the end of your journey, and in so good time, notwithstanding the disappointments you met with on the road, and that you found your father so well.
If the country, which you say looks very beautiful, be to you a melancholy place, consider in what light it must appear to me who have so lately lost my all—the faithful and affectionate partner of my heart—who alone could make either town or country pleasing to me. I have lost all relish for both; all plans are become quite indifferent to me; and I think it of very little moment to consider in what place I should indulge the melancholy reflections which attend my solitary hours, and which necessarily must accompany me wherever I go, especially when I add to them the disappointments I have lately met with where I least expected it. The only plan which my imagination could suggest as most likely to produce honour or advantage to my family, and a little comfort and satisfaction to myself, is by continuing that correspondence with friends which I have endeavoured, for the greatest part of my life, to cultivate and maintain, and which alone can alleviate my affliction, and make the short remainder of my life pass quietly.
But I will say no more. Perhaps I have already said too much; but you must excuse it, as being occasioned by the overflowing of a disturbed mind and disconsolate heart. In all events, however, you may be assured I am and shall continue your affectionate and sincere friend, and am, with love to your father and sister, my dearest Harriett, your very affectionate though disconsolate uncle,
Ant. Malone.
Dublin, 5th Aug. 1773.
