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n by my death。 That recollection is the only thought that brings my wandering reason to an anchor； that stirs the smallest interest in me； or gives me fortitude to bear up against what I am doomed to feel for the ungrateful。 Otherwise； I am dead to every thing but the sense of what I have lost。 She was my lifeit is gone from me； and I am grown spectral！ If I find myself in a place I am acquainted with； it reminds me of her； of the way in which I thought of her；
〃and carved on every tree The soft； the fair； the inexpressive she！〃
If it is a place that is new to me； it is desolate； barren of all interest； for nothing touches me but what has a reference to her。 If the clock strikes； the sound jars me； a million of hours will not bring back peace to my breast。 The light startles me； the darkness terrifies me。 I seem falling into a pit； without a hand to help me。 She has deceived me； and the earth fails from under my feet； no object in nature is substantial； real； but false and hollow； like her faith on which I built my trust。 She came （I knew not how） and sat by my side and was folded in my arms； a vision of love and joy； as if she had dropped from the Heavens to bless me by some especial dispensation of a favouring Providence； and make me amends for all； and now without any fault of mine but too much fondness； she has vanished from me； and I am left to perish。 My heart is torn out of me； with every feeling for which I wished to live。 The whole is like a dream； an effect of enchantment； it torments me； and it drives me mad。 I lie down with it； I rise up with it； and see no chance of repose。 I grasp at a shadow； I try to undo the past； and weep with rage and pity over my own weakness and misery。 I spared her again and again （fool that I was） thinking what she allowed from me was love； friendship； sweetness； not wantonness。 How could I doubt it； looking in her face； and hearing her words； like sighs breathed from the gentlest of all bosoms？ I had hopes； I had prospects to come； the flattery of something like fame； a pleasure in writing； health even would have come back with her smileshe has blighted all； turned all to poison and childish tears。 Yet the barbed arrow is in my heartI can neither endure it； nor draw it out； for with it flows my life's…blood。 I had conversed too long with abstracted truth to trust myself with the immortal thoughts of love。 THAT S。 L。 MIGHT HAVE BEEN MINE； AND NOW NEVER CANthese are the two sole propositions that for ever stare me in the face； and look ghastly in at my poor brain。 I am in some sense proud that I can feel this dreadful passionit gives me a kind of rank in the kingdom of lovebut I could have wished it had been for an object that at least could have understood its value and pitied its excess。 You say her not coming to the door when you went is a proofyes； that her complement is at present full！ That is the reason she doesn't want me there； lest I should discover the new affairwretch that I am！ Another has possession of her； oh Hell！ I'm satisfied of it from her manner； which had a wanton insolence in it。 Well might I run wild when I received no letters from her。 I foresaw； I felt my fate。 The gates of Paradise were once open to me too； and I blushed to enter but with the golden keys of love！ I would die； but her lovermy love of herought not to die。 When I am dead； who will love her as I have done？ If she should be in misfortune； who will comfort her？ when she is old； who will look in her face； and bless her？ Would there be any harm in calling upon M； to know confidentially if he thinks it worth my while to make her an offer the instant it is in my power？ Let me have an answer； and save me； if possible； FOR her and FROM myself。
LETTER VIII
My dear Friend； Your letter raised me for a moment from the depths of despair； but not hearing from you yesterday or to…day （as I hoped） I have had a relapse。 You say I want to get rid of her。 I hope you are more right in your conjectures about her than in this about me。 Oh no！ believe it； I love her as I do my own soul； my very heart is wedded to her （be she what she may） and I would not hesitate a moment between her and 〃an angel from Heaven。〃 I grant all you say about my self…tormenting folly： but has it been without cause？ Has she not refused me again and again with a mixture of scorn and resentment； after going the utmost lengths with a man for whom she now disclaims all affection； and what security can I have for her reserve with others； who will not be restrained by feelings of delicacy towards her； and whom she has probably preferred to me for their want of it。 〃SHE CAN MAKE NO MORE CONFIDENCES〃these words ring for ever in my ears； and will be my death…watch。 They can have but one meaning； be sure of itshe always expressed herself with the exactest propriety。 That was one of the things for which I loved hershall I live to hate her for it？ My poor fond heart； that brooded over her and the remains of her affections as my only hope of comfort upon earth； cannot brook this new degradation。 Who is there so low as me？ Who is there besides （I ask） after the homage I have paid her and the caresses she has lavished on me； so vile； so abhorrent to love； to whom such an indignity could have happened？ When I think of this （and I think of nothing else） it stifles me。 I am pent up in burning； fruitless desires； which can find no vent or object。 Am I not hated； repulsed； derided by her whom alone I love or ever did love？ I cannot stay in any place； and seek in vain for relief from the sense of her contempt and her ingratitude。 I can settle to nothing： what is the use of all I have done？ Is it not that very circumstance （my thinking beyond my strength； my feeling more than I need about so many things） that has withered me up； and made me a thing for Love to shrink from and wonder at？ Who could ever feel that peace from the touch of her dear hand that I have done； and is it not torn from me for ever？ My state is this； that I shall never lie down again at night nor rise up in the morning in peace； nor ever behold my little boy's face with pleasure while I liveunless I am restored to her favour。 Instead of that delicious feeling I had when she was heavenly…kind to me； and my heart softened and melted in its own tenderness and her sweetness； I am now inclosed in a dungeon of despair。 The sky is marble to my thoughts； nature is dead around me； as hope is within me； no object can give me one gleam of satisfaction now； nor the prospect of it in time to come。 I wander by the sea…side； and the eternal ocean and lasting despair and her face are before me。 Slighted by her； on whom my heart by its last fibre hung； where shall I turn？ I wake with her by my side； not as my sweet bedfellow； but as the corpse of my love； without a heart in her bosom； cold； insensible； or struggling from me； and the worm gnaws me； and the sting of unrequited love； and the canker of a hopeless； endless sorrow。 I have lost the taste of my food by feverish anxiety； and my favourite beverage； which used to refresh me when I got up； has no moisture in it。 Oh！ cold； solitary； sepulchral breakfasts； compared with those which I promised myself with her； or which I made when she had been standing an hour by my side； my guardian…angel； my wife； my sister； my sweet friend； my Eve； my all； and had blest me with her seraph kisses！ Ah！ what I suffer at present only shews what I have enjoyed。 But 〃the girl is a good girl； if there is goodness in human nature。〃 I thank you for those words； and I will fall down and worship you； if you can prove them true： and I would not do much less for him that proves her a demon。 She is one or the other； that's certain； but I fear the worst。 Do let me know if anything has passed： suspense is my greatest punishment。 I am going into the country to see if I can work a little in the three weeks I have yet to stay here。 Write on the receipt of this； and believe me ever your unspeakably obliged friend。
TO EDINBURGH
〃Stony…hearted〃 Edinburgh！ What art thou to me？ The dust of thy streets mingles with my tears and blinds me。 City of palaces； or of tombsa quarry； rather than the habitation of men！ Art thou like London； that populous hive； with its sunburnt； well…baked； brick…built housesits public edifices； its theatres； its bridges； its squares； its ladies； and its pomp； its throng of wealth； its outstretched magnitude； and its mighty heart that never lies still？ Thy cold grey walls reflect back the leaden melancholy of the soul。 The square； hard…edged； unyielding faces of thy inhabitants have no sympathy to impart。 What is it to me that I look along the level line of thy tenantless streets； and meet perhaps a lawyer like a grasshopper chirping and skipping； or the daughter of a Highland laird； haughty； fair； and freckled？ Or why should I look down your boasted Prince's Street； with the beetle…browed Castle on one side； and the Calton Hill with its proud monument at the further end； and the ridgy steep of Salisbury Crag； cut off abruptly by Nature's boldest hand； and Arthur's Seat overlooking all； like a lioness watching her cubs？ Or shall I turn to the far…off Pentland Hills； wit