March,I822.
--You will be glad to learn I have done my work--a volume in less than a month.This is one reason why I am better than when I came,and another is,I have had two letters from Sarah.I am pleased I have got through this job,as I was afraid I might lose reputation by it (which I can little afford to lose)--and besides,I am more anxious to do well now,as I wish you to hear me well spoken of.I walk out of an afternoon,and hear the birds sing as I told you,and think,if I had you hanging on my arm,and that for life,how happy I should be--happier than I ever hoped to be,or had any conception of till I knew you."But that can never be"--I hear you answer in a soft,low murmur.Well,let me dream of it sometimes--I am not happy too often,except when that favourite note,the harbinger of spring,recalling the hopes of my youth,whispers thy name and peace together in my ear.I was reading something about Mr.Macready to-day,and this put me in mind of that delicious night,when I went with your mother and you to see Romeo and Juliet.Can I forget it for a moment--your sweet modest looks,your infinite propriety of behaviour,all your sweet winning ways--your hesitating about taking my arm as we came out till your mother did--your laughing about nearly losing your cloak--your stepping into the coach without my being able to make the slightest discovery--and oh!my sitting down beside you there,you whom I had loved so long,so well,and your assuring me I had not lessened your pleasure at the play by being with you,and giving me your dear hand to press in mine!I thought I was in heaven--that slender exquisitely-turned form contained my all of heaven upon earth;and as I folded you--yes,you,my own best Sarah,to my bosom,there was,as you say,A TIE BETWEEN US--you did seem to me,for those few short moments,to be mine in all truth and honour and sacredness--Oh!that we could be always so--Do not mock me,for I am a very child in love.I ought to beg pardon for behaving so ill afterwards,but I hope THE LITTLE IMAGE made it up between us,&c.
[To this letter I have received no answer,not a line.The rolling years of eternity will never fill up that blank.Where shall I be?
What am I?Or where have I been?]
