overflowing heart must have relief, and I shall find a sort of comfort in
chiding you. Let me chide you, then, for coldness, for insensibility: but
no; I will not. Let me enjoy the rewards of self-denial and forbearance,
and seal up my accusing lips. Let me forget the coldness of your last
salute, your ill-concealed effort to disengage yourself from my foolishly-
fond arms. You have got at your journey's end, I hope. Farewell.

J. TALBOT.




Letter II


_To Henry Colden_

Tuesday Morning, October 4.

I must write to you, you said, frequently and copiously: you did not
mean, I suppose, that I should always be scribbling, but I cannot help it.
I can do nothing but converse with you. When present, my prate is
incessant; when absent, I can prate to you with as little intermission;
for the pen, used so carelessly and thoughtlessly as I use it, does
_but_ prate.

Besides, I have not forgotten my promise. 'Tis true the story you
wished me to give you is more easily communicated by the pen than by the
lips. I admit your claim to be acquainted with all the incidents of my
life, be they momentous or trivial. I have often told you that the