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I have just time enough this morning to send you two or
three lines. I intended to write last night, but went to sleep over
some natural philosophy, and did not wake until it was high time to
retire. So I determined to rise this morning rather earlier than
usual, in order to execute what was deferred. Sure enough my eyes
popped open about 6 o'c., but my feelings were as usual, "a little
more slumber": and I think that nothing less than my love for you,
and desire to provoke you to good works ( i.e. to write to your deserted
& disconsolate admirer) could have furnished a motive sufficient
to dispel the shackles of that siren, a morning doze. My love,
this circumstance sets me to moralizing upon the tendency to procrastinate
present duties, which has been growing upon me of late. I am
afraid I shall never achieve any of the great objects of life, if I
permit such a spirit to take possession of me. Can my dear little
Mentor suggest a remedy?
When you went away on Monday, I thought that I could bear
the long separation with commendable firmness, -that I would not begin
to repine for a week or so at least, and therefore I did not, as you
saw, give evidence of any overpowering sorrow-although I did feel inwardly
moved at parting from you. Would you believe it? I have been
wandering about for a day or so, like one who has lost something, he
doesnt know what or where. I come to my room, but cant content myself
here. I step over to your house-but it seems so deserted in your
absence, that I cant rest there long. So I glide about like a wandering
ghost. When 5 o'clock comes, I feel that I have nobody to walk
with. When I have an odd hour or so, I have nobody to spend it with.
It is these innumerable small bonds which render my attachment to you
too strong to be easily or hastily destroyed. I thought (although
you did not have the unkindness to suggest it this time) that I
would do wonders in the way of studying while you are away, but I
find that when you are here, I cant resist the temptation to step
over to talk with you, and when you are away, my thoughts are fixed
on you, & a feeling of loneliness hangs about me, so that in either
case, books are thrown aside. I shall never do anything, until you
marry me. Perhaps when you are my wife, and never away from me, I
shall do something. Is this the suggestion of my evil genius Procrastination?
Mr. Holcombe invited me to a large party at his house on
Wednesday night, and I promised him to go. I thought I would have a
budget of news to tell you-but I learned that it was to be a dancing
party—that the fiddlers were engaged etc. So although my own sentiments
are not decidedly adverse to such amusements, I determined
after taking thought, in deference to your own & your pa's opinions
& the rule of the church, not to go. Mr. Gholson told me they danced
from 9 until 4 o'c. Miss Southall, Miss Pleasants, Miss Gamble etc.
were there. The college ladies were invited & not knowing the character
of the party, Miss McGuffey was going, but on learning at a
late hour that preparations had been extensively made for dancing,
she abandoned her design. Your ma is not pleased that they concealed
the fact of the dancing & invited members of the church. Madame Bishop
is certainly to be here on Friday, May 6th. You will miss the
pleasure of hearing her. Will you permit me to gallant some pretty
lady to the concert? Mrs. Le Chaud (how do you spell her name?) has
been taken ill within a few days, and is now lying dangerously sick.
I hope you are enjoying yourself finely-which is
equivalent to wishing you plenty of work-as I believe you
enjoy nothing but fatigue. Cant you write to me, my dearest?
Oceans of love to you. God bless you.
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