December 28.
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I do, my love, indeed ſincerely ſympathize with you in all your diſappointments.—Yet, knowing that you are well, and think of me with affection, I only lament other diſappointments, becauſe I am ſorry that you ſhould thus exert yourſelf in vain, and that you are kept from me.
———, I know, urges you to ſtay, and is continually branching out into new projects, becauſe he has the idle deſire to amaſs a large fortune, rather an immenſe one, merely to have the credit of having made it. But we who are governed by other motives, ought not to be led on by him. When we meet, we will diſcuſs this ſubject—You will liſten to reaſon, and it has probably occurred to you, that it will be better, in future, to purſue ſome ſober plan, which may demand more time, and ſtill enable you to arrive at the ſame end. It appears to me abſurd to waſte life in preparing to live.
Would it not now be poſſible to arrange your buſineſs in ſuch a manner as to avoid the inquietudes, of which I have had my ſhare ſince your departure? Is it not poſſible to enter into buſineſs, as an employment neceſſary to keep the faculties awake, and (to ſink a little in the expreſſions) the pot boiling, without ſuffering what muſt ever be conſidered as a ſecondary object, to engroſs the mind, and drive ſentiment and affection out of the heart?
I am in a hurry to give this letter to the perſon who has promiſed to forward it with ———'s. I wiſh then to counteract, in ſome meaſure, what he has doubtleſs recommended moſt warmly.
Stay, my friend, whilſt it is abſolutely neceſſary.—I will give you no tenderer name, though it glows at my heart, unleſs you come the moment the ſettling the preſent objects permit.—I do not conſent to your taking any other journey—or the little woman and I will be off, the Lord knows where. But, as I had rather owe every thing to your affection, and, I may add, to your reaſon, (for this immoderate deſire of wealth, which makes ——— ſo eager to have you remain, is contrary to your principles of action), I will not importune you.—I will only tell you, that I long to ſee you—and, being at peace with you, I ſhall be hurt, rather than made angry, by delays.—Having ſuffered ſo much in life, do not be ſurpriſed if I ſometimes, when left to myſelf, grow gloomy, and ſuppoſe that it was all a dream, and that my happineſs is not to laſt. I ſay happineſs, becauſe remembrance retrenches all the dark ſhades of the picture.
My little one begins to ſhow her teeth, and uſe her legs—She wants you to bear your part in the nurſing buſineſs, for I am fatigued with dancing her, and yet ſhe is not ſatiſfied—ſhe wants you to thank her mother for taking ſuch care of her, as you only can.