
Frid. Morn. Mar. 6.
Let me overlook—let me erase, not only from the paper
but from memory, all, in this letter, that is mortifying &
distressful.
For all the pain that parts of it have given me
let me find compensation in the precious concession that
my devotion to you is not infatuation; that the
sacrifice it may hereafter demand from you will not
be a painful sacrifice. That my life & my peace of
mind is of some value in ‸ your
my eyes.
I cannot comment on the conclusion of this pencilling.
My heart is too sore from such reiterated strokes. I
cannot be distinct enough to be understood
O! May you never be cruel & unjust to me, in the
thought of being kind & just to another! May your
compassion be enlightened, & may never the fate be yours
of merely making one miserable, while your only aim
was to make another happy.
O! may you never forget that to reject my love is not
to restore it to another; that to disbelieve my representations
in a case where I only can judge, cannot alter my opinion
that your belief of parity of minds, & capacity of mutu=
=al happiness, between me & one, of whom you know no=
=thing, cannot sway my belief; cannot destroy the evidence
to the contrary that I possess. O! may never forget that
the way to secure her peace is not to take away mine
that my
evil is not her good: that—But I said that I
would not comment.
My good Angel! Make all future comments on this
theme needless. Save my half distracted soul from any new
― [page break] ―
source of terror or perplexity. Be not thus cruel in your kind=
ness. Let my life & my peace be of the utmost value in
your eyes, or, by scorning & abhoring me utterly—kill me
quite.~
Sat. Mo:
You were unwell my love. You are so still, I fear: but I
must not call on you to see how you do. How painful
these restraints! Would to heaven you saw them, with my eyes, or I with your
No soul living has my solicitude: my tenderness for you.
To soothe you disquiets; to beguile your pain are the offices
for which I was born. My peace; my life are wrapt up in
yours. No wonder, then, if I should be assiduous for your safety
for I shall only be soothing my own disquiets: beguiling my
own pain, in alleviating yours.
Be well; be happy; my beloved creature. Even at the cost
of my happiness, be you happy, but let not, I beseach you,
that be the price. Yet, if it be demanded, shall it not be paid? It sh[gap]
Shall I not enjoy the imaginary future? Shall I not dream
of sharing your cares, & tenderness. Of providing amusement for your
lonely; joy for your social hours, & partaking them with you?
O! If you could but think of an undivided destiny
as I think of it, the world would not contain an
happier or more grateful spirit.
But, alas! So blest a lot will never be drawn by poor me.
― [page break] ―
Yet what miracles will not time, will not unalterable &
ever growing love; a devotion & a tenderness that knows
not moderation or suspense, be able to effect?
Let me trust to it. Leave me, my good angel, in
quiet possession of my dream: Wilt thou?
“I will.”—
Ah No. That heart thrilling voice will never utter the
sweet sounds of unforced love; of unhesitating assent.
Yet what do I ask? Only thy lieve to dream of
thee, as of mine own Eliza.~
A short dream it may prove, tho it last as long
as my life; but let it last as long.

E. Linn.
Walnut Street.