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LETTERS.
life. I have endeavoured to fly from myself, and launched into all the dissipation possible here, only to feel keener anguish, when alone with my child.
Still, could any thing please me—had not disappointment cut me off from life, this romantic country, these fine evenings, would interest me.—My God! can any thing? and am I ever to feel alive only to painful sensations?—But it cannot—it shall not last long.
The post is again arrived; I have sent to seek for letters, only to be wounded to the soul by a negative.—My brain seems on fire, I must go into the air.
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LETTER
