My best love, your letter to-night was particularly grateful to my
heart, depressed by the letters I received by ——, for he brought me
several, and the parcel of books directed to Mr. —— was for me. Mr. ——’s
letter was long and very affectionate; but the account he gives me of
his own affairs, though he obviously makes the best of them, has vexed
me.
A melancholy letter from my sister —— has also harrassed my mind—that
from my brother would have given me sincere pleasure; but for
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There is a spirit of independence in this letter, that will please you;
and you shall see it, when we are once more over the fire together—I
think that you would hail him as a brother, with one of your tender
looks, when your heart not only gives a lustre to your eye, but a dance
of playfulness, that he would meet with a glow half made up of
bashfulness, and a desire to please the —— where shall I find a word to
express the relationship which subsists between us? Shall I ask the
little twitcher? But I have dropt half the sentence that was to tell you
how much he would be inclined to love the man loved by his sister. I
have been fancying myself sitting between you, ever since I began to
write, and my heart has leaped at the thought! You see how I chat to
you.
I did not receive your letter till I came home; and I did not expect it,
so the post came in much later than usual. It was a cordial to me—and I
wanted one.
Mr. —— tells me that he has written again and again.—Love him a
little!—It would be a kind of separation, if you did not love those I
love.
There was so much considerate tenderness in your epistle to-night, that,
if it has not made you dearer to me, it has made me forcibly feel how
very dear you are to me, by charming away half my cares.
Yours affectionately
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