Sunday Morning.
I have only to lament, that, when the bitterness of death was past, I
was inhumanly brought back to life and misery. But a fixed determination
is not to be baffled by disappointment; nor will I allow that to be a
frantic attempt, which was one of the calmest acts of reason. In this
respect, I am only accountable to myself. Did I care for what is termed
reputation, it is by other circumstances that I should be dishonoured.
You say, “that you know not how to extricate ourselves out of the
wretchedness into which we have been plunged.” You are extricated long
since.—But I forbear to comment.——If I am condemned to live longer, it
is a living death.
It appears to me, that you lay much more stress on delicacy, than on
principle; but I am unable to discover what sentiment of delicacy would
have been violated, by your visiting a wretched friend—if indeed you
have any friendship for me.—But since your new attachment is the only
thing sacred in your eyes, I am silent—Be happy! My complaints shall
never more damp your enjoyment—perhaps I am mistaken in supposing that
even my death could, for more than a moment.—This is what you call
magnanimity.—It is happy for yourself, that you possess this quality in
the highest degree.
Your continually asserting, that you will do all in your power to
contribute to my comfort (when you only allude to pecuniary assistance),
appears to me a flagrant breach of delicacy.—I want not such vulgar
comfort, nor will I accept it. I never wanted but your heart.—That gone,
you have nothing more to give. Had I only poverty to fear, I should not
shrink from life.—Forgive me then, if I say, that I shall consider any
direct or indirect attempt to supply my necessities, as an insult which
I have not merited—and as rather done out of tenderness for your own
reputation, than for me. Do not mistake me; I do not think that you
value money (therefore I will not accept what you do not care for)
though I do much less, because certain privations are not painful to me.
When I am dead, respect for yourself will make you take care of the
child.
I write with difficulty—probably I shall never write to you
again.—Adieu!
God bless you!