ou have made me as happy; and all
I wish you is, when you grow up, that you may find some one to love you
as well as I do your sister, and that you may love better than she does
me!" I continued in this state of delirium or dotage all that day and
the next, talked incessantly, laughed at every thing, and was so
extravagant, nobody could tell what was the matter with me. I murmured
her name; I blest her; I folded her to my heart in delicious fondness; I
called her by my own name; I worshipped her: I was mad for her. I told
P---- I should laugh in her face, if ever she pretended not to like me
again. Her mother came in and said, she hoped I should excuse Sarah's
coming up. "Oh, Ma'am," I said, "I have no wish to see her; I feel her
at my heart; she does not hate me after all, and I wish for nothing.
Let her come when she will, she is to me welcomer than light, than life;
but let it be in her own sweet time, and at her own dear pleasure."
Betsey also told me she was "so glad to get the books back." I,
however, sobered and wavered (by degrees) from seeing nothing of her,
day after day; and in less than a week I was devoted to the Infernal
Gods. I could hold out no longer than the Monday evening following. I
sent a message to her; she returned an ambiguous answer; but she came
up. Pity me, my friend, for the shame of this recital. Pity me for the
pain of having ever had to make it! If the spirits of mortal creatures,
purified by faith and hope, can (according to the highest assurances)
ever, during thousands of years of smooth-rolling eternity and balmy,
sainted repose, forget the pain, the toil, the anguish, the
helplessness, and the despair they have suffered here, in this frail
being, then may I forget that withering hour, and her, that fair, pale
form that entered, my inhuman betrayer, and my only earthly love! She
said, "Did you wish to speak to me, Sir?" I said, "Yes, may I not speak
to you? I wanted to see you and be friends." I rose up, offered her an
arm-chair which stood facing, bowed on it, and knelt to her adoring.
She said (going) "If that's all, I have nothing to say." I replied,
"Why do you treat me thus? What have I done to become thus hateful to
you?" ANSWER, "I always told you I had no affection for you." You
may suppose this was a blow, after the imaginary honey-moon in which I
had passed the preceding week. I was stunned by it; my heart sunk
within me. I contrived to say, "Nay, my dear