I wish to foster, not to blight--to earn gratitude, not to wring tears of blood--no, nor of brine: my harvest must be in smiles, in endearments, in sweet--That will do.

I think I rave in a kind of exquisite delirium.

I should wish now to protract this moment _ad infinitum_; but I dare not.

So far I have governed myself thoroughly.

I have acted as I inwardly swore I would act; but further might try me beyond my strength.