THE OEPHAN HAED. 61 



of indifference and gayety I once did, without a struggle that I can- 

 riot support. I started in the career of early life as fair as that of 

 any of my companions, and had, I confess, many hopes of being 

 something in the world. But all these are blasted ; I cannot un- 

 derstand any thing that I read, and nothing in the world gives, or 

 ever will give me pleasure. I see others enjoying the world, and 

 likely to become respectable and useful members of society ; for 

 myself, I expect to be looked at as a being who wants a mind, and 

 to feel inwardly all the torments of hell. By Heavens! I will, per- 

 haps, some day blow my brains out, and there is an end of the 

 matter. If you will take the trouble, when you have nothing else 

 to do, of writing now and then to me, I know it will be one of 

 those few things that keep my heart from dying in my breast, and 

 depend upon it, that every word coming from one whom I regard 

 so dearly as you, will be interesting to me. What the happiness is 

 which you so pleasantly allude to, I cannot understand, unless it be 

 that J. S., yourself, Blair, and I are soon to meet. I will be glad to 

 see you, but the word happy will never again be joined to the 

 name of " John Wilson." 



The next letter, marked "September, 1803," shows an improve- 

 ment in spirits : — 



" Your former letters, my dear Bob, so far from offending, or 

 giving me an idea that you are addicted to frivolous levity, relieved 

 in a great measure the burden of my heart. Although few, per- 

 haps, ever suffered more from mental anguish in a short time than 

 I have done, this suffering has not had the effect of making me look 

 gloomy disapprobation upon the happiness of others. I feel, if all 

 went well with me, I would be one of the happiest of beings that 

 ever saw the light of heaven, and that nothing would be too insig- 

 nificant to delight me. This conviction has never quitted my heart 

 even in its darkest moments, and has been the means of making me 

 look with complacency upon every kind of innocent and reasonable 

 enjoyment. 



"The little girl who brings the newspaper into the room, and 

 trips smilingly along the floor, gives me something like happiness ; 

 for, wherever I see joy and peace, I take a sad delight in looking 

 at it. When your letters showed me how pleased you were with 

 your new situation, and that nothing disturbed you there, it gave 



