Yours truly
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LETTER XXX
December 29.
Though I ſuppoſe you have later intelligence, yet, as ——— has juſt informed me that he has an opportunity of ſending immediately to you, I take advantage of it to incloſe you
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How I hate this crooked buſineſs! This intercourſe with the world, which obliges one to ſee the worſt ſide of human nature! Why cannot you be content with the object you had firſt in view, when you entered into this weariſome labyrinth?—I know very well that you have imperceptibly been drawn on; yet why does one project, ſucceſſful or abortive, only give place to two others? Is it not ſufficient to avoid poverty?—I am contented to do my part; and, even here, ſufficient to eſcape from wretchedneſs is not difficult to obtain. And, let me tell you, I have my project alſo—and, if you do not ſoon return, the little girl and I will take care of ourſelves; we will not accept any of your cold kindneſs—your diſtant civilities—no; not we.
This is but half jeſting, for I am really tormented by the deſire which ——— manifeſts to have you remain where you are.—Yet why do I talk to you?—If he can perſuade you—let him!—for, if you are not happier with me, and your own wiſhes do not make you throw aſide theſe eternal projects, I am above uſing any arguments, though reaſon as well as affection ſeems to offer them—if our affection be mutual, they will occur to you—and you will act accordingly.
Since my arrival here, I have found the German lady, of whom you have heard me ſpeak. Her firſt child died in the month; but ſhe has another, about the age of my ———, a fine little creature. They are ſtill but contriving to live——earning their daily bread—yet, though they are but juſt above poverty, I envy them.—She is a tender, affectionate mother—fatigued even by her attention.—However ſhe has an affectionate huſband in her turn, to render her care light, and to ſhare her pleaſure.
