Tuesday Afternoon. Aug. 7.

What obligations do you continually heap ‸ upon me! How shall I discharge
them? 0 loveliest of women! How inferior are the beauties of your person to those
of your mind! Surely nature formed ‸ has enabled thee, as thou art to arrive at at excellent without the
aid of education: With what emotion did I read your letter. How shall
I express my gratitude, my admiration? Surely you are jesting when
you compliment me on my Skill in composition. My dearest Harriet,
what excellences do I display or what opportunitis have ‸ are offered you to judge of
my proficiency in the art of writing. You have seen only those performanc
which were dictated by my passio love, which were produced at the
luminous, and impassioned moment in which all my faculties were
suspended in the contemplation of your charms. When my soul was
elevated far above its usual pitch, and endeavoured to pour itself fourth
at your feet. Is it to be wondered at that at such a moment officious
and unbidden ‸eloquences awaited at ‸ on my tongue ‸ lips? My conceptions are often too
big for words, they struggle in vain for utterance, and in the hurry and
confusion which their multitude, in ‸ thronging to my pen produces, I cannot
hesitate in the choice of words. Whichsoever first offer themselves,
are ‸ instantly adopted. I have no liesure to reflect and wayy ‸ weigh to and ‸ to chuse. I
am unsolicitous of elegance or accuracy, and I am satissfied with the
power of expressing myself intelligibly, regardless of that perspicuity
which results from the use of words consciously and deliberately selected
and arranged, and ‸ of that elegance which is the [gap] effect of painful
and laborious attention

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Why should I review and correct what I have written? And no otherwise
than by incessant revision and correction, can exactness be acquired.
Preposterous! I might with the same propriety, repeat what I say
to you personally, in order to discover and correct improprieties of Senti=
=ment or inaccuratecies in the expression. I am not that despicable
thing that mopes away my ‸ his hour in the dusk of a library, that
scrutinizes, with superfluous labour, the dress of borrowed or artificial
Sentiments. I deliver the Suggestions of my heart. I speak in my
native character. So rapid is generally the torrent of ideas, in writing
to my angel, that I cannot mark their relation connection and dependance,
and am sometimes fearful that the abruptness of my transitions
has occasioned some degree of obscurity. But art thou not animated
by a kindred Spirrit. Dost thou not honour me with thy regard
and avow a passion for me, not less sincere, though perhaps, less violent
and ungovernable than that ‸ which reigns over in my heart? Thou needest
not the aid of an Interpreter; Where to the vulgar Eye, or disinteres=
=ted eye, all is darkness impenetrable, to thine, whom love has
endowed with Sagacity.

A Christaline transparency prevails.

How was I affected by the conclusion of your letter. And am I, least of
creatures! condescending Angel! "always present to thy mind." How
does this goodness overwhelm me. You will make me mad. Heaven
be witness for me that your image is ingraven in my soul, that
death only can obliterate the impression. Death, did I say. Alas! I
should be miserable if I thought that, by death we should be separated ‸ disunited
forever, that the union of our minds would not continue to
eternity. You know I formerly doubted about the reality of a future
state. that doubt was always sufficiently terrible. But how hideous
would thit doubt now appear, when it would necessarily involve

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the possibility of separation from you. I have long since discounsted this
tormenting doubt in obedience to the command of my sovereign
Mistress. How can I believe that that thou wast unable to have
produced any arguments in defence of thy opinion. With what rapture
would I have listened to my beautious reasoner! Why should you refer
me to the learned lucubrations of rugged philosophers: you who are so
much better quallified to be my Instructress: but formal argument
was indeed wholly unnecessary: I should have derived pleasure rather
than instruction from it. For, my conversion to your doctrines was effected
by a single world. The simple declaration of your opinion was always
equivalent to demonstration.

Shall I ever forget the time and place in which that declaration
was made? Every circumstance is indelibly impressed upon my memory
The garden—The mild and tranquil evening—The cloudless sky—
The moon walking in her brightness. The deep the sacred silence
that prevailed around—when all the noises of a great metropolis
were hushed. When every thing conspired to fix my attention and
to sublime my spirrit into rapture. I saw thee before me thou
blooming Angel. I heard thy voice. What a revolution in my
sentiments produc did a few words produce.

My friend—my only friend. There exists a deity. He is wise
his benevolence is equal to his wisdom. Thou wast formed for happiness
but canst enjoy it only in eternity. Cans’t thou overcome thy
abhorrence of Non-existance? Canst thou derive pleasure but from
the prospect of immortality? Dost thou need a stronger proof that
thy being will never end? Unbelief is Misery. Why then wilt thou not

If the soul be matter, if our being be finite. The period of our
eternal separation will arrive. Do not you shudder at the thought?
Let me take thee to my arms, for this embrace may be the last:
I may never see thee more. When thou dyest I shall never see the more unless

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thy soul be immaterial and immortal.

Ah! thou heavenly preacher! Was it possible for me to withstand
such Rhetoric as this. Belief instantaneously shot into my mind. Luminous
as a beam of Revelation. That evening you appeared a thousand times
more amiable than before. Sublimest of creatures women! My love was
mingled with a sacred Awe. Your purity was heightened into Sancity.
The tenderness with which I before beheld was now in some degree converted int
veneration. I approached you with a kind of fear, such as may be supposed
to be nispired by the presence of a superior being, but Ah! I was alarmed
at these emotions. A Secret dread begin to take possession, of me. My
eye beheld a new object. I no longer saw the Harriot with whom I
had been just conversing. I saw a different personage. Whom my unworthiness
rendered it Sacriledge to touch, presumptuous to behold. “What (said I to
myself) is reverence to take the place of love Have I lost the Mistress
in the Angel? Then I am miserable.” But Ah! As soon as you touched
my hand, and pressed me to your bosom, how quickly did my terrors
vanish, and the the tide of all my former sensations return. What Miracls
cannot the inchantments of your touch produce. My reverence was not
diminished. You appeared equally sublime, exalted and adorable. And
yet, I perceived that you were still a woman, that to think of you with
melting fondness, was not criminal. To love you appeared not only
laudable ‸ innocent but, laudable. To be a duty indispensably incumbent upon

Never did I leave you with more invincible reluctance. As soon as
you retired I sunk into despondency which I cannot describe. I lingered
involuntarily I could not force myself from your door. Gloomy and
dispirited, I walked homeward. Every step that carried me from you
seemed to carry me to a greater distance from happiness. I left the
highway and traversed the fields, in order to avoid the Sight of a human
creature, thought at that late hour it was not likely that I should,

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meet a single passenger in a road so unfrequented. I strayed I knew
not whither in the tall and thick grass. My knees were wet with
the dews, which appeared [gap] to be extreemly heavy. My hair was soaked
with moisture. Autumnal dews are fatal to my constitution, but I was
incensible of wet and cold. Never did the face of nature, appear more
desolate and gloomy. The moon seemed to struggle for a passage among
the clouds which now flew by from the south, and began to overspread
the Hemisphere. The landscape, as her glympses made it occasionally
visible, was absolutely hideous. Melancholy, in spite of all my efforts,
came over me. I wept and Sobbed I scarcely knew why. I was agitated by
conflicting passions. My Imagination accompanied you to your chamber
She is alone (said I.) Her coutch receives her. She sleeps. Why am I excluded
Would my presence profane the chamber! I yet feel the warmth of her
embraces. They have made me miserable. To what a precipice have they=
conducted me? I dare not—dare not, even in imagination contaminate
her angellic purity. Encircled by those arms and leaning on that bosom
Felicity unspeakable! And whych is it forbidden! She indeed gives me
much but how much does she withhold. Ah ! Wretch! —a wretch, indeed
a very wretch”—

I at length reached my chamber. I turned to the passage in
Comus, which you had, an [gap] hour before recited with a grace and
energy peculiar to yourself. I thought it would be effectually to allay
the tempest of my mind, but it availed nothing, and, according to
my usual custom, I had recourse to my pen, and wrote you that letter
for which you so often and severely chided me........

But surely pity was mingled with your anger—But death
shall overtake me ere I again offend. But why have I recalled these circumstan
to your memory? They are recent. And it is my interest that you should forget
them? I know not why. I will not be answerable for the deviations
and incertitudes of my pen. Thou enjoyest the peace of virtue. Thou art
Mistress of thy passions. Thy pen utters nothing but the dictates of truth.

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0! Impart to me a portion of thy magnanimity. Lead me to the
shrine of devotion and let thy idea be mingled with that of my
Creator and Preserver. Be my guide, my genius and my spouse