_[Sweden] July 7 [1795]._
I could not help feeling extremely mortified last post, at not receiving a
letter from you. My being at ---- was but a chance, and you might have
hazarded it; and would a year ago.
I shall not however complain--There are misfortunes so great, as to
silence the usual expressions of sorrow--Believe me, there is such a thing
as a broken heart! There are characters whose very energy preys upon them;
and who, ever inclined to cherish by reflection some passion, cannot rest
satisfied with the common comforts of life. I have endeavoured to fly from
myself and launched into all the dissipation possible here, only to feel
keener anguish, when alone with my child.
Still, could any thing please me--had not disappointment cut me off from
life, this romantic country, these fine evenings, would interest me.--My
God! can any thing? and am I ever to feel alive only to painful
sensations?--But it cannot--it shall not last long.
The post is again arrived; I have sent to seek for letters, only to be
wounded to the soul by a negative.--My brain seems on fire. I must go into
the air.