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What would I not give that every evening for years to
come, were spent like the last. With some improvements
I mean. The open air, moist skies, & the frequent passen=
=ger, I have no particular attachment to.

Some still retired place, will better fit
where seated on a sofa, unmolested by impertinents, the
lips might freely utter & eyes communicate whatever
hearts, touched by divine sympathy, might dictate

What courage has last nights conversation inspired.
Tis well, my love, I have a stouter heart than thou. How
timorous, my friend. How shrinking from unmerited blame
How prone to exagerate obstacles. Few are in circumstances
more propitious than we, if we are not unjust to ourselves
As to me, much greater obstacles would not intimidate
me. Those which thy fancy has created, are sport to me.
My eloquence & energy in such a cause, would prove them
to be light as air.

I have often considered the terms of our intercourse.
I implicitly subscribe to them. Let us be brother & sister in
the world’s eye. When that eye is distant or closed, let
tenderness & love shake off their irksome fetters.

For an heart truly impassioned, thine is the most
fluctuating, fearful, self=doubting in the world. How much pain
have thy misgivings, thy discouragements given me. Yet it is
consolation to reflect that prize of so much value may well
compensate the sufferings endured in the pursuit.

How much pains hast thou taken to convince me that
a few months separation will probably occasion me to be for=
gotten & another preferred. But I hope, now that we fully
understand each other, all such drawbacks on my peace,
& my confidence in you, may disappear.

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Many things in the last nights interview, are remembered with
ineffable delight. How greedy am I of praise from such lips.
Cannot Eliza be prevailed upon in time to feel & to express
all that I feel & say.

Troublesome, saidst thou. If you knew what my reveries are
What words, I, in my dreams, put into your mouth, you would
never have harboured such a fear.

I dont know whether this strain will please you. I am
bewitched with the topic. I cannot change it. All foreign &
severe discussion seems impertinent. Why lovers are never
tired of writing & talking to each other, was a problem which
I remember you once started. It is no mystery to me. Why
they are easily tired of other people’s presence, & love to be
alone is as little mysterious.

That subjects of discourse should never be wanting: why That
the same topics should be ever new & ever pleasing I easily
comprehend. Do not you.

The rise and progress of their mutual feelings: the vicissitudes
of hope & fear, afford an inexaustable theme of narrative & comment
dear to the hearts to whom it relates, though tiresome or
fulsome to all others, perhaps.

Such pictures are views of human nature in one of its
most important forms. It is casting the light of experience
on the constitution of that noblest of sublunary creatures,
man. The passion of the sexes is the source of existance &
happiness, & the laws of this passion (to talk learnedly)
is the best part of that which is—the proper study of mankind.

But no matter as to causes. Without stopping to explain
why; from my inmost soul I agree with thy namesake Eliza
Hadwin, that I could talk most eloquently & listen forever, while
sitting beside my Bess, my arm around her & her face close to
mine, with no one to divert our attention from ourselves.

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How bleak, cold, louring is the air. Yet all within me is
serenely bright. My mind is chearful & my health perfect.

How, I wonder, is my gentle friend. But such a day as this
if I mistake not, she prefers to all others. It is favourable
to agreable contemplation, & secures her solitude at least.
The time must come when your solitude shall have no
duty but to lay up stores for conversation, & I shall thus
obtain a share of all your social, & all your lonely minutes

People differ from each other chiefly in their notions of
happiness. An agreement, in this respect, is the great source
of harmony between minds. Methinks, my friend, thou & I
are very much alike in this particular. On that account
I love thee. Our minds, in this most essential point, touch
each other.

What a scene could I now draw, in which the delights of
love, benevolence & reason are united. I am always dreaming
of it, but a single dream is a volume full. My pen can
not be just to its beauty & variety. My tongue I hope can
at these precious moments when I have none but my
Eliza by my side.

Strange, my friend, that thou art not as san=
=guine as I. My thoughts are innocent; are laudable;
I almost claim from Heaven the fulfilment of my hopes
They are so equitable; so generous. To misgive; to dis
=pond; to prognosticate ill seems to contain something
impious. There seems something like duty in promoting
my own happiness & thine by virtuous union. To dispai
to relinquish the hope & the endeavour, seems somewhat
like the guilt of suicide. Suicide is guilt, because
to live & to derive happiness from the legitimate sources
of happiness is a sacred obligation on every man

Should any man rise & exhort or command me


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to give up my love & my hope, I should deem of him as one
who exhorted me to commit a crime; Who urged me to Self=
=murder.

Thy heart, my love, seems differently moulded. How do you
shrink from censure or ridicule. Your soul is agonized by scorn.
That it is unjust or unmerited appears to supply you with
no courage.

I am not very sorry for this immoderate sensibility. I know
that the issue will be ultimately prosperous & that on me
will devolve the great privilege of making you happy. I
know that I shall be fully equal to the trust.

Some six years ago I wrote a poem. Perhaps for the
writers sake, of whose mind, at the time of composition, it is
a faithful picture, my dear girl will deign to read & to
keep it. I will have it with me when I see you next