Benjamin Flower at Cambridge to Eliza Gould at Dodbrook, Saturday, 2 November 1799.

                                                         Cambridge   Nov. 2d 1799

My very dear Eliza

   Last night I called over in my printing office all my Newspapers, which were to go by Post.  In travelling thro’ Devonshire I stopped a minute at Dodbrook, just to drop you a line.  This morning’s post brought me your charming letter of Wednesday Oct 31 [Oct 30] which has put me in better health & spirits than I have been for some days past.  Last night indeed was an uncomfortable one.  In addition to my cough, I had a violent attack of the ear ach, but thro’ mercy it deprived me of an hour’s sleep only, and it is now entirely gone, never I hope to return.  I have not indeed felt any attack of the kind these ten or a dozen years past.

   I believe my Dearest half I shall seldom venture to set myself up as an example for you to follow.  In matters of the greatest importance I have learned much from you.   It was not, I assure you, the random expression of a warm lover, but the language of truth and soberness & settled judgment which I addressed you in an early stage of our intimacy, when I said—“You are the angel of heaven to make me a better man”: thus I am persuaded it will be to the end of life: but in a lesser matter, a matter closely connected with the habitual pleasure, if not the main happiness of my time during your absence, I will say—Why do you not follow my example?  Have you not perceived that my long letters have not been written at a sitting, or in one day?  If you will not improve on this hint, I cannot expect, yea I must add.

   I do not wish to receive a letter such as I hoped for—because I cannot suppose, that while you complain of weakness, you can possibly write such a letter, without increasing that weakness, and thus retard that complete recovery, so much the object of my fervent, habitual prayers.  It appears by your last that you intended writing to me on the Tuesday; not altho’ you were disappointed respecting the post, why did you not begin writing, instead of deferring the matter ‘till next day?  The consequence of this procrastination I now feel most sensibly.  While writing in a strain of your usual excellence and in a manner so affectionate that every line goes to my heart, you, on entering the 3d page are obliged to break off, because “the Post hurries you to close,” and thus almost half a very moderate sheet of paper, presents a blank! 

   As you forget to calculate about Posts, let me calculate for you.  There is no London Post from Cambridge, on the Saturday, because there is no delivery in London on the Sunday.  There is no London Post from Dodbrook on the Friday, or from Exeter on the Saturday, for the same reason.  Altho’ you cannot receive letters on the Tuesday, yet the Post goes from Dodbrook on that day as usual.  Altho’ as you perceive, there is no Post from hence this evening, yet I am not willing to trust entirely till to morrow, as I know I have an engagement out of town for a quarter part of the day, and I do not choose to run the risk of being obliged to say at the commencement of my third page, “the post hurries me to close.” This morning’s post brought me likewise a letter from our friend Miss Gurney, who with Miss Hawes is anxious to hear of your health.  I shall begin answering her letter likewise in the course of to day, and not leave it till to morrow lest I should disappoint her too.  I shall compile an account of your health from your late letters or rather notes, for these ten days past, and which will afford an ample apology for your not having written to either of your above named friends.  I wish you had been more particular about your health.  Have you no complaint but that weakness—Is that merely the effect of your journey?  Are you sensible of gradually encreasing strength?  May I hope that your journey to London will be performed in 3 or 4 days, instead of 3 or 4 weeks?  Surely we ought to be marr­ied before another century commences, which if we do not improve time we shall not be.  Answer my inquiries as particularly as I have put them.  With what spirit shall I close the old or commence the new year which unites us for time and for Eternity!  And how will the salutation of our friends—I wish you a happy new year—strike on our hearts!  Assure me, my Life, in your next, that no other consideration than that of your health, shall keep you a day longer in Devonshire, or any other place.

   “As face answereth to face in a glass,” so indeed do our hearts to each other.  How exactly have you described my experience and my feelings for many years past.  Altho’ you have the advantage over me in that settled, continued tranquility you have under all your trials enjoyed, yet with respect to the state of trial and the conclusions we had both drawn.  To bid adieu to earthly happiness, (that is to what we thought worthy the name), to guard what some would call our weak, but what we more justly I am persuaded term our feeling hearts—such were both our resolutions.  I have indeed expressed myself so strongly at times, to my more intimate friends on this subject that they have since exclaimed—“Well no one need despair after you.” Most assuredly the leadings of Providence as lately displayed, yea I will add thro’ our whole lives, are to the path of happiness.  With what pleasure shall we both recount the various dispensations which have fallen to our lot, and how grateful, I trust, shall we be to that God who has “done all things well.” May our gratitude be seen by the world, by our usefulness in our little circle.  In this respect I know you will indeed, in a peculiar manner, prove an help-mate.

   And do my letters, my Eliza, afford you the satisfaction and pleasure you represent?  This is more than I could have expected, tho’ I own it was what I wished.  Rest assured, that every expression of tenderness is the pure breath of my soul, that the language of affection is not merely language, but a portion of my heart.  Nothing has more shocked me, when I have reflected how some men have borrowed the language of friendship, sensibility and even love itself! without feeling the force of that language.  I could make protestations the most solemn of my sincerity, but I am sure, like you, I have no occasion.  My letters to you are the image of my mind, and in them you see somewhat of tho’ not the whole, workings of my heart: my language is often inadequate for the just display of my mind; but my whole life, every day, every hour, will I hope prove to you how wholly and entirely I am devoted to you.

   My acquaintance, and I have in one part of the world or other, not a few, so approve of my choice, those I mean who have heard of your talents & virtues, that I am not without hope that my example will in some measure operate towards subduing these prejudices and unjust sentiments which too generally prevail amongst young people (as well as old) when settling for life.  Many who I thought would pronounce me imprudent, tell me I have done “the wisest thing I ever did in my life,” and I meet with no one who does not felicitate me on having been sent to Newgate!

   I am just returned home, after spending the day with some Country farmers at a village about five miles hence. The weather has been tolerably fine, and I find myself the better for the ride.  They wished me to stay to address the Congregation in the evening, but I had left word I should return home, and the family would have been alarmed, the roads being bad and as with the waters, (much out) dangerous at night.  I was invited to sleep out but I farther recollected I had a letter to finish to my Eliza, that she is somewhat uneasy from my last, and that the uneasiness will not be completely removed till she receives this.  I am indeed nearly recovered in all respects, and as soon as I have the reviving intelligence that with the complete removal of the original cause of Complaint, you are increasing in strength, can write “without weariness,” and take a tolerable walk, and ride, without being faint—then indeed I shall be quite well.  I hope we shall continue it as you say, that our next interviews we shall have entirely to ourselves.  Never did I wish any body absent so much as the honest Quaker, you met with me the first interview after your illness. 

   Adieu!—thou Sovereign of my earthly affections.  God bless you and make you completely happy, for thou and thou only shall I be your

                                             B Flower

P.S.  Miss J-  desires her love—I have a heap of inquiries after you.

The ancients had a fine maxim which I wish you could impress on your every day during yr absence from me   Nulla dies sine linea.

Text: Timothy Whelan, ed., Politics, Religion, and Romance: The Letters of Benjamin Flower and Eliza Gould, 1794-1808 (Aberystwyth: National Library of Wales, 2008), pp. 175-77.