"
I suppose you will tell me that the fate I accuse through the poet is
only the result of my own imprudence. Well, be it what it may,--either
the impulse of my own passions or some higher efficiency,--sure I am
that I pay dear for its operation.
I have heard it remarked that experience is the preceptor of fools, but
that the wise need not its instruction. I believe I must be content to
rank accordingly, and endeavor to reap advantage from its tuition.
Julia urges me to revisit the scenes of amusements and pleasure, in
which, she tells me, she is actuated by selfish motives. She wishes it
for her own sake. She likes neither to be secluded from them nor to go
alone. I am sometimes half inclined to seek in festive mirth a refuge
from thought and reflection. I would escape, if possible, from the idea
of Mr. Boyer. This I have never been able to accomplish since he dropped
a tear upon my hand and left me. I marked the spot with my eye, and
twenty times in a day do I view it, and fondly imagine it still there.
How could I give him pain! I hope his happy Maria never will. I hope she
will reward that merit which I have slighted. But I forbear. This theme
carries away my pen if I but touch upon it. And no wonder, for it is the
sole exercise of my thoughts. Yet I will endeavor to divert them. Send
me some new books; not such, however, as will require much attention.
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