LETTER XXXV.

February 9.

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.

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