A constant succession of company, is all I have to offer in vindication of my appearant
inattention, to my Eliza. Not a moment have I been able to devote, to writing since
your absense till these few days past. I have sometime lamented, but solely upon self
interested motives, that it has not been in my power to write you. My fancy paints
your situation, as agreed. Mrs. Warren, as ever, instructive improveing and agreeable.
She has most certainly gained that point, that whatever she does or says, is universally
pleasing. I think I never saw the great, the amiable, and the agreeable so happyly
blended as in her character. A gentleman once said he had heard instruction given,
he had felt reproof, but he had ever received them in a disadvantageous light, till
he saw Mrs. W. She possessed the happy tallent of conveying instruction under the
pleasing mask of sentiment. Every sentance conveyed a reproof, without seeming pointed.
When he beheld Mrs. Warren, he saw virtue in its most amiable light. With her endearing
partner you are pleased. Mr. W. is sociable and agreeable, Harry
2 sprightly, and I need not say engageing. He has done all in his power to render you
happy, and has I dare say gained his intended purpose. When my imagination has placed
you thus, I felt conscious that it is not in my power to add in aney degree to the
happiness of my friend. Perhaps I might have wrote a sheet, but it would have shewed
you my ill forebodings. I could have repeated to
{ 32 } you, what you have known, that your friend is not happy, but it might have damped
the joy of a moment, and was better omited. If we do not receive pleasure from reflection,
from what cause shall it arise. Only to enjoy the present moment, scarce deserves
the name of pleasure. My reflections of this eve, have not given me one ideal pleasure.
I have recalled, this evening three years past. My pappa was with us, we were then
looking forward to a painfull moment that should seperate us, for a time, we knew
not how long. I am now looking forward, with wishes, delusive hopes, and fond expectations
that this night twelvemonths hence, the painfull ideas of seperation may not inhabit
my mind. But alas Eliza I cannot say what may be. Your friend may now enjoy the happiest
moments that are desinged her. Time can only determine, and confirm a painfull thought
that will sometimes intrude, and wound my peace of mind. Can I banish it—no—shall
I cherish it—every sentiment and affection forbids it. You may perhaps condemn me
for calling your attention from some more important pursuit, to a perusal of my gloomy
ideas. It is not I think quite like you. But I will quit the subject of self, and
ask your opinion of Julia, De Reubigre. What think you of the unfortinate Girl. She
claimed your compassion, I think I know. I do not like Montoubon, he appears to feel
a superiority of situation as a man, that does not render him pleasing. I loved him
for a moment—at one time.
3