The ladies' garland. [volume] (Harpers-Ferry, Va. [W. Va.]) 1824-1828, 1826-01-21

cuNcSS Wnefo lOunu peace ucStIOylnS con
tent which coudno more share in than restore
that your mildness would be terrified by my
moody, rugged temper; your very beauty blast
ed by my alteration; that my love, like the hot
sand-wind of the desert, would have withered,
scorched, the lovely f1ourishng flower that it
breathed upon; that if the sordid regard for
self which men dignity with the name Of g no.
norable principle" had saved your little fortune
from rapacity and dissipation, still your peace
of mind, your calm content, your happiness and
hopes, would have been ruined, wasted, wrecked
forever: if had not felt the kite was no fit COM
panion for the dove, the white doe for the wolf;
that the hyacinth must die which we plant on
the brow of the volcano and that the ruffian
billow, seeming to court the gay and gaudy yes
sell courts but to stifle her in his embrace had
| not felt all this, and tanned myself down to
know it, should have told you on the very last
evening when we met, two truths, which after
all, perhaps did but i'll conceal from you; that
| was a consort only for darkness and for dan
ger; beggar, helpless, hopeless, and but for
your love, almost careless but that whatever
might be, had still heart: and that as far as
life or soul man might venture, you held the
power to tempt, to command me to exerton,
and to reward it.
But if you escaped, in the moment of trial,
from that peculiar danger to which the fate that
made you a woman made you liable, upon the
remote peril, which forms no part of your con-
tract with fortune, [ cannot let you come to
harm. A moment of passion might have afforded
some excuse; while you were present to tempt
me, might have done wrong, and been for
given But must not take time to consider, and
then plumber you deliberately and in cold blood
| talk out of season, and even with freedom
which am scarcely warranted to use /; but trust
me, that freedom proceeds from no want of
respect no want of reverence, in my most reck-
less mood, towards you. A thousand pounds
gained by stroke at play, gained SO that nei-
ther thanked nor bowed to any human crea-
ture for it, could not have raised my spirits
as these crowquill lines of yours have done,
which life must have left me when leave
to remember and to acknowledge. | tell
you all tell it you to tediousness, because
/ know you will rejoice. / was melancholy,
sick of existence, dropping; the frmness that
had was but the obstinacy of necessity and de
SPAR was quitting the world on i'll terms,
that is. quitting the world in which had lived,
which is the real world to every man; and no
one, though went forever, seemed to regret or
notice my departure. But your letter, tell you,
Eliza, flatters me; gives me hope, nay, de-
sire, yet to live. One silken cord binds faster
than a hundred chains of iron. Tell men only
that they are worthy, and the very worst of them
will almost wish to be so. The absence of a
hundred who should now be near me the
avoidance of all who ought to offer me aid, even
although | would not receive it; the cool tr-
umph of those who hate me, more insulting be-
cause cold and silent; all this, which cannot
resent; this, which must not notice--which.