― [page break] ―

Thursd: Aft. Mar. 27~

What a peevish, discontented wretch was I in my last
to thee, my friend. The demon of impatience had got hold of
me. Not to be amply, doubly compensated for an disqui
=ets, by that bewitching confession! Will my beloved Crea=
=ture pardon me? I cannot be at ease till you forgive me.

How oughtest thou to congratulate thyself on such a
friend and sister as is thy Susan! How ought I to re=
=joice for thy sake!

Whenever Anxiety hovers over you, one thought that
such a friend & sister is yours, should put the pesterer
to flight. That her arms are ready to receive you when
you return home, shall somewhat console me for your
absence.

You will not forget me, will you? You will appropriate
some few minutes of each passing day to telling me how
you fare. You will lay aside coldness & punctilio. May I
not demand this of you? Have we not exchanged hearts?

Me, you shall hear from, oftener, I fear, than you
wish. All my feelings & adventures shall be put down, daily,
for you. From your epistles, I will anticipate nothing
but incitements to fortitude, & ever flowing consolation.
Mine shall only supply you with new proofs, that, if
tenderness & constancy can create for me any merit in
my your eyes, I am not unworthy of you.

Did I tell you that Eliza was all that the fondest
heart could wish? I believe I did; but ‘twas not true.
No: You are very different from the image which my dreams
delight to pourtray. But how does Fancy’s picture differ
from truth’s. You are as wise, as good, as beautiful as
I wish; but then there is one defect. You are not so—
what shall I call it? I know the only tru word, but
I am half affraid of using it; but I will; —You are


― [page break] ―

not so fond as I wish—as you ought to be. Yes: As you
ought to be, Eliza. Don’t you admire my audacity?

How petrifying; how freezing is indifference; or any of its
tokens. At certain times, my heart has said— “The creature
before me; do I not love her? Why not obey this impulse &
fold her in my arms.—” Yet such boldness is impossible.
True love is, I suppose, always reverent & diffident, but
I am convinced that indignation & repulse from you in such
a case, would strike me to the heart. The terror of that re=
=strains me.

I promise you, I observe no such unlover=like restraints
in my imaginary interviews with you. I put strange things
into your mouth, my love. I am half=inclined to repeat one
of our diallogues. ‘Twould compare very oddly with our
real ones. I forbear, not because I make you act or say, any
thing unworthy of the purest rectitude & delicacy: that’s a
thing impossible. My passion for you may exalt, but it
never will degrade you—I forbear, because—I don’t know
why I forbear telling you what you whisper on these occasi=
=ons; but I’ll tell you what you do not say.

You never talk about promises & fetters: You never dash
my spirits by reminding me that your heart may be won from
me by some more fortunate man: that you shall hold yourself
always free to chuse another, & will think yourself acting
with perfect honour & integrity in changing your mind.
You are never solicitous, on those ideal occasions, to remind
me that I possess the same privilege, or discuss the theme
in such a way as to make me doubt whether you would
not derive more satisfaction from my exerting, than from my
neglecting it. What unaccountable omissions to make my
Eliza guilty of! To busy her in nothing but confessions
of her reliance upon me for happiness, & charming pictures

― [page break] ― of those plans, employments & amusements which we
shall hereafter adopt & carry on together.

Diversities between hearts are strange; or rather I suppose
=‘tis a sexual distinction; a feminine property; to be addict=
ed to misgivings; reluctances; forebodings;

To Yield by halves, &, not unsought, be won.