happy.--Every emotion is now sharpened by anguish.--My soul has been
shook, and my tone of feelings destroyed.--I have gone out--and sought
for dissipation, if not amusement, merely to fatigue still more, I find,
my irritable nerves----

My friend--my dear friend--examine yourself well--I am out of the
question; for, alas! I am nothing--and discover what you wish to do--what
will render you most comfortable--or, to be more explicit--whether you
desire to live with me, or part for ever? When you can once ascertain it,
tell me frankly, I conjure you!--for, believe me, I have very
involuntarily interrupted your peace.

I shall expect you to dinner on Monday, and will endeavour to assume a
cheerful face to greet you--at any rate I will avoid conversations,
which only tend to harrass your feelings, because I am most
affectionately yours,

* * * *

* * * * *

LETTER XLI.

Wednesday.

I INCLOSE you the letter, which you desired me to forward, and I am
tempted very laconically to wish you a good morning--not because I am
angry, or have nothing to say; but to keep down a wounded spirit.--I
shall make every effort to calm my mind--yet a strong conviction seems to
whirl round in the very centre of my brain, which, like the fiat of
fate, emphatically assures me, that grief has a firm hold of my heart.

God bless you!

Yours sincerely

* * * *

* * * * *

LETTER XLII.

--, Wednesday, Two o'Clock.

WE arrived here about an hour ago. I am extremely fatigued with the
child, who would not rest quiet with any body but me, during the
night--and now we are here in a comfortless, damp room, in a sort of a
tomb-like house. This however I shall quickly remedy, for, when I have
finished this letter, (which I must do immediately, because the post goes
out early), I shall sally forth, and enquire about a vessel and an inn.

I will not distress you by talking of the depression of my spirits, or
the struggle I had to keep alive my dying heart.--It is even now too full
to allow me to write with composure.--*****,--dear *****, --am I always
to be tossed about thus?--shall I never find an asylum to rest
_contented_ in? How can you love to fly about continually--dropping down,
as it were, in a new world--cold and strange!--every other day? Why do
you not attach those tender emotions round the idea of home, which even
now dim my eyes?--This alone is affection--every thi