LETTER IV.
May 13.
YOU offer me books; I will have nothing to do with them: for
heaven's sake don't send me any. I don't wish to be again guided,
heated, agitated. Alas! my heart is of itself but too much
agitated already. I want strains that may lull me; and Homer
furnishes them in abundance. Often have I strove to calm the
blood that seemed boiling in my veins; often have I endeavoured
to stop the keen and sudden passions of my heart {8} -- But 'tis
not to you that I need explain its feelings; you have often seen
with concern my quick transitions from sorrow to immoderate joy,
and from melancholy to violent and dangerous passions. My heart
is like a sick child: and like a sick child I let it have its
way: -- But that between ourselves; for I know I should be blamed
for it.
