There was a gloomineſs diffuſed through your laſt letter, the impreſſion of which ſtill reſts on my mind—though, recollecting how quickly you throw off the forcible feelings of the moment, I flatter myſelf it has long ſince given place to your uſual cheerfulneſs.
Believe me (and my eyes fill with tears of tenderneſs as I aſſure you) there is nothing I would not endure in the way of privation, rather than diſturb your tranquillity.—If I am fated to be unhappy, I will labour to hide my ſorrows in my own boſom; and you ſhall always find me a faithful, affectionate friend.
I grow more and more attached to my little girl—and I cheriſh this affection without fear, becauſe it muſt be a long time before it can become bitterneſs of ſoul.—She is an intereſting creature.—On ſhip-board, how often as I gazed at the ſea, have I longed to bury my troubled boſom in the leſs troubled deep; aſſerting with Brutus, "that the virtue I had followed too far, was merely an empty name!" and nothing but the ſight of her—her playful ſmiles, which ſeemed to cling and twine round my heart—could have ſtopped me.
What peculiar miſery has fallen to my ſhare! To act up to my principles, I have laid the ſtricteſt reſtraint on my very thoughts—yes; not to ſully the delicacy of my feelings, I have reined in my imagination; and ſtarted with affright from every ſenſation, (I allude to ——) that ſtealing with balmy ſweetneſs into my ſoul, led me to ſcent from afar the fragrance of reviving nature.
My friend, I have dearly paid for one conviction.—Love, in ſome minds, is an affair of ſentiment, ariſing from the ſame delicacy of perception (or taſte) as renders them alive to the beauties of nature, poetry, &c., alive to the charms of thoſe evaneſcent graces that are, as it were, impalpable—they muſt be felt, they cannot be deſcribed.
Love is a want of my heart. I have examined myſelf lately with more care than formerly, and find, that to deaden is not to calm the mind—Aiming at tranquillity, I have almoſt deſtroyed all the energy of my ſoul—almoſt rooted out what renders it eſtimable—Yes, I have damped that enthuſiaſm of character, which converts the groſſeſt materials into a fuel, that imperceptibly feeds hopes, which aſpire above common enjoyment. Deſpair, ſince the birth of my child, has rendered me ſtupid—ſoul and body ſeemed to be fading away before the withering touch of diſappointment.
I am now endeavouring to recover myſelf—and ſuch is the elaſticity of my conſtitution, and the purity of the atmoſphere here, that health unſought for, begins to reanimate my countenance.
I have the ſincereſt eſteem and affection for you—but the deſire of regaining peace, (do you underſtand me?) has made me forget the reſpect due to my own emotions—ſacred emotions, that are the ſure harbingers of the delights I was formed to enjoy—and ſhall enjoy, for nothing can extinguiſh the heavenly ſpark.
Still, when we meet again, I will not torment you, I promiſe you. I bluſh when I recollect my former conduct—and will not in future confound myſelf with the beings whom I feel to be my inferiors.—I will liſten to delicacy, or pride.
