December, 26.
I have been, my love, for some days tormented by fears, that I would not
allow to assume a form—I had been expecting you daily—and I heard that
many vessels had been driven on shore during the late gale.—Well, I now
see your letter, and find that you are safe: I will not regret then that
your exertions have hitherto been so unavailing.
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Be that as it may, return to me when you have arranged the other
matters, which —— has been crowding on you. I want to be sure that you
are safe—and not separated from me by a sea that must be passed. For,
feeling that I am happier than ever I was, do you wonder at my sometimes
dreading that fate has not done persecuting me? Come to me my dearest
friend, father of my child!—All these fond ties glow at my heart at this
moment, and dim my eyes.—With you an independence is desirable; and it
is always within our reach, if affluence escapes us—without you the
world again appears empty to me. But I am recurring to some of the
melancholy thoughts that have flitted across my mind for some days past,
and haunted my dreams.
My little darling is indeed a sweet child; and I am sorry that you are
not here, to see her little mind unfold itself. You talk of “dalliance;”
but certainly no lover was more attached to his mistress than she is to
me. Her eyes follow me every where, and by affection I have the most
despotic power over her. She is all vivacity or softness—yes; I love her
more than I thought I should. When I have been hurt at your stay, I have
embraced her as my only comfort—when pleased with you, for looking and
laughing like you; nay, I cannot, I find, long be angry with you, whilst
I am kissing her for resembling you. But there would be no end to these
details. Fold us both to your heart; for I am truly and affectionately
Yours
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