I can support this wretched state of non-existence, this _articulamortis_, no longer. I cannot read--I cannot think--nothing touches,nothing interests me; neither is it permitted me to indulge mysufferings in solitude. These hospitable people still weary mewith their attentions, though they must consider me as a sullenmisanthropist, for I persist in my invisibility. I can escape them nolonger but by flight--professional study is out of the question, fora time at least. I mean, therefore, to “take the wings of” somefine morning, and seek a change of being in a change of place; fora perpetual state of evaga-tion alone, keeps up the flow and ebb ofexistence in my languid frame. My father’s last letter informs me he isobliged by business to postpone his journey for a month; this leaves meso much the longer master of myself. By the time we meet, my mind mayhave regained its native tone. _Laval_ too, writes for a longer leaveof absence, which I most willingly grant. It is a weight removed off myshoulders; I would be savagely free.
I thank you for your welcome letters, and will do what I can to satisfyyour antiquarian taste; and I would take your advice and study the Irishlanguage, were my powers of comprehension equal to the least of thephilological excellences of _Tom Thumb_ or _Goody Two Shoes_,--butalas!