It cannot be told how it now thrills me with joy to hear you
say you are "far happier than you ever expected to be." That much I know
is enough. I know you too well to suppose your expectations were not, at
least, sometimes extravagant, and if the reality exceeds them all, I say,
Enough, dear Lord. I am not going beyond the truth when I tell you that
the short space it took me to read your last letter gave me more pleasure
than the total sum of all I have enjoyed since the fatal 1st of January,
1841. Since then it seems to me I should have been entirely happy, but
for the never-absent idea that there is one still unhappy whom I have
contributed to make so. That still kills my soul. I cannot but reproach
myself for even wishing to be happy while she is otherwise. She
accompanied a large party on the railroad cars to Jacksonville last
Monday, and on her return spoke, so that I heard of it, of having enjoyed
the trip exceedingly. God be praised for that.
You know with what sleepless vigilance I have watched you ever since the
commencement of your affair; and although I am almost confident it is
useless, I cannot forbear once more to say that I think it is even yet
possible for your spirits to flag down and leave you miserable.
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