LETTER XXVI
October 1.
It is a heartleſs taſk to write letters, without knowing whether they will ever reach you.—I have given two to ——, who has been a-going, a-going, every day, for a week paſt; and three others, which were written in a low-ſpirited ſtrain, a little querulous or ſo, I have not been able to forward by the opportunities that were mentioned to me. Tant mieux! you will ſay, and I will not ſay nay; for I ſhould be ſorry that the contents of a letter, when you are ſo far away, ſhould damp the pleaſure that the ſight of it would afford—judging of your feelings by my own. I juſt now ſtumbled on one of the kind letters, which you wrote during your laſt abſence. You are then a dear affectionate creature, and I will not plague you. The letter which you chance to receive, when the abſence is ſo long, ought to bring only tears of tenderneſs, without any bitter alloy, into your eyes.
After your return I hope indeed, that you will not be ſo immerſed in buſineſs, as during the laſt three or four months paſt—for even money, taking into the account all the future comforts it is to procure, may be gained at too dear a rate, if painful impreſſions are left on the mind.—Theſe impreſſions were much more lively, ſoon after you went away, than at preſent—for a thouſand tender recollections efface the melancholy traces they left on my mind—and every emotion is on the ſame ſide as my reaſon, which always was on yours.—Separated, it would be almoſt impious to dwell on real or imaginary imperfections of character.—I feel that I love you; and, if I cannot be happy with you, I will ſeek it no where elſe.
My little darling grows every day more dear to me—and ſhe often has a kiſs, when we are alone together, which I give her for you, with all my heart.
I have been interrupted—and muſt ſend off my letter. The liberty of the preſs will produce a great effect here—the cry of blood will not be vain!—Some more monſters will periſh—and the Jacobins are conquered.—Yet I almoſt fear the laſt ſlap of the tail of the beaſt.
I have had ſeveral trifling teazing inconveniencies here, which I ſhall not now trouble you with a detail of.—I am ſending —— back; her pregnancy rendered her uſeleſs. The girl I have got has more vivacity, which is better for the child.
I long to hear from you.—Bring a copy of —— and —— with you.
—— is ſtill here: he is a loſt man.—He really loves his wife, and is anxious about his children; but his indiſcriminate hoſpitality and ſocial feelings have given him an inveterate habit of drinking, that deſtroys his health, as well as renders his perſon diſguſting.—If his wife had more ſenſe, or delicacy, ſhe might reſtrain him: as it is, nothing will ſave him.