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unhappy ones, who, he informed me, had been his victims.
He pretended to care little about my disapprobation, and repeated:
"spite of your fine strictures upon immorality, I know well you are
amused with the account of my adventures. All men are as fond of
pleasure as I am, but they have not the frankness to talk of it
without cloaking it from the eyes of the world; I will go on till
you are quite enchanted, and confess yourself compelled in VERY
CONSCIENCE to applaud me." So he went on from week to week, I
bearing with him, partly out of curiosity and partly in the
expectation he would fall upon some better topic; and I can fairly
say that this species of tolerance, did me no little harm. I began
to lose my respect for pure and noble truths, my thoughts became
confused, and my mind disturbed. To converse with men of degraded
minds is in itself degrading, at least if you possess not virtue
very superior to mine. "This is a proper punishment," said I, "for
my presumption; this it is to assume the office of a missionary
without its sacredness of character."
One day I determined to write to him as follows:- " I have hitherto
attempted to turn your attention to other subjects, and you
persevere in sending me accounts of yourself which no way please me.
For the sake of variety, let us correspond a little respecting
worthier matters; if not, give the hand of fellowship, and let us
have done."
The two ensuing days I received no answer, and I was glad of it.
"Oh, blessed solitude;" often I exclaimed, "how far holier and
better art thou than harsh and undignified association with the
living. Away with the empty and impious vanities, the base actions,
the low despicable conversations of such a world. I have studied it
enough; let me turn to my communion with God; to the calm, dear
recollections of my family and my true friends. I will read my
Bible oftener than I have done, I will again write down my thoughts,
will try to raise and improve them, and taste the pleasure of a
sorrow at least innocent; a thousand fold to be preferred to vulgar
and wicked imaginations."
Whenever Tremerello now entered my room he was in the habit of
saying, "I have got no answer yet."
"It is all right," was my reply.
About the third day from this, he said, with a serious look, "Signor
N. N. is rather indisposed."
"What is the matter with him?"
"He does not say, but he has taken to his bed, neither eats nor
drinks, and is sadly out of humour."
I was touched; he was suffering and had no one to console him.
"I will write him a few lines," exclaimed I.
"I will take them this evening, then," said Tremerello, and he went
out.
I was a little perplexed on sitting down to my table: "Am I right
in resuming this correspondence? was I not, just now, praising
solitude as a treasure newly found? what inconsistency is this! Ah!
but he neither eats nor drinks, and I fear must be very ill.
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