My fingers are for once thoroughly weary. I must lay down the pen. But
first; why don't I hear from you? Every day since Sunday, when you left
me, have I despatched an enormous packet, and have not received a sentence
in answer. 'Tis not well done, my friend, to forget and neglect me thus.
You gave me some reason, indeed, to expect no very sudden tidings from
you; but there is inexpiable treason in the silence of four long days. If
you do not offer substantial excuses for this delay, woe be to thee!

Take this letter, and expect not another syllable from my pen till I
hear from you.




Letter VII


_To Henry Golden_

Thursday Night.

What a little thing subverts my peace,--dissipates my resolutions! Am I
not an honest, foolish creature, Hal? I uncover this wayward heart to thy
view as promptly as if the disclosure had no tendency to impair thy esteem
and forfeit thy love; that is, to devote me to death,--to ruin me beyond
redemption.

And yet, if the unveiling of my follies should have this effect, I
think I should despise thee for stupidity and hate thee for ingratitude;