Chapter 88

Saturday Night.

I AM a mere animal, and instinctive emotions too often silence the suggestions of reason. Your note--I can scarcely tell why, hurt me--and produced a kind of winterly smile, which diffuses a beam of despondent tranquillity over the features. I have been very ill--Heaven knows it was more than fancy--After some sleepless, wearisome nights, towards the morning I have grown delirious.--Last Thursday, in particular, I imagined ------ was thrown into great distress by his folly; and I, unable to assist him, was in an agony. My nerves were in such a painful state of irritation--I suffered more than I can express--Society was necessary--and might have diverted me till I gained more strength; but I blushed when I recollected how often I had teazed you with childish complaints, and the reveries of a disordered imagination. I even _imagined_ that I intruded on you, because you never called on me--though you perceived that I was not well.--I have nourished a sickly kind of delicacy, which gives me many unnecessary pangs.--I acknowledge that life is but a jest--and often a frightful dream--yet catch myself every day searching for something serious--and feel real misery from the disappointment. I am a strange compound of weakness and resolution! However, if I must suffer, I will endeavour to suffer in silence. There is certainly a great defect in my mind--my wayward heart creates its own misery--Why I am made thus I cannot tell; and, till I can form some idea of the whole of my existence, I must be content to weep and dance like a child--long for a toy, and be tired of it as soon as I get it.

We must each of us wear a fool's cap; but mine, alas! has lost its bells, and is grown so heavy, I find it intolerably troublesome.----Good-night! I have been pursuing a number of strange thoughts since I began to write, and have actually both wept and laughed immoderately--Surely I am a fool--

MARY W.

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