period of barbarity and misery, I ought not to
complain of having my share. I wish one moment that I had never heard of
the cruelties that have been practised here, and the next envy the
mothers who have been killed with their children. Surely I had suffered
enough in life, not to be cursed with a fondness, that burns up the vital
stream I am imparting. You will think me mad: I would I were so, that I
could forget my misery--so that my head or heart would be still.----

* * * * *

LETTER XXXVII.

Feb. 19.

WHEN I first received your letter, putting off your return to an
indefinite time, I felt so hurt, that I know not what I wrote. I am now
calmer, though it was not the kind of wound over which time has the
quickest effect; on the contrary, the more I think, the sadder I grow.
Society fatigues me inexpressibly--So much so, that finding fault with
every one, I have only reason enough, to discover that the fault is in
myself. My child alone interests me, and, but for her, I should not take
any pains to recover my health.

As it is, I shall wean her, and try if by that step (to which I feel a
repugnance, for it is my only solace) I can get rid of my cough.
Physicians talk much of the danger attending any complaint on the lungs,
after a woman has suckled for some months. They lay a stress also on the
necessity of keeping the mind tranquil--and, my God! how has mine been
harrassed! But whilst the caprices of other women are gratified, "the
wind of heaven not suffered to visit them too rudely," I have not found
a guardian angel, in heaven or on earth, to ward off sorrow or care from
my bosom.

What sacrifices have you not made for a woman you did not respect!--But I
will not go over this ground--I want to tell you that I do not understand
you. You say that you have not given up all thoughts of returning
here--and I know that it will be necessary--nay, is. I cannot explain
myself; but if you have not lost your memory, you will easily divine my
meaning. What! is our life then only to be made up of separations? and am
I only to return to a country, that has not merely lost all charms for
me, but for which I feel a repugnance that almost amounts to horror, only
to be left there a prey to it!

Why is it so necessary that I should return?--brought up here, my girl
would be freer. Indeed, expecting you to join us, I had formed some plans
of usefulness that have now vanished with my hopes of ha