To Agnes McLehose (Clarinda)
[6th March 1788]
I own myself guilty, Clarinda; I should have wrote you last week:
but when you recollect, my dearest Madam, that yours of this
night’s Post is only the third I have got from you, and that this is the
fifth or sixth I have sent to you, you will not reproach me with a
good grace for unkindness—I have always some kind of idea, not to
sit down to write a letter except I have time and possession of my
faculties so as to do some justice to my letter; which at present is
rarely my situation—For instance, yesterday I dined at a friend’s at
some distance; the savage hospitality of this Country spent me the
most part of the night over the nauseous potion in the bowl; this day
—sick—head-ache—low-spirits—miserable—fasting, except for a
draught of water or small-beer now eight o’clock at night—only able
to crawl ten minutes’ walk into Mauchline, to wait the Post in the
pleasurable hope of hearing from the Mistress of my soul.—
But, truce with all this! When I sit down to write to you all is
harmony and peace.—A hundred times a day do I figure you, before
your taper, your book or work laid aside as I get within the room.—
flow happy have I been! and how little of that scantling portion of
time, called the life of man, is sacred to happiness; much less
transport!
I could moralize tonight, like a Death’s head.—
“0 what is life, that thoughtless wish of all! “
A drop of honey in a draught of gall”—’
Nothing astonishes me more, when a little sickness clogs the wheels
of life, than the thoughtless career we run, in the hour of health.—
“None saith, where is God, my Maker, that giveth songs in the night:
who teacheth us more knowledge than the beasts of the field, and
more understanding than the fowls of the air”—
Give me, my Maker, to remember thee! Give me to act up to. The
dignity of my nature! Give me to feel “another’s woe”; and continue
with me that dear-lov’d Friend that feels with mine!—
The dignified and dignifying consciousness of an honest man, and
the well-grounded trust in approving Heaven, are two most
substantial foundations of happiness.—[Four or five words missing]
the soul, and give [four or five words missing] his native worth.
[Four or five words missingl I shall set out soon [four or five words
missing] which are very [four or five words missing] me, on
mond[ayj [four or five words missing] Clarinda.—[Four or five
words missing] pleasure—I have just [had Bobbie inoculated] in
the small-pox, as they are in the neighborhood: he is as yet, doing
very well.—
I could not have wrote a page to any mortal, except yourself—I’ll write you by Sunday’s post.—
Adieu! Good-night!
Sylvander
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