Benjamin Flower at Cambridge to Eliza Gould [sent to Bath], Saturday, 30 Nov­­ember 1799.

                                                         Cambridge Nov. 30. 1799—

   Your letter my Dearest Eliza, received in course this morning, is as sweet as it is short.  There is indeed one sentence, and one only which gives me pain—“Do not reflect on me.” Conscious that I am incapable of so doing, trusting that after reading my three last letters, you are of the same opinion, and that you never need repeat the admonition, I have blotted out the above sentence, from your Letter.

   We have no Post for London this evening, and recollecting that no letter will find you in the usual course till you reach London, if Providence permits you to proceed on your proposed plan, I am anxious to find out some other means of conversing with you at every stage, and I have so contrived that I hope this will reach you at Bath on, or a few hours after your arrival: and as I can now give you notice you may expect to meet and convene with me for a few moments at Newbury, if you will send to the Post office.  It is equally kind and considerate in you, my Dear Love, to give me credit for my personal appearance till Saturday.  I will only say, that I know you will be convinced when I see you that it would not be prudent were I to come to London earlier in the week: but I will not be without your company.  You shall find a letter waiting for you at Walworth.  I am never so happy as when writing or receiving letters from you, and altho’ your literary visits have been so much shorter than I so anxiously hoped, yet I will not repine.  I am fully satisfied it was your wish to have made them longer, but you were right in not doing so.  The hour that I can call you mine by those ties which will render us inseparable, will indeed make me ample amends, and I shall forget every little temporary disappointment occasioned solely by your indisposition. 

   The assurance, My Dear Eliza, that you are now “better than at any time since you left London” affords me inexpressible satisfaction, and I sincerely hope Mr Holman’s opinion will confirm yours: I think I know your constitution better than I did two months since.  Rest of mind, and gentle exercise of body, are the two things which I think will more tend to your complete recovery than all the medicines in the apothecaries shop. I was indeed in hopes that you had nothing on your mind to make you uneasy, after your conversations with Mr Haskins.  Your letters were so replete with charming reflections, and which I thought indicated that every thing within was right, baring a little affectionate anxiety on my account, when I felt anxious on yours; but your last letter makes me suspect I have not known all I ought to have known.  You tell me—“You know nothing of the anxieties I have experienced since we parted on one account and another”—and why, my Love, have I not known them?  On this subject I shall beg leave to make a quotation from a letter of a Lady of your acquaintance, the justice of whose sentiments I believe you will not dispute.  The reason of my making the quotation is because the sentiments are so much better expressed than they can be by my pen.   “If friends must take pleasure in the society of each other, and in communicating to each other their sentiments & their feelings”—“from an affinity of soul, and all those kindred qualities of the mind which denominates our attachment of the highest order, I claim superior privileges. I know my Rights, and here assert them.  Promise me that you will never disguise your feelings, but always let me see, as you have hitherto done, the true colour of your mind—that when you rejoice I might rejoice too, and when you weep I might sympathize with you, & mingle my tears with yours.”   

   Well, my Eliza—will you not allow me an equality of rights.  If not you will push the point of rights farther than poor Mary Wolstonecraft did, but if you attempt at superiority in this respect, I assure you I shall contest the matter.  “I know my rights and here assert them.” Yes my love, my heart insists on sharing all the anxieties of yours.  I assure you, when I see you I shall demand that property of mine, your cares, your anxieties, which I now perceive by your own confession, have been with-held from me, and which on your own theory is my just due. 

   I have referred to your letter of Saturday last, but I do not find that you said “you had a letter to write on your father’s account.” You expressed yourself as foll­ows—“I have yet a letter to write, and I have been scribbling, before I wrote this.” I know my Dear, you must be ever active, and ready to assist every one about you, but I fear you exert yourself too much.  Has it not been so since you have been at Dodbrook.   If you write to your Walworth friend before you see her, pray do not let your letter exceed one 4to page in length.  I will not ask for more for myself, but do let me have a page from every stage, and faithfully inform me of your health.  Do you keep free from the complaint on your lungs?  but I shall be more satisfied now you have seen Mr Holman. 

   I have picked up two or three articles of furniture, amongst the rest a Register Stove, for one of our Parlours, it cost originally Six Guineas, is nearly as good as new, and I have it for three pounds.  A friend bought it for me in London.  I shall have a little inventory to present you with of a few blankets, sheets, spoons, knives & forks &c.  You shall not I am determined fatigue yourself about furniture or anything else.  I dare say we shall contrive matters very comfortably.  If your health renders it necessary for you to stay at Bath a day or two longer, do not consider the happy day as fixed.  All I have said or may say on that subject, is conditional, and meant to be entirely subservient to your health, ease, and tranquility, and felicity.  You say in your last—“You are happy—very happy in the near prospect of seeing me”—not more so my love than I now feel myself in the same near prospect of seeing you.  Blessed be God for his goodness and mercy in disappointing all my fears, and in fulfilling my hopes and expectations.  I assure you, the flame which you kindled in my heart has been, and is burning bright and ardent.  It will I am certain continue so to do—nothing can quench it—quench it did I say—no! no event of life, not even the very hand of death shall cool or damp it.   It may and must be separated from the sod of earth in which it enclosed—but the vital heavenly flame shall hover over you even in this world—till you meet me in the other, and it shall then burn brighter and brighter to Eternity.  Adieu—Adieu—my Dearest Eliza, repose yourself—make yourself happy in the heart and affections of your

                                             B Flower

P.S.  Least you should have missed any of my Letters I will just recount those of the present week.  On the 24th I wrote you from Ramsey directed to Wellington—On the 25th from St Ives to Dodbrook.  On the 26th to the Post office Exeter.—On the 27-28 & 29th (on the latter date I likewise put my paper) to Wellington. I spend to morrow at home.  Perhaps you have already perused the story which accompanies this; from—Mrs “Barbauld’s Evenings at home.”

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. 207-10.

References above are to Ramsay, a village in northern Cambridgeshire, about ten miles north of St. Ives; and Evenings at Home, a multi-volume work compiled by Anna Letitia Barbauld (1743-1825) and her brother, John Aiken (1747-1822) that first appeared in 1792 and was last reprinted in 1915,