_[Hull] Wednesday, Two o'Clock
[May 27, 1795]._
We arrived here about an hour ago. I am extremely fatigued with the
child, who would not rest quiet with any body but me, during the
night--and now we are here in a comfortless, damp room, in a sort of a
tomb-like house. This however I shall quickly remedy, for, when I have
finished this letter, (which I must do immediately, because the post goes
out early), I shall sally forth, and enquire about a vessel and an inn.
I will not distress you by talking of the depression of my spirits, or the
struggle I had to keep alive my dying heart.--It is even now too full to
allow me to write with composure.--Imlay,--dear Imlay,--am I always to be
tossed about thus?--shall I never find an asylum to rest _contented_ in?
How can you love to fly about continually--dropping down, as it were, in a
new world--cold and strange!--every other day? Why do you not attach those
tender emotions round the idea of home, which even now dim my eyes?--This
alone is affection--every thing else is only humanity, electrified by
sympathy.
I will write to you again to-morrow, when I know how long I am to be
detained--and hope to get a letter quickly from you, to cheer yours
sincerely and affectionately