FRIEND MARY: You will no doubt think it rather strange that I should
write you a letter on the same day on which we parted, and I can only
account for it by supposing that seeing you lately makes me think of you
more than usual; while at our late meeting we had but few expressions
of thoughts. You must know that I cannot see you, or think of you, with
entire indifference; and yet it may be that you are mistaken in regard
to what my real feelings toward you are.
If I knew you were not, I should not have troubled you with this letter.
Perhaps any other man would know enough without information; but I
consider it my peculiar right to plead ignorance, and your bounden duty
to allow the plea.
I want in all cases to do right; and most particularly so in all cases
with women.
I want, at this particular time, more than any thing else to do right
with you; and if I knew it would be doing right, as I rather suspect it
would, to let you alone I would do it. And, for the purpose of making
the matter as plain as possible, I now say that you can drop the
subject, dismiss your thoughts (if you ever had any) from me for ever
and leave this letter unanswered without calling forth one accusing
murmur from me. And I will even go further and say that, if it will add
anything to your comfort or peace of mind to do so, it is my sincere
wish that you should. Do not understand by this that I wish to cut your
acquaintance. I mean no such thing. What I do wish is that our further
acquaintance shall depend upon yourself. If such further acquaintance
would contribute nothing to your happiness, I am sure it would not to
mine. If you feel yourself in any degree bound to me, I am now willing
to release you, provided you wish it; while on the other hand I am
willing and even anxious to bind you faster if I can be convinced
that it will, in any considerable degree, add to your happiness. This,
indeed, is the whole question with me. Nothing would make me more
miserable than to believe you miserable, nothing more happy than to know
you were so.
In what I have now said, I think I cannot be misunderstood; and to make
myself understood is the only object of this letter.
If it suits you best not to answer this, farewell. A long life and
a merry one attend you. But, if you conclude to write back, speak as
plainly as I do. There can neither be harm nor danger in saying to me
anything you think, just in the manner you think it. My respects to your
sister.
Your friend, LINCOLN.