Yet a little while am I parted from
my Ann--I could not exist without the hope of seeing her again--I could
not bear to think that time could wear away an affection that was
founded on what is not liable to perish; you might as well attempt to
persuade me that my soul is matter, and that its feelings arose from
certain modifications of it."
"Dear enthusiastic creature," whispered Henry, "how you steal into my
soul." She still continued. "The same turn of mind which leads me to
adore the Author of all Perfection--which leads me to conclude that he
only can fill my soul; forces me to admire the faint image-the shadows
of his attributes here below; and my imagination gives still bolder
strokes to them. I knew I am in some degree under the influence of a
delusion--but does not this strong delusion prove that I myself 'am _of
subtiler essence than the trodden clod_' these flights of the
imagination point to futurity; I cannot banish them. Every cause in
nature produces an effect; and am I an exception to the general rule?
have I desires implanted in me only to make me miserable? will they
never be gratified? shall I never be happy? My feelings do not accord
with the notion of solitary happiness.
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