He tells me that he has written a great deal, and has promised to
bring me a bundle of poems to read at my leisure. "You must
understand," said he, "that you will be the only one to whom I ever
showed them." I feel very proud.
To revert to what I said above, I believe, too, that it is very bad
for any man not to have a fixed occupation; however great his
natural energy may be, it either relaxes with time, or expends
itself uselessly. The mere thinker often ends by hovering on the
confines of lunacy.
Good-bye, dear love.
Your EMILIA.
LETTER XIX.
GRAYSMILL, November 30th.
I write to you very soon, partly because of your letter that crossed
mine, but principally because I feel that I must write you a few
words before I go to sleep. I have just gone through Gabriel's
poems, and am beside myself with wonder. Constance, the creature is
a genius. I marvel at my happiness, that I should have touched his
life. No, I'll not write; I feel that, if I do, I shall write bosh.
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