Poor lamb! It may run very well in a tale, that "God will temper the winds to the ſhorn lamb!" but how can I expect that ſhe will be ſhielded, when my naked boſom has had to brave continually the pitileſs ſtorm? Yes; I could add, with poor Lear—What is the war of elements to the pangs of diſappointed affection, and the horror ariſing from a diſcovery of a breach of confidence, that ſnaps every ſocial tie!
All is not right ſomewhere!—When you firſt knew me, I was not thus loſt. I could ſtill confide—for I opened my heart to you—of this only comfort you have deprived me, whilſt my happineſs, you tell me, was your firſt object. Strange want of judgment!
I will not complain; but, from the ſoundneſs of your underſtanding, I am convinced, if you give yourſelf leave to reflect, you will alſo feel, that your conduct to me, ſo far from being generous, has not been juſt.—I mean not to allude to factitious principles of morality; but to the ſimple baſis of all rectitude.—However I did not intend to argue—Your not writing is cruel—and my reaſon is perhaps diſturbed by conſtant wretchedneſs.
Poor ——— would fain have accompanied me, out of tenderneſs; for my fainting, or rather convulſion, when I landed, and my ſudden changes of countenance ſince, have alarmed her ſo much, that ſhe is perpetually afraid of ſome accident—But it would have injured the child this warm ſeaſon, as ſhe is cutting her teeth.
I hear not of your having written to me at ——. Very well! Act as you pleaſe—there is nothing I fear or care for! When I ſee whether I can, or cannot obtain the money I am come here about, I will not trouble you with letters to which you do not reply.
LETTER LIX
July 18.
I am here in ——, ſeparated from my child—and here I muſt remain a month at leaſt, or I might as well never have come.