LETTER LXI
Auguſt 5.
Employment and exerciſe have been of great ſervice to me; and I have entirely recovered the ſtrength and activity I loſt during the time of my nurſing. I have ſeldom been in better health; and my mind, though trembling to the touch of anguiſh, is calmer—yet ſtill the ſame.—I have, it is true, enjoyed ſome tranquillity, and more happineſs here, than for a long—long time paſt.—(I ſay happineſs, for I can give no other appellation to the exquiſite delight this wild country and fine ſummer have afforded me.)—Still, on examining my heart, I find that it is ſo conſtituted, I cannot live without ſome particular affection—I am afraid not without a paſſion—and I feel the want of it more in ſociety, than in ſolitude—
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Writing to you, whenever an affectionate epithet occurs—my eyes fill with tears, and my trembling hand ſtops—you may then depend on my reſolution, when with you. If I am doomed to be unhappy, I will confine my anguiſh in my own boſom—tenderneſs, rather than paſſion, has made me ſometimes overlook delicacy—the ſame tenderneſs will in future reſtrain me. God bleſs you!
