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So; you wish me to your task setter. Charming pupil,
whom my whole life shall be devoted to instruct in
that wisdom that makes happy. Of what value is any
other wisdom. The art of extracting from every every
event, causes of gratitude & joy; of lifting our self above
the prejudices & passions of others; of preserving our
contentment unimpaired by their misconduct, while their
virtue & prosperity increase our happiness, is the only
valuable art. In this do I desire to be, by turns, thy
teacher & thy pupil.

But how shall I proceed with my love. What is her
peculiar infirmity. What is it most apt to ruffle her
tranquility; to call forth her tears; to subdue her courage
Knowing this, I may be able to apply the remedy, perhaps.

Lately she has been despondent. Her eyes have overflowed
for an hour together. And for what. Because, she is igno=
rant. In her own eyes, destitute of worth. Comparatively
so. She flatters me by allowing me to think the source
of her humiliation to be comparison with me, who love
her.

Would to Heaven I had been near thee, my Eliza,
when such tears flowed, I would have kissed them away
They should not have been proof against those proofs
of my tender reverence for you, which is as much the dictate
of my reason, as of my heart.

How, at this distance, & thro’ this cold medium, shall
I contend with your despondency; inspire you with self=res=
=pect, & convince you that, among all the women that I know,
your purity, your good sense, your taste, your sensibility,
your liberal curiosity, your knowledge, your dignity &
gracefulness of carriage, are pre eminent.

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How easy would it be to particularize: to supply examples.
They hourly occur in my intercourse with you. Never had I
cause to blush for you. A thousand times have I exulted in
the gracefulness of your deportment; in the justness of your
taste; in the unaffected delicacy of your feelings

Often have you disconcerted; abashed; & distressed me,
but the cause of this was honourable to your merits, since
it occurred only when declarations were made from which
I inferred your invincible indifference to me or prepossession
against me.

My mortifications have likewise been [gap] when my sincerity
has been questioned; when my avowals have been imputed to
pity, not to love. These, indeed, are selfish causes of disquiet,
but do you not see that they arise from my reverence from you;
that they distress me because they imply that I have less
absolute devotion to you, & a lower opinion of your merits,
than you deserve, or than I possess.

You lay stress on fortune; on beauty. You deem yourself
wanting in these requisites—You can’t imagine my feelings
when you talk thus. I, whose heart throbs at the sight of
you, who see nothing but heaven in that cheek & that Eye
which you hold in such unmerited contempt; who never
passed more delightful hours than in silently surveying
them. I, whom the sound of your voice bewitches, whom the
touch of your hand thrills to the soul; what must I feel,
when you descant thus on your personal imperfections.

It never entered my head that my person would ever
prove a bar to my acceptance with you. Character, I thought,
was every thing with a rational female, & I knew that an
impassioned heart doats even upon imperfections, merely personal,
or rather converts them into genuine beauties.

When you have praised my features I have delightingly
accepted the praise. Why? Not because I considered your opinion
in this respect as a test of the general opinion, but as flowing


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from the influence of that power, which changes the
rudest wild into an Eden, & touches the basest pebble
into gold.

What is my ambition? Only this, to be thought beautiful
to be prized above all the human race; by one inestimable
creature; by one who has already become to me the most
beautiful; the most precious of her sex.

To praise the object of my love for complexion; for symmetry
would surely insult her; since her reason would hence
infer that I loved her merely on account of such exter=
nal, dubious, transitory qualities. Did you possess them,
I should endeavour to forget them in the contemplation of
the softness of your temper, the delicacy of your taste,
the vivacity of your feelings; the native, unbought, unstudi
=ed rectitude of your sentiments; for these are the true
sources of that divine enthusiasm which I call love,
& these are the qualities, in my Eliza, which bewitch me.

Yet how greatly do you err, when you think yourself
eminently deficient in mere physicals. Among mere physicals
the chief requisites, in the common estimates of handsomeness,
are shape & stature. These are not (the last of them is)
absolutely perfect in you. In whom are they so? But to judge
of them comparitively, where, in the females of my acquaintance
can I hope to find more symmetry, more elegance in these particu
lars, than you possess.

I remember, shortly after our acquaintance began, Miss T___
after meeting you at Coldens, observed to me— “Betsy Linn
looked very pretty, to night. Her face, as I saw it, was very pretty.”

I commented on her words, by saying that your shape
was lovely & attractive at all times, but that the most
bewitching circumstance about “The Linns” was their voice

On a subsequent occasion she praised Susan very


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much, & added—take care of your heart, M^r B—”

You might better warn me against the elder than the
younger. Voice, the most love inspiring of all qualities, merely
sensible, they both have, but the elder has the shape & the
grace, which the other wants.

And this, my dear, creature, is my first lesson: —Respect
yourself. The second is, —Love me.

What is my third. Perhaps it ought to have gone first,
but let it come now—Rely, in all things, on the wisdom &
goodness of that providence, to whom you ascribe universal
presence & unlimited power. Trusting to him, for giving,
sooner or later, here or elsewhere, repose to all your earthly
cares; fruition to all your just hopes.

And what lesson do I give for present use. ‘Tis this—

When I next see you, be gentle, affable, kind, as you so
well know how to be.

— • —

I have been endeavouring to find out the anniversary
of my first interview with you. It was some day, I think, in
this month; was it not? I mean to keep it as a festival.