Do write by every occaſion! I am anxious to hear how your affairs go on; and, ſtill more, to be convinced that you are not ſeparating yourſelf from us. For my little darling is calling papa, and adding her parrot word—Come, Come! And will you not come, and let us exert ourſelves?—I ſhall recover all my energy, when I am convinced that my exertions will draw us more cloſely together. One more adieu!
LETTER XLV
Sunday, June 14.
I rather expected to hear from you to-day—I wiſh you would not fail to write to me for a little time, becauſe I am not quite well—Whether I have any good ſleep or not, I wake in the morning in violent fits of trembling—and, in ſpite of all my efforts, the child—every thing—fatigues me, in which I ſeek for ſolace or amuſement.
Mr. —— forced on me a letter to a phyſician of this place; it was fortunate, for I ſhould otherwiſe have had ſome difficulty to obtain the neceſſary information. His wife is a pretty woman (I can admire, you know, a pretty woman, when I am alone) and he an intelligent and rather intereſting man.—They have behaved to me with great hoſpitality; and poor ——— was never ſo happy in her life, as amongſt their young brood.
They took me in their carriage to ———, and I ran over my favourite walks, with a vivacity that would have aſtoniſhed you.—The town did not pleaſe me quite ſo well as formerly—It appeared ſo diminutive; and, when I found that many of the inhabitants had lived in the ſame houſes ever ſince I left it, I could not help wondering how they could thus have vegetated, whilſt I was running over a world of ſorrow, ſnatching at pleaſure, and throwing off prejudices. The place where I at preſent am, is much improved; but it is aſtoniſhing what ſtrides ariſtocracy and fanaticiſm have made, ſince I reſided in this country.
The wind does not appear inclined to change, ſo I am ſtill forced to linger—When do you think that you ſhall be able to ſet out for France? I do not entirely like the aſpect of your affairs, and ſtill leſs your connections on either ſide of the water. Often do I ſigh, when I think of your entanglements in buſineſs, and your extreme reſtleſſneſs of mind.—Even now I am almoſt afraid to aſk you, whether the pleaſure of being free, does not over-balance the pain you felt at parting with me? Sometimes I indulge the hope that you will feel me neceſſary to you—or why ſhould we meet again?—but, the moment after, deſpair damps my riſing ſpirits, aggravated by the emotions of tenderneſs, which ought to ſoften the cares of life.——God bleſs you!
Yours ſincerely and affectionately