment it divides—I muſt pauſe a moment.
Need I tell you that I am tranquil after writing thus?—I do not know why, but I have more confidence in your affection, when abſent, than preſent; nay, I think that you muſt love me, for, in the ſincerity of my heart let me ſay it, I believe I deſerve your tenderneſs, becauſe I am true, and have a degree of ſenſibility that you can ſee and reliſh.
Yours ſincerely
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