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LETTERS.
LETTER IX.
Saturday Night.
I am a mere animal, and instinctive emotions too often silence the suggestions of reason. Your note—I can scarcely tell why, hurt me—and produced a kind of winterly smile, which diffuses a beam of despondent tranquillity over the features. I have been very ill—Heaven knows it was more than fancy—After some sleepless, wearisome nights, towards the morning I have grown delirious.—Last Thursday, in particular, I imagined ——— was thrown into great distress by his folly; and I, unable to assist him, was in an agony. My nerves were in such a
painful
