H—, August 19, Tuesday.
I received both your letters to-day—I had reckoned on hearing from you
yesterday, therefore was disappointed, though I imputed your silence to
the right cause. I intended answering your kind letter immediately, that
you might have felt the pleasure it gave me; but —— came in, and some
other things interrupted me; so that the fine vapour has evaporated—yet,
leaving a sweet scent behind, I have only to tell you, what is
sufficiently obvious, that the earnest desire I have shown to keep my
place, or gain more ground in your heart, is a sure proof how necessary
your affection is to my happiness.—Still I do not think it false
delicacy, or foolish pride, to wish that your attention to my happiness
should arise _as much_ from love, which is always rather a selfish
passion, as reason—that is, I want you to promote my felicity, by
seeking your own—For, whatever pleasure it may give me to discover your
generosity of soul, I would not be dependent for your affection on the
very quality I most admire. No; there are qualities in your heart, which
demand my affection; but, unless the attachment appears to me clearly
mutual, I shall labour only to esteem your character, instead of
cherishing a tenderness for your person.
I write in a hurry, because the little one, who has been sleeping a long
time, begins to call for me. Poor thing! when I am sad, I lament that
all my affections grow on me, till they become too strong for my peace,
though they all afford me snatches of exquisite enjoyment—This for our
little girl was at first very reasonable—more the effect of reason, a
sense of duty, than feeling—now, she has got into my heart and
imagination, and when I walk out without her, her little figure is ever
dancing before me.
You too have somehow clung round my heart—I found I could not eat my
dinner in the great room—and, when I took up the large knife to carve
for myself, tears rushed into my eyes.—Do not however suppose that I am
melancholy—for, when you are from me, I not only wonder how I can find
fault with you—but how I can doubt your affection.
I will not mix any comments on the inclosed (it roused my indignation)
with the effusion of tenderness, with which I assure you, that you are
the friend of my bosom, and the prop of my heart.
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