know what was my greatest pain during the first part of my illness at your house.
I wish for death every day and night to deliver me from these pains, and then I wish death away, for death would destroy even those pains, which are better than nothing.
Land and sea, weakness and decline, are great separators, but Death is the great divorcer forever.
When the pang of this thought has passed through my mind, I may say the bitterness of death is passed.
I often wish for you, that you might flatter me with the best.
I think, without my mentioning it, for my sake, you would be a friend to Miss—when I am dead.
You think she has many faults, but for my sake think she has not one.
If there is anything you can do for her by word or deed I know you will do it. I am in a state at present in which woman, merely as woman, can have no more power over me than stocks and stones, and yet the difference of my sensations with respect to Miss—and my sister is amazing,— the one seems to absorb the other to a degree incredible.
I seldom think of my brother and sister in America; the thought of leaving Miss—is beyond everything horrible,— the sense of darkness coming over me,—I eternally see her figure eternally vanishing; some of the phrases she was in the habit of using during my last nursing at Wentworth Place ring in my ears.
Is there another life?
Shall I awake and find all this a dream?
There must be; we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.
To the same friend he writes again from Naples
, 1st November, 1820:—
The persuasion that I shall see her no more will kill me. My dear Brown, I should have had her when I was in health, and I should have remained well.
I can bear to die,— I cannot bear to leave her. O God! God! God!
Everything I have in my trunks that reminds