LETTER XVII.
(ENCLOSED LETTER.)
To Henry Colden.
You went away this morning before I was awake, I
think you might have staid to breakfast, yet on second
thoughts, your early departure was best.
Perhaps, it
was so.
You have made me very thoughtful, to day. What passed
last night has left my mind at no liberty to read and to
scribble as I used to do. How your omens made me shudder!
I want to see you. Can't you come again this evening?
but no, you must not. I must not be an encroacher. I
must judge of others, and of their claims upon your company,
by myself and my own claims. Yet I should be glad to
see that creature who would dare to enter into competition
with me.
But I may as well hold my peace. My rights will not be
admitted by others. Indeed, no soul but yourself can know
them in all their extent, and, what is all I care for, you are
far from being strictly just to me.
Don't be angry, Hal. Skip the last couple of sentences,
or think of them as not mine. I disown them, tomorrow,
at six, the fire shall be stirred, the candles lighted, and the
sofa placed in order due. I shall be at home to nobody;
mind that.
"I am loath to mention one thing, however, but I must.
Though nothing be due to the absent man, somewhat is due
to myself. I have been excessively uneasy the whole day. I
am terrified at certain consequences. What may not happen
if, No; the last night's scene must not be repeated;
at least for a month to come. The sweet oblivion of the future
and past lasted only for the night. Now I have leisure
to look forward, and am resolved (don't laugh at my resolves;
I am quite in earnest.—) to keep thee at a distance
for at least a fortnight to come. It shall be a whole month
if thou dost not submit with a good grace."
