e, any
reproach to make her, while with me. Where there is blame, it
belongs to myself, and, if I cannot redeem, I must bear it.

"Her nearest relatives are a * * * *--my circumstances have been
and are in a state of great confusion--my health has been a _good_
deal disordered, and my mind ill at ease for a considerable period.
Such are the causes (I do not name them as excuses) which have
frequently driven me into excess, and disqualified my temper for
comfort. Something also may be attributed to the strange and
desultory habits which, becoming my own master at an early age, and
scrambling about, over and through the world, may have induced. I
still, however, think that, if I had had a fair chance, by being
placed in even a tolerable situation, I might have gone on fairly.
But that seems hopeless,--and there is nothing more to be said. At
present--except my health, which is better (it is odd, but
agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and
sets me up for the time)--I have to battle with all kinds of
unpleasantnesses, including private and pecuniary difficulties, &c.
&c.

"I believe I may have said this before to you, but I risk repeating
it. It is nothing to bear the _privations_ of adversity, or, more
properly, ill fortune; but my pride recoils from its _indignities_.
However, I have no quarrel with that same pride, which will, I
think, buckler me through every thing. If my heart could have been
broken, it would have been so years ago, and by events more
afflicting than these.

"I agree with you (to turn from this topic to our shop) that I
have written too much. The last things were, however, published
very reluctantly by me, and for reasons I will explain when we
meet. I know not why I have dwelt so much on the same scenes,
except that I find them fading, or _confusing_ (if such a word may
be) in my memory, in the midst of present turbulence and pressure,
and I felt anxious to stamp before the die was worn out. I now
break it. With those countries, and events connected with them, all
my really poetical feelings begin and end. Were I to try, I could
make nothing of any other subject, and that I have apparently
exhausted. 'Wo to him,' says Voltaire, 'who says all he could say
on any subject.' There are some on w