_London, December 8 [1795]._
Having just been informed that ---- is to return immediately to Paris, I
would not miss a sure opportunity of writing, because I am not certain
that my last, by Dover has reached you.
Resentment, and even anger, are momentary emotions with me--and I wished
to tell you so, that if you ever think of me, it may not be in the light
of an enemy.
That I have not been used _well_ I must ever feel; perhaps, not always
with the keen anguish I do at present--for I began even now to write
calmly, and I cannot restrain my tears.
I am stunned!--Your late conduct still appears to me a frightful
dream.--Ah! ask yourself if you have not condescended to employ a little
address, I could almost say cunning, unworthy of you?--Principles are
sacred things--and we never play with truth, with impunity.
The expectation (I have too fondly nourished it) of regaining your
affection, every day grows fainter and fainter.--Indeed, it seems to me,
when I am more sad than usual, that I shall never see you more.--Yet you
will not always forget me.--You will feel something like remorse, for
having lived only for yourself--and sacrificed my peace to inferior
gratifications. In a comfortless old age, you will remember that you had
one disinterested friend, whose heart you wounded to the quick. The hour
of recollection will come--and you will not be satisfied to act the part
of a boy, till you fall into that of a dotard. I know that your mind, your
heart, and your principles of action, are all superior to your present
conduct. You do, you must, respect me--and you will be sorry to forfeit my
esteem.
You know best whether I am still preserving the remembrance of an
imaginary being.--I once thought that I knew you thoroughly--but now I am
obliged to leave some doubts that involuntarily press on me, to be cleared
up by time.
You may render me unhappy; but cannot make me contemptible in my own
eyes.--I shall still be able to support my child, though I am disappointed
in some other plans of usefulness, which I once believed would have
afforded you equal pleasure.
Whilst I was with you, I restrained my natural generosity, because I
thought your property in jeopardy.--When I went to [Sweden], I requested
you, _if you could conveniently_, not to forget my father, sisters, and
some other people, whom I was interested about.--Money was lavished away,
yet not only my requests were neglected, but some trifling debts were not
discharged, that now come on me.--Was this friendship--or generosity? Will
you not grant you have forgotten yourself? Still I have an affection for
you.--God bless you.