 | Randolph |  |
The second is as follows:
You are certainly a most wonderful being! How is it
that you can explore the secret recesses of my heart with
such accuracy? I have been wishing to speak to you on
315
That person whom you have pictured from your
own imagination, was, indeed, all that you suppose. He,
like you, could read every emotion of my soul, by looking
in my face. He had all your enthusiasm; all your
warm, impetuous, generous feeling, but none of your
levity or infidelity. Add to this, that he was the companion
of my childhood, from earliest years; and you will
not be surprised that I felt for him,—more than I can
describe. That I lament his death, and ever shall, is
most certain, although I fear that I commit a sin by doing
so. Yet I cannot help it. With regard to your advice,
I will try to profit by it, so far as I shall consider
it my duty; and so far as it is consistent with sincerity
But I never can act the hypocrite. I can avoid dispute,
it is true, by being silent; but, to practise the arts of the
most abandoned of my sex—never—never!—You do
not know me yet, if you think me capable of deceit. No
—I am resigned to my fate, if it be even to drag out the
remainder of my life, without loving or being beloved,
by any human being. You ask me if you had not better
abandon the house? I am selfish enough to say no; but,
if you can be happier any where else —I answer yes, yes,
by all means. Although it would grieve me to part with
you,—pain me not to meet you as I have been accustomed
to, now and then, in this cold world, yet I entreat
that you will make no sacrifice on my account. This is
the last time that you will see the trace of my pen—unless
something unforeseen should occur. I have been
guilty of a very great imprudence. Farewell—I feel
vexed with myself—but when I see you, and attempt to
speak, I never can say what I would. May you be as
happy as I wish you, in time and in eternity! * * *
Bristol, (R. I.) Sept. —.
| Randolph | |