― [page break] ―Sat. Feby. 28~
So, it seems, my note placed things on their right footing
‘Twas just as it ought to be. To die & be ho‸noured
with thy tears—is just the suitable & becoming
destiny, which my good angel would assign me
Upon my word! I am much obliged to thy
benevolence!
I have really no small vengeance rankling just
[gap]ow in my heart, but, alas, I am powerless. I have
no such hold on thy feelings, as to enable me to wreak
my vengeance on thee. Thou art such a sovereign &
independant creature; who may make others suffer at
thy pleasure, but can not be made to suffer in thy turn!
O! what a beauteous sun; what a bland air is this!
Yet I cannot call my beloved to the fields. Her company
must be given to another; be denied to me. Such is her
decree. Well! I must put with it, I suppose. Self=denial
is a wholesome thing.
Know’st thou, my Eliza, why I cannot be sorry, just now
My soul fondly hovers over thy image. It is arrayed in affa
=bility & smiles; & I am not forgotten.
What selfish creatures, are we Eliza! Yet I glory in
my selfishness. To be happy, because an inestimable heart does
not disown me, is surely no dishonour to me.
“I must not see her”, said I, just now. “Well.” I'll take
up the pen, at least; & write a few words; &, thus, unless
she interdicts me, will I always do, when I am desirous
of her company, & must not seek it
‘Tis a kind of Conversation, is it not—My love?
Don’t be angry with so bold a Phraze. Remember, I
I do not utter it. Scores of times has it risen half=way to
― [page break] ―
my lips, & been forcibly kept back: And now, the pen does not
speak it out: only whispered it: So don't be angry.
― [page break] ―Eliza Linn~