and the sensibility of
an expanded heart can give.--God bless you! Adieu.

* * * * *

LETTER LVII.

July 7.

I COULD not help feeling extremely mortified last post, at not receiving
a letter from you. My being at ------was but a chance, and you might have
hazarded it; and would a year ago.

I shall not however complain--There are misfortunes so great, as to
silence the usual expressions of sorrow--Believe me, there is such a
thing as a broken heart! There are characters whose very energy preys
upon them; and who, ever inclined to cherish by reflection some passion,
cannot rest satisfied with the common comforts of life. I have
endeavoured to fly from myself, and launched into all the dissipation
possible here, only to feel keener anguish, when alone with my child.

Still, could any thing please me--had not disappointment cut me off from
life, this romantic country, these fine evenings, would interest me.--My
God! can any thing? and am I ever to feel alive only to painful
sensations?--But it cannot--it shall not last long.

The post is again arrived; I have sent to seek for letters, only to be
wounded to the soul by a negative.--My brain seems on fire, I must go
into the air.

* * * *

* * * * *

LETTER LVIII.

July 14.

I AM now on my journey to ------. I felt more at leaving my child, than I
thought I should--and, whilst at night I imagined every instant that I
heard the half-formed sounds of her voice,--I asked myself how I could
think of parting with her for ever, of leaving her thus helpless?

Poor lamb! It may run very well in a tale, that "God will temper the
winds to the shorn lamb!" but how can I expect that she will be shielded,
when my naked bosom has had to brave continually the pitiless storm?
Yes; I could add, with poor Lear--What is the war of elements to the
pangs of disappointed affection, and the horror arising from a discovery
of a breach of confidence, that snaps every social tie!

All is not right somewhere!--When you first knew me, I was not thus lost.
I could still confide--for I opened my heart to you--of this only comfort
you have deprived me, whilst my happiness, you tell me, was your first
object. Strange want of judgment!

I will not complain; but, from the soundness of your understanding, I am
convinced, if you give yourself leave to reflect, you will also feel,
that your conduct to me, so far from being generou