Having juſt been informed that ——— is to return immediately to Paris, I would not miſs a ſure opportunity of writing, becauſe I am not certain that my laſt, by Dover has reached you.
Reſentment, and even anger, are momentary emotions with me—and I wiſhed to tell you ſo, that if you ever think of me, it may not be in the light of an enemy.
That I have not been uſed well I muſt ever feel; perhaps, not always with the keen anguiſh I do at preſent—for I began even now to write calmly, and I cannot reſtrain my tears.
I am ſtunned!—Your late conduct ſtill appears to me a frightful dream.—Ah! aſk yourſelf if you have not condeſcended to employ a little addreſs, I could almoſt ſay cunning, unworthy of you?—Principles are ſacred things—and we never play with truth, with impunity.
The expectation (I have too fondly nouriſhed it) of regaining your affection, every day grows fainter and fainter.—Indeed, it ſeems to me, when I am more ſad than uſual, that I ſhall never ſee you more.—Yet you will not always forget me.—You will feel ſomething like remorſe, for having lived only for yourſelf—and ſacrificed my peace to inferior gratifications. In a comfortleſs old age, you will remember that you had one diſintereſted friend, whoſe heart you wounded to the quick. The hour of recollection will come—and you will not be ſatiſfied to act the part of a boy, till you fall into that of a dotard. I know that your mind, your heart, and your principles of action, are all ſuperior to your preſent conduct. You do, you muſt, reſpect me—and you will be ſorry to forfeit my eſteem.
You know beſt whether I am ſtill preſerving the remembrance of an imaginary being.—I once thought that I knew you thoroughly—but now I am obliged to leave ſome doubts that involuntarily preſs on me, to be cleared up by time.
You may render me unhappy; but cannot make me contemptible in my own eyes.—I ſhall ſtill be able to ſupport my child, though I am diſappointed in ſome other plans of uſefulneſs, which I once believed would have afforded you equal pleaſure.
Whilſt I was with you, I reſtrained my natural generoſity, becauſe I thought your property in jeopardy.—When I went to ————, I requeſted you, if you could conveniently, not to forget my father, ſiſters, and ſome other people, whom I was intereſted about.—Money was laviſhed away, yet not only my requeſts were neglected, but ſome trifling debts were not diſcharged, that now come on me.—Was this friendſhip—or generoſity? Will you not grant you have forgotten yourſelf? Still I have an affection for you.—God bleſs you.
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