Paris, July, 1843.

Your letter is very kind, almost affectionate, indeed. I would I were in a less melancholy mood, that I might enjoy it to perfection. The best I can do is to express my appreciation of all that it contains of graciousness, and to repress the somewhat gloomy thoughts that fill my mind concerning it. It is unfortunate that I can not become so completely absorbed in my dreams as you do. But let us leave this subject and talk of something else.

I am going away in ten days. I went to the country yesterday to make a visit, and returned very weary and very blue; weary, because I was tired out, and blue, because of the thought that it was a beautiful day wasted. Do you never chide yourself for a similar reason? I hope not. Sometimes I believe that you feel all that I feel, then come drawbacks, and I doubt everything.

Good-bye. If I write any more I shall say something that you will misunderstand....