_[Paris] February 9 [1795]._
The melancholy presentiment has for some time hung on my spirits, that we
were parted for ever; and the letters I received this day, by Mr. ----,
convince me that it was not without foundation. You allude to some other
letters, which I suppose have miscarried; for most of those I have got,
were only a few hasty lines, calculated to wound the tenderness the sight
of the superscriptions excited.
I mean not however to complain; yet so many feelings are struggling for
utterance, and agitating a heart almost bursting with anguish, that I find
it very difficult to write with any degree of coherence.
You left me indisposed, though you have taken no notice of it; and the
most fatiguing journey I ever had, contributed to continue it. However, I
recovered my health; but a neglected cold, and continual inquietude during
the last two months, have reduced me to a state of weakness I never before
experienced. Those who did not know that the canker-worm was at work at
the core, cautioned me about suckling my child too long.--God preserve
this poor child, and render her happier than her mother!
But I am wandering from my subject: indeed my head turns giddy, when I
think that all the confidence I have had in the affection of others is
come to this.--I did not expect this blow from you. I have done my duty to
you and my child; and if I am not to have any return of affection to
reward me, I have the sad consolation of knowing that I deserved a better
fate. My soul is weary--I am sick at heart; and, but for this little
darling, I would cease to care about a life, which is now stripped of
every charm.
You see how stupid I am, uttering declamation, when I meant simply to tell
you, that I consider your requesting me to come to you, as merely dictated
by honour.--Indeed, I scarcely understand you.--You request me to come,
and then tell me, that you have not given up all thoughts of returning to
this place.
When I determined to live with you, I was only governed by affection.--I
would share poverty with you, but I turn with affright from the sea of
trouble on which you are entering.--I have certain principles of action: I
know what I look for to found my happiness on.--It is not money.--With you
I wished for sufficient to procure the comforts of life--as it is, less
will do.--I can still exert myself to obtain the necessaries of life for
my child, and she does not want more at present.--I have two or three
plans in my head to earn our subsistence; for do not suppose that,
neglected by you, I will lie under obligations of a pecuniary kind to
you!--No; I would sooner submit to menial service.--I wanted the support
of your affection--that gone, all is over!--I did not think, when I
complained of ----'s contemptible avidity to accumulate money, that he
would have dragged you into his schemes.
I cannot write.--I inclose a fragment of a letter, written soon after your
departure, and another which tenderness made me keep back when it was
written.--You will see then the sentiments of a calmer, though not a more
determined, moment.--Do not insult me by saying, that "our being together
is paramount to every other consideration!" Were it, you would not be
running after a bubble, at the expence of my peace of mind.
Perhaps this is the last letter you will ever receive from me.