Writing to you, whenever an affectionate epithet occurs--my eyes fill
with tears, and my trembling hand stops--you may then depend on my
resolution, when with you. If I am doomed to be unhappy, I will confine
my anguish in my own bosom--tenderness, rather than passion, has made me
sometimes overlook delicacy--the same tenderness will in future restrain
me. God bless you!

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LETTER LXII.

August 7.

AIR, exercise, and bathing, have restored me to health, braced my
muscles, and covered my ribs, even whilst I have recovered my former
activity.--I cannot tell you that my mind is calm, though I have snatched
some moments of exquisite delight, wandering through the woods, and
resting on the rocks.

This state of suspense, my friend, is intolerable; we must determine on
something--and soon;--we must meet shortly, or part for ever. I am
sensible that I acted foolishly--but I was wretched--when we were
together--Expecting too much, I let the pleasure I might have caught,
slip from me. I cannot live with you--I ought not--if you form another
attachment. But I promise you, mine shall not be intruded on you. Little
reason have I to expect a shadow of happiness, after the cruel
disappointments that have rent my heart; but that of my child seems to
depend on our being together. Still I do not wish you to sacrifice a
chance of enjoyment for an uncertain good. I feel a conviction, that I
can provide for her, and it shall be my object--if we are indeed to part
to meet no more. Her affection must not be divided. She must be a comfort
to me--if I am to have no other--and only know me as her support.--I feel
that I cannot endure the anguish of corresponding with you--if we are
only to correspond.--No; if you seek for happiness elsewhere, my letters
shall not interrupt your repose. I will be dead to you. I cannot express
to you what pain it gives me to write about an eternal separation.--You
must determine--examine yourself--But, for God's sake! spare me the
anxiety of uncertainty!--I may sink under the trial; but I will not
complain.

Adieu! If I had any thing more to say to you, it is all flown, and
absorbed by the most tormenting apprehensions, yet I scarcely know what
new form of misery I have to dread.

I ought to beg your pardon for having sometimes written peevishly; but
you will impute it to affection, if you understand any thing of the heart
of

Yours truly

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