Deep affection makes us always diffident and _very humble_.

Those that we love stand so high in our own esteem, and are in our opinion so much above us and all others that we naturally feel unworthy of them and unequal to the task of making them happy: but there is, I think, a mingled charm in this feeling, for although we regret not to be what we should wish to be for them, feeling and acknowledging the superiority of those we love and must always love and respect, is a great satisfaction, and an increasing and everlasting one.

You will feel it, I am sure, as well as I do....
You will excuse my blots and hurried scribbling when I will tell you that in order to profit of the private messenger which goes to-morrow morning I write to you at ten in the evening, a thing quite unusual for me, and even rather forbidden: but after having been deprived of expending my heart for so many days, I could not _not_ avail myself of the present opportunity.

When I write to you by the ordinary messenger I will continue to be _silent_; but I trust you will permit me to say some time a word, when a safe opportunity presents itself, for my heart is with you more than I can tell.

I would that I could see you, when it could be, for an hour.