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You tell me that my letters torture you; I will not deſcribe the effect yours have on me. I received three this morning, the laſt dated the 7th of this month. I mean not to give vent to the emotions they produced.—Certainly you are right; our minds are not congenial. I have lived in an ideal world, and foſtered ſentiments that you do not comprehend—or you would not treat me thus. I am not, I will not be, merely an object of compaſſion—a clog, however light, to teize you. Forget that I exiſt: I will never remind you. Something emphatical whiſpers me to put an end to theſe ſtruggles. Be free—I will not torment, when I cannot pleaſe. I can take care of my child; you need not continually tell me that our fortune is inſeparable, that you will try to cheriſh tenderneſs for me. Do no violence to yourſelf! When we are ſeparated, our intereſt, ſince you give ſo much weight to pecuniary conſiderations, will be entirely divided. I want not protection without affection; and ſupport I need not, whilſt my faculties are undiſturbed. I had a diſlike to living in England; but painful feelings muſt give way to ſuperior conſiderations. I may not be able to acquire the ſum neceſſary to maintain my child and ſelf elſewhere. It is too late to go to Switzerland. I ſhall not remain at ——, living expenſively. But be not alarmed! I ſhall not force myſelf on you any more.
Adieu! I am agitated—my whole frame is convulſed—my lips tremble, as if ſhook by cold, though fire ſeems to be circulating in my veins.
God bleſs you.
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