burnt your last note, for two reasons:--firstly, it was written in a
style not very agreeable; and, secondly, I wish to take your word
without documents, which are the worldly resources of suspicious
people. I suppose that this note will reach you somewhere about Ada's
birthday--the 10th of December, I believe. She will then be six; so
that in about twelve more I shall have some chance of meeting her;
perhaps sooner, if I am obliged to go to England by business or
otherwise. Recollect, however, one thing, either in distance or
nearness;--every day which keeps us asunder should, after so long a
period, rather soften our mutual feelings, which must always have one
rallying-point as long as our child exists, which I presume we both
hope will be long after either of her parents. The time which has
elapsed since the separation has been considerably more than the whole
brief period of our union, and the not much longer one of our prior
acquaintance. We both made a bitter mistake; but now it is over, and
irrevocably so. For, at thirty-three on my part, and a few years less
on yours, though it is no very extended period of life, still it is
one when the habits and thought are generally so formed as to admit of
no modification; and as we could not agree when younger, we should
with difficulty do so now. I say all this, because I own to you, that,
notwithstanding everything, I considered our re-union as not
impossible for more than a year after the separation; but then I gave
up the hope entirely and for ever. But this very impossibility of
reunion seems to me at least a reason why, on all the few points of
discussion which can arise between us, we should preserve the
courtesies of life, and as much of its kindness as people who are
never to meet may preserve perhaps more easily than nearer
connexions. For my own part, I am violent, but not malignant; for only
fresh provocations can awaken my resentments. To you, who are colder
and more concentrated, I would just hint, that you may sometimes