Yours
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LETTER XXI
H—, Auguſt 19, Tueſday.
I received both your letters to-day—I had reckoned on hearing from you yeſterday, therefore was diſappointed, though I imputed your ſilence to the right cauſe. I intended anſwering your kind letter immediately, that you might have felt the pleaſure it gave me; but ——— came in, and ſome other things interrupted me; ſo that the fine vapour has evaporated—yet, leaving a ſweet ſcent behind, I have only to tell you, what is ſufficiently obvious, that the earneſt deſire I have ſhown to keep my place, or gain more ground in your heart, is a ſure proof how neceſſary your affection is to my happineſs.—Still I do not think it falſe delicacy, or fooliſh pride, to wiſh that your attention to my happineſs ſhould ariſe as much from love, which is always rather a ſelfiſh paſſion, as reaſon—that is, I want you to promote my felicity, by ſeeking your own.—For, whatever pleaſure it may give me to diſcover your generoſity of ſoul, I would not be dependent for your affection on the very quality I moſt admire. No; there are qualities in your heart, which demand my affection; but, unleſs the attachment appears to me clearly mutual, I ſhall labour only to eſteem your character, inſtead of cheriſhing a tenderneſs for your perſon.
I write in a hurry, becauſe the little one, who has been ſleeping a long time, begins to call for me. Poor thing! when I am ſad, I lament that all my affections grow on me, till they become too ſtrong for my peace, though they all afford me ſnatches of exquiſite enjoyment—This for our little girl was at firſt very reaſonable—more the effect of reaſon, a ſenſe of duty, than feeling—now, ſhe has got into my heart and imagination, and when I walk out without her, her little figure is ever dancing before me.
You too have ſomehow clung round my heart—I found I could not eat my dinner in the great room—and, when I took up the large knife to carve for myſelf, tears ruſhed into my eyes.—Do not however ſuppoſe that I am melancholy—for, when you are from me, I not only wonder how I can find fault with you—but how I can doubt your affection.
I will not mix any comments on the incloſed (it rouſed my indignation) with the effuſion of tenderneſs, with which I aſſure you, that you are the friend of my boſom, and the prop of my heart.
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