The day after I wrote you my last Letter, which was on the 28th: I received your Letter of the 17th:—1 It has given me as much pain as you expected, and more than I hope you intended.

It has never been my intention to speak in an “authoritative,” a “commanding,” an “unkind” a “harsh” or a “peremptory” stile to you, and it distresses me to find that you think my letter of Decr: 20. deserving of all those epithets.— I did indeed mean to speak decisively, and I thought the occasion required it.

You call for an explanation what I mean by soliciting so often as I have done, your confidence, and by the intimations that I fear you have sometimes allowed a suspicion and distrust of me to enter your mind; I have written the explanation which you demand— I have recapitulated [the] circumstances upon which I have been unable to 531 shun this conclusion, and I have burnt it, because [it] would only give you pain.— Do not, my ever dear friend, insist upon the detail.—Simply recollect that you once professed to me a positive resolution, expressly founded upon the principle of guarding against perfidy.— A resolution founded solely upon Suspicion and Distrust.— Let me again entreat you to remove the principle and the sentiment from your heart; but do not require the proofs which I can produce that they are there.— The narration would be as unpleasant for me to make, as for you to read.

Even in this last Letter, my Louisa, you tell me that I appear to have indulged unnecessary apprehensions, with regard to your proposal to come here; you intimate that your hopes were not such as my fears had magnified, and that your only wish was to acquire by seeing me a few days fortitude and resignation to endure our lengthened separation.— Yet your father has written me that it was more than probable that he should see me here before he embarks for America, and as plainly hinted to me, that it was with the view, which I had inferred from your former Letter.

It is because I respect as much as I love you, that this expedient did not please me; it is because, I knew it would only accumulate disappointment, that I wished to dissuade you from it: and because you had mentioned it as a resolution of your own, that I thought it necessary to answer with unequivocal decision.

At the same time I was writing to you in the most intimate and exclusive confidence: it was between you and me and Heaven alone, that I thought I could freely utter feelings, which I could not without dissimulation conceal, and which I was equally unable to discard.— I believed Louisa, for I will not disguise my belief, that your idea of coming here was neither a new idea, nor one that had originally sprung up in your own mind.— I believed it connected with that principle of distrust which I have already noticed to you, and therefore I felt a necessity of discovering my sentiments upon it.

You observe that you have cautiously avoided repeating the hint; but my answer which has so much offended you was written at the first moment when I received it, and before a repetition could have been possible; and your father has repeated it, but evidently upon the idea which you still in a manner disclaim.— I have therefore most reluctantly been reduced to the necessity of an explanation to him as clear as that I had made to you.— I hope it will not be so displeasing.

Let not my lovely friend imagine that one sentiment of tenderness 532 in my Heart, for her, was at any moment weakened even when I expressed myself in the most unwelcome manner.— Far be it from me, to pretend that every thing I said was measured upon the accurate rules of courtly politeness. Neither Nature, Education nor Art have formed me for it.— It was my desire only to express my own determination, so as that no doubt or scruple about it should remain. If any thing of all the other qualities which you think you found in my Letter, stole imperceptibly into it, I do most cordially apologize to you for it

But let me also add that the assurance of your own Letter that you meant it as an assertion of Spirit, and that your heart revolted at the necessity which you thought there was of wounding me, persuades me to suppress sensations which otherwise would most certainly break from my strongest resolution to constrain them.— Spirit in a proper degree I do not disapprove, even when it bids defiance to myself; but the tenderness of affection which feels the wounds itself has inflicted; this, My Louisa has a much more powerful command over my heart and temper than all the Spirit upon Earth.

I therefore readily forbear all further comment upon your Letter, and most devoutly wish that this may remove the uneasiness which you received from mine.— As I do most heartily and sincerely love you, and believe that my affection is as freely returned, I hope never to be an object of future distrust to your mind.— Why I have used the words you cannot after this be at a loss to know, and I hope you will not think, any more detailed explanation necessary.

How long the probable continuance of our separation may be, I would most cheerfully say, were it within my own knowledge or dependent upon my own power. That it shall be as short as my honour and my duty to my Country, to you and to myself will permit, I have already more than once declared: a more limited engagement it is not in my power to make, because it may be out of my power to perform.

I would fain my lovely friend now pass to the more pleasant subjects of correspondence which your previous letters would furnish me; would fain endeavour to write you something over which your eyes might pass with pleasure; something that might indicate at once an heart at ease, and a desire of contributing to give you delight.— But the materials will not mix.— My heart is not at ease, and its endeavours to gratify you would aukwardly fail of success.— I will hope that my next Letter may discover only the dictates of my constant inclinations. That it may contain nothing but what shall be 533 soothing and agreeable. That it may be the pure and unmingled effusion of an Heart devoted entirely to you, and the warmest wish of which is to be in perpetual unison with yours.

I thank you for your congratulations upon the supposed Event of the American Election, though it is probable the information upon which you offer them was inaccurate. The decision is still and must be for some time to come uncertain.— If the choice has fallen where you suppose, it will afford me little else than extreme anxiety. Your observation upon this point is very just, and discovers a reflecting mind.— I have long deprecated the occurrence, which the course of public affairs has at last made unavoidable, and at this moment, all the wishes of my filial affections would tend towards a result different from that which you have announced.— The honour of the place is a mere bubble; the Station is exposed in proportion to its elevation; the period is uncommonly critical.— There is nothing to counterbalance the cares, the perplexities, the dangers of that eminence but a calm and intrepid public Spirit, and an overruling sense of duty.— Join in prayers to Heaven with me, my charming friend, that the issue may be propitious to the welfare of my Country

Remember me with respect and affection to your Mamma and Sisters, and, may you receive with sentiments of unabated tenderness the invariable assurance of mine.

Yes, my beloved friend, my spirit is roused, and I am determined to bear with fortitude what it is vain to lament— E’re this, you will have recieved my letter in answer to yours of December the 20, in which I have explained my sentiments as clearly as possible, it probably has displeased you, but remember my situation admits not of hesitation, or affectation, and though while I wrote it I was conscious it would distress you, perhaps offend you, I felt it absolutely necessary to convince you that however weak my conduct may have appeared, it will bear the strictest investigation—

I regret most sincerely ever having expressed a wish to meet you 534 in Holland, since it appears to have given you so much uneasiness, but indeed my friend you are causelessly alarmed, I really never have mentioned it to my father which you will know by my letter of the 17, and be satisfied that should he again offer to take me, I would immediately refuse believe me I should be sorry to put it in your power, or in that of the world, to say I wished to force myself upon any man or into any family— You tell me that our visit would neither have been consistent with your delicacy or my dignity, I rather think you ought to have reversed it, and said, it would have been inconsistent with your dignity, and my delicacy, whatever appearance my conduct may have to you I know not, but I am perfectly satisfied with its appearance to the world— I really am fearful that there has been a great want of dignity on my part, or I should not have had the mortification of recieving two such letters as you have lately favored me with, which suffer me to say are as unaccountable as undeserved, you seem to me to have very little knowledge of my disposition, or you would easily have seen that such letters would not pass unnoticed—

You appear to regret what has passed in respect to my attending you to Lisbon, if such is the case you have certainly taken an improper method of shewing this regret, if it is not I beg your pardon for having even thought it— You recommend Madame de Staels Book to me, I intend to read it though I can with pleasure inform you, that you have been a more able instructor in philosophy, than she possibly can be— I have acquired a great deal lately, and I think after the perusal of her book, I shall become adequate to every trial—1

Yet much as I avow myself offended and hurt at your late conduct, I would not relinquish the smallest particle of my affection if I could—

I confess I am almost astonished myself at the weakness I have betrayed, it now strikes me in a most glaring light, and I can scarcely believe it possible that I could have acted in so ridiculous a manner— I own I feel myself humbled when I reflect, that I have myself put it in your power to write me in this stile, but alas it too often happens, that the best motives may be perverted and often made to appear the worst—

My letter in answer to yours, will shew that I have ceased to repine, and that I am prepared for our departure for America, therefore you need be under no apprehension, of my abandoning myself to childish weakness, or idle lamentation—

You mention the pain it gives you to write me in this stile, if thus 535 painful to you judge what it must be to me, whose mind must be doubly wounded at the idea of having given rise to it—

Ah my beloved friend, this boasted philosophy that I have heard so much of is indeed a dreadful thing, I have too much reason to dislike it, as I see too plainly that it dictates every action, and guides your pen I hope in contradiction to your feelings— When you were here you have often said that you could see no fault in your Louisa, but alas how are you changed, you now charge her with impropriety of conduct, and there is even an indication of want of delicacy—

Let me entreat you to destroy, and if possible to erase from your memory that unfortunate letter, which has been productive of our mutual anxiety, and rest assured I will never again offend you with any thing of the sort— however long our seperation may be you will find that I am as capable of bearing it as yourself and I hope in time to convince you, that I possess both fortitude and dignity, sufficient at least to conceal any unbecoming emotions, if not entirely to conquer them—

True “we should indeed be unfit for the course of life in prospect before us, if we indulged ourselves in dreams of finding our way strewed with flowers, or its borders lined with down,”2 no, delusive as may have been my imagination, I have never dreamt of cloudless skies yet did I not expect that you would have been the person to have strewn my path with needless thorns

Adieu my beloved and most esteemed friend, may you enjoy every happiness, and may you never feel the anguish, your late severity has occasioned, your still tenderly attached and truely faithful,