We shall not have the same ties of situation nor the same feelings of relation to each other as we then had.
Not that I am weak enough to believe that when you and I meet again we shall suit each other as well as when we were in the Belvidera.”
I should be unjust to you if I did not tell you so, that it is the greatest comfort to me to think that, as long as we live, I have such a friend as you have been to me ever since I first knew you, and when we first called each other friends.
No, quite the contrary;
-than that I have the least expectation of such an event, or that you have ever given me the slightest cause to think it at all probable.
It is more owing to the morbid sensibility of my own mind, combined with the long habit of deep interest about you, that makes me feel so acutely the bare possibility of your growing cold and indifferent about me,-
Do not let this remark offend you.
and it does seem natural, that you, surrounded by so many new and agreeable friends and acquaintances, and cut off from all associations with your former life, should gradually slacken your interest in, and cast off your affections for your old friends.
Your feeling vexed at not hearing from me convinces me, more than a dozen letters could, that your interest in my welfare is still the same, and nothing could tend more to remove a horrid feeling of jealousy which sometimes crosses my mind, when I think it possible;
It shows far more than any assertions could that you are really concerned about me; and I am sure that I never read anything of yours with such heartfelt pleasure as I did these warm remonstrances on my silence and apparent neglect of your letters.
But, my dear Malcolm, do not think for a moment that I am at all displeased at your scolding me; far from it. Nothing could have pleased me more.
I must finish my letter in a hurry. Good-bye.—I am ever your most affectionate
John Irving.
However, it is a source of great present discomfort and uneasiness to be forced to turn my attention, with an effort, to the consideration of subjects in which I used to take great pleasure some weeks ago.
I do not know whether this may be a physical effect on the mind produced by the constant excitement in which I have lived for the last two months,—in which case, when I get settled, my mind may be restored to its former calm and comfortable state.
and I am quite aware that I do not think nearly so much as I used to do about eternity and the things belonging to it.
From having been so hurried about these last two months, and never having time to read, I regret that I am not nearly in such a peaceful state of mind as I used to be
however, I saw her sisters, and have rather melancholy news to carry out to her husband, our Commander.
I found the poor lady quite insane
Some of my friends seem quite confident that I shall be promoted in a short time, but if this takes place in eighteen months it will happen sooner than I myself expect.
Believe me ever your affectionate friend,
John Irving
I am afraid you will consider this a terribly egotistical letter, but mine are naturally such to you.
I shall be out at Malta about the end of April, and, I am afraid, shall have some difficulty in joining my ship; but I suppose I must stick to the letter-bag.
I shall also get, and, as you desire, consider as a present from you, the little book called Advice to a Young Christian.
I have procured Newton’s Cardiphonia on your recommendation, but I have not had time to read it yet.
She is a most pious, amiable lady, and I am sure you will be as much pleased with her as she will be with you.
She told me she often carried you in her arms when you were an infant.
She is very anxious to see you.
Her name was Pringle.
However, I will take it as a great favour if, when you are next in Scotland (perhaps next summer you will probably be in Edinburgh), you will go and see Mrs. Scott Moncrieff.
It vexes me to leave England without seeing you; but it cannot be helped.
