I thought you very unkind, nay, very unfeeling, laſt night. My cares and vexations—I will ſay what I allow myſelf to think—do me honour, as they ariſe from my diſintereſtedneſs and unbending principles; nor can that mode of conduct be a reflection on my underſtanding, which enables me to bear miſery, rather than ſelfiſhly live for myſelf alone. I am not the only character deſerving of reſpect, that has had to ſtruggle with various ſorrows—while inferior minds have enjoyed local fame and preſent comfort.—Dr. Johnſon's cares almoſt drove him mad—but, I ſuppoſe, you would quietly have told him, he was a fool for not being calm, and that wiſe men ſtriving againſt the ſtream, can yet be in good humour. I have done with inſenſible human wiſdom,—"indifference cold in wiſdom's guiſe,"—and turn to the ſource of perfection—who perhaps never diſregarded an almoſt broken heart, eſpecially when a reſpect, a practical reſpect, for virtue, ſharpened the wounds of adverſity. I am ill—I ſtayed in bed this morning till eleven o'clock, only thinking of getting money to extricate myſelf out of ſome of my difficulties—The ſtruggle is now over. I will condeſcend to try to obtain ſome in a diſagreeable way.
Mr. ——— called on me juſt now—pray did you know his motive for calling[82-A]?—I think him impertinently officious.—He had left the houſe before it occurred to me in the ſtrong light it does now, or I ſhould have told him ſo—My poverty makes me proud—I will not be inſulted by a ſuperficial puppy.—His intimacy with Miſs ——— gave him a privilege, which he ſhould not have aſſumed with me—a propoſal might be made to his couſin, a milliner's girl, which ſhould not have been mentioned to me. Pray tell him that I am offended—and do not wiſh to ſee him again!—When I meet him at your houſe, I ſhall leave the room, ſince I cannot pull him by the noſe. I can force my ſpirit to leave my body—but it ſhall never bend to ſupport that body—God of heaven, ſave thy child from this living death!—I ſcarcely know what I write. My hand trembles—I am very ſick—ſick at heart.——
mary.
LETTER XII
Tueſday Evening.
Sir,
When you left me this morning, and I reflected a moment—your officious meſſage, which at firſt appeared to me a joke—looked ſo very like an inſult—I cannot forget it—To prevent then the neceſſity of forcing a ſmile—when I chance to meet you—I take the earlieſt opportunity of informing you of my real ſentiments.
mary wollſtonecraft.