Connected with the image of my dead friend was that of his sister. The
discourse that took place at our last interview; the scheme of
transcribing, for thy use, all the letters which, during his short but
busy life, I received from him; the nature of this correspondence, and
the opportunity which this employment would afford me of contemplating
these ample and precious monuments of the intellectual existence and
moral pre-eminence of my friend, occurred to my thoughts.

The resolution to prosecute the task was revived. The obligation of
benevolence, with regard to Clithero, was not discharged. This, neither
duty nor curiosity would permit to be overlooked or delayed; but why
should my whole attention and activity be devoted to this man? The hours
which were spent at home and in my chamber could not be more usefully
employed than in making my intended copy.

In a few hours after sunrise I purposed to resume my way to the
mountain. Could this interval be appropriated to a better purpose than
in counting over my friend's letters, setting them apart from my own,
and preparing them for that transcription from which I expected so high
and yet so mournful a gratification?

This purpose, by no violent union, was blended with the recollection of
my dream. This recollection infused some degree of wavering and
dejection into my mind. In transcribing these letters I should violate
pathetic and solemn injunctions frequently repeated by the writer. Was
there some connection between this purpose and the incidents of my
vision? Was the latter sent to enforce the interdictions which had been
formerly imposed?

Thou art not fully acquainted with the intellectual history of thy