Permit me, Madam, to trouble you with a few lines, were it only to
thank you for your reproofs; which have nevertheless drawn fresh
streams of blood from a bleeding heart.
My story is a dismal story. It has circumstances in it that would
engage pity, and possibly a judgment not altogether unfavourable, were
those circumstances known. But it is my business, and shall be all my
business, to repent of my failings, and not endeavour to extenuate
them.
Nor will I seek to distress your worthy mind. If I cannot suffer alone,
I will make as few parties as I can in my sufferings. And, indeed, I
took up my pen with this resolution when I wrote the letter which has
fallen into your hands. It was only to know, and that for a very
particular reason, as well as for affection unbounded, if my dear Miss
Howe, from whom I had not heard of a long time, were ill; as I had been
told she was; and if so, how she now does. But my injuries being
recent, and my distresses having been exceeding great, self would crowd
into my letter. When distressed, the human mind is apt to turn itself
to every one, in whom it imagined or wished an interest, for pity and
consolation.—Or, to express myself better, and more concisely, in your
own words, misfortune makes people plaintive: And to whom, if not to a
friend, can the afflicted complain?
Miss Howe being abroad when my letter came, I flatter myself that she
is recovered. But it would be some satisfaction to me to be informed if
she has been ill. Another line from your hand would be too great a
favour: but if you will be pleased to direct any servant to answer yes,
or no, to that question, I will not be farther troublesome.
Nevertheless, I must declare, that my Miss Howe’s friendship was all
the comfort I had, or expected to have in this world; and a line from
her would have been a cordial to my fainting heart. Judge then, dearest
Madam, how reluctantly I must obey your prohibition—but yet I will
endeavour to obey it; although I should have hoped, as well from the
tenor of all that has passed between Miss Howe and me, as from her
established virtue, that she could not be tainted by evil
communication, had one or two letters been permitted. This, however, I
ask not for, since I think I have nothing to do but to beg of God (who,
I hope, has not yet withdrawn his grace from me, although he has
pleaded to let loose his justice upon my faults) to give me a truly
broken spirit, if it be not already broken enough, and then to take to
his mercy