LETTER XXXVIII

_[Havre] April 7 [1795]._

Here I am at Havre, on the wing towards you, and I write now, only to tell you, that you may expect me in the course of three or four days; for I shall not attempt to give vent to the different emotions which agitate my heart--You may term a feeling, which appears to me to be a degree of delicacy that naturally arises from sensibility, pride--Still I cannot indulge the very affectionate tenderness which glows in my bosom, without trembling, till I see, by your eyes, that it is mutual.

I sit, lost in thought, looking at the sea--and tears rush into my eyes, when I find that I am cherishing any fond expectations.--I have indeed been so unhappy this winter, I find it as difficult to acquire fresh hopes, as to regain tranquillity.--Enough of this--lie still, foolish heart!--But for the little girl, I could almost wish that it should cease to beat, to be no more alive to the anguish of disappointment.

Sweet little creature! I deprived myself of my only pleasure, when I weaned her, about ten days ago.--I am however glad I conquered my repugnance.--It was necessary it should be done soon, and I did not wish to embitter the renewal of your acquaintance with her, by putting it off till we met.--It was a painful exertion to me, and I thought it best to throw this inquietude with the rest, into the sack that I would fain throw over my shoulder.--I wished to endure it alone, in short--Yet, after sending her to sleep in the next room for three or four nights, you cannot think with what joy I took her back again to sleep in my bosom!

I suppose I shall find you, when I arrive, for I do not see any necessity for your coming to me.--Pray inform Mr. ----, that I have his little friend with me.--My wishing to oblige him, made me put myself to some inconvenience----and delay my departure; which was irksome to me, who have not quite as much philosophy, I would not for the world say indifference, as you. God bless you!

Yours truly MARY.