ABSTRACT
How much time has passed, my dear Aza! since I last enjoyed the artificial happiness of believing my soul held converse with yours; since that time the sun has run half his course. 131 How much courage was necessary to support it! I looked forward only to futurity, and the present time did not seem worthy to be computed. My thoughts were nothing but desires, my reflections only so many projects, and my sentiments a series of hopes. I have scarce learned to form these figures, and yet will I now endeavour to make them the interpreters of my passion.
