But At The Same Time There Is Not An Operation Belonging To
It In Which I Do Not Find Some Food For Useful Reflections.
This is
the reason, I suppose, that when you was here, you used, in your
refined style, to denominate
Me the farmer of feelings; how rude
must those feelings be in him who daily holds the axe or the plough,
how much more refined on the contrary those of the European, whose
mind is improved by education, example, books, and by every acquired
advantage! Those feelings, however, I will delineate as well as I
can, agreeably to your earnest request.
When I contemplate my wife, by my fire-side, while she either spins,
knits, darns, or suckles our child, I cannot describe the various
emotions of love, of gratitude, of conscious pride, which thrill in
my heart and often overflow in involuntary tears. I feel the
necessity, the sweet pleasure of acting my part, the part of an
husband and father, with an attention and propriety which may
entitle me to my good fortune. It is true these pleasing images
vanish with the smoke of my pipe, but though they disappear from my
mind, the impression they have made on my heart is indelible. When I
play with the infant, my warm imagination runs forward, and eagerly
anticipates his future temper and constitution. I would willingly
open the book of fate, and know in which page his destiny is
delineated; alas! where is the father who in those moments of
paternal ecstasy can delineate one half of the thoughts which dilate
his heart?
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