You complain with truth that my
letters have been very few and very short; but I do not
grieve at the omission of so pleasurable a duty, so much as I
rejoice at having such a place in your regard as makes you
anxious often to hear from me. I beseech you not to take it
amiss, that I have not now written to you for more than three
years; but with you usual benignity to impute it rather to
circumstances than to inclination. For Heaven knows that I
regard you as a parent, that I have always treated you with
the utmost respect, and that I was unwilling to tease you
with my compositions. And I was anxious that if my letters
had nothing else to recommend them, they might be recommended
by their rarity. And lastly, since the ardour of my regard
makes me imagine that you are always present, that I hear
your voice and contemplate your looks; and as thus... I charm
away my grief by the illusion of your presence, I was afraid
when I wrote to you the idea of your distant separation
should forcibly rush upon my mind; and that the pain of your
absence, which was almost soothed into quiescence, should
revive and disperse the pleasurable dream. I long since
received your desirable present of the Hebrew Bible.
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