_[London, Nov. 1795] 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; for 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!