You will call this an ill-humoured letter, when, in fact, it is the ſtrongeſt proof of affection I can give, to dread to loſe you. ——— has taken ſuch pains to convince me that you muſt and ought to ſtay, that it has inconceivably depreſſed my ſpirits—You have always known my opinion—I have ever declared, that two people, who mean to live together, ought not to be long ſeparated.—If certain things are more neceſſary to you than me—ſearch for them—Say but one word, and you ſhall never hear of me more.—If not—for God's ſake, let us ſtruggle with poverty—with any evil, but theſe continual inquietudes of buſineſs, which I have been told were to laſt but a few months, though every day the end appears more diſtant! This is the firſt letter in this ſtrain that I have determined to forward to you; the reſt lie by, becauſe I was unwilling to give you pain, and I ſhould not now write, if I did not think that there would be no concluſion to the ſchemes, which demand, as I am told, your preſence.
* * * *[91-A]
LETTER XXXII
January 9.
I juſt now received one of your haſty notes; for buſineſs ſo entirely occupies you, that you have not time, or ſufficient command of thought, to write letters. Beware! you ſeem to be got into a whirl of projects and ſchemes, which are drawing you into a gulph, that, if it do not abſorb your happineſs, will infallibly deſtroy mine.
Fatigued during my youth by the moſt arduous ſtruggles, not only to obtain independence, but to render myſelf uſeful, not merely pleaſure, for which I had the moſt lively taſte, I mean the ſimple pleaſures that flow from paſſion and affection, eſcaped me, but the moſt melancholy views of life were impreſſed by a diſappointed heart on my mind. Since I knew you, I have been endeavouring to go back to my former nature, and have allowed ſome time to glide away, winged with the delight which only ſpontaneous enjoyment can give.—Why have you ſo ſoon diſſolved the charm?
I am really unable to bear the continual inquietude which your and ———'s never-ending plans produce. This you may term want of firmneſs—but you are miſtaken—I have ſtill ſufficient firmneſs to purſue my principle of action. The preſent miſery, I cannot find a ſofter word to do juſtice to my feelings, appears to me unneceſſary—and therefore I have not firmneſs to ſupport it as you may think I ought. I ſhould have been content, and ſtill wiſh, to retire with you to a farm—My God! any thing, but theſe continual anxieties—any thing but commerce, which debaſes the mind, and roots out affection from the heart.
I do not mean to complain of ſubordinate inconveniences——yet I will ſimply obſerve, that, led to expect you every week, I did not make the arrangements required by the preſent circumſtances, to procure the neceſſaries of life. In order to have them, a ſervant, for that purpoſe only, is indiſpenſible—The want of wood, has made me catch the moſt violent cold I ever had; and my head is ſo diſturbed by continual coughing, that I am unable to write without ſtopping frequently to recollect myſelf.—This however is one of the common evils which muſt be borne with——bodily pain does not touch the heart, though it fatigues the ſpirits.
