Wednesday Morning.
I only send this as an _avant-coureur_, without jack-boots, to tell you,
that I am again on the wing, and hope to be with you a few hours after
you receive it. I shall find you well, and composed, I am sure; or, more
properly speaking, cheerful.—What is the reason that my spirits are not
as manageable as yours? Yet, now I think of it. I will not allow that
your temper is even, though I have promised myself, in order to obtain
my own forgiveness, that I will not ruffle it for a long, long time—I am
afraid to say never.
Farewell for a moment!—Do not forget that I am driving towards you in
person! My mind, unfettered, has flown to you long since, or rather has
never left you.
I am well, and have no apprehension that I shall find the journey too
fatiguing, when I follow the lead of my heart.—With my face turned to
H—my spirits will not sink—and my mind has always hitherto enabled my
body to do whatever I wished.
Yours affectionately
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