Harrington to Worthy.
Boston.
AM I to believe my eyes—my ears-my heart!—and yet I cannot be deceived.—We are generally most stupid and incredulous in what most materially concerns us. We find the greatest difficulty in persuading ourselves of the attainments of what we most ardently desire—She loves!—I say to myself, “Harriot loves me,” and I reverence myself.
I THINK I may now take upon me some share of happiness—I may say I have not lived in vain—for all my heart holds dear is mine—joy and love encompass me—peace and tranquillity are before me; the prospect is fair and promising as the gilded dawn of a summer’s day—There is none to supplant me in her affections—I dread no rival, for our tempers are similar, and our hearts beat in unison together.
Adieu!
LETTER XVI.
Harrington to Worthy.
Boston.
LOVE softens and refines the manners—polishes the asperities of aukwardness, and fits us for the society of gentle beings. It goes further, it mends the heart, and makes us better men—it gives the fainthearted an extraordinary strength of soul, and renders them equal and frequently superior to danger and distress.
MY passions you know are quick, my prejudices sometimes obstinate—She tells me these things are wrong—This gentle reprimand is so tempered with love that I think she commands me. I however promise a reform, and am much pleased with my improvement. Harriot moulds my heart into what form she chooses.