I now ſolemnly aſſure you, that this is an eternal farewel.—Yet I flinch not from the duties which tie me to life.
That there is "ſophiſtry" on one ſide or other, is certain; but now it matters not on which. On my part it has not been a queſtion of words. Yet your underſtanding or mine muſt be ſtrangely warped—for what you term "delicacy," appears to me to be exactly the contrary. I have no criterion for morality, and have thought in vain, if the ſenſations which lead you to follow an ancle or ſtep, be the ſacred foundation of principle and affection. Mine has been of a very different nature, or it would not have ſtood the brunt of your ſarcaſms.
The ſentiment in me is ſtill ſacred. If there be any part of me that will ſurvive the ſenſe of my miſfortunes, it is the purity of my affections. The impetuoſity of your ſenſes, may have led you to term mere animal deſire, the ſource of principle; and it may give zeſt to ſome years to come.—Whether you will always think ſo, I ſhall never know.
It is ſtrange that, in ſpite of all you do, ſomething like conviction forces me to believe, that you are not what you appear to be.
I part with you in peace.
