_To Jane Talbot_
New York, October 15.
I HASTEN, my dear madam, to reply to your letter. The part you have
assigned me I will most cheerfully perform to the utmost of my power, but
very much regret that I have not more agreeable tidings to
communicate.
Having said that all the transactions between you and my brother are
known to me, I need not apologize for alluding to events, which I could
not excuse myself for doing without being encouraged by the frankness and
solicitude which your own pen has expressed.
Immediately after the determination of his fate in regard to you, he
came to this city. He favoured us with the perusal of your letters. We
entirely agreed with him in applauding the motives which influenced your
conduct. We had no right to accuse you of precipitation or inconsistency.
That heart must indeed be selfish and cold which could not comprehend the
horror which must have seized you on hearing of his father's treatment.
You acted, in the first tumults of your feelings, as every woman would
have acted. That you did not immediately perceive the little prospect
there was that a breach of this nature would be repaired, or that Colden
would make use of your undesired and unsought-for renunciation as a means
of reconcilement with his father, was no subject of surprise or blame.
These reflections could not occur to you but in consequence of some
intimations from others.
Henry Colden was no indolent or mercenary creature, No one more
cordially detested the life of dependence than he. He always thought that
his father had discharged all the duties of that relation in nourishing
his childhood and giving him a good education. Whatever has been since
bestowed, he considered as voluntary and unrequited bounty; has received
it with irksomeness and compunction; and, whatever you may think of the
horrors of indigence, it was impossible to have placed him in a more
painful situation than under his father's roof.
We could not but deeply regret the particular circumstances under which
he left his father's house; but the mere leaving it, and the necessity
which thence arose of finding employment and subsistence for himself, was
not at all to be regretted.
The consequences of your mother's letter to the father produced no
resentment in the son. He had refused what he had a right to refuse, and
what had been pressed upon the giver rather than sought by him. The mere
separation was agreeable to Colden, and the rage that accompanied it was
excited by the young man's steadiness in his fidelity to you.
You were not aware that this cause of anger could not be removed by any
thing done by you. Golden was not sensible of any fault. There was
nothing, therefore, for which he could crave pardon. Blows and revilings
had been patiently endured, but he was actuated by no tame or servile
spirit. He never would expose himself to new insults. Though always ready
to accept apology and grant an oblivion of the past, he never would avow
compunction which he did not feel, or confess that he had deserved the
treatment which he had received.
All this it was easy to suggest to your reflections, and I endeavoured
to persuade him to write a second letter; but he would not. "No," said he,
"she has made her election. If no advantage is taken of her tenderness and
pity, she will be happy in her new scheme. Shall I subject her to new
trials, new mortifications? Can I flatter myself with being able to reward
her by my love for the loss of every other comfort? No. Whatever she feels
for me, _I_ am not her supreme passion. Her mother is preferred to
me. _That_ her present resolution puts out of all doubt. All
upbraiding and repining from me would be absurd. What can I say in favour
of my attachment to her, which she may not, with equal reason, urge in
favour of her attachment to her mother? The happiness of one or other must
be forfeited. Shall I not rather offer than demand the sacrifice? And what
are my boasts of magnanimity if I do not strive to lessen the difficulties
of her choice, and persuade her that, in gratifying her mother, she
inflicts no exquisite or lasting misery on me?
"I am not so blind but that I can foresee the effects on my
tranquillity of time and variety of object. If I go this voyage, I may
hope to acquire resignation much, sooner than by staying at home. To leave
these shores is, in every view, best for me. I can do nothing, while here,
for my own profit, and every eye I meet humbles and distresses me. At
present, I do not wish ever to return; but I suppose the absence and
adventures of a couple of years may change my feelings in that respect. My
condition, too, by some chance, may be bettered. I may come back, and
offer myself to her, without offering poverty and contempt at the same
time. Time, or some good fortune, may remove the mother's prejudices. All
this is possible; but, if it never takes place, if my condition never
improves, I will never return home."
When we urged to him the propriety of apprizing you of his views, not
only for your sake, but for his own,--"What need is there? Has she not
prohibited all intercourse between us? Have I not written the last letter
she will consent to receive? On my own account, I have nothing to hope. I
have stated my return as a mere possibility. I do not believe I shall ever
return. If I did expect it, I know Jane too well to have any fears of her
fidelity. While I am living, or as long as my death is uncertain, her
heart will be mine, and she will reserve herself for me."
I know you will excuse me, madam, for being thus particular. I thought
it best to state the views of our friend in his own words. From these your
judgment will enable you to form the truest conclusions.
The event that has since happened has probably removed the only
obstacle to your mutual happiness; nor am I without the hope of seeing him
one day return to be made happy by your favour. As several passages were
expected to be made between China and Nootka, that desirable event cannot
be expected to be very near.