Part 2 (2/2)

Be that as it may, write to me, my best love, and bid me be patient--kindly--and the expressions of kindness will again beguile the time, as sweetly as they have done to-night.--Tell me also over and over again, that your happiness (and you deserve to be happy!) is closely connected with mine, and I will try to dissipate, as they rise, the fumes of former discontent, that have too often clouded the suns.h.i.+ne, which you have endeavoured to diffuse through my mind. G.o.d bless you! Take care of yourself, and remember with tenderness your affectionate

MARY.

I am going to rest very happy, and you have made me so.--This is the kindest good-night I can utter.

LETTER VI

_Friday Morning [Paris, Dec. 1793]._

I am glad to find that other people can be unreasonable, as well as myself--for be it known to thee, that I answered thy _first_ letter, the very night it reached me (Sunday), though thou couldst not receive it before Wednesday, because it was not sent off till the next day.--There is a full, true, and particular account.--

Yet I am not angry with thee, my love, for I think that it is a proof of stupidity, and likewise of a milk-and-water affection, which comes to the same thing, when the temper is governed by a square and compa.s.s.--There is nothing picturesque in this straight-lined equality, and the pa.s.sions always give grace to the actions.

Recollection now makes my heart bound to thee; but, it is not to thy money-getting face, though I cannot be seriously displeased with the exertion which increases my esteem, or rather is what I should have expected from thy character.--No; I have thy honest countenance before me--Pop--relaxed by tenderness; a little--little wounded by my whims; and thy eyes glistening with sympathy.--Thy lips then feel softer than soft--and I rest my cheek on thine, forgetting all the world.--I have not left the hue of love out of the picture--the rosy glow; and fancy has spread it over my own cheeks, I believe, for I feel them burning, whilst a delicious tear trembles in my eye, that would be all your own, if a grateful emotion directed to the Father of nature, who has made me thus alive to happiness, did not give more warmth to the sentiment it divides--I must pause a moment.

Need I tell you that I am tranquil after writing thus?--I do not know why, but I have more confidence in your affection, when absent, than present; nay, I think that you must love me, for, in the sincerity of my heart let me say it, I believe I deserve your tenderness, because I am true, and have a degree of sensibility that you can see and relish.

Yours sincerely, MARY.

LETTER VII.

_Sunday Morning [Paris, Dec. 29, 1793]._

You seem to have taken up your abode at Havre. Pray sir! when do you think of coming home? or, to write very considerately, when will business permit you? I shall expect (as the country people say in England) that you will make a _power_ of money to indemnify me for your absence.

Well! but, my love, to the old story--am I to see you this week, or this month?--I do not know what you are about--for, as you did not tell me, I would not ask Mr. ----, who is generally pretty communicative.

I long to see Mrs. ----; not to hear from you, so do not give yourself airs, but to get a letter from Mr. ----. And I am half angry with you for not informing me whether she had brought one with her or not.--On this score I will cork up some of the kind things that were ready to drop from my pen, which has never been dipt in gall when addressing you; or, will only suffer an exclamation--”The creature!” or a kind look to escape me, when I pa.s.s the slippers--which I could not remove from my _falle_ door, though they are not the handsomest of their kind.

_Be not too anxious to get money!--for nothing worth having is to be purchased._ G.o.d bless you.

Yours affectionately, MARY.

LETTER VIII

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